Melehan kicked his heels against the horse’s side and bounced up and down in the saddle. His father’s white mare snorted, but otherwise didn’t move. Melehan blew out a puff of air in annoyance. Why wouldn’t she move?

“Are you done yet?” Melehan asked his father, who was kneeling on the ground next to Melehan’s pony. The mount had started to favor one of its hooves, according to his father, which was the reason why they had stopped.

“Almost,” Father replied patiently.

“What are you doing?” Melehan asked.

“Cleaning the hoof.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” Father laughed. “I know how to take care of a horse.”

“But you never do at home.”

“Sometimes I do,” Father said. “And I always do on the road. Since the Fifth Command doesn’t have foot soldiers every knight is responsible for his own mount.”

“Why don’t you at home?” Melehan pressed, not quite believing his father. This was the first time he had seen Father take care of a horse himself, after all.

“Because we pay our stable hands good money to do it for me,” Father muttered. Melehan sighed and kicked the mare again, trying to get her to move. “Stop that.”

“Why won’t she move?” Melehan asked. “I thought horses were supposed to charge when you kick them. That’s why you make us use the ponies.” By us, Melehan meant himself. His brother Melou wasn’t old enough to ride yet and his best friend Drystan had just received his first horse.

“She’s a warhorse and warhorses follow their master’s commands,” Father said. “I told her to wait and she’ll stand there until I tell her something different.”

“I thought your black stallion was your warhorse,” Melehan said. “And she was just your horse.”

“Yes,” Father said. He put the pony’s hoof down and stood up. “But she used to be my warhorse. She’s just too old to ride with the Fifth Command.” He lifted Melehan out of the mare’s saddle. “But I still enjoy taking her out on leisurely rides.”

“Was she a good warhorse?” Melehan asked, reaching out his hand and petting the mare’s neck.

“She was one of the best.”

“Better than your stallion?”

Father laughed. “Much better than my stallion.” He placed Melehan on the pony’s saddle before climbing up onto the mare’s back. “You ready?”

“Yes!” Melehan cried. Father clicked his tongue. It was the verbal command used to control the ponies. Melehan and Drystan had tried to mimic the commands so they could ride the ponies without the adults. So far, no luck. But now Drystan had his own horse and Melehan still had a year with the stubborn ponies that would only do what the adults wanted. Melehan could only hope that Drystan would let him try his horse.

Within the hour they were riding through the busy streets of Camelot. The crowd pressed in around them and Father lifted Melehan off the pony and placed the boy in front of him. Melehan barely noticed. His eyes were taking in everything and everyone all at once. The more he looked, the more he noticed that Camelot wasn’t too different from Maiden Castle and the city that surrounded it. The only real difference was people here didn’t pay them any attention while the people in Maiden Castle paid a great deal of attention to Melehan, Melou and their parents. But this was Camelot! Even if it didn’t look all that different from home, there was no comparison. Melehan was certain that once he saw the knights instead of just the town’s people, Camelot’s greatness would become obvious.

Melehan was still gawking when they rode the horse through the castle gates into the courtyard. A stable hand met them there and took Father’s reins as he dismounted.

“Why are we here?” Melehan asked as Father lifted him out of the saddle. They were supposed to go to the joust and jousts didn’t happen inside castles.

“Now we walk,” Father said.

“Hey! There they are!”

“Uncle Gaheris!” Melehan yelled, kicking Father for ‘down’. Father did so immediately and Melehan raced across the courtyard to his uncle. Uncle Gaheris lifted him up and tossed him into the air.

“Look at you!” Uncle Gaheris laughed. “Getting bigger and bigger every time I see you!” He glanced at Father. “How was the ride?”

“Restful,” Father said. Melehan made a face. Uncle Gaheris laughed again.

“You disagree?” he asked.

“It was boring,” Melehan said.

“I bet,” Uncle Gaheris said. “So, I can take you two upstairs. Give you a chance to freshen up--”

“No!” Melehan yelled. He looked at Father for help.

“Are we terribly un-presentable?” Father asked.

“You are,” Uncle Gaheris said. “But you’ll just have to be an embarrassment for the day.”

Father snorted. “Where’s Agravain?”

“He needed to meet with Arthur about something. They both wanted to get this out of the way before you arrived,” Uncle Gaheris said. He motioned that they could start walking. “Arthur has made it clear that once you two arrived, he wouldn’t be holding any other audience’s today.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Melehan asked, twisting in Gaheris’ arms and reaching for Father.

“Grandpa,” Father said, lifting Melehan out of Uncle Gaheris’ arms. “You want to walk?” Melehan shook his head and snuggled closer to Father.

The walk down to the jousting field seemed to take just as long as the ride from Dumnonia. Father and Uncle Gaheris didn’t seem inclined o move any faster. They were talking about stuff that Melehan didn’t care about. He wanted to see the joust! Melehan squirmed and kicked for down, but Father only held him tighter now. He knew that, if given the chance, Melehan would run.

Melehan stopped struggling when they finally arrived at the jousting field. He was too busy looking around, trying to take in all the sights. Knights were standing all around the field and coming and going from the stables. Real knights! Not just the guards and soldiers who lived and worked in Maiden Castle. The stands were packed with people, except for one placed at the middle of the field. That one was built more like a platform with nice chairs resting on it. It also had a roof. Melehan recognized a few people there- like Uncle Agravain, Uncle Loholt, Aunt Aless and Cousin Gwydre. Uncle Agravain was standing next to the nicest chair on the platform, talking to an older man. The old man had to be pretty important. He was wearing a crown, like Mama did when she was working. And everyone thought Mama was important when she was working.

