(no subject)

[wildhunts]

The Elm Branch

For the first few years of his child's life, Llwch had intended for his child born out of wedlock by the watchful eyes of their great-aunt. A devout Christian, as far as he knew, who was apart of a covenant of women who swore their lives to their god, swearing off the pleasures of the outside world. What little he knew of the Christians he knew that they were fervent, even stranger to him than the Pagans that he encountered through his travels in Briton and Gaul. They seemed to embrace being shamed and tormented, he felt, born into sin and giving their lives to a man resurrected from death.

It was a far cry from the woman that bared his illegitimate child. The gracious Elaine, daughter of King Pelles that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Llwch saw himself as poor company, let alone a proper suitor for anyone. But she would never accept his declines or refusals, not even when he went out of his way to tell her father these things. The last he saw of her, what he remembered, Elaine had stripped him of his clothing, bounding him, and forcing herself down on him. He wouldn't speak of it; each time he recalled the incident, Llwch had felt that he was responsible for all of it. No man would allow himself to be imprisoned by a naked woman in such a way.

When word had passed to him that Elaine was with his child, all Llwch could do was ignore it. He carried the odd, lurching feeling of disgust with him, he couldn't bear the thought of a child caught in between. His child, without a father. He had grown up without a father, not even at the hands of his own mother. His blood family loathed his actions, too. They called him a coward and a scoundrel for leaving her unwed and carrying his child. No matter what Elaine would do, Llwch would never forgive her deception and the torment that it brought him. Even when Elaine had taken her life and of her child in the river, swearing that her soul would find him and torment him for eternity.

His child would be better in loving hands, in the arms of someone who would love them unconditionally.

Five years had passed since then and his child is his second shadow, her little hand clasping tightly to his as she follows him in the forest, ever under his watchful eyes. The love that bloomed in his heart for his child had grown so fast in those five years when he was sure he would make a terrible father. It wasn't even four years ago that her great-aunt had taken her from the covenant and gave her to him.

Galahad, Elaine had named her, hoping for a son instead of a daughter. She was shunned by her own grandfather for her gender and feared for her gift of sight by her great-aunt by the covenant. She would have been cast out if he had not intervened. As the nuns of the covenant referred to her as a "curse" upon them, bringing souls of the departed to her rooms, Llwch did not see a curse, he saw the same tanned skin and wavy hair that he had. She was handed to him, this little soul, staring up at him as he introduced himself as her father.

And how much she took after her father. Galahad was a quiet child, much like her father. She played like any other little girl her age, clutching Blodeuyn, the doll he had given her. He watched her carry it with her all the time, watching her carry it with small, pudgy hands as she took her first steps to him with outstretched arms. He thought that he would be nothing more of a shell of a man at his Lord's command, purging himself of all feelings, love, somehow rekindled in his heart when she clung to him.

He gave her what he couldn't have as a child. Fine clothing, plenty of toys, and good food. Once where his family called him a scoundrel and sneered at him for his choices, they came to appreciate Llwch's actions of becoming a true man: a father. It was still a shame for him, however, Llwch could never get them to see the truth of what happened. No matter what, Galahad would never suffer for it; he loved her more than anything else in the world. As a man of his Lord's court, second in command to Logres' forces, his daughter was revered as much as he. Llwch took her everywhere, almost, from the roundtable meetings of his King to the training fields as he watched new squires emerge.

Today would be their day. Galahad was learning archery, something that all Sarmatian girls learned at an early age. A small bow for her size and plenty of practice arrows--toys, practically. She was far too young to carry the real ones. Because he carried such a high rank, Llwch was never without his sword in addition to his own bow. He had earned the ire of many throughout his progression of rank. None more than the knight that would lose to him in duels, Phelot. Llwch had shrugged off their last encounter, where Phelot laid him with threats to him. On an autumn morning, Phelot was the furthest from his mind; only Galahad had his attention.

