Sublime

“Your future queen, Guinevere!” The crowd roared, shouting the name Guinevere. Over and over. If only it were actually her name.

“Only Guinevere? Nothing else? I know the power of names.” His words hit her with two meanings. Names that were titles gave power among men. True names gave power among the things that came before men. She focused on the torch to make her voice cheery, like it. “Guinevere, when spoken by you, has power enough.”

Today, the brave warrior who saved my queen—” The crowd roared in approval again, and Arthur let them carry on. Guinevere raised her hand, acknowledging the people, though her only role in this narrative had been to be in peril and be saved.

It’s not a great kingly sword like Caliburn, with garnets cloisonned into the pommel; the blade is not emblazoned with the word of God; the crossguard isn’t inlaid with silver or fashioned like the True Cross. It’s just a well-balanced sword in the Roman style, good for spilling guts; a bit weighty in the hilt because he likes to be able to turn it