“They’re here!” Uncle Gaheris called as they climbed the steps up onto the platform. Father finally put Melehan down, but the boy shied closer to his father. He didn’t like large groups, even when it was made up of people he knew.

There was a booming laugh as Uncle Agravain turned and lumbered over to them. “Look at you, Melehan,” he said. “How tall are you now?” Melehan buried his face into Father’s leg. He wanted to go back outside and watch the joust.

“And now we’re shy,” Father sighed, resting a hand on Melehan’s head. “It’s just Uncle Agravain. He’s harmless enough.”

“Melehan?” a small voice said as Gwydre’s blond head poked out around Uncle Agravain’s legs. “Melehan!” He skipped forward and stopped in front of Father. “Hello Uncle Mordred.”

“Hello Gwydre,” Father said, tapping Melehan’s head. “Greet your cousin.”

Melehan peaked his face out. Gwydre jumped forward, grabbed Melehan’s arm and pulled him out from behind father.

“Come on, Melehan,” Gwydre said. “The next joust will start soon and we’ve got spots right up front.” Melehan looked back at Father, but he was busy talking to Uncle Agravain and Uncle Gaheris. His eyes flickered back to Melehan every few seconds, but he didn’t seem concerned or inclined to help.

Gwydre led Melehan past Uncle Loholt and Aunt Aless. Both of them gave him a warm greeting. Gwydre finally stopped in front of the important old man. He was younger than Melehan had first thought. He didn’t have as many wrinkles as old people and his hair wasn’t as gray. But he was definitely older than Father. Even older than Uncle Agravain. His gold crown looked much nicer than Mama’s. It was shinier and had a jewel in the center. He looked very comfortable despite all the formal clothes he was wearing. Usually Mama was very stiff when she had to wear her formal clothes.

“Grandpa,” Gwydre said and the old man smiled. “This is Melehan, my cousin.”

“Hello Melehan,” the old man said, glancing up at Father as he came up and rested his hands on Melehan’s shoulders.

“This is Grandpa Arthur,” Father said.

“Grandpa?” Melehan said. He had met Grandpa Seijin, Mama’s father. This was the first time he had met Father’s father.

“It’s a pleasure,” Grandpa Arthur said, holding out a hand. Melehan ignored the hand and jumped forward, giving Grandpa Arthur a hug. Grandpa Seijin had once told them that the only way to greet a grandparent was with a hug. Grandpa Arthur laughed and patted Melehan’s back. “A great pleasure,” he whispered before Melehan stepped back. “Will you sit beside me to enjoy the joust?”

“Sit here, Melehan,” Gwydre said, jumping onto a chair and patting the one between him and Grandpa Arthur. Father nudged him forward and Melehan climbed onto the chair and turned to face the jousting field. Father took a seat on the other side of Grandpa Arthur, next to Uncle Loholt.

“Are you excited to see a joust?” Grandpa Arthur asked.

Melehan nodded. “We don’t have tournaments in Dumnonia and I’ve always wanted to see Sir Percival compete. He’s the greatest knight in all of Britain. Maybe the whole world.”

Grandpa Arthur chuckled. “For now. In the past there have been knights who were as good as Sir Percival if not better.”

Melehan nodded. “Father says that Uncle Gawain was the greatest knight before he journeyed to the Otherworld. But Sir Percival was Uncle Gawain’s squire. So he knows everything Uncle Gawain knew.”

“Were there any knights greater at the joust, Grandpa?” Gwydre asked. “Or was Sir Gawain the best before Sir Percival?”

“I’d be hard pressed to think of a better man than Gawain,” Arthur said. “But Gawain wasn’t just good at the joust. He was also a great leader and a one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. But on the field of battle, there are many knights who can match Gawain and Percival’s skill.”

“Like who?” Melahan asked.

“Well,” Grandpa Arthur said, turning to smile at Father. “Your--”

“You wouldn’t recognize any of their names, Melehan,” Father interrupted. Grandpa Arthur frowned. “Most of them haven’t received the same tales of glory as Percival or Gawain.”

“Oh,” Melehan said. Grandpa Arthur continued to frown at Father, who gave Grandpa Arthur the ‘grown up’ look. Whatever Grandpa Arthur wanted to say, Father didn’t think Melehan was old enough to hear it.

“How old are you, Melehan?” Uncle Loholt asked, leaning around Father.

“I’m six,” Melehan said.

“Six?” Grandpa Arthur repeated, shaking his head. “My, how the years fly. And how old are your brother and sister?”

“Melou’s four,” Melehan said. “And Myr will be one soon.”

“Myrffyn is nine months,” Father said. “She’ll be one at the end of July.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Grandpa Arthur said.

“It was a shame you couldn’t come to Maiden Castle for Yule this winter,” Father said.

“It’s been a busy year,” Grandpa Arthur said. “We had much to do before the summer, as you well know.” Father gave Grandpa Arthur the ‘grown up’ look again.

The heralds sounded and a pair of knights rode out onto the jousting field. Melehan gasped, recognizing the red armor of one of the knights. It was Sir Percival!

