Avalon - Chapter 77 - Tension

Tension

He watched as the man was led into the throne room by two burly men, each garbed in grey robes that hid their faces from the others. Although this wasn’t a daily occurrence, it had become a common sight in Camelot, and as Arthur took in their appearance, he nodded appreciatively.

“This man has been apprehended for sabotaging the crops of a farmer in Northumbria. The damage has been undone, and he awaits your sentence,” one of the robed figures explained, placing the wand in a seemingly innocuous box next to the throne, and handing Arthur a roll of parchment before the duo left.

Arthur frowned as he leaned forward, unfurling the charge sheet.

“Why did you feel the need to sabotage the farmland of another?” he asked.

“Because he deserved it! His crops are interfering with my own and he refuses to do anything about it!”

“So, you took it upon yourself to release Flesh-Eating Slugs among his cattle?”

The apprehended wizard scowled but didn’t deny the charge.

“Your sentence is six months of free labour for the man who has been wronged in this. You are to be checked upon each day by one of my patrols, who will ensure no further transgressions or you failing to do as I have bid. Upon completion of your sentence, you may return to Camelot to collect your wand.”

Myrddin frowned at the declaration as the man all but stormed from the room.

Taking a wizard’s wand was not something he could agree with, and yet, he knew Arthur could’ve been much harsher with his sentence.

Nonetheless, the ability for the king to pass such had come as quite the surprise, and not truly a welcome one.

It had caused Myrddin all manner of troubles with the Wizard’s Council when they had learned of what was happening, and yet, the king would not be swayed.

Flashback

It was in a state of disbelief that Myrddin watched the group of men being led into the throne room by another group of robed individuals, each with their wands drawn as they escorted what appeared to be their prisoners.

He looked towards the king questioningly, but Arthur ignored him, his expression as grim and stony as Myrddin had ever seen it.

“These men have been apprehended for attacking a group of muggles just outside of Winchester,” one robed man explained, his features obscured by the hood he wore and his voice evidently disguised to preserve his anonymity. “The muggles have been healed, their memories altered and are no worse for wear.”

Arthur nodded gravely.

“You have my gratitude,” he replied. “Put them in the dungeons whilst I consider their sentences.”

One of the robed figures placed six wands in the box, handed Arthur a roll of parchment, and left the room to do as they were bid, leaving behind a concerned and confused Myrddin Emrys, who approached Arthur.

“My king, the Wizard’s Council will not like this,” he warned. “How did this even happen?”

Arthur offered him a tired smile and gestured for Myrddin to follow him.

Upon doing so, he was led to one of the towers the king liked to frequent, a place of peace where he could think and speak freely.

“I have taken it upon myself to form something of a group to avoid another situation I faced whilst dealing with Dustin Rookwood,” he explained. “I did not include you n this, Myrddin, because of your association with the Wizard’s Council. It would put you in a most difficult position considering your friendships amongst them, but I cannot be seen to allow your kind to do as they please where my people are concerned. What kind of king will I be if I cannot protect them from such a threat when the need arises? Make no mistake, I do not believe all magicals to be bad people, but there are those among you that are willing to take advantage of the powers you possess.”

The explanation was sound, but it did not rest easily with Myrddin, and the more the king spoke, the more his concern grew.

“Dare I ask who it is you have employed to oversee this?”

“Sir Harry has kindly agreed to do so, under the strict instruction that all prisoners are to be brought to me, that those under his command are suitably employed so that no lasting harm is caused to any of your kind that are apprehended, and that I remain just in my judgements.”

Myrddin could only shake his head.

“The Wizard’s Council will not like this, Arthur,” he reiterated. “They will take exception.”

“As I do when my people are harmed by yours and I am powerless to stop it,” Arthur pointed out. “This is not up for discussion, Myrddin. You may not like it, but it is done and will continue. I hope for true peace between us, I do, but until those that would harm my people understand it will not be tolerated, it must be this way. I fear that will not change until the Wizard’s Council implements it, but I am not willing to wait for that. If they wish to take exception, so be it. I am prepared and willing to discuss anything they need with them, through my representative.”

