

CAMELOT'S LOVE

A short prequel to

THE KNIGHTS OF CAMELOT SERIES

And the Novella

TALIESIN'S SONG

BY

SARAH LUDDINGTON

First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2020 by Sarah Luddington

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2020

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.

A copy of this work is available through the British Library.

IBSN : 978-1-913264-60-4

Dear Reader,

This is a prequel to The Knights of Camelot, a series of nine books which charts the love between a King and his Knight. This story takes place about fifteen years before the books begin and covers the first kiss, which is also in Lancelot and the Grail and the beginning of the love affair between Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere.

It is a gay romance that begins with Lancelot and the King, so there isn't any sex here (well, maybe there is some in Taliesin's Song which is a novella) but you'll find plenty in the books, along with violence and themes that can be challenging.

Many thanks for trying this short story and Taliesin's novella and I hope to see you on my facebook page or perhaps through my newsletter.

Find Sarah Luddington on Facebook and http://romanticadventures.net

CAMELOT'S FIRST KISS

We were riding from Tintagel in the early spring. Just two young squires enjoying our half day off, the first time we'd been able to escape the confines of the castle alone. Geraint was sick so unable to join our adventure. We raced through the small town and along the cliffs. Arthur's horse outstripped mine with ease but mine was a mare who should have retired long ago and he was the Prince of Camelot.

We stopped overlooking some fearsome cliffs, the wind sharp but the sun warm. The blue of the sea broken by crested foamy waves and large white clouds making the sea's surface almost black before the sun broke through and made it twinkle.

"We'll never get anywhere with you riding that thing," Arthur complained. The sun-kissed bright blonde curls and his eyes laughed even as he moaned at me.

"Tough, I can't afford to make her lame," I said. "And she's done me fine service." I patted the chestnut's neck.

"Leave her," Arthur said. "She'll find her way home and we'll ride further on Stone." He had a point. We'd be able to travel faster on the bay gelding than we could on my mare. Arthur was sixteen, I a year older, all long legs, lean muscles and beardless faces. We could conquer the world.

I slipped off my mare, tied her reins and stirrups carefully before smacking her backside and sending her home. She walked off in grateful amble. Arthur held his hand out and wriggled forward on his saddle. I placed a foot in the now empty stirrup and half jumped up behind him. The seventeen hand horse shifted under the added weight but remained happy. Arthur grinned and I wrapped my arms around his waist before he kicked his horse into an instant gallop. I leaned into Arthur's back as we raced along, the wind blowing into our faces. The power of the horse, the strength of Arthur's young body against my own, the intoxication of our freedom made me laugh and shout for joy.

Finally, Arthur slowed his great horse. "I don't think I've ever heard you do that," he said.

I pulled back and removed my arms from his waist, now we were walking. "Do what?"

"Laugh and whoop for joy, you hardly ever laugh. I like the way it sounds."

"I do laugh," I said, knowing full well I didn't.

"No, you train, you work and you study. You don't laugh, you are so terrified of Geraint's father sending you away you just keep your head down and you never play up," Arthur pointed out.

"It is not my place to antagonise, the Lord Fitzwilliam. I am here by his grace alone, your Highness." My fragile mood evaporated.

"Don't do that, Lancelot. I hate it even more when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Call me, Highness, or my Lord, or even worse, my Prince. I hate it and I hate being reminded of my duty." His distress translated to Stone, who shifted under us and ground to a halt with neither of his riders giving firm instructions.

"Sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean..." I began.

His hand clasped my thigh, it was hot and firm. "I know you didn't. Touchy subject for us both, our differences in station make it hard to be friends sometimes." The Crown Prince of Camelot and a bastard bred squire aspiring to knighthood.

I slid off Stone to give the horse a breather and myself some distance. Arthur followed suit and we walked quietly for a while. My throat burned with the need to say something I'd been wanting to say for days, well weeks. Ever since Arthur first arrived in Tintagel last autumn, to serve as squire before being knighted by his father.

I didn't talk that much and words were not my skill, not like they were for Geraint or Arthur. I found my words in my sword. But the need to speak overwhelmed my ability to stem the flow.

"Arthur." He stopped and looked at me. "I need to tell you something."

He remained silent, a question in his eyes. I licked my lips and dropped to one knee before him, bowing my head and holding out my hands. It would not be the last time, I hoped.

"I know you are not my king, not yet and God willing, it will be many years before you replace your father, but I want you to understand. I swear my allegiance to you, Sire. I would beg you to consider me your first true vassal and know I will serve you and Camelot all my days. I am worth nothing but the strength of my arm and my skill with a weapon. These, my undying loyalty and my belief in you as our Crown Prince, you will always have." I spoke to his boots.

I was so desperate to fit, to find a place, a life, a world in which I belonged and the day Arthur rode into Tintagel I knew it was him. He owned me the moment I laid eyes on him.

His hand closed over mine. "Lancelot du Lac, what are you doing?" his voice sounded breathless and I looked up. His just freckling skin was pale, his eyes wide and bluer than the sky.

"I am trying to become your vassal, my Lord," I said and fear gripped my heart. His rejection would send me over the edge of the cliff and down onto the dark rocks below. I knew that as surely as I knew my name.

"Do you also give me your heart, great knight of my realm?" he asked. Colour raced up his neck and made his cheeks glow. Emotions I didn't recognise shone deeply in his eyes.

"I will give you everything," I said, captured by those eyes as surely as the fly in the web. "My heart, my love, my body."

Arthur, still grasping my outstretched hands, knelt. I frowned, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. One of his hands moved and brushed my jaw.

"Your love?" he asked, the words a tentative sound.

I'd meant the love one brother in arms shares with another but his eyes spoke to me of something else, something forbidden and my young manhood woke to that steady gaze. I'd not been very successful with the girls in the castle and his Lordship tried to stop us squires playing in the town but I knew how a maid looked when she wanted a kiss.

Arthur didn't look like that, it was deeper, more intense and breathlessly passionate. I nodded, unable to speak.

He smiled. "Will you promise to laugh a little more? For me?" he asked.

I grinned. "I promise."

"And you will always be my friend, not just a vassal?" Again the emotions deepened.

"It will be an honour to be counted as a friend," I said my heart soaring to the screaming gulls overhead.

"Then, yes, Lancelot du Lac, I accept you as my vassal, my first," he said.

We were very close and we bumped together as Stone walked straight into Arthur, pushing him into me. We rolled in springy damp grass, laughing at the stupid horse who gazed at us confused. I ended up over Arthur but his hand sat on the back of my neck.

"Kiss me," he said and alarm shot through his eyes as if he'd not meant to say the words aloud.

I froze, felt his body under me, the softness of his belly against mine where our clothes had rucked up in the tussle.

"Arthur..." I said.

He pushed hard on my chest and rolled away. "Forget it, sorry." He scrambled up and I felt his pain wash over me.

I made a grab for his leg and pulled him down. Air woofed from his lungs and he cursed. I yanked hard and being slightly older and stronger, I pulled him against me, pinning him down. He struggled and fought but I held him, my weight and height forcing him into stillness.

He looked up defiant.

I said, "Yes."

I watched his eyes widen in shock, then fear, then cautious joy. I smiled, what little experience I had with girls meant I approached him. Those blue eyes focused on me as our lips touched with hesitant fear. It felt as if lightning coursed through me with that single touch. I kissed a little more firmly, testing the ground and Arthur's hands wove around my back. I wanted more and opened my mouth a little, my tongue found his lips and before I knew what to do, we were clenched together in a passionate deep kiss. Far stronger than anything I'd shared with a woman.

The kiss ended as all joy does but I still lay over him. "I..." I wanted to tell him. I really wanted to tell him.

"I know," he said simply.

I nodded, wordless again, my throat a painful mess of choked emotions. I rose off his body and helped him stand. He picked old heather from my tangled hair and we retrieved Stone. We walked back to the castle and held hands most of the way. Sometimes we stopped to further explore that kiss but we rarely spoke. We never talked of our love that first summer. It just grew silently and with rare moments in which we were alone and safely hidden from prying eyes.

CAMELOT'S LOVE

A FEW YEARS LATER

"If you aren't going to eat that, I will," Arthur reached across my arm and speared my meat with his knife.

"That's mine," I muttered without real spirit.

He paused for a moment, watching me, blue-eyed gaze assessing and careful. "You haven't eaten all day, are you sickening for something?"

"Nothing you need worry about," I said poking at some bread.

He lowered his stolen meat to his plate. "What is it?" His voice held that gentle tone I only remembered in my dreams these days.

I looked at my hands sat on the rough table before me and wondered if I could confess the confusion of feelings inside my chest. What would he think? What would he say? Nothing, he would say nothing because I would never confess.

"Nothing," I muttered, the ache in my chest flaring white hot in denial.

His hand lay down his knife and lowered beneath the table. The other pages and squires around us were deep in their own conversations. The time off we had each day was too short for wasting. No one noticed his palm on my thigh and his fingers digging into the firm muscle.

"Talk to me, you've been tense since my return from Camelot," Arthur whispered.

I looked into his eyes, dark blue and captivating me as a flame does a moth. As always, my promises of keeping my council dissolved in the face of his compassion. "You are to be king in a few weeks, months at most," I whispered.

Arthur closed his eyes, the sun blinking out for a moment. "But right now I am not," he murmured. Our heads were close to together, his breath mingling with mine. "I came back to Tintagel just as I promised."

"Everything is to change, Arthur. I am a squire, living on another's generosity, I have nothing to offer you, I have nothing to offer anyone," misery dripped from each word. I hated to admit I lived on the generosity of others. I was the lowliest of his future knights.

"Lancelot, when I am crowned I will knight you properly in front of the entire court and you will become the best of them, just as you are here. You will be my Champion. You know this. I will give you anything you need." His words were earnest and honest. Arthur was always honest with me.

"There is one thing you can give me, Arthur, that I need right now," I spoke with care, I could lose it all in one moment.

He paused, "What can I give my closest friend and ally?"

My heart ached with the knowledge of the pain my words were going to cause. "You can give your consent to my marriage."

He froze. I couldn't hear him breathe. His hand locked on my thigh. "Marriage," he said maintaining his dignity with the practice of a courtly savant. His hand drew away from my leg and returned to his wine cup. He drank. "Who is the lucky girl or perhaps I don't need to guess." I heard the shriek inside him though no one else would.

"She cares for me, Arthur, but I need your permission to ask for her hand." I didn't look at him, I didn't have the courage. "It is what is expected, it's what I'm permitted, all I am permitted and she will make a fine wife." I chose my words with care, he had to know I wanted something different but could not give voice to those desperate passions.

"Is a wife what you want?" he asked, his voice straining. There were high points of colour on his cheeks.

"A wife is what I should have," my words were hollow, and I watched Arthur nod too fast in agreement.

"Yes, every man should have a wife, it is what is expected." He smiled, but it felt like the smile of the damned. This smile I knew, it was the wistful one. The one he used when trying to hold his burdens to his heart and not scream the world down. He didn't want to be king. He wanted us to ride together into a future to seek our fortunes. These were the stories he concocted for a world we'd never have.

"Arthur..." his name left my lips on a whisper of agony.

"Don't," he ordered, the tenderness of a moment before too delicate to survive the pain in his heart. I watched him gather himself together and present the face of a prince. "When do you wish to ask her?"

"Tomorrow, I'm meeting her at noon on the cliffs before she leaves with her family," I said fighting my need to weep.

"Do you think she will say yes?" he asked.

I shrugged. "She has told me she cares for me."

Over the last few months, while Arthur had been in Camelot dealing with his dying father, I'd learned to survive without him and the woman in question had at first been a distraction but now she said she cared a great deal. At least those were the words she'd been giving me and I'd horded them like the gold they were.

"Guinevere is a beautiful girl," Arthur said quietly.

We were silent for the rest of the meal.

After our evening chores, I made my final rounds of the castle and stood on the wall overlooking the pounding sea. I'd been happier here than anywhere else in my miserable life. My hands flexed against the rough wall and the half moon over my head lit the rolling, cresting waves beneath me in flashing monochrome. The comforting smell of the briny water brought back so many memories and many of them contained Arthur.

His golden hair was the beacon I looked for every moment of every day. I'd sworn my allegiance to him years before, when we were just beginning our training as squires. Now we faced knighthood but nothing changed, my loyalty never wavered.

The memories which stirred me most, deep in the night, began to wriggle forth, escaping my control. I'd tried my damnedest to suffocate them over the months we'd been apart and they were bruised and unloved.

I could fight them no longer and released them so I could revel in their bitter joy. Our golden days together where two young men shared their dreams and their confusing passions. But no man could live with these feelings and actions, so many were condemned for their unnatural acts, but nothing about my love for Arthur felt unnatural, cursed, demon bred. Regardless of whether they were or not, the acts of childhood must be put away for the acts of manhood and that included marriage.

I'd met a woman capable of making my heart sing, not in the same way Arthur did, but just as loudly.

I pushed myself off the damp wall and finished my round, vanishing through a low doorway and down a narrow stone stairway. My room, small and dark though it was home, warm and safe. My sword stood in the corner, my armour lay on a large chest full of everything I owned and a small box sat on the small desk I used for my studies under the narrow window. I stroked the box. Everything I'd earned and won for the last six months, now formed a golden ring so beautiful it rivalled anything a queen might wear. Or at least that is what I hoped.

I undressed in slow deliberation, my rough woollen clothes well made by the women of this castle. Geraint's father, Hoel, cared for me like his own son and I had both gratitude and pride he should think me worth the effort. I lay on my small bed and stared at the black ceiling, my candle gradually vanishing. I didn't bother with the fire, the winter night soft and mild. I heard the pounding of the sea on the cliffs below but for tonight at least we were blessed with peace.

Eventually, I slept and dreams of golden hair filled my mind, but whether they were short masculine curls or long silken tresses, I didn't remember.

*****

I woke early the following day and dressed. My belly was full of snakes. I wasn't this nervous in tournaments. I ran to the stables and began my chores. Mucking out the stable, cleaning tack, exercising the horses, then training with both sword and spear. Geraint and I worked hard but Arthur didn't appear.

"Where is he?" I asked my oldest friend.

Geraint, the sun turning his red hair to fire, shrugged. "I don't know." He didn't look at me and although he seemed his usual affable self, I sensed the strain. Something was off, wrong.

"Right," came the booming voice of Hoel's captain, "for some reason you miserable bastards have half a day off. Vanish before I change my mind."

I grinned at Geraint and we dashed off to dump our training swords. The time had come for me to find Guinevere.

Before we parted, Geraint pulled me to a stop. "Whatever happens this afternoon, remember, I'm here for you." He held out his arm for a formal acknowledgement of our friendship. I frowned in confusion but grasped his forearm in union.

"Thanks, but I think you should stop worrying, how could she say, no? I'm adorable." I grinned and winked.

Geraint laughed. "Many things you are, Lancelot, adorable isn't one of them. But who understands the minds of women?"

"I know her mind," I said.

I went to the washroom, cleaned myself up and even shaved. I dressed in my finest clothes, the doublet a rich green and the hose a dark brown. I ran my fingers through my rough hair, brushing it back and knowing it would just tangle in the wind but hoping it would be irrelevant. Returning to the stable I tacked up Bow, the chestnut I now rode most often and rode out of the castle. I followed the path leading to Glebe cliff and rode up onto the bluff. The sky, fine blue, like her eyes, cradled racing clouds. The sea, a dark morass of shifting colour with white horses rearing up on its flanks, looked as restless as I felt.

I rode to the tortured thorn tree on the cliff top and dismounted, tying Bow to the low branches. He started to crop the grass. I paced and watched the sun. I paced back and forth wearing holes in the grass. I paced and tried to think of anything other than what I was doing on this cliff top. Time wound forwards and anticipation turned sour in my guts. I wanted to race back to the castle and find my wife to be, speak to her in public, anything but continue waiting.

Then, long after noon, I saw the head of her small palfrey bobbing up the slope and Guinevere's golden hair streaming out behind her in the wind. Her beauty hit me like a hammer blow deep in my guts. I loved her. I knew it. Nothing else mattered but winning her hand and holding her to my pounding heart. Thoughts of my future king vanished under the passion I held for this paragon. I forced them away.

When she reached me, I held out my hands, and she silently consented to my help when dismounting. She wore the finest, softest wool I'd ever touched under my rough palms.

"Lancelot," her voice, as clear as her gaze, caressed my name.

"Guinevere." I smiled gently, something I'd learned to do under her tutelage over the autumn, while her family sojourned in Tintagel. In fact she'd managed to gentle the beast in me more than anyone else ever had, even Geraint's patient mother.

Guinevere pulled out of my grasp and turned to face the sea. A young woman's bashfulness, or so I thought. I walked to her side, took her small hand in my huge paw and touched the pouch containing her ring.

"Guinevere..." I began, but the words I'd been planning for so long fled because she turned to look at me. Her pale blue eyes were so different to Arthur's. Full of the promise of a life which held no fear or hurt. She was so innocent.

"Lancelot," she said and raised my hand to her lips. "I have something to tell you." Her breath tickled my fingers.

"I have something to ask you," I said, trying to head her off.

I watched tears form in her eyes and spill silently down her cheeks. I frowned in confusion.

She kissed my scarred knuckles and said, "No, let me speak first."

I held my tongue and dread filled my heart. My life, so dark up to the moment Arthur rode into it, should have continued to grow brighter with the addition of the light Guinevere represented. Somehow, I didn't think my luck would hold.

She took a deep breath, her small breast pressing against her dress. "Arthur Pendragon came to my room last night," she said very, very quietly.

