Bedwyr found that he didn't mind being in the wheeled chair now. Vivian was pushing him now, Palamedes had remained behind, to smooth things over with the medics in case they came by and found him gone.
"How is he?" Bedwyr asked, as they walked together.
"Still catatonic, but at least he is alive," Liemire answered with a scowl. "That damned vampyre. Have you gotten a piece of him yet?"
"No, I haven't," Bedwyr answered, "he is either in that walking fortress of his, or defended by incredible sorcery. I am not able to reach him."
Liemire scratched his chin. "That unholy abomination is a problem. I've thought about how to crack the damned thing open forever. Even dug into some texts about it, I haven't had much better to do in this boring place." He leaned forward, hissing softly. "It is said to be a gift from the Gods themselves, tied to a name spoken only in curses."
"So speaking it here would draw attention we don't want?" Vivian asked. "Speak carefully, Liemire, some names carry with them great magic."
He shot Vivian an irritated look, but shook his head after a moment of thought. "So be it, lady. Suffice to say, the one I speak of, the one who built that fortress of Prince Vortimer's is said to be of demigod stock."
"Astartes?" Bedwyr asked.
"Beyond Astartes. The traitor demigod of iron will. You know of whom I speak, I know you have been taught some of the history of the Imperium. Of the enemy."
Bedwyr quirked an eyebrow. "The Imperium, or Chaos?"
"It is intertwined forever, inexorably. That is the real reason I can't speak his name, really. Even acknowledging the fact that we know where the enemy truly comes from, is heresy in these people's eyes." He gestured irritably. "That's the business of Imperium, boy, remember that. We honest Druids and Knights just have to work as best we can."
Bedwyr nodded along, not sure how comfortable he was with such open and casual heresy from a man he held in such esteem. Yet, his vows were to his King and friend, Arthur, not to the possibly long dead overhanging web called Imperium. "I can understand."
They stopped in front of a closed door, which Liemire slowly opened, as if afraid to make any noise. Yet from what he had said, King Pellinore wasn't sleeping, but remained in a deep years long coma. But Bedwyr and Vivian both were silent as they went inside.
Pellinore was no longer the still-virile middle-aged gentleman he had once been. He had wasted away, despite the constant feed of nutrition into his body. His hair had all fallen off, and only the dull beep of the machines attached to him gave any indication he still lived.
The very sight of his mentor like this sent a flash of pure sorrow through Bedwyr. By the Throne, would it not be better if the man had died? Was it not cruelty to keep him alive as a near-corpse, even if it gave the slim possibility that one day his death would be something more respectable than an ambush by a twisted vampyric prince.
Vivian seemed to detect his grim musings, and reached down to squeeze his shoulder. "It is a painful sight," she said softly.
Liemire stalked over to the bedside, head bowed and shadowed by his cloak. "I have read of ways to bring a man back from the brink of death as well, you know. Removal of the unhallowed flesh, that which does not function, and replacing it entirely with the machine." The druid licked his lips. "I can't get the components here, and that isn't the only resistance."
"Would it even still be King Pellinore?" Bedwyr asked solemnly.
That gave the old man pause. "I don't know how to answer that. His brain suffered damage that terrible day. Haptic feedback nearly tore it apart. Even if he comes to now, there is no guarantee he will ever be the same again. The machine is better."
"Better than being a cripple, you mean?" Bedwyr asked calmly.
Liemire flinched. "I didn't mean it that way. Hells, you've replaced your missing parts with mechanical augments before, and I don't doubt you plan to do that again the moment you can. Even before that, even without it, you've always been strong and skilled, lad."
The old man sank into a chair. "By the Omnissiah, I just don't think I could bear it if King Pellinore came back, but as nothing but a shadow of himself. Talking of reconstruction is just a distant dream. There is a choice to make, but I can't be the one to make it. I'm but a retainer, a man who knew the King from the moment of his flesh-birth. I lack the authority. It is up to the King's relatives to choose." He eyed Bedwyr from across the bed. "Both of the flesh and of the holy vow."
Bedwyr shook his head, his stomach feeling like it was suddenly full of acid. "I am not King Pellinore's son or heir, Liemire. I learned from him the ways of the Code, that is all. I don't have the authority to do as you are hinting at either."
"I suppose he never filled out any papers," Liemire muttered. "Very well. We will continue to wait."
"Is there nothing else you can think of?" Bedwyr asked. "Turning him into an undead or murdering him is not what I would consider a good finale."
"I don't know." Liemire stood up slowly. "This place isn't conducive to thinking well. Bedwyr, when you are well, I think you should try to seek a way to heal King Pellinore if you can. I would like to come with you when that time comes."
"It would be an honor and a pleasure, old friend," Bedwyr agreed with a nod. "But do you not have a duty here?"
"There is nothing I can do here. King Pellinore would want me to be useful, not rot away like an unused limb." He stepped toward the couple, patting Bedwyr on the shoulder. "Besides, I want to see how
Bedrydant is faring. Is that mutant girl taking care of it alright? I don't think she was ever fully inducted in the mysteries, I'll have to check her work…"
**********************
Bedwyr lay awake, as midnight struck. He was alone, Vivian and Palamedes had been pushed out by the nurses, either to sleep in the cars or in the guest quarters. How long before they both left? They were able-bodied after all, and could help in the war effort.
