1025 AD

The day was warm and the mood within the camp jovial. This would be the last day the men would spend together in the place that they had called home for the past five years. As they put away their tools for the final time the significance of the moment had not been lost. “Well Etienne,” said Olivier, “our contribution is now complete.” They had become close friends, bonded like the brothers. Olivier put his arm around Etienne’s shoulder as his friend wiped the powdered fragments of stone from his chisel, and placed it carefully in the chest that stored all the worker’s tools. Together they turned and faced the half finished cathedral that had both been their motivation, and source of constant exasperation. It stood the height of the tallest tree in the surrounding dense wood, and stretched the breath of a hundred men. Much of the structure was in place and held with many supports made from only the strongest oak, but the supports were unnecessary, the stones that formed the walls were so large that only the angriest of tempest would have moved them. The intricate carvings within the stone was starting to shape the edifice; casting shadows from the arches and columns giving an appearance that it could have been made from lace.

An agreement had been made by the seven knights that rode to this area two hundred years ago that they would build a suitable monument in honour of their ruler King Charlemagne. Unconditionally, all men born within the seven kingdoms would have to work on the cathedral. The cost would be shared equally by the seven kings as would the labour. It was a way, the kings felt, that they could share a purpose, and encourage harmony. Although each of cities had built their own more unadorned places of worship, the cathedral would be a focal point where decisions regarding civil and communal life could be made. On completion it had been agreed that each king would send eight representatives from their kingdoms; four to take their places in a recognised order of monks, and four in the college of clergy, bound by no vows except those of ordination. From this collective a shared bishop and chapter would be voted in. The bishop would not be able to make decisions without capitular consent and all were to keep perpetual residence within the cathedral and surrounding buildings.

Although never shying away from the work, both men felt that their time would be far more productive spent developing their skills in the art of battle and chivalry. “I pray I shall never hold a mason’s chisel again,” continued Olivier. “I feel my hands were built for a sword and chalice of wine my friend.” Olivier was as large in size as he was in spirit. Philip, Olivier’s father, was ruler of Citerne the kingdom adjacent to Etienne’s. Even at sixteen he possessed and imposing frame. His hair was long and dark, and curled around his strong features further accentuating his formidable appearance. He and Etienne had become very close over the previous years and Etienne had seen another side to Olivier that only few knew about. Through all his strength and bravado Olivier still craved the same acceptance and recognition that any boy does.
“As do I,” replied Etienne. “And I think we have proved that they are far more adept with the sword too.” Etienne held out his hand to show his friend the toils of the day. His knuckles were bleeding, and his thumbnail black from the mistimed swings of his wayward mallet. “It will truly be a beautiful building one day though. I hope to be alive the day the final stone is placed.” The training of a select number of knights from each kingdom was also part of the seven forefather's agreement. It was included as a way to ensure that each kingdom could be protected, but also as another way to build friendship and encourage a harmonious existence, and it was this part of their training that Olivier and Etienne had enjoyed far more than their masonry duties.
“And I hope I will be by your side on that day Etienne,” added Olivier.
The friends turned from the cathedral and started in the direction of their camp. Rows of hundreds of small round white tents filled the valley like a field of mushrooms. Plumes of smoke rose from within them as the workers began preparing their evening meals. Olivier and Etienne, due to their lineage, lived on a separate site on slightly higher ground to the North. Their lodgings, although still basic comprised of a tent and a bed, and their evening meals were cooked for them. The other advantage they had was that their time was not spent purely on building the cathedral. Their week was split, with two days working on the cathedral, four days within in the camp learning the skills of the knight. Sunday was spent at mass and resting. Etienne’s father, the King of Avalon, had encouraged his son to come to the cathedral, as he had done when he was of similar age, and his father before. ‘It will teach you skills that you will carry with you for the rest of your life,’ his father had said, ‘and I mean not just the skills of the weaponry and battle, but humility, appreciation and respect’. It was the sword and strategy in battle that Etienne had most desired, but now, on reflection, he understood his father's preaching.
They reached the camp and the other knights were removing their dirty clothes and washing the day from their sun baked bodies. Etienne and Olivier went to their tent and started preparing themselves for dinner. Etienne removed his boots and tunic and lay on his bed facing the canvas roof that he had stared at on many sleepless nights. “One more night Olivier and we will be going home.”
“The moon can not come and go quick enough my friend,” replied Olivier.
Their final evening in the camp was spent celebrating their achievements. In five years the group had learnt a lot, developed into men. They were now ready to return to their homes and begin their lives as knights. Much wine was drunk and a feast consumed. In the early hours they returned to their tents to rest before their journey home the following morning.

Etienne sat and watched as the embers burned, and spits of fire flew, circled and disappeared into the night sky. He had been traveling for two days, and although every bone in his body ached he couldn’t relax his mind enough to fall asleep. He was still another two days ride from Avalon, the city he had lived in all his life until five years ago when he left on his voyage of discovery, a voyage that taught him the ways of a knight. It had been instilled in him from an early age by his father, that one day he would be a knight. To begin with he felt that for the past five years he had been fulfilling his father’s dreams rather than his own; however he now felt, on returning home, that it had been the right decision.
He had left on the eve of his eleventh birthday, and staring into the fire, recollecting memories of the past five years, he knew that he had changed unrecognisably since that day. He felt now that this father could look at him and see that he was the man that he wanted him to be. A man fit to rule over his beloved people. He hoped his training had made him a brave man, a man like his father that commanded the attention of a room simply by walking through the door. He remembered how he had left Avalon, and wondered as he turned from the fire to face the stars how it might be now. Would the size of the castle, his home, still fill him with fear, where the endless labyrinths of corridors and rooms felt that they could swallow a young boy not to be seen again for days? Would market day where the buzz from local tradesman and traveling merchants still intoxicate his inquisitive mind? Would they be selling from the same stalls filled with, fish, bread, crops, and exotic spices vibrant in colour and mysterious in taste? He tried to remember the faces of the friends he had left behind, his nurse’s daughter Roselyn with whom on sunny days he would go to the sea’s edge to escape the city for a few hours. They both knew it was forbidden, but the temptation to run and play on the dunes, and splash in the shallows free of the cities walls, was far too great. He rolled back on to his side letting the fire warm his face, and closed his eyes as the days ride took its toll. Tomorrow they had another tough day's ride. He needed rest. He wondered, as he often did when his head started to spin with unanswerable questions, what would his mother have said about the man he had become? What advice would she have given about returning to the city that one day he would rule? He wished so much that he could speak to her, the sense of loss ached as it had always done in moments of solitude and reflection.
He rolled his mother’s cross that his father had given him the day he left for training between his thumb and index finger. He had worn it on a thick silver chain around his neck from that day, and swore that he would never take it off. It made him feel close to the mother he had never met. In a strange way it made him remember her even though his memories forebode it. He had spoken to many people about her, was she beautiful, what made her laugh; did she also like to wade in shallows? He had hoped that these fragments of information could be pieced together to form a clearer picture of her, but it only seemed to add to the longing. The city’s people, staff at the castle, her family, his father and whomever he spoke to always replied in the same way, ‘she was special’, ‘beautiful’, ‘a truly wonderful woman’. Her loss had left a vast hole in many peoples lives, none more so than his fathers. The king had never remarried, never even looked at another woman in sixteen years. Some had said that when his mother died belief had been stolen from his father’s heart, but Etienne he knew his father in a way nobody else did. He had seen his father’s eyes sparkle as they played together when he was a boy. His father told him once that with his mother he had something far deeper than love could ever explain. They knew what each other were thinking or feeling, even if they weren’t in the same room. This was hard for Etienne to comprehend, ‘how can you know what is going on in somebody else’s head?’ he thought to himself at the time, but he trusted his father implicitly and if he said he could then he could. His father said that should Etienne ever find a love like this he should grab it with both hands and never let go.

Etienne was awoken by the noise of the traveling party making breakfast and packing up their horses, preparing for the long day ahead. His body still ached, and his sticky eyes were sensitive to the brightness of morning, but he was thankful for the few hours sleep he had managed. It was dawn and the sun was rising behind the mountains in the distance signaling to the travelers the direction that they would be heading today. The clouds that had been their blanket for the night and kept them warm hadn’t burnt away yet, and they caught the dawn sun filling the sky with crimson and purple strips of light. Dawn was Etienne’s favourite time of the day, a fresh start, a new beginning, full of opportunity and expectation, full of hope.
The nights rest had meant the fatigue that the men were feeling had left them and they were ready to continue the final leg of their journey, back to their loved ones, back to their new life; a life as protectors, as leaders. Etienne rose from his thin woolen blanket that had kept him from lying directly on the dirt and stretched his arms above his head, feeling each joint in his shoulder and neck creak and crack back into its normal position. He rolled his blanket and tied it back onto his horse, which he had tethered to a near by tree. He stroked his trusty companion's nose as the horse snorted and shook his head in appreciation. "Are you ready to go home now boy?" Etienne whispered in his ear, and the horse replied with a knowing look from one of his big hazel eyes. Etienne patted his steed on the neck and mounted him.
“How are you feeling this morning my brother?” Olivier had ridden up alongside side Etienne to check on his friend. Their similar personalities and adeptness to the skills they had learned over the past five years had meant they had become very close during their time away from their families. Olivier was also returning to a land that eventually he would rule. They both enjoyed their training and found the skills they were learning came naturally. Their ability ensured both finished with honours from their tutors and were already being looked up to by the rest of the knights. If they did have differences in their personalities it would be that Etienne was more reflective than his friend. Etienne would often be pulling Olivier out of fights, or devising a plan that would save them from the trouble that Olivier usually would have caused. Olivier was a chest out, heart on sleeve; show no fear, lead from the front type of person, where as Etienne’s bravery and honour, although just as strong, was far more subdued.
Etienne remembered this part of the journey from five years ago and had been looking forward to returning ever since. It took the party through a gorge and then over the highest mountain in the region. He loved the effects that the seasons had on the landscape, and this time of year was his favourite. Through the higher parts of the journey the trees were evergreen, and from this vantage, at the top of the mountain, he could see down into the valley where the river was banked with autumnal trees in shades of orange and brown. The river ran wild from the heavy rain that fell, but within weeks the mountains would become ice capped, as snow would fall, reclaiming the swell of the river.
The silence in the valley gave him comfort and time to think. Time to decide what he wanted to do when he returned. An opportunity to think how he could possibly become a man fit to one day replace his father at the head of the table of Avalon. He wanted to make his father, and the people he would one day rule proud, but above all he wanted to become a man that his mother would have been proud of. He wondered what that would take. He rolled his cross again in contemplation. From what he had learnt about his mother he held true the things she did, the importance of love and protection, and the necessity to strive for happiness, and as long as he believed in these three things he was sure that he could make his mother proud.
They traveled slowly, stopping from time to time where the river slowed to let the horses drink and rest. Etienne dismounted and went to the river’s edge to splash water on his face. Olivier and another of his friends Henri joined him. They removed their tunics and boots and rolled up their trouser legs so as to dangle their feet in the river to cool off. Olivier took a loaf of rye bread from his valise and started ripping off chunks for them to share. “So then,” said Olivier as he stuffed the first chunk of the black hard bread into his mouth, “What are we going to do now?” It was a simple question as it often was with Olivier, but one Etienne had been pondering the answer of for some time now.