Grandpa Arthur got to his feet and acknowledged both knights. Sir Percival kicked his horse forward until it stood right in front of their platform. “A boon, sire?” he asked, bowing to Grandpa Arthur.

Grandpa Arthur nodded. “Speak, Sir Percival.”

“On this day, I wish to joust in the honor of your grandson, Prince Melehan Pendragon, who has just made his first journey to Camelot.”

Melehan squeaked and sunk down into his chair. Grandpa Arthur turned to smile at him before nodding to Sir Percival. “Good luck today, Sir Percival. May you do great honor to our young prince.” Sir Percival saluted and rode off to the side of the field. Grandpa Arthur returned to his seat. Melehan scurried past him and jumped into Father’s lap.

“Surprise,” Father whispered. Melehan squirmed and tried to push Father away while still staying on his lap.

“Wow, Melehan!” Gwydre said, bouncing up to them. “Sir Percival is going to joust in your honor. Isn’t that exciting?” Melehan groaned and buried his face into Father’s chest.

“Melehan,” Father scolded.

“It is,” Melehan muttered. He looked up at Father. “Thank you, Papa.”

“We’ll have to thank Sir Percival after the joust,” Father said. Melehan felt his stomach flip. Speak with Sir Percival?

The herald sounded again. Gwydre rushed back to his seat. Melehan turned his head and leaned against Father so he could watch. His fear of having to speak with Sir Percival was soon replaced by excitement as the first joust he had ever seen began.

“Beautiful evening,” Arthur said as he finished climbing the steps of the west wall. It was the first place he had thought to look for Mordred when his son had retreated early from the evening’s festivities.

“Pleasant enough,” Mordred agreed. He didn’t turn to look at Arthur, instead keeping his focus on the sea spread out before them.

“How did your meeting with the command leaders go?”

“We’re prepared.”

“I still can’t believe that the commands have changed so much over the years,” Arthur said. “Now Loholt runs the First Command in my stead, since Kay’s retirement. And King Kaherdin of Brittany leads the Second. Your brother, Gaheris, has the Third, Dinadan the Fourth. And you the Fifth. It’s strange to think of you as the constant. It seems as though it was only a few years ago that I passed the Fifth Command on to you.”

“Only a few years?” Mordred repeated. “With all that’s happened, it really only feels like a few years to you?”

“When you look at it like that,” Arthur sighed. He stepped up next to Mordred and rested his arms on the wall. “I spoke with Loholt.”

“We disagree on strategy,” Mordred muttered.

“Yes, he mentioned that,” Arthur said. “Do you think you’ll receive any further news?”

Mordred shook his head. “Cerdic has locked down his camp. We haven’t heard anything in several weeks and it’s doubtful we’ll hear anything more until the Saxons are landing on our shores.”

“I agree with Loholt,” Arthur said. “With the commands watching the shoreline, we’ll have more than enough times to meet the Saxons when they land.”

“Did Loholt explain my theory?”

“You think that they’ll land in Ceniw,” Arthur said.

“Mark has refused any form of assistance that you have offered,” Mordred said. “And he keeps a blue moon on his standard.” Arthur sighed and Mordred pressed on. “The Fifth Command along with the Dumnonian Guard can watch the Southern coast. Send the Second, Third and Fourth Commands to watch the border to Ceniw.”

“A bit excessive,” Arthur said.

“If Cerdic lands on the southern shoreline, we can have all of the commands there and ready to meet him before he loses his sea legs,” Mordred said. “But if he lands in Ceniw, he will have more than enough time to prepare his troops and invade. If those three commands aren’t there, we’ll lose our chance to hold him.”

“A compelling argument,” Arthur sighed. “I expected nothing less from you. Very well, the Second, Third and Fourth commands shall be stationed on the border of Ceniw. Are you happy?”

Mordred frowned and finally looked away from the ocean. “I take it you didn’t come up here to talk strategy?”

“No,” Arthur said with a small smile. “I wanted to thank you for bringing Melehan here. I know the decision couldn’t have been easy, what with an invasion on our horizon. But it pleased me greatly to meet my grandson.”

“You should have wintered in Dumnonia,” Mordred said. “We missed you during Yule.”

“We were busy here,” Arthur said. “I wanted to. Sitting through all those meetings with the lesser kings, I would have done anything for the chance to journey to Dumnonia. But my responsibilities here... to the kingdom...”

“I understand,” Mordred said. “And I was just as grateful for the chance to come. Melehan deserves to know his grandfather. Melou and Myrffyn as well.”

“There will be many more winters,” Arthur said. “Once we crush these Saxons wolves, we’ll have more than enough time to focus on more important things.” He clapped a hand on Mordred’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, now. I promised Gwydre I’d tell him a bedtime story.”

“You’re close to Gwydre,” Mordred said, looking back out at the ocean. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Arthur whispered, turning to leave Mordred alone on the wall. He paused on the first step and looked back at his eldest. “Mordred, why is it that you didn’t want Melehan to know the glory of the Black Dragon?”

Mordred smiled. “He knows all about the glory of the Black Dragon, he just doesn’t know it’s his father who bears that title.”

“Why not tell him?”

Mordred shrugged. “I have no desire to become a hero to my son. I am his father, and that is all I wish to be.”

“You already are his hero, Mordred,” Arthur said. “And nothing will ease his pains were something to happen to you.”

