Morgan lets Tristram leave. Afterwards, her paramour, Sir Hemison, mounts up in full arms and armor.
“Where are you going, all dressed up?” she asks him.
“Going to catch up to Tristram and joust him. I didn’t like the way he was eyeing you. You’re my lady!”
“Okay, a, we have an open relationship and we’ve talked about that; b, you have a very selective memory because it was me eyeing him; and c, don’t go jousting him, he’ll kill you. He’s Sir Tristram!”
“Pssht,” says Hemison. “I’m ignoring your first two points. You think that was really Sir Tristram, though? No way. The real Sir Tristram is back in Cornwall running around with the lovely Isoud, everyone knows that. This is just some impostor trading on Tristram’s reputation.”
“I don’t think so, and also I think I know better than you do,” replies Morgan. “Seriously, don’t go after him.”
“For your sake I shall slay him!”
“Hemison, fair friend, he means nothing to me, for serious, and I don’t want you to die. Take the word of your lover, your queen, and your sorceress with precognitive powers, and believe me when I say don’t do it!”
“I’ll show you! I’m as good a knight as anyone!” roars Hemison, and rides off, all wroth.
Hemison catches up to Tristram, and they joust. It goes like so.
Hemison attacks Tristram with PUNY LANCE! It’s not very effective. Tristram defends against PUNY LANCE with SUPERIOR ARMOR.
Tristram attacks Hemison with SOLID LANCE! Critical hit! Hemison has taken a deadly wound!
Really, Tristram doesn’t even dismount. After he dehorses Hemison, he’s going to, but then he sees that Hemison is just lying there on the ground bleeding, and figures there’s no need to finish him off with his sword.
Once Tristram has ridden off, Hemison’s valet emerges from hiding and rushes to his boss.
“Boss! Are you alive? Can you sign my last paycheck before you die?”
“Not quite dead,” says Hemison. “Do me a favor and carry me back to Morgan, would you? I’d like to see her before I die.”
The valet carries Hemison back to Morgan’s castle, where he sees her, and then dies.
Morgan lets out a big cinematic NOOOOO! She rips Hemison’s blood-soaked shirt off his lifeless body and sobs into it, a nice little detail of the sort Malory usually doesn’t bother to include. She then arranges for a nice tomb for him, with HERE LIES HEMISON, BRUTALLY MURDERED BY TRISTRAM DE LIONES, as his epitaph.