Reel Three

Daniel stared in horror at the sight of Clarent shoved all the way through Bedivere.

Mordred planted his foot on Bedivere’s back next to Clarent and kicked him off the blade. “I knew letting you two run free would pay off. Now there’s nothing stopping me from ending things with my father.”

Daniel disagreed. He could think of five things stopping Mordred. And Daniel promptly introduced him to all five with each shot from his revolver before scrambling to his feet with a charge. Ramming his shoulder into Mordred’s armor hurt like hell.

With Mordred knocked back, Daniel rushed over to Bedivere. He wasn’t a medical doctor but he knew the wound would be fatal.

Bedivere coughed up a mouthful of blood. “My legs. I can’t…” He reached out a hand to crawl inside. Excalibur fell out of his hand.

“I’ll cover you.” Daniel started shoving the last six rounds into his revolver, which he slid back into the holster. He kneeled down to pick up Excalibur and felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn’t all from knowing he held a sword of legend in his hands, either.

Mordred was already back on his feet. A dull red glow shone out from the holes Daniel had plugged him with. It was easy to forget that Clarent itself let Mordred treat those shots as a suggestion.

“You’d wield my father’s blade against me? A seasoned knight?” Mordred laughed. “Bedivere was a fool to put his faith in you.”

It was a foolish idea. But as long as Mordred had that sword, it didn’t matter how many rounds Daniel had left. Mordred was faster than Daniel expected. The armor barely weighed him down.

All Daniel could do was defend himself. He wanted to think it was a good defense. But no. Mordred was having his way with Daniel. Every other block led to Mordred hitting him with the pommel of his blade or striking him across the face with his hands.

Mordred’s smile sealed it in Daniel’s mind. He was being toyed with. That was the only reason Mordred hadn’t already plunged his sword into him.

Daniel managed to block a downward slash from Mordred and finally made his move. He pushed back on Clarent with Excalibur just enough to buy himself two seconds. But that was all he needed.

Because in those two seconds, Daniel stepped to the side, pulled out his revolver, and fired it point-blank into Mordred’s sword hand.

Five left.

Mordred dropped Clarent in shock, clutching his hand in pain. That gave Daniel all the time to fire every round he had left into Mordred, knocking him down once again before kicking Clarent away.

Without Clarent to help Mordred cling to life, he quickly found he hadn’t the strength to rise again. No cursed magic to keep him going. All he could do was bleed out on the grass, left alone as Daniel marched into the church.

---

Daniel closed the church door behind him and found Bedivere resting against a great stone slab at the far end of the church. Laying on that slab was a brown-haired man with a graying beard, still dressed in his armor and clutching a sword scabbard as blue as the ocean.

There was no time to appreciate King Arthur’s presence. Daniel knelt down to Bedivere.

“I suppose this was always my fate,” mourned Bedivere. “Destined to see my King one last time. Serving him to my last.”

Daniel threw one of Bedivere’s arms over his shoulder and helped him up to see Arthur. He pulled the last healing potion from his pack and popped it open. “I need you to drink this.”

Bedivere shook his head. “We agreed it was for the King.”

“It is. It has to be administered orally. From someone else’s mouth.”

“T-Truly?!” blushed Bedivere.

No. But he didn’t need to know that. Daniel was a firm believer in old-fashioned romance.

Daniel slid Excalibur back into its scabbard before gently helping Bedivere onto the slab and atop the slumbering Arthur. Then he handed Bedivere the bottle. “Any last words?”

Bedivere shook his head. He was careful not to spill a drop from the last glass bottle. With tears in his eyes, Bedivere craned down his head and planted his lips onto Arthur’s for the first time in over a thousand years.

The potion slowly dripped out of Bedivere’s mouth and into Arthur’s as his kiss lingered. Daniel gasped when he saw one of Arthur’s fingers twitch –

And then a bright white light blinded Daniel.

----

Daniel jerked awake on the hardwood floor.

This was not a church. No, this was the tourist trap bar back in Bermuda. It was still as full of beer advertisements (and empty of actual people) as he remembered.

He pulled himself up back onto the barstool and nursed his aching head. The bartender chuckled and slid Daniel a glass of water. “Think that’s enough for you today.”

No, no, he’d just been in Avalon. He was there, he – he knew it was a waste of time to explain it. Daniel sipped at his water in silence.

The television hanging from the ceiling was on that news channel still, though the coverage was a far cry from what Daniel remembered.

“All of Great Britain is preparing for the upcoming coronation of its new King. After an extensive search by genealogists and some negotiations by Parliament , Mister Arthur Tintagel accepted the regnal name Arthur and now heads the newly formed House of Pendragon alongside his spouse, the Prince Bedivere Tintagel.”

Daniel spat out his water. On the screen was Sir Bedivere wearing a dark turtleneck and waving a prosthetic hand at the camera. Arthur leaned in from off-camera and placed a peck on his cheek.

“Good for you,” Daniel chuckled under his breath. He raised his half-full glass of water to the happy couple. He questioned how this was at all possible for a moment before glancing back down at his bag. His experiences with the Atlas of Anomalies always raised more questions than they answered.

He saw the bartender nod at someone entering the bar. And then he heard a stern English accent behind him. “Excuse me.”

Daniel spun around to see a man perfectly matching that stern English accent. Impeccably dressed and trimmed, from his suit to the black mustache adorning his upper lip.

“I was informed,” said the man, “that I was to receive a Mister Daniel Taylor at this specific establishment at this specific time. I presume you are he.”

Daniel nodded.

“I am here on behalf of His Majesty and the Prince to personally inform you that you are to be invited to His Highness’s coronation next week. I presume given the short notice and your current attire that you are ill-prepared for such an event, but corrections can be made.” He pulled a manilla envelope out from his suit jacket. “You will find all the necessary information inside.”

It wasn’t that Daniel didn’t understand anything this gentleman had told him. It was the combination and order that confused him. He supposed Bedivere must have remembered what happened on Avalon. “I understand.”

“Furthermore,” continued the gentleman, “the Prince wishes for me to inform you that following the coronation, you will be given a knighthood in a private ceremony.”

Knighted? “…He is aware I’m an American.”

The gentleman cracked a dry smile. “No one is perfect. You are to be the first person to receive the honor of being appointed to the realm’s newest order of chivalry. The Order of the Round Table.”

If Daniel had been drinking during this conversation he surely would have spat it out at the gentleman.

“I take my leave… Sir Daniel Taylor.”

Daniel braced himself against the bar in shock. This was the sort of thing he might’ve dreamed of as a child. Now he had a busy week ahead of him. Including a burning question of how the hell he was supposed to cross the Atlantic Ocean with whatever was in his wallet and a seaplane.

Well. That and a certain book.

So much for a well-earned rest in Bermuda. He couldn’t keep his friend waiting.