He sighed, and thought about King Pellinore. In truth, he wanted to pull that plug, and spare the misery of an endless search, the sorrow of watching a good and noble man waste away into nothing. Yet he could not. It was not a choice he could make. Sir Aglovale could, Sir Lamorak, Lady Tor, all of Pellinore's true born children, estranged though they mostly were. Bedwyr loved Pellinore, and he would forever. But he was not Pellinore's son. He was not a Prince of the Lost Isles. He was merely Sir Bedwyr, a follower of the blessed Code Chivalric.
"Never give up on a virtuous quest," Bedwyr whispered to himself.
"You should be asleep." The voice, though soft and feminine, gave Bedwyr an immediate fright. Turning over in the bed, he came face to face with one of the Sisters, her face plain and cold beneath her wimple. She had cold green eyes that held in them a certain fire.
"I cannot sleep," Bedwyr said solemnly. "But I will try my best shortly. I didn't hear you come in."
"Of course you didn't, sir, I try to move silently in the night. Patients after all should be asleep. Is your injury paining you?"
"No. It hasn't pained me for some time." Bedwyr felt discomforted by the Sister's sharp gaze.
"The woman you are with. The Damsel mutant. Is she your wife?" The question came as quickly and bluntly as the one about his health.
Bedwyr scowled at her. "Not yet. You will treat her with respect, however, she is my sworn Lady."
The Sister shrugged. "Mother says that the Damsel can stay. Damsels are sanctioned, though Mother also says she doesn't fully understand why. Yet, I feel compelled to warn you."
"Warn me about what?" Bedwyr asked, feeling a spike of rage. "I trust Vivian."
"Of course you do. Yet you should not. I state mere fact, my lord, Damsels are untrustworthy as any sect. Tell me, Sir Bedwyr, did Lady Vivian follow you for you, or did she follow you because you rode for King Arthur? She is known as a follower of Queen Morgan, you see. Queen Morgan has remained neutral in the civil conflict, but she would no doubt desire eyes upon it. Damsel eyes."
Bedwyr's heart stopped for an instant. When it restarted, he could feel his blood start to grow hot, as if he was about to step into a battle. "How dare you," he growled, "Lady Vivian loves me, and I love her. She follows me for that, not for whatever foolishness you spout."
His wrath didn't seem to frighten the Sister. She stared him down, impassive. "Damsels consider themselves agents of the planet, lord. To that, everything else is secondary."
"We are all agents of the planet, lady," Bedwyr hissed. Then, suddenly, he calmed down considerably. "Besides, me and Vivian began our present relationship before Arthur became King. I have no doubt we'd be together even if he was but a squire and I had found gainful employment with another Lord."
"I am not an agent of this planet." The woman seemed to raise, and though she was barely tall enough to reach Bedwyr's chin, she suddenly seemed tall and powerful in her fanaticism. "I am an agent of the God-Emperor, Blessed to aid His people and smite His enemies! I am no member of a fertility sect, clinging to noble power. That is what your Lady Vivian is. She borders on heresy and witchery!"
"Get out." Bedwyr leaned forward in the bed, ignoring her power. "Or sick and weak or not, I will strangle the life out of you with the one hand that remains to me."
"All I speak is truth." She rose to her feet, and walked silently to the door. She stopped suddenly. "Sir Bedwyr. Your body is the way it is from birth, is it not? Not from war injury?"
"That is correct." Bedwyr felt his rage cooling considerably, and suddenly felt rather embarrassed. Vivian had told him about the rivalry between the two feminine sects, it felt foolish to get riled up.
She nodded. "Then I think it is also fair to warn you, the Damsels may well consider your genetics improper to continue as a knightly line on Avalon. You control the Throne of your great machine, and so will any child that comes from your line." Suddenly, she looked something like an ordinary, worried, woman. "Just be so warned. If they consider it paramount, they may attempt to breed Vivian with another man, one considered more genetically pure than you, to have a more proper heir."
That gave Bedwyr pause. Perhaps it was because it touched close to something he had worried about for a long time. What if any child he had was born with similar disabilities? He doubted Vivian worried about that, and to some extent neither did he. He had turned out perfectly well in his chosen path, after all. Yet, if Vivian's order tried to make her do something like that, and it seemed far more likely than anything stranger, even the spy theory, it weighed on him deeply. "I can't see her agreeing to sleep with another man. Perhaps I will speak with her about this." He leaned back in his bed. "She wanted to join the Damsels since she was a child. I can't imagine them harming her like that."
"They well could. Better she had joined the Keepers of the Grail. Our intentions are pure, I promise that." She closed the door, leaving Bedwyr with his thoughts.
If nothing else, the last made him start to chuckle. Preposterous, the Sisters would never have accepted Vivian. All for the color of her hair.
[Half-way through 7R and then Unicorn Overlord drops. I'm very glad this year in video games is rather front loaded for me.]