A simple walk through the forest for him, but quite the adventure for his precocious daughter. Galahad's little feet scampered on the forest floor, as he took even extra time to walk with her. She berated him with questions; some silly and some regarding the bow and arrow. She was a happy child, holding Blodeuyn's hand as she held onto his. Her father, who hardly broke stride or even a smile, while she bounced happily beside him on their way back to his horse.

Galahad complained how sore her feet were by now and how they were going to fall off (an obvious exaggeration, one that perplexed him so of the capability) and his desire to end her lesson for today and return back to their Lord's presence, surrounded by the others. "Daddy, I don't wanna walk anymore." She told him, likely for the tenth time so far. He was patient with her; even if Galahad would repeat the same sentence, he never told her to be quiet. Even when Llwch came up empty handed during their little hunt as a result to her asking her father questions during his instructions, he never lost his temper.

But Llwch didn't see how much he has worn her out or was aware that it was coming up on her midday nap. She tugged at him, calling out to him. This time, Galahad has taken her hand back and with it free, she gestured up to her very tall father and asked him to hold her.

"All right," Llwch had relented, softly, lowering him to her level and allowing her to bury her head in the safety of the nook of his neck. She huffed softly in his ear, as he stood up back up straight, Galahad in one arm and the other free as he saw his horse waiting patiently for him. "Someday, you're going to be too big to carry, Galahad." He chided her softly.

Clicking his tongue softly, he gestured for his mare to come forward as he reached for the reigns.

"No, I'm not!" Galahad responded as her father settled her on the saddle first. He follows, gently, minding Galahad as he settles in front. Galahad had a penchant for squirming during their rides, gaining the bad habit of reaching out for branches and pointing for things.

"'m cold," Galahad adds as he picks her up, settling her closer to him.

"Here," He pulls his cloak forward, wrapping her in a secure bundle; he's sure it's her excuse to be held by him more, which is difficult to do as they ride. He has every intention to teach her more about riding, something all Sarmatian girls must learn in addition to archery. The girls and women were renowned for their archery on horseback, something he could already tell Galahad would pick up quickly because of her sight. "Hold on tight, Galahad."

She did what she was told, gripping the saddle as he tugged the reigns to usher the mare forward. Nestled in his cloak and with one arm gripping her, she was small enough to not be seen as he rode back. "When do we get to go back?" She peaked up at her father, whose eyes are locked ahead.

"When it's warmer," that he would also relent to; he pushed his trainees hard and had a reputation for being stern (or as Arthur had put it, a "hard ass"), but never to someone so young as Galahad, "That way, you'll be able to hold your bow better."

She nodded, attempting to curl up against him. Llwch heaved a breath, pulling her closer. Judging by her small muttering and not asking him any more questions for today, he knew she was growing tired. That, at least, allowed Llwch a peace of mind.

Galahad had no playmates to speak of; perhaps the only real companion was her father for a moment. Galahad's stories of the ghosts that seemed to come to her after the last incursion of a small faction of Logres' troops against encroaching forces didn't help. While they were successful in the battle, they were not free of losing members of their troops. It was an ugly fight and men on both sides died terribly. By the time the threat had come closer to Logres, they were tired, starving, and desperate.

They were also organized than the ones before that they had chased away back in Powys. They held their ground for more than a few days as Arthur decided to switch to a different strategy at his behest. A few of the oldest members of Llwch and Arthur's original troops, from the days they staged a coup against Vortigern for the throne, had lost their lives as well. One was a father of children; one ten years older than Galahad and one close to Galahad's age. It was a time of mourning (and, still is) in Logres. Arthur could not declare a celebration to boost the morale of his men in confidence. For once, Llwch could say he missed the loud, booming voice of Arthur, declaring, "Bring out the ale, lads!". The king had lamented in the loss of close friends.

