Grayle sat in misery on the narrow cot in the tent he shared with Gawain. Yet again he had made a fool of himself, yet again he had upset someone who meant the absolute world to him, and yet again he had lost control of his emotions, and the bubbling sense of terror threatening to overwhelm him.

Guinevere swept into the tent and stood before him, her face cold with fury despite the time elapsed since their earlier encounter. She spoke without preamble.

"You hold a privileged position as my nephew; prince of the house of Tintagel and knight in training, and yet you see fit to upbraid me in front of the soldiers, my lady in waiting and my husband. It will not happen again nephew, do I make myself clear?"

He nodded mutely, eyes downcast and after a few moments silence, he heard her sigh. Moving closer, she sat next to him on his cot and put her arm around his shoulders.

"That was said as High Queen.

"As your aunt I wear a different hat, one of understanding and one of love. You are making a fool of yourself in front of the woman you love, the woman who has already given her heart to you. Be honest with her. Open your heart and stop hiding Grayle." She stood, leaning down briefly to plant a warm kiss on his cheek.

"I will speak to you in the morning, the world is usually better after a nights sleep. Remember, there is nothing that can't be fixed with time and love, but you do need love."

She rose quietly, and left him with his face buried in his hands, utterly enveloped in his own private misery. Thus it was that Iseult found him as she quietly parted the canvas tent flaps a few minutes later. The anger hovering on her lips died as she saw his pain and she moved to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He jumped at the touch, looking at her in surprise, so lost had he been in his own personal world of misery. He turned away from her, his face burning in shame as she sat next to him.

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, words seeming to tumble out as he spoke to the floor. "I seem to be saying that a lot to you, but I don't know what else to do. Every time you're near me, I seem to react badly and do the exact opposite of what I really want to do. Everything is a contradiction. I don't want you here; I want you safe away from here, away from me. And yet, I am glad you're here so that I can see you... I... I'm sorry..."

Grayle paused and looked at her, anguish in his eyes.

Iseult spoke quietly, meeting his gaze calmly. "Sometimes, you really are an idiot Grayle. Why do you insist on running away from me, but seem happy to head into battle? Why can you not accept I am required to put myself into danger too?" She reached over and took his hand. "Why can you not accept I love you?" she added softly.

"I don't want to become like my father."

"Percival?" Iseult said in surprise. "You're nothing like him!"

"Am I not?" he replied hotly. "You were there in the Blackdown hills; you saw what I did to those men. I became some sort of beast, driven by anger and fear."

"But mostly by love," interjected Iseult. "My Uncle David made that clear to you surely, as he did to me. Percival loves to fight; he fights with a contained anger you do not possess, and it makes him a fearsome warrior. But that one day in the Blackdowns was a freak event, driven by terror. What are you really afraid of Grayle?"

"I'm afraid of losing you!" he shouted. Then stopped, his face aflame once more. A few seconds later, he carried on in a quiet but still rancorous tone. "It's all become clear lately that love wounds deeply, Percival was once in love with Morgause, and it has driven him to become a great knight and fighter, but someone flawed with anger. Love drove him to exist in a state of almost perpetual anger, that and his background. The fear of losing you that day in the Blackdowns drove me to become something I don't want to be."

Grayle looked back down at the floor as Iseult measured her response, speaking softly into the silence of the tent.

"Your aunt said something to me earlier just before she came to speak to you, 'there is nothing that can't be fixed with time and love'. I believe her. Your father has had time, but he hasn't had a woman to love since Morgause. His heart has never recovered, which is a great shame. You are not your father. You don't fight with either anger or hate in your heart, you just fight because it's your job."

"And yet I too find a sort of joy in it," he replied.

"All of us do, especially when we're winning. You are good at what you do, but you do it for the right reasons, as does Percival, even though he perhaps enjoys it far more. But, he fights for right and the Law, as do you, Mark, Arthur, and the others. If you win a fight, all people remember is the euphoria of the post battle celebrations. The mind has a wonderful, and yet awful, facility to forget the pain, the blood, and the tears. Percival doesn't revel in blood and death, he does not go looking to kill, but he will defend himself utterly if he needs to."