“Allow me my dreams, father,” Mordred said. “Don’t you have a bedtime story that needs telling?”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said with nod. “Goodnight, Mordred.”

“Goodnight, father.”

Arthur wandered through Camelot’s halls, making his way down to the nursery, grinning at the thought of seeing his grandsons.

“Grandpa!” Gwydre cried when he entered the nursery. Alessandra looked up from her sewing, smiled at Arthur, and returned to her work. Gwydre dropped one of his wooden toys to the ground and ran to hug Arthur’s leg. Arthur ran a hand through Gwydre’s strawberry blonde hair, smiling in surprise as Melehan approached him and also wrapped his arms around Arthur’s leg.

“Did you come to tell us a story?” Gwydre asked.

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said. “Do you have a story picked out?”

Gwydre shook his head and ran to Alessandra to ask her about stories. Arthur ran a hand through Melehan’s hair and the boy jumped back. Arthur frowned. Although he and Mordred had never spoken of it, Arthur knew that it was Melehan who had saved them from the Deceiver. That meant the boy was a Pendragon and that the mark lay somewhere on his body. Was it on his head, covered by that dark hair? Was that why he had jumped? Because Mordred and Areria had taught him to hide the mark at all costs?

“Does your father tell stories?” Arthur asked.

Melehan nodded. “He likes he Greek and Roman stories. He’s using them to teach me to read.”

“Really?” Arthur asked. “Do you enjoy the stories?”

“Yes,” Melehan said.

“Momma says you should tell the story of Romulus and Remus,” Gwydre said, running back over to them.

“I know that story!” Melehan cried.

“Me too!” Gwydre said. “Momma is from Rome and she tells that story all the time. It’s her favorite.”

“Come on,” Arthur said, herding the boys over to the bed they would be sharing while Melehan was in Camelot. They scrambled onto it and Arthur sat down on a wooden stool next to the bed. He began to recite the story he had listened to Alessandra tell time and time again.

Gwydre began to nod off immediately and soon was fast asleep. Melehan remained upright, listening attentively to everything Arthur said. Finally, Arthur paused. It had become clear that Melehan wasn’t going to fall asleep.

“Are you going to finish, Grandpa Arthur?” Melehan asked.

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said. “But do you need something to help you sleep?”

“No, I’ll sleep when you’re finished,” Melehan said.

“Is that how it works with your father?”

Melehan nodded. “Melou and I stay up for the whole story. But we have to go to sleep once he’s done.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. He continued the story until he found a good stopping point. Melehan thanked him for the story and snuggled down under the covers. Alessandra gathered her things and stood.

“Goodnight Grandpa Arthur,” Melehan yawned. “Goodnight Aunt Aless.”

“Goodnight Melehan,” Alessandra said, kissing his head and then leaning over to kiss Gwydre’s. Arthur wrapped an arm around Alessandra’s shoulder as they left the nursery together.

“Well?” Alessandra asked. “What do you think of your oldest grandson?”

“I expected him to be more like his father,” Arthur admitted. “He certainly looks enough like Mordred.”

“I doubt Mordred was as world weary as he is now when he was six,” Alessandra said. “Perhaps Melehan will eventually be forged into the same kind of man as his father.”

Please no, Arthur prayed. He would be a better grandfather to Melehan than he had been father to Mordred. Melehan would want for nothing. None of his grandchildren would. Arthur would make sure of that.

“Goodnight,” Alessandra said when it came time for them to part company. Arthur pulled her close, kissing her forehead.

“Give Loholt my love,” Arthur said.

“I will,” Alessandra promised. “But perhaps you should deliver this message to Mordred personally.”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Thank you.”

Alessandra continued down the hallway to the rooms she shared with Loholt. Arthur turned down the opposite hall, to the guest room where Mordred was staying. The servant who answered informed him that Mordred had yet to return to his room. Arthur sighed and began to make his way back to the castle walls, wondering if Mordred was still up there. On his way, Arthur passed Agravain’s study. The door was open slightly and the sound of Agravain’s booming laugh caused Arthur to pause.

“-- Clari gets that look in her eyes and poor Guin knows he’s in for it so he starts to back away, muttering apologies. Guin gets to the door and tries to bolt. That’s when Clari turns him into a lamb. The boy goes scuttling off in his new form, breaking vases and terrorizing the servants.”

“Clarissant is casting transformation spells already?” Arthur heard Mordred ask. “Isn’t she only five?”

“Oh sure,” Gaheris said. “But she picked up on that trick right after she started using sentences. Luckily it’s still a pretty weak spell and Guin is usually back to himself with an hour or so, since it’s unlikely Clari would have turned him back.”

Arthur smiled and continued down the hall, heading to his own rooms. Tonight he was content to let the Orkney brothers enjoy their reunion. He could speak to Mordred tomorrow.

Several days later, Mordred stood in Camelot’s courtyard next to his mare and Melehan’s pony. He was waiting for Arthur and Alessandra to bring Melehan down. Gwydre was probably throwing a fit at having to say goodbye to his cousin.

“Hey!” Percival called, running down into the courtyard.

“You’re late,” Mordred yelled.

“You waiting for me?” Percival asked as one of the pages brought his horse forward.

“You’re cutting it close,” Mordred said as Percival tied on his saddle bag.

“Didn’t think so,” Percival said smugly. “Where’s your boy?”

“Running late too.”

“Will he be receiving a lecture as well?” Percival asked. “Maybe the two of us can bond over your scolding.”

