“You think I haven’t thought about that? Life is like that. I mean, not for you, since you have your perfect medicines or whatever.” He said the words mockingly and Tamani suppressed his anger—hadn’t David benefited from faerie elixirs himself? “But that’s how it is here. You don’t know if you’re going to die next month or next week or in eighty years. It’s a chance you take and it’s worth it if you really love each other.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“That’s just something you tell yourself,” David said, looking Tamani full in the face. “It makes you sure you’ll win in the end.”
That stung a little; it was something he had told himself, frequently, over the last few years. “I’ve always been sure I was going to win,” Tamani said softly. “I only wanted to know when.”
David made a soft scoffing sound and looked away.
“Do you remember what I said, about Lancelot?”
“He was Guinevere’s faerie guardian,” David said, “at least according to your version of the story.”
Tamani sighed. The boy was being difficult, but at least he was listening. “Fear-gleidhidh does mean ‘guardian,’ but maybe not in the sense you’re thinking. Fear-gleidhidh is as much a . . . an overseer as a protector. Lancelot’s job included protecting Guinevere’s life, but it was also his job to protect Avalon—to do whatever he had to do so that Guinevere could succeed in her mission. To see to it that she didn’t back out.”
“And you’re Laurel’s Fear-gleidhidh.”
“I don’t know how much Laurel has told you about this, but I knew her . . . before. From the day Laurel left Avalon, I did everything I could to become her appointed guardian. Every choice I’ve made in life—every minute of training—was in pursuit of that position. Because I wanted whoever was out here watching her to be someone who loved her—not some indifferent taskmaster. Who better to guide and protect her than someone who loved her as much as I do?”
David shook his head ruefully and started to speak.
Tamani cut him off. “But I was wrong.”
Interest and suspicion showed in David’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Love clouded my judgment. I knew she valued her privacy, so even though she never knew she was being watched, I scaled down observation at the cabin. Her family moved away while I wasn’t looking. Until she came back, I was afraid I’d failed Avalon and Laurel both. We posted sentries here, and I wanted to come—but I wanted to be near Laurel as much as I wanted to protect her—maybe more. So I stayed away because I wanted to come for the wrong reason, and I convinced myself that a bad reason was the same as a bad choice. And now I’m here, and I have to say, watching her with you has been misery. Loving her so much has made me very bad at my job. Like that night with the trolls. I should have gone after them. But I couldn’t leave her.”
“What if there had been trolls waiting around the corner? What if the first group had been there to simply lure you away?”
Tamani shook his head. “I should have trusted my backups. Don’t get me wrong, I intend to do my job. But my reasons for being here are different than the faux-noble ideals I once had. I would die to keep her safe, and I used to think that made me special. But the fact is, so would any of the sentries. And sometimes I wonder if Laurel would be safer with someone else as her Fear-gleidhidh.”
“So why don’t you quit?” David asked.
Tamani laughed and shook his head. “I can’t quit.”
“No, really. If you think she’s safer, wouldn’t it be your duty to quit?”
“It doesn’t work like that. I took a life oath that bound me to Laurel. This is my job until I die.”
“Forever?”
Tamani nodded. “If Laurel is outside Avalon, at any time, she is my responsibility. So if she decides to stay with you and the two of you go traipsing off to college, guess who’s coming along?” Tamani pointed an index finger at the ceiling, then spun it to point at himself.
“What!”
“One way or another. I’ll watch her from a distance, silently and without her knowledge, if that’s what it takes. And no matter how long you live—I’ll be around when you’re gone. I get to spend my entire life either with Laurel, or watching over her while she’s with someone else. Bliss or torture—there’s really no middle ground.”
“Forgive me for saying I hope it’s torture,” David said wryly.
“Oh, I understand,” Tamani said. “And I don’t begrudge you your feelings. But in all that time I worked to become her Fear-gleidhidh, I never imagined that my feelings for Laurel would make me a poor protector. And sometimes it gets the better of me and I do things I know I shouldn’t.” He hesitated. “Like hitting innocent bystanders just to make myself feel better. That was very unprofessional of me and I apologize.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Unprofessional?”
“Yes,” Tamani replied.
David snickered, coughed, then laughed full-out. “Unprofessional,” he muttered.
