Little Gawain's Determination
"Morgan, this scabbard is none other than Avalon, the sheath of Excalibur," Lott said proudly, showcasing the unique abilities of the scabbard he had gifted to Morgan.
This scabbard was said to grant partial immortality and heal any injury—truly a perfect armour. Naturally, Lott had given it to Morgan without a second thought, caring far more for her safety than his own.
"Well, let's see you use it," Morgan responded, her curiosity piqued.
Lott, however, didn't reply. Instead, he confidently stated, "If I can catch this, I can get an even better one. Don't you believe me, Morgan?"
Seeing his resolve, Morgan reluctantly accepted the scabbard but added, "Alright, but remember what you said. If you can't handle it, and danger arises, I'll rush to protect you."
Lott quickly covered her mouth with his hand. "Hey, don't say things that will jinx us! I promise, if danger comes, let Altria go first, okay?"
Morgan nodded, satisfied. This was the reassurance she needed—her husband understood the risks, and they shared a moment of laughter.
Feeling playful, Morgan leaned against Lott, wanting to act a little babyish. But just as she settled in, a little girl's exclamation broke the moment.
"Hey!" Morgan quickly sat up, startled. They both turned to see little Gawain standing a short distance away, looking quite pleased with herself.
"Why are you here?" Lott narrowed his eyes, concern etched on his face. "It's quite a distance from Chalk City, and you're just a child! Isn't it dangerous to be here?"
Morgan glanced around, half-expecting to find something to discipline the child with. If only there were artefacts from the era of the Seven Wolves; little Gawain would surely have been in for a lesson.
"Well, I haven't seen my father in ages!" Gawain exclaimed with a bright smile, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
As she recounted her adventure—how she skillfully escaped through a wall in the palace and hopped onto a grain transport carriage—Lott and Morgan exchanged worried glances.
"Um, do you have anything to eat now? I'm really hungry after that journey," little Gawain said, rubbing her stomach.
At this, Lott and Morgan looked at each other, realizing Gawain had made two crucial mistakes. First, she didn't grasp the seriousness of the situation, smiling at them as if she'd done nothing wrong. Second, she only mentioned her father, neglecting her mother entirely.
Lott couldn't help but reflect on a saying: "Heaven does evil, you can still violate it; if you do evil, you can't live." With a sigh, he turned to leave, but little Gawain tugged at his clothes.
"Dad, what are we going to eat?" she persisted, her eyes wide with innocence.
"This…" Lott knelt, gently patting her head. "Your mother will make you fried pork."
Before Gawain could respond, Lott quickly stepped away, leaving her looking puzzled and Morgan's expression growing increasingly fierce.
As Lott stepped outside the castle, he heard Gawain's frustrated scream. "Oh, my dear daughter, I hope you make it through the day," he silently prayed.
He glanced at Galatine, the sword he held, unsure of its fate. Logically, it should belong to Gawain, but she was still a child, not ready for combat against Vortigern. He hesitated, weighing the risks.
A moment later, Morgan emerged, carrying little Gawain, who now understood the weight of the world. Gawain shot Lott a disgruntled look.
"So this is what you call fried pork?" she muttered, disgusted. "It's awful!"
She wanted to pout but, noticing Lott's handsome face, she reconsidered. Handsome father shouldn't be hurt, she thought.
Morgan handed Gawain to Lott and proclaimed, "Let's go have dinner."
"Okay!" Lott said, instantly feeling revitalized. He comforted Gawain and walked back inside with her in his arms.
As they entered, Gawain spotted Galatine at Lott's waist. Curiously, she poked the hilt. "Dad, what kind of sword is this?"
"That's Galatine, the Sword of Revolving Victory," Lott explained.
"Galatine? It sounds so cool!" Gawain bit her thumb, clearly intrigued but not ready to speak up. She knew she wasn't old enough to wield a sword yet, and she respected that.
Lott noticed her curiosity and smiled softly. After a moment, he handed Galatine to little Gawain. "Do you like it? Then it's yours."
Though he understood it might lose some of its effectiveness against Vortigern, it was important to Lott that the sword belonged to Gawain, who adored it. Sometimes, following one's instincts was necessary.
As Morgan watched this exchange, she nodded in approval. While Gawain could be frustrating at times, she was still their child, deserving of their affection.
"But will this affect Dad's plan?" little Gawain asked, her brow furrowed.
"What plan?" Lott chuckled. "Your father plans to give you this sword. Remember, it's a holy sword—something precious your father acquired with great effort. You must cherish it."
Morgan added her authoritative tone, wanting to instil respect in their daughter. She didn't tell Gawain that the sword's acquisition was not as challenging as it sounded; she feared if Gawain knew it came easily, she wouldn't value it as much.
Gawain, sensing her mother's intensity, nodded quickly, hugging Galatine tightly. Although the sword more taller the she was, she held it with determination.