area51novel Chapter 20 The Harp and the Bow
Chapter 20 The Harp and the Bow
Two months after Guinevere left Camelot, another letter was delivered to Arthur.
The letter paper was still light blue, and the handwriting was more relaxed than the previous one, as if the writer was slowly relaxing their tense nerves.
The letter read:
"King Arthur, I'm starting to try 'choice'."
Today I didn't let the maid help me choose a dress; I picked a white one myself.
The maid was surprised and said, "Her Highness the Princess never cares what she wears."
It's not that I don't care, it's just that no one has ever asked me before. Thank you for asking me. — Guinevere
Arthur folded the letter and put it in a wooden box by his bedside.
There's already a letter in the wooden box, and there will be more in the future.
He picked up his pen and wrote back:
"Guinevere, choosing a dress is the first step."
Next, you can choose what to eat for breakfast, what flowers to plant in the garden, and whether to go for a walk in the afternoon.
Choices, big or small, every "choice of one's own making" is a way of telling oneself, "I can do it." — Arthur
After sending the letter, Arthur went to the tower and told Morgan about it.
Morgan, who was mixing a bottle of dark blue liquid, said without looking up, "You guys are quite good at writing love letters."
"They weren't love letters," Arthur said. "They were correspondence between friends."
Morgan glanced at him, lifting her eyelids slightly. "A friend? Have you ever seen a 'friend' who uses light blue stationery and is scented with flowers?"
"...Did she put on floral scents?"
"Irises." Morgan put down the glass bottle, a hint of mockery in her icy blue eyes. "You can't even smell this?"
Arthur couldn't smell it; he only knew the letter smelled nice, but he didn't know what it smelled like.
Morgan gave a soft hum and continued preparing her potion.
"Morgan," Arthur suddenly said, "would you like to write to someone too?"
Morgan's fingers paused for a moment.
"no."
"Not a single one?"
"No." Her voice was even colder.
Arthur didn't ask any more questions. He walked to the crib, where Mordred was lying, staring at the ceiling with her big, bright green eyes.
The little guy is already two months old, and he's grown a bit taller than when he was born. His golden lanugo is getting thicker and thicker, and you can vaguely see that he has the same hair color as Arthur.
"Mordred," Arthur said softly, "who do you want to write to when you grow up?"
The baby blew a bubble.
"Me too," Arthur smiled.
Morgan stood at the table, watching Arthur and Mordred interact, a barely perceptible soft light flashing in her icy blue eyes.
"Idiot," she whispered.
……
The war for the unification of Britain lasted from spring to autumn.
Arthur personally led the army into battle, with Kay as the vanguard, Gawain as the right wing, and Bedivere remaining to defend Camelot.
The Picts in the north were driven back to north of Hadrian's Wall, the Irish pirates in the west were driven off the island, and the Saxons on the southeast coast suffered three major defeats and were temporarily unable to invade.
Before each campaign, Arthur would go to the tower to say goodbye to Morgan.
Morgan wouldn't say things like "Be careful," he would only say "Don't die."
Arthur knew that this was her way of saying "take care".
Each time he returned, Arthur would first go to Mordred's room to see her, and then go to the tower to find Morgan.
Morgan wouldn't say "Welcome back," he would only say "You still know how to come back."
Arthur knew that this was her way of saying "I miss you".
After the final battle of autumn, Arthur led his army in triumph.
The gates of Camelot were opened wide, and the people lined the streets to welcome them.
Arthur, mounted on his horse, swept his emerald green eyes across the crowd.
I saw Kay's tired but proud face, Gawain's skin tanned even darker by the sun, and Bedivere's slightly trembling silver prosthetic leg as he greeted me at the city gate.
I also saw a window in the tower, a faint blue light shining through it.
He smiled slightly.
That evening, a celebratory banquet was held in the hall.
The knights raised their cups in celebration, while the nobles whispered amongst themselves, creating a lively atmosphere.
Arthur sat at the end of the long table, holding a glass of wine in his hand, but he didn't drink it.
"Your Majesty, what are you waiting for?" Bedivere asked.
"Waiting for someone."
As soon as he finished speaking, the door to the hall was pushed open.
A young knight walked in.
He was tall and slender, wearing a light, dark green armor, with a longsword hanging at his waist and a longbow and a harp on his back.
His hair was crimson, his eyes were grayish-blue, and his features were handsome yet carried a faint melancholy.
His pace was neither fast nor slow, as if he were stepping to a silent rhythm.
The noise in the hall gradually subsided.
"Tristan." Gawain was the first to recognize him. "Tristan of Cornwall?"
Tristan walked to the long table and knelt down on one knee.
"Tristan, son of the Duke of Cornwall, greets King Arthur."
Arthur put down his glass and stood up.
Why did you come?
Tristan raised his head, his gray-blue eyes filled with a complex emotion.
"Because I've heard that Britain has a different kind of king, and I want to see it for myself."
"Finished watching?"
"I've finished reading it." Tristan stood up. "You know it better than I've heard."
Arthur smiled slightly and extended his hand.
Welcome to the roundtable.
Tristan grasped his hand and shook it vigorously.
"Thanks."
Kai walked over with a wine glass in hand and patted Tristan on the shoulder: "I've heard your archery skills are unmatched, and your lyre playing can bring tears to people's eyes?"
Tristan's lips curled into a slight smile: "I heard you have a temper that can make someone cry?"
Kai paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"Okay! I like you!"
Gawain also came over and bumped fists with Tristan.
The atmosphere in the hall became lively again, even more so than before.
Arthur sat back down in his chair, watching Tristan's retreating figure.
"The famous knight with the lyre and the bow," Bedivere whispered in his ear.
"The Duke of Cornwall's only son, whose archery skills are unparalleled in Britain and whose music can soothe raging beasts, will greatly enhance our military strength upon joining us."
"I know," Arthur said, "but what worries me more is... he looks very unhappy."
Bedivere glanced at Tristan's retreating figure and nodded.
"It is said that he had a lover he could not express to anyone. Some say she was an Irish princess, others say she was a commoner. No one knows the truth."
Arthur remained silent for a moment.
"Everyone has their own story." He stood up. "I'm going to the tower."
Bedwell bowed slightly.
Arthur walked out of the hall, across the courtyard, and up the tower.
Morgan stood by the window, her back to him.
Her long, silvery-white hair shimmered softly in the candlelight, and her black robe trailed on the floor.
"You're here?" she asked.
"They're here."
"I heard you acquired a Cornish knight today?"
"Tristan, your archery is excellent, and your lyre playing is also excellent."
Morgan turned around and looked at him with her icy blue eyes.
"What do you plan to turn the round table into? A shelter?"
"No," Arthur said, walking up to her. "It's 'home'."
Morgan stared at him for a few seconds, then shook his head.
"You're really a weirdo."
"You said that before."
"Then say it again."
Arthur smiled.
They stood side by side by the window, looking at the lights in the courtyard.
Mordred was fast asleep in the nursery.
The night sky over Camelot is filled with countless stars, as if countless eyes are watching over this land.
The unification of Britain continued, and the number of knights of the Round Table continued to grow.
Arthur knew that the road ahead was still long.
But he wasn't in a hurry.
Because he wasn't walking alone.