End Flashback

The Wizard’s Council had indeed been displeased by the development, though somewhat placated by Arthur’s fair treatment of those apprehended, for the most part.

Rookwood had been furious, but as yet, had done nothing besides bemoan Arthur’s admittedly brilliant implementation of his own magical force.

It certainly helped the king that it was Harry Potter he had chosen to spearhead the group, even if such an appointment did not rest easily with Myrddin.

The Storm-bringer, or The Crow as many remembered him was all but incorruptible, and he certainly did not fear any reprisals he might face.

Evidently, the man had been as unimpressed as he was displeased by the council upon witnessing how the body conducted itself, spurring him into accepting whatever offer Arthur had made to him.

Myrddin did not like it.

The stars spoke of Potter as a true threat to his own work, and though he’d done nothing outwardly to undermine Myrddin, he was becoming dangerously close to doing so.

Barely a week would go by that the displeasure of one member or more of the council was made known to him, and yet, nothing short of a violent altercation between the Crown and Wizard’s Council would stop Arthur; something Myrddin could not allow to happen.

Thus far, he was managing to maintain a semblance of peace between the king and those disquieted by his actions, but such rested on the edge of a knife.

It would take only one incident to upset that balance, and Myrddin truly feared what could come of it.

Potter was a powerful ally to the king, a dangerous foe to any who would cross him, and his influence and reputation seemed to know no bounds.

It was unsettling to say the last, and though peace continued for the time being, it could change with only one wrong move on the part of the king’s magical enforcer or those he’d employed.

(Break)

“As I said, you made quite the impression on me and my peers,” Meadows commented, raising her goblet of wine in Harry’s direction.

“Not much of one to make a difference.”

Meadows deflated and nodded her agreement.

“Rookwood and his ilk do not care for muggles, nor do they care of any transgressions towards them. To some of my colleagues, those that do not possess magic are below us, little more than animals to be treated as they see fit.”

Harry frowned as he shook his head.

“And that is why they need those of us who are able to stand up for them,” he pointed out. “I will not allow it to continue, and nor will Arthur. He is aware of us, our ways, and the threat we pose. He has shown me and my people who helped him when he needed it nothing but the utmost respect. As far as I am concerned, magicals should not interfere in the affairs of muggles, nor should we be allowed to victimise just because we can.”

“I agree with you,” Meadows assured him, “but those of us of a similar a few and far between.”

“Then it is fortunate that I am unwilling to allow the likes of Rookwood to continue what they are doing. If they cannot be answerable to laws we write ourselves, they will be subjected to the king’s law.”

“That I a rather dangerous game,” Meadows sighed, “but if there is any that can play it so well, it is undoubtedly you. Many may have short memories, Harry, but I do not. It was you that defeated Cnut at Camelot, felling a dragon from the sky, and even Guthrum and his hoard of dead. Rookwood and the others remember this too, even if they refuse to give you credit for what you did. I am curious, however, doesn’t what you did denote interfering in the affairs of muggles?”

“I suppose it does to an extent, but I have only ever offered my assistance to Arthur when his affairs pertained to magicals. I have not fought against muggles on his behalf and never will. I have made that quite clear.”

“But you will continue as you are?”

“In an official capacity,” Harry explained. “Arthur is creating a branch of magical justice, for those that commit crimes against muggles. The council may not like it, but it is something they have brought upon themselves.”

Meadows frowned thoughtfully.

“It will inevitably create problems.”

“Problems that will have to be taken up with me,” Harry said with a shrug. “I understand your position, and I would not ask for your assistance, but something must be done, and I am one of the few that can do so. I have already discussed it with both Salazar and Godric, and they agree I should help Arthur with this. I even have many men at my disposal willing to help.”