“Or you’ll scare him into sitting in my saddle all day,” Mordred said. “This trip is going to be strained as it is.” Percival snickered.

“Here we are,” Arthur said as he carried Melehan down the steps. He lifted the boy onto the pony. Mordred stepped up next to his father to make sure Melehan had found his seat.

“Papa?” Melehan asked softly. “Why is Sir Percival here?”

“He’s riding back with us,” Mordred said. Melehan squeaked and fell forward, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. “No,” Mordred said, pushing Melehan back up into the saddle. “Let’s show Percival what a proud young noble you are.” The boy stayed up in the saddle, his lower lip pushed out in a pout. “Say goodbye to Grandpa Arthur.”

“Goodbye Grandpa Arthur,” Melehan said.

“Goodbye Melehan,” Arthur said. “I hope to see you again soon.” He looked at Mordred. “The same goes for you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Mordred said, mounting up. “Because if I have to come to Camelot at all this summer, it means things aren’t going well.”

“Or that we have achieved a swift victory,” Arthur said. “Which is what I pray for. Safe journey.”

“My thanks,” Mordred said. He kicked his horse forward and clicking his tongue so the pony would follow. They rode past the castle’s outer wall, down through the city, out the gate and onto the road that would take them back to Maiden Castle. As soon as they reached open country, Percival kicked his horse into a gallop and charged down the road. Mordred let him go, knowing that they would meet up again eventually.

“Can we trot?” Melehan asked. Mordred reined in his mare so the pony was next to her, in case his son fell. He clicked his tongue and kicked his horse. Both animals started to trot down the road. Melehan giggled as he bounced up and down in the saddle, but his face soon smoothed over as he concentrated on keeping his seat. Mordred smiled, pleased with the brief image of the man his son would grown into.

Mordred and Melehan kept to a leisurely pace over the next few days. Melehan complained about the pace, wanting to return home so he could tell Melou and Drystan of his journey to Camelot. Percival drifted back and forth. He would spend several hours away from them, but eventually he would drop back and rejoin them. He would then spend another few hours in their company before riding off again. At the very least, the journey had caused Melehan’s shyness to start to melt away, especially in the evening when Percival insisted on giving him pointers on his fighting skills.

“Hey,” Percival said on their third night on the road, long after Melehan had fallen asleep. “You awake?”

“Yes,” Mordred said. His eyes were focused on the stars above him and his mind was on Cerdic. What was the Saxon chief planning? Were they prepared for the invasion, or were months of planning all for naught?

“Is this all there is to it?” Percival asked.

Mordred frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Being a father,” Percival said. “Watching you with Melehan these past few days, I can’t help but wonder...”

“Thinking about settling down?” Mordred asked, suddenly very aware of the tiny body curled up next to him.

Percival laughed. “Never. I’m happy. Couldn’t imagine things changing.”

“So why ask?”

“Not sure,” Percival admitted. “These past few days, they’ve been... they’ve been nice. I guess it just makes me wonder what it’s like, you know, to have someone love you like that.”

“But there’s--” Mordred stopped, wondering if it was a good idea to bring Nimue into this.

“It’s different,” Percival said, making that decision for him. “Being with someone, it takes effort. It’s taken effort for you and Arey to get to where you are. It’s taken Yvain and Galahad effort. History, you know? But you and Melehan don’t have history. One day he was born and because of that you love him. And because you’re his father, he loves you. That’s it. There’s nothing there. But at the same time it’s really... powerful.”

“And fragile,” Mordred muttered, thinking about what had happened between himself and Arthur, Loholt and Guinevere, Galahad and Lancelot and any of the Orkney brothers and King Lot. Those relationships had all crumbled with a few harsh words and actions.

“I guess,” Percival sighed. “Still, makes me understand why Yvain adopted Idrus.”

Mordred turned his head so he was just barely able to see Melehan’s sleeping form in the darkness. “Yes,” he said. He completely understood Yvain’s choice.

They were only two days from Maiden Castle when Percival reined in his horse, nearly causing the creature to buck. He had been riding with them for a few hours and Mordred had sensed he was getting ready to start riding hard again. He was understandably confused by Percival’s decision to stop.

“Something wrong?” Mordred asked, reining in his own horse and clicking his tongue so the pony stopped.

“Hear that?” Percival asked. Mordred closed his eyes and listened, shifting his focus away from those next to him and onto the landscape around them. There it was. The pounding of hoofs, coming from behind them.

Mordred drew his knife and cut through the reins that tied the pony to his mare. He lifted Melehan off the pony and placed the boy in front of him. He checked to make sure Melehan had his seat before kicking his mare into a gallop. Percival followed them, checking his horse to make sure he stayed behind Mordred.

“Mordred!” Percival yelled. “Saxons!”

Mordred looked over his shoulder and cursed when he saw a small contingent of Saxon raiders come up over a hill and down upon them. Mordred kicked his mare, urging her to go faster, but she was old and hadn’t run at this pace in years. She would tire soon and the Saxons would have them.

Percival reined his horse. Mordred looked back and pulled his own horse to a halt, wheeling her around to face Percival.

“What are you doing?” Mordred yelled.

“Get your kid out of here?” Percival ordered. “I’ll try and hold them back.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!” Mordred snapped.

“Get going!”