“I know what I’m going to do,” replied Henri. He was from Chaval, a Kingdom approximately a day’s ride from Etienne’s. Henri’s appearance drew no comparison from either Etienne or Olivier. He was slight, almost languid, but his vainglorious demeanor had meant that his popularity had waned during their training. Etienne had grown fond of Henri despite of his conceit, as he was aware it was merely a façade disguising his fears. Etienne’s father and the King of Chaval had never seen eye to eye. Neither of the sons could understand why, and would not let it affect their relationship, but when either had questioned their father’s on this matter they would become dismissive at best, and sometimes even angry. Henri had not been as naturally gifted as Etienne or Olivier but what he lacked in talent he made up for with an effort an ambition unparalleled by the rest of their group. From the conversations Etienne had with Henri he could tell that he was frightened of his father. Etienne would try to explain that it was fear that was holding him back and that if he relaxed more he could be master of the sword rather than be its slave. He would try to explain to Henri that his father would be proud of him no matter what he achieved, but Henri would reply that nothing but absolute best would be good enough. He would say that he only had one master and that he must become whatever his master desired. Etienne found it hard to comprehend why Henri lived in such fear, but hoped that one day he would have the strength to stand up to his father and live his life for himself. Aside from his worrying and lack of self belief Henri was still good company and Etienne was grateful for their friendship, Olivier however didn’t share his feelings. “I am going to return to my Kingdom and lead my father’s army until such time that I take his place as king,” said Henri.
“And when do you think that might be?” replied Olivier as he rammed another piece of bread into his mouth.
“When the Kingdom is the most powerful in the land and my father’s work is complete.” Olivier and Etienne looked at one another and rolled their eyes as if to say ‘not this again’.
Etienne and Olivier had endured on many occasions Henri’s tales of how one day the King of Chaval will be so powerful that he would rule over all of France, but on this occasion neither Olivier nor Etienne would indulge Henri’s fantasies.
“What about you Etienne?” asked Olivier. “What are you going to do?” quickly taking the conversation away from Henri.
“In truth Olivier I am still unsure. I would like to spend some time with my father first. Learn more about what has been happening in the city since I left. I know my duty is to one-day lead my people but I want to get to know them first. I need to earn their respect.”
“Well I’m going to go back, have some time off, enjoy my beautiful city and all that it has to offer to a newly fledged knight,” said Olivier, too excited about returning home to really be interested in his friends apprehensions.
“Find your self a good woman,” interrupted Henri with a condescending sneer.
“Hopefully find many good women, my little friend, and wine, and eat like a king. Doesn’t sound too bad hey Et?” said Olivier, giving a wink to his friend, not willing to give any acknowledgment to Henri’s obvious disdain. “Anyway I think it’s time to go my friends.” The other eleven knights that made up the traveling party were beginning to pack up and mount their horses. “You’ll be fine my friend, I’ll always be beside you when you need me,” said Olivier, offering his hand to Etienne.
“And me you my brother,” replied Etienne, taking his hand allowing Olivier to pull him up.
The three friends mounted their horses and joined the rest of the group. The respite had left them refreshed and the horses watered and ready for the next leg of their journey, their destination the far side of the mountain by sunset. The climb was difficult but the knights were in good spirits. They had to lead their horses much of the way as the autumn rain had made the shale that lay on this area of the mountain slippery, but eventually they reached the summit just before sunset. They sat together at the peak of the mountain and watched the sun slowly disappear behind the horizon, it was breathtakingly spectacular, red and purple strips of cloud filling the sky with a fiery glow as if swept by an artists crimson brush. No one spoke, just sat and contemplated what the next day would bring, their homecoming. A fire was lit and the knights began telling stories of their plans and the parties that were awaiting them. One by one they fell asleep with heads full and dreams and hearts of adventure.
The sunrise was of equal splendour, but the men had no time to sit and admire, they wanted to get going, back to their loved ones. They were packed up and on their way before the sun had fully risen. The journey down the mountain was far more difficult as the horses scrambled to get a footing on shards of wet slate, but tentatively they reached the mountain’s foot where they could then remount and start to make good speed again.
Olivier, as usual, was up front, goading the rest of the pack, seeing if they could keep up with him, wind blowing through his black mane of hair. The mood was boisterous. The group galloped together as a pack, they hadn’t realised how close they had become, how instinctive riding together was. They moved together knowing the way each other would move, like a flock of swallows circling a freshly harvested field. This was probably the last time the fourteen would be riding together and the moment had not gone unnoticed. They rode heads down at full tilt, riding free, unconstrained by the limits of their bodies or steeds, gliding on a cloud of expectation and excitement.
The horses eventually begun to tire although the men felt they could ride all day. Their final destinations were not far, but they slowed their horses and trotted to a nearby lake that was to mark their last meal together. The men dismounted and sat in a circle sharing bread and fruit. Wine that had been saved by one of the knights for this occasion was passed from one to another around the friends. As each received the bottle they stood up and made a toast. “To living life,” toasted Olivier.
“To divinity,” said Henri.
“To honour,” “To pride” the toasts continued. Etienne took the bottle, and although he had been thinking about it as the bottle was being passed, he didn’t know what to say, he paused, took breath and stood, “To fulfilling your destiny.” The knights looked at one another stood and repeated Etienne’s words, “To fulfilling your destiny.”
The bread and fruit was finished and the knights remounted their horses, the words still ringing in their ears, it seemed an apt way to end their final meal and their journey.
The first three knights who lived in the Kingdom of Allenay not far from where they had rested said farewell to the group and rode in the direction of their city. They were brothers, Jean-Michel, Nicolas and Paulo. Separated by a year in age, but they could easily be mistaken as triplets. All three tall with blonde curly hair giving a young almost angelic appearance. The eldest Jean-Michel had looked after his brothers throughout their training, protecting them in a way a wolf protects its young, obdurate and unfaltering. This had meant that the three had become slightly isolated from the rest of the group. They would prefer spending time together, practicing or talking rather than engaging with the group. Etienne understood the actions of Jean-Michel and presumed that he would act in a similar way put in the same situation; however some of the knights felt aggrieved by their actions and shunned any acts of friendship they might offer. Etienne had become particularly friendly with the youngest of the three brothers, Paulo. He was unlike the middle brother, Nicolas, who had become so reliant on his elder brother that he hadn’t developed a personality of his own, and Jean-Michele whose constant protection of his brothers made it impossible to forge any bond. Paulo had great energy and enthusiasm, and when possible Etienne would take the time to endeavour to brake down the barriers erected by Jean-Michele in order to spend time with him. Paulo would often ask Etienne why the group would not speak or sit with them, and Etienne would try to put his mind at rest, explaining that they didn’t know what it was like to have such a strong bond that he had with his brothers, and one day they would learn how to ride side-by-side with their fellow man. This was contradictory to Etienne’s own understanding of the situation as, to his regret, he had never had any siblings to rely on or protect. These three young men, whom they had grown up with, lived with for the past five years were now gone with a brief goodbye. Perhaps they would never see each other again. Etienne was unsettled by the ease of the departure and felt that such an important occasion required greater significance, however the remainder of the group seemed to prefer to move on as quick as possible, displaying emotions hadn’t been something in which they were trained; in fact it had been actively discouraged.
The next Kingdom was Etienne’s. He and three other boys from the city, Michel, Marcus and Luc, had left five years ago and were about to return to a hero’s welcome. Etienne felt they hadn’t earned this yet and he would prefer quietly slipping back into the city unnoticed, but he knew this wouldn’t be possible. The city needed to know that their future protectors had returned, and they would want to celebrate the fact. Olivier rode alongside him until the time came that Etienne and his three comrades had to separate from the group and head towards their city. Unhappy with a fleeting farewell Etienne pulled his horse to halt and dismounted. Olivier and Henri followed. Etienne first turned to Henri. “My friend, it has been an honour training with you. You have truly become worthy of ruling your people, your father should be very proud, and I hope that he realises this.” He shook Henri’s outstretched hand and put his arm round his shoulders.
“Thank you Etienne,” replied Henri quiet enough to ensure that Olivier could not hear what was being said. “You have shown me more and taught me more than any single person I have ever met. For this I am truly grateful and indebted to you.”
Etienne smiled at Henri and then turned to Olivier and paused. “My brother, I will always ride beside you,” Olivier threw his arms around Etienne neck.
“And I with you,” he replied almost crushing Etienne. “Now go and see your people.”
Olivier jumped back on his horses, and gave a loud "Yah," as he kicked his horse back into a gallop, and the group departed. The four men who stood alone now remounted and turned in the direction of their city. As they rounded the edge of the forest, they could see perched on top a hill in the distance their city. The men formed two rows, the ride of procession their teacher would call it. Backs were perfectly straight, the heads of their horses high and proud. Their nervousness had subsided and they couldn’t wait to enter the city walls. As they approached they kept a slow meaningful pace. It wasn’t the time to rush; their hearts pounded inside their tunics and the hairs on their arms stood to attention.
The huge gates that marked the entrance to the fortified city slowly creaked open as news of their arrival spread within. They passed through the gates, under the huge stone cloisters at which point they could see for the first time the streets lined with people. The tumult of clapping and cheering was deafening. Etienne had told himself to make sure he committed to memory everything he was seeing, the feelings he was experiencing, moments like this are infrequent in a lifetime, and the noises, the smell, and the sites should all be savoured and stored like a secret diary. A friend had said to him that butterflies are rare creatures, when you can feel them in your body embrace them, as it may be some time until they return. Children were running out of the crowds to touch the horses and greet their new heroes. The city’s men were cheering and women were throwing flowers and handing small posies to the knights. Feeling slightly embarrassed by the city’s display of emotion; Etienne graciously smiled and waved, not equip to deal with such a situation. With Etienne leading followed by the other three knights they turned on to the main street to the castle, when suddenly Etienne’s eyes were drawn.
She stood in the doorway of a small house, their eyes met, and she smiled. He was transfixed. The world stood still. Noise disappeared. She had hair the colour of a cornfield and eyes as turquoise as the sea. A beauty so strong that your mind felt betrayed if your eyes left her. He thought he could hear her voice in his head, like a siren calling to him. What was she saying? Who was she? Their eyes didn’t stray from one another’s. He wanted to stop, get off his horse to find out who she was, where she was from, but the crowd had moved behind the horses and were ushering them in the direction of the castle. He strained to turn around, he wanted to shout something out but the words evaded him, she would soon be out of site. There was nothing he could do, the horses wouldn’t stop walking, before she finally disappeared out of view behind the crowd she gave Etienne one final smile, and then she was gone.
The procession carried on up the main street but Etienne’s mind was with her. He wanted to turn back, find out whom she was, what had just happened. He’d just experienced something he never had before. His friend tapping him on the shoulder brought him from his lucid reverie. “Your father’s at the balcony,” said Michael pointing up at the balcony. Etienne looked up to see his father was looking down at him. The king waved and nodded, regal and un-emotive, as Etienne had become accustomed from his father, but he could tell that his father was proud of him. Etienne thought that his father looked like he had aged a lot since the last time he had seen, far more than the few years should have allowed. A frail form had replaced the imposing figure that he once possessed. The knights continued to the end of the street and entered into the castle under the portcullis. The towns people respectfully stopped following the procession at the castle walls and left their new heroes to be reunited with their loved ones.
Families, aides to the royal house, and all trusted vassals and bondsmen had lined up across the forecourt in front of the large castle doors. The king had descended from the balcony and stood in the middle of the line. Four young pages ran from the greeting party to the knights to take their horses. Etienne was trying to concentrate on the occasion. Adrenalin had engulfed his body but he wasn’t sure if it was their arrival in the city, seeing his father, or what he had just felt in the main street. He dismounted and walked toward his father thankful that his legs had responded to brain’s commands. The row of dignitaries and friends began clapping, some were crying with the joy of their son’s return. Etienne’s father walked forward and took his son in his arms. They held each other until eventually his father leant back in order that he could look into his eyes. “Son, today you have made your mother and me very proud.”
Etienne could feel tears forming; they pulled each other together again, his father pulling harder than he ever had before. It was the first time that Etienne could remember his father showing such a display of affection in public. The king stood back again and with the loud imposing voice, that used to send shivers of fear through Etienne as a child, he addressed the crowd. “My friends,” the welcoming party fell silent and turned to look at the king, “our loved ones have returned. Now let’s celebrate.” The crowd cheered, the king put his arm around his sons shoulder and led him into the castle.