Meadows did not appear to be convinced.

“There will be those that take exception to it, some of whom who will use their influence and resources to put an end to what you intend to do.”

“Then they are welcome to try,” Harry returned evenly. “I intend on keeping the Wizard’s Council fully informed of what I am doing. I will submit reports, and ensure everything is handled justly. Something has to be done to ensure the relationship between us does not continue to deteriorate.”

Meadows nodded.

“I do hoe you know what you’re doing, Harry,” she murmured. “I will support you as best I can when needed, but I fear it will be of little use, in the long run.”

“Then I will have to deal with what comes when it does,” Harry sighed, already tired by the prospect of further fallout.

Nonetheless, in good conscience, he could not allow what he’d already seen to continue.

It wasn’t right, and though there would be those that ultimately disagreed with him, Harry knew it was the right thing to do for everyone.

The peace must be kept, at least until the Wizard’s Council saw sense that allowing the muggle and magical worlds to intermingle so deeply was a terrible idea.

“That big shit over there is Terry,” Harry explained as Taran reached out with one of his little hands towards the bull. “Terry will hate you just as much as he hates me. We stay away from Terry.”

The boy giggled as the bull pawed at the ground threateningly.

At a little over six moons old, it was safe to travel with his son, and almost every morning, he brought Taran along with him whilst he tended to the farmland and livestock.

The residents of Godric’s Hollow were all rather taken with him, no one more so than Owain, who often brought his daughter as they made their way around the village.

It was here that he’d begun recruiting those he knew he could trust to help ensure the safety of the muggles.

The group had started off with around fifty men looking to make some extra income from the venture, and since its inception, those numbers had grown to almost a few hundred.

Not that any outside of the group knew how much they had grown and continued to do so.

That was why they sported the grey robes Harry provided.

For all intents and purposes, he’d inadvertently created a significant, magical fighting force that, using an Auror Handbook as a basis he had brought home, he and Owain had trained.

Their efforts had proven to be fruitful, and between the group, there was never a time that Britain wasn’t being watched close enough to intervene when they were needed.

Of course, Harry had been careful.

With every apprehension made, he ensured that the prisoners were processed correctly, and justly punished, informing the Wizard’s Council of each transgression n the minutest of detail.

At first, many had been rather displeased by Arthur’s intervention, but with Harry taking it upon himself to meet with them regularly enough, many were placated by the knowledge that the transgressions were being managed fairly.

Still, Harry believed it should be the members of the council themselves doing what he was, though he couldn’t deny that he would be more concerned if they did indeed pool their resources in such a way.

There were those among the upper echelons that Harry would never trust to be as fair as he was, and although it was a considerable amount of work to oversee such a group, he knew it was for the best.

Those that came to him to join found themselves under heavy scrutiny, and thus far, all had gone as well as he could’ve hoped.

The men were proving themselves to be loyal, and with how well they were paid, Harry did not see that changing.

His force would undoubtedly be of much use to him in the future, and for now, Arthur was comforted by their work, meaning that there was no tension between the king and the Wizard’s Council that could spill over into something deeply unpleasant.

“He really does look like you,” Owain said amusedly as he eyed Taran. “My father would’ve loved to have seen him.”

Harry smiled fondly at the boy he held.

Even now, he felt clueless when it came to raising children. He merely took each day as it came, but given that Taran was alive, well, and thriving, he knew he wasn’t doing so badly.

Still, it was Morgana who deserved much of the credit.

Harry could not praise his wife enough for all she did for their son, nor did he have any doubt as to how much she loved him.

Taran was her world, and Harry’s too, and there was nothing that either of them wouldn’t do for their son.

“Well, if Salazar has his way, the boy will be married to his granddaughter.”

“He said that?”

“No, not in so many words,” Harry snorted, “but not a day goes by that he doesn’t mention that they will be at Hogwarts together.”

