Page 106 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

The Captain of the Guard, who had been standing quite close to Gabriel’s head and had stepped neatly out of the vomit’s trajectory, cupped both hands around his mouth so that his voice would carry.

‘The king is dead,’ he shouted. ‘Long live the king.’

Gwen hadn’t even noticed others approaching them, but suddenly the shout was being taken up all around her; when she turned, she saw that everyone was sinking down on to one knee. Even some of the injured were making a very wobbly attempt at it, leaning on each other as they manoeuvred themselves down into the dirt. Arthur dropped to the ground immediately, seemingly glad of an excuse to be there; Bridget drove Excalibur Nine into the mud in front of her before following him. Sidney had been kissing Agnes quite enthusiastically, both of them in tears, but hegamely relocated them both southwards to pay their respects.

Gabriel let out a very pained sigh, and Gwen reached for his good hand.

‘I really wish,’ he said in a small, exhausted voice, ‘that everybody hadn’t just watched me vomit.’

Written in excellent black calligraphy on the finest parchment, carefully folded and still pristine upon delivery:

Bridget,

I’d say it’s quiet at Camelot without you, but of course Arthur is here, so I barely know a moment’s peace. We’re all still clinging to each other like we expect somebody to knock the door down any second. I’ve moved back into my own room now that Gabriel is out of bed; I’m sure Arthur’s thrilled, as I was thwarting his attempts to make midnight visits.

The mood here is still very strange. People have been coming from all over to swear fealty to Gabriel, which would usually feel like overkill, but is actually quite reassuring in the circumstances. He looks embarrassed half to death when they insist on doing all the customary kneeling and the ring-kissing. Plenty of cultists have come, I suppose the ones Willard couldn’t turn against Father; they seem horrified by what happened here, and determined tomake it very clear that they had no part in it. They think he was hardly a cultist at all, and was simply impersonating one to rally people to his cause. It reassures me, I suppose, that we won’t see a repeat.

I hope they didn’t mind too much that you were late to arrive at the tournament. It feels as if they should make allowances, considering.

I miss you. I hope you win.

Gwen

Scrawled on what looked like half a ‘Wanted’ notice, in two different colours of ink:

Gwen,

Start of the tournament was postponed for decency. Lost my first tilt, feel like a bit of an idiot, but Neil says it’s the altitude. I told him it’s just a hill, but he insists it tampers with the brain. I think his brain is the one that’s the problem.

Somebody (Neil) let on about the battle and Willard and Excalibur to all his little squire friends, and everyone keeps looking at me like they’re expecting me to fly or spit fire. Actually really annoying because nobody will have a normal conversation with me or tell me where the blacksmith is.

I can already feel the weather turning. Never been so happy to see frost on the ground.

Keep holding on to each other. I’ll be back soon.

Bridget

St Martin’s Day dawned surprisingly crisp and sunny that year, and Arthur woke up in a good mood.

He knew Gabriel hadn’t, despite Arthur’s best efforts to cheer him the night before; in fact, when Arthur had last seen him, Gabriel had looked terrified almost to the point of vomiting. It wasn’t a new expression – he’d been wearing it quite a lot over the past three months – and it was, Arthur supposed, an unfortunate and necessary by-product of trying to change the world for the better.

After the battle, Gabriel had been whisked away to the royal quarters with Gwen at his side, and nobody had been around to explain that Arthur should be allowed to visit. He had spent days going slowly mad until, one evening, Gwen had knocked on his door, given him a painful hug and told him that his presence had been requested.

When he walked in, Arthur had been greeted by the sight of Gabriel propped up in bed, bruised and shattered, surrounded by an assortment of potions and draughts and very thoroughly bandaged. Logically, he wasn’t surprised to see that Gabriel’s left arm had been amputated to the elbow, the wound wrapped and packed with herbs – but it was still a bit of a shock.

‘Hello,’ Gabriel said, his voice slightly strained. ‘Can you please pass me the papers on the table? Be careful. They’re very delicate.’

Arthur obliged, placing them gently in Gabriel’s lap and then sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

‘After you found those letters,’ Gabriel said, looking down at the parchment rather than at Arthur, ‘I sent them to Tintagel, and asked that the scholars there search for more. It was a lot easier, I think, once they knew what they were looking for. Most were burned long ago, but I discovered yesterday that they’ve already turned up these. This one –’ he pulled one from the pile – ‘is from Arthur Pendragon. Telling Sir Lancelot du Lac in no uncertain terms that he’s in love with him.’

‘Good for him,’ said Arthur, not entirely sure where this was going.

‘I haven’t slept properly for days,’ Gabriel said. ‘And I might feel differently when I’m not quite so … delirious. But my father worked his entire life to try to keep this country happy by never taking any particular stance on anything, and they still … they still killed him for it.’ He stopped to take a breath. ‘If I’m going to die doing this job, Arthur, then I want to die knowing I did the best I could. I can’t do that by trying to emulate my father, because I’mnotmy father. I want to be true to myself, and true to England, and … well, like you said – shouted – back when you first gave me those letters, it turns out we’ve been living up to the ideals of Arthur Pendragon all along. I think it’s time people knew that. I think … it’s time to do things differently.’

Arthur was speechless for a moment before he recovered himself. ‘How long do you think you could go without sleep, long term? Because frankly, I’ve never heard you make so much sense.’

Gabriel put down Arthur Pendragon’s letter, wincing, as if pain had rushed back to claim him. ‘I’m not telling you this because I … expect anything from you, Arthur. I just wanted you to know.’