Mordred swung off his mare and looked up at Melehan. “Stay low in the saddle and she’ll make sure you won’t fall off.”

“Papa!” Melehan cried, trying to keep hold of Mordred. Tears were sliding down the boy’s cheek and Mordred could feel him trembling.”

“What are you doing?” Percival yelled. “Go!”

“And what good are you going to do alone against all those men?” Mordred snapped. “At least together we’ll stand a better chance of stalling them.” He pried Melehan off his shoulder and stared up at the boy. Melehan’s eyes had glazed over with gray light and Mordred could feel the power of the Pendragon pulsing within his son’s small body. “Melehan, don’t!” Mordred snapped, giving the boy a sharp shake. Melehan couldn’t use the power of the Pendragon, not out here. Not like this.

“Papa, I’m scared,” Melehan whispered.

“It’s going to be alright,” Mordred said and it just might be, if Mordred could harness the power of the Pendragon himself. He hadn’t tried in a year, but the need to protect his son should be the push he needed to tap into that power. “Just stay low in the saddle. She’ll take you to Mama. Don’t do anything else and it will be alright.”

“Don’t leave,” Melehan said.

“Be strong,” Mordred said, stepping back. Melehan hunched low in the saddle, ready for the ride. Mordred ran a hand along his mare’s nose. “Take him--”

“Wait,” Percival interrupted. Mordred looked back at the Saxons. They had come to a halt and the leader had separated from the squad. His horse was trotting towards them. On the way, he picked up the abandoned pony and somehow got it to walk along with him despite the pony needing a verbal command to move.

“What’s this?” Mordred asked, still prepared to send Melehan off. “A trap?”

“I don’t know,” Percival said. “Get out of here, both of you.”

Mordred hesitated. He wouldn’t leave Percival if this was a trap. That would simply doom Melehan. He needed to send Melehan off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There would be time if this was a trap. There had to be time.

“Papa, please,” Melehan whispered.

“You’ll be safe,” Mordred said. “I’m--”

“Damn,” Percival snapped, kicking his horse forward, toward the Saxon. “It’s Cissa!”

Mordred sagged in relief. His grip on the saddle was the only thing that kept him upright. It was just Cissa and his men, returning to Dumnonia after spending the past year acting as a spy in Cerdic’s camp. If Cissa was breaking from the Saxon chief, the news couldn’t be good, but Mordred didn’t care. For now, they were safe.

Melehan touched his head. Mordred pulled the boy off the mare and held him close. Melehan wrapped his arms and legs tightly around Mordred’s neck and waist, burying his face against his father’s chest. Mordred ran a hand through the boy’s black hair, trying to soothe away the quiet sobs.

“I was scared,” Melehan hiccupped.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Mordred said. “There’s nothing to be scared of anymore.”

“Hey!” Percival yelled, riding back to them. Mordred turned to face his friend.

“Cerdic?” Mordred asked.

Percival nodded. “You were right, about everything. They’re in Ceniw now, ready to cross the border. A tenth of Cerdic’s forces are going to march on Camelot. The rest of the Saxons are going to be split. Half will meet the commands on the boarder of Ceniw. The other half marches on Maiden Castle.

“Half?” Mordred asked, lifting Melehan back up into the saddle. “Cerdic sends half his men against us?”

“Let’s hope that castle is as good at holding back a siege as your lady wife claims,” Percival said. “Or else--” Percival stopped as Mordred shook his head. He knew that they couldn’t hope to hold Dumnonia without the commands help if Maiden Castle fell. And if they lost Dumnonia...

“Take him,” Mordred ordered, nodding to Melehan. “Stay in front of us. I’ll talk to Cissa.”

“Papa, no,” Melehan cried.

“Shh,” Mordred said, running a hand across the boy’s face. “I’ll be fine and Percival will take care of you.”

“Promise?” Melehan whispered. Mordred pulled the boy down and kissed his forehead. He made sure Melehan had his seat before handing the reins to Percival. The red knight continued down the road, pulling Mordred’s mare along behind him. Mordred watched them for a moment before walking back to where Cissa waited for him.

“Prince Cissa,” Mordred greeted in the Saxon tongue.

“Black Dragon,” Cissa replied, his gaze on the horizon. “How it pains me to return home in such a troubled time.”

“We’ll beat him back,” Mordred said.

“None shall defeat the warrior queen or her Black Dragon?” Cissa asked.

“None,” Mordred agreed. “But we’ll need to know everything.”

“Cissa!” Arey yelled, slamming her hands down on her desk. “You used Cissa as a spy and didn’t deign to tell me?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Mordred snapped. “The only reason Percival knew is because he suggested Cissa as a spy.”

“No one?” Arey asked. “You mean to swear to me that you and Percival are the only ones who knew about this?”

“No,” Mordred said. “Nimue probably knows. I’ve given up on keeping secrets from her. And Brother Gildas knows which members of Cerdic’s camp are loyal to us, since the information is passed through him. But I swear, my lady, I told no one of this, save Percival.”

“You should have told me,” Arey said. “How dare you--”

“I dare what I please,” Mordred snapped. “As the leader of the Fifth Command, I intend to keep Dumnonia and Britain safe from the Saxon invasion, through whatever means necessary.”

“As Arthur’s man!”

“As my own man. This is my country and home.”

