Time moves in strange ways during

these days and nights of my healing.

It slithers like a snake, slippery and sly;

then night falls like a blanket,

muffling and smothering the pain.

The pain moves in strange ways, too,

like the current of the River Usk,

scratchy and warm as silt,

and when I allow myself to remember the

arrow standing out from my chest,

the heavy throbbing overwhelms me,

then it drifts away again, like the

tide beneath a full moon.

My father and brothers come to sit with me,

they hold my hand and sing me

songs of battle and glory.

And they whisper that the glory is mine.

They whisper of the glory of

the Lady of Shalott.

My glory.

I think of that great oaken loom,

gleaming gold in a patch of sunlight,

and the stories my mother would weave

into her tapestries. When I recover,

I will build myself a new loom and weave

my own story, the story of my family

and my friends, this land

and the glory that we shared.

As long as I must lay flat on my back,

Gwynivere comes each day and

feeds me broth, bringing the spoon

slowly to my lips, allowing me to

sip the warm soup, until my strength

returns and I can sit up.

It is odd to be the patient.

I do not enjoy it, but I use the time

to teach Gwynivere what I know of healing.

She is an eager student, and

she sings me songs, too,

sweet songs of love, and

I notice a change in her. Her face

has softened, and there is a peace

in her eyes.

Gwynivere, you look different, I remark

one day. Tell me what has happened to you.

Is it Lancelot? I ask.

No, it is not Lancelot, she replies. It is

Arthur. And a smile breaks over her

face like a sunrise. Then her forehead

creases. Before you returned to us,

before the boat that bore you floated

down the river, into the camp,

when I told Arthur all that we had heard,

and when I told him what you had done,

I saw such a look of fear on his face.

He was so scared, Elaine. Scared for you,

scared for all of us. It was as if all of his beautiful

humanity was revealed in that singular expression

of fear and love. And at that moment,

I think, I began to love him.

Her face is radiant.

I did not choose him, in the beginning,

but that night, she pauses to draw a breath,

that night I made a choice, and it was

the right one. When Arthur returned from

battle, he and I spoke

as we watched over you.

He told me that I did not have to marry him

if I did not want to. He told me —

he told me it was for me to decide.

In that moment, I knew. I knew that he

and I were meant for each other.

Her smile widens, and in this moment,

she truly looks like an

enchanted faerie queen.