***
Trystan awoke to the morning sun cresting over the hill. Marc still lay asleep next to him, Excalibur tucked safely against his side.
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Emrys sat a short distance away, watching the sunrise. He no longer attempted to disguise his age. Not since the Shade of Selqet nearly took his life in the Celestial Garden. With the way things were going, Trystan wondered if Emrys would ever need to again.
Trystan stood and crossed the grassy, rocky plateau. He dropped down next to Emrys and watched the sun rise in a comfortable silence.
“I remember when Camelot was here, and the sun would rise over the city. It shimmered and glowed in the morning sun.”
“It sounds beautiful. I can’t wait to see it.” Trystan glanced over at Emrys as he stared toward the horizon. “You miss it, don’t you?”
Emrys didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“Emrys.” Trystan touched his hand lightly.
The touch broke his trance. Emrys turned his head and looked at him.
“We’ll bring it back. We’re going to win this,” Trystan said.
“I know,” Emrys replied. Brilliant blue eyes caught his.
“How do you know?”
“Because we have you. As long as you have hope, the rest of us have a chance.”
His emerald eyes smiled a little. Trystan looked down at the ground. Emrys had placed an immense amount of faith in him. Trystan wanted to believe he could restore Camelot and save the kingdom from Morgaine’s wrath, but the very real fear of making the wrong decision loomed. What if he lost the strength to be who he was meant to be, or more importantly, lost hope?
“You won’t.” Emrys glanced over Trystan’s shoulder at Marc. He still slept near the tree. Emrys turned back to Trystan. He put his hand over Trystan’s, quelling the sudden heartache and desire that surged within at the barest touch.
“How do you know?”
Emrys let out a deep breath. “You’re here now, aren’t you?” He pulled his hand away. “The entire kingdom is behind you as are the elves, and the guardians are prepared to help if needed.”
“I hope we don’t need them.” Trystan felt Marc’s presence behind him. Marc placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Trystan lifted his hand and held Marc’s.
“Good morrow, Emrys.” Marc stretched and yawned. “Did Trystan tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Emrys knit his brow.
“About what happened last night.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Trystan muttered, “It hadn’t come up yet.”
Emrys looked at them both, waiting for an explanation. He’d sensed trouble in Trystan’s thoughts, but the details had been cloudy.
“Let’s just say that the creature, Grønn Riddari, tried to make off with Excalibur and that decision was his ultimate undoing,” Marc smirked.
As he spoke, a slight movement in the distance caught his eye, diverting his attention. He looked out toward the north.
“Look there,” Marc said, pointing. “What do you make of that?”
Emrys and Trystan stood simultaneously and looked in the direction Marc pointed. There, on the edge of the horizon, appeared an army, steadily marching its way toward them.
“Can you tell who it is yet?” Trystan asked, nervous. If it was Morgaine and her army that Emrys had so dismally described, he didn’t know what they would do.
The three of them watched and waited as the army approached. Another army joined them from the east. As it neared, Marc let out the breath he’d held.
“It’s my father,” Marc said. “I recognize the banners.”
