The first ray of dawn slips like a dagger through the small crack between the tapestry and the stone that frames the large window over Gawain's bed. He is already at the upper reaches of sleep, only lightly slumbering, and so the beam brings him to a sudden awareness. In the crook of his arm, Nimue still sleeps. He shifts position carefully so as not to wake her.

Gawain has never seen her sleeping before. She is always sharp-eyed, nimble of foot, eminently capable to meet any situation, mundane or otherwise. But now she looks vulnerable. Her breathing is slow and rhythmic, and he can see the rise and fall of her chest as she curls inward towards him. She is unclothed, and he sees that she has kicked the blanket off her - and therefore him - during the night. But her body is warm to the touch, not in a feverish way, but in a way that seems to resonate from within her.

Gawain leans his head back and stares up at the high ceiling of his chamber. The ceiling is also stone, like the walls, and it is crossed by wooden beams from which chandeliers hang, lit by candles each morning by a servant, along with the torches mounted on the walls. On some days, as he hopes this late spring day will prove to be, there is light enough through the windows to illuminate the entire chamber without the need for the firelight after sunset.

His thoughts turn again to the events of last night. He forcefully pushes away thoughts of the immolation. It is much easier to contemplate their lovemaking, and what it means. He has known Nimue for a very long time, relative to how long they have both been alive. He was there when she arrived in Camlann at Merlin's estate in the northern forest. She was twelve then, and he was fifteen, and that was now twenty years ago. A small figure in tattered clothing, carrying a knapsack emerging from the forest. A guard sounding an alarm that an unknown person is approaching. She was still several hundred paces from the gates of the estate when first sighted, walking slowly and unsteadily, covered in the dirt and grime of long travel on foot.

Gawain had come to Merlin's estate that day with Arthur. This was one of the many visits that Arthur paid to Merlin there, and he often took Gawain with him. Arthur said he wanted him to spend more time with Merlin, to get to know the wizard and speak with him, to learn the counsel that he could give.

Gawain, when he was much younger, had been afraid of Merlin: his long brown hair streaked with gold and silver, and more silver than gold as the years passed. His sharp piercing eyes of dark blue, that had that strange twinkle deep inside them that made the man seem almost...merry? 'Merry' was the only word that came to Gawain's mind, although the twinkle, and Merlin's whole bearing, was much more than merry. It was also dangerous. Very obviously dangerous.

The most distinctive thing about Merlin was his beard. It was long, and the same color as his hair, although his beard was laced with more golden strands than his hair. He kept many intricate braids throughout his beard, and a number of these braids were adorned with small runestones. Gawain would sometimes sit on the high terrace around Merlin's estate in the late afternoon and listen to the conversations between Merlin and Arthur, some of which he understood but most of which he did not, and he remembers even now the way that the dying sun would cause Merlin's beard to seem oddly luminescent, like a strange fire that did not flicker but glowed as though filled with magic. This confused Gawain because Merlin was not working any spells that he was aware of, and as Gawain grew in years, he began to think that maybe Merlin did not need to work spells all the time to bring forth magic: maybe the man in some way was becoming magic.

Some of the guards, and most of the other druids that lived and worked in the fortress, were afraid that the girl approaching was a demon or an evil spirit in disguise, and they pulled out their talismans and fetishes, and drew their totems on wooden stakes reserved for that purpose and planted them in the ground on the main path that led to the fortress. But Arthur was not afraid, and Gawain wondered if Arthur believed in demons or evil spirits at all - at least ones that could disguise themselves like this. Arthur mounted Llamrei, his white mare, and rode her bareback at a canter through the gates and down to where the girl walked.

Gawain joined the guards and the other druids at the opened gates and watched with great anxiety as Arthur gently pulled on Llamrei's mane to stop her a short distance in front of the girl. Gawain looked behind him and upward to see Merlin standing on his terrace high above the ground, his beard flowing out beside him towards the west as he too watched Arthur lean down to a squatting position so that he could be face to face with her; Arthur always did this with children. Gawain once asked him why, and Arthur said it was so that the child could know that he saw them, and that he cared about what they said.

Gawain, nor anyone else, could hear what passed between Arthur and the girl, but then Arthur mounted Llamrei again, reached down, and pulled her up behind him. Llamrei carried them back up the road to the estate, and so in this way Nimue entered into Merlin's care, and the fate of Merlin, Arthur, and all Camlann was changed.