“Crafty old git,” Owain chuckled.

“He is,” Harry agreed, “but he adores this one.”

Owain grinned at the babe, had even shed a few tears when Harry had asked him to be Taran’s godfather. Of course, he equally trusted Godric and Salazar, but Owain and Harry had fought together, bled together, and bonded like brothers throughout the many experiences they shared until the Lord Peverell had been gravely wounded.

Not that he hadn’t eventually recovered from it, for the most part.

Owain had been the very first man to volunteer to join Harry’s group, and just about all the able men within the village had followed suit, reminding Harry just how much those here thought of him.

Godric’s Hollow was indeed his home, just as much as Hogwarts.

For Harry, here was where it all began, and there would always be a part of him that belonged where he’d been born, even if it wasn’t quite the place it would one day be.

“Come on, we have some chickens to feed. I think Terry has had more than enough of us for one day.”

Owain cursed under his breath as he eyed the bull warily.

Terry did not think much of him either, and had rather aggressively seen the men out of his paddock on more than one occasion.

“Bastard,” Lord Peverell grumbled.

“Bastard,” Harry agreed, his eyes widening as Taran began burbling something that sounded a little too similar to his declaration. “See what you’ve done, Peverell. His first word is going to be a curse.”

“Me?” Owain scoffed. “Oh no, I won’t be blamed for this. This is your doing, Potter, and I’ll make sure your wife knows it.”

Harry could only shake his head.

Morgana would believe him too.

More than once she had warned him about his use of colourful language in front of Taran, and as he looked upon the boy, he scowled.

His son was grinning quite mischievously, and Harry suspected he’d done what he had on purpose.

Taran would indeed be a troublemaker, and yet, he could only blame himself.

Harry too was much the same, and he foresaw many headaches in his future, some not so far away if the boy did indeed prove to get him into trouble with Morgana.

“Would you like me to handle the other potentials arriving today?” Owain asked.

“How many?”

“Twelve.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“It would be most appreciated,” he said gratefully.

Owain clapped him smartly on the shoulder.

“You’re doing a good thing, Harry,” he assured him.

“We,” Harry corrected. “All of us are doing our part for this.”

“Even if it won’t always be enough?” Owain huffed. “We know it will not stay so peaceful. Eventually, there will be those on the council that will not like the reputation and influence you have.”

“Then they will be forced to act.”

“What if they choose to act against you rather than seek cooperation?”

Harry released a deep breath as he pondered that very notion.

Even before agreeing to help Arthur, he’d known it was a distinct possibility. Thus far, it had not come to much beyond verbal disagreements, but Harry knew that could well change at any given moment.

Still, he would not be deterred.

“Then so be it,” he murmured. “If that is what it takes, so be it.”

(Break)

He listened as his wife hummed to herself.

She always did so whilst she brushed her hair before going to sleep, and Arthur had no doubt that was what she would be doing in the coming moments, which meant that her dalliances were not occurring during the later hours of an evening.

For several nights now he had come to the hidden passage, hiding in the shadows as he listed to the comings and goings.

Thus far, he had seen nor heard anything suspicious, but the king was not fooled.

Guinevere was indeed entertaining another man, or perhaps men, in her chambers.

He could feel the betrayal plaguing every fibre of his being.

Nonetheless, it would not be tonight that he caught her, and he nodded to himself as he took his leave of the tunnel, deciding to somewhat change his tactics.

Perhaps Guinevere was brazen enough to use the daylight hours to her advantage, when Arthur was kept busy with the overseeing of the kingdom, something that had only become busier still with the inclusion of magical justice endeavours.

Despite the success of those efforts, Myrddin still did not agree with what the king was doing, and Arthur could not understand the stance of his advisor.

Was it that the man believed his own kind should not be accountable for their crimes against muggles?

No, Arthur did not believe Myrddin to be so callous or prejudice.

No, the king strongly suspected that it was something Arthur had implemented without consulting him and had chosen to seek the services of Harry Potter once more.