"I've never told you of the first time I saw him fight, it was utterly barbaric."

"If it helps me understand, then do so," said Iseult.

"I've never told anyone before," he started. "We'd just left Tintagel after he had taken me on as page. It was the first time I'd ever been away from home, not that it was much of a home anymore. We'd barely left Cornwall, and I was still trying to get used to the idea of being a servant to a Knight of the Round Table. We were talking to pass the time..."

~

"Why did you become a Knight of the Round Table Percival?" asked the boy.

"King Arthur asked me," he replied simply. "He is a man I would follow anywhere, we believe in the same ideals."

The boy looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised in question.

"Arthur believes implicitly in the Law of the land," explained Percival. "Without Law and Order, chaos will reign, nothing will be achieved, and we will slide into anarchy, where the law of the fist triumphs over what is good and right, and where the strong rule through fear."

Grayle sat in thought for a few moments, the only sound the hoof falls of their mounts on the path. "You said earlier you were the Law."

"I am. I am a sort of judge if you like, but also a champion where a champion is needed and, sadly, sometimes an executioner too."

The knight's tone had darkened and Grayle looked away from him, seeing pain in the blue eyes, glancing ahead along the path on which they traveled.

"Percival," he said quietly, "I think you might be needed."

The knight looked ahead to see three men and a woman on the trail. Two of the men were on foot, dressed in chainmail and sporting weapons. The third man was on a fast looking horse and in uniform, the lady walking alongside. As they rode nearer, the two men appeared to strike, one knocking the woman to the floor, the other tipping the man off his horse and spilling him to the ground. One grabbed the horse, tying it to a nearby tree, and the men moved towards the now floored rider and the woman.

Percival abruptly spurred his horse forwards, shouting over his shoulder at the boy to stay where he was out of harm's way.

He dismounted a short distance away to give himself plenty of room, the heavy hoof falls of his horse having alerted the men to his presence. He tied his horse to a nearby branch and drew his sword. The woman was still lying on the floor, her face covered by her fair hair, obviously in some pain: the man, Percival now recognised by his uniform as a court envoy. He addressed the mismatched pair of men in front of him, anger plainly evident in his voice.

"You have assaulted a woman and a messenger of the court of King Arthur. I am a representative of the High King. You will throw down your arms and surrender to me, or suffer the consequences."

The two men looked at each other and grinned broadly. Both were similar in appearance and, although unkempt and scruffy, were well equipped and obviously used to fighting.

"Nah, I reckon we'll kill you. Some nice kit you got there squire," said one of the men.

"You'll kill me?" said Percival mildly, his voice suddenly calm.

"I reckon," said the other man still grinning. "You court boys are all the same, can't fight to save your lives."

"Up to you old man," said Percival evenly. He turned to address the woman. "Please excuse me, my Lady, this could get messy."

Percival bowed at the girl on the floor, who was being helped out of the way by the messenger and rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles. "I've always hated bullies you know," he noted conversationally.

A noise alerted him, and he looked down to his left where Grayle had quietly arrived with another sword.

"Thank you Grayle," he said quietly, "now get out of the way there's a good lad."

Sword in each hand he walked towards the two men, who spread apart to maximise their attack as he approached.

Keeping both in sight, he assessed them as he'd been trained to do by Gornemant. One was a squat brute; massive shoulders and physique covered in chain mail, but with no armour on his head or legs. The other was a tall, but capable looking fighter, again dressed in chain mail but with greaves protecting his legs, a pot helm on his head and a buckler on his arm. Percival, dressed as he was in only a mail shirt, was at an immediate disadvantage.

Abruptly, he changed direction and pace and ran full tilt at the shorter warrior. The expected blow came in and he blocked it, smashed the blade of his other sword through the teeth of his opponent and leapt over his falling body. As he landed he span around to meet the attack of the second warrior, eyes ablaze with the fury of battle.

There was no attack. The other man had barely moved, stunned by the sheer ferocity of the initial encounter. Blood pooled around Percival's feet, the downed man thrashing briefly as he died.