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As that memory permeates his consciousness, his thoughts turn to the unthinkable loss of the battle. He realizes that he has been unable, or unwilling, to grasp the reality that Arthur is gone. He did not die, or at least Gawain did not see him die; and so in the core of Gawain's mind, he is waiting on Arthur to return at any moment. But Gawain knows even deeper, in his heart, that Arthur will not return. He may not be gone forever, but he is gone now, and that is what Gawain cannot accept.

He realizes that due to the utter disorientation of the loss of Arthur, he has cleaved to Nimue for guidance. She is familiar to him, and their friendship has spanned many years. He has always known her to be decisive, in control, wise. He depended on Arthur, and now, he reflects, he depends on Nimue. The deeper feeling of love, or lust, for her that he has borne for a long time has been stoked into high flame, and bonds him even further to her. A darker cast of mind comes over him then, one that asks shamingly why he is unable to think for himself, to act for himself; why he has allowed himself to be dependent like a child on Arthur for these many years, and the moment Arthur is gone, he has transferred this dependence to Nimue.

Gawain is brought back into the present by Nimue breathing in deeply and stirring under his arm. She opens her eyes then and rolls away from him, stretching out her legs and arching her back, which he feels makes her resemble even more a cat, in addition to her nimbleness, and silent-footed way of moving. He hears several pops as she arches her back, and she takes another deep breath, before sitting up next to him.

'Good morning,' he says. In response she kisses him lightly on the mouth. She gets up from the bed and walks to the water basin that was freshly refilled late last night by a servant, and she cups her hands to bring the water up to her face. Turning back to him, she takes a towel from the chair next to the basin and presses her face into it.

'I'm starving,' says Nimue.

'I'll ring for some breakfast then,' he replies. He gets out of the bed gingerly and limps over to the bell string that hangs over the rectangular wooden table that serves as both an eating place and a meeting place. Pulling on the string twice, he signals to the servants in the kitchen that he would like some food brought up. He wraps the sheet he has dragged with him around his midsection to cover his nakedness and sits down carefully in a chair at the table.

Nimue has not bothered to clothe herself, and she returns to the bed to sit on the end of it.

'Today we will need to name a regent, until we can call and organize the knights for a High Council of the Round Table.'

He nods. 'That will not be hard to call the knights. My brothers and at least six others of the council remain in the palace, and another hundred or more are camped together in the valley.'

'It may not be hard to call them, but it may be hard to get them here in the palace and prepared for a High Council. It has been many, many years since the last one. Before you and I were born.'

And in addition, she adds: 'And when Uther died, it took months before a consensus was reached, and many rounds of voting, and even then it took several years of battles and skirmishes before all the chieftains were brought to heel under Arthur. I would prefer to make this succession faster, and easier.'

'And how will we do that?' he replies.

'First, I think that the knights and chieftains will behave more appropriately if there is a regent. Regency is a legal part of the transition of power in Camlann, if the heir is too young to rule, or if there is uncertainty over who the heir is. I have read this at the library in the estate of the druids, and if anyone should challenge me then I have the documents to back up my claim, and I will call on a druid to bring them here to the palace to present them. In fact I will call on the chief of the druids.'

Gawain pauses, furrows his brow. 'You are able to read?'

'I have been able to read since I was fourteen, Gawain. Merlin taught me.' Gawain shakes his head, accepting this new information. Not even all the druids could read. He almost asks her why Merlin taught her to read, but then stops himself and places that question in the category of those questions better left unasked.

'How is the regent selected? If this has not been done for, what, almost one hundred years, then how will we know how to select the regent?'

'I have read this too, although it took me longer to find. Since the commander of the army of Camlann is elected by the chieftains of Camlann, who have themselves either inherited the title from their fathers or been elected by their tribes, then the commander of the army is said to have come to power by the will of the tribes and their chieftains. And the approval of the king as the commander of the army, which Arthur gave to you publicly, confirms beyond all doubt that you are the one who will appoint the regent.'

'How do I even know where to start on such a task?'

'The task is already done, Gawain,' she says with a half-smile that seems to indicate surprise that he is taking so long to grasp the point.

'It is?'

'Yes. You will appoint me.'