The king turned to make his way out of the hall, he turned to Etienne, “Son come with me.”
“Olivier you come as well. I want you by my side,” whispered Etienne in his friend’s ear.
Olivier and Etienne followed the king along with; Jean-Louis the Captain of Avalon’s army, Philip the Marshal of Avalon, the Bishop of Avalon and the three surviving kings from the neighbouring lands, Citerne, Valines and Machiel. They entered the room adjacent to the great hall. Etienne realised that he had never been in this room before. From the simplicity of the furniture, a solitary round wooden table surrounded by nine high backed chairs, he could tell that this is where only the most secretive and important discussions were held. Its circular shape with the wall only broken by a singular door, further intensified the reticence of the room. The lack of windows was deliberate in design, ensuring that whatever words spoken within could not escape. Spoken and left forever enclosed in a collapsed cave. They entered and each of the men took their place as if they had sat there before. The king was flanked either side by the Captain and the Marshal. Clockwise from the king sat Olivier’s father, the King of Citerne, to his left the chair remained under the table, Etienne presumed this place was for the King of Limoux who had been killed by Chaval’s army, then sat the King of Valines, another place remained empty, presumably for the Paulo’s father the King of Allenay also slain at the hands of Chaval. Beside the empty chair sat the King of Machiel, and finally completing the circle remained another untouched chair. As the men sat, without talking they all looked at the empty chair to the right of the Captain. Etienne’s father stood up and walked to the chair, slid it back form the table, and with a ferocious swing smashed it against the wall.
“Chaval will never sit at this table again,” the king said as he returned to his seat. Etienne looked at Olivier in shock at his father's rage dilating his eyes.
Olivier, Etienne and the Bishop stayed standing. “Son I must leave. I have word that Chaval’s army has grown to an unimaginable size. Even if we had all our men we would still be outnumbered four to one. Our great city is in grave danger and so are the people I vowed to protect. I will ride to Chaval to seek the king’s counsel, to try and find a way to stop this bloodshed.” Etienne looked around the room in disbelief, ‘did nobody else think this was ludicrous’, ‘was no one else willing to offer themselves to take the king’s place’, ‘surely they knew that the king was needed here’, ‘why wasn’t anyone saying anything?’
“Father you cannot go, your people need you here. These people need to fight father. There is nothing that Chaval can offer which will appease them.”
“Son I will ride to Chaval. We are not ready to fight Chaval yet. We need more time.”
“The boy is right Sire, your people need you here,” the king’s Marshal and closest confident Philip finally interjected, much to the relief of Etienne. “You should not go. Let me go.”
“Father, Philip is also needed here to prepare the army. Let me go. I want to help. If I go it will not be seen as an attack on Chaval,” continued Etienne. “We need to speak with calm words, as you said we need more time. I will ask for parley. We do not want to strike up a battle until we are ready.”
“He will not agree to parley,” replied the king. “He is aware he has the upper hand. He knows our city is at its capacity, resources are running low and we are vulnerable.”
“But he also knows we have a lot of men sire,” continued Etienne. “Men who are angry and seeking retribution for the atrocities they have had bestowed on them. Men that, within a short period of time, will be fit again and would form a formidable opponent. He would be unable to defend the land he has taken, and may well be willing to find a compromise. And even if he doesn’t it may give us the time we need.”
“Perhaps you are right Etienne and I am proud that my son would make such an offer, but I will not agree to this,” said the king.
“I realise how painful a decision this is for you sire, but he is our best chance of a peaceful negotiation,” said Philip.
“I will not send my only son alone to that monster’s city,” the king shouted as he stood from his chair.
“I will ride with him.” Olivier stepped forward. The men around the table turned to see who had made this gesture. “I will protect him Sire as if he were my brother.” The boys looked at one another.
“You show great bravery Olivier, and I applaud your loyalty but,” the king was cut short by the Bishop of Avalon who had been standing quietly in the shadows.
“There is another option Sire,” he said in a quiet voice. The bishop was a small man, slight in frame. His angular face met at a sharp point at his chin. The site of the bishop had filled Etienne with fear as a child. “The house of Chaval has wanted for years to forge their family with Avalon. If Chaval and Avalon stood together they would not only be a formidable force in South West France, they would have an army capable of ruling the entire country. Chaval’s daughter is now of age.” The king flashed a glance at Etienne who had understood exactly the Bishop's implication. Chaval’s daughter, Marianne, was the same age as Etienne. Her father had tried unsuccessfully before to forge alliances with other kingdoms through his daughter. Her mother, as with Etienne’s, had died in child childbirth and she was also an only child. Her and Etienne’s similarities were consequential, and it had been rumoured that she was waiting for him, however Etienne had only ever believed this to be circumstantial. Before the king could say anything Etienne replied to the Bishop.
“I know what you are suggesting Bishop, the unity of Avalon and Chaval would truly make us powerful, however it would not end our struggle. If I married Marianne do you think he would let both our lands live peacefully together? Do you think he would equally split our lands and let our neighbours have their homes back?” The Bishop offered no response. “He will become even more powerful and inflict the same misery he has here throughout all of France. Is that what you want?” continued Etienne. “I will ride to Chaval and I will explain why I will not marry his daughter. I will take our offer of parley and leave it with him. We can not spend our lives in fear, running from this man.” Etienne turned from the Bishop to face his father. “Father do you forbid me to go?”
The king turned from the expectant faces and paced around the table as if a penned animal. Without turning to face the men the king replied, lethargy clear in his voice. “I will agree, but you must ride with my finest knights.” Philip rose from his chair, “Sire I fully understand your worry with sending your son," he said crossing the room to stand beside Etienne, "but I feel sending him with your knights will be viewed as an act of distrust.” He placed one hand on Etienne’s shoulder. “Etienne, I wish there were another way. I wish I could ride with you, but I fear that this is our only hope.” Philip turned to the king, “The two should ride alone Sire to show our intent of reconciliation.”
“Father," Etienne added, "Olivier and I shall deliver your offer of parley to the king’s hand. We will then leave and ride back the same day. If we depart at first light, and ride with earnest we shall be back by sunset. The more men we take the slower our progress. Father let me do this. You are needed here with your people. Our city will be evermore vulnerable without you here.” Etienne knew now that his father had to agree.
The king hadn’t stopped pacing, and was now rubbing his forehead. He stopped and looked at his son, and then the men sat around the table whom had already lost so much. The king uttered under his breath, barely audible by those in front of him, ‘my dear wife forgive me for what I am about to do’. “Etienne, you and Olivier will go to Chaval.” The boys clenched their fists, ensuring that the king couldn’t see. “It is against my better judgment but I see no other path. You will ride at first light the day after tomorrow and return before nightfall. If you have not returned by that time I will send my knights to find you. I will prepare the parley for you to give to Chaval.” The king turned to his Captain. “Have my two finest horses made ready.” The king then left the room. The men looked at each other, the silence deafening. Olivier walked over to Etienne and put his arm around his shoulder. “My brother I will ride with you every step of the way. We will give Chaval his parley and return to our people.”
“Only if you can keep up,” Etienne replied. The boys smiled at each other again, their lives as knights were about to begin.