“Cissa is my man,” Arey said. “The South Saxons are my responsibility. My people and I nearly...” Arey stopped, trying to compose herself against the memories that had been haunting her since Cissa and his men arrived in Maiden Castle. “I once swore I’d burn that settlement to the ground if I ever suspected treachery.”

“I wouldn’t have let it come to that.”

“I nearly gave the order,” Arey snapped. It was the fear in Cymen’s eyes as he relayed the news that had stayed her hand. If was the fear she had sensed in Aelle’s actions that had spared the South Saxons.

“I would have stopped you,” Mordred said.

“I cannot rely on you to temper my actions,” Arey said. “And I cannot risk questioning my decisions because I do not know your mind.”

“I have no more secrets,” Mordred said.

“You had better not,” Arey sighed. “How is Melehan?”

“Happy to be home,” Mordred said. “I’ve never seen him so pleased to see Efa and Melou. He’s sworn to obey Efa and never again fight with his brother.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts.”

“You should see him.”

“We have a war council to get through first,” Arey said, nodding to the door that led to the council room, where the Fifth Command squad leaders, along with Tristan and Cymen waited. They were meeting with Cissa to determine the full extent of Cerdic’s forces along with where and how he would strike. Neither Mordred nor Arey needed to see the map or hear the numbers to know their situation was dire. They also knew that as soon as they entered that room they would be at each other’s throats. As a commander and a queen, they were known for being of opposite mind.

“Let’s hope it’s a short one,” Mordred muttered, motioning for Arey to lead. She swept through the door and each of the men in the council chamber straightened up. Nimue wasn’t there, as it fell to her to see that Camelot and the Commands were sufficiently warned of Cerdic’s strategy.

“Majesty,” Tristan said. “Our situation--”

“I know our situation, Sir Tristan,” Arey said. “Almost half of Cerdic’s forces march on Maide Castle. What we intend to do about this is my concern.”

“We can’t look to the commands for help,” Yvain said. “Cerdic has turned just as many men on them.”

“What of Camelot?” Arey asked. “According to Cissa,” she nodded to the Saxon prince, “only a tenth of Cerdic’s men march there. Is the First Command still defending the city?”

Mordred nodded. “And they should be able to break through Cerdic’s siege, but not until late summer.”

“Cerdic is gambling that he’ll have crushed either us or the commands before that happens,” Percival said. “The men he sends to Camelot are meant to contain the First Command, not take the city.”

“It’s unlikely that the commands will fall. Especially now that they are warned of Cerdic’s strategy,” Mordred said, drawing his hand across the border between Ceniw and Dumnonia. “They’ve enough men to meet Cerdic’s force, even if Mark hits them from behind.”

“Could we expect assistance from them?” Arey asked.

“They’ll hold,” Cador said. “But they won’t break through without help.”

“So we’re the weak link,” Arey murmured. “Cerdic intends to crush us and then march onto Camelot or split his forces.”

“But we’re also the point where his entire plan could fall apart,” Yvain said. “If we can hold out until Camelot manages to break through the Saxon siege, Cerdic doesn’t stand a chance.”

“This castle was built to take a siege, right?” Percival asked.

“But the last time it was under siege was when Vortigern was High King,” Tristan said. “There is no one here who remembers how to fight such a battle.”

“But every single member of the Queen’s Knights has the training,” Arey said.

“Untried,” Tristan said. “We can’t--”

“We don’t have a choice!” Arey snapped. “This castle cannot fall!”

“But allowing this to come to siege may not be the answer,” Tristan said. “A better option may be to ride out and meet them.”

“We don’t have enough men to take on that sort of force,” Cador said.

“We can hold this castle,” Arey said.

“You may need some help, though,” Mordred said, taking her hand. Arey frowned, confused by the bitter look on his face. “Tomorrow, the Fifth Command will ride out to meet Cerdic.”

Arey started, pulling her hand away. “If the Second, Third and Fourth Commands cannot break through Cerdic’s army, your command, the smallest of Arthur’s five commands, will be slaughtered.”

“We’re a strict cavalry unit,” Mordred said. “We’ll be able to take down a fair number of Cerdic’s men before--”

“Before you’re all killed?” Arey finished. She shook her head. “No. You’ll stay here and help defend against the siege.”

“We’re a cavalry unit,” Mordred said again. “What good could we possibly do here?”

“I’m sure we’ll find something to occupy your time,” Arey said. “Tristan, I want messengers sent out to the surrounding villages and farmsteads warning them of the attack. They’re welcome here if they’re willing to help. If not, there are other fortresses in Dumnonia where they can find sanctuary, but they must leave their home. I want nothing left outside this castle that Cerdic can use to abet the siege. Cymen, take Cissa to your father so Aelle no longer believes that there is a traitor within his family.”

“Yes majesty,” Tristan and Cymen said at the same time. Both men bowed and turned to leave, Cymen taking his brother by the arm on his way out.

“Majesty,” Mordred said.

“Do not ask again, Prince Mordred,” Arey snapped. “Your command will stay here where I can put you to good use.” She swept out of the council room, making her way to the castle gate, where she knew she could find the leaders of the Queen’s knights. She needed to speak with them in order to determine the likelihood of Maiden Castle withstanding Cerdic’s siege.

“Arey!” Mordred called, running after her.

“Go see to your children,” Arey ordered, turning to face him. “There’s nothing more you can do today.”

