Arthurian Cultivation

They stood before the entrance to a Fae realm—the dream of cultivators. A half-step into the fae, where glamour was plentiful and natural treasures were merely uncommon rather than the rarest of the rare. Any cultivator would kill for the opportunity to enter, battle any guardian, all to claim the bounty within.

Knowing this, Maeve sprinted towards it when they seen it through the blizzard. She only stopped when a hill had rolled over and introduced itself as Ursul, and it turned out she wouldn’t fight any guardian. Especially given the staggering amount of corpses that marked the area.

“A lady of your heritage should not be seen sulking.” Madame Rensleigh appeared beside her with a cup of nettle tea. Maeve was no great fan of the concoction, but she accepted it for the warmth it provided. Even with their cultivation, tent, and rune circle, the cold still found its way in.

“You’re just saying that because you can’t go in, even if the bear wasn’t here,” Maeve muttered, staring at the unnatural circle of trees. She could feel the glamour radiating from the gateway; it was enthralling. She shifted in her chair, looking again at the spirit beast.

Ursul had reduced himself in size, a feat that had baffled even her governess, going from titanic to merely looming. He was happily talking with Elaine, who made up the last member of their trio. She’d helped to smooth over their introduction. The newly minted Steel was catching the bear up on the events of the last couple of decades. Elaine had guided them here, following some technique or method to lead her to the bear, Ursul.

“Perhaps, but it seems I must remind you of Ursul’s warnings. The gateway is unstable, and the realm contains an unknown number of Divine Cultivators. Yet it also contains your target and great riches. Think on what you know. Imagine the bear offers to let you in—would you enter? Should you enter?”

“I…” Maeve paused, biting back the impatient part of her, pushing herself to think.

A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.

“I am one Knight; I would be alone, without assistance. I cannot go in. It would be better to wait, to set a trap. The Divine Cultivators within will have to leave with their bounty. They may even be pushed out by the target and his allies. Or the target could leave with our foes on his heels. Either way, we prepare to kill the Divine Cultivators and take their treasures. Maybe capture a couple for interrogation, especially if the target hasn’t left,” Maeve sighed. “It just feels—”

“Unsatisfying?” Rensleigh offered, and Maeve nodded. “Yet you know it’s the right solution. It’s thinking like that which puts you on the path to be a leader, not just some Knight.”

“How so?”

“True power comes from excelling at challenges you would never choose to accept. It pushes you to grow, to become more than you were. To forge yourself as a Steel rank cultivator, you cannot merely excel at one thing. Even a legend like the Great Alchemist Trismegistus also had great skill with runes and was a well-respected duellist. You must be more than a blade. This journey has been a good start on expanding your path, especially how well you handled Fosburg.”

Maeve smiled at the rare compliment. The battle for Fosburg had gone exceptionally well. After it became clear Miss Peaches was serious about the idea of dropping her traitorous uncle’s castle off the bridge that housed Fosburg, she’d come up with a plan. She’d got them to set a trap for her. The Magpies had let it be known she was asking some very pointed questions—the kind that would make Roland Fos sweat. She’d at the same time accepted the open invite for dinner, asking for a private chat, just them and their closest retainers.

Given the questions and that her retainer was Madame Rensleigh, the weak Steel lord had decided it was a poorly concealed attempt to get him alone to assassinate him and prepared accordingly. According to the Magpies, his strongest forces had gathered, ready to take her hostage. Too bad she never made it to dinner.

The cackle that had come from Miss Peaches when she’d suggested it had reminded Maeve of her grandmother. The terrifying witch had done something, and the whole castle had slid off the bridge, with their best inside it.

That didn’t kill them all, and merely wounded the two Saints and Roland—they were Steel, after all. But they never managed to gain momentum, and with Ban Fos leading forces made up of his watch and loyalist Orders, the lesser cultivators were easily contained. Still, there was blood on the streets, and Maeve had been part of the forces keeping them penned in to the rich part of the town.

The fighting finally ceased when the statue of Ursul in the main square roared a challenge and announced his return, interrupting Roland, who’d been trying to rally the people of the town to his cause. She would long treasure the look of terror on Roland’s face. The treacherous lord immediately abandoned his forces, and with him fled their fighting spirit. For her first real battle, it went as well as could be hoped.

“It was a good victory, was it not?”

“Indeed, though you should remember how Ursul’s intervention shifted the battle. A piece of luck that tilted things in our favour.”

“What should I take from it? The battle was in hand even without it.”

“I don’t disagree, and still, luck was on our side. Carve the impact of that luck into your soul and think about what if it was you who got unlucky? I guarantee that one day, luck will not be on your side. A mistake will be made. You cannot plan for such things, but you must learn to adapt.” She sipped her tea.