He also still lamented in the abduction of his betrothed, still, the young princess of Cameliard. Arthur felt the grief and loss of those close to him, whereas Llwch did not. In between Llwch assuming command of the remaining forces, he re-organized them and brought more vigorous training. He spent many days away from Galahad, leaving her in the care of her aunt, his sister-in-law, Mary, and his brother, Hector. Llwch was not able to see Galahad going out of her way to camp, presenting the words of those departed to their surviving family.

It was terrible to hear the five-year-old so calmly describe a vicious decapitation or the torture of captured soldiers. Llwch was already feared himself, not shrinking from pain or the violence of the battlefield. But his daughter, as innocent as she was, compelled by the dead to reach out to loved ones, made their people fear them more. A five-year-old couldn't comprehend death very well, let alone Galahad. He knew that she saw many things, terrible things, ever since she drew her first breath. She saw no difference between the dead and living and it left Llwch unsure of how to explain it to her.

He couldn't see what she saw. But nonetheless, he loved her no differently.

It had been twenty minutes and Galahad fell silent, silently sleeping against him not willing to wait for her nap back with the rest of his family in a proper bed. It would make her restless later, he thought, she knew she wouldn't sleep well if she fell asleep this early, but... it allowed Llwch to think about the events of the past few months. Even offer a moment of grief, something he never outwardly displayed to his closest friends and family.

Llwch was lost in his thoughts, thinking of the fallen comrades he had met at the age of fourteen when he had come back to Briton that he didn't hear the cries of a woman. Not until Galahad was roused in her sleep, squirming against him that he became aware of a woman crying. Puzzled, Llwch grabbed the reigns to get his mare to gently stop, which then caused Galahad to awaken, muttering, "Are we home?"

"Not yet," he told his daughter as he listened. A woman walking not that far from the familiar path he took home. When her figure became clear, Llwch turned the reigns of his mare while clutching Galahad tightly as he made the mare take a sharp turn to the stranger's direction. As he came closer, he saw her completely. A woman not that far from his age, wandering the forest floor begging for help. He could at least say she was pretty, but nothing more than that; pale blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a cloak over a rose-colored dress. As if on cue, as soon as their eyes met, she broke out into a small jog.

Not knowing who she was or what her intentions were, he pressed Galahad close, turning his horse to obscure her. "Sir!" She waved, "Sir, can you please help me!"

She looked devastated, breathing heavily, and waved frantically at the tree as Llwch stared down at her blankly, unflinching. The woman winced as she gazed back up at him; Llwch wearing nothing more than the distant, cold expression he always wore as his black eyes gazed down at her. He said nothing, waiting for her to speak again.

"Sir... please help," Clearly, she was taken aback from his response, almost thinking of him as haughty as she sat on his horse, unmoving, "My poor hawk... he is caught up in that tree there! I can't free his lune." She points to a large elm tree, fully leaved in the cold, spring morning.

"I see," Llwch responded monotonously; Galahad was still hovering between sleep and wakefulness, warm in her father's arm and cloak.

"My husband... he'll beat me," She adds, growing more desperate by the minute, "You don't know him! He'll drag me by the hair outside-"

She begins to tug on Llwch, trying to coax him down. It was one thing to be stopped by a stranger, it was another for her to try and grab him while his small daughter was hidden underneath his cloak. He gently pushes her hand away, "All right, please-" He sighs, "I can try to free it in the tree."

He deemed her reaction believable enough, especially if her arms were nearly flailing on him and repeating how her husband would beat her. He was unarmed, save his sword, which he felt would be better to leave on the horse if he were to climb. Llwch, determined to recover some of his personal space, decides to turn the other way to dismount his horse. As he does, Galahad awakes once more, rubbing her eyes, "Daddy!" She exclaims, "I wanna go back to sleep!"

The woman's face goes pale as soon as she sees the little girl's crown of dark, wavy hair slide from her father's cloak. As Llwch dismounts, he doesn't see her face; he isn't comfortable leaving Galahad upon the mare, who knows nothing about riding on the horse. So, he gathers her up again, pulling her from the mare and down onto the ground. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he sees her there, still.