Humans have the strangest sense of humor.
“Well, I’m not sorry,” David said, but his grin was good-natured. “I wanted to hit you, you wanted me to hit you—I’d say we both got what we wanted.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“That’s just something you tell yourself,” David said, looking Tamani full in the face. “It makes you sure you’ll win in the end.”
That stung a little; it was something he had told himself, frequently, over the last few years. “I’ve always been sure I was going to win,” Tamani said softly. “I only wanted to know when.”
David made a soft scoffing sound and looked away.
“Do you remember what I said, about Lancelot?”
“He was Guinevere’s faerie guardian,” David said, “at least according to your version of the story.”
Tamani sighed. The boy was being difficult, but at least he was listening. “Fear-gleidhidh does mean ‘guardian,’ but maybe not in the sense you’re thinking. Fear-gleidhidh is as much a . . . an overseer as a protector. Lancelot’s job included protecting Guinevere’s life, but it was also his job to protect Avalon—to do whatever he had to do so that Guinevere could succeed in her mission. To see to it that she didn’t back out.”
“And you’re Laurel’s Fear-gleidhidh.”
“I don’t know how much Laurel has told you about this, but I knew her . . . before. From the day Laurel left Avalon, I did everything I could to become her appointed guardian. Every choice I’ve made in life—every minute of training—was in pursuit of that position. Because I wanted whoever was out here watching her to be someone who loved her—not some indifferent taskmaster. Who better to guide and protect her than someone who loved her as much as I do?”
David shook his head ruefully and started to speak.
Tamani cut him off. “But I was wrong.”
Interest and suspicion showed in David’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Love clouded my judgment. I knew she valued her privacy, so even though she never knew she was being watched, I scaled down observation at the cabin. Her family moved away while I wasn’t looking. Until she came back, I was afraid I’d failed Avalon and Laurel both. We posted sentries here, and I wanted to come—but I wanted to be near Laurel as much as I wanted to protect her—maybe more. So I stayed away because I wanted to come for the wrong reason, and I convinced myself that a bad reason was the same as a bad choice. And now I’m here, and I have to say, watching her with you has been misery. Loving her so much has made me very bad at my job. Like that night with the trolls. I should have gone after them. But I couldn’t leave her.”
“What if there had been trolls waiting around the corner? What if the first group had been there to simply lure you away?”
Tamani shook his head. “I should have trusted my backups. Don’t get me wrong, I intend to do my job. But my reasons for being here are different than the faux-noble ideals I once had. I would die to keep her safe, and I used to think that made me special. But the fact is, so would any of the sentries. And sometimes I wonder if Laurel would be safer with someone else as her Fear-gleidhidh.”
“So why don’t you quit?” David asked.
Tamani laughed and shook his head. “I can’t quit.”
“No, really. If you think she’s safer, wouldn’t it be your duty to quit?”
“It doesn’t work like that. I took a life oath that bound me to Laurel. This is my job until I die.”
“Forever?”
Tamani nodded. “If Laurel is outside Avalon, at any time, she is my responsibility. So if she decides to stay with you and the two of you go traipsing off to college, guess who’s coming along?” Tamani pointed an index finger at the ceiling, then spun it to point at himself.
“What!”
“One way or another. I’ll watch her from a distance, silently and without her knowledge, if that’s what it takes. And no matter how long you live—I’ll be around when you’re gone. I get to spend my entire life either with Laurel, or watching over her while she’s with someone else. Bliss or torture—there’s really no middle ground.”
“Forgive me for saying I hope it’s torture,” David said wryly.
“Oh, I understand,” Tamani said. “And I don’t begrudge you your feelings. But in all that time I worked to become her Fear-gleidhidh, I never imagined that my feelings for Laurel would make me a poor protector. And sometimes it gets the better of me and I do things I know I shouldn’t.” He hesitated. “Like hitting innocent bystanders just to make myself feel better. That was very unprofessional of me and I apologize.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Unprofessional?”
“Yes,” Tamani replied.
David snickered, coughed, then laughed full-out. “Unprofessional,” he muttered.
Humans have the strangest sense of humor.
“Well, I’m not sorry,” David said, but his grin was good-natured. “I wanted to hit you, you wanted me to hit you—I’d say we both got what we wanted.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