Gill slowly made his way around the edge of the city and through the forest, savouring every moment of his freedom. The sound of the birds calling one another and the smell of blossom on the cherry trees reminded him of the place that he had missed so much over the past few weeks. The wind blew his hair and the sun warmed his face. Beni was out of his life and for the first time, and nature seemed to Gil to be rejoicing in the fact with him. He arrived at his tree, thankful it had remained just as he had left it. He retrieved his sword, and bow and arrow from inside the tree, but he wasn’t ready to start practicing again yet. He just wanted to take some time and enjoy the moment, re-immerse himself into his sanctuary. He sat down with his back against the tree and watched the seagulls fly overhead. The trees had swollen with shoots of new leaves since the last time he was here, and he pondered on the constant death and re-growth that ties the seasons together. He thought to himself how it must to die and be re-born, to live a lifetime within one year. How exciting the possibilities were to have a new beginning every spring, but what sadness the winter carries. It wasn’t long before Gill fell asleep.
The crack of a twig woke him from his slumber.
“Who goes there?” Gill shouted as he jumped from the ground grabbing his wooden sword on the way up. Crack! Another twig broke. “Show yourself.” Gill pivoted around trying to see what it was that was making the noise. Crack! Crack! The noise was getting louder and he could see the copse in front of him begin to rustle; the movement behind them alerting him of the oncoming danger. “I have a sword!” Gill shouted in an attempt to disguise his fear. The rustling bushes began to part and Gill could see for the first time what was creating the noise. Standing in front of him was a man. As the man stepped from the shadows Gill could make out his unkempt long, thick black hair, and shaggy beard. He was slightly taller than Gill, but much older, and looked to have a strong physique. He was wearing scruffy clothes that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. As the man approached he raised his palms.
“I am unarmed. I mean you no harm,” the oncoming stranger said. Strangely, although the man that walked toward him possessed the appearance of a bear, Gill's fear began to subside. “I apologise sire for startling you. My name is Olivier, I was a friend of your father’s.”
The stranger’s revelation startled Gill; he felt trapped, unsure what to do. No one had mentioned his father’s name in a long time. Being the protector, the person who looked after his family he reacted without a second thought and ran at him. Gill leapt at the stranger knocking them both to the floor, he struggled to land punches but the stranger was too strong. He rolled Gill onto his back and sat on his chest, pinning both his hands to the floor. Gill struggled but he was unable to break free. “How dare you,” Gill shouted. “How dare you speak of my father? You know nothing of my father.”
“I know he was a good man, and a great friend.”
“No you don’t. You know nothing,” replied Gill, trying to pull his hands from Olivier’s strong grasp.
“I know your mother is Arlette and you also have an uncle who can’t be a lot older than you.” Gill stopped struggling, the realisation that this stranger might know him was sobering to his incomprehensible anguish. “I know your father loved your mother more than life itself.” Olivier continued as the lifted himself from Gill and sat beside him. “I know your father died before you were born, and I know he would have been proud of the man that you have become.” Gill could feel wells of water forming in his eyes.
“How do you know?” Gills voice had become an inquisitive whisper, he wanted to know, but was scared of what he might find out, the sort of voice that would ask a dark cave ‘if there were anyone there’ desperate that his question remained unanswered. His mother had never told him very much, and the secrecy always worried him. Somehow, he felt, that the truth must have been so painful that she couldn’t say. What if what he was about to hear would shatter the visions and dreams he had of his father?
“I was you father’s closest friend Gill. My name is Olivier. My father was the King of Citerne. I also disappeared on the same day your father did, but for very different reasons.” Olivier paused and picked a lone buttercup, inspecting its simplistic beauty. “I trained with him. We lived together, and when my city was overthrown we were to fight together against Chaval.”
“He was a knight?” asked Gill, his furrowed brow evidence to Olivier that this information came as a complete shock He had always felt in his heart that his father must have been a special man. In this barrage of revelation and confusion the confirmation that all this time he was right comforted him slightly.
“He was the best Gill,” replied Olivier. “Your father was strong, brave, and skilled. I see the same qualities in you.” The dam that was holding back Gills tears broke and streams formed down his cheeks. For the first time, all his questions were being answered. He wiped his tears with the cuff of his tunic and waited for Olivier to continue. “You are the image of him Gill.” said Olivier. “If I were not a sane man I would think that I had woken this morning and my dreams had come true and that your father was still alive and sitting in front of me.” Gill stood up and began pacing around the clearing in front of his tree. Gills eyes darted nervously to the sky and floor like a bow of a boat caught in tempest, desperate to find a place of safety on which to rest. His head was spinning; he pulled his canteen from his bag and took some water. He then tipped some into his cupped hand and splashed his face. He offered the canteen to Olivier who declined. “You are also very adept with your weapons,” continued Olivier. “I have watched from a far Gill. I promised your father that I would.”
Gill stood back bemused. “But how?” asked Gill. “How did I not see you?”
“That is not important now,” replied Olivier.
“Well what is then?” said Gill. “Why have you suddenly come out the forest? Why now?” Gill picked up a stone and threw it with venom at a tree.
“I realise this is very hard for you Gill, and I am sorry, but I will answer all your questions in time.” Olivier stood up and brushed the dust from his trousers. “I have shown my face to you for the first time in seventeen years for two reasons.” Olivier took the canteen from Gill and took a drink. Gill sensed that he had probably gone over the words he was about to say a thousand times before.
“Please go on Olivier,” replied Gill, realising he would have to be patient if he was to find out all that he needed.
“The first reason I have revealed myself to you is that I want to help you,” said Olivier.
“How?” interrupted Gill. “Why would I need your help?” Gill felt he had been coping fine up to now, why did he suddenly need a stranger coming into his life, causing confusion and creating doubts.
“I mean not to offend you Gill. You have grown up a strong brave man like your father.” Gill wished he would stop drawing comparisons between him and a man he had never met. “I have watched you develop, how you have mastered your weaponry, you are starting to show talent but I can see that your aggression is holding you back.”
“I do not need your help, I’m doing fine on my own,” replied Gill, turning away from Olivier and making his way back to his tree.
“But to fulfill your destiny Gill, fine will not be good enough. Also I can tell that everything isn’t fine,” Olivier said pointing to the cut on Gills face.
“That was an accident,” replied Gill, turning his cheek to hide the cut left by Beni.
“But it’s not the first accident you have had Gill. I’ve noticed that here have been more.”
“What do you know of my destiny anyway?” asked Gill, trying to shift emphasis to a different subject. “I know who I am and I am in control of my problems. I protect my family, and it appears to me that you can’t even look after yourself.” Gill felt guilty drawing attention to Olivier’s untidy attire, but the fact that Olivier had suggested that he couldn’t take care of his family had offended him. “Don’t appear in my life and tell me I need your help.”
“Well this leads me to my second reason to show myself Gill, and this is going to be far more difficult for you to comprehend. The truth is Gill," Olivier continued, "you don’t know who you are."
“What do you mean?” asked Gill. He hadn’t had any of his questions answered; all Olivier had done had spoken in riddles and created more perplexity.
"The truth is that you are the son of a very important person." Gill stared at Olivier his world had stopped revolving, and his heart beat quickened.
"Your father was killed before he was able to fulfill his destiny. The truth is, this is now your destiny Gill.”
Olivier put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a beautiful silver cross on a long silver chain. It was the most magnificent piece of jewelry Gill had ever seen. It was encrusted with stones of all colours that picked up the suns rays and refracted a kaleidoscope of light across the clearing. Olivier handed the cross to Gill. Gill studied it as it lay in his hand mesmerised by its beauty.
“This was your father’s,” Olivier continued. “I found it the day after your father was killed. You see Gill your father was a very clever man and he knew that he was in danger. He put this cross in my valise without me knowing. He knew that should anything happen to me that I would know what to do with it.” Olivier paused again, allowing Gill to comprehend what he was saying. “Gill your father was the Prince of Avalon, the only known heir to the city. He would have wanted me to give this to you in order that you would know one day who your father was. You Gill, are now the only living heir to Avalon."
Gill could not believe what he was hearing. What did this mean? Why hadn’t his mother said anything? What was he going to do now? He fell to his knees and covered his face with his hand. How could this be? What he had just been told had stolen the air from around him, his world was caving in, and he couldn’t breath. He jumped to his feet and ran. Olivier didn’t follow. Gill ran and ran, in no particular direction just as far away from Olivier and from what he had just been told. He was the son the prince; it didn’t make sense, why had his family had to suffer for so long, why hadn’t he been told before? He ran until his legs wouldn’t carry his body anymore. He collapsed at the top of a sand dune that overlooked the sea. Gill lay on the sand, his knees pulled up to his chest, and cried until the sun set and the world could see his tears no more.
Eventually the tears dried and his solitude gave him comfort no more. He needed to talk to his mother. He stood up and headed in the direction of Avalon. He arrived home long after dark, and the time his mother was expecting him.
“Where have you been I’ve been so worried?” asked Arlette as soon as her son walked through the door. His bloodshot eyes told a tale his mother did not know yet. “What’s the matter, what’s happened?” her worry became replaced with panic. Gill looked his mother in the eyes, walked straight past her without saying a word and sat down at the table. Arlette turned and followed him, frantically taking a seat beside her son. “What is it son? Please tell me.” Gill dipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out the cross and placed it on the table. The blood visibly drained from Arlette's face. The last time Arlette had seen this cross it was round her lover’s neck as he lay next to her in her bed, the morning before he was taken from her forever.
“Where did you get his?” Gill could not tell whether the tone of his mother’s voice was of fear, anger or longing, he presumed a probable mixture of all. For the first time since he could remember he could not read his mother’s emotions.
“It was given to me by a stranger in the woods outside the city,” replied Gill, slightly nervous due to his mother’s unrecognisable initial reaction.
“Don’t play games with me Gill, tell me where you found this.” Gill could definitely now sense anger in his mother’s voice. She leant forward and carefully picked up the cross as if it had been left in the fire and would burn to the touch. She lifted it up and took a closer look. Slowly she closed her palm around it and looked at Gill waiting for a response. “Tell me Gill?”
“Mother, I was at the place that I go most nights to be alone and practice my lyre, just outside the city walls in the forest by the shore.”
“We will deal with the fact you go outside the city walls later Gill. Now tell me exactly how you came to have this cross.”
“I was relaxing by my tree when I was woken by a man coming through the woods toward me. He said his name was Olivier.” Gill could see his mother's eyes widen. “He said he was good friends with my father, and that my father had left this cross in his valise, because he would know what to do with it should anything happen to him.”
“Did he say who your father was?” asked Arlette.
“He said my father was the Prince of Avalon,” Arlette’s head slumped into her hands. “Is this true mother, was my father the Prince?” but her look reaction have already confirmed this.
Arlette took a deep breath, lifted her heavy head from her hands and took hold of Gills hands softly. Gill was still in a state of shock and denial, now was the time for truth but his emotions were vulnerable. His mother’s hand trembled in his. She looked him in the eyes. “I knew the time would come when I would have to tell you the truth about your father and I. I am relieved to be truthful that this time has finally come. If I am to tell you this Gill, you must promise me that you will listen first to all what I have to say without reacting, you need to hear the full story. Can you do that Gill?”
“I will try.” This was starting to feel worse than his meeting with Olivier. All that he knew, everything that made him the person that he was, that grounded him was now in question. His life had been shredded and thrown haphazardly in the air, falling to the ground like ash from a fire. But all his unanswered questions were about to be answered, and although every instinct in his body said run he wanted to hear what his mother had to say, she deserved that much.
She started in a softly spoken voice still holding his hands. “Your father was a very special man Gill.” It was as if these words that were hidden for so long had to be said quietly, as any loud noise would scare them away again. “Yes, he was the Prince, and it is for that reason alone that I have kept his identity from you.” ‘But why?’ Gill wanted to scream but he let his mother continue. “We met for the first time the day he returned from his knight training. He rode past me, our eyes met and something beautiful happened in both our worlds. From that moment neither of our lives were the same again. Your father would come to see me every night after the sun was down and the streets became empty. We would escape the city walls and be together by the sea without thought of prejudice or consequence.” ‘So that’s how she knew about the hole in the city wall’ Gill thought to himself, but he didn't speak. “He would arrive after dark and always have to leave before sun rise. It was too dangerous to let anyone else see us. We didn’t want our relationship to be judged by city gossip, it was worth more than that. We had both found true love and companionship, and had to rejoice in the fact within our cloak of secrecy.”
Gill looked at his mother and with his thumb wiped away a tear that had started to fall down her cheek. “It is such a relief to me mother that you experienced true love with my father. I have always felt such guilt about your life ending when my began.”
“I had a life before you were born Gill, and I will never meet another man like your father. I was blessed that I knew him, and the love he gave me was truly a gift that I will always keep with me, but a new life began when you were born. It was the end of one part, but a beginning of another, and one that I have been equally blessed to have.” Gill couldn’t hold back his smile, there were still so many questions he wanted to ask, but just sitting in their home, at their table, listening to his mother and seeing the happiness in her eyes fulfilled a dream that he had had so many times over.
That evening Arlette continued telling stories of his father; and with each story another of his questions was answered. “Now I understand why you didn't want me to be a knight,” Gill said as his mother explained how his father was a great knight, and that he and Olivier were going to fight against the atrocities that Chaval had bestowed in his beloved land. “So you didn’t want me to be a knight because you were fearful that I would be a great knight like my father, and one day I would have to go to battle.”
“That is partly true Gill,” said Arlette, still holding her son’s hand. Gill could sense that his mother was trying to tackle each of his questions as sensitively as possible. “The king was under enormous pressure around the time I was pregnant with you Gill.” Arlette stood up and walked to the fire. She picked up the stoker and prodded the embers bringing the fire back to life again.
“Please continue mother,” said Gill as he turned around looking at his mother. “I know this must be difficult mother but.”
“I am alright Gill. You have a right to know, “ continued Arlette, retaking her seat. “I have wanted to share this with you for such a long time. It is just talking about this, recalling all my memories makes me realise just how different our life could have been. How much happier you could have been.”
“But I am happy mother. You have always filled this house with love, and Sebastian and I have grown up not wanting for anything.”
“Thank you Gill. You and your uncle have been a constant support to me as well.” Arlette took a deep breath and Gill realised that she was about to tell him something that he may find difficult to hear, so he squeezed his mother’s hand and smiled at her. “Gill your father was a great, brave man and we were going to tell the king about us, and of my pregnancy the day he returned from a very important mission that the king had sent him on. Your father was to go to Chaval to offer parley in order that some of the land that Chaval had so brutally stolen from our neighbours could be returned to the refugees that were living in our city. We did not have enough food or homes for everyone, our resources were running low and the king needed to find a way to protect and feed these people. Our armies were not equipped to fight against Chaval’s, and the king was required in Avalon, so this was the city’s only chance of survival. Gill, your father never returned from Chaval. It is said that he was ambushed on his return. It is suspected that it was Chaval’s men but this has never been confirmed. His body and the body of the man that he traveled with were never found. The man that he traveled with Gill was Olivier.”
Gill’s tears fell and splashed on the table joining his mother’s in a pool of sorrow. Gill’s uncle who had been sitting next to the fire pretending to be asleep stood up and came to the table to hold his family. Gill noticed that he also had been crying. “I was only young Gill, b but from what I remember your father was an extraordinary man, a chivalrous man, a true knight. He and your mother were deeply in love, b but I believe he is still here Gill. I believe that he lives in you. Lives in the love that you give to your mother and me. Lives in your energy and your passion, and I believe, for him, you will come through this and make things right once more.”