I thought the wind played tricked with me. The words sent on breezes from those who twisted the lives of honest men.

"Arthur?" I asked more woodenly than the crooked tree beside us.

"We spent the night talking and this morning, he returned to my room. He asked me to marry him and I said yes." Her words tumbled out in a cascade of sound. Like drops of blood that chased each other, pouring from an open wound.

"Arthur," I repeated. I saw nothing around me, the day vanished into a haze.

Guinevere now looked up at me and I didn't recognise her expression. "I am to be the queen," she informed me. "I would ask for your blessing. I understand how much he means to you, how close you are."

Close? Yes. Arthur Pendragon and I were close. His lips on mine. Our young strong bodies entwined on spring green grass. Yes, we were close. He knew me better than anyone I'd ever met and, until Guinevere, was the only one who could claim my heart.

I stumbled back, releasing her hands. "You are going to be his wife?" I asked without looking at her.

"I didn't know, Lancelot. I didn't know how he felt, how I felt. We'd hardly spoken before but he is..." she stopped, apparently out of descriptive words for my friend. "My feelings for you have not changed, they never will, but he is just..."

I had the words, and they were bitter. "He is just what? A king? A man of wealth and status? Not a worthless knight," I cried out losing control of the agony searing my heart and belly. I turned to my horse and threw myself into his saddle. He jerked around and we were galloping back towards Tintagel.

Against all the rules I rode pell-mell over the stone bridge separating the village from the keep, the horse's hooves sliding on the cobbles. I tore through the gate, the guards shouting at me and into the courtyard. I drove the poor beast around the corner and into the training yard.

"You miserable, bastard!" I screamed as I leapt from the horse and raced across the sand covered area. I hit Arthur square in the chest and as the bigger man my weight and momentum took us to the ground. My left hand closed around his throat, trying to choke the life out him, while I raised my right fist to beat him to death.

A larger mass collided with me from the side. I heard Geraint swear as he took me down. I fought to gain my freedom from his superior height and weight, I wanted blood.

"Everyone out," he bellowed. Then he grunted as I managed to punch him in the guts. I cursed him but continued to fight until he released me. Arthur now stood, but he'd backed off. The outdoor arena was empty. Everyone had vanished, doubtless looking for Hoel before I killed the soon to be crowned King of Camelot.

I scrambled upright and Arthur watched me, wary and sucking a bloodied lip. "You lousy son of a whoring bitch," I spat.

"That's my mother you are talking about," Arthur snarled back.

"What the hell is going on?" Geraint asked confused as to why his best friends were trying to kill each other.

I pointed a savage finger at Arthur. "He did it. He took Guinevere. She is to marry him."

Geraint paled and turned his hazel eyes to Arthur, "You did what?"

Arthur squared his shoulders. "She is perfect for me, for Camelot," he justified.

"I know," I screamed. "She is mine."

He tried to maintain his superior edge, but I saw it begin to crumble under my grief and confusion. "I'm sorry," he said his anger evaporating. "But she is not. She is mine. There will be other beautiful women for you, my friend. But she will make the perfect queen for Camelot. Her heritage, her beauty, her wit and intelligence. I need a queen."

"I need a wife." I pounded my chest, the pain too much to bear as I looked at him. I dropped to my knees in the damp sand, my voice breaking as I said, "And I need a wife to be free of you and you took her."

Arthur approached. My tears blurred my vision. My heart lay in the filthy soil beneath his feet. He knelt in the dirt with me, caught in my anguish. His rough hand reached out and touched my jaw. I was not the only one weeping. "I cannot allow you to be free," he whispered. I saw it then, his love for me and I felt mine for him, a writhing mass of tortured denial and broken promises.

A shadow crossed our bodies. "Leave him, Arthur, you've done enough damage." Geraint reached down and pulled our young King to his feet. Arthur stumbled upright and my oldest friend replaced him.

Geraint helped me stand and began muttering about other women coming into my life. These banalities flowed over me, unheeded. I realised that my surging grief came not from Guinevere choosing another, but from Arthur betraying me so easily.

*****

Days vanished in a maze of chaos and hard graft. Arthur didn't come near me and I avoided Guinevere. By the mid winter festivals I found myself in Camelot for the first time. Arthur's father lay dead and apparently I would be knighted during the coronation and wedding. Geraint stuck to me like horse glue and made certain I understood the ways of the city. Its vast tangle of streets were a gift to a young man and the first night we arrived I discovered the ladies of the night in Camelot were a great deal more efficient than those of Tintagel and there were an awful lot of them. I decided I liked cities, despite their foul odours and vast tintinnabulation. One very gifted lady received a fine ring as payment for her very inventive games.

I also discovered Geraint and I were to lead the retinue taking Arthur down the aisle towards his new throne. During the days and nights before the final ceremony, I watched him carefully. He grew pale, despite his smiles. His eyes held a great strain and dark circles appeared. He started to lose weight and sometimes drank even more than me, which didn't seem possible. He suffered, and I suffered for him. I saw what lay in his heart, what really lay deep inside. He wanted freedom from this madness.

Guinevere however thrived. She grew into her new role, which raced towards her with alarming speed. Arthur was right, she was the perfect woman to be queen. I'd never have made her happy.

The morning of their wedding I found myself hustled into Arthur's private chambers. He stood by a tall window filled with rare glass. I fidgeted in my new clothes, delivered that morning. Rich, deep, browns and greens.

"I need your help, my friend," Arthur said quietly without turning.

His voice sounded thick and harsh. I spoke with great care, we'd not been alone for a long time and our roles had changed so much. "I will always help you, Sire," I said formally.

"Please, don't call me that, not you of all people," he said, the pain in his words bit hard at my heart. His head bowed and his hands flexed. The tension in his shoulders looked like torture.

I caved, my need to protect him at all costs drawing me to his side, I crossed the room to my friend in three strides. "Arthur, what's wrong?" I asked laying a hand on his back.

He turned to me without seeing me and threw himself into my surprised arms. His body trembled as he held me, burying his head in my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his back and I kissed his blond curls. He smelt of spiced perfumes and fine soap. I missed his musk and the scent of leather.

We stood like that for a long time, not moving but welded together and my heart dragged itself out of the dirt in Tintagel. It came back to me in Camelot and I held it briefly once more. I would I lose it again to Arthur and Guinevere. I believed it as well as I knew my own cursed name. But in that moment I held it long enough to forgive my friend any and all hurts.

When Arthur pulled away, his eyes were clear and his breathing even. He raised a fragile smile. He fiddled with my velvet doublet and didn't look at me as he spoke, "I couldn't do this without you."

"I know," I said, unable to hide my sadness. "I've been watching you suffer for days."

"I should not have taken her from you," he admitted at last.

I sighed, unwilling to have this conversation with him. "Yes, Arthur, you should have." I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. "She would be wasted as my wife. She is made to be queen."

He lay his hands flat over my chest. "I've missed you," he murmured.

I ached to reach out and force him to kiss me. I buried the hopeless wish under layers of convention and propriety. I buried it under the throne of Camelot. "I've missed you too," I managed to keep my voice even.

"Let's not argue again. I need you in my life too badly. I need you to be by my side."

I smiled. "Your shadow?"

"My sword," he clarified. "This means I've chosen an insignia for you and gifted you lands."

"I don't need lands, Arthur. I just need to serve you as your faithful companion, friend, servant and knight," I said with conviction.

He gazed at me. "I have to give you titles," he said.

"I'll earn them," I told him. "Just make me a knight and I will earn everything for you. Keep it all safe for me. I am your sword arm, Arthur. I cannot own anything for myself because I am a part of you."

I stopped talking. I hadn't meant to say so much. Be so honest about how my heart wept for him every moment of every day.

Tears filled his eyes as continued to stare at me. "You will be my Champion."

"I will be when I've won the title by force of arms," I said and tried not to blush.

He nodded. By ceding all the lands he might give to me through winning tournaments, back to the throne, I gave him the perfect ally. I gave him permission to gift me everything he needed to control in the country but couldn't own directly because of politics. He could give it to me but I'd return it to him making me the most loyal of his men.

"Then I will look forwards to the tournament tomorrow," he said.

I realised we still held each other closely. I couldn't move, didn't want too. The energy between us changed with terrifying speed. Arthur's breath hitched and his blue eyes dilated. My cock grew thick, and I realised I needed to escape before this became unmanageable.

"Lancelot," he breathed my name and swayed towards me. Our lips brushed against each other and our breath mingled.

A knock on the door and Geraint's voice from outside asked permission to enter.

I jack-knifed like a badly loosed arrow. Arthur cursed and Geraint walked into the room. His voice died as he looked at us both. He sensed the atmosphere in the room but he did not speak the words which could damn us and I silently thanked him for it.

Instead, he said, "Arthur, it is time for you to marry."

For the first time I noticed Arthur's clothing. He wore Camelot's colours of deep blue and gold, the rich velvets and silks hugging his firm body and highlighting his natural beauty. I turned away, unable to meet Geraint's eye.

Forever the smooth diplomat, Arthur said graciously, "Then led the way."

Geraint returned to the door, Arthur followed him and I brought up the rear. My friend fell in beside me when Arthur passed him and gently laid a hand on my arm. I glanced up into his hazel eyes. "Be careful, Lancelot. You need to protect yourself, not just him."

I nodded but didn't reply. We were now swept into the glorious spectacle of Camelot's wedding and coronation. I saw none of it, registered nothing. The feel of Arthur's lips brushing mine branded into my mind.

Then I laid eyes on Guinevere.

The most perfect, beautiful, goddess I'd ever seen. Her eyes caught mine for a long moment and my heart broke. The heart so recently returned to me, snapped in two. One half for Arthur, one half for Guinevere. Would I ever have peace again?

For the rest of their story you can find the first book, Lancelot and the King, on Amazon, Kindle and Kindle Unlimited are available.

If you enjoyed the story do get in touch, I love to hear from you guys on Facebook and there is always the newsletter at http://romanticadventures.net/newsletter/. Thank you for reading.

Here is Taliesin's Song, a story that takes place in Camelot but is about characters other than Lancelot and Arthur. I hope you enjoy it.

TALIESIN'S SONG

CHAPTER ONE

The bowstring bit into my fingertips. The yew and holly shaft arched under the pressure, creaking just a little. I smelt the oil I last used to keep the wood subtle. Muscles bunched in my upper arms, across my chest but in my back is where they took the strain. My fingers were relaxed, hand relaxed, forearm just holding everything in place, waiting... waiting. The perfect moment to strike almost here, I lifted the bow, sighted my target, the familiar movement to bring the nocked arrow to my jaw gave me comfort. This moment proved the summit of my existence.

I focused on my objective, readjusted for the sudden increase in wind velocity and, like a whisper between lovers, released the bow. My fingers merely allowed the string to slip off my pads. The arrow, with the dark fletching I always preferred, flew away from me as the straining wood snapped back into shape. It slid through the air to escape the confines of my quiver, performing the task I requested and to prove itself eager to please, my arrow dropped downwards flying over the heads of the crowd. My arms relaxed, my back relaxed and my weapon, its taste finished fell to my side.

I heard a yell.

A small dark man moved. He threw himself forwards and collided with another. A tall man, with golden hair and dark blue eyes which pierced my soul even at this distance, collapsed sideways just as my arrow meant to pierce his heart.

The man's eyes flashed up to me, even as he fell under the impact of his friend. The woman at his side shouted an order and pointed. Her fierce voice belied her slim frame. Her long golden hair flared when the wind caught it and her own ice blue eyes shone with fury. Others, all big men in black uniforms with a silver wolf's head on their breasts covered the golden couple and their young children.

Screams erupted.

The golden man rose, shedding protectors, heedless of the danger and stared up at me, half in anger, half in curiosity.

My arrow lay behind him, unseen and now harmless.

I'd failed.

Pain seized my head and my hands convulsed. I wanted to scream at the agony gathering inside my head, draining me of what little thought I had left.

Hands grabbed me and shouts collided over my crumbling body in a maelstrom of noise and violence. More pain arrived but from my face and ribs. It drew me back to this place. This strange place.

"Where am I?" I asked through the pain in my head but even when I had the clarity of thought I couldn't hear the words over the hullabaloo surrounding me. Did I speak them? Did I think them? Where they my words or did they belong to someone who sounded cracked, dry and brittle. Unused and unloved. Too long alone. Too long wrapped in silence not of their making. Why couldn't I think and speak and stop and wait and control the people around me? What was happening?

Vices grabbed me and hauled me upright. Ropes bound my wrists. I wanted to cry out, to tell them to be careful of my hands. To avoid breaking my fingers. I watched the slim figure of a woman carry my bow away and the pack, my precious pack. I followed the pack. I remembered the pack. It was tied to my soul. The men helped my shambling run as I chased it, quivering in need just as the arrow had on its release.

The narrow walkway became a stairway. I stumbled and crashed into walls and stone steps. They were as unfriendly as the rough hands bullying me. I wanted freedom to race after my pack but the ropes binding my arms held me firm and restricted my movement. The walls of stone were unfamiliar and panicked fear filtered through the haze of my existence.

I remembered fear.

The tang of bitterness.

The sour taste of defeat.

I remembered feeling fear inside the bowels of the earth.

A stinking cave of soot and fetid air. Voices raised in chorus and anguished harmonies designed to subvert and destroy my gift, my first love, my words. Words which built tales, on top of myths, to give joy in a world full of sadness. I too once had a voice. Where did it live now?

The stairs turned into a hallway and a large heavy oak and iron bound doorway flew open before my struggling feet. The hard flagstone floor proved to be a harsh instrument of compliance when I collided with it and my head bounced off it leaving instant shattering pain in its wake, only for it to join the maze of agony from my failure. The conglomeration of pains vanished under a wave of black.

"We don't need a trial, he's guilty," shouted a voice which drove pillars of pure agony through my skull. Something warm and wet covered half my face and my right eye wouldn't open. My arms hurt and I feared for my right shoulder. I wiggled my fingers. Intact. I breathed in honest relief.

"He's awake," another voice interrupted the shouting and I focused on feet. Many heavily booted feet. Some covered in mud, most polished so well I could see something resembling my face in their surface. The world spun. My body moved. I fought the urge to vomit.

When my left eye stopped revolving, I stared at a man I didn't recognise but I knew by the crest over his left breast.

"Your Majesty," I croaked a noise, the thought was clear but where had my voice gone? I'd made some strange froggy growl.

The golden man walked forwards but a younger version grabbed his arm. "Not too close, Arthur, you don't know what he is," said the man, his voice full of suspicion and concern.

I tried to wriggle onto my knees to bow before the King of Camelot but I fell over and the flagstones peeled skin off my cheek.

"I don't think he's a danger right now, Gawain," said King Arthur. Warmth slid over me from his voice, a soft baritone of authority earned the hard way.

I mumbled something even I didn't understand. Strong hands lifted me and set me on my knees.

"Who are you? Who sent you to kill me? What do you want?" Arthur asked, his blue eyes calm and controlled.

This close to his face I recognised the signs of time perfecting his masculine beauty. A golden stubble graced his jaw, lines of laughter and joy shot out of the corners of his eyes and the blonde hair contained bright shafts of silver. All these things I must remember if I were to add colour to my stories.

"Your Majesty," I managed and these were words, real words but damn it cost me dear. I mind screamed in protest at the effort and my throat burned, full of the pain that comes from bitter spirits.

"I know who I am, who are you?" he asked again with less compassion, those blue eyes turning to darkest sapphire.

"Tal," the word faltered. I couldn't speak my name. Anguish closed my throat and tears stung my eyes, especially the swollen one.

"Arthur, let the boy go. He needs help." A man in black robes strode through the mountain of muscle surrounding the king.

"He's no boy, Merlin, if he can shoot an arrow that far," Arthur said.

"You're all boys to me. Now let him go," Merlin said, kneeling beside his king, beside me.

Merlin. The man, the mage, my personal hero and god. A man with deep set green eyes which looked into my soul and out the other side. I whimpered and my heart trembled.

"There's something wrong. You've either knocked the sense out of the poor creature or he's enchanted," Merlin announced after just a moment.

A hiss spread through the throng. Arthur's jaw clenched. "Damnation," he snapped. "Can you make him talk?"

"They might have destroyed his mind. Made him a golem of sorts," Merlin said, poking at my head.

"I thought we'd dealt with the golem by killing Aeddan and returning the Grail to its rightful home," Arthur said and his fury beat at me in frightening torrents.

I cringed away and tried to hide like a hedgehog.

"Do we need to contact, Sir Lancelot? He may be able to help if this is fey trouble," said Gawain.

Arthur rubbed his brow. "No, my Wolf has enough troubles of his own. If this is fey, we will deal with it ourselves unless the enemy proves to be inside Albion's territories."

He sounded sad and pity filled my heart for a man lost without his love. Even from my prone position I could see the loneliness inside the king's soul, rivers of gold spilling out, reaching for a companion no longer there, it made me feel my physical pain was a selfish creature.

Where did these things, these feelings, coming from? I told stories, meaning I understood the paths of men's minds and hearts, but I witnessed Arthur's soul as it leaked over the ground towards me. I moaned in his agony. The loss of his wolf, Lancelot, tore into his life. I saw it through Arthur's words, like a layer of meaning invisible before today. A new colour. A new sound. A new sensation.

"Untie him, now, before he suffers from a complete mental collapse," Merlin snapped.

"He tried to kill your king," came a sharp retort.

"No, someone tried to kill Arthur, it wasn't this boy. Now untie him, Gawain, or I'll make you," Merlin's voice boomed over the men and they all stepped back.