"I only have one favor to ask of you," Llwch bundles her up in his cloak, just as Galahad makes a noise that could be on the verge of crying, grabbing at her father.

"Daddy... daddy!"

"Galahad," Llwch lowers himself to her level, brushing her mussed locks aside to look at her in the eye, "I need you to watch the horse. I'm going to help this woman -- it won't take long. Her hawk is stuck in the tree and I am going to help get it out, all right?"

Blurry-eyed, Galahad nods, focusing her black eyes on the woman standing in front of her.

"I- I didn't know you had a child," she gazes back up to Llwch as he strides forward, now free of anything that would hold him back during his climb. He thinks nothing of her statement, sizing up the elm tree.

"She is well-behaved," He adds, taking that her statement is one of concern regarding her ability to sit still, "Please, keep an eye on her while I recover your hawk."

Llwch reaches out for the first branch, easily pulling himself up and further up, making the slow descent. From down below, he doesn't see the woman become breathless, blue eyes wide in fear. Llwch is not aware of her intent as he continues, the branches rustling as he looks. The woman is trembling, turning back to the small girl.

Her black eyes are unblinking, boring into her figure with a flat expression, now. Galahad now fully awake and now leveling the woman with a pair of watchful eyes. It's a dark feeling that washes over the woman, who calls back to Llwch, "Oh, please! Hurry! My husband will be back soon!"

He is a kind man, perhaps, too kind, at times. He isn't aware of what has been laid out before him, freely ignoring her urgency deeming that it wouldn't be safe to climb and search so quickly for the hawk. The last thing he wanted is for Galahad to see her father fall down below. He doesn't see the woman nervously fidget with her hands.

Galahad's stare is unyielding, watching the woman fidget with her hands, trying to avoid eye contact with the little girl who insists on watching her instead of her father.

The woman glances back at the child and then back to the pair of rustling trees and bushes, watching another man enter the clearing.

"Phelot!" She whispers, holding her hand up, "He has a child. You didn't tell me he had a child!" She begins to pace around him, as if trying to keep him from the little girl, staring at the both of them, now.

And here he is, the man Galahad had seen a few times before. In Arthur's court, she remembers how many times Phelot had regarded her father's strength to be nothing but dumb luck. The copper knight, as he is called, rusty, orange hair thinning out from his scalp. Galahad had always wondered why his bushy eyebrows and bore weren't falling out, too. She gazes up at him, remembering his equally disheveled look back then; he was a stocky man, nowhere nearly as tall as her father. From what she saw of her father practicing with his sword and instructions, she could see he fought well, too. Just as before, his brown eyes snap to her, narrowing into slits as he sees her.

He, too, is shocked. Here before him stands the child of Llwch, Lancelot of the Lake as he is called by Arthur's men, with just as empty black eyes of her father. Phelot thinks that she mocks him with the flat stare, looking her over as she has the same wild, wavy hair and the loose strand that falls in the middle of her face, like her father. Phelot has no children to speak of and he had wished for children. He hated Lancelot, he hated him for all that he had, and now he had another thing he desired so much: a child.

"I don't care," Phelot whispers to his wife. He approaches Galahad, looming over her as his hands flex. He will grab her, throttle his child in front of him as punishment.

"Phelot!"

"Lancelot!" Phelot bellows up to him. Just as Llwch lands back down on the ground about ready to inform the woman that he saw no hawk and she must be mistaken, he sees Phelot.

He sees him close to his daughter, standing in the same spot he had left her. "At last, I found you once again." Phelot saunters closer to his child. "Now, we'll see how much of a hero you are."

It was one of the few times he could say he felt frantic. Llwch does not look at his wife or Phelot, he looks to Galahad, almost telling her by the look on his face to get out of there. "Galahad-"

"I don't think so!" Phelot takes the little girl by the arm as Llwch moves forward. Galahad makes a small yelp of pain as he pulls her closer to him, "I'll snap her little neck before you can get any closer."

