Ghilchad knelt and closed his eyes, gathering himself for the coming exchange. He knew all through the ride and now miling up the unridable hill that honor bound him to this confrontation with the Pendragon of Britannia. Still, he was unready for this. "Gwynn, you ride not alone this day," Gilchad muttered while brushing snow from the ground to get at the good Aenglish soil beneath. The good, cold, dry earth crumbled between his hands, gritty and comforting. Uncoiling himself he stretched out skyward and sighed "and what more glorious company could you wish for," he said with a wry grin. It was a rare thing, for the Lord of Aengland to go into the endtimes, especially when he is the promised of Avalon.

Ghilchad contemplated the round as he completed his path upwards. The Pendragon had found him in chains bound for the noose and given him pardon for no reason. simply struck the ropes from his wrists and asked Gilchad to be better than that which was offered. Three years after they had met again in combat, Gilchad hunting the same warrior band harrying the outskirts of the city and caught up in a most confusing and now looking back, amusing fray. Gil had come front with The Pendragon himself and struck the lobe off his ear before falling low to that burning blade. Waiting for a stroke that was sure to come, he got instead a laugh and a firm hand up. "A warrior can touch me with a blade should serve with me, not against me! On your knees." Excalibur bit lightly into the right, then left shoulder and Gilchad was a knight of the round just so. Riding for thirteen years honed him from a village champion to the grinding edge of the Round an famous champion. "And now I must end him."

Gilchad found the Pendragon on his knees, clad only in leather and wool. He seemed torn, rightly so, as if twenty three years of holding the realm together with his blade and his hands had finally split him. "Lord Pendragon!" Arthur rose and turned startled. "Sir Gilchad, what brings a knight?" Gil breathed from the ground to the sky and stared The Hardest man to ever walk the realm in those clear green eyes. "The Lady Guenivere has passed from our lives High King, the abbey has buried her in a private cloister." Arthur rocked back on his heels, and slumped within himself. For a moment Gil thought he would fall. The laughter clear and strong as the Thames in the spring melt. "My Lady has won! She has taken the final peace and I find her vengeance. She has done what I had not the courage to do these five years..." but this is not news Gil, the bells have tolled since the past morning. Why are you here, my fist?" As far as ancient Sumeria and sunken Atlantis and all around them and all throughout Britain and filling the two mightiest of Aengland's soilders, a horn blast was heard. Heard and felt and tasted and smelled. Blood and love and sweat and hate sorow and joy, everything they had ever fought for and against. Steel slid from oiled leather and wood as Gilchad answered.

"My Lord High King of the Aenglish and Britannia. Hammer of the Saxons and Promised of Avalon. Arthur Pendragon, my captain and most beloved soveriegn, I come for your life. Camelot cries for it's king and our people mill like fish in a dry river bed gasping for life. You who have made us great, unified a wild people and protected us against all. Hero of Baddon Hill son of Uther Pendragon. You who have lost all and won more have abandoned us and we are breaking. When you sentenced The Lady Guenivere to the convent I led her safely there. When you ran from your greif after the Grail of Joseph of Arimethea I followed you through peril untennable. When you sought justice of Sir Lncelot du lac, once first of us and our most beloved Captain it was I who brought you his blade and his head." Gil Gripped the hilt of Rhonbulch, the sword of Uther Pendragon reforged so tightly he could not tell where the seperation of man and steel was. "I cannot idle while you let what you let our toils fall to rust and decay. We need your guidance and light. but I name you unfit and mujst be brought to justice. The Round has named me your death. Know that I take joy only in moving back into the light, My King."

"nd who will lead Gil? You? I could think of none better?"

"Whoever it may be is not for me to say Lord, but this is how it must be"

"You honor me Sir Gilchad. This is not the way though."

"Gwynn the Hunter calls for company Lord King, and he must not be denied. Die well!"

Gilchad swung Rhonbulch with the surety of a man who has been given his task and cannot fail, but the title Pendragon is earned, not given. Arthur moved faster than the eye could follow and with the grace and brutality of the storms that battered the cliffs of Avalon and let no mortal ship pass. Excalibur grazed the hilt of Rhonbulch and slid through mail leather and flesh through Gilchad's heart in so fluid motion that is only attained through absolute surety of self. Dead before Excalibur tore his great soul and shredded his heart. Gilchad sagged heavily to the ground.

Arthur sighed heavily and sheathed the blade which with he bound Aengland to himself and knelt by the corpse. Drawing Gilchad's dagger he reached up and cut the remainder of his right ear off and laid it on his Gil's chest.

"Know that you're mission has not been in vain."

As Arthur rose I great horn call blew and threw the brush came a great bark horse with rider swathed in black leading an unmounted horse, two wolfhounds in coursing in step. The rider bore a great horn of ram at his hip and grasped a spear knotted and roiled with a shaft of ancient yew. "bear him well, Lord Hunter, for he was the best of us," Arthur sadly spoke. Gilchad rose and mounted beside Gwynn the Hunter, the herald to the realms beyond. Saluting The Pendragon, they rode away into shadow and song.

Arthur stood for minutes or days, and then made his way to the Round, to set Aengland to rights.

The End

Hijinks