The young blonde man stepped forwards and drew a wickedly sharp knife. It glinted in the light. The colour's shot off the edge of the blade. I shrank from his approach. He grabbed my hair wrapping his fist in its long black length, held me still and bent to cut the bonds.

"You move towards my king and I will cut your throat," he muttered.

I tried to reassure him but the words would not come, would not issue forth. The ropes were sliced. I felt no heat from blood, he hadn't cut me. With the bonds released, I made no sudden moves. My circulation tingled and pinged making my face twist but I remained still and kept my eyes downcast.

Merlin hooked a well-muscled arm under mine and lifted. "You're a mess, boy," he mumbled.

I wobbled against him. Not as tall, or as brawny, I nonetheless relied on wiry muscle and speed to help me defend myself. Now though, I resembled a day old kitten for all the strength and grace in my long limbs. Merlin harrumphed at Arthur and those surrounding him, before dragging me from the room.
CHAPTER TWO

When we left the Knights of Camelot behind, Merlin slowed to a pace I could manage. He kept up a constant tirade against everyone inside in the castle and threw doubt on the parentage of most of the nobles. I'd have laughed if I could make my throat work. I realised I'd lost my pack and my distress made me want to return to the king, but Merlin wouldn't let me go and I couldn't even whimper my loss.

We hobbled down more stairs and around more corners. Merlin stopped just before my legs gave out in front of a plain wooden door with a very large lock. A key appeared in his hand and he unlocked the door. He bundled me into the room and sat me on a high narrow cot.

"Don't move, I need light, you're still bleeding and stitches might be needed. Why they have to be so heavy handed I'll never know. They are perfectly capable of being reasonable, but no, they all act like thugs when Arthur's life if threatened. The one place he isn't going to die is here in Camelot. And what on earth made you do it?"

The whole time he spoke, Merlin moved around the room. I watched him out of one eye and simultaneously devoured the substance of his apartment. The walls were high and the ceiling domed. In the centre I saw a circle painted in gold, with a series of symbols I didn't understand decorating the inside and out. Bookshelves covered the tall walls and stuff covered the bookshelves. Scrolls, books, parchment, thick animal hides, jars, bottles, and every item found within nature, from dried flowers to badger skulls. Some of the items in the jars made my eye want to slide over the surface and not think about the contents too much. Tables littered with herbs, small vials, mixing pots, tiny cauldrons, pestles and mortars. A large fire crackled behind me and lamps, not candles, lit the corners. There were windows, high in the walls, which meant we were slightly underground. Doors lurked in dark alcoves.

Merlin returned to me with armfuls of items. Cloths, water in a clean bowl with herbs floating on the surface, thick smelly ointment and a small wooden box. He placed everything beside me and covered my lap in rough linen. His piercing green eyes and firm fingers began searching my head for the cause of the blood.

His gaze snapped to mine. "So, what caused you to behave so foolishly?"

I blinked and tried to force words out of my mouth. My throat closed tight, my jaw locked shut and not a sound issued forth. I watched his eyes narrow.

"Hmm, we have a problem in your head don't we?" he asked. I managed to nod. "Alright, boy, we'll unscramble the mess in here," he spoke with tenderness for the first time and knocked my skull with soft knuckles.

Tears welled in my eyes. The shock and pain of the day overwhelmed me and brought me low.

"It's alright. I'll convince Arthur you didn't actually want him dead," while he spoke he poked. When I winced and tried to pull away, he held me still. He started to wash the blood off my face and hands in silence and I felt tingling warmth spread from his fingers into my skull. He muttered and a white hot poker jabbed full force into my brain.

I think I screamed. I meant to but the world folded into itself and I existed in a black void.

"Do we know who he is?" asked a male voice full of authority.

"No, but he's waking, we can ask him ourselves. His voice should have returned, I've managed that at least." Merlin said.

I cracked open my left eye and tried to open the right. It wasn't playing. My bones ached, my muscles screamed and I moaned.

"Hello, welcome back. Sorry about the intrusion but I wanted to find out who seeded this mad plan of yours. I had to track the spell before they knew I was there." He knocked my head with his knuckles again and a lot less gently this time.

"Did it work?" I whispered on dry lips.

"Not entirely but I have some clues to follow." He smiled and lifted my head. "Drink this, boy, it'll make the world less evil."

I drank a warm concoction of herbs and spices brewed in thick milk. It reminded me of my mother, which made me want to cry. Right up until I caught sight of the other man in the room. The king. I choked back my tears of self-pity and loneliness. His overwhelmed mine by a winter dark shadow's length.

He stared at me with deep blue eyes and furrowed brow. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Taliesin, sire," I managed and grinned in relief at the sound of my words. Pain shot through my right cheek. "Ouch."

"Don't touch," Merlin held my fingers still. "You don't want to touch your face. It's very sore."

"Why did you want me dead?" Arthur asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"I don't, I didn't, I'm sorry. I don't even remember how I came to be here," I said the word a tumble of water over rocks. "Sire, I've never been to Camelot." I looked at Merlin. "We are in Camelot, right?"

"Yes, son we're in Camelot." The old man turned to Arthur. "I warned you. He won't remember a damned thing."

"No," I said. "I remember stuff. I remember a cave," I spoke hoping to pacify the anger on Arthur's face.

Merlin turned back to me. One thick black eyebrow rose towards his white hairline, the black streak running through its long length appeared to be a void in the dim light. "What cave?"

I went on to describe everything I could remember.

"I'm a bard. A minstrel and I travel through England collecting and telling stories. When I began, I intended to come to Camelot." I shot a furtive eye at Arthur. He wasn't amused at the preamble. I hurried on, "But I realised I'd need to be the best. Camelot must be full of storytellers."

Merlin snorted, "Most of them in the government."

"Merlin," Arthur warned.

I continued, "On the way, as I ambled through the mountains in the north, I found myself stranded in a freak snow storm. I sought shelter and a young woman pulled me into a cave she said she lived in and made me food. After that I fell deeply asleep."

"It's always a woman," muttered Arthur. "Bloody fey women are more dangerous than their warriors."

I declined to comment, her feminine wiles meant little to me. "I woke, kind of, I couldn't move and I lay on a slab of rock, surrounded by smoking candles and small fires at the compass points. I couldn't speak and I could hardly see. I made out the shapes of four people, I think they were all women but of different ages. The cave was hot and filled with smoke. Not just tallow but other scents I couldn't identify. Every breath I took made my head spin. I tried to rise, to escape, but that's when the song began."

Merlin laid a hand on my arm. "Song? What song?"

"That's the frustrating part, sir. I'm a bard but I can't hold onto the harmonies or the words. I recognised nothing. The song at first tickled into my brain but it grew and it stole everything. I don't remember the journey here. I don't remember entering Camelot and I don't remember trying to hurt the king." I didn't look at Arthur and I finished on a whisper, "They stole my words, my song, my life. I don't even know what day it is or what season."

"Alright, son." Merlin turned to Arthur. "He was enchanted, sire. The spell inside his mind stole his gifts as a bard and lay its demands through his gift of music. He was instructed to assassinate you."

"Is he safe? Can we trust him in the city if I release him?" Arthur asked.

"I believe so," Merlin said.

"Then if you want to keep him alive, he becomes your responsibility. Keep him away from the children and my wife," Arthur said. "I'll explain to the knights and the wolf pack they are not to kill him. But I want to know who set the spell in his head, so he doesn't leave until he remembers."

"He may never remember," Merlin said once more.

"Then I guess you have an apprentice for some time," Arthur informed him.

"What?" Merlin rose. "I work alone." Dismay filled the mage and I felt shame at his dismissal of my possible value.

Arthur pointed at me. "I can't have him leaving Camelot and I don't trust that he is safe. He also owes me for ruining our planned festivities. He works that off and I want him working for you so you can figure out what's happening."

"Arthur –" Merlin protested.

"No," Arthur snapped. "He works off his dept. I don't care if you have him endlessly shovelling shit from one side of the keep to the other, he's not leaving until we figure this out."

The two powerful men stared at each other. "Bloody hell," Merlin exclaimed in frustration. "Fine, he stays."
CHAPTER THREE

That night Merlin saw to it that I bathed in a large wooden tub in his workroom. Servants brought in the hot water, casting wary glances in my direction. I made a pitiful sight, of that I was certain, my clothes were dirty, my skin grime encrusted. My nails were ragged and black. I had never looked so destitute. Old and new bruises layered my body, along with cuts and grazes. What had those women done to me?

I found myself reunited with my pack and I dressed in clean clothes, they wouldn't return my bow. Why hadn't I cared enough about myself to wash and change? I scrapped a little downy stubble off my chin and jaw with my sharpest blade and found my comb. I spent a long time brushing the knots out of my hair. I'd often considered cutting short, it seemed to be the fashion but I knew full well the ladies and some men liked it and they needed to like bards for us to buy food. Fine, long black hair, almost completely straight, trailed down my back by the time I finished so I braided it tight. When I felt completely prepared, I approached my most treasured possession. My lute.

"I've been neglecting you," I murmured to her as I nestled her rounded backside against my thigh and belly. "I'm sorry." Even under the influence of the spell I'd not hurt her or lost her. She needed new strings perhaps and her wood felt a little dry but she lived.

I picked a simple cord and ran by thumb over the strings. Then I repeated the exercise, while fiddling with the tuning. When each string sounded perfect, I hummed the note we made. My voice jarred in my head. Panic fluttered in my heart. I raced through a simple scale with the lute, then tried to match it with my voice. Every note I made sounded broken and discordant.

"Oh, no," I whimpered. "No, this can't be happening." I clutched the lute too hard and she creaked in protest.

"Taliesin?" Merlin appeared in the doorway to his rooms. "Have you finished? The servants want to deal with the bath water. I wish Arthur would hurry up and have the baths fitted that they use in Albion. So much better than here," he paused. "What's happened, boy?"

I looked up at him and he blurred as I fought to control my tears. "I've lost my voice," I whispered, confessing a wound that hurt far more than other my body carried.

He frowned. "No, I can hear you and you have a good voice."

"No, I mean I can't sing," I wailed.

In frantic denial, I shot off into a merry jig about a sailor. I began the song and the words were perfect, so was my timing, but the tune made Merlin's face turn sour. "Help me," I begged when I stopped.

Pity filled the old man's eyes. "I'm sorry, Taliesin, but I don't think I can. Your gift was chosen to match a spell designed for bards. The only reason it worked so well is because you clearly have a powerful gift for music. Music and magic are not so dissimilar. You weave spells with words just as I do, but mine have a different gift behind them. If you are a true bard, which I suspect you are, you will find many gifts if you are dedicated to your calling. Such as the truth and sense behind the words we hear from men's lips." His eyes narrowed as I looked away trying to hide my truth from the old man. "Hmm, I thought so. Whatever you see, keep to yourself for now. Your gift is changing and it will be unpredictable. Besides, you might need to find a new path in life, if your voice doesn't return."

"But I can't do anything else other than sing," I cried out. My lute made a discordant hum as she lay pressed against my chest and picked up the vibration. "I am a bard. I come from a family of bards. I wanted to be the best in Camelot. I came here to learn from the best, I came here to learn from you," I admitted.

"Well," Merlin said. "You can now learn the arts of the apothecary from me instead."

"But you are the best of bards."

"I am also the best of mages," Merlin replied. He crossed the room and sat beside me. "Listen, son. I know who and what you are feel important to you. I know you were heading in this direction when those women caught you. I might even recognise the spell, but, and this is important, you are going to have to change your life. The spell might wear off. You may find your voice again. But right now, you owe Arthur your life and he has given it to me. I don't need you to sing for me, boy. I need you to work. It will help in the long run."

He took my lute from my unresisting arms. "Let me store her with mine, lad. Then we'll see to finding you somewhere to sleep. It's been a long day." He patted my head and left me in peace.

From that moment I became his apprentice, dog's body and slave. At least that's how it felt when he sent me hither and yon for all manner of stupid jobs. I had no space to call my own in the castle so slept on a small cot before the fire. Merlin had a horse in the stable which became my sole responsibility. A great big cob called Daisy. She hated me and hated being stabled, but the old man wouldn't hear of her being out in the rain and the cold of a miserable spring. I also cleaned every single skillet in Camelot because he seemed to own every single skillet in Camelot. Then there was the endless succession of robes. He wanted them all washed and cared for in very special ways, involving exact measurements of herbs and doses of water. I spent hours dragging logs and water into his underground version of hell and spent my nights memorising lists of body parts, aliments and herbs. When I'd done those books, he moved me onto remedies. My gifts of memory as a bard stood me in good stead because every time I forgot something I was sent to the wolf pack and made to clean their tack and armour. I swept his rooms, washed his bedding, and served his food. In fact, I became his squire.

Every day I tried to sing and every day I failed. For the first few weeks, I would play my lute, but it soon began to break my heart when I couldn't match her song. So, I lay her aside and just filled my mind with Camelot and work.

Despite my plight the city breathed life into a sad soul. Well, it kind of thrust itself down my throat and choked me most of the time. There were markets, taverns, streets full of shops selling everything from handcrafted weapons to sweetmeats, no bread, just sweetmeats. I wandered these shops and markets every time Merlin sent me on some errand. I meandered through the steep streets near the castle walls at the top of the hill and wished I could see inside the fine homes built generations ago.

I watched Arthur's craftsmen create miracles with stone, wood and metal, building structures to reach for the heavens. The people were just as wonderful and rich. The city guard, the wolf pack and the knights of Camelot roamed the streets on foot and horseback but they weren't the amazing ones.

I often found myself sat in one of the main squares, on the stone steps of the merchant guild, just watching the flex and flow of humanity. The gossiping housewives. Some tall and thin; others round and surrounded by the latest of their brood. Women of richer households, followed by servants and guards, refusing to speak to the market sellers and just pointing to what they demanded. Sometimes they sent servants, who scurried through the crowd in livery, or strutted their pride and chatted to maids leaning against the drinking fountains. Businessmen hurried from one meeting to another, making deals and almost visibly counting their wealth. Priests of the old faiths avoided those of the new and children wove through everyone. I watched thieves try their luck and pickpockets often succeeding. I didn't interfere, wrong of me perhaps, but I wanted to wallow in the humanity of the greatest city in the land.

I spent all my free time trying to dislodge the loneliness in my heart, without my lute though, I found it hard. That feeling, after weeks of isolation, led me to a tavern in the darkest of alleyways.

I'd seen the place, the Jack's Man, the first week I'd been in Camelot, but the scabs on my face and damaged eye meant I wanted to remain invisible, also the entire castle seemed to know what I'd done so avoided me as if I breathed a plague. It took three weeks for the worst to heal and people to stop panicking whenever I drew near. There were still pink scraps down my jaw and across my cheek but I'd grown bored with being good.

Merlin had thrown me out of his workroom, telling me I'd need to find a new place to sleep for the night. I vanished from the labyrinthine castle with relief and headed straight for the tavern. The entrance to the alley squatted in a dark corner of another narrow street. The gloomy evening meant I could not see far enough to detect anyone following, so I assumed no one tracked me and I slid into the alley.

I kept to the shadows and knocked on the door of the tavern. My heart raced. I'd never dared do anything like this in the smaller towns I'd travelled through on my journey. The door opened. Only this tavern, Jack's Man, checked who came and went with so much care. The giant who opened the door could have picked me up and snapped me in two without a heavy breath. He peered at me.

The long hair over my dark brown cloak, pale smooth skin and large grey eyes made him smile. He scared the crap out of me. The smile had to be one of the hungriest I'd ever seen.

"You know of Jack's?" he rumbled.

"I know," I said. I knew because I watched, because I listened to gossip and occasionally I talked.

He nodded and stepped back to allow me access. I slipped past him without touching and headed for the bar. The place smelt of ale but no perfume and it looked clean, much to my surprise. Lamps and braziers lit the place but maintained the customer's discretion. A fire glowed in the hearth and there were half a dozen men either sat at the bar or huddled over the tables. A woman stood behind the bar and smiled when I approached.

"We've not seen you here before," she said. Her smile crinkled her eyes and silver coloured her fading red hair.

"No, I erm, I've not been in Camelot for long," I stuttered, nerves betraying my inexperience.

She reached over the bar and patted my arm. "Well, you're welcome at Jack's, my dear," she said and pushed a pint of ale towards me.

I grabbed the tankard and downed half in one draft. My hands trembled a little at my audacity but I felt proud of my sense of self-belief.

The evening drew on and other patrons, far more comfortable in their surroundings than me came in, some chatted with me but most just went to their regular tables and companions. I drank another three tankards and started to feel light headed. Considering no one knew me I felt I'd done well in just sparking up brief conversations. Anything else could wait. I certainly didn't want to rush.

"Do I know you?" asked a deep bass voice.

I turned and almost fell over. A young man, maybe a year or two older than me, smiled. His blonde hair, bright green eyes and full lips enchanted me in a moment.

"You might, I live up at the keep," I said, but kept my position to myself.

"My name's Owen," he said and held out his hand.

"Tal, my name is Tal," I told him.

He smiled again and time moved but only for other people. My time blended with Owen's and I surrendered to his company for the evening. We talked about all kinds of nonsense. The weather, the high spring tides, the finer points of horses and crime levels in the city. We spoke a little of families but neither of us wanted to give too much away.

"We should leave," Owen said placing his hand on mine. My heart quivered.

"Alright," I said feeling both breathless, innocent and knowing all at once.

"I'll just use their latrine," Owen said. He wasn't as tall as me but he was a great deal more powerful. He had to be a soldier.