"Phelot, please!" His wife calls out to him once again, "Don't do that!"

Fearful blue eyes bouncing between the both of them, she is left standing there, "You didn't tell me-!"

"Shut up!" Phelot turns, shouting at his wife, "You knew what you were doing!"

Galahad begins to use a fist with her free hand, smacking the older man, anything she can do to put up a fight and get back to her father, screaming as she does.

Llwch says nothing. He uses the opportunity of his daughter flailing and now kicking while Phelot is in a shouting match with his wife over the consequences of confronting him with his child to seize a branch off of the elm tree and break off a large branch with such fury, the sound of the branch breaking brings Llwch's attention.

He was enraged.

Anger white hot, Llwch approaches quickly, with large strides, curving back his arm with the branch and cracking Phelot so hard in the face, he almost falls over from the strike. Galahad is then able to squirm away, running from what was now inevitable, even to her.

Her father's wrath unleashed.

He does not wait for Phelot to get back up, Llwch saying nothing and barely breaking his expression as he slams the branch down hard across Phelot's back. As he falls against the ground, the air is removed from his lungs. Horrified, his wife screams, scampering back from her husband as Llwch unleashes an unrelent wave of strikes against him. It is no longer Llwch's objective to beat the man silly, it is his objective to kill him. How dare he touch his child. How dare he threaten her. His precious love, the only being that made Llwch feel human and whole. Phelot turns on his back, trying to shield his head from Llwch's strike.

He breaks his hands rather easily, slamming the branch down hard on him. He ignores Phelot's cries of pain and his wife's hysterical screams, breaking his jaw next, cracking his skull. Blood splatters against Llwch's face, as he doesn't leave Phelot enough time to catch his breath, leaving him gurgling, writhing there on the ground. His wife can't go near Phelot, watching in horror as her husband's head is beaten to a pulp.

And then to Llwch's daughter who holds her doll in her hands, unblinking. Galahad watches her father beat the man to death, she watches whatever is left of the man's head splatter on her father. She blinks once, opening her eyes back to Phelot's form-

No. Two images of his form. Phelot dead on the ground, underneath her father's rage. And then gazing back up at Phelot caught between his wife and her father. She cants her head to the side, offering Phelot a puzzling look.

"Daddy?" Galahad calls out to her father, long at last. Llwch, covered in blood, is holding the elm branch high above him, about to slam it down on what was left of Phelot, soon realizes what he had done and Galahad had seen everything. She watched you kill him. Something rings in his head, the horror of allowing his daughter to sit there and watch him horrifically beat a man to death is enough for him to toss the tree branch aside, "Galahad," He calls out to her breathlessly, dripping in blood. He reaches for her, as if to tell her "please don't be afraid".

Galahad is unflinching of her father, toddling up to him with her doll. She points behind him, "Daddy, why is there two of him?"

Why is there two of them?

As if he expected someone else to ambush him, Llwch sharply turns to his his wife, terrified, with her back up against the tree. He huffs, wiping what blood he has on his face from his eyes. He doesn't see what Galahad is seeing, nothing is there. In Galahad's sight, she sees Phelot, looking down at his body, "No. No! This can't be happening!"

Phelot moves behind her father, shouting to him, "What have you done to me?!"

"Why is there two of him?" Galahad asks her father again as he picks up his cloak without a word and in a desperate attempt to keep the blood off of him, he swaddles her, picking her up. Galahad still continues to point, confused, "Daddy! Look!"

"You... you demonic child." Phelot whispers as he watches Llwch hold his child dear, close to him as he makes his way back to the horse. His wife, sucks a breath, expecting Llwch to take her next, says nothing as he walks past her and to his horse.

"What is this?!"

"Daddy?" Galahad whispers to her father.

