Gawain sits with his knees pulled up and his arms draped over them. Nimue has woken after the working of her spell that tore a hole in - what? Gawain cannot fathom what he has seen. The flashes, the smells and sounds. And the unsettling desire to leap through the hole that Nimue made, into that black utter darkness. His mind races to the point of panic: seeing the king his uncle, a man who had been the kindest and gentlest man to him for his entire life, so close to death. Did he in fact die? Gawain thinks. This thought leads him back to the image of Nimue's dark passage that became filled with opal light before it closed on Morgan and Arthur, and fear overcomes him again. The thoughts of Arthur bring a pang of grief that momentarily silences his mind.

Nimue sits behind him, her back to his. She has not spoken since awakening. He can feel her body trembling slightly, and her shift is soaked from sweat. When she awoke, she reached up to touch his face, and her hand shook so violently that she withdrew it after merely brushing her fingers against his beard.

Lionel and Owain stand to either side of them, silent, surveying the field. Gawain sees only corpses: all the living have retreated to their respective camps. He sees in the distance at the bridge that Galahad held a group of Mordred's men bound and gagged, forced to their knees, and guarded by some of Arthur's newest and youngest knights, not yet granted a seat at the Round Table, and a pack of Camlann's war dogs. Galahad and Gareth confer in front of the prisoners.

Gawain is snapped out of his melancholy when he hears hoofbeats behind him. He turns and looks over Nimue's shoulder to see Sagramor approaching on his black gelding. The knight reins in and the gelding comes to a stop, front hooves stamping and head shaking back and forth. Sagramor addresses him first.

'Sir Gawain, I come to bring news of our situation.'

Gawain regards Sagramor expectantly. Unexpectedly, Nimue plants her hands on the ground and pushes herself upward to standing. He looks up at her and she looks down at him with a tentative confidence on her face. Afraid that she will lose her balance and fall back to the ground, he stands up next to her so that she may lean on him.

'I am eager to hear it,' he replies. Lionel and Owain have drawn in to create a semi-circle around the mounted Sagramor.

'We have captured one hundred and eleven of the rebels. They are bound over yonder and guarded by our young knights and half of the king's kennel. The rebel commanders have removed themselves beyond the river and huddle in their tents, cowards that they are. They have sent a messenger to request parley and terms of surrender.'

'Then we will meet with them and discuss these terms,' Gawain replies. Sagramor nods.

For the first time since he found the king lying wounded in Owain's arms, he thinks of Mordred. He looks to the spot where Mordred lay, and he sees that the body has been removed. He was not aware of anyone coming to move the body - he assumes that Mordred's men stole it away and have it kept for burial or immolation. He asks Lionel and Owain if they saw what happened to Mordred's body, and both men shake their head.

Sagramor whistles and two horses in the far distance, beyond where Galahad and Gareth stand at the river's edge, come galloping in their direction. One is a gelding, and the other a mare. Lionel is unable to ride with his broken and bandaged arm: Owain climbs onto the gelding and helps Lionel up to sit behind him on the saddle. Lionel wraps his good arm around Owain's midsection as Owain settles in, takes the reins, and calms the horse by with pats, strokes, and soft words.

The mare walks up to Gawain and Nimue, who still leans on him, her head coming up to his shoulder. He moves to mount the mare with the intention of pulling Nimue up behind him, but she clings to his shoulders and rides him on the ascent to the saddle. As he throws his leg over to the other side of the horse, Nimue nimbly alights on to the saddle with legs spread and arms tightly wrapped against his stomach. She buries her face in his long hair and does not move again.

Sagramor pulls up on his reins and his horse wheels around in the direction of Galahad, Gareth, and the prisoners. Owain does the same, and he and Lionel follow in Sagramor's wake. Watching them make haste towards the river, Gawain gently squeezes the sides of the mare, and he and Nimue follow. As they ride at a comfortable gallop, he looks in the direction of the witch camp, trying to see what it was that had disturbed Morgan, but there is no one visible there at all now. He looks over his shoulder at Nimue, whose eyes are open and staring in the direction of the witch camp as well. She gives no reaction that he can discern, but he feels a series of vibrating sensations that he believes may be caused by soft hissing from her.

