Dame Heledd considered the question with an unexpected chuckle of amusement.
"I do not think anything short of the end of the world could bring down that stubborn old goat. But if you cannot give it to him..." She looked at the scroll for a long moment, and a wistful expression passed across her face as she debated the question inwardly. It was with reluctant finality that she eventually declared,
"Yes. If for any reason you cannot give it directly to Sir Kay, then it is best that you consign it to the flames. If nothing else, the poetry of that would be fitting."
She remembered to whom she spoke and abandoned whatever bittersweet reverie had occupied her thoughts, assuming her regal poise once more.
"I thank you for your oath, and for your discretion on this matter." She looked at the blonde lass appraisingly.
"You have come so very far from being that forlorn, angry child the Northmen left here with barnyard straw for hair and feet all a-muddy. Just look at you now."
She smiled at Torah with the fondness of a mother.
"In sooth, you have grown into too fine a singer for poor old Angrave. This land is too mean and dreary and her people, though honest, are too unsophisticated to give you a properly appreciative audience. Oh, it has given me pride to watch you grow into your talent, and by God and Saint Mary I shall surely miss the sweet plucking and rosining of your strings once you are gone. But it would be a sin against heaven to keep you prisoner here when it is obvious that Camelot is where you belong." She allowed herself to tenderly touch Torah's cheek.
"You were delivered unto us as a gift of God, and so by God must I let you go as freely as you came."
Eleri, Dame Heledd's lady-in-waiting, appeared from behind the heavy oaken door leading to the stairs.
"My lady," she said,
"your daughter seeks you in the hall."
The drizzle at last relented. The fog broke and soon scattered, driven by the wind from the sea. The vast dome of the night revealed itself to the three women upon the battlements, bathing them in an emerald glow. Above them, vast and ghostly ribbons of green light played across the northern sky, like the lowest folds of a celestial curtain descending from the sphere of the moon. Their luminescence danced upon the black waves of the midnight sea.
"Tell her I'm coming," Lady Angrave replied.
"I have unburdened my heart, I think."
~~~
Sir Aedric nodded, seemingly satisfied with his son's declaration, but the occasion -- and the substantial mead he had consumed that evening -- brought on a melancholy mood, and his voice became somber.
"As sure as I am of anything in this uncertain life, I am sure you will bring us honor in the court of the High King.
"I have taught you all I know, of riding and fighting and commanding men, but the things you carry beyond the rudimentary are none of my doing. A monk once told me a Greek quotation: 'I know that I know nothing.' I am not so proud as to think that I am much more than a barbarian chieftain in Roman mail.
"But you, my son," he continued, placing his heavy hand on Gerod's shoulder and looking him in the eye.
"There is a spark in you like to kindle a flame in the hearts of other men. They will follow a man like you. I did not think that the tales of Arthur's knights and his Round Table could be more than the fancy of idealistic scops and feverish monks. But you make me believe a new age could indeed be upon us.
"It's not from me that you learned those things. Perhaps it is fitting that Torah goes with you to chronicle your deeds. It is her verses that live in your heart, and in turn, you give life to them."
Lord Angrave turned back to face the hearth fire and his noble guests at revelry, and clapped his son's back fondly as he tried to obscure the dew in his eyes from him.
"Enough of these maudlin words. Our guests await your return. I've held their hero for ransom long enough."