Finally, Llwch stops, before he places her on the horse. "Because he is dead, Galahad."

He realizes she isn't seeing Phelot himself, she has seen his spirit leave his body, left to wander the earth like all the other spirits she has seen. He lifts Galahad up, ignoring Phelot's wife staring at them, back onto the horse as Galahad looks at him, poised with more questions. "We're going home." He tells her as he climbs back up on the horse, determined to leave the scene as quickly as possible.


---

Once he is back in the halls of Arthur's castle, his comrades and brother ask him what had happened. Llwch enters with Galahad on his hip, bundled securely in his cloak as Llwch enters bloodied, but unharmed. As always, Llwch recounts the incident without flinching and remorse, much like his daughter that seems to be unphased by talking to her doll about the "two" bad man.

Followed by the insistence of Arthur to clean up so that he doesn't scare his child, Llwch returns to his own chambers with his daughter playing with her doll on his bed. Llwch decides to keep her close tonight, to watch her for any nightmares. As he enters, Galahad greets him, "Hi, daddy." She watches her father sink down on the bed in front of her as he takes another breath, running his hands through her dark hair.

"Galahad," He starts with a somber voice, looking up to her as he ruffles her head, "I'm sorry, that was the last thing I wanted you to see." He hoped that she wouldn't come to loathe him when she grew older once she finally understood the situation. But Galahad adored her father, gazing up at him with a soft smile, reaching out to pat his whiskered cheek, "It's okay, daddy. It's okay."

She is the one reassuring her father, instead, scooting up to him and patting his cheeks, repeating "it's okay" to him. He smiles softly, closing his eyes to feel her little hands pat him, opening them to look at her with a serious gaze, "You saw two of him?"

"Yes," Galahad cants her head to the side and looks up at him, "What does that mean."

"It means that he died," He had told her a few times on the ride back, Galahad more consumed with curiosity than horror. "Do you know the people that come to you hurt and afraid?"

She nods, easing herself up on his lap as he speaks. Galahad didn't understand the difference between the living and dead, and, sadly, his display of rage would be something of a lesson to her. He knew she was receptive to the dead and not all of them were good as the ones who wanted to keep her company. One hand on her back, Llwch continues, "That's a spirit, Galahad. When someone dies, their spirit leaves their body. So now he is like the man you see down by the bridge."

The Roman spirit that Galahad seemed to talk to quite often, who had burnt half of his face during a siege. It was almost as if he kept a watchful eye on his daughter, even if he couldn't see him, himself. "A spirit?"

"Yes," It was not the most pleasant conversation, but for Galahad, it was a necessity to offer her piece of mind and morals to follow, "That was a spirit that you saw, that is something we can't see. The other you saw was just his body."

"How can't you can't see them?" She asks, like so many times before. Llwch, as always gives her the same answer, "Because I grew up." Whether or not it would placate her was another question, he would give her the same answer.

"He was a very bad man, but even with bad men, Galahad..." He looks off to the other side of the room, swallowing, and then back to her, rubbing her cheek, "What I did was also very bad, too."

"Why?"

"Because we don't take lives, not unless they're going to hurt someone else. We disarm them, first." Which seems to only confuse her even more. He couldn't explain to a five-year-old it would have better to render him unconscious than to beat him to death, especially in front of her. "I don't want you ever hitting someone as I did."

Galahad nods, wiggling her toes, "Like if Percival pulls my hair?"

"Yes, that's right. No hitting, you come and get your father or Percival's father."

"Okay." Llwch leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, gathering her up in his arms in a rare display of affection that he would never dare show to his friends and family, "We do the right thing, Galahad." It was important to instill morals to her, as early as he could, when Galahad was clearly fearless to the sight of death and violence. How he could tell someone so young why his actions were so wrong and too violent would involve more talks to her as she grew older. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Me too, daddy," Galahad pats his back.

"That will never happen again, I promise you."