Gill woke the following morning. His head ached from the tears he had wept the previous night. Many of his questions had been answered but the muscles in his forehead were still contracted from one last thing he needed to know. He got up carefully so as to not wake his mother or uncle; got dressed and tip-toed to the door. He had to see Olivier. He needed to find out exactly what had happened to his father. He made his way out of the city and back to the place he had ran from yesterday. The sky was grey and the clouds were thick and seemed to slowly roll across the horizon enveloping any last piece of colour that the sun had to offer. The weather had changed overnight, as had Gill’s life.
He sat down by his tree. There was still evidence of their meeting yesterday. The bracken where they had fallen had been flattened, and he could see broken branches where Olivier had appeared from the woods, “Olivier!” Gill shouted. “Olivier, where are you? I have more questions.”
Silence. Gill thought it may take some time to find him again, after all he did run away. Maybe Olivier felt that Gill would never want to see him again. Why couldn’t he have sat down and let Olivier explain himself properly, but Gill knew he would have to be patient, he couldn’t move on with his life until he had spoken with Olivier again. He could not just go back to the market stall and pretend as if nothing had changed: things had fundamentally shifted now.
The day was cold. Gill pulled his knees up to his chest and stretched his tunic over them to form a makeshift tent. He was tired, he hadn’t slept much and dawn had only just broken. As he sat, waiting for Olivier he slipped in and out of sleep, the nodding of his head waking him up at regular intervals. Suddenly a tap on the shoulder woke him, he didn’t know how long he had been a sleep but the darkness had fully lifted; although the tiredness in his bones hadn’t.
“Gill you came back. Thank god.” Gill opened his eyes to see Olivier crouching in front of him, still wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. Still unkempt hair and long beard. “I wasn’t sure you would."
“I wasn’t sure I would either Olivier. I needed some time on my own. I needed to speak with my mother. I am sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry Gill," Olivier cut gill’s reply short, "there is no need. It is not your fault that any of this has happened. Did you speak to your mother? How is she?”
“She will be fine. I think. She had been waiting for the right time to tell me about my father and is probably quite thankful I now know.”
“Did you tell her you had seen me?” Their conversation was calm. Gill felt that the worse was over now.
“I did. And she explained who you were and how you had disappeared on the same day as my father. How you had left to offer parley to Chaval, but never returned.” Olivier stood and looked to the sky stroking his beard.
“Before you ask me any questions will you come with me to my home?” Gill’s instincts told him that he could trust this man, and he needed to find out about what had happened in Chaval.
“Of course,” replied Gill, taking Olivier’s outstretched hand allowing him to be pulled up.

Olivier led the way back through the thickets and copses from which he had appeared the previous day. In silence they walked. Deeper and deeper into the forest, until the canopy became so dense that the only sunlight was the occasional dappling against the thick oak trunks. They waded across streams and hacked through bracken until Gill could see in the distance a small clearing with a building in the centre. The clearing offered a blast of natural that had been scarce in the journey so far. It gave the smallholding a mystical glow as if lit in the density of the surroundings by a celestial being. As they approached Gill could start to make out details of the house. The walls were made from logs vertically lashed together, and the roof was thatched from a mixture of fern leaves and straw. It was a modest structure but it looked strong and great skill and time had obviously been taken in its construction. Olivier turned for the first time since they had left Gill’s special place and said with a proud expression as if introducing him to his first born, “Welcome to my home.”
To the right of the house Gill noticed Olivier had neatly planted vegetables. Beside the vegetables there was also an herb garden scenting the air with the sweet smell of mint and lemon. The plot reminded him of his uncle’s out the back of their house although this was far more established and there was a greater variety. The fruits of Olivier’s toil formed perfect lines all of varying heights and colours, some that Gill recognised from his uncle’s plot and some that he had never seen before. There was also a small plume of smoke rising from the chimney and a small window beside a door that marked the entrance. Olivier opened the door, “Please come in.”
“Thank you,” replied Gill, a little nervous as to what he was going to find inside. The interior was simple but orderly, which surprised Gill especially due to Olivier’s appearance. There was a bed in one corner covered with what looked to be the skin of a deer, and the only other furniture a small table and chair under the window, which Olivier must have fashioned from wood taken from the surrounding forest. A small pot hung over a fire that had carefully been positioned in the middle of room; the heat from which gave a welcome warmth from the cold day outside.
“Go in, Go in. Would you like a drink?” Olivier asked as he took the pot off the fire with two well-worn sticks.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Gill shuffling from foot to foot, still uneasy with his unfamiliar surroundings.
“Please sit.” said  Olivier pointing to the seat by the window. Gill sat down in the chair inquisitively looking around the house for clues as to how a man can survive in such a place for as long as he had. Gill felt a strange envy of Olivier’s situation. The freedom that Olivier had was what Gill craved for, but he also realised that it had come at a cost. Olivier removed his valise and placed it on his bed and then went back out of the door, leaving Gill to ponder more as to the benefits of this solitude. He returned carrying a hand full of leaves that he had picked from outside. Gill watched as he put the leaves into two clay cups that were beside the fire, and pour on hot water. Olivier placed the pot back, picked up the cups and gave one to Gill, “Now tell me Gill, what are your questions?”
Gill picked up his cup and looked in inquisitively. The flavour from the leaves was beginning to infuse: and the sweet smell reminded him of his mother. He held it in both hands so as to warm him, and blew the steam from the top. Gill didn’t know where to start, he looked through the window at the small area of sky framed by the tall trees that inhabited the forest and watched the seagulls circle overhead. These were the birds that had followed him throughout his life, as if a constant reminder of his desire for freedom.
“I have two things to ask,” said Gill eventually without taking his eyes from the birds.
“Anything Gill,” replied Olivier as he took his place on the corner of his bed looking intently and his best friend’s son.
“I want you to tell me how my father died.”
“And the second thing?”
“I want you to teach me how to be a knight.”

