“Tell me, in as much detail as you can, about the terror on his face.”
Vera decided she’d prefer not to know Gawain better, but as Arthur’s traveling party gathered mere hours later at the castle stables, it became clear she’d have trouble avoiding him. Like a misshapen piece pressed into an already completed puzzle, there Gawain was, standing at the edge of the cluster that buzzed with excitement, a bulging travel pack at his feet and his face sullen.
As they readied their horses, Percival and Lancelot led the festivities with a bottle of some amber liquor passed around amongst them. Beyond Arthur, Lancelot, Percival, and Matilda, just four other soldiers would accompany them. And Gawain. The soldiers each wore some variation of a dazed expression, gleeful disbelief at being fortunate enough to travel with the king’s party. Then, there were the few who came to see them off: Grady, his father, and Randall.
As Grady and his father ensured the horses and tack were suitable for the journey, Lancelot bawdily encouraged Grady to show off his newfound gift. He started by sheepishly restacking a few sticks of firewood. His initial reluctance melted under the soldiers’ enthusiastic praise, and he was soon juggling the logs midair without physically touching a single one. Gawain inched closer, surely trying to sort out how to corner Grady and interrogate him on his recent trauma.
Randall, who reasserted that no, he was not attending the festival, hung close to Matilda. As she knocked back a hearty swig of the amber liquor and passed it along to him, his tension slackened, and he too grinned and took a drink.
Percival ambled toward Vera and Arthur, his eyes on Gawain. “Here, Your Majesty. This is the parcel from Merlin,” he said, offering a bag with some heft to it. Arthur’s eyes darkened on the package, but he accepted it and tucked it into his saddle bag.
“Why on earth does he think he should come?” Percival grumbled petulantly with a sharp nod toward Gawain, interrupting any notion Vera had to question the package from Merlin. Arthur glanced over at the mage before he tied his bag off and gracefully mounted his horse.
“Probably because I invited him,” he said.
Percival’s mouth fell open, but he caught himself and pursed his lips. He revered Arthur far too much to say anything aloud, though his face said plenty as he went back to his own horse. Vera rather shared his sentiment.
Arthur chuckled. “I invited Gawain to be polite,” he said when Percival was far enough not to hear. “I didn’t expect him to say yes.”
“Pardon me. Your Majesty?” Randall’s voice called out from behind her. Vera continued securing her bag on her horse. Randall cleared his throat. Apparently oblivious, Arthur was pulling on his riding gloves until he noticed Vera eyeing him.
“He means you,” Arthur said with a one-sided grin.
“Me?”
The grin spread to both sides as he nodded.
“Your Majesty, may I have a moment?” Randall said, and Vera whipped around to face him this time.
“I’m so sorry. I thought you meant the king.”
Randall didn’t answer. He shifted the bulk of his weight from one foot to the other. “I gave Matilda something for you, in case you want it.” Then, after another pause, he said, “Do you have a gown for tomorrow’s celebration?”
“I brought one I like.” It was the red one with the wide sleeves.
“It’s a dress from before?” Randall asked. It took Vera a moment to realize what he meant; from before the accident. Before she’d been “away” for a year (and an entire existence).
“Yes,” she said.
“You should have a garment other than your training gear that’s been made for you, Your Majesty. I’ve made you a gown. You don’t have to wear it,” he added quickly. “But you should have the option.”
“Of course I’ll wear it,” Vera said quietly.
Randall’s blush crept above his whiskers. “Only if it suits you.”
“Randall, you’ve been so kind to me. Thank you.” Vera would have liked to hug him, but he didn’t give her the chance.
He nodded to her and bowed to Arthur. “Safe travels, my liege. Happy Yule, happy Christmas, happy whatever the hell we’re celebrating now. We’ll make sure Camelot doesn’t go to shit while you’re away.”
The celebrations continued once the party set off. It wasn’t a quiet ride by any means. Chatter was abundant as they traveled in clumps, sharing their excitement by retelling stories from previous Yule festivals.
Vera stayed near Lancelot and the soldiers. Even as she laughed along with the others, she looked ahead at Arthur and Matilda, noticing the ease of their conversation. Noticed that Matilda gazed at him with such love. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It had never occurred to her before this very moment that they might have found love together since Guinevere’s death. She couldn’t possibly fault them for it.
And still. It stung, a startling confirmation that she’d not only grown fond of Arthur. Vera had begun to long for him.
She cast about for something else to focus on and found Gawain riding farther back by himself, his head low and dark eyes staring vacantly, an especially sharp contrast with the enthusiasm in the rest of them. Vera was well acquainted with being the one left alone to witness the friendship of others.
She sighed and mumbled, “Dammit,” as she steered her horse close to Lancelot and casually took the jug of mystery liquor. They’d passed it around all morning, so he merely spared her a smile as he handed it over, not missing a beat in his conversation with the soldiers.
