I found Gawain and Garet sharing a small chamber on the ground floor, close to the barracks. It did not surprise me that their lodgings were modest. What surprised me was that they greeted me as a brother.

“Mordred! Well come!” Gawain strode to me and hugged me like a great ruddy-haired bear, which he resembled. He had grown; he was a burly, bearded man now. But what changed him most was the light in his eyes. He was happy.

“Still followed by the same white shadow, Mordred?” Garet patted Gull. Still a young knight, he had not changed so greatly, yet a happiness like Gawain’s lighted his face as well. “How old is that dog now?” He did not wait for an answer. “Come in, sit down!” He sat on his cot for want of a third chair. “Why did you not send word? We would have had a bed ready for you. We were not expecting you until midsummer.”

“I came on my own.”

“Couldn’t wait, eh?” That was Gawain, with a warm laugh. “Good. You’ll be glad you came.”

I studied both of them curiously as we talked; they asked for news of Lothian, their father, our mother, but seemed unconcerned with what I told them, as if they planned never to go back there. “You like it here,” I said after a while.

Gawain turned to me with his smile quieting into a rapt look, his mouth faltering as if he could not find words. “Arthur truly is a good King,” he said at last.

“A great King,” said Garet with the same grave rapture. “We are blessed and honored to serve such a King.”

“My father.” The words winged from me before I could think to stop them.

Gawain leaped to his feet. “Do not say that!” He loomed over me, though not as if to threaten me; he seemed frightened. His face tightened almost as if he might weep. “Never say that. Who told you that?”

Beyond him I could see Garet standing with his hands fumbling, his face pale; I did not answer the question. “Why should I not say what all the world knows?” I asked, staying where I was, in my chair, keeping my voice level and low. Then, because they were only my lunkheaded brothers, I was able to tell them what I could not tell Nyneve. “I want him to call me son.” Saying it, my voice hushed to a whisper.

“No! Mordred, you are insane.” Gawain went to his knees—I could not believe it, he knelt before me. “You could be put to death. Do not say it, do not ask it of him. He is the Very King. If he—if he were to call you—what you said—”

“You are his nephew,” Garet put in. “Our brother. You cannot be—”