The woman who had served me drinks came to my side of the bar. "Just a soft word of warning, lover," she said. "Please mind that one, he's a member of the king's wolf pack. None too soft or open from what I understand." Her eyes were a faded hazel but through the buzz of beer in my veins I didn't hear the warning in her words, just her condescension.

"I think I'm old enough to look after myself," I bristled, rising off the stool and towering over her small frame.

She smiled, a sad creature on her weary face. "I know, poppet but some aren't what they seem, even here." She vanished from my presence as Owen returned.
CHAPTER FOUR

Owen took my hand and helped straighten when I wobbled. "Damn, I've drunk too much," I slurred.

"Don't worry, I'll look after you," Owen said, leading me from the tavern.

We swayed out of the taproom and past the guard on the door. He winked at me.

Owen almost pulled me down the narrow street into greater darkness. I'd come into the alley from the east, we were now heading west. "Wait," I said. "Where are we going?" I pulled on Owen's hand.

"We're going somewhere safe. A park I know. It's dark and quiet. Come on," he pulled back.

"No, wait, I don't want..." I tried. I wanted a room, a nice place, with clean linen and a warm fire. I wanted to be held and cared for, maybe even just walked somewhere safe for the evening, kissed goodnight and left so we could resume a courtship tomorrow. I'd done hurried and horrid in the past. In Camelot, a city of knowledge and sophistication, I wanted to be wooed not fucked against a tree for the sake of expediency. I didn't earn my keep on my knees and I didn't want to, I wanted to be valued.

The sentence and my thoughts died when Owen pressed his lips to mine. They were rough lips and his kisses were rough. His teeth grazed my lips and his tongue pushed into my mouth. He pressed his body against me and I felt trapped by his strength. This wasn't what I wanted at all, I needed to slow this down, I needed to explain.

I pushed hard against his chest and twisted my head away. The ale confused me but the cold night air and his brutal strength started the precious job of sobering me up. "No, Owen, don't, stop. This isn't what I want."

"You don't want me to stop," he said and kissed my neck before biting, hard.

"Ouch," I yelped and tried to pull back.

"Don't be such a woman," he muttered and attempted to pin me to the wall. I endured another kiss but it wasn't working. I couldn't get hard though I felt his well enough.

"No, I don't want this, I don't want it to be like this," I confessed in a broken whisper of words and more than a little fear.

"It's the only way you're going to get it," he growled. "Now, on your knees, pretty boy." His hands pushed down on my shoulders. With a flash, I realised what he wanted and what it would cost me to give it to him. This was not my first time, not even the first time I'd been used with more brutality than I wanted, but Camelot was supposed to be different. I had come here wanting to wash my past out of my heart and mind so I could begin again.

"No, Owen, I really don't want this, I need to go home," panic made my voice falsetto, not really helping.

Strong fingers dug into my jaw. "Listen to me, men like you are only good for one thing. Get on your knees and give me pleasure or I will hurt you," he snarled.

I pushed him but made no impression on the massive chest. "I don't want this, back off," I repeated.

Owen raised his fist. I deflected the blow but while I knew how to defend myself against street brawlers and robbers on the highways, I couldn't fight a trained and skilled soldier. I managed to land a good shot to his face, but he just grew more savage and I feared the knife at his belt. When he shoved me against the wall, I banged my head and lost what little control I had left.

The stink of the alley woke me. That and the feeling I'd pissed myself at some point. My face and body screamed in agony. My shame wailed louder. I whimpered and tried to straighten. It took too long, but eventually I sat up with my back against a wall. I cursed, then sobbed. I'd not suffered a beating like this for years, never as an adult. I'd kept my desires so tightly reined in for so long and I thought I'd be safe in Camelot. Safe in the anonymous streets and crowds.

I tried to hook a leg under me, it hurt. I'd been beaten long after I'd fallen unconscious, but my hose remained in place. My ribs burned with every breath. Dried blood filled my mouth and I suspected my nose hurt so much because that too had been broken. I twitched every finger in turn. All moved and remained whole. A single tear slid down my cheek. I forced myself upright on unsteady feet. I was covered in the alley's filth and my own. I'd vomited. Dawn lay a short way off. I wanted to be hidden before she woke the streets.

I stumbled out of the alley, the hood pulled low over my head. I kept to smaller streets and dawn pushed me onwards. I felt certain she rushed her trip this clear and beautiful morning. No fog or cloud from the sea covered my miserable, wretched progress. Those that did see me avoided me until I reached the postern gate of Camelot's curtain wall.

"Halt, who goes there?" demanded a woman's voice.

"I..." the words stuck because of my swollen jaw, lips and tongue. I tried again, stumbling closer because I dare not stop. If I remained still for a moment, I'd lose the courage to continue. "I am Merlin's apprentice," I admitted.

"Taliesin?" a voice, soft and concerned made tears prick my sore eyes. Only one woman would stand on guard at the postern gate. A new recruit in the wolf pack's prospects.

"Branwen?" I whispered in honest relief. Out of all the pack she was the only one I could count on for help. If I'd made a friend in Camelot over the last few weeks, it was Branwen. We often shared the jobs given out to me as punishment and to her as tasks performed only by the recruits.

Her arms were so safe I almost lost control. "Whoa, no, I can't carry you," Branwen said, trying to take my weight. She brushed against my ribs. I whimpered. "What happened, Tal?"

"Just..." I tried to focus, "need Merlin."

"Who did this to you and why?" Branwen asked.

I wanted to tell her, 'one of your bloody friends and he did it because I wouldn't suck his cock.' I didn't. I didn't say anything. Branwen held me and acted as a crutch, carrying me into the keep. With dawn up and waving at people, the birds in full riotous song and the servants running around Camelot, I couldn't hide what had been done. Between the postern gate and Merlin's subterranean apartment, she found more help.

"Bloody hell," exclaimed a young man I'd seen but feared speaking with beyond the pleasantries. "What happened to you?"

"He's not talking," Branwen said over my head. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I'm not strong enough to help him."

"Of course." The young hero rushed towards us.

Of all the men in Camelot I didn't want to see me weak, it was Lucan, Lord of the Marches. I'd seen him countless times over the weeks, laughing and training with the other knights and sometimes with the wolf pack. However, in this moment I didn't have much choice. He slid a hand behind my back and moving became easier.

"Take it slowly, Taliesin, we'll help you now," he said. The softness in his voice wiggled into my broken heart. I wanted to fold into his strong body and feel safe.

How did he know my name? I wanted to ask but I felt too broken to burden the man with such nonsense.

The long hallways, the steps and avoiding people made the journey a torture. But Lucan's strength held me and I let him. We were the same height, just over six feet, but his physical presence resembled that of a knight in constant training. I did not have the same muscle mass and I realised I shouldn't be noticing anything about Lucan at all.

Branwen raced ahead and by the time we reached Merlin's hallway, she'd roused him and he stood in the doorway of our rooms. He didn't look happy.

"You woke me up, boy," he snapped. Then, "Oh, gods, get him inside." He stepped back and Lucan carried me into the medical room. The relief of reaching the closest thing I had to a home, made me give up. I folded.

"Steady, Taliesin," Lucan said sticking with his gentle voice, taking all my weight and laying me on the table I'd sat on the first day I'd arrived in Camelot.

Merlin bustled in and Lucan vanished from my side. He took up position next to Branwen.

"How did this happen?" Merlin asked.

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be on duty at the postern gate. Which is a waste of time," she muttered. "He just showed up and I started to help him, then we found his lordship over there and now we're here," she finished.

"What's he said?" Merlin asked tilting my head to one side and squinting.

"Nothing."

"Alright, out, both of you. I'm sure you have more important things to do," Merlin snapped.

"But, sir –" Lucan tried.

"No buts, out," Merlin repeated.

Lucan shot me a strange look I couldn't interpret before pulling Branwen out of Merlin's rooms.

The mage looked at me. "What happened, Taliesin?" he asked.

"Wrong place, wrong time," I muttered.

"You stink," he informed me.

"It wasn't a very nice alley," I muttered.

"You need stitches again," Merlin informed me without his usual irritation.

I tried to shrug. It hurt a great deal. Another tear rolled down my cheek. Merlin's hawkish face softened further. "I'll find something to help with the pain."

He gave me a draft of poppy juice and the world sidled away. He stitched the cut over my eye and another on my left cheek. A third over my broken ribs. Apparently, there'd been a lot of blood. He bathed me himself and rubbed liniment into all the bruises. He swaddled my hands, telling me they weren't broken but they weren't straight, so they needed protecting.

I remained mute and just tried hard not to think about the actions of one man and how it felt to be smashed so badly. I'm harmless, I am a harmless man. I go out of my way to be pleasant and accommodating. I'm kind when I can be and I compliment those I can because it doesn't cost anything to be agreeable and to raise a smile in another person. Life is hard enough for the poor and the workers of this world, I don't need to make it harder. As recompense, I often earn more than my average talents are worth. A kind word for a prostitute will see to it that I have a small bed to myself at the end of the night, if she can find me a room. A compliment to a goodwife will ensure an extra slice of bread when asking for shelter in a barn.

When on the road, if I've hunted something and have extra, I will always share if stopping at another man's fire. Or I'll give the last of my grain into a communal pot, not worrying about food for the next day. Bards are cared for in this world but I wanted to care for others even more.

I tried to think back over my life to see what I'd done to deserve the last month of my life. Why had the women caught me and enchanted me? Why had I been caught and beaten by Arthur's men? Why was I now unable to sing? And why had Owen beaten me so badly for saying, 'stop, please, stop'?

Merlin didn't ask again what had occurred to bring me to such a sorry state. He just bundled me into an old storeroom, swept, scrubbed and dressed as a bedroom. "I wanted to surprise you," he said, sadness lacing his words. "I've had the servants clear out this place. It's your room now. That's why I asked you to find somewhere else to sleep."

My gift for sound stirred and informed me Merlin felt guilty. I patted his hand. "Thank you, this is very kind." The words were slurred and he lowered me to the bed with the care of a nurturing parent. I slept wrapped in one of his old robes, which hung over my frame like a long black shroud.
CHAPTER FIVE

The dark suffocated me. Something solid held me down and smothered my face. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. The weight on my chest forced my ribs backwards. The weight on my thighs crushed my bones. I wanted to scream but no sound issued forth because my skull started to crumble.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders and hauled me upright.

"Taliesin." Merlin shook my shoulders and shouted in my face. "Listen to me, boy. You are safe, look at me, focus," he barked.

My eyes snapped to his, so bright in the dimness of the room.

"Speak to me, boy," he commanded.

"Bad dream," I muttered and tasted blood where my lip split yet again.

"Twice a night for a week is troubling," Merlin said. He'd taken to sleeping in the workroom and insisted on keeping the door to my new room open. Despite the dream version of me not screaming, my real body proved loud enough to disturb the guards.

"Sorry." I dabbed at the blood with my swaddled hands.

"You need to talk," Merlin said for the first time since my attack. His firm gaze made it clear what he wanted me to talk about.

"No. Wrong place, wrong time. That's all." And all I had said on the subject.

"Taliesin, you haven't left your room for a week. I know it hurts but you need some exercise and sunlight," Merlin encouraged.

"No, I can't stand without becoming dizzy." I looked at the patchwork blanket on my bed.

"That's because you won't eat either," Merlin said with more exasperation.

I glanced up into those green eyes and they were dull with worry. "Why are you helping me?" I asked.

Merlin blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You could farm out my care," I said. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to keep me here. Arthur wouldn't notice if you pushed me out of the castle. He's probably already forgotten me."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "Arthur never forgets those who try to kill him. You haven't yet worked off your debt and your gift hasn't returned which means you are either blocking it or those witches still hold something belonging to you which prevents your healing. This means they still have the potential to hurt you and Arthur. I'm afraid you aren't going anywhere until you can sing like a lark."

And here I thought he cared.

Merlin picked up a bowl of hot pottage. "Eat, boy and that's an order. Or I will ask Arthur to give me two of the wolf pack to hold you down and force you."

Panic roared through me and made my heart flutter in such pain I gasped. Merlin's eyes narrowed as I snatched the bowl out of his hands. I stared at the food and my stomach protested at being made to wait for its patient reward but my throat tightened and I couldn't swallow.

A large rough hand touched mine near the wooden bowl. "Tell me, Taliesin," Merlin coaxed.

"I was in a tavern," I murmured and I felt a tears prick my eyes before they tracked down my cheeks. "A private place," I admitted and stopped speaking once more.

Merlin sighed, "You were at Jack's Man, weren't you?"

My eyes shot to his. "How do you know?" I asked.

"I'm not a fool, Taliesin."

I felt heat rush up my face. I studied my hands and the steam rising off the bowl.

"Tell me, boy. I'm not here to judge," Merlin said.

"I met someone," I whispered. "I thought he was nice." Some bard I am, 'nice', what a way to describe a man. "I drank too much. I've never been to a place like that before. He took me outside. I tried to stop him. I didn't want to give him pleasure in such a rough way. I want it to be special, not dirty, not something which happens in alleys. I cannot forgive myself." A tear dropped into the pottage and I sniffed.

"You said no and he beat you for it?" Merlin sought clarification.

I nodded. "I'm pathetic. I didn't stand a chance. I just wanted to meet someone nice," there was that word again.

"Who was it?" Merlin asked and his face became angry.

"I don't want to say," I said with stubbornness. Who would protect me or believe me if I told them a member of the mighty and worthy wolf pack of Camelot held a potential rapist in its ranks.

Merlin sighed again. "Alright, Taliesin. Alright. I am grateful you've told me. You will begin to heal now. So, eat," he said pushing the bowl toward me in my hands. "If you don't eat I will give Daisy your lute and we'll see what she makes of something so fine."

I laughed. A noise so alien it startled me. I glanced up at him. "Thank you for caring," I said.

"I've learned not to judge. It's a hard path you've chosen, I don't need to make it harder."

"It chose me," I said.

He smiled just a little. "Eat."

I ate. The food now slipped down my throat like heaven sent broth. With the day beginning Merlin ordered me up and I obeyed. He watched me like a hawk the whole time, but didn't help while I hobbled like an old man into the main room. I made it to the fireplace and sat in one of the large leather and wood chairs he kept.

Merlin nodded and managed a quiet smile he couldn't hide, then proceeded to give me a long lecture on the benefits of spring flowers for healing. He made me repeat various remedies and how to form a tincture for each. I reeled off all results without thinking and just relaxed into the patterns of the words. It felt good to prove to him that my studies were sticking in my brain and his gentle pride in my knowledge gave me back a little of the confidence I left in the dirt of an alley.

Another week passed. My sixth in Camelot. The wraps came off my hands and I looked at the fading bruising and thanked whoever protected bards for my hands remaining whole. My breathing eased as my ribs started to heal and the damage to my face faded more quickly than I thought possible. My nose hadn't been broken. The stitches came out but a scar cut through my left eyebrow and another, three fingers wide, carved a line down my cheekbone. Merlin informed me they looked rakish. I just wanted to forget what happened and they wouldn't aid my denial. The nightmares didn't help either but they'd begun to grow less frequent. I now helped around the workroom once more, however we discovered I couldn't leave the subterranean rooms and Merlin never pushed.

The sense of despair chasing me every day eased. With Merlin's help I found ways to avoid my desire to brood. We rubbed along well considering he didn't want me there in the first place. His dry sarcastic wit cut down all comers, especially the knights who arrived with injuries caused by their stupidity. I tactfully retreated whenever someone knocked until I was certain who stood on the other side of the door. Merlin watched me but said nothing.

Three weeks after the attack, Merlin left our rooms to attend some meeting with Arthur. I found myself alone and resorted to my lute for company. I must remain busy, so I began practicing my scales, trying to ease the stiffness remaining in my long fingers. I reached for songs to play but they all fled from my mind the moment my fingers asked for guidance. I started to slide into a funk of self-pity when a knock at the door disturbed my descent.

"Merlin's out," I yelled, my heart beating a little too fast.

"It wasn't Merlin, we wanted to see," announced Branwen as she pushed the door open.

I rose in honest surprise, then almost fainted in shock. Lucan walked in behind her and smiled. My heart flipped and my stomach tied itself into an instant knot of such complexity I knew I'd never figure out how to untangle it.

"Hello, Taliesin, remember me?" he asked.

"Remember?" I whispered. "Erm, yes, of course, my lord." I bowed to him.

"Oh, don't do that. I think we're beyond that," Lucan said pulling a face.

I rocked from one foot to the other, uncertain of what I should do for these strangers who had saved my life. "I owe you both a debt of thanks," I said feeling several shades of awkward.

"What's this?" Branwen wandered about and picked up a pot from Merlin's table. A pot of aconite.

"Poison," I said. "Be careful or it'll kill us all, the whole of Camelot."

Branwen's blue eyes widened and she turned a comic shade of pink before replacing the item. "Don't touch," she muttered to herself. "Not, your toys."

I smiled. I liked Branwen. Only the second woman to make it through the training for the prospects of the wolf pack, she was tough and uncompromising, but her ready grin often took the edge off her words. Almost as tall as me and her shoulders almost as broad, she looked like a goddess of the hunt. Long thick dark blonde hair remained ruthlessly tamed at all times. Bright blue eyes and flawless pale skin with dimples in her cheeks made her easy on the eye. Rounded and smooth in all the right places, I'd watched men fall over their feet when she strode past them in riding leathers with a sword on her hip. Not the most graceful, tactful or demure of women, her stubbornness won hearts if not romance. The wolf pack liked her and before this, she'd liked me. We'd chatted whenever Merlin sent me to the stables for punishment duty.

