Borre was the son of a second cousin of Lisanor. His father Constans had held a small fief from her, only a few miles away at the mouth of a river. After she had disinherited her uncles’ sons, with her father’s other brother in a monastery, he had shown exceptional loyalty to her. She knew why it was but after he died fighting for her in battle she had brought his son Borre to the castle, naming him heir to her lands. Balans had come as well with her son.
Lisanor and Carys stood, watching the Sun go down. Borre was with them. The land around the castle was still beautiful, having been barely touched by the wars that had shattered the land. But not far away other castles lay in ruins, smaller holds were abandoned, villages were burned and bodies lay unburied.
"It's terrible," said Borre. "The land is ruined. Is there any hope?"
"Yes" said Lisanor. "I remember times when all hope seemed lost. When I was chained in Meleagants dungeon. And then when Loholt..." She turned, her face wet though the pain was years old.
"Who will rule now?” asked Borre. “Arthur and his line dead! All the best dead." He had been drinking, Lisanor could smell it on her kinsman’s breath. She had learned to smell it over the past year.
“Arthur… was a good King.” Lisanor smiled, remembering the days and nights they had spent together. The child they had had.
“It’s the people!” spat Borre. “Those people.” He was a bit hard-headed, had always been. He struck the ground. “They supported Mordred. That fucking bastard!” He glanced over at Lisanor. “As in… Not all bastards…”
“No, I understand.” Lisanor sighed. If only Loholt had survived the dungeon. Then at this moment he might be King. Not everyone had liked him, sneering on him as the whore’s bastard. But many loved him. Most of his cousins, Gawain had always come to teach his cousin sword-fighting. Gawain had apparently once proposed to Balans, but she had politely declined, he had been sad but accepting.
Carys put her hand on Lisanor’s shoulder, at which the Countess lightly drew it closer.
Borre didn’t much care for this, pulling out a skin and taking another swig.
“You shouldn’t drink so much” said Carys, stepping forward.
“Don’t tell me!” Borre drunk as if in spite, but spluttered and choked, dropping the skin.
“I made you my heir, you should behave like an heir. Set an example to your children” said Lisanor.
“Don’t be so harsh on him” whispered Carys. “He’s going through a difficult time.”
“I don’t need you to intercede…” Borre looked down at his skin, the wine on his boots and sighed. He hung his head. “I’m sorry. But… what can we do now?”
“We can’t give in yet!” said Lisanor. “If we do, then Mordred will have won. Even if he is dead. His mother bore him to destroy Arthur. And we cannot let Arthur die.”
“We will die” said Borre miserably. “Die like Arthur did. Die like all those other Kings have done, Constantine, Aurelius, Vortipor, Malgo, Cerdic.”
“Then we must tell the stories. Of Arthur’s goodness” said Lisanor.
“It was the stories of the good that occurred which inspired me” said Carys. “I was always frightened of my brother, Meleagant. But I heard stories of the wicked being defeated by the weak. And so I made a stand.”
“It was not Arthur that inspired me” said Lisanor. “But others, the Amazons, Atlanta, Boudicca…”
“Boudicca failed. She died!” said Borre.
“But she still made me want to fight, since I was a little girl” said Lisanor. She looked at Borre, at the sword in his scabbard. Of course it had been years since she yielded one, she was old now, old and knew her death was not far away. But she was not gone yet and still knew enough. She recalled him playing with a wooden sword as a child and how happy he had been when he got his first real sword. And she recalled what he had heard as a child.
“When you were a child you heard of Arthur. I remember you loved hearing of the Knights and wanted to sit at the Round Table yourself” said Lisanor.
“Well… I was just a child. And I never sat there anyway” said Borre, looking sad. “And it’s just a seat anyway. I never continued to…”
“Is that truthful?” smiled Lisanor.
Borre looked abashed. “Well… no. Alright, I did want to sit there since I heard of it! But there was never an opening and…well… I never got there.” He sat down, looking sad.
Lisanor walked over to her cousin. Carys stepped forward but a raised hand from Lisanor stopped her.
“You have a son, Borre?” she said.
Borre grunted in reply. “Yes. Only just walking. And another on the way.”
“Tell them about Arthur” said Lisanor. “About all he did, about the villains he fought. That way, one day, we might have a good ruler again.”
Borre stood. “Yes… I could do that. But what happens when I get to the end?”
“Everyone gets to the end” replied Carys. “But it’s the bit before that’s important.”
Borre rode back to the castle he was heir too. He had stories to tell his son.
Lisanor and Carys rode off together. They had lived a long time and did not have much life left. But they still had time, time for joy and love.
@cukibola @epic-summaries @blackcur-rants