Gill bobbed and spun under the water like a pinecone dropped in the breakwater.
“Keep your head above water,” shouted Olivier from the riverbank. “Focus on the bank and walk forward.” But the pebbles that carpeted the river bottom were slippery with algae and had been worn by years of mountain water on its epic annual journey to the sea. Gill struggled to try and find a steady footing just to give him a chance to get this breath back in order that he could continue to the far side of the river. Olivier had been training him now for two months, during this period Gill had often found himself in similar situations. Today’s challenge was to walk from one side of the river to the other. A simple task usually for Gill; he was agile, fit, and even at the deepest of crossing he felt confident. Today however Gill had to try to make the crossing in the most ferocious areas of white-water, hampered by his hands being tied behind his back. “Stay focused,” shouted Olivier again. “Forget about the water, use it to your advantage. Don’t fight nature, work with it.” Gill lifted his head out of the water, his wet hair falling across his eyes, as he finally found a position on the river bed where he could stand and get his bearings again. He straightened his back and looked at Olivier on the far side. That was his goal. He listened to what Olivier said, ‘stay focused’, ‘don’t fight’, and walked. He walked through the white-water one step at a time. He would get knocked over and his body would fill with ice-cold mountain water but it would not deter him. He stood up again and kept walking, until he reached the bank and fell into the arms of his master. “Well done Gill, well done. Your focus is becoming strong and your balance is now excellent.”
Olivier had tried to teach Gill the skills that he had been so desperate to learn. He taught him how to hold a sword properly, the importance of foot positions, the optimum ways to attack or defend. He taught him skills with the bow, the axe, a ball and chain or mace. He taught him self-discipline, developed his reflexes, instincts, balance. Gill was beginning to show great talent, and the master and apprentice were becoming closer every day.
Gill had told his mother that Olivier was training him. Initially she didn’t agree with it, but it had given Gill something to focus on, and when he returned home every night, although he was tired, his mother could see the light slowly coming back into his eyes: his sparkle as she called it. Arlette was worried that it might have been lost forever when he returned home with the cross, and her relief of seeing him happy again far outweighed her worry of the time he spent with Olivier.
Gill knew his mother was anxious with the way his and Olivier’s friendship was developing and he would attempt to relieve his mother’s anxiety when he returned home each evening; telling her stories his training and the things Olivier and him had been talking about. She listened with an attentive ear but never mentioned the idea that she did not approve with him following in his father’s footsteps. Gill understood that the thought of Olivier returning into her life without Etienne was too painful, and respected her silence on the subject.

A further month into his training Gill turned up at Olivier’s house in the late afternoon: but strangely on this occasion he found it empty. Gill searched all the areas that Olivier had shown him. He checked by the lake where Olivier had taken him to learn stealth and patience. It made him smile to recall the day they had spent with their trousers rolled up wading through the shallows trying to catch fish by hand. Gill also walked along the seas edge. It was here that Olivier made him stand in the breakwater and fight Olivier with sticks. He had told Gill the importance of balance and strength, ‘It is not the biggest man who wins a fight Gill,’ Olivier had said to him, ‘but the one who stands up for the longest’. Gill returned to Olivier’s house worried for his friend. He sat with his back against Olivier’s front door and decided to wait for nightfall in the hope his friend would return.
He didn’t have to wait long. Olivier came into the clearing that surrounded his house barely a moment after he had sat, and noticed instantly where his mentor had been. Olivier led into the clearing a beautiful black stallion. Olivier smiled when he saw his student waiting for him, as if he were returning to a hungry family after a days hunting.
“What do you think of him?” said Olivier. “Isn’t he magnificent?”
Gill jumped up and ran over to Olivier. “He truly is a beautiful creature Olivier,” replied Gill, “but where did you get him?” Gill walked around the horse in awe, stroking the horse’s immaculate coat. He had never been able to go near a horse before. The only ones in the city were the king’s, and unless you were a Knight or a Page you would never be allowed to get this close.
“Let’s just say that he found me, and ask no more questions,” Olivier said with wink. “Anyway that is not important Gill. The reason I have brought him to you is that I have been training you now for three months. I have never before seen someone as instinctively gifted with a sword or bow. Gill your father’s blood flows through your veins like a torrent, and I have been blessed to be part of your teachings. He would be extremely proud of the man you have become. You are talented with weaponry, chivalrous with your kin, but to become a great knight your final lesson is to become master of your horse. Gill this is my gift to you.”
Gill stood back in amazement both at the magnificence of the horse, and the generosity of his friend. “But I cannot accept this Olivier, and beside I have never ridden a horse before.”
“Nonsense Gill.” Olivier’s nonchalance to any situation was one of his most endearing qualities. He always made Gill feel like there were no boundaries, only those that you built in your mind. To Olivier anything was possible. His positivism was infectious. “I will teach you to ride this horse and then you will be ready.”
“Ready for what?” asked Gill.
“To fulfill your destiny Gill. The same destiny bestowed on your father. The destiny he was unable to fulfill before he was killed.” Olivier continued. “Your destiny Gill is to lead your people to freedom.”
Gill knew what this meant. He had thought about it since the time Olivier had told him of his lineage. He knew this was the reason his mother protected him from the truth for so long. Gill had heard rumours about the king’s ill health. Whispers were beginning to spread around the market regarding the imminent attack from Chaval. People were getting scared. They wanted to know the king’s next move. The people needed to know how the city was to protect itself without a king or heir. Gill knew what he had to do.
His responsibility was so large it was incomprehensible to Gill: like the distance from the sun or the size of the night sky. The only thing that he could think of was that one day he would be able to face Chaval. He wanted to look in the eyes of the man that had taken his father’s life and his mother’s true love. Gill was ready. Ready to confront his demons and free his people. He looked at his horse: and with his father’s desire in his eyes looked back at Olivier. “Teach me how to ride then master.”