For reasons he could not fathom, Myrddin did not like the other wizard; a feeling that was evidently mutual.

Of course, there had been the unpleasantness that had occurred when the two of them had attempted to rescue Guinevere when she had been captured, which would explain the frosty tension between them, but it seemed to be something much deeper than that isolated incident.

Arthur knew he was unlikely to get to the bottom of the matter, but it was quite the point of frustration for him.

He valued both men, and to see them somewhat at odds with one another did not make his life any easier.

Were it as simple as the two settling their differences, it was something he would insist upon, but Arthur did not think it for the best.

He had seen what both men were capable of, and were things to go awry, he suspected that there would be little left, or anything of Camelot standing should they come to blows.

No, that would not do, and though he would prefer them to get along, Arthur knew it was not something that could be pushed.

Besides, the efforts of both men were bearing fruit for him, and it was not as though they were forced upon one another regularly.

For now, whatever their differences were would have to remain.

Arthur’s focus had shifted to solving his own marital issues once and for all, and if what he suspected did indeed prove to be true, Guinevere would, at the very least, be banished and disgraced for her transgressions.

Any would-be-lover…

Arthur was not sure what he could do.

If it was found to be just a simple stable boy, it was not as though the king could truly hold them accountable.

How could a stable boy refuse the commands of a queen?

Arthur snorted at the mere thought.

No, his wife would not lay with such a man.

As fate would have it, Arthur knew Guinevere well enough to know that she would only do so with someone she believed worthy.

A knight.

Worse still, one of Arthur’s own men.

That thought made the king’s blood run cold, and if such a betrayal was to come to light, he was unsure how he would react.

Nonetheless, the truth would soon out.

Arthur refused to rest until all was known to him.

(Break)

He growled as yet another stack of parchment was placed upon his desk, and as he rifled through them, the Lord Rookwood narrowed his eyes.

It had only been a matter of moons, and yet, Potter had once again carved quite the reputation for himself for his efforts, and yet, it was not merely the man’s reputation that gave Willan pause, it was the evident resources he had at his disposal.

Many of the records explaining the apprehension and crimes of those in which the documents spoke were written in varying hands, dozens upon dozens of different styles.

Such a thing could only mean that Potter had somehow employed so many men to carry out his work, a troubling realisation.

Of Course, Willan had spoken out against the man at every turn, but there were those among his peers who agreed with what Potter was doing and even admired him for it.

Despite being a minority in all, it was a significant enough number that to attempt to force their hands in acting against the man would result in significant unpleasantness amongst the members of the council; something that must be avoided if they were one day to find common ground when they inevitably needed to unite against the young man.

Potter was making waves across the length and breadth of the country, and though Willan would not deny that it was helpful in some ways, particularly ensuring Arthur found no quarrel with them, another troubling thought considering Myrddin was steadfast in his loyalty to the king, it could not be forgotten that Potter had cut off Dustin’s hand.

They very thought caused Lord Rookwood’s fist to tighten.

He would throttle the man if given half the chance, and despite the undeniable benefits of his undertaking, Willan could not let the slight slide.

No, there may be those amongst his peers being won over, but he would not be.

Potter would reap what he had sown, and soon enough, when Lord Rookwood had done all that was necessary to see an end to the man, he would become little more than a distant memory.

The very thought brought an anticipatory grin to his lips.

“Come in,” he called as a knock sounded at his door.

Willan watched as his six closest peers entered the room, and he leaned back in his chair whilst waiting for them to take a seat.

Gaunt, Nott, Parkinson, Yaxley, Rosier, and Flint were of a similar mind to him, and did not lack the resources needed to be rid of the likes of Potter.

The others they considered their colleagues may not be willing to do what was necessary for the time being, but for now, those gathered would certainly suffice.

“Potter?” Rosier asked.

Rookwood nodded.