Grayle looked on in astonishment. Percival had a feral expression on his face as he stepped around the fallen brigand. Smiling evilly, his new master stalked towards his prey. He was no longer an opponent, Grayle knew that now, the man had no chance.

Seconds later he was proved right as the man's head gently rolled to a stop next to his foot. He turned, vomited, and ran back to his mount.

Later that night, they sat in silence next to a small fire. Grayle had taken down two pigeons with his sling and had wrapped them in a layer of clay. Now the birds rested in the embers of the fire, cooking gently in the fading heat.

Percival was the first to break the silence. "That's the first time you've seen a fight to the death isn't it boy?"

Grayle nodded, his face shadowed by the cloak he wore to ward off the evening's approaching chill.

"I'm sorry lad, it's never pretty."

"It was butchery."

The comment whispered over the flames separating them. Percival looked askance and then lowered his head. "I gave them a chance to surrender," he said quietly.

"But hoped they wouldn't."

The comment hung in the air, the simple truth of the boy's statement piercing the knight to the core as he jerked his head up in surprise. He remained silent for a while, staring into the fire and then spoke quietly.

"I am not perfect Grayle. I have never pretended to be to Arthur or anyone else and I will certainly not pretend to you. There are people in this world who would take anything they can get by any means possible. We have been given the chance to make a difference, and if we do not make a stand against evil in any way we can, then all we do is justify that evil, allowing the misery to spread. The only way I know how to make a stand is by fighting tooth and nail for what I believe in. I'm not sure I am a good man, but if I give up on what I believe in, then I have nothing."

Percival looked over at the boy who lifted his head to meet his gaze and held his eyes with his words. "I have always fought against those who would destabilise order. I have always fought against those who would pick on those weaker than themselves."

"But you still enjoy it."

"Yes," Percival whispered. "I enjoy the anger, the fight, the danger. We all have darkness within us: sometimes it has to be unleashed. Anger itself is a weapon, and I will use any weapon I can against those who would fight me. I fight to walk in the light. But sometimes you have to wade through the mire to get there."

~

"So you're afraid of being angry?" asked Iseult.

"I'm afraid of love leaving me with nothing but anger. I'm afraid anger is going to become my central emotion."

"The only way that will happen is if the person who loves you, leaves you. I love you, and I'm not intending to leave you. Does that help?"

"I am afraid of losing the only person I could ever love," he replied. "If I do, I will live a life of anger and regret."

"Damn you Grayle, damn you for making this so hard when it could be so easy," she said with sudden anger, the heat of her words forcing Grayle to listen to her as she continued.

"You talk about love and yet you forget it is not only me who loves you. Percival and Mark love you. Your very presence has altered the man you just described. Percival is no longer the man you knew, his anger has been tempered by the love of not just you, but Mark, and by the friendship of Arthur and Guinevere. Since Percival rescued you, you have known hardship, but you have always known people love you. There will always be people who love you, but there may not always be me.

"I cannot promise I will not die, I cannot promise I will always be here. But, would you rather turn me away than never know love? Not the love of a father, an aunt, or a grandfather, but the love of someone who is connected to your soul.

"I am not Morgause and you are not your father." She paused, tears of anger and frustration rolling down her cheeks, and then spoke so softly that he almost missed the words.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes," he whispered, "with all my heart."

"Then live for this moment, live for love, and look for the light in me, as I see the light of love in your eyes. Do not deny me Grayle, we are made to be together, and if the only time we have together is in battle, then we will fight with love held in our hearts and fuelling our fight. Love will always triumph over anger or fear. Fight with me, not against me."

"Can you really love such a fool as I?" he said softly.

"You are the only fool I will ever love," she replied and leaned in close, her hand gently lifting to touch his cheek as his touched hers.

Their tear-salted kiss was broken mere moments later by a sudden cry that permeated the canvas shelter with an immediate tension.

"Saxons!"

Grayle sighed and looked deep into Iseult's eyes, smiling sadly. "It begins then. I'm sorry for being such a fool," he said reaching to hold her hand.

"We will fight together, for each other."