by K. M. Shea
Gawain blinked rapidly in the flickering light. “Thank you, My lord,” he said, sounding choked. He knelt again briefly and kissed Britt’s hands before standing. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, his voice cracking before he fled.
Britt watched him go, feeling bemused.
“Yet another young man you’ve won for life. I’m impressed, you wield words as effectively as you wield your sword,” Merlin said before gesturing at Britt’s guards. “Shoo, all of you, scat. I shall deliver your dear king to his rooms when he is done pacing like a maniac. Go on, get. Yes, all of you. Shoo!” Merlin said, herding the guards down the stairs.
Britt grinned at the enchanter as he ruffled his robe—which he had donned once again—and joined Britt.
“I don’t think it’s so much pretty words as it is that they are starving for someone to tell them how great they can be,” Britt said.
“It could be,” Merlin nodded. “All the same, the fact is I have never seen anyone use respect and affection like a weapon. Well done.”
Britt glanced down at Cavall, who seemed as calm and tranquil as ever. “Cavall… he, he’s trained to attack, isn’t he?”
“He was trained as a guard dog by the kennel master, yes. Kay had him specially trained to attack when anyone threatens his owner,” Merlin admitted.
Britt shook her head. “All this time I thought he gave Cavall to me because I needed a friend, but he’s just another guard,” she said, her eyes burning.
“Use your head for a moment, lass, and think,” Merlin said. “The beast fetches an over glorified rag for you. He does all matter of strange requests and bears the ungracious children you inflict upon him. As much as I am at loathe to admit it, he is more than a guard, Britt. He is your dog, just as faithful and adoring of you as Ywain or Gawain. If he attacks it is because of his love for you.”
Tears fell from Britt’s eyes as she placed her hand on Cavall’s head. The mastiff panted as he looked up at her with teddy bear eyes. “Thank you,” she said to both Cavall and Merlin.
Merlin leaned on the wall and looked out. “It’s calm and peaceful up here.”
“It is,” Britt said. “Thank you, Merlin, for saving me today.”
Merlin nodded and said nothing.
“Why don’t you want people to know what you’re really capable of? All this time I’ve been mocking you and…,” Britt trailed off.
Merlin thoughtfully stared at the stars. “If people knew what I was capable of, they would be terrified of me. I must admit, I thought you would be frightened. Far and few between are the mortals who can do what I can do. I would rather accomplish my goals by the use of wits and intelligence than by inflicting Britain with my powers and making all tremble at the thought of me.”
It was Britt’s turn to nod and say nothing.
Merlin suddenly turned to her. “Don’t misunderstand me, lass. I can’t pull off that kind of flashy show very often. I’m all tapped out for now and probably won’t be able to perform even a scrap of magic for a few days, so don’t you go thinking you can call on me to roast your enemies whenever you need me to.”
Britt shook her head. “No, Never! I. I agree with you. Instead of wars or massacring people I would rather accomplish my goals with pretty words and gaining of loyalties.”
Merlin laughed. “That’s just a fancy way of saying wits and intelligence,” he grinned.
“Maybe,” Britt said.
Merlin plopped down so his back was against a battlement. “I should introduce you to Blaise.”
“He’s the hermit who raised you, right?”
“Correct. He would love you. He likes clever things even more than I do,” Merlin chuckled, patting the ground beside him.
Britt slowly lowered herself to the ground with several painful winces. “Tell me more about him, please,” she said, shifting into position.
“He’s a regular fiend with words, and he quotes Holy Scriptures nonstop,” Merlin dryly said, pulling another laugh out of Britt.
They sat together, shoulders and legs brushing, swapping stories late into the night, laughing over Merlin’s recollections of his childhood. Britt let the clever enchanter speak. Recalling Blaise and some of his less than stellar moments seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders, and it was warm and wonderful to sit next to him like she was someone he cared about—really cared about—instead of being his hand puppet he tried to control.
“Britt,” Merlin said shortly before dawn.
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Queen Morgause & King Arthur’s Pets
Enchanted was inspired by a paragraph I read in King Arthur and His Knights by Sir James Knowles. The paragraph described the visitation of King Lot’s wife to Camelot after Arthur beat back Lot and his allies. King Lot’s wife was sent to spy on Arthur, but after she meets with him she confesses that her husband sent her as a spy and purposely leaves Gawain, her eldest son, with Arthur so Arthur can use him as a hostage against Lot. And yes, all of this happens in a single paragraph.
Several other legends, most famously Le Morte d’Arthur, have similar themes, although sometimes Lot’s wife leaves all their children with Arthur instead of just Gawain. However, in the more modern versions of King Arthur legends, Morgause is typically an enchantress or witch of some sort who tries to seduce Arthur in order to help her husband. While both of these characters are married to Lot, the mother of Gawain, and always meet Arthur at some point in the king’s life, these women are practically different characters. The wife who is sorry for her part in Lot’s schemes was, in some of the oldest stories, named Anna. In Le Morte d’Arthur the character’s name is Morgause, even though she does the same actions as Anna, and it is Morgause’s name that most modern authors use when writing about King Lot’s horrible wife.
(As a side note, no matter what King Arthur legend you look at, Anna/Morgause is always the sister of Morgan le Fay. They aren’t the same characters, but the similar names can mess with you. King Artie and his cohorts are very good at that. Don’t even get me started on the Bors’.)
I wanted to reconcile Morgause with her original character, Anna, so I morphed the modern with the ancient, and my version of Morgause was born. My Morgause is a mix of the two characters. She has the magic and cunning of the modern Morgause, but the sincerity and courage of the ancient Anna. With that kind of character it would be extremely tricky getting her to let go of her loyalty to her family and support Britt, which is why I made her something of a feminist.
I actually got the idea because of some research I was doing on Gawain at the time. Because of some quests he both failed and passed, Gawain was blessed and cursed to be the ladies knight—meaning he had to help any maiden he came across who needed assistance. Compared to the rest of the knights—Lancelot included—Gawain is considered to be the most sensitive to the plight of females in Arthur’s kingdom. I decided that in order to mold that type of character into him, especially given that his father was something of a power-hungry/cut-throat king, he would need a mother who was not only equally as strong as King Lot, but extremely verbal about the fact that females are not lesser beings.
Morgause was a lot of fun. I enjoyed her bold personality, and I hope to have just as much fun with her sister, the infamous Morgan le Fay. On a final thought, all of Britt’s pets—Llamrei, Roen, and Cavall—are all animals that are attributed to Arthur in THE oldest records of the legendary king.
Embittered
Book 3 of King Arthur and Her Knights
By: K. M. Shea
a Take Out The Trash! Publication
Copyright © K.M. Shea 2013
Chapter 1
The Arrival of Lancelot
“The sword he pulled, the crown he wore, and he just a fair faced youth, hah! Fair faced youth my horse’s rear end,” Britt said as she gnawed on a hunk of crusty bread and recited a line from the newest ballad echoing through Camelot.
Llamrei, Britt’s
white mare, looked up from grazing.
“No offense,” Britt said.
The mare went back to eating.
“I’ve been here a year and a half. How old am I supposed to be now? Sixteen or seventeen? This ploy won’t last much longer,” Britt said. “Bedivere and his ilk have hinted since Christmas that I need to find a wife. Merlin won’t be able to distract that faction much longer, and even I have heard some of the disparaging rumors about my unwillingness to grow facial hair.”
It was, in fact, Bedivere’s hinting that drove Britt from her courts that fine afternoon. Bedivere had set his young cousin Griflet after Britt to sing songs about a rich king who did great deeds on behalf of his beautiful wife. Of course whenever Griflet started a game of Badger Britt Ywain—Sir Ywain now, Britt had knighted him at the New Year—was sure to join in as well.
Favorable things could not be reported of Ywain’s singing voice, so avoiding the duo became Britt’s greatest ambition.
Britt rolled onto her stomach so she could look at Camelot. The immense castle was well within eyesight, perhaps even within shouting range. Britt was splayed near the edge of the forest that impeded on Camelot’s land, surrounding about half of the castle.
Britt turned and waved, certain Sir Kay was watching her through a spyglass as he hadn’t sent a squad of guards after her, yet.
Britt finished her bread and smashed her face in the clover covered ground. “I am pathetic. I’m a college graduate living off the taxes of others. I never thought my future career path would involve impersonating a teenage boy-king.”
Britt would never be able to forgive the real Arthur for running off with a shepherdess. Since Arthur eloped and disappeared, Merlin was forced to cast a spell on the Sword in the Stone so that the next person who touched the sword and would be able to pull it out—meaning they had the qualities the sword was looking for—would be brought back through time to be crowned King of England.
Britt was the unfortunate candidate the sword chose.
She arrived, American, female, and older than Sir Kay—Arthur’s older foster brother—but Merlin had faith in his spell and decided to use Britt anyway. It worked at first, Britt could pass off as a tall but slender 15-year-old boy, and to Merlin’s delight Britt was extremely skilled in the art of swordsmanship thanks to her interest in Renaissance Mixed Martial Arts.
However, even with the rumor that Arthur/Britt had faerie blood, making her more elegant and beautiful than the average male, sooner or later Britt’s cover would be blown. (After all, it was only a matter of time before Britt’s knights demanded that she marry and produce an heir for the good of the kingdom.)
“I hate tradition,” Britt said