“Potter,” he confirmed. “What are we to do about him?”

It was the elderly Gaunt that cleared his throat.

“We must do whatever it takes. His influence grows, and with it, his support.”

“Then we are in agreement?”

“We are,” Parkinson assured him. “Where shall we begin?”

“Whatever it is must be done cautiously,” Flint interjected. “We must learn of his weaknesses and vulnerabilities. He is not a man to take lightly. We know nothing of what he has at his disposal. If we are to move against him, we must be sufficiently prepared. I have loyal men willing to do what we must to learn what is needed. Shall I instruct them to do so?”

Rookwood nodded.

Loyal men.

He knew well enough the men Flint had at his disposal, and though he would not consider them to be willingly loyal to the man, there was no denying the effectiveness of his methods.

Not that Willan had delved into such things himself, though given recent developments, perhaps he just might.

If the rumours he’d heard were true, that opportunity may just present itself sooner than he’d expected.

Flint would undoubtedly expand his own interests in that very investment, and given the result of his previous efforts, it could make him perhaps the most formidable of his peers.

Willan frowned at the thought.

No, his own personal force was not so paltry, but should Flint indeed once again start anew with his previous undertaking, his would be considerable in the coming years.

Although they were currently allies, that would not do in the long term.

“It is a start,” he murmured, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment.. “Let us put an end to Harry Potter.”

He raised his cup of expensive mead, and his companions followed suit before drinking deeply, cementing their coming together for the worthiest of causes.

Potter represented only division, and though he was indeed the difference between finding themselves at odds with Myrddin Emrys and his damned king, Willan and the other members of the council could perhaps negotiate with them when needed.

Potter, however, had already proven himself incapable of such, and there was no place in Britain for such a stubborn fool who could prove to be quite the foe.

No, there may be those among them that saw on ill in what he was doing, but if his star continued to rise as it was, there was no telling the threat he could pose to them all and their way of life.

Harry Potter had to be eliminated, for the transgressions past, and those inevitably to come.

(Break)

This time, he had left Taran at home with Morgana.

It wasn’t often that Harry was summoned to Godric’s Hollow because of a concerning alert, but Owain had sent for him only moments prior. He was greeted by the grim man just outside of the village, where he was flanked by Lars, Darragh, and Hook.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Ships,” Owain murmured, gesturing for him to follow the group.

Harry did so, falling into step with Hook, a man that had fought alongside him throughout every pivotal battle he’d found himself in since arriving here more than a decade ago.

“How is fatherhood treating you?” he asked amusedly.

“Sleepless nights, and being covered in sick? It’s just like a night after being in the tavern without the drunkenness.”

Harry chuckled amusedly and gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze.

He liked Hook, trusted the man with his life, and had been pleased he was one of the first to join his group capturing magicals committing crimes against their muggle counterparts.

“And Gwyneth?”

“As beautiful as ever,” Hook declared, “and I remain the luckiest of men for it.”

“Aye, you’re an ugly sod, Hook,” Darragh snorted.

“Look who’s talking.”

Darragh merely narrowed his eyes at the other man, and Owain shushed them as he reached the summit of the hill to the coast and peered over the edge.

Gesturing for the others to join him, his expression was one of concern.

Harry approached with a frown marring his features, and it only deepened as he took in the sight below him.

“That’s a lot of ships,” he murmured, not recognising the sigils on the main sails. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know,” Owain answered.

“I do.”

Darragh had paled considerably, and he shook his head.

“Who?” Lars pressed.

“Slavers,” Darragh sighed. “They set up on our coast decades ago. They have markets where they sell them off before leaving to gather more from across the world. The sea will be busy with ships coming through to attend the sales.”

“Slavers,” Owain grumbled irritably.

“The ships with the black dots are full of magicals, and those with red are muggles. There will be men, women, and children aboard them.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry huffed.

Darragh nodded gravely.