Lucan was something else entirely. I'd seen him training and often stopped in my duties to watch him move with a sword or horse. A man like that should not be admired by the likes of me but I couldn't help it. His height and breadth outclassed both Branwen and I, but his eyes were gentle and he blushed whenever something made him laugh. He looked a little flushed now. The deep warm red of his hair stuck out at angles where he'd run his fingers through it after removing a coif. His eyes were almost the rich red of turned earth and freckles covered his nose and cheeks because of the late spring sunshine. Full lips and strong features made him appear the very paragon of maleness. Those freckles were like the stars smearing the blackness of the heavens.

Oh, bugger. My infatuation of this young knight could only end one way.

I mentally kicked myself to force a conservation. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I thought we'd come and see how you were as neither of us have seen you for weeks," Branwen announced.

"I'm fine, thank you," I said. Her words implied they knew each other outside of my association and why wouldn't they? Both were normal, beautiful specimens. It made me relax. I knew this game.

"Merlin says you haven't been out for weeks," Branwen said.

"Wen," Lucan said exasperated. "He also asked us not to mention his name." He glared at her.

"I'm not wasting the day convincing Tal to come out. Merlin wants him out with friends and that's us. So, let's get him out," she said sliding an arm through my confused arm and removing my lute from slack fingers. "You're not busy, are you?"

"Erm..." I looked at Lucan beseeching him for rescue.

He returned a shrug. "She won't be stopped. If you give in, it hurts less." There spoke the voice of experience.

Wen grinned at me. "Let's go, we'll just take a walk around the gardens. Then bring you back to your lair. I'll even refrain from asking you what happened."

"Thanks, I'm glad you're going to choose not to pry into my private life," I muttered.

"Just be grateful she hasn't decided to tie you to a chair and force you to talk," Lucan said moving to my other side. "Do you need a hand?" His eyes were gentle as he looked into my face, gentle and searching but for what I couldn't know.

I realised I didn't stand straight because of my ribs. I forced myself upright, now matching his height. "No, I'm fine," I said.

They just swept me out of Merlin's rooms and ended my self-imposed exile from the world.
CHAPTER SIX

That morning we ambled around the gardens the queen allowed to be used for castle staff. The herbs smelt rich, the flowers were so bright they almost made my eyes hurt and the sun was warm. I found myself leaning on Branwen but she made no comment, just chatted about castle life. Lucan laughed at her and tried to argue. I simply remembered that not all people were bad. It felt so good.

They walked me home, not leaving me alone for a moment and Merlin scowled when they left me in his care. I didn't tell him I knew he was responsible for their kindness. That night I slept little for spiral of repeating conversations we'd shared that day. Shallow and humorous all our talk had been but I would be forever grateful to both for their company. My invisible and heavy cloak of misery began to lighten.

However, this wasn't their only visit. The following day they both returned.

Wen announced, "I think we can go into the city today. I need to do some shopping."

"I'd rather not," I said. My confidence of the night vanished like steam and fear filled my belly making it sour.

Lucan groaned. "No, we should visit the paddocks. It'll be quiet this time of the day."

"You just want to play with horses," Wen said. "I've been riding and fighting all morning, I want to go and spend some of my wages."

"Maybe we should let Taliesin decide." He looked at me with pleading eyes. Clearly, shopping wasn't high on his list of things to do.

The goblin of mischief bit my tongue and he had thrown me under the cart the previous day. "I think shopping might be nice." What were the chances of bumping into someone bad if we were shopping? Far more likely if we were with the horses.

For a girl who played with boys in the arena of war, Branwen needed a ridiculously complex range of items. Lucan and I followed her like servants dragging behind a high society lady. I floated at his side and enjoyed his conversation.

After a long wait outside a dress shop for our mistress, we both slumped against a wall and my curiosity over Lucan's reason for being in Camelot and in my company won out. "Why are you here?" I asked. "You have no reason to befriend a penniless bard who isn't exactly the king's favourite person."

Lucan's skin coloured a tender shade of pink and he bit his lip. I wanted to smile and my heart did a little dance that I could raise such a reaction out of the beautiful man.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," I added.

"It's fine, you're right to ask. I'm here because I want to be. You scared me the day we found you. I've never seen someone so badly beaten and still walking. You were brave and very strong. I admire that. Merlin said you needed help because you were troubled. I wanted to help. I know how hard it can be..." he paused and I watched something painful cross his face, dulling his eyes for a moment. His emotions fluctuated with a mad dance around us but I didn't have the skill to pin them down and they vanished the moment I tried. He carried on speaking, unaware of my bard's talent reaching for him without my permission, "How hard it can be to recover from a beating. Besides, Wen can't be stopped and she caught hold of us at the same time."

A knife carved off a little bit of my heart and I hated Branwen just for a moment. Of course he helped me because she had made herself my friend and he wanted to spend time with the beautiful woman. "She is a force of nature," I agreed.

Lucan smiled. "Yes, she is. She'll frighten some poor bastard into marrying her some day."

I looked at him in surprise. "She's not scaring you into it?"

Lucan laughed. "Me? No. I don't think I'm man enough for Wen."

I wanted to pursue his words but Branwen appeared and filled our arms with packages, then removed them from me when she realised my ribs wouldn't accommodate the weight.

We ambled home and the pattern of my life changed forever. For two weeks they both visited and coaxed me out of my rooms. When my ribs healed enough, we went riding and I conquered Daisy. Almost. After that, we met together outside, rather than in the castle and spring became early summer. Often the three of us spent the evenings together and our friendships were cemented in the heat of the sun.

"Tal," Lucan yelled from the training ring, one late May day. He stood with the sun on his naked sweaty skin. My mouth went very dry and I only managed a wave. There were scars from old wounds on his chest and belly but not many and a fine smattering of dark red-blonde hair covered his chest, narrowing over his very tight belly. "Come and help me fight this bastard," he called and shifted to one side.

Owen stood in the ring with him.

The world tilted.

Up until that moment I'd not seen him, somehow I'd managed to avoid him for weeks. Owen grinned at me and winked. What the hell was he doing fighting Lucan? Was he going to confess my sexuality? Did he want to hurt me, punish me because of my perversion? Did he want to hurt Lucan for being my friend?

"Can't," I managed. "I have to meet Merlin." I almost ran off, shame biting like a vicious dog at my heels.

"Tal," Lucan yelled. I heard his confusion but I heard the screaming inside me more.

I vanished around a corner and puked.

"Taliesin?" Wen appeared like magic.

"Go away," I snapped.

"What's wrong?" she asked, ignoring me. She hooked my hair back over my shoulder.

"Nothing," I lied. "Bad fish."

"Tal, you're a shocking liar for a man who weaves stories for his supper," she said. Her concern touched me, calmed me but not enough.

"Are you alright?" Lucan also appeared. His shirt thrown on and sticking to him.

The moment of calm Branwen gave fled in Lucan's company. I didn't want to be weak in front of him. I didn't want to think about Owen in his presence and I really didn't want to think about them being friends. "Go away," I begged.

"Tal, what's wrong?" he pursued and I felt his hand on my back. I wanted to cry I needed them to leave me alone with a desperation that drove nails into my heart. I didn't want this, if they knew my secrets, it would change everything and not for the benefit of our friendship. I'd never had friends. I didn't know if this brief bumping of our lives would last and I didn't want to destroy the peace I found in their company. Friendship were ephemeral to a man who wandered the world alone trying to earn his bread through his meagre talents.

"Please, leave me," I implored. I almost heard the conversation they were having through a long look they were doubtless sharing over my bowed back. I breathed, fighting to steady myself and straightened. "I'm fine, please. I'll see you both later."

I moved to push past Wen.

"Oh, no, big boy. You stay put," she held my arm in a vice like grip. I tried to shake her off and her scowl deepened.

"Wen," my voice darkened as anger stirred. I rarely lost my temper but right now I wanted to scream.

Sensing my distress she let go of my arm and held her hands up. "Fine, sorry. Just trying to help."

"He's the one who attacked you isn't he?" Lucan whispered from behind me. The pity in his voice dragged on the nails tearing my heart open.

The shame returned a thousand fold. It felt like the petals of a flower closing for the night. Soft, smothering and utterly inescapable. My shoulders bowed under the weight of those petals. I paused and the tears built. I ached to confess but my throat closed and breathing hurt. I wanted to tell Lucan and I wanted him to take away the pain. I wanted him to take the pain and the guilt and the shame. The endless shame. The shame of being different, the shame of wanting something others took for granted, the shame of seeking the hard embrace of a man but wanting him to be gentle and kind to me. Every time I'd tried to find a little happiness in a man's arms I'd been hurt, maybe not badly but how many times can you hear 'Thanks, see you around,' before you never see them again or never have them acknowledge you even when you share the same street. All those tiny hurts and some larger, more brutal humiliations tore my gentle soul into a thousand shades of shame and loathing for the miserable creature my lusts made me. When I became friends with Lucan and Branwen for a little bit of every day I left behind all that sadness and a new person walked the halls of Camelot's fine castle.

I pushed past Wen and raced back into the castle, knowing the impossibility of such wishes.

"Taliesin, manners," yelled Merlin after my disappearing back as I exploded into his workroom and out the other side to my own room.

I sat on my small bed and stared at the wall. My hands shook and images fought for dominance in my mind. I wanted to cry but somehow that would make me feel weaker. In an effort to maintain control, I rose and paced my small room, my movement sharp and vicious. Muttered words poured from my mouth, mostly nonsense.

"Branwen," Merlin called out, happy to see my friend.

"Where is he?" she barked in her official voice.

"I don't think..." Merlin said.

"Don't care," Wen snapped. The door to my room opened. "What the hell is your problem?" she snarled at me. Lucan stood in the main room, I could see him over her shoulder and Merlin looked from one to the other. Lucan's eyes were so gentle, full of confusion and concern for his friend. How long would we be friends if he knew the whole truth?

My heart wailed for what it would never have and I lost control. "Fine," I threw my hands up in the air. "Fine, you all want to know the truth?" I shouted and felt weeks of pent up frustration and fear bubble out of my straining throat. "Yes, Owen is the one who beat the crap out of me. Him, on his own. No help needed to kick the shit of one pathetic bard. I am weak and defenceless. I am not a warrior. I don't want to be a warrior. And he made it perfectly clear he is a superior man to me." I stopped and panted.

Lucan's eyes filled with horror. "Why? Why did he hurt you?" he asked.

My eyes slid to Merlin's. He wouldn't say a thing but the sympathy in his face gave me the silent support I needed. Even if I lost Lucan and Branwen, he would remain my friend.

"He beat me because I prefer sex with men over women and he felt threatened by that." It's how I'd summed up his reasons over the weeks. It seemed the right thing to say.

"Finally," Wen said with heavy relief. "Like we didn't know." She covered the distance between the door and me. Her strong body folded itself against my rangy frame and she gave me the hug of my life.

My eyes remained on Lucan's face. His skin flushed and his eyes widened in shock. He broke the gaze between us and turned his back on me, bowing his head. A shiver rushed through him. Merlin watched it all and just shook his head. "I'll make us some hot drinks," he muttered.

I felt light headed, the nails in my heart dissolved under my friend's love, a strange calmness swept over me the sense of relief made my knees weak. Branwen held my hand and walked me back into the workroom. She sat me down in the big chair and Lucan strode over to me, placing his large hand on my shoulder. He looked into my face and once again a wave of complex emotions swept into me from him but I couldn't grasp them long enough to interpret their meaning. We talked for the rest of the afternoon. The story I wanted to be the truth filtered out. One thing I didn't anticipate was Lucan's reaction.
CHAPTER SEVEN

"He needs arresting," he said, soft brown eyes dark and hard.

Merlin looked at me. I needed to deal with this sensibly. "Lucan, I appreciate the support but it isn't necessary. The bigger you make this the harder it will become for our friendship. You don't want to stand against the wolf pack and the other knights of Camelot for my sake. It is his word against mine."

Lucan's eyes brightened and became almost the colour of dried blood. "He needs teaching a lesson," he growled.

"If it's anybody's lesson to give, it's Taliesin's," Wen said. "Either that or we take it to Captain Moran."

"We're not making this official. I don't need everyone knowing my business." For the first time since my arrival in Camelot, I felt the power of my voice dominate the room. The power of the bard, something we all have but only a few learn to use. It filled the room with my determination. Merlin's dark eyebrows rose in surprise, the other two took a visible step back.

"Alright," Wen said, her shock at my strength making her quiet for a change.

"I have things I need to do, I'll see you later," Lucan said, anger lashing out. He'd spent the whole time leaning against the fireplace. I watched him leave and he took my joy with him.

A man like Lucan would never understand my lowly station in life and what it meant to be hated. "He's never going to forgive me," I muttered. Wen touched my hand.

"He isn't the man you fear him to be," Merlin replied. "Don't give up on him." I watched the old man's eyes track my friend's departure and I wondered what he saw that I missed.

"Well, what's done is done," I said. At least Owen held no secrets over me.

That night I lay in bed and ran through the day a thousand times. Lucan's reaction scared me but Branwen's support meant I could still think of Camelot as a home. Sleep came but only on the surface, underneath memories of booted feet and large fists filled my mind.

"Tal, get your lazy fat arse out of bed," Lucan's voice filled my head.

"What?" I jerked straight and the blankets fell off the bed.

"Alright, skinny arse," Lucan qualified.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I asked trying to come round.

"I'm here to teach you how to do something about pricks like Owen. If I can't kill him and you won't report him, you need to learn how to stop him and other like him," he said and threw a gambeson at me. "This should fit." He turned and left my room.

I realised the sun hardly graced the sky with its presence. I didn't know whether to be horrified he thought I was so weak I needed his help, or grateful because any help might make my life in Camelot easier. I couldn't run, I couldn't leave the trouble behind. Yesterday taught me that, unlike the last fifteen years of my life, I couldn't move on.

I struggled into my clothes and pulled the gambeson over my head. I rubbed the boulders out of my sore eyes and wandered into the workroom. Lucan paced like a caged wild cat. He looked at me. I fidgeted under the weight of the padded jacket.

"It'll do, come on," he strode off.

I scrambled to catch up with him. "What is going on?" I asked.

"I told you. If I can't help you in any other way, I can teach you to fight well enough to defeat any of Arthur's wolves," he said and still didn't look at me.

"You don't have to do this," I pointed out, trying to finish tying my laces.

"I know that," he said, marching away on long legs.

I gave up and followed. He walked through the sleepy castle and out into the training ground. We circled around to the back and he stopped before the training ring furthest from the castle.

"We will be undisturbed here for long enough each morning for you to learn something," Lucan told me. He met my gaze at last and I caught a haunting sadness in their liquid depths. "I wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me what happened. I'm sorry you couldn't."

"It wasn't about trust. It was about preserving my privacy."

Lucan grunted and swung himself between the rough hemp ropes strung around the small sand arena. "We'll begin with some simple sword forms to find out what you know. I plan on running you through a range of close combat fighting. You don't need to learn the spear or indeed the lance. Knife, sword, staff and hand to hand combat. These are the things you need."

"Right," I said. I tried to find a way to tell him I'd rather be in my bed and left alone, but the look of determination on his face and the thought of spending time with him conquered my desire for my bed. "Thank you," I finished as he handed me a weighted wooden sword.

We trained. Lucan discovered I had some skill as a fighter. He attacked smoothly, using traditional lines of attack, slicing through the air and giving me time to wake up with a series of parries. I deflected each blow and we soon found each other's rhythm.

"You're good," he said, his breath even. "How'd you get caught out so badly?"

"Drunk," I confessed. "I also banged my head on a wall." I panted and sweated.

"I'll make you stronger, better, faster. A man like you is built for speed."

I bit back a twisting joke on the old theme, 'I'd rather be built for comfort.' I didn't think he'd appreciate the joke but I silently promised I'd tell Wen later.

He started to point out the problems with my fighting style, then switched methods. Unarmed combat came next. He realised I knew almost nothing useful and his despair made me laugh. Lucan grinned and the heaviness over our training lifted. Wen found us, I swear the woman had a wolfhound's nose for tracking us, and she became my sparring partner while Lucan taught me to defeat her attacks. The castle began to wake up and I became increasingly uncomfortable inside wolf pack territory.

Lucan hauled me out of the sand. "You're not concentrating, we'll stop for now. Meet me back here after your duties for Merlin." He grasped my shoulder grounding my fear.

"More?" I asked. "I'm going to be an agony later."

"More and we fight through the pain. It'll be character building." He grinned. I noticed he needed to shave. The light gold hair on his jaw so different to dark red of his hair.

"Fine," I said and forced my gaze elsewhere.

Another routine filled my days. Fighting with Lucan and Branwen almost every day, twice a day, between my work and training with Merlin. Time slid towards high summer and even the dull days of rain and wind Camelot suffered from didn't touch us. I grew stronger, faster and learned with frightening speed. My body, as used to remembering patterns through my music as my mind, responded well to the training. I proved scary with a knife and Branwen pushed herself to stay ahead of my abilities. The three of us were left alone, neither good enough or so highly ranked we'd draw attention. None of us cared. We were happy and my confidence flowered within the shelter of their friendship.

The next major shift occurred the evening before midsummer.

"My lord?" called a piping voice.

Lucan turned me against his body, the neck lock coming on tight as I wriggled to accommodate his shift. "What?" he asked the page.

"The king requests your presence, my lord." The small boy looked at me. I guessed my face was turning beet-purple. It certainly felt uncomfortable. I double patted Lucan's forearm to make him let go, though to be honest being pressed against his sweaty torso didn't feel bad, inappropriate perhaps considering my thoughts, but not bad.

Lucan froze against me. He stopped breathing, locked rigid and forgot about me hanging by the throat off his arm. I patted again and made a small sound of protest. Nothing happened.

