The End of the Beginning
“Arthur, are you alright?” Merlin asked later that evening when he found Britt sitting in front of a crackling campfire.
“I can’t sleep,” Britt said with a weak smile.
“I’m not surprised at that, but that cannot be all that is wrong with you. You look terrible,” Merlin said as he plopped down next to Britt.
Britt gazed past her fire. Most of her men were still awake, celebrating the victory with ale and songs. There were still guards on duty of course, but in general the camp was lively and exuberant.
Merlin watched Britt for a moment. “Are you missing home, lass?”
Britt shook her head as Sir Bedivere and Ywain danced past, splashing drink and laughing loudly. “No.”
“Then what is it?”
Britt pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face in her hands. “I feel awful. I bathed twice already but I can’t get the scent of blood off me, and whenever I close my eyes I hear the cries of the dying and the scream of swords and weaponry. And the blood, too much blood.”
“Oh lass,” Merlin said, his voice filled with pity as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “It was your first battle, and you are not a creature meant for combat.”
“I can fight!” Britt shook her head.
“Yes,” Merlin said, squeezing her shoulder to draw Britt’s attention. “But you cannot kill.”
Britt stared at Merlin’s deep blue eyes for a few moments before she bolted, running to the nearest bush where she threw up. Merlin followed her, gently holding Britt as she wretched.
When she was finished the enchanter gave her a wooden cup filled halfway with water. “Take just a sip,” he advised after Britt rinsed out her mouth. “Do you feel better?”
“A little,” Britt admitted. “Does it ever go away?”
“What?”
“The aftertaste of battles.”
“Mostly, yes. But a small part of you will always remember the devastation you witnessed,” Merlin said.
Britt groaned.
“It’s a good thing, actually. If no one remembered wars, the majority of our nation’s leaders would be warmongers, seeking out the destruction of everyone around them,” Merlin said.
“What did King Urien say?” Britt asked, shakily standing.
Merlin threw an arm around her waist in support. “That he would keep clear of us. He begged us not to harm Ywain, although I suspect deep in his heart he knows that Ywain wants to be with us.”
“Will Ywain ever be able to go home?” Britt asked, wincing when she sat down in front of her fire harder than she meant to.
“In due time he will. Let him grow and become one of your knights. When he is a man Urien can respect he will return home, and both father and son will be glad for it,” Merlin said, sitting so close to Britt that part of his robe rested on her knee.
Britt closed her eyes and slumped momentarily against Merlin. “I want to go home.”
“To your place in America?” Merlin asked, cautiously pronouncing the name of the country.
“Yes. No,” Britt groaned.
“No?”
“Yes I want to go back to America, but that’s not what I was talking about. I want to go back to Camelot. To see Cavall and listen to peasants squabble,” Britt said. “I want to smell the cook making that awful, heavy bread. I want to be with civilians.”
“Then let’s go.”
“What?” Britt said, opening her eyes and sitting upright.
“ We’ll have to leave Roen behind, he’s had a long day and deserves his rest. But we can take a fresh horse from the stables. A large, sturdy one. Perhaps one of the draft horses that pulled the supplies here,” Merlin said as he stood and brushed his robe off.
“Are you crazy?” Britt asked.
“Now what would cause you to ask such a question?”
“We can’t just leave in the middle of the night! We’ll fall and break our necks.”
“Pish posh. The moon is near full—it is bright enough to cast a shadow on you. The two of us can safely make the journey. With luck we’ll be back to Camelot in time for late breakfast,” Merlin said.
“Just the two of us? What about a guard?”
“When did you become such a worried baby chick? You don’t need guards when you travel with me, lass. Fear not,” Merlin smiled.
Britt stared at the enchanter, her brain shouted at her that he was clearly insane, but breakfast at Camelot with Cavall and her surprisingly soft bed (at least softer than the ground) was tempting.
“Well?” Merlin asked.
Britt sighed. “Only if we get Sir Ulfius to promise to bring Roen back. I think all the other knights are drunk beyond reason.”
“Fantastic, we’ll be home before you know it! Soon you’ll be listening to peasants argue over land rights and chickens as you rest your feet on your beastly dog!”
“Lass. Lass wake up.”
Britt groaned in her sleep and rolled her head to the left, twitching her nose when scratchy fabric tickled it.
The ground rolled beneath her, and Britt faintly remembered her late night ride upon a gigantic draft horse with Merlin.