“It will become unpleasant,” he predicted. “The last time they were here was almost twenty years ago. I was just a boy when they came through.”

“Well, at least it isn’t the Irish attacking us,” Owain pointed out.

“No,” Harry agreed, “but they’re far too close for my liking. We must watch the coast at the very least. We don’t want that lot coming.”

“It will be a grave error if they do,” Owain growled.

Harry nodded his agreement as he eyed the ships speculatively.

Perhaps he would venture across the sea separating the two lands to get an idea of what such things entailed. It was often Darragh was so rattled by something, but the man was undeniably disturbed by the arrival of the ships.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked his friend.

Darragh deflated as the small group began making their way towards the village.

“It is like hell on earth, Harry,” he answered dejectedly. “Even now, I remember the last one.”

“You do?”

“It was when I was sold myself.”

Darragh walked ahead of the group, his eyes haunted by his own experiences.

It was almost easy to forget that the man had once been a slave. He’d never spoken much of his life before Harry had made his acquaintance so many years ago in Winchester.

To him, slavery was a foreign concept and not something he’d seen much of for himself. Arthur did not allow it within Britain, and Harry doubted the king would take kindly knowing such an event was being hosted so closely to his lands.

The coastline would indeed be watched closely to ensure the slavers did not enter Britain.

If they so chose to, Owain’s own words would undoubtedly ring true.

(Break)

At first, he wasn’t certain if he’d heard what he’d thought, but as the deeper tone of a man’s voice spoke once more, Arthur’s nostrils flared. His hand came to rest upon the pommel of his faithful blade, and he opened the door to the tunnel that led the hidden corner of the courtyard.

Offering only a nod to Bors, Gawain and Tristan, the three men returned the gesture before entering the castle.

Whilst they made their way to where they would be needed, Arthur resumed his vigil, listening intently, waiting for his moment to strike.

Upon hearing a distant knock and frantic whispering sounding from his wife’s quarters, he drew Excalibur, his eyes narrowing as the voices drew closer still.

“What could they want?” Guinevere asked.

“Perhaps Arthur is sending for you.”

Guinevere offered no response, and as he heard the scraping of the bookcase being moved from the wall, the king braced himself, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach as he was confronted by the sight of a wide-eyed and dishevelled Lancelot.

“Arthur!” the man gasped fearfully, abandoning his efforts to secure his hastily buttoned tunic.

Arthur could only swallow deeply in response, the sting of betrayal having rendered him speechless, though that gave way to the fury at the appearance of his pale wife, who was flanked by the trio of men who had interrupted them.

There was not a hint of remorse in Guinevere’s eyes. If anything, her expression was one of defiance, and though the same could not be said for Lancelot, Arthur looked upon both with the utmost of loathing.

“Take them,” he whispered dangerously.

The silent Bors, Gawain, and Tristan did so, and Lancelot offered no resistance as he was led away.

When he was left alone, Arthur released a deep breath as he attempted to process what he’d learned.

He was hurt, he was angry, and though Lancelot had been one of those he’d suspected, he’d never dreamed that the man could betray him in such a way.

With a shake of his head, the king left the tunnel.

He needed to think, to act with a clear mind, for now, if he were to confront the two, both would be bereft of their heads before the day was out. Perhaps they still would, but Arthur knew he could not act rashly when faced with such a matter.

As much as he wished to exact a cold vengeance upon them, doing so without careful considerations for the inevitable fallout would only make him appear weaker than he undoubtedly would when what he’d discovered became known to all across the land.

Were of a mind to preserve the queen’s reputation, and even his own, he would deal with the matter quietly, but Arthur was not so inclined.

No, Britain would learn of what had befallen him, the treachery of two people he had once held so dear, and as he climbed atop his horse to leave Camelot for a much-needed respite, he could not help but ponder just who else might already know.

It was not a thought he wanted to dwell on for the time being, but inevitably, it would continue to permeate as he considered just what he would do next.