“Should I apply such thinking to the gateway and my target? What if I get unlucky and it closes?”

“A good start. Though let us come back to that; Elaine approaches. She doesn’t need reminding of the danger her daughter is in.”

“Ursul has sensed some oddity with the gateway. Something is happening.”

“Could it be Divine Cultivators?”

“He says it feels different. Bring your weapons.”

They both rose from their seats, armour called from their rings, and swords unsheathed.

“Madame Rensleigh, Elaine, what do you sense from the gateway?” Ursul rumbled, his voice becoming deeper as he grew. Maeve might’ve been insulted to not be included in the question, but she tamped it down; she couldn’t sense a thing through the overwhelming glamour that rolled off the tight ring of ferns.

“It’s an odd mix of glamour, complex and potent,” Elaine commented.

“It reminds me of a fae I met,” Rensleigh said, immediately moving in front of Maeve, who was staring open-mouthed at her governess. What did she mean, ‘a fae I met’? One doesn’t simply meet a fae. She flinched as Rensleigh turned to look at her. “You will stay silent if something other than a person comes out of there.”

She could only nod, her mouth becoming dry. Is this what Rensleigh meant when she said luck wouldn’t always be on your side?

The ferns began to shake as if enduring the ravages of a storm. They all paced back from the thrashing greenery, just in time to avoid a torrent of autumn leaves, each one big enough to be a flag flown from a castle tower.

The leaves boiled out, and while some blew away, others gathered, forming an odd collection of shapes. Eight human shapes, ranging from towering to genteel, and then two other shapes—one a pegasus, the other some form of giant hawk. For a second, all was still and silent, the wind dying down and the statues unmoving.

A screech from the bird began a chaotic few seconds as the figures began to move, shredding the leaves that had wrapped around them.

“What the fuck!” bellowed the giant, tearing off the leaves with both hands.

“Get it off my face.” One of the figures ripped the leaves from herself, revealing a blonde, blue-eyed woman gasping for air. Next to me, Elaine let out a cry of joy—that must be Lancelot.

One of them used wind magic to shred their armour and rushed to calm the bird, whose flapping wings were sending gusts in all directions. He looked oddly familiar to Maeve, “Archi—”

“Stop, we're not alone!” A bard with dark hair and grey eyes shouted over the others. Maeve locked her attention on him. This was the man she'd been searching for. He looked nothing like Regus, but her grandmother had warned her not to judge based on appearances.

She could judge by cultivation, though, and the man before her couldn't be Regus. There was a weight to him that spoke of Iron Rank. Her former betrothed cultivation had been crippled, and even if he wasn’t so limited. She might believe him limping to bronze, but even with a fae realm to aid you no one could blast through bronze in a matter of weeks. A wave of despair washed over her—what had she got wrong?

A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.

She nearly looked away, only her intent held her firm, reminding her she needed patience. Her new mindset saved her, she’d have missed the way the bard looked over their group, smiling at Elaine and Ursul before his eyes met hers, and there was the smallest flicker of recognition. It could've been nothing, but his body went stiff for a fraction of a second, as if he were hiding a flinch.

Could it be? She was about to move forward when Elaine charged ahead, engulfing Lancelot in a hug. Maeve could hear the daughter grumbling, but just as she was about to speak, a voice boomed across them all.

“Everyone speak carefully. We are in the company of the highest nobility.” The bard spoke again, his voice amplified by glamour. He nodded in appreciation to a squire in the Order of the Kraken livery. Maeve was so busy comparing this man to Regus that it took her a second to understand what he'd said. Her spine chilled.

“There is a Fae with you?” Rensleigh was suddenly at Maeve's side, blade drawn, eyes scanning every corner.

“There was, I don’t have the skill to tell if they are gone,” he replied earnestly.

Ursul sniffed the air, his inhalation sounding like a gale, and then his voice rumbled, “Something passed us by, it is gone now. What was its business with you?”

“It was sent to keep us safe.” This time, a woman spoke, stepping forward, subtly drawing the group’s focus off the bard. It might've helped, but Maeve recognised the woman from her research into her errant betrothed: Persephone Graille, blood cultivator and former paramour of Regus. She almost laughed, her eyes hunting for the oddity in the bard.

As she did, someone else blocked her view. The very picture of a classic knight stood before her—blonde hair, blue eyes. For a moment, she thought that Lancelot must have a brother, but then the man pressed his gauntlet to his chest and spoke in a familiar, booming tone.

