Return to Camelot
Ray was trapped in a nightmare, being chased by Gertrude and dozens of her children. Some of them had ATOM suits in Constantine's livery and had figured out how to fire lasers at him. The worst part was, at some point, he realized he must be dreaming, but he still couldn't make himself wake up.
He ran in a zig-zag pattern, ducking dino-lasers and shouting at himself to wake up. He dodged again and dropped off a cliff he was sure had just appeared in front of him, and began to spin into a free fall just like when he'd missed catching Nate's hand in the temporal zone.
Suddenly, Ray felt someone's arms on him, shaking him hard. Constantine come to kill him? He flailed, but was so dazed, his attacker never lost his grip. "No! NO!!"
"Wake up, sir! You're dreaming!"
Breathing hard, Ray opened his eyes and saw who was holding him. He gasped and a huge smile spread across his face. "Oh my God. Nate?!" Nate looked confused, but Ray didn't care. He was overjoyed, and he stood up and threw his arms around his friend, choking back a sob.
The moment his arms circled Nate, Ray knew something was wrong. The man stiffened and didn't return the embrace. He didn't feel right in Ray's arms, either. Too small, and he didn't fit Ray's embrace the way he was used to.
Ray pulled back, looking at the man more carefully. He drew back sharply, and the other man stepped hastily back from the bed. Now that he was fully awake, Ray could easily see this was not Nate. His hair was longer, he was a good twenty years too young, a few inches shorter and (as he'd felt with the hug) a bit slighter of build.
A crushing disappointment hit Ray like a tidal wave, and he turned away fast, holding his breath to keep from sobbing out loud. As it was, he couldn't keep the tears at bay. He wanted to scream. His head hurt from trying to control himself, and he felt a physical ache in his arms from the loss of what he'd expected to feel. He wrapped his arms around himself and fought to stop the tears.
"I... I beg your pardon, Your Grace," the boy stammered. "Shall I leave y-"
"No!" Ray spun around, arm outstretched, hand shaking. Both he and not-Nate seemed alarmed by his vehemence. Ray swallowed hard and with forced calm said, "No, you need not go. Just give me a moment, please."
"Yes, Your Majesty," he said, bowing deeply. He took a few more steps backward and stood with his head bowed, giving Ray privacy.
Ray sank down onto the bed, shut his eyes and started taking the deep, measured breaths he recommended in his first wilderness survival guide. "The first key to success in survival situations is calm. If not in immediate danger, you may want to take a moment to try one of these simple breathing exercises. They help reduce stress and improve focus, both of which will serve you well while you're moving through this difficult patch."
Slowly, Ray was able to stop the tears, and quell his shaking arms. He took one more breath, opened his eyes and forced himself to look at the doppelgänger. Even with his head bowed, Ray recognized Nate's features, and had to focus to keep from crying again. He remembered his prayer from the night before, and could have laughed at the cruel irony. Here was the face he wanted to see, but it wasn't the person he loved, and there was still no way to get to Nate. Was this how Nate had felt when Charlie joined the team? Next time I pray, I'll have to be more specific.
Ray bit back the bitterness he could feel trying to rise in him. He'd been glad to have Constantine as an ally and a familiar face. He felt a sudden anxiety at the thought that this relationship would turn out as bad as that, but pushed the thought away immediately.
This young man had none of the brash cockiness of Constantine. He was dressed as a high-ranking servant, or possibly a squire, though he seemed a little too old for that to be the case. Either way, it was unlikely he could have a stake in Ray's downfall. It was going to be okay.
Ray stood up again and put on his robe. "Come forward, young man." Not-Nate bowed and looked up, expression still nervous. He came forward and waited, hands at his sides. "What is your name, lad?"
"James, Your Majesty," he answered, sounding vaguely like Ray thought a very young Nate might have sounded. "James of the High Woods."
Ray smiled. "Well, James. You must think I am quite mad."
"Oh no, Your Grace!"
"It's quite all right. I apologize for startling you when I woke. You remind me of a... a very good friend, and just waking, I thought you were him. I'm sorry."
James bowed. "Please, no need to apologize, Sire."
"Thank you, James, you are very kind. And thank you for waking me."
"You're quite welcome, Majesty."
"Now. What brings you here, James?"
The young man smiled. "I was told to report to you, Your Grace. It is known you have chosen no squires since your return from foreign lands. I am to serve as your squire, if you will have me."
Ray smiled, but he felt his hackles rise. It made sense, but why now? The day after the coronation and Constantine's death threats? He hated to think this could be a trap of some kind, using a boy with Nate's face. But he had to consider the possibility.
"Who sent you to me, lad?"
James' smile faltered somewhat. "It was Sir Gareth, Your Grace."
Ray understood why James' demeanor had changed. Gareth was a close friend of Constantine. Ray frowned, disappointed at the thought that he might not be able to trust someone wearing Nate's face. "I see," he said. James looked down, but Ray had the feeling it wasn't a guilty move. "Tell me, James," he said seriously. "You seem mature enough to know the climate at court right now." Here, James' shoulders slumped. "Tell me truly. Why did Gareth send you to me?"
James' head drooped even more, and Ray could see his cheeks turning red. "I... I..." He shook his head.
"You don't have to be afraid to speak the truth, James," Ray said gently. "Neither Gareth nor Constantine will know what you say."
