enjoying a bit of downtime after such a tumultuous evening.
Lance pushed his hair back from his eyes and looked at Arthur. He’d removed his circlet, and his lengthening hair framed his soft features like twin waterfalls. “Can I ask you something, Arthur?”
Arthur turned his head toward the boy. “Of course. What is it ye wish to know?
“What was it like when you’s a kid? You know, way back in the day?” Lance offered that engaging smile and Arthur easily returned it, even as memories of the past momentarily welled up in his mind.
“My childhood was magical, thanks to Merlin. But lonely, as well. There beeth only my foster brother, Kay, to play with, at least until Merlin came to tutor us.”
Lance pulled his legs up and under him, Indian style, and faced Arthur. With his long, dark brown hair and delicate, milk chocolate skin, he looked very much the Native American boy listening with wide-eyed wonder to an elder of the tribe recounting stories of old. “What was he like, Merlin? Was he really a powerful wizard?”
Arthur nodded, seeing the wizard’s kindly, bookish face in his mind’s eye. “Merlin did indeed possess powers above and beyond nature. Not in the way thy modern society hath created such magical inventions, no.” He paused, considering how to compare the wizard to the modern technology he’d encountered.
“Merlin beeth like a force of nature. He taught me about life, all life, and the precious nature of it, and why preserving it at all costs shouldst be our primary aim. I owe much to Merlin, and to God, for granting me this second chance to make things right.”
Lance digested this new information for a moment, considering his own life. He supposed he believed in God, but had never given it much thought. He sure didn’t believe God had ever done anything for him. But then, he hadn’t done anything for God, either, so he supposed they were even. “What about your parents?”
Arthur sighed heavily, a twinge of sadness creeping like mist around his heart. “I didst never know my sires, Lance, though I have oft been told of my mother’s great beauty. My foster father, Sir Ector, did his best to maketh me feel as one with his family, so much so that I didst truly come to think of him as my father.”
Lance’s face clouded over at the mention of “foster father,” and Arthur took clear note of it. Perhaps now beeth the proper time , he told himself. “Tell me of thy upbringing, Lance, if thou wouldst have it so.”
Lance squirmed uncomfortably and allowed his flowing bangs to obscure half his face, a trick he used when he wished to hide from others. Just the mention of his past squeezed his heart and sent a lump of anguish into his throat.
“There ain’t much to tell. My mother… she did drugs and shit—my bad. And she….” He paused and sucked in a deep breath, fisting his tunic spasmodically, and then blurted out, “She sold me to a stranger when I was one years old!” His breath lodged in his throat, and he began to sweat. “She sold me, Arthur, so she could buy crack cocaine!” He paused again, fought for air, struggling for control. His entire body had tensed up, coiled, ready for flight. I can do this, he assured himself . I need to do this. “I don’ even remember her face.” That last barely came out as a wisp of breath, and he looked up at Arthur with abject pain welling within his sad green eyes.
“I doth be truly sorry, my boy” was all Arthur could think to say. His own body had constricted with astonished pain and grief. Being on his second lifetime—after having lived to a fair old age in his first—he seldom wanted for words. But what hath been done to these children continually left him speechless.
“I don’t even have a last name, Arthur,” Lance went on quietly, fighting back the tears. Be strong, Lance! You’re First Knight.
Arthur was confused. “But, did you not sayeth thy name be—”
“Sepulveda?” Lance finished for him, nodding
Lance pushed his hair back from his eyes and looked at Arthur. He’d removed his circlet, and his lengthening hair framed his soft features like twin waterfalls. “Can I ask you something, Arthur?”
Arthur turned his head toward the boy. “Of course. What is it ye wish to know?
“What was it like when you’s a kid? You know, way back in the day?” Lance offered that engaging smile and Arthur easily returned it, even as memories of the past momentarily welled up in his mind.
“My childhood was magical, thanks to Merlin. But lonely, as well. There beeth only my foster brother, Kay, to play with, at least until Merlin came to tutor us.”
Lance pulled his legs up and under him, Indian style, and faced Arthur. With his long, dark brown hair and delicate, milk chocolate skin, he looked very much the Native American boy listening with wide-eyed wonder to an elder of the tribe recounting stories of old. “What was he like, Merlin? Was he really a powerful wizard?”
Arthur nodded, seeing the wizard’s kindly, bookish face in his mind’s eye. “Merlin did indeed possess powers above and beyond nature. Not in the way thy modern society hath created such magical inventions, no.” He paused, considering how to compare the wizard to the modern technology he’d encountered.
“Merlin beeth like a force of nature. He taught me about life, all life, and the precious nature of it, and why preserving it at all costs shouldst be our primary aim. I owe much to Merlin, and to God, for granting me this second chance to make things right.”
Lance digested this new information for a moment, considering his own life. He supposed he believed in God, but had never given it much thought. He sure didn’t believe God had ever done anything for him. But then, he hadn’t done anything for God, either, so he supposed they were even. “What about your parents?”
Arthur sighed heavily, a twinge of sadness creeping like mist around his heart. “I didst never know my sires, Lance, though I have oft been told of my mother’s great beauty. My foster father, Sir Ector, did his best to maketh me feel as one with his family, so much so that I didst truly come to think of him as my father.”
Lance’s face clouded over at the mention of “foster father,” and Arthur took clear note of it. Perhaps now beeth the proper time , he told himself. “Tell me of thy upbringing, Lance, if thou wouldst have it so.”
Lance squirmed uncomfortably and allowed his flowing bangs to obscure half his face, a trick he used when he wished to hide from others. Just the mention of his past squeezed his heart and sent a lump of anguish into his throat.
“There ain’t much to tell. My mother… she did drugs and shit—my bad. And she….” He paused and sucked in a deep breath, fisting his tunic spasmodically, and then blurted out, “She sold me to a stranger when I was one years old!” His breath lodged in his throat, and he began to sweat. “She sold me, Arthur, so she could buy crack cocaine!” He paused again, fought for air, struggling for control. His entire body had tensed up, coiled, ready for flight. I can do this, he assured himself . I need to do this. “I don’ even remember her face.” That last barely came out as a wisp of breath, and he looked up at Arthur with abject pain welling within his sad green eyes.
“I doth be truly sorry, my boy” was all Arthur could think to say. His own body had constricted with astonished pain and grief. Being on his second lifetime—after having lived to a fair old age in his first—he seldom wanted for words. But what hath been done to these children continually left him speechless.
“I don’t even have a last name, Arthur,” Lance went on quietly, fighting back the tears. Be strong, Lance! You’re First Knight.
Arthur was confused. “But, did you not sayeth thy name be—”
“Sepulveda?” Lance finished for him, nodding
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