"Lady Chox, it is a pleasure to meet you again…I swear, if either of you two tries to gag me, I will cut you down." Maeve felt her grip on the moment slipping away as Arthur Quilvern stood before her, glaring over his shoulder at two knights she now recognised as Gawain and Bors. The two froze, with the big man’s arms going from reaching out to giving her an awkward wave. "The honourable bear has said Mercury has gone. And as long as we don't use our given names, we should be safe. I believe we last met at your uncle's soirée, and I am pleased to see that since then you broke through to Iron. It is an achievement worth celebrating."

"Indeed, I hope you can forgive me if I don’t address you by your full title, Prince Quilvern. I appreciate your kind words.” Maeve fumbled for words, completely off-kilter. Why was a member of the Albion Royal family here? She’d met him and the others a few times at functions, and this was undeniably the prince. For a moment, she wondered if they were here for Regus, like Tristan Artoss had been. But no, Arthur had turned knight errant and had been seen sowing chaos among Divine Cultivators.

She shot a look at Elaine and Ursul as she spoke, ensuring they understood exactly who else had joined this mess. To her surprise, Elaine was staring a hole through the prince, her eyes occasionally flickering back to her daughter. They had an uncanny resemblance. Maeve added that to her collection of oddities to explore.

“Well, it is a pleasure to see you again,” the knight said. He had a charming smile, but she really didn’t have time for it right now; she had a bard to secure. She took a breath, fighting back the urge to fob off the prince and ask about the bard, when Rensleigh saved her.

"Did you say Mercury?" Rensleigh asked, a grim look on her face. The name clearly meant something to her.

“Indeed, a Fae named Mercury. I understand that he's here for Taliesin, a man formerly known to you as Regus.” The prince said and calmly looked to the bard, who just threw his head back and sighed before glaring back at him. Maeve felt a current of worry—why was a Fae interested in him? Was this connected to the Lady?

Taliesin placed his hands on his hips and stared at Arthur before clicking his tongue. “You know, I've been wanting to say it for a while, but you're being a right prick.”

“What?” Arthur's jaw dropped, and Maeve managed to school her expression, locking it down to a neutral mask.

“I mean seriously. We fought through Inquisitors, a small army, and hunted for you in a Fae realm, facing even more Inquisitors and a demented madman. And then you throw me at the mercy of the first person you meet.”

"You're the one who ran from your obligations.”

"I ran from all the knives she threw at me! Or did you miss that everyone else at that wedding was slaughtered?” Despite his brutal assessment, Maeve couldn't fully hide the grin; she finally had confirmation. This was him.

"A true knight doesn't run," Arthur shouted back, and even his entourage couldn’t seem to look at him.

“How many times do I have to say this? I. Am. A. Bard!”

"You can't use that as an excuse. Why are you shaking your head?" Arthur turned to the giant.

“Arty, he has a point. He's stood at your side in battle. Even if you disagreed, you should’ve spoken to him first. So, yeah, kind of a prickish thing to do.” Then, in a stage whisper, “Kinda like leaving your friend on a bridge while you all explored a Fae realm.”

“Agreed,” Persephone said, looking furious. Arthur turned his head to his other retainer, but Gawain was suddenly very involved in looking after what Maeve assumed was his bonded beast.

"Not you too?"

"Arty," the knight fumbled with overly familiar name, "while I would never use that word, I would say it was—callous. You should've at least given Taliesin the chance to introduce himself."

Arthur looked genuinely shocked and searched for support until his eyes landed on Lancelot, who smirked. "Don't look at me for help. I have other words I could use, and I don't think you'd like them."

“Is that an Inquisitor?” Elaine, a veteran of her daughters social skills, shifted the conversation, pointing at the last figure hiding behind a pegasus. The squire from the Order of the Kraken showed remarkable bravery by stepping between her and Ursul, who leaned in to inspect.

“This is someone who was forcibly converted but aided us and proved her innocence and valour. Mercury didn’t believe she was a Divine Cultivator, which should be good enough for all of us,” Taliesin said, before letting out a long sigh, he turned to Maeve. “Lady Chox, I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

“So, you’re not dead, then.” She replied, her tone more acidic than she intended. A result of the side of her which rejoiced at her success battling the frustrations of the past weeks.

“Currently? No.” He replied with a faint smile. Compared to his companions, he stood out—not just because of his outfit but because he alone looked fresh. The others were battered from battle, stained with soot, with an underlying sense of exhaustion. He looked unnaturally hale and tidy, as if ready to perform at court.