James sighed and looked up at Ray. He met Ray's eyes, but only for a moment before he focused somewhere above Ray's head. "I believe he wants to bring you shame, Your Grace. To embarrass and insult you."
"Did he tell you to do something to me? Loosen my armor, or-"
"No, I would never!" Then he cringed and bowed. "A thousand pardons for interrupting you, Sire."
"It's all right, lad," Ray said. "I'm glad you're passionate about that. But if not something like that, then how would you plan on embarrassing me?"
James lowered his head again. "It's not... the... I-" He sighed, his face flushing a deep red. "I... I am the embarrassment, Sire. Having me as your squire is the insult." His face and neck were beet-red, and his voice quivered as he spoke.
"I don't understand that." James tried, but he didn't seem able to speak. Ray approached the young man and put a hand on his shoulder. He was shivering ever so slightly. "I'm sorry it hurts you to speak of this, James," Ray said. "But I need to understand."
James looked up, and his eyes glistened with tears. "I... I am two and twenty, Your Grace. I should have been a knight four years ago, but I can never be knighted."
"Why is that?"
"Because I-" James lowered his eyes again. "Because I cannot fight, sir. My... my body is cursed, Your Grace." Ray gasped. "Yes, sir," James said, misunderstanding the reason for his surprise. "If I fall, or am struck, my bruises take far longer to heal that anyone else's. That, I could stand. But the first time I was cut in a sparring match, I bled so much the doctors feared I would die. They wanted to send me home, but I pleaded with King Arthur and he allowed me to stay and serve whatever knight would have me. Gareth is the latest, but... I know he has given me to you because he knows I will be of no use to you in a battle. I haven't done more than polish a sword sheath since I was twelve!"
James brushed hastily at the tears he couldn't hold back. Ray felt like his heart was breaking, seeing this two-inches-too-small version of Nate, devastated at having been used as the butt of Constantine's joke. Ray put both hands on James' shoulders. "I am so sorry, James," he said. "I'm sorry about your illness, and I'm sorry you've been made to feel like an insult for something that you can't control."
"Th-thank you, Your Grace,"
"It can't be easy watching the other squires advance." James shook his head. "Have you ever considered becoming a scribe, or going into the clergy? Do you read and write well?"
James shook his head and looked up at Ray. "No, Majesty. I... I mean yes, I can read and write French, German and Latin well." Ray grinned. "But I don't want to be a scribe or a priest. The only thing I have ever wanted is to become a knight and perform brave feats in the service of Camelot. It is hard to stay a squire forever, but I'd rather serve the other knights than be forced to leave this place." He looked worried suddenly. "You won't send me away, will you, Your Majesty? Oh please, I-"
"Fear not, lad," Ray said. "You clearly love Camelot very much. Arthur must have seen that, too. If he would not force you to go, I certainly will not."
James' face lighted with a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"You're welcome, James. And I won't allow Constantine to use you as an insult to me, either."
James' bright mood deflated immediately. "Oh. I... I understand, Sire."
"I'm not sure you do," Ray said. "I will gladly accept you as my squire, James." The glowing smile was back instantly. "I do want you to know, though. There are many ways to serve Camelot without using a sword - especially for someone fluent in four languages. You have much to be proud of, James. Remember that if anyone tries to make you feel lesser because of your illness."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"We will discuss the best way to use those skills. But I will also address the gaps in your training."
"Gaps, Your Grace?"
Ray winked. "I'm going to teach you how to fight. Safely."
James gave him a face-splitting grin. "You will?!"
"Yes, I will. It may take time for me to find a way, but I will. Meantime, you may thank Sir Gareth for me, and I will see you at breakfast after I'm dressed."
"Yes, Your Majesty," James said, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Your Grace, thank you so much!"
"You're welcome, James." The young man grinned and backed out of the room.
Ray sat down in one of the plush arm chairs in his chambers and took a deep breath. He felt so conflicted and confused. The bitterness he'd started to feel at the bizarre "answer" to his prayer was gone. He was grateful to have some part of Nate near him, even if it was one of his ancestors. But it was still upsetting to have to see Nate's face and know it wasn't Nate. He thought it should have helped, but he felt even more lonely now than he had before.
His head started to hurt again, as he imagined seeing more and more of his friends' faces without their memories or personalities. He imagined his hopes rising again and again, to be dashed again and again. All while not-Constantine glared and sharpened knives on one side of him, and not-Nate smiled happily at being appreciated while unintentionally taunting Ray by wearing Nate's face on the other. He longed to talk to someone, but there was no one he could tell any of this to. Not here. He'd be kicked off the throne and locked in an asylum.
If he was honest, he didn't want to talk to "someone" anyway. He wanted to talk to Nate. If only there was a way to reach him, or... Ray sat up suddenly, an idea coming to him in a flash. He had no idea how effective it would be, since he couldn't risk sharing too much, but he could at least get some things off his chest, and maybe feel a connection to Nate. And Ray knew Nate wrote his first doctoral thesis on the connection (or lack of connection) between myth and history, so it was within the realm of possibility that Nate would find it.
That thought seemed to fill Ray with renewed energy and hope. There was no beacon, and no possibility of changing the timeline on purpose to get the Legends' attention. But this might be a chance. And even if it didn't get him out of here, at least there was a chance he could let Nate know some of how he felt, and maybe lessen some of this terrible loneliness.