Lucan forced out the words, "I will be with his majesty presently."

I wheezed unheroically and rapped my knuckles on Lucan's hand.

The page bowed and vanished.

My vision began to go spotty. Then the pressure vanished and air rushed into my tortured lungs. I gasped in thankful praise. Lucan turned me in his arms and held my shoulders, peering into my face.

"Shit, Tal, you alright?" Lucan asked. "Sorry."

I patted his arm in comfort and just nodded my head, rubbing my neck.

"Here, let me look. I hope I haven't done any damage," he sounded concerned but I heard an undercurrent of fear. My bard's senses twitched. Perhaps this time I might find the thread that would lead me towards whatever troubled my friend.

His scent, rather than the hot sand of the arena filled my head. Pungent, sweaty, spicy and mouth watering. I tried to focus on his emotions, not my reaction to his physical presence. No easy task as his hand forced my chin up so I couldn't look into his face but he could examine my neck. With a tender care he always showed me he pushed sticky hair back off my neck. He held still and I strained to turn my head against the grip of his hand. Lucan shifted very slightly and I felt the brush of something unfamiliar, not the callous' of his hand, against my throat. Butterfly light. Butterfly bright. Hot breath scorched my flesh and I gasped in shock.

The moment passed in less than a heartbeat.

"I have to go, sorry," he said and turned from me without looking at me or further comment. I stood in the dust of the arena dumbfounded and confused. The thread I'd sought broken between us yet again. Wen appeared and watched his retreating back.

"This isn't good," she muttered frowning hard, her usual smile a bent thing of worry for Lucan.

"What isn't?" I asked. Why did she always know more than me about him?

Branwen's blue eyes gaze remained distant and her sadness picked at my heart. "His father is coming to visit and Lucan is to marry," she dropped the words onto my head from the highest of Camelot's turrets.

"Marry?" I whispered. "I thought you were just friends. He said nothing lay between you, nothing serious."

Branwen looked at me in astonishment. "Me?" She laughed, the moment gone. "You aren't serious. Lucan and me? You've been thinking that all this time?"

I floundered. "I just assumed. I mean you're so physical with him."

"No more so than I am with you," she said defensively. "You just don't notice because you're so in love with him that anyone who touches him is logged in that ridiculous memory of yours."

The world twitched as I floundered to find a way to lie to her that might stick. "I am not," I squeaked, failing completely.

Branwen punched my arm. "Don't bother lying to me. You've been hankering after him for months," she grinned a wicked glint to her sharp eyes. "And if you are mean to me, I'll tell him."

I almost whined in horror at the thought. "Please don't do that," I begged, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Her smile softened. "I won't, Tal, I promise. But you should tell him, my friend. He's going to need you. Now far more than ever."

I muttered something foul before saying and with more misery than I wished, "I didn't even know he was engaged. He clearly doesn't need me that badly." I turned away and gathered my things before raking the sand back into place. "How do you know all this?" I asked her. "You seem to know everything that happens in this castle.".

"He only kept it from us because he doesn't want to admit it to himself. He's been engaged since he was fourteen, to some child who's just turned thirteen."

I pulled a face. "Seriously?" I asked. "The king is going to allow a marriage like that?"

"That's why his father is coming to Camelot, special dispensation or something," Branwen said helping me with my chores.

We were silent, both contemplating the fate of our friend. My insides churned with confusion. I needed to talk to Lucan. Not because I wanted him to know how he filled my thoughts and dreams, but because I feared for his future. We were close, the three of us, and yet he'd never breathed a word of his life outside Camelot unless to speak of fighting or hunting. That did not bode well considering his reaction this morning. Of all the knights, Lucan remained the youngest, fled all the trappings of ceremony and avoided currying the king's favour at all times. He spent every waking moment with me, Branwen or training with the other knights and his horse. I never heard him confess anything about his family, whether he had siblings or even if his parents lived, which I assumed they did. He never talked about being attracted to the serving girls in the keep or in the taverns we frequented. He never really talked about how he felt about anything personal, unless Branwen or I were hurt by something or someone, then we faced the care and protection of a mother bear.

Branwen and I parted ways, both of us filled with thoughts of Lucan and what he faced in his conversation with the king. We agreed to meet that evening for more training and perhaps I could give Lucan some of the comfort he'd given me over the months we'd been friends.
CHAPTER EIGHT

That day passed with a lazy, hazy heat. Merlin had me measuring insanely small amounts of dried herbs and flowers, he then left muttering about some mission for Arthur. The herbs drove me insane with tension and made my eyes sore. By the time I escaped and returned to the training arena, I'd long ago lost my sense of humour. The sun squatted low in the sky and Branwen sat on a bale carving something with her knife. The woman never sat still.

"He's not here," she said standing the moment she heard me. "I haven't seen him all day and I don't have a good feeling. We need to go and find him." Her eyes shone bright in the early twilight.

I didn't bother to speak, my stomach tied itself into familiar knots of anxiety but this time it was for my friend. We walked with impatient feet and entered the castle. Lucan lived a floor above mine and his room faced north, making it cold and damp most of the year. He didn't like it, but had yet to earn the right to anything better. The door to his room, which neither of us had ever entered, stood ajar. Branwen pushed it open. Chaos met us. Lucan's room lay in pieces. The only chair and narrow bed were smashed. A small table shattered and his chest, made of sterner stuff, lay overturned and empty. In fact the entire room was empty.

"Bloody hell," I gasped. "I didn't think he had it in him."

"This is bad," Branwen muttered. "Where is he?"

We stared at each other for a moment and said together, "Tavern."

I closed the door on Lucan's display of temper and we raced out of the keep arguing about which tavern to choose first. By full dark, we were tired and our concern began to flip to panic. Twenty taverns later, we were down at the docks. We barged through crowds of stinking fishermen and sailors. The smell made me want to gag and I didn't even want to consider the squishy substances my feet couldn't avoid. Some doxy flung herself into my arms and Branwen pushed her off without ceremony, causing the whore to use curses I'd never considered possible.

My fearsome companion made it to the bar, while ignoring the saucy comments and roving hands. "We're looking for someone," she announced to the harassed barkeeper.

"Everyone is looking for someone, my love," he slurred in his thick accent.

Branwen started arguing and trying to describe Lucan over the noise. I peered through the smoke filled atmosphere. I guessed men who plied their trade at sea became sick of fresh air at some point because every damned tavern we'd trawled that night stank of humanity and its foulest substances.

A tall figure lurked at the back of the room with some woman draped off his shoulders.

"Wen," I yelled over her voice. "He's over there." I pointed to the dark corner.

We used elbows and shoulders to breach the wall of disgusting humanity to reach the haven Lucan claimed for himself.

He stood against the wall, under a tall smoking brazier. A curvy young woman snuggled under his arm and he focused on speaking to her and drinking from a large bottle. He swayed and she trilled with laughter. He caught sight of us.

"Tal," he called. "Come and meet Lucy." He waved the bottle dangerously close to her nose.

"It's Betty," she squealed.

"Of course it is," he patted her head. "This man is my hero. He has the courage to live his life regardless of what others may think. He is the bravest of men." Lucan's voice thickened and tears stood teetering on the edge.

"Lucan, you need to come home," I said as Branwen disengaged the protesting Betty.

"I thought I would drink and fuck myself into an early grave. Do you know, I've never been with a woman or a whore? I'm a virgin, Tal." He swayed into me and draped the bottle over my shoulder. Branwen hissed in dismay at the state of our friend. My heart broke at the happy pain in the drunk voice that carved a slice off my heart.

"You are a good man, Lucan. That's why you've never made use of women who cannot do anything other than sell themselves," I said, grabbing the back of his hose and holding him tight so I didn't lose him.

"Wen," he said turning towards our blonde friend and pulling me off balance. He weighed more than me and all of it muscle. "Would you sleep with a man like me?" he asked.

She grasped his jaw and forced him to focus on her eyes. They were ice cold. "Right now, Lucan, I never want to see another man, never mind spread my legs for one. Get your sorry backside out of this cesspit and sober up." I'd never seen her properly angry before, not with one of us. I thought she'd strike him. Despite her words was Branwen in love with Lucan?

Lucan reacted as if she had struck him. Ignoring me, he lurched forwards and we fell through the crowded tavern. Outside the cool summer air still stank but fish guts were preferable over stale sweat, ale and smoking braziers, along with said guts. Rats scampered around in the shadows and cats watched us with large shining eyes. I steered Lucan toward the castle but he had other ideas and muttering something about bad liquor, he pulled away from me and leaned into a wall puking his guts up.

"Fucking marvellous," Branwen snapped.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked. "He's clearly distraught about something. It's not like he makes a habit of this."

"You wouldn't understand," she muttered.

"Try me, Wen. If you're in love him, perhaps you ought to tell him," I matched the words she'd used earlier.

Her face crumpled. "I love you both. But I'm not in love with either of you. I just don't deal with this kind of weakness very well," she said, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

I picked up on old threads of grief lacing her simple words and pulled her into my arms for a hug. My bard's gifts helped to ease her pain, as they should. "He'll sober up and it'll be fine," I said. "I'm here now. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."

"You can't promise me that." She clung to me in a way she never had before, a softness and need in her surprising me. Her past was also something she brushed over, a burden she wanted to carry on her own shoulders. But it weighed heavily in her words and I realised I did the same thing. We were friends but we built bonds on who we were in Camelot, not our past lives.

I brushed hair off her face. "I can promise you this, you'll never have to haul me out of a tavern because I'm trying to lose my virginity to a doxy."

She laughed at my silliness. "What about cabin boys?" she asked saucily. We'd never made jokes about my sexual preferences before and it felt good.

"I like them bigger than that," I shot back, returning to our puking friend.

"We're going to have to carry him up the fucking hill to the castle aren't we?" Branwen moaned. She stole Lucan's bottle out of his unresisting hand. I watched her pour the cheap brandy away. It made my nose sting and eyes water.

I looked up the street and sighed. We were at the lowest point of Camelot and the castle sat at the highest. "Yes, it's going to be a long walk," I agreed.

Lucan moaned and his knees started to sag. Branwen slipped herself under one shoulder. I took the other. We started our progress out of the docks and began to return to our world.

By the time we reached the curtain wall, Lucan more or less supported himself. He stopped and drank from every one of the city's water fountains along the route. His silence disturbed me but Branwen maintained a bantering tone which sounded forced to my ears. I joined in anyway. Lucan's despair cut me deep and sure and I had no idea how to help.

When we reached the enormous wall, Lucan stopped and stared up at the stones. "I don't want to be alone," he muttered.

Branwen and I looked at each other. I shrugged. "Sweetie," she said, "you can't stay with me. It's against the rules." She shared a small house with the only other female member of the wolf pack. Lucan's presence wouldn't be appreciated.

"He can't return to his room, it's a wreak," I said. "Merlin's out on some mission for the king. I guess he can use my room." I tried not to think about Lucan lying in my bed.

"We'll do that then," Branwen said. "Your place."

We walked through the gates, past the alert guards who nodded to Branwen and Lucan, before heading into the castle.

When we reached Merlin's rooms Branwen said, "Can you handle this from here? I'm on a really early shift tomorrow and need some sleep."

I nodded while watching Lucan head towards my sleeping quarters. "I'll see you tomorrow," I told her. She waved a hand back over her shoulder and vanished. I sighed and closed the door.

He sat beside me, our bodies not quite touching but the heat of him spread, enticing, whispering promises to my desperate longing. I had spent weeks denying this, denying, corralling, fighting the whispers of desire for this beautiful, strong man. I hardly dare allow my eyes to slide towards his body, but I could draw his scent into me, draw his heat into me. Use it to ease my sadness and the threads of misery Lucan released, finally allowing me to feel him.

These threads were choking, desperate, not threads now, thick rope covered in thorns, snaring and snarling as they wrapped around their creator and lashed at me through my bard's gift. I shifted, feeling them bite and catch at me, hurting and begging in turn. Begging in silence for rescue.

"I'm sorry, Tal," Lucan whispered into silence.

I wanted to touch him, hold him, protect the gentle soul that had been twisted off its true course by men with power that we did not have, but caution stayed my hand. Caution the watchword of men like me.

"You never have to say sorry to me, Lucan. Not for being honest."

He shifted, glanced at me and our gazes locked. Nerves flared inside me as instinct felt something new in my friend, something hidden from me for so long. I licked my bottom lip and drew it into my mouth, he watched with hunger. Desperate and sudden famine, thirst, need.

"I have never been honest with you," his voice – sand against glass, a growl of sound, a demand.

I didn't speak, didn't move, I let him find me in the silence so we could fight the lashing ropes of misery binding him to an unwanted past and fruitless imminent future. With deliberate care I shifted enough to strike the flint against the candle I kept by my bed and gave us a little light.

Lucan pulled in a breath deep enough for his arm to brush mine. Lightning exploded through me but I contained it, forced it down so I could listen with care to my friend's life.

"We were engaged when she was four years old. I was twelve," Lucan said into the silence wrapping conspiratorial arms around us. "My father forced the match with a local baron. He wanted me 'sanitised', his word."

"She is young," I said not wanting to lead his misery. Wanting him to find his own path, his voice to share the pain inside.

"She's a child. He's coming to Camelot, should be here tomorrow. I hate him. He's cruel." Lucan hung his head between his shoulders, elbow on knees, a broken knight. "I had a friend once. A boy who worked in our stable. His father was our horse master. We were close. My father beat him to death before beating me. I watched him die." His voice remained a pitiful monotone. Emotions so old and dampened he repeated the words like a litany because he dare not allow them true release.

"Lucan, the king will help you if you ask," I said and placed a hand on his clasped palms, with luck he wouldn't notice the tremor. I didn't miss the part about his friend but now was not the time to pursue my selfish agenda.

"The king needs my father's help with the border lords, he explained he had to say yes to my father's demands. As horrible as he finds it. He says I don't have to make the marriage real until she's ready but he can't stop it from happening." Lucan grew quiet again. His hand twisted under mine and suddenly our fingers were entwined.

"Taliesin," he choked on the final syllable of my name. He sat up, looked into my eyes and I watched the walls around his heart crumble and what took shape shocked me

My heart actually lurched out of my chest. I swear.

"I don't want to sleep alone," Lucan whispered.

"Lucan, I don't think you understand –" I started.

"I understand," he said, voice tense and thick. "I've fought it for so long. The first time I saw you, standing on the parapet, the bow drawn, the sunlight brightening the side of your face and hair." He stopped and rubbed his brow. "I lost something of myself that day."

"I had no idea," I said in complete awe of my stupidity and his revelation.

Lucan managed a half smile. "You were never supposed to know, Tal. I'm not supposed to feel like this."

"Your father killed that boy because of your feelings, didn't he?" I asked, rubbing his knuckles with my thumb and trying to contain the thrill in such a simple action.

Lucan nodded too quickly. "He beat me so badly but at least I survived. After the engagement he sent me away to continue my training as a squire. Being separated from him for all these years I can almost believe it never happened, but it did, and a boy died because of my lust." Lucan's grip tightened. "My father hates the sight of me. He doesn't trust me. I've done everything I can to be the best but it isn't ever going to be enough."

The lashing ropes of misery were twisting in on themselves, tightening around us. I had to fight free of their control. If I were free I might stand a chance of saving Lucan. "It's enough for me," I said, terrified of spooking him.

Lucan stared into me. Most of his face remained in shadow, the candle behind him. "Tal..." my name a soft breath on his lips.

I leaned towards him, drawn by his heat, his eyes, almost invisible in the darkness except for a faint shine and his lips. Parted, just a little. My heart had never beaten so fast or hurt so much. Just the thought of this happening fulfilled so many of my romantic fantasies, I wanted to weep and yell with joy all at once. Lucan had hidden his desires for a long time under friendship and work, under the mask he wore of gentle companion.
CHAPTER NINE

We both hesitated. Our hands clasped but able to retreat from the precipice if either one decided this would be too complicated. I stared into those warm, rich brown eyes and gave my answer in silence. The fear I'd seen melted away, became gratitude and relief. A smile of such gentleness softened the hard masculine lines of his face. He reached up with a single hand and cupped my jaw, stroking his thumb over my cheekbone. I turned into his warm palm and kissed, throwing myself over the precipice in one movement of soft lips against rough skin.

His hand circled the back of my neck, demanding I move, cover the small distance separating us and take what he offered. I complied, I had no will to do otherwise. The ropes of misery tied around my friend, lashing at me, began to fade, drift away like smoke on a clear winter's morning, leaving behind a faint scent but one to give comfort under the blue skies of eternal dawns.

Lucan's tongue darted out to moisten his lips and the tremble in my hands was nothing to quake in his as those strong fingers tightened.

I brushed my lips against his, smelt the brandy from his previous adventures, but nothing else other than Lucan's scent, a bewitching combination of man and horse with his signature of sunshine and sea spray.

The tentative touch became demanding, Lucan pressed against my mouth and sought entry, which I gave. The one thing Lucan would never need to do to me, was lay siege to make me comply. Our tongues met, our lips slid over each other, our hands grasped and Lucan pushed me backwards so I lay under him. To feel his weight pressing me into the familiar mattress made every fibre in my body stand to attention and when he shifted to lay over me we both groaned our hard cocks ridged lines of desire between our bodies.

Lucan explored my mouth with feverish intensity and once mapped he moved on, jaw, neck, his fingers trying to force away my clothing. I had my hands tangled in his hair and arched up against his body, rubbing our hips together, the harsh friction from our clothing a wild torment.

"I need more," he mumbled into my neck making me shiver.

I chuckled. "You can have anything you like right now."