She compared him to her last memory of him, with mousy blonde hair, a thin, reedy body, and blood pouring from every part of his face. The only thing that was the same was that smile. It hinted at mischief, a knowing look that suggested he held secrets. Her mood wasn't helped by knowing he was in fact made up entirely of secrets. Maeve didn't let it irritate her, channelling the patience she’d learned from his example.

"My grandmother, the Raven, wishes to speak with you. I've been tasked with finding you and escorting you to her. She would like to reward you for… services rendered." Maeve felt her intent thrum through her. All this stumbling around, bumping into ancient witches, and fighting battles was worth it for this moment. She was the blade, poised and patient, finally striking.

"While I’m sure she does, your grandmother will have to wait." A new voice announced itself, and Maeve turned, ready to slash out at the interloper, threaten them with the full might of the Chox, only to swallow her words. Walking through the snow were two figures, and she didn’t know which scared her more.

One was a towering figure, antlers trailing streams of living silver behind. Sharp features and eyes made of mirrors—this had to be the Fae they’d mentioned.

The second figure she knew. The man had the same easy smile and relaxed posture she’d last seen in her grandmother’s study. Pellinore Artoss in the flesh.

He released the smallest shred of his power, and they all knelt, bowing instinctively. All but the Fae and the bard. Her target regarded him carefully, looked to weigh something, and then inclined his head, gently. It wasn’t the proper level of deference, yet the patriarch made no move to correct him. If anything, his smile grew wider.

“I am Pellinore Artoss.” He didn't hesitate to say his name before the fae, and she could feel why, something about his name resonated with the world. It struck her hearth, and presence of the fae that had started to swell was diminished. The Fae didn't react, standing beside him, grinning clearly enjoying some unspoken joke. “And… isn’t it bloody cold out here? Mercury, if you’d be so kind.”

“This is beneath me,” the horned Fae grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I can tell you had fun. What’s one little fae path?” Even frozen under his power, Maeve saw a flinch spread among the others. Fae paths were incredibly demanding uses of glamour, allowing one to create a safe tunnel through the Fae realm to link two distant places.

"You have ascended to Mithril. I am impressed, Pel." Ursul rose first, addressing the patriarch. He shrunk down to his more reasonable size as he spoke.

“Ursul! You furry bastard, where have you been? It’s good to see you. And Lady Fos, you’re Steel now—congratulations! I don’t believe I ever thanked you for the lovely recipes you sent over. Is this your daughter? I’ve heard she’s unmatched with a blade.” The patriarch beamed, greeting the factions as he eased the pressure on them, allowing them to move. Maeve felt it ease but not fully lift from her.

"My grandmother would really like to speak with your lost scion." Maeve pushed through the overwhelming sensation of his aura. She couldn’t lose here, not after all her work. She knew he was letting her resist his will but making her fight for it. This was a test.

In her experience, everything with a Mithril was some manner of test.

“Well, we’ll see if he wants to speak with her, but let’s do this somewhere nicer than here. Ursul, I sense you’ve made quite the graveyard here.” Maeve nodded politely at the response even as she seethed inside, all her hard work undone! Rensliegh sensing her anger turned, and mouthed 'adapt'. Maeve drove her fingernails into her palms and breathed deeply. What would Regus do? She turned to look at him and found him looking remarkably stern, his face a neutral mask. It was his eyes that gave him away, he watched Pellinore's every move. It was not the look of someone studying an ally. She calmed herself, there was a chance yet.

“I cannot take full credit, young Taliesin and his comrades, through wit and cunning, slew many and freed me from the runic trap the Divine cultivators were using to contain me.” The bear rumbled.

“Well, that sounds like quite the story—I look forward to hearing it.” Pellinore turned to Taliesin, his eyes glittering with a wide smile. “Seems we have a lot to speak about.”

Light flickered next to the Fae, who she’d almost forgotten in the hurricane of chaos that was the Artoss patriarch’s arrival. Two elms had seemingly grown out of nothing, forming an archway just wide enough for Ursul’s smaller form. Through it, she could see a resplendent hall, servants moving about, clearly waiting for them. It seemed an illusion until she saw snowflakes blow through and melt on the flagstone floor.

“Come, you are all welcome to enjoy my hospitality. Not you, Mercury. It’s been a long time since my home hosted such an array of auspicious guests—royalty, retinue, reformed, bear and cubs, crow and magpie, and even a travelling bard. I invite you to be my guests and when you leave I hope we part as friends.” Something flashed between him and Taliesin as Pellinore ended his speech. Stress that Maeve hadn’t realised the bard was holding seemed to ease, and his stance relaxed.

Taliesin bowed gently to his patriarch, glanced at Persephone, who nodded and then strode through the gateway into the court of the Artoss.