“W-what about King Ban?”
“He will be disappointed, but I’m sure he’ll make it somehow,” Britt wryly chuckled, glancing at Sir Bedivere.
The swarthy knight was watching the exchange, but he did not seem disbelieving or angered, which surprised Britt.
“You can’t just mean to let me go. I know where your camp is! I know strategic information,” Ywain insisted.
Britt remounted Roen to hide her grimace. She hadn’t thought of that. She figured if Ywain ran back to his daddy all she would lose out on was a prisoner. So much for that idea. “Perhaps,” Britt agreed before wheeling Roen in the direction of camp. “But I genuinely like you, Ywain. I have no wish to see you muddled in this war between your father and I. Take care, maybe we’ll meet again,” Britt said, glancing at Sir Bedivere.
Sir Bedivere moved his horse like Britt, he did not seem inclined to turn around and snatch up Ywain. (Which was somewhat unfortunate.)
Ywain sputtered behind them for a few moments as Britt cued Roen into a walk. “My King!” Ywain finally shouted.
Britt halted her horse and twisted in her saddle. “Yes?”
“Did you really mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“Everything you said about your knights. How you want them to ride around and do good deeds, not fight in wars? How you want females to be protected?”
“Yes, I meant every last word,” Britt said, some of her blond hair falling over her shoulder in a golden curtain.
“Why? You’re a good swordsman. Maybe the best. You don’t have to be nice to everyone, you could rule through sheer strength.”
Britt scratched her ear. “I don’t want a kingdom like that. I want chivalry and honor.”
Ywain ran through the undergrowth, startling Roen and Sir Bedivere’s mount when he skid to a stop in front of them.
“Then please, let me serve you, My Lord!” Ywain said, kneeling before Britt, looking at the ground.
Britt’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Ywain, do you understand what you’re saying?” she hesitantly asked.
“I know I am the son of Urien, and I still love him, but please, King Arthur, please let me serve you!” Ywain cried, looking up at Britt.
Britt stared at the teenager in great perplexity. She turned to look at Sir Bedivere, hoping for direction or advice. Sir Bedivere nodded once in approval, as if this was the outcome he expected all along.
“He either has too much faith in my abilities or he is startlingly smart like Merlin,” Britt muttered to herself as Roen swished his tail. “I do not mean to doubt you, Ywain, but how can you possibly still love your father and support me?”
“I love my father because he raised me. He is my mentor and parent. But you, My Lord I love as my King. My loyalty and body belong to you,” Ywain said.
“You would see me spare your father?” Britt asked.
Ywain hesitated, clearly torn, and Britt smiled. “I will do it, if it is in my power.”
“But… why? My King?” Ywain asked.
“I am not in the business of killing the fathers of my friends. Additionally, starting a kingdom such as the one I want on stains of blood is not a wise route,” Britt said.
“My King, I do not deserve your grace, but I wish to be a part of your kingdom,” Ywain said, again bowing his head.
Britt hesitated as she internally reviewed every book she had ever read that involved accepting fealty. Unfortunately her favorite authors, like Jane Austen, had very little to say on the matter. She would have to rely on Hollywood.
“A Jedi gains power through understanding and a Sith gains understanding through power,” Britt said.
Ywain blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Forget it. I’ll wing it. Ywain, I am honored by your declaration of fealty. I will do my best to see that I do not fail in pursuit of a just and honorable kingdom. In return I ask that you would ride with me and be my sword and my shield and strike when I cannot. I will be your king, your friend, and your brother if you will be my knight, my guard, and my justice.”
Britt was surprised to see Ywain actually blink back tears. She whipped to face Sir Bedivere, who also looked touched. Britt frowned, more than a little confused, but Ywain said. “I will, my King, My Lord, and my liege. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Britt opened her mouth but was unable to find anything to say. It was just as well as Merlin sprouted out of the underbrush as if he were a plant. “Marvelous,” he said, joyously clapping. “Well played! Welcome, young Ywain, to King Arthur’s court!” he said, pounding the young man on the back.
Ywain coughed under the smack but grinned and sheepishly reached up to rub the top of his head as Merlin continued.
“You have won a staunch and passionate knight, Arthur. I have foreseen it! Ywain is destined for great things.”
“Really?” Ywain asked, clearly delighted.