He leaned off me, resting on one elbow. "Anything?"

I nodded. "Whatever you need from me, Lucan, you can have."

"I'm a virgin," he said, flushing a wonderful shade of pink.

"So you informed the entire tavern when we found you." I stroked hair off his cheeks.

His eyes widened. "No, oh fucking hell."

I rose up enough to plant a soft kiss on his plumb lips. "I'm not. Though most of my dalliances have been..." How could I describe them without sounding bitter? "They have been miserable." Would that make a difference to him? I didn't talk about my sexuality or my experiences but I wouldn't hide them from Lucan. I never wanted to lie to him.

"Have you ever been with a woman?" he asked.

My clever musician's fingers began unlacing the ties on his hose. "No, I tried, once, it didn't go well. I'll give you all the gory details one day, but not now. I've never been with a man who made me feel safe, not like you do. I've never been with anyone who was kind to me, just used me and then ask I leave discreetly. It's the way of things with a wandering minstrel."

His fingers were drifting over my flank, seeking my ties as well. It felt so good.

"I want to take care of you, Tal. I've always wanted to protect you. That day, when Branwen –"

"Don't, I don't want to talk about it," I said. I would not be thinking of Owen, not with Lucan in my arms. He seemed to realise his mistake and leaned down for another kiss. One led to another and another, our fingers released the ties on our clothing and soon rough pads were caressing my ribs, my stomach, seeking out my hipbones and gradually daring to cup my backside, pulling me closer.

I thought I'd feel overwhelmed, we might be the same height but Lucan represented a wall of knightly power that dominated my body. He could control me without any perceivable effort and I let him, I wanted to surrender to him, to this, to lust. To something deeper, longer lasting and entwined within our friendship.

The hot, tight knot of desire in my guts grew and I wanted to feel his large rough hand cup my manhood but his lack of confidence made it clear I had to guide him. Flipping him over wasn't difficult and in heartbeats I straddled his hips, rising up. Though rough hands gripped my thighs and I rocked over his straining cock.

"Fuck, Tal, that feels amazing."

I kept up the movement, enjoying it far too much myself. Layers of midsummer clothing began to vanish and the moment he saw my torso tears rose in his expressive eyes. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, stroking my nipples. I groaned at the attention so he began to play, learning what made me arch back, press down on his cock that made his hose damp, and rock with less control.

He gripped my hips and thrust up, almost crushing my balls, I loved the sensation and held his thick forearms to seek more. "I want you inside me," I dared to confess.

Lucan whimpered and closed his eyes. "I want that too but I am to marry."

I gazed down into his tear filled eyes. "I don't care. You belong to me, Lucan. You will always belong to me whether you are married or not." I stroked his red hair back off his tanned face. "This might be the only night we can be together, but you will always belong to me."

"I know it," he whispered.

"Come then. I'll guide you," I said, sliding off his lap and standing on legs that didn't feel too sturdy right now. I drew him off the bed and removed all the clothing separating us when we stood naked together for the first time he stroked my hairless chest as I let my sensitive fingers play with his hairs, explore the dips and ridges of his strong chest, caress his hips and I gazed on his cock. Thick, heavy, a creature of velvet steel, purpled with need and wet. I drew him towards my wash pot and took up my damp rag. Maintaining eye contact and touched his cock for the first time and he whined, hips bucking to gain more. I smiled, just a little wickedness tainting our lovemaking, and squeezed hard. He gasped and his grip on my shoulder's tightened.

"You like that?" I asked.

"I think I'd like anything you did to me," he managed. "I'm almost mad with need but I don't want this to stop."

I washed him with the rough cloth, making him wince, press for more, twist and mutter. Then made brief work of cleaning myself. When I finished he followed me back to the bed.

"Lie down," I told him, pushing on his chest. He complied, reaching for his aching cock. Mine strained and begged for more than I gave but I wanted him to see how much I desired this, so I began to stroke myself in lazy drags, cupping my balls and pulling on them just enough for pain to arc down my legs and make my groin ping with need.

"Taliesin, you are the most..." His hungry eyes devoured all of me and I felt his worship and his deep need for more.

"I need to prepare myself," I told him.

He nodded. "Can I watch?"

I smiled. "I never want to hide anything from you but I'm going to try to do two things at once. It might not work but..." I reached for a salve I used for bruises, an oily mixture smelling of herbs but it should do the task nicely. I approached the bed once more and this time knelt over his knees. Lucan looked confused until I lowered myself and licked up his cock, sampling his taste for the first time.

It exploded on my tongue, gods the man was perfect. He shuddered under me and when my lips closed over his thick head, stretching, making my jaw ache and my tongue salivate he cried out and gripped my tangle of long hair.

"I don't want to hurt you," he gasped.

I removed the powerful velvet rod from my mouth and blew over the top. "You won't. Just enjoy. Play. Learn what gives you pleasure."

His head thunked back on my pillow. "All of you gives me pleasure."

I chuckled around the thick head and shaft, trying to take more than I could inside my mouth and set off a string of curses as he fought for some kind of self-control.

My mouth though began to lose some of its finesse when I let my fingers reach back, slip between my arse cheeks and circle my hole. The forbidden nature of our love making made a flash of loathing pierce my mind, Owen's disgust, others who had thrown harm in my direction over the years, became a loud cacophony for a moment until Lucan's fingers, as if sensing my distress, stroked gentle over my hair.

"Taliesin," Lucan whispered, placing a soft command to remain in the moment with him. I nuzzled his heavy balls and a finger slid into my body making me groan. "What are doing back there?" he asked.

"Making myself ready to take you. If I'm tight it hurts too much."

"I don't want to hurt you at all."

"A little pain won't hurt me, Lucan."

"Let me do it?"

I looked up his body, rocking back on my finger. "I wanted –"

"I need to take care of you, love," he said. The endearment made my eyes fill with tears.

"Lucan..."

He stroked my face. "You know it's true, Tal."

This was too much. I couldn't maintain the control when he looked at me, spoke to me, with such tenderness. I wanted to be taking care of, held, spoiled.

I removed my finger and he wriggled so I lay down in the warmth he'd created on my bed. He took the salve, slicked his fingers, leaned over me, resting between my legs and kissed my mouth. "Never doubt my feelings for you," he whispered.

He continued to kiss me and I opened my thighs surrendering everything to his graceful power. He wrapped strong fingers around my shaft, thinner than his but just as long, and pumped, making me beg for more. When he released my cock he played with my balls sending delightful pleasure zipping through me and finally he began to explore the hidden places.

The first moment his rough pad circled my aching hole I groaned into his mouth making him chuckle. When he pushed I arched into his touch and more of him sank into me than he initially intended given his string of curses. I reached between my legs to keep him right where I wanted him.

"It's alright, my love," I whispered and watched his eyes widen.

"You feel so tight," he said worried for me again.

"It's meant to feel like this, which is why I need a little help to smooth the way," I said, then gasped as I wiggled against his hand seeking more.

"You seem awfully eager." His teasing voice made me smile up at him.

"Are you calling me a slut?"

He wriggled is eyebrows at me. "You don't call a sheep a dog."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Best I could do under these conditions and you are currently fucking my finger so..."

I couldn't really deny it, my body writhed and needled and begged for more without my brain engaging at all. "Want more."

He drew his finger back and I whimpered at the loss before two thick rough fingers forced themselves into my body. "Oh, fuck, Lucan, yes. Fuck me, that feels so good."

I grabbed his hair and pulled him down for another kiss while Lucan set up a thrust and withdrawal to match my need. Then he hit something inside me that brought tears to my eyes and a wordless cry in a voice I didn't know as mine.

"Tal?"

"Again, do that again," I begged with no shame whatsoever.

Lucan rubbed over the spot and half of me wanted to leap off the bed and the other half wanted to melt into his body forever. All of me agreed it felt amazing. My balls were tight, my belly wet and strange mewling sounds came from my throat.

"I need more," Lucan said nosing against my cheek.

I nodded, beyond words. Lucan rolled between my legs and rubbed against my cock, we both groaned. "I could come like this, right now," he growled.

"If this is our only night together then we do it all," I told him, holding his arse tight. The muscles were strong and large.

"I'm never going to give you up, Tal," he told me. We stared into each other's eyes and I felt it happen. In one simple moment an exchange occurred, I swapped a piece of my soul for Lucan's. I could see his confusion and a little fear but when I smiled at him a sense of peace washed through his eyes.

With a little fumbling, a light laugh and a few false starts Lucan breached my body at last. That moment made us both freeze.

"Too much?" he asked, eyes wide, sweat beading on his brow.

"Yes, but I love it, don't stop. I want it all, Lucan. I've wanted you for so long." The rasping voice I squeezed out hardly seemed real.

Lucan bowed his head to my shoulder and pushed further. I look it, the burn, the stretch, the impossible fullness. It hurt, it made my eyes water, my fingers tighten on Lucan's back.

"Tal, you can't take this, it –"

"I want it, just hold still and let me try to relax." I drew his scent in, the safest place in the world, surrounded by Lucan and everything eased.

"Oh," he gasped. "Oh, you feel, oh that feels..."

"Move now."

He grunted and drew back before pushing in harder. "Yes, like that," I encouraged. "More like that."

"I'm not in control, Tal. I don't want to hurt you."

"Fucking hell, Lucan, just do it, please." The tension in my belly, the ache in my balls and the desperate need in me continued to build. He pushed my thighs tight to my belly and chest and for the first time I felt him unleash his power, pinning me onto the bed and opening me to the spiral of need he'd kept locked and controlled for so long.

He drove into me, back bowed, head close to mine, hot breath on my neck and shoulder. I wanted it, needed to feel this unbridled passion. He shifted position and stroked over that magic spot again. I cried out and Lucan stroked again and again and again.

The spiral reached its peak, shuddered for a moment before cresting and rushing through me flowing down, out, up and through. I gasped, locked strong, felt the hot wetness over my belly and the muscles clench around.

Lucan howled. Forced himself so deep I felt his balls against my hot body and he shuddered pulling me even tighter to his chest, buried so deep and wanting to be deeper. I felt loved, protected, needed and sheltered. So very different to every other time I'd been with a man.

"Taliesin, I never want this to end," Lucan whispered with broken words.

I rubbed circles over his broad back. "It won't end, love." Though we both knew I could not make that promise.
CHAPTER TEN

We lay in a tangle of arms and legs, the narrow bed meaning me on Lucan's strong chest. His heartbeat pounding under me while I tried to regain some semblance of normal. When it became clear I needed to bathe again, his eyes opened as I rolled over his body to get out of bed.

He watched me, it's not like I had anywhere to go to hide what needed to happen and I tried not to be embarrassed. "You look even more beautiful now than when we first met," he said. "Pull all your hair over one shoulder for me."

"Why?" I asked confused. Straightening, rinsing out the cloth and returning to the bed. Lucan's cock twitched to life the moment I looked at it, nestled in a thick rug of dark red hair.

"Because I love looking at you when it's down and half over your face. Your eyes are such a wonderful shade of grey and when your hair is down the dark circle around the edge is just that much bolder. It makes you even more ethereal and fey," he said.

"Fey?" I asked.

He laughed. "You think your heritage is fully human, bard of Camelot? Arthur makes us knights fully aware of the signs of fey blood."

I didn't comment. I tried not to consider my heritage too often, I certainly didn't look like my mother. I did pull my hair over my shoulder though, it brushed my bare skin raising bumps because every inch of my skin had become aware of Lucan. Those strong fingers began to stroke through the tangled strands.

"I want to brush it," he said.

"Really?"

"I want to take care of you." His eyes were focused on the task of untangling the mess we'd made.

I rose and retrieved my brush, then sat on the edge of the bed while my knight knelt behind me and began brushing out the long curtain. He caressed my neck and shoulders, lay soft kisses where he wished and in the silence our desire grew. When he finished he turned my face towards him and we kissed, deep and long, as if we had all the time in the world. I lay down where he guided me and Lucan continued his worship with touch and kisses. The world fell away, the night grew older but for us nothing existed but the soft groans of pleasure and the tender contact between two lovers.

When dawn pressed against the small window in my room we were entwined, cuddling together on my small cot. Mid summer's eve turned to day. Lucan stirred and kissed my neck. It sent a shiver through me.

"You should be asleep," he said, his hand tightening over my chest.

"You too," I murmured, my body feeling like warm gooey mud.

"If I sleep, I wake and the day will begin. The day I lose you forever," he said. I heard his deep sadness and wished I could banish it forever. We wanted to promise each other that this would never change but each breath carried us closer to the moment Lucan's father arrived to take him home – to his wedding.

"Don't think so far ahead, you aren't leaving Camelot today. We can do this again. This isn't over, Lucan, it's just going to be different to what your romantic soul might want," I said while wriggling around to face him. I had to ease his burden. The rage fuelled destruction of his room and the drinking didn't hide the fact my friend, my lover, was in pain. We'd delayed the future that night, but now, with the dawn, reality had to take over.

"I just don't want the future I've been given," he said and his tone darkened, thickened.

I kissed him, it felt good and right, why couldn't we have this forever? "Sleep, Lucan, we need to sleep and wake up with each other," I told him.

"Roll over again, I want to hold you," he instructed.

We did sleep, not well, we were too aware of each other and unable to move on my small bed but mostly because we didn't want to waste a moment. I'd never slept with anyone before. I'd never woken in another's arms. I'd never been loved.

A shout from outside the castle roused me and I stirred against the arm still snuggled over my naked chest. I also felt something very solid against my backside. Lucan enjoyed the sleeping arrangements. My eyes were sore from lack of good quality sleep and my head hummed but I woke happier than I had in months, years probably. I felt like singing and wondered if I dared. I slipped out of Lucan's grasp. He stirred but didn't wake, merely rolled onto his back with the extra room.

His dark red hair, sun bleached on the ends and now red gold, thick and spiky, looked like dark fire on my pillow. His lashes were the same colour and long on his cheeks. The smattering of freckles and his tanned summer skin remained smooth with just the beginnings of the day's stubble. I rubbed my own jaw and felt almost nothing. I told myself to stop mooning over my lover and do something useful but I couldn't leave him for long. I snuck out of my room and retrieved my lute.

I adjusted her strings and returned to my room. Still naked I sat on the floor, crossed my long legs and started to play. Soft sounds of the heart and soul filled the room. I wove music into the sounds of Camelot at mid-summer drew the beauty of the day into our bedroom.

Lucan stirred and stretched. I watched awareness and memory fill his face and a smile spread over his features. "I've never heard you play," he murmured. A shaft of sunlight hit his belly and chest, his soft dark red hair shone. The lute trilled and soared under my guidance. "Will you sing for me?" he asked.

I smiled, a sad and wistful creature. "I wish I could but the magic which made me threaten Arthur, stole my voice. Merlin thinks I may find it again, but there is no guarantee." I didn't discuss the attack with my friends, they were separate to whatever witchcraft had left my gift mute and I wanted to keep it that way.

"You have a true gift, Taliesin," he said and I played for an audience of one with more skill than I'd ever demonstrated before. I poured my love for Lucan into the music, the strength and gentleness I saw in him made roses out of my notes and they floated on clouds of rainbows around the room.

When I finished Lucan wiped stray tears from his face. "For me?"

"For you," I confirmed.

"Thank you. I wish I could give you something in return."

"You have." My fingers continued to dance over the strings, finding more notes to describe how I loved him.

"What could I possibly give you in return for such beauty, Taliesin?"

"Your smile, the one that is just for me. That soft touch as it explores my body. Your strong arms that hold me tight against the storms the world sends our way. Just you, Lucan."

Tears fell and I rose in one movement to return to my lover. "No one has ever cared for me the way you do." He buried his face in my belly, curling his strong body around me and I stroked my fingers through his hair.

Lucan soon left with a promise to return for lunch. He needed to clean up his room. He held no reserve or tension, his face looked relaxed and he moved with a liquid grace I'd never witnessed in him. We set something free inside him and I felt stronger than ever before in my life. We were a unit, we were more than friends, more than casual lovers, I knew we were sworn to each other.

I stayed in Merlin's workroom, trying to finish the list he'd given me before leaving. I whistled and quoted long streams of poetry until Branwen walked in and laughed the moment she saw me.

"Congratulations, my friend," she said and hugged me.

"What for?" I asked spilling camomile flowers all over the floor.

"You and Lucan, is he here?" she said.

"How did you know?" I asked mystified. People accused me of being fey, I had nothing on Branwen's gifts.

She kissed my nose, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. "You are happy, truly happy and it shines off your skin and out of your eyes. You smell of happiness. You look tired but radiant. There is only one thing in the world that would make you feel like this, Lucan."

The heat rushed up my face and the smile that speaks secrets close to the heart, spread. Branwen laughed with joy. She didn't stay long wanting Lucan to find me alone. He did return and we spent the afternoon kissing, cuddling and trying to finish my chores.

"We should go for a drink to celebrate," Lucan announced while helping me with the fire.

"I'd have thought you'd drunk enough last night," I said.

"Drink, sounds like a plan," Branwen said as she walked into Merlin's rooms. I jumped and fire ash went everywhere. Lucan laughed, watching it settle all over my hair and face.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," I cursed Branwen roundly while she and Lucan helped clean up the mess.

"Do what?" she asked all innocence.

"Sneak about and scare people," I groused.

"I only scare those with a guilty conscience," she said grinning and helping me brush the ash out of my hair. "Come on, it's mid-summer's night tonight. A night to drink toasts to the turn of the year and celebrate the harvest to come. I want to get drunk and get laid. You two can't have all the fun."