The group approaches the one hundred and eleven bound prisoners. Sagramor dismounts, followed by Owain who turns to help Lionel down, and lastly joined by Gawain, still ridden by Nimue. As Gawain's feet touch the ground, Nimue alights beside him, her strength and bearing apparently restored, at least somewhat. They follow Sagramor towards Galahad and Gareth who stand now at the very edge of the riverbank. The two men see the group approaching and raise their hands in greeting.

Sagramor again speaks first: 'Sir Galahad, I have found our comrades here and bring them to you for assistance with our prisoners.' Galahad stops his conversation with Gareth and turns to welcome the group. His armor is the color of pearl, a polished metal with an incandescent hardened substance painted over it, the origin of which remains a mystery. His hair is thick and flows backwards, tucked behind his ears.

'Welcome, friends,' says Galahad in his resonant baritone voice. The group nod in response and bow, all except Gawain, who as Arthur's second outranks Galahad. 'God has blessed us with success today, and the fruits of His blessing kneel here before me. One hundred and eleven traitors, guilty of attempted murder and of treason against king and realm, an offense and affront to the justice of God.'

He pauses, receives no response, and then says: 'Where is the king?'

Owain and Lionel look at their feet, and Gawain waits in hope that someone else will speak first. Several beats of silence pass, and then Nimue says: 'He has left this world, but he lives still.'

Galahad frowns at this: 'Say more, witch.' He crosses himself before her reply.

'He suffered a great wound and succumbed to the embrace of Death, and yet his passing of the Veil pried him from the embrace, and his life continues in another place.

Scowling harder, Galahad says, 'What other place? Speak plainly.'

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'That is not for you to know,' Nimue replies curtly.

Galahad's dark expression grows darker momentarily, and he looks as if he will respond more sharply than before. But then his habitual calm overtakes his growing anger, and he turns his attention away from Nimue to Gawain.

'Tell me, Sir Gawain, what has become of the king.'

'It is as Nimue says. The king is gone. He was carried by the Lady Morgan through a door created by Nimue's spell. She says he lives still, but beyond his passing through the door, we have neither seen nor heard from him. When he did pass through the door, he was very close to death.'

Galahad shakes his head as if to clear his mind of the confusion of this conversation. He says: 'As Mordred is now dead, Vortigern has assumed command of the rebel army. His messenger arrived before you and has invited us to meet at the spot where the river narrows to accept their offer of surrender.'

'What have you done with the messenger?' Gawain asks.

Gareth his brother replies: 'He is held there in the care of Sir Agravain and Sir Gaheris,' pointing beyond the bridge to where the two knights stand on either side of the messenger who is bound and kneels.

'I would speak with him,' Gawain says.

Gareth signals to Agravain and Gaheris, who pick the messenger up under his arms, one on each side. They walk forward with him as he struggles to keep up with their pace. Gawain examines the messenger closely as they approach: he is young, maybe as young as thirteen or fourteen years of age. He is a Briton, with nothing on his apparel or about his appearance to indicate his tribe. He wears knee length trousers with wrapped cloth sandals that have leather soles. These are probably his only pair of shoes, Gawain thinks. Leather is too expensive to have more than one pair. The boy's face holds an expression of fear, but also the set expression and timid adolescent confidence of a boy knowing that he has been given a job to do and that if he carries it out well then he will impress his elders.

The messenger arrives before Gawain, who says: 'What is your name?'

Still held between Agravain and Gaheris, the boy replies: 'I am called Gwilym, my lord.' Gawain nods gravely and proceeds.

'To what tribe do you belong, Gwilym?'

'I am a Cantii of the clan Clandotrex of the eastern forests.' Gawain nods again and pauses for several moments.

'What are the names of those who sent you?'

'My lord, I was sent by my lord Vortigern, chieftain of all the Cantii, and the commander of our army, and by his lord King Eormenric of Ceint.'

'Are Vortigern and Eormenric still living and unharmed?'

The boy's face falters, as though he is unprepared for this question and does not know whether he is supposed to reveal this information or not.

'Both my lord Vortigern and his highness King Eormenric are present,' the boy replies ambiguously. 'And they wish to speak with you in person,' he adds hastily and nods, as though this last phrase occurred to him quickly and renewed his confidence.

'I will bring my chieftains to speak with yours. As for Eormenric who styles himself king - there is only one king in Britain, and he is the High King of all Britain, and his name is Arthur.' The boy nods again, not daring to challenge Gawain's statement.

