He had managed to sneak through the castle, gathering supplies, acquiring what money he could for his trip and now, as he stepped outside and into the castle courtyard, it dawned on him how serious the situation was.

When he left here, there was no safety net, no turning back. It was him versus destiny, for better or worse.

He made his way through the moonlit courtyard, taking in the sights, absorbing them for what might be the last time, before coming to the castle walls.

They were everything that one would expect from England: Tall, strong and thick things with almost no chance of the unskilled surmounting it.

Galahad, however, was quite the opposite.

As he approached the walls, all it took was a press of his hand against the wall and a brush of his fingers against its hard granite surface and magic took care of the rest, creating a vision of the busy road on the other side of the wall, where what few wandered on this godless hour continued to do so, none the wiser as his spell went off. Before he stepped through the portal and through to the other side, a voice spoke up behind him.

“You know, in my day we just used a hole behind one of the brushes in the garden maze,” his liege commented. Galahad instantly snapped around, dropping to a prostrate position. “Arise, Galahad,” he said in the same beat, used to the young knight’s habit.

“Of course, my liege,” he agreed, snapping back to attention.

“Though I wonder if ‘liege’ is the correct word for me now,” he pondered.

“Sir?” Galahad questioned, looking towards the king.

“You’re disobeying a direct order. We both know what you’re out here for.”

Galahad stood, not flinching at the accusation, but not jumping in defense of himself. Swallowing, he gathered up his words and his courage, before finally facing the king.

“May I speak freely, Arthur?” he questioned.

“Speak not as a knight, but as a friend, Galahad, and I shall listen not as a king,” he agreed.

Nodding, Galahad crossed his arms and stared up into the heavens for but a moment longer, a shooting star out of the corner of his eye feeling like an encouragement from his mother.

“My father was a rash one, was he not?”

“Verily,” King Arthur agreed. “Brash, aggressive, but a noble soul none-the-less.” His gaze judged Galahad, and judged him fairly. “A soul you’ve inherited.”

“If, indeed, my father lives through me, then you understand why I must go.”

“Galahad, it is not a vision you saw. It was a dream.”

“Arthur, I trust your observations with my heart and soul more oft than my own view upon the earth. But would you dismiss the wise men divining the birth of the king of kings from the stars above?”

“It’s impossible, Tirek died. Your father threw his body into the ocean almost twenty years ago.”

“I’ve seen him,” Galahad countered, thrusting his fingers into his chest. The soul-folk stared at Arthur. “I’ve described him down to the letter to you and you still doubt it’s more than a mere flight-of-fancy of the mind?!”

“I am just stating that caution is the wiser course. Magic, especially divination, is not a woman to trifle with. It could mean anything, you realize?”

“Tirek was approaching a golden grail carried by a woman clad in pure, snowy samite. With every footstep he took, decay grew more rampant, until he clasped the grail in his hands and the world grew dark. Even the machinations of fools could understand the implications,” he countered. “I was given a task—a divine task—I have to stop him before he finds the grail!”

“And how do you propose you’ll do such a thing?” Arthur replied, his patience wearing thin at the man.

“Ask your wife. Guinevere has been more than kind assisting me, as has Merlin. They’ve been able to isolate the grail to a country in the east. It’s now only a matter of scouring the land to find it there. It’s only you that seems to have doubts to the validity of my beliefs.”

“If I acted on every flight of fancy that came to mind, we’d be at war with half the world.”

“This isn’t a flight of fancy! This isn’t a whim! This is a calling!” Galahad snapped back, his tone rising. “Why can you not see that? Do you think I’m unworthy of such a thing?”

Arthur was a man that, when displeased, it was an obvious thing. But it was a quiet thing, a solam disappointment rather than something full of sound and fury and, though Galahad had angered him, he pressed on in his same careful tone.

“I believe you to be acting too hastily, ready to spill blood and swing at something obscured in rumor or shadow. I was the same at your age. I’ll ask again: reconsider. Stay here with your wife and child. Do not go tilting at windmills or ghosts you wretched fool. You’re a beacon to many people here. It’s rare to see a soul-folk with your mastery of power. My daughters would be eager to be your student alongside their tutelage from Merlin. You’re like my own son, I don’t want you to throw your life away.”

Galahad took in another breath, his outburst making him feel ashamed. Though their ages were like the sun and the moon, Galahad considered the all-folk one of his closest friends, their ranks be damned. When you served with someone in the line of combat, rank and state of living did nothing to get in the way of how you treated the people you knew and so he stepped forward, offering his hand.

“You forbade me from pursuing this vision as a knight of the round. ‘Tis true. Yet I wonder, do you forbid me as a father over his son? Will you not let me form my own path?”

Arthur sighed, looking towards the few torches struggling against the night. Finally, his hand met the young soul-folk’s.

“I do not. Leave here at peace, Galahad. Those above know you’ve earned that much in service of me. But know that you will not have the aid of the knight of the round until your return. If you so chose your own path, you will not have me carry you.”

“I will return and I will return with the head of that wicked interloper. My prophecy will not come to light. I swear it.”

With that he turned, stepping through the portal, neither realizing that it would be the last time they ever were to meet.