I believed the first part of the plan but not the second. Branwen, despite all the noise, never went home with anyone other than me or Lucan. Two of the safest men in Camelot, it turned out.

All three of us ended up dressing for the occasion. I left my hair down, and wore my performer's clothes. A grateful widow had them made for me two years previously. With the new muscles, everything seemed a little tight but the soft black silks and wools felt good. My red linen shirt and the grey embroidery left me feeling worth a bag full of gold.

Lucan appeared and I suddenly wished we weren't leaving at all. He wore deep brown leather and green silk. He'd tamed his hair, sweeping it back and even polished his boots.

He didn't say a word, just crossed the room and kissed me. It felt so damned good, I never wanted it to stop.

"My father is delayed," he murmured against my lips. "We have more freedom. More time."

"You two are unbelievable," Branwen said, appearing in my room like a loud ghost. This time she startled me away from Lucan. If anyone should see us together outside these rooms, or even in them, if Merlin were here, Lucan's reputation would be destroyed. Such a simple gesture, our hands brushing too long, our looks lingering, could be reported back to his father and I had jolt of foresight into what our future could really look like. My heart quaked.

Branwen kissed my cheek and said quietly, "Don't break his heart, not yet. He doesn't need to hear the reality of his choices."

I looked at her and saw the warning in her blue eyes, which were surrounded by the glory of her golden hair. Branwen wore the standard uniform of the wolf pack, with the blue band on her arm, marking her a prospect, but she also wore her hair down and it changed every aspect of her simple dress code.

"You look like a goddess," I told her.

"Well, I couldn't let the side down. I know what a couple of show offs you two are and trying to stand out in your company is almost impossible," she claimed with a playful huff, though the protection we offered made her feel safe. One day she might tell us why she needed to feel safe but not today. It was mid-summer and time to enjoy a little of life in Camelot.

We agreed to start the celebrations in one of the wolf pack's favoured haunts. My stomach twisted with the thought of Owen being there but Branwen told me he was on shift. She forced Lucan to act as her escort, thereby controlling his reactions to me because he couldn't stop reaching out to touch me. Damn she was good. Lucan had no idea she acted as his protector, not the other way around and she was right, I had no reason to hurt him with the truth of our lives, not today.

Branwen and Lucan insisted on me taking my lute and soon after arriving at the recently renamed, Black Wolf, I sat by the empty fire and played. Then, stories were requested, so I told some of the oldest of the heroic ballads and used the names of men around us. The late afternoon blended into twilight, which morphed into night and we enjoyed the fellowship of Camelot's greatest knights and soldiers.

My throat grew tight and my tongue ached from telling stories. Lucan and Wen were happily dozing in a corner and I headed to the bar for another well earned drink.

"Well, if it isn't the songless lark," Owen appeared at my elbow.

I stared into his face and wondered how I'd ever even considered him handsome, I couldn't miss the cruel twist to his lips and the savage look in his eyes.

"Go away," I said removing all joy from my voice.

"Doesn't take a genius to work out which of them you're fucking does it? I wonder how the lordling will take it when everyone knows he's a pervert," Owen sneered. He'd been drinking, that was clear and I didn't want to make this worse. I had to protect Lucan.

"If I hear one word of a rumour like that, I'll tell them who beat me half to death. Lucan and I are friends and if you hadn't noticed he's asleep with his arm around Branwen, your colleague." I kept control of my temper but my hands flexed around my tankard. My heart raced and I could feel the heat of blood in my muscles. I wanted this man out of Camelot, away from me and those I loved so I could protect them.

"That insane bitch is no member of my pack," he snarled and spat on the floor. "She's just another whore."

I can understand many things about my own sexual preferences that disturb other people. I'm a minority, I get that, I understand men feel confused and threatened. Though why Owen sought out his pleasure with me that fateful night still baffled me considering how violent he'd been and his words now. I just didn't understand the hate which comes with the confusion of a repressed desire, or just a different desire. Even the new faith sweeping through Camelot spoke of love for everyone but people like me. Men like me.

So, I felt inclined to let Owen's disgust at his own confused sexual repression and my openness, wash over me. However, he'd just called one of the bravest, most noble of women I'd ever met, a whore. There is nothing wrong with being a whore, but the context he used was definitely not one of affection. The heat of my blood made my temples pound and my vision blur. Every inch of my body screamed at me and a veil, much like the one I'd felt when I'd raised my bow against the king, descended to cloud my senses.

The tankard in my hand spilt open on contact with Owen's head. I didn't remember moving. Owen staggered and I followed through with an elbow strike to the same place. My foot stepped behind him as he tried to shift his balance and started to throw himself away from me. I flicked my arm back out and pointed to ground behind the shoulder furthest from my body. He toppled over and I rode him down.

Shouts and screams filled the air around my head and I heard Lucan over them all.

I found myself sat on Owen's hips, straddling him and able to beat his hands away with ease before raining punches down on his open face. Blood exploded from his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

"He's killing him," someone shouted.

Yes, I was and I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I never wanted to stop.

"Tal, Taliesin!" Strong arms were around me and pulling back, lifting me off my prey. I let them hold me and carry me away. My enemy lay very still on the dirty floor of the tavern. I couldn't see his chest move, I couldn't see anything but the bright scarlet on the flagstone floor. The contrast of the colours were startling and beautiful.

Silence. Long moments of silence.

"What have you done?" someone said.

"Get him out," Branwen hissed. "Get him out and get him safe." She pushed my chest back into someone, Lucan I realised. He yanked my hand and pulled me away. My lute. I didn't have my lute. I fought to escape, needing to retrieve my one true possession. Lucan just retreated even as the spell of shock relaxed its hold and chaos erupted. By the time the witnesses started to stir from their confusion and call for my capture we were through the last of them.

The warmth of the high summer night welcomed us but Lucan didn't stop moving.

He dragged me through the streets and wove a haphazard pattern into a different quarter of the city. We were both panting hard when he stopped in a small private square. Tall houses surrounded us, but they were all quiet. The people here were not interested in drunken celebrations.

"Taliesin, are you alright?" His urgency slid off my back and slithered into the nearby fountain. "Tal," he shook me.

"He's dead," I whispered. "I killed him."

"Maybe," Lucan said unable to hide this grimness, but I heard under the layers, pride. Lucan was scared for me, but he was also proud. "Are you hurt?"

I stared at the water pouring through some representation of an ancient deity turned into a fat little boy. It denuded him of his grace and power, forcing him to be a joke because people couldn't accept him.

"Tal? Are you hurt?" Lucan asked again, the firmness making me look at him.

"My hands," I said. They hurt.

"Alright, we need to wash the blood off," he pulled me to the fountain. "You're in shock. You've done something terrible and you're in shock."

I didn't think I was the only one.

He knelt by the fountain and forced me down next to him. The light, the light inside the briefest of nights, danced in the dark water streaming down the sides of the impotent god.

"Ouch," I said, the dull pain dragging me into the present. The water stung my knuckles and fingers. Blood bloomed darker still and swirled away from me. "I'm covered in blood," I whispered and my heart began to pound again but not with the power I'd poured into Owen. The coppery smell hit my nose and I gagged. My head tingled horribly and my brain shut down. I heard Lucan yell something but I couldn't respond.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Tal, wake up, I can't carry you." Hands held my face and air rushed into my lungs.

"Lucan," I managed to say. "What?"

"You fainted," he said more annoyed with me over that than the... God's, I'd beaten a man to death. "It's too dark for me to see if your hands are damaged. Move your fingers."

I focused on his voice and moved my fingers. They hurt but not to the point I wanted to scream. Not broken, damaged but not broken.

"I think they are alright," I said. My delicate hands had beaten a man to death.

"Can you sit up?" Lucan asked.

I struggled and felt him slip behind me so he could hold me upright. His strong arms surrounded me and I realised I trembled. I looked down at my hands, they were still streaky with blood, now drying and flaking. My black doublet soaked up the dark liquid but I saw splashes on my beautiful shirt.

"We have to leave Camelot," Lucan said. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. "We leave the city and head for Europe. If we stay ahead of the wolf pack we can vanish into France. I can work for money, be a mercenary, you can play or fight. We'll find a way to survive and save some money."

"That's a fucking stupid idea," Branwen said, striding into the square.

"How did you find us?" Lucan asked.

"How do you think?" she retorted. She crouched beside me. "You alright?"

"He called you a whore," I told her, the pain of those words, ones thrown at my mother all the time, echoed in my head. The past, the present, the future – what had I done?

She blinked. "You killed him for that?"

"No, I hit him with the tankard for that. I killed him for being a bad man in a world which doesn't need any more bad men." I wanted her to understand, I needed to understand. My musician's hands had beaten a man to death.

She reached out and stroked my hair and face. Her smile was so sad. "You are a good man, Taliesin." She sounded so old for a moment I wondered if I still looked at my friend. "We need to hand him over to the king," she told Lucan.

"Arthur will hang him," Lucan countered, his arms tightening around me.

"Arthur will understand and he is the only thing that can protect him from the wolf pack. They are already baying for his blood," Branwen said.

"She's right," I said, squirming against Lucan. "I need to hand myself over. The city watch will be everywhere soon. If they find me, I won't reach the king in one piece. I'll never see justice. Merlin isn't here, he can't protect me this time."

"I can," Lucan claimed.

"Not without making yourself vulnerable. I won't allow that and I won't allow you to throw your life away by running. You are a Knight of Camelot. You can't be a mercenary." At last my brain began to work. I moved away from him, already trying to separate him from my life, my horror. "I'll hand myself in, it's fine," I said. We were so far away from 'fine', I didn't know where to start. I did know I wasn't going to let Lucan toss his life into my gutter.

Branwen helped me up. "We'll explain what he did, it'll give you a sensible reason. Please, don't mention you were trying to defend my honour. It won't help," she said.

I nodded, my plans falling into her pattern. "I know. If you both escort me to the king I would be grateful, but that's all I need from you."

"This is insane," Lucan cried out. "I can't lose you."

"You would have lost me anyway, Lucan. You will marry, if not this girl then another," I said and the words hit him like blows.

His eyes filled with the tragedy of broken love. I watched his fragile world shatter. The cracks of reality working their dark magic and exploding inside him like badly smelted iron. The bubble he'd created for us over the last day popped without ceremony, leaving him bereft. I felt it, the return of those lashing ropes of misery tying him to future he didn't want.

I couldn't watch. I turned away and felt Branwen place an arm around my shoulders.

The sound of horses' hooves filled the small square. "Shit," she cursed. "We've been found already."

"Yes, you've been found," came a voice from the shadows.

"Merlin?" I recognised his sonorous voice.

"Who else would drag your stupid backside out of the latest fire it finds itself cooking in," he said pulling three horses into the small square and filling it. "Also, will you please stop leaving your damned lute lying around?"

"What –" I began.

"What am I doing here? How did I know? What are you going to do to save your life?" Merlin snapped in a series of short questions, mocking me. "Taliesin," he shook his head in exasperation, the moonlight catching his silver hair like it had the water, "you really don't like to make my life easy, do you?"

"Merlin, sir, what's going on?" Branwen stepped in front of me, taking control.

"You are not handing yourself in, boy. If you do, Arthur will be forced to hang you and he really won't want to do that. In the process, you will force your young lover there, to do something foolish and he too will suffer far more than just a broken heart at your death. Branwen will be ostracised for standing beside you and lose her place among the wolf pack. She will become a mercenary and die an inglorious death having been stabbed. She'll be miserable and bitter without the two of you." Merlin frowned. "I don't think you want any of those things, so you are going to do as you are told. You are going to find your voice and retrieve it from those damned witches who stole it. You are going to do this with your chosen companions because you have to, it will save Camelot. That's all I can say. I wasn't planning on the wolf pack hunting you but it should keep you motivated so perhaps it wasn't a bad thing. Besides, Owen is a nasty piece of work. It's mid-summer's night and things happen on the turn of the year which reach far into the future, our future. Camelot's future. I need you to reclaim your voice and though I've tried I cannot retrieve it myself. You are about to embark on your destiny, so I suggest you get on with it." He thrust a set of reins into my hand and my lute. "Now, boy, before they close the city gates and hunt for you street by street."

Lucan's horse ambled over to the knight and Branwen found herself holding the reins of her gelding. Packs were slung over the backs of the horses.

"You knew about this?" Lucan asked, mounting his tall stallion.

"Not the details, but I saw enough to be prepared this night and let Taliesin walk into it," Merlin said all cheerful words. "I shall finally have my rooms to myself once more. It'll be quite a relief."

"I killed a man," I whispered. "You could have stopped me, asked me to leave Camelot before this happened."

Merlin's eyes narrowed and his voice came out like a whip. "Do you think I would have let anyone die if I thought I could prevent it? Do you think I am that evil?" he questioned.

"No, sir," I said, rushing to fill the spaces of his anger. "I just don't understand."

"You don't need too, you just have to leave," he said.

"I don't want to leave," Branwen argued.

"If you don't leave, I will be forced to make you," Merlin's voice filled the small square and shadows rushed to meet him. The horses fought us and twisted to face their enemy.

I struggled to throw myself into the saddle of a dark bay mare. One of Yvain's fine horses I noticed. He wouldn't be pleased. Branwen cursed and made herself mount up despite her obvious reluctance.

"The east gate is nearest, then head north," Merlin said. "And, Taliesin," he grabbed the mare's reins. "Trust yourself and your gift. Your song is the strongest I've seen, it will see you right. Once you find your voice you'll know what to do next."

He smacked the mare on the rump and we were cantering through Camelot's narrow dark streets between revellers and those who were seeking my head to place it in a noose. We made the east gate just as the wolf pack rounded the corner on foot behind us. Shouts rose in both directions.

"Ride," Lucan shouted. "Don't stop for anything." He forced his stallion to a full gallop and the other two horses followed. We poured through the gate amid screams and shouted orders. Crossbow bolts whistled while they shot passed my head but every one, and a few yard long arrows from the longbow, missed us, almost as though we were blessed with a shield. I'd never witnessed Merlin performing actual magic, but I swear, Camelot has the best archers in the known world and every shot missed.

We galloped east along the king's highway, until we lost sight of Camelot behind the hills.

"They aren't chasing us," Branwen called behind me. "We need to rest the horses while we can. It'll be dawn soon."

Lucan slowed his great dark grey destrier. Apparently, the offspring of Sir Lancelot's monster, Ash. Lucan was very proud of his horse and its heritage. Branwen's chestnut gelding came from less defined stock but he was pretty and exceptionally clever. Far cleverer than Lucan's horse. I'd never ridden the one Merlin stole for me. She was smaller than the other two and fought me to be allowed her head. She wanted to run.

"That's Vela," Wen said pointing to my mare. "She's one of Yvain's best. We are going to be in deeper shit for that than for killing Owen." She didn't sound the least regretful. In fact I could swear I heard a freedom in her voice I'd never heard before.

"We need to get off this road," Lucan said ignoring us both. "Merlin said to head north. I think that's a mistake."

"It isn't," I said. "They will expect us to head for the coast, a minor port along the east side of the country. If we head into England proper, by going north, then east, we'll have a better chance. It's bandit country up there on the border of the old de Clare lands. I've travelled it before."

"Is that where you lost your voice?" Branwen asked, half curious, half laughing at the concept.

"I think so," I said. "I know I started that journey in the snows north of Chester. But after that it's a blur, until I awoke on the wall, with the wolf pack trying to kill me, for the first time. I remember snatches but not the journey itself."

"And it was well into spring by the time you arrived," Lucan pointed out. "That means you took a full month or more to travel south and west."

"About right if you aren't in a hurry and on foot," Wen said.

I'd been trying to tie my lute to my saddle. Merlin had managed to wrap her in high quality oil cloth. How had he known? What else did he know? Why did he think I was special? And why had I killed a man?

"Fuck, this is a mess," I muttered.

"I still don't think north is wise but Merlin wanted you to be in charge, Tal, so we follow you," Lucan said. Such a good soldier. Right in that moment I wanted him to be anything other than a good soldier. I wanted us both to be in bed somewhere safe.

"North," I said and wondered what new horrors would be inflicted on me in the future.
CHAPTER TWELVE

The immediate future turned out to be a battle against the bloody weather. The spring had been long and hot, but it seemed the summer was going to be wet. We rode north, managing to evade the wolf pack by some miracle of the fates, or maybe Merlin, or perhaps just bloody minded luck. We had more than few near misses and we hardly dared to stop for rest or food. The first week of our escape became a blur of running and hiding, of ignoring sore muscles and aching bellies. We rode into the rolling and vast hills of the Marches and tried to loose ourselves in the forests and bogs. We slept in shifts when we were too exhausted to move and the horses had to rest so Lucan and I didn't share our bed. Branwen, her training with the wolf pack coming to the fore, soon took over our small group. Lucan and I were at her mercy, the training a knight received nothing compared to the ruthless efficiency of Sir Lancelot's wolf pack's preparations.

Neither blamed me for our current predicament. I expected it every day but Branwen, with her usual practicality, informed me after my tenth apology, that she was exactly where she chose to be – with her family. Her real family. I'd broken down into tears at that declaration and Lucan had hugged me close.

"Gods, I'm sorry I have to stop," I admitted. We were half way up a trail and walking to give the horses some rest. We hadn't seen signs of pursuit for almost a day and the track we followed led deeper into the hills that were turning into mountains this far north of Camelot. The rain had stopped and the sun made a feeble attempt to battle the clouds. The farmers would not be pleased.

****

So, the introduction to The Knights of Camelot is over.

I hope you enjoyed these stories and understand a little more about Lancelot's love for Arthur and life in Camelot.

Remember the 1st book is  Lancelot and the King.

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