Gawain continues: 'How many of your chiefs are there besides Vortigern and Eormenric, and what are their names?'

'Only my lord Vortigern, Ki-, uh, my lord Eormenric, the Prince Oisc of Ceint, and the Prince Hengist of Ceint. And from the Saxon tribes who live on the eastern shore, the chieftains Oswald, Wulfgar, Beornwulf, and Hereward.'

Gawain nods to the boy and turns to Sagramor and Galahad.

'Gather the others. Tell them the news of my uncle,' he says grimly. 'When you have found them, meet us yonder at the bridge.' Sagramor and Galahad ride off in the direction of the bands of the other chieftains: Sir Percival, Sir Bedivere, Sir Tristan, and Sir Kay.

'Sir Lionel, Sir Owain, Sir Gareth, Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravain - you will accompany me, along with Nimue, to receive their offer of surrender. Sir Gaheris and Sir Agravain, resume your guard of, ' and he looks down at Gwilym, 'our messenger Gwilym.' Gwilym smiles and then frowns. He is uncomfortable and uncertain of Gawain's intentions.

The knights set off on horseback; Gwilym rides double with Gaheris, with Agravain diagonally behind to the left flank of Gaheris's mount. At the point, Gawain rides, again with Nimue behind him on the saddle. They reach the river where the captives are guarded by thirty young knights eager to prove their worth. When Galahad and Gareth left to confer with Gawain, they left a young knight named Alymere in charge of the guard. Gawain gets the measure of Alymere as they approach the contingent of guards: he is very young, not much older than fifteen, and with a wispy beard on his chin that does not fill out on his cheeks. He is strong, though, and tall. He will look the part of a knight at least, Gawain thinks. He will have a good chance to receive a seat at the Round Table. And at the thought of the Round Table, and the requirement that Arthur grant one a seat there after one's bravery has been tested and found passing well, gives Gawain pause; for who now will grant the seats that hold such honor?

He leaves Lionel and Owain to speak with Alymere about the status of the prisoners. He turns and scans the field behind him, looking for the return of his chieftains. As he turns, he sees Nimue glaring at each of the prisoners in turn. He asks her what is wrong, and what she is thinking. She responds by ignoring his question and squeezing his chest more tightly.

In the distance, the chieftains along with Galahad and Gareth approach at a gallop. Reaching Gawain, they each give a bow of deference.

'We go to the enemy's tent to receive their surrender,' says Gawain. He sees Percival looking at Gwilym with hostility and concern. Gawain intervenes: 'He is the messenger of Vortigern and Eormenric. His name is Gwilym, and he is of the Cantii.' Percival's expression softens, but only a little.

The group now complete, they ride over the bridge three across until they reach the opposite bank. In the distance, Gawain sees the tent where the enemy chieftains have gathered: it sits in a small grove on a hilltop that opens outward with a view of the battlefield. From that vantage point, they could have seen the entire battle from almost a bird's eye view, Gawain thinks. The reason for their defeat is that they are inept at war while we are led, were led, by the greatest warlord in Britain.

Gwilym says: 'There is the tent where Eormenric and the other chieftains await you.' Gawain clicks his tongue, and the mare quickens her pace underneath him and Nimue. The other knights follow.

They reach a spot some fifty yards from the tent, dismount, and begin walking in the direction of Eormenric, who has emerged from his perch and walks down the hill with armed escort to meet them. Gawain, irked at having to climb the hill to meet the enemy, turns to Nimue who walks beside him so that he may speak with her about how they will negotiate the terms of surrender, because with both Arthur and Morgan gone, he and Nimue are now the ranking leaders of the army and the cadre of magi, respectively. But he finds that she has disappeared from his side. Looking back to the left, he sees her approach Gaheris and Agravain as they escort Gwilym to the enemy tent. He furrows his brow at the sight, even as a sick dread blooms in his stomach and leaks coldly into the rest of him.

'Nimue - ' Gawain shouts, but before he has finished saying her name, she moves behind Gwilym, and faster than his eyes can track, she unsheathes her dagger and cuts the head from Gwilym's shoulders. Gwilym stops in midstep and staggers. His head slides to the side and shakes unsteadily before falling to the ground with a thump; while his body remains standing for several moments, twitching, before collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.