“Think about this,” Mordred said, taking her hands. “Pretend that it isn’t us. Pretend that it’s just one of Arthur’s commands with men you don’t know. It’s our duty to ride out and meet this threat.” He kissed her forehead. “Let me protect you. Let me protect our home.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Arey said. “And I refuse to allow you to throw your life away when there’s a chance we can hold this castle without that sacrifice. Go to your children. I’ll find you once I have spoken with the Queen’s Knights.”

“I love you,” Mordred said as she stepped back and slid her hands out of his.

“Don’t make it sound so final, my lord,” Arey said. “We’re not beat yet.”

“No,” Mordred agreed. “We’re not.”

Arey spent the next several hours speaking with the leaders of the Queen’s Knights. They showed her maps of the castle, highlighting specific areas that had been built for the purpose of defending against a siege. They told her of the dried food that had been gathered over the years and how it could last a year if rationed correctly. They showed her the outer wall and explained to her the tricks they could use to make sure it would not be breeched.

Finally, late in the evening, Areria took her leave of the Queen’s Knights. They were ready to begin fortifying the castle and until they had completed their duties, Arey’s presence would be more of a hindrance. So, despite the late hour, Arey went to the nursery to check on her children.

Myrffyn was asleep in her crib and Efa’s bed was set up next to it. The nanny jolted awake at the sound of the door opening. She jumped to her feet and drew her dagger, relaxing when she saw it was only her queen.

“Is something amiss, majesty?” Efa asked.

“No, forgive me for waking you, Efa. I just wanted to see the boys. I won’t wake them.”

“Would be no extra work for me, majesty, since your husband put them to bed.” Efa yawned, curling up back into her bed. Arey entered the boy’s room. They were curled up in their bed with their backs against each other. Melou was facing the wall and Melehan the room. Arey leaned over and ran a hand through Melou’s blond hair. The boy didn’t even stir, but Melehan did when Arey leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“Mama,” he whispered.

“Hello, my darling,” she said. “Sorry to wake you.”

“I was waiting for you,” Melehan said. “Today was scary.”

“Yes, I heard about your adventure.”

“I was really scared that I’d never see you again,” Melehan said. He fiddled with the covers. “Were you scared that I wouldn’t come back?”

“No, never,” Arey promised. “Because I knew your Da would never let anything happen to you.” She brushed her hand through his hair. “Did you enjoy Camelot?”

“It was wonderful!” Melehan said. “Grandpa Arthur was really nice and Sir Percival jousted in my honor!”

“Really?” Arey asked, tapping a finger against her son’s lips, a reminder to be quiet. “How exciting.”

Melehan nodded and started fiddling with the covers again. “Mama? Is something wrong? Papa seemed sad and you were gone so long.”

“How insightful you are,” Arey said, tickling the boy’s belly. He twisted slightly, pushing her hands away, a big grin on his tiny face. “All is not well,” Arey admitted. “But you don’t need to worry about it, my darling. Your Da and I have already begun to right it.” Melehan lunged forward and hugged her. Arey held him close, glad to have her eldest home. “You should sleep.”

“I love you, mama,” Melehan said, laying back into the bed.

“And I you.” Arey tucked the covers up around Melehan’s chin. She kissed his forehead again. “Sweet dreams.”

She stayed until she was certain sleep had reclaimed her eldest before leaving the nursery. Efa stirred again, but this time didn’t jump up at the sound of the door opening and closing. Arey returned to her room and wasn’t surprised to find Mordred still awake. He had allowed the fire in their common room to burn low while he stood at the window, staring out into the darkness.

“Its days like this I miss living at Camelot,” Mordred said without turning. “Or even in Orkney castle. I miss the sound of the sea. It takes the edge off.”

“Then it will be a long summer for you,” Arey said, pouring two cups of wine. Mordred turned and Arey held a cup out for him. “A toast, my lord?”

“What did the Queen’s Knights say?”

“They are confident that Cerdic could send his entire force against us and still we could hold this castle for a year, if not more,” Arey said, proudly handing Mordred the cup. She lifted her on in the air. Dumbly, Mordred tapped his glass against hers.

“You’re certain?” he asked.

“I believe they boast,” Arey admitted. “But holding against less than half of Cerdic’s forces until August, at the latest, can be done.” Arey sipped her win as Mordred set his cup aside. She hadn’t given him much, knowing he wouldn’t drink it. “Actually, I have it in mind to crush Cerdic before the First Command arrives. If we could wear him down enough during the siege, all it would take is a strong sweep by a cavalry to finish him.”

“What you’re suggesting... you really believe Cerdic will take such casualties during the siege? Before August, if not earlier?”

Arey shrugged. “It is my pride that makes me suggest such a thing. But I do not want Cerdic to limp back to Ceniw, lick his wounds and return one day. I want to crush his forces here. If I must wait for the First Command, so be it. This, I believe, is an attainable goal. But I’ll need the Fifth Command here and whole when the First Command arrives.”

Mordred lifted his wine cup. “Majesty, we are here until you order us to ride. Use us as you will.”

Arey tapped her glass against his. “I knew you’d see it my way,” she purred, leaning up against him.

“You know,” Mordred said, taking her wine cup and setting them both aside. “We’re not going to have many more nights to ourselves.” He reached behind her head and pulled her hair out of its bun. Arey shook out her hair as it tumbled down around her shoulders. “We should take advantage of what little time we have left.”

“And so we shall,” Arey said, pressing her lips against his.