The heat of the summer sun dwindled: replaced with cold clear nights and darker mornings. Autumn leaves turned the landscape. Filled the trees with oranges and reds as if setting them ablaze. The river’s swell reduced as the mountains reclaimed their snowcaps.
“Back straight,” called Olivier as he watched his student ride around the clearing. “Let him know you are his master. Feel his force and harness it.”
Gill possessed the same natural ability with a horse that he had with a sword, and it hadn’t taken Olivier long to hone his riding skills. It was a crisp evening. The night sky illuminated the forest with its astral tapestry.
“That is enough for today Gill. It is dark, the horse needs to rest.”
“Just one more jump,” pleaded Gill, but he didn’t wait for Olivier’s agreement. He tucked his knees and kicked his horse. “Come on my beauty just one more jump,” whispered Gill. “Yah,” and with Gill’s call his horse instantly reacted and galloped to a fallen tree. Gill leant forward and holding his breath his horse jumped the tree and landed safely on the other side. “Well done boy,” said Gill patting his horse on the neck.
He rode up beside Olivier and stopped. Olivier’s approving smile all the recognition he needed. Gill dismounted and walked over to Olivier. He had been sitting on a fallen tree trunk watching his pupil as he effortlessly rode among the trees, dodging the obstacles of thick branches and rope that Olivier had placed. “Olivier, I am ready”.
“I know,” he replied.
“What now?” asked Gill with a playful shrug of his shoulders.
“Only you know that Gill. I have taught you all I can. You now have to make your own decisions as a man. As a knight. Remember what I have taught you; trust your instincts and believe what your heart tells you.”
Gill paused, contemplating his next move, “I need to go and see my mother.”
“Then you must go my friend,” replied Olivier.
“Will you come with me?”
Olivier looked at his feet, retracing on the floor a figure of eight that he had unconsciously been drawing with a stick. He looked up at Gill and stood. “Of course I will come Gill." He picked up his valise and put it across his shoulder. "If that is your wish.”
Gill led the way back to Avalon, with an outer conviction not mirrored with his inner turmoil. The time had come, he had made his decision, and he could wait no longer. The men walked together back to the city in silence. The silence gave Gill the opportunity to work through in his head what was about to happen, what he was going to say. He was aware of the vastness of what he was about to do. He was about to take the next steps to fulfilling his destiny, and he could tell from Olivier’s silence that the enormity of returning to a place that he hadn’t been for nearly eighteen years hadn’t escaped him either. Gill was worried for his mother’s feelings. She knew that one day she would have to see Olivier, but due to the pain it may cause her Gill had never discussed it. He knew that his mother had spent eighteen years trying to rebuild a life without Gill’s father, and that seeing Olivier again would surely bring back painful memories.
They reached the castle walls and Olivier paused. “It will be alright my friend,” said Gill placing his hand on Olivier’s shoulder. “I will show you the way.”
“I know it will Gill,” replied Olivier. “I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I have dreamt of the day I would return, but now my strength evades me."
“Just follow me my friend.” Gill bent down and squeezed through the hole in the wall that was starting to show wear from the numerous times Gill had passed through. He paused the other side half expecting his friend to not appear, but he did not have to wait long. Olivier sighed and puffed as he pulled his large frame through the gap in the rampart. Gill smiled when he saw his friend stand up and brush himself.
“A knight should not have to enter a city this way," sighed Olivier indignantly.
"Come on, lets go,” replied Gill turning and heading in the direction of his home. They made their way into the city following the shadows cast from the houses.
“I am glad that night is upon us Gill,” said Olivier, short of breath, trying to keep up with Gill as he sped with stealth from one shadow to the next.
“Why is that?” replied Gill without breaking stride.
“Well you are the only person I have seen in a long time my friend,” said Olivier. “I don’t think I’m ready for a welcoming party just yet.” Gill turned around and smiled at his friend, and Olivier winked in reply. The streets were almost empty. The market had long since packed up for the day, and most people were already taking their places at home in front of their fires. Their solitude gave Gill comfort, he was still unsure as to how the town would react to Olivier’s return, and wanted his mother to be the first person in Avalon to witness it. Olivier put his hood up so as to not draw attention from the few remaining townsfolk in the streets.
“I think there is little chance of anyone still recognising you,” said Gill as he noticed his friend’s attempts at concealment.
“Better to be safe. I did used to draw an eye in my time." replied Olivier stroking his beard and flattening his tunic. "It his strange," continued Olivier. "This city has long been committed to memory Gill. The noises smells, and sites are ones that I thought I would never experience again.” Olivier stopped in the street and spun around looking from house to house. Gill turned and watched in silence allowing his friend to savour the moment.
“Has it changed?” Gill asked.
“There are more houses, and the streets seem a lot quieter: but I still feel the same sense of welcoming,” replied Olivier. “There is a warmth to this city Gill. I cannot explain it. In fact it does not need definition: but I feel at home again.” Gill put his arm around Olivier and pointed in the direction of his house.
“This is my home Olivier. Will you let me and introduce you to my family?”
“As you wish my friend,” replied Olivier. They approached the house and Gill opened the door his hands trembling. Gill turned to look at Olivier, he had frozen in the street behind him.
“Are you alright Olivier?” said Gill. Olivier paused as if witnessing the epiphany.
“I recognised the house instantly,” replied Olivier. “I remember leaving the city. Your father slowed his horse down here,” Olivier pointing up the road from the house. “Your mother then came out of that door and your father lifted her onto his horse right here, right at this very spot Gill.” Olivier lifted his hand to his face and bowed his head. “I feel as if he is here now Gill.” Gill walked back from the door and placed Olivier’s head on his shoulder.
“I would like to think that he is Olivier,” replied Gill. “I like to think that he is always with me. Come on let’s go in, it will be fine.”
Arlette turned with a start as she heard the door opening.
“Gill is that you,” called Arlette from the back yard.
“Yes mother,” replied Gill. Arlette walked through the backdoor; hair tied up and a basket of freshly dug vegetables under her arm, wiping the mud off her hands on her apron.
“The onions are really doing well this year Gill,” she said as she placed her basket on the table. “I made a stew for dinner,” Arlette continued still without looking in the direction of door. “Wash your hands and set the table, it won’t be long.”
“Mother, stop,” said Gill trying to bring his mother’s attention to the guest he had brought home. Arlette stopped chopping and turned to face her son. “Mother, this is Olivier.”
“Hello Arlette,” Olivier broke the silence formed by Arlette’s stunned reaction. Arlette just stared at him motionless. A ghost she had carried in her dreams for eighteen years had just walked through her door. “Please forgive me for startling you,” continued Olivier. Arlette turned away from them and began chopping again. She picked up the chopped onions and walked over to the pot hanging over the fire and dropped them in. A splash of hot water jumped from the pot and landed on Arlette’s hand.
“Dam,” The burning water started to scold her hand and she rushed back to the chopping board and put her hand in the bowl of cold water she was using to wash the vegetables. “I am so clumsy,” cursed Arlette.
“Mother are you alright,” Gill asked as he walked toward his mother. “Please stop what you are doing.”
“I am sorry if I have startled you Arlette,” repeated Olivier.
“You did not startle me Olivier. I knew this time would come,” Arlette replied as she took her hand from the water, and wrapped it in a wet cloth. “You had better sit. Dinner is almost ready.” The men did as they were told and sat at the table looking to one another for a guide as to what to do. “Stew?”
“Mother please join us,” Gill said ushering his mother to sit at the table, but she carried on preparing dinner impassive to Gill’s request.
“Arlette please sit down we need to talk.”
“Do not tell me what to do Olivier.” Gill realised that Olivier was trying to subdue the situation but his request only seemed to antagonise his mother. Her reply was barely a whisper. “I have waited for eighteen years, eighteen years for you to return with my love, and now you turn up at my door without him and tell me to sit down.” The volume of her voice increased throughout her statement until the point she was almost shouting. “How dare you?” Gill and Olivier were thrown back in their chairs as she turned to confront them.
“Please don’t be angry mother, I asked Olivier to come. You know he has helped me greatly. I now understand who I am, I know the truth.”
“The truth, what do you know of the truth Olivier,” said Arlette. “You have lived a lie for eighteen years Olivier. You have lived the life of a dead man, and now you return telling my son of the truth.”
“He had a right to know Arlette,” said Olivier.
“What right? Do not talk to me of rights.” Arlette shouted back.
“He is old enough to know the truth Arlette. Mature enough to know who he really is.” Arlette stared at Olivier, fire burning in her eyes, and turned back to the pot. She picked up the spoon and began carefully stirring.
“Mother I am sorry that it has happened this way. I never meant to hurt you,” said Gill.
“It is not your fault Gill,” the volume of her voice now decreasing.
“I will always love you mother, and I understand why you have protected me from the truth about my father, however I am a man now. I need to fulfill my destiny. I need to see my Grandfather, the king. I need to let him know who I am. I need to tell him what my father never had time to.” Arlette looked at Gill and smiled; her maternal warmth clearly visible now to her son. She then turned to Olivier.
“Olivier,” her face lost its emotion: but her eyes were full of steel and purpose. “I want to say thank you. You have helped my son over the past months to come to terms with who he is. I did not agree with the training that you have given him. I never wanted him to fight, to be a knight. I lost Etienne due to war and you must be able to understand that I do not want to lose my only son too.”
“I do understand Arlette, and I am sorry that it was not you who told him about his father,” replied Olivier.
“The only man that I ever loved, that I ever trusted, trusted you.” Arlette took hold of Gill’s hand. “I therefore trust you to help Gill, but god help you if you let him down.” Arlette then stood up from the table and walked back to the pot of stew and continued to stir. Gill looked at Olivier and rose from his chair, he didn’t want to say goodbye to his mother, he didn’t need to explain where he was going. In silence he made his way out of the house, closely followed by Olivier.
Together they started in the direction of the castle. Gill looked up at the stars hoping to get inspiration or a sign. The constellations gave nothing but a vivid perception of how unfathomably far away the answers were. The castle gates appeared without them breaking their silence. The night was cold, but nervous anticipation kept them warm. Standing at the gates Gill looked at Olivier for the final time before their lives changed forever. He lifted his hand to the small door beside the giant gate that marked the entrance to the castle walls and went to knock on it. Olivier stopped him.
“Gill, I have not come here for a fight, but I will not run from one.”
“Hopefully it will not come to that my friend,” replied Gill raising his hand to the door and wrapping on it three times. Silence. Seconds then minutes slowed. Still no reply. A small window in the door creaked open and a face became visible.
“What do you want?” enquired the guard in a malevolent tone from behind the door.
“We are here to see the king,” said Gill aware that the tremor in his voice was clearly audible to the guard. The guard slammed the window shut. Another eternity of silence passed. The window then creaked open again.
“And why should the king want to see you?” asked the same guard.
"I've already had enough of this," said Olivier to Gill. "Does he not realise what it has taken for us to come here." Without Gill having time to react, Olivier thrust his hand through the small window in the door and grabbed the guard by the back of the head and smashed it against the inside of the door.
“What did you do that for?” shouted Gill as Olivier pulled his hand from within the window allowing the guard to slump to the floor.
“Sorry Gill but he was starting to irritate me,” replied Olivier, but before he had a chance to fully justify his actions the castle gate swung open and five guards brandishing swords came running out.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Gill shouted dropping his sword to the floor to show he had no intent of fighting, “I have come to see the king, my grandfather.” The guards froze.
“But the king does not have any family,” replied a guard.
“Please go to the king and tell him I am here. Please tell him I am his grandson, and I have his son’s closest friend Olivier the son of the king of Citeren with me. Tell him we wish to speak with him.” The guards looked at one another unsure what to do.
“Wait here,” barked one of the guards at the two men. “Remove your weapons.” Olivier dropped his sword and they both lifted their arms to prove that they were unarmed. There were four guards, thickly set, with a belligerent demeanour. The fifth guard, who had been thrown against the inside of the door, slowly picked himself up from the floor wiping blood from his nose, and walked over to Olivier.
“Stand down,” said the apparently most senior guard halting the other guards desire for retribution.
The guards searched the men, and when they were satisfied they were unarmed one of them left and ran into the castle, the other four remained, not taking their eyes from Gill or Olivier, willing either of them to make a move and give them an opportunity to vent their anger.
The guard that had run into the castle returned shortly after, sweating and gasping for breath.
“Follow me,” he panted. The other guards looked at him perplexed, but the message barer shrugged his shoulders and indicated to Olivier and Gill in the direction of the castle. The guard led the way. Through the large outer gate of the castle walls and into a courtyard. It was a large square, flanked at either side by the outer walls from which they had come,  and in front of them stood the castle. Gill had never been this close to the building before. The only glimpses he had ever had were as an inquisitive boy when he patiently waited outside the gates for the infrequent times they were opened to let a royal or dignitary pass through. A stolen moment of longing for how it must be to live a life of privilege. It was a beautiful building, opulent and grand. A residence fit for its inhabitants. Large stone steps leading to an arch the height of three men marked the entrance. They were led into the castle. Gill’s heart was beginning to double in speed. With every step he took it felt that he was stepping closer to the realisation of who he truly was. The four guards didn’t leave Olivier or Gill’s side. Once in the castle, still in silence, echoes of their footsteps rhythmically pounding off the walls like a marching army, they were led up a large stone spiral staircase. The staircase opened out to a long corridor only lit by the dim flickering of a few candles sporadically fixed along the walls. They walked along the corridor until reaching a thick wooden door at the very end the guards stopped. The largest one paused, as if to gain his composure, and then knocked.
“Enter,” came a voice from inside. The guard cautiously opened the door and signaled for the men to enter. Gill noticed the room was darker than the corridor from which they had come due to only one candle in the far corner of the room being alight. He could make out that it was a large room with scarcely any furniture. The only thing breaking the uniformity of the walls was a table and chair, and a large bed in the corner opposite to where they were standing. “Come closer,” said a muted voice from the direction of the bed. “My guard has told me that you desire to speak with the king.”
“We do sire,” replied Gill.
"And is it true the son of Citeren is here?"
"It is Sire," replied Olivier. There was a pause, the room stood in time.
"Can you explain to me how the dead speaks?" said the king. Olivier stepped in front of Gill.
"I did not die Sire."
"Well then you must be an impostor," replied the king.
"I can assure you Sire I am not. The last time we spoke was on the day your son and I rode for Chaval. You entrusted in me the safety of your son, my closest friend. I have failed you both."
"If this is true where have you been for the last eighteen years?" asked the king. Gill noticed the guards were still beside them, all had their hands on their swords. “And for what reason do you request my counsel?”
“I have something I need to tell you Sire,” said Gill coming to Olivier's aid.
“Answer my questions,” the king replied.
“I,” started Gill, still trying to get the words he wanted to say in the right order in his head before they clumsily fell from his mouth.
"I am an old man and you will have to speak up,” the king demanded. “Come closer I can not see you in the shadows.”
Gill edged closer to the bed. He could see for the first time, as the candlelight spread the face of an old man. A drawn ashen face. Obviously a face that used to be hansom before the strains of life had taken their toll. It was still a face that instantly commanded respect however. The king's warm pale blue eyes set Gill’s mind slightly at ease.
“Now I can see you,” the king said, “continue.”
“Sire, I have been practicing in head what I wish to say ever since I found out who I truly am but the words now evade me,” Gills mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, he was frustrated with himself with his unintelligible response. The king did not reply letting the uncomfortable silence draw the words. “I,” Gill continued summoning any strength left in his body. “I am your grandson.” The words were out. Gills body tensed as he waited for a reply.
“And what makes you think this?” replied the king, oddly deliberate in his response. Gill couldn’t determine whether the king’s voice was evoking a sense of antipathy or disbelief. "And you man," the king continued in the direction of Olivier who was still cloaked in the shadows, "step forward."
Olivier did as he was asked.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” the king replied. “Is it truly you? My god Olivier, but I thought you were…”
“I have been my Lord. I died the day your son and I rode back from Chaval. The day Chaval’s men ambushed us. The day I was unable to save Etienne’s life.”
“Where have you been Olivier? What happened? Why did you not return?” The king’s voice was now full of anguish.
“Sire, your son, Gill’s father and I were cowardly attacked by eight of Chaval’s men, on our return from delivering parley to the King of Chaval. I managed to escape but Etienne was not so fortunate. I was unable to help him Sire. I could not save my friend.” Olivier kneeled down by the side of the king’s bed. “I have never been able to forgive myself. I could not return to Avalon. I do not expect you to forgive me Sire, and I have not come here for your forgiveness. I have come to deliver Gill to you. I feel that it was the dieing wish of your son that one day I would bring Gill here to meet his Grandfather.” Olivier placed his forehead on the king’s hand that lay beside him on the bed. “I am truly sorry that I could not save your son, and that he is not here to introduce Gill to you himself.”
“But how do you know this Olivier?"
Gill took the cross from inside his tunic, knelt beside Olivier and placed it in the king’s hand. Tears began to fall from the king’s eyes as he realised what he had been given. The king stared at the cross as it lay across his palm. “I have never forgotten my son Olivier,” said the king. “I have thought about him everyday, but touching this cross now, holding it in my hand, makes me feel like I am actually touching my son again,” the king closed his hand around the cross. “This cross makes me realise that my son was not just a beautiful dream. This is testimony that there was once a time, nearly two decades ago, that my beautiful son walked beside me,” the king lifted the cross to his mouth and tenderly kissed it.
"Sometime after that fateful day I found this cross in my Valise Sire." explained Olivier. "He had told me that he was to be a father on the day we left for Chaval, and I believe that he put it there so that I would know what to do should anything happen to him."
“Olivier, why did you not come and tell me what happened straight away? Why did you not tell me about the cross, about Chaval?”
“I could not Sire, I did not know how,” replied Olivier.
“Did I not deserve that much?” the king’s stare had shifted from the cross to Olivier’s eyes. “From that fateful day Olivier, when I ordered my son to his death until now I have lived a life of painful unknowing. I have grieved Olivier.”
“Sire I have lived a life of regret from that day also. Please try to understand. When you live a life without hope, each day blurs into one, days become months; months become years. There are no seasons, nor night or day; I had nothing to live for. I would wake each morning and wish that it were I, and not Etienne that died. I would curse the sun for rising each morning."
"Do you not think I have lived this life too Olivier," said the king.
"But then I found a reason to live again Sire. I found Etienne’s cross. It was his legacy to me. I felt that he had given me this cross in order that one day I would pass it to his child. I found something to focus my life on, to ensure that this young man one day was able to be here, in front of his grandfather. On this evening I have now completed what Etienne asked of me. It is not enough, I know, but I pray that I have pleased him. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I should have come to you straight away, but I knew Etienne Sire. He was an independent man, and man who made his own decisions." The king took Olivier's hand. "I did not come to you after I had found the cross because I felt that Etienne would have wanted his son to make the decision to come and see you himself. Gill could make his own decision when he was ready. Perhaps I was wrong, and if so I am infinitely sorry, but I am glad now that I waited. When I gave Gill the cross and told him of his lineage he did want to come and see you. I am proud today to be next to a young man who has grown into a person that Etienne would have been proud to call his son.” Gill placed his hand on Olivier’s shoulder.
“Olivier I do understand, and I am not be angry with you,” the king said, starting to realise Olivier’s remorse, and the undeniably difficult situation that he had found himself in. ”I can tell that you have suffered as I have.”
“Sire,” Olivier rose from his knee and Gill did the same, “I must say first that Etienne told me, on leaving Avalon for the last time, that he was desperate to tell you he was to be a father. He had found true love, love that was returned in equal proportion by a beautiful amazing woman.”
“Then why did he not tell me?” desolation visible in the king's face.
“He wanted to Sire. He told me that he was going to when we returned from Chaval but he did not get the chance.” Olivier paused as the king rolled on to his back wiping the tears from his eyes. “This young, strong, brave man is Guillaume.” continued Olivier. “His mother is Arlette, she still lives in your city, and cares for Gill and his uncle.”
“I am your Grandson Sire,” Gill said looking the king in the eyes. “I have not long known this. If you want me to leave then I will, and I will never speak a word of this to another soul, but I come to you to tell you this out of respect for you and my father.”
“I can see your father in your face Guillaume.” the king paused, his neck arching as he look to the ceiling of his chambers.
"I am sorry Sire," said Gill. "I should not have come. I will leave."
The king did not reply. He remained staring at the ceiling as Gill turned and began back in the direction of the door.
“Stop," the king said, lifting himself into a seated position. "I don’t want you to leave. I owe you so much. My actions have meant you have been robbed of a father, of your childhood.” The king looked up from Gill to Olivier. “And I also want you to stay Olivier. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I do not blame you for my son’s death. I blame myself and I blame Chaval.” Gill could see the warmth coming back into the king’s face, as if the love that had been missing for so long from his body was slowly returning. “I have so many questions to ask you both, but for now I ask one thing. I am an old man and I need rest. I ask you both to return to your homes and collect your possessions. I ask that you come back to the castle tomorrow morning to live with me.” Gill did not turn to Olivier, he stayed looking at the king and he could tell that coming to the castle would have been his father’s wish.
“We will sire,” replied Gill. With Olivier by his side. Gill turned and walked through the door taking a final look at his grandfather. The king looked back and smiled. It didn’t matter to Gill that his grandfather was the king, or that they were in the castle, finally he had found out who he truly was. It was a moment that Gill had been waiting for his entire life.

 “What is it?” Beni shouted as a guard burst into the soldiers living quarters.
“Beni, Beni I have important news.” Beni stood up begrudgingly having to leave his three friends to continue their game of dice without him.
“Not here,” Beni whispered in the guard’s ear who was still trying to catch his breath. Beni led the way out of the quarters and waited for the guard to follow before closing the door behind him. Beni looked around to make sure they were on their own.
“Go on then,” whispered Beni. “This had better be important, or so help me I will make you pay for interrupting my game.”
“It is Beni, It is,” replied the guard.
“Slow down.”
“I’m sorry Beni, I’m sorry. It’s just that. Oh you won’t believe me. It’s the king.”
“What about the king?” Beni shouted before he realised the circumstances and started whispering again. "What about the king?”
“It’s the king Beni. He has a grandson.”
“What?”

 Gill left the castle with Olivier, completely confused by his emotions. He hadn’t known what to expect from his meeting, and the king’s reaction perplexed him. He had made the move, fulfilled his father’s wish, but it felt that the encounter had created more questions than it answered. Olivier put his arm around Gill’s shoulders.
“What are you going to do now then Gill?” said Olivier. Gill continued walking; head down, not knowing how to answer his friend. He felt that the crossroads that he thought his life was at, now had many more directions in which to take.
“Go and see mother,” he replied finally.
“I can tell Gill that this is a new beginning for you and your family. And the relief I feel from finally fulfilling my obligation to your father feels like a beginning for me too.”
“I am glad my friend that you have finally found peace, and I pray that you speak the truth with the new beginning for my family,” replied Gill. “I think mother has always wanted to live in a castle.” He turned to Olivier giving him a smile.
"You are so like your father my friend."

The light was still on when they arrived back at the house. Gill could see his mother sitting in her usual position in front of the fire sewing. Sebastian was asleep, and there was a pot boiling above the fire. As the men entered the house she looked up at them and smiled. Gill made his way to her and she stood up, without saying a word, they took each other in their arms. As her head lay trembling on his shoulder Gill could tell that she was starting to cry, and now he was unable to hold back his tears. “I am so sorry I haven’t said anything before Gill,” she said.
“Mother I understand,” replied Gill.
“I love you Gill, and I will support you in whatever you decide to do.” She hadn’t let go of him; she didn’t want to take her cheek from his chest.
“The king wants us to move to the castle,” said Gill.
“But I don’t know how to live in a castle Gill. Who will look after the vegetables?”
“We will learn how to live in the castle together, as a family, with the help of the king.” Arlette paused and Gill could feel her pulling him tighter.
“And what do you want to do son?” asked Arlette. Gill paused; he had been pondering the same question ever since the king had asked him. Questions were spinning round his head: What is best for my family? How will it be living with a king? What would my father do? The final question gave him his answer.
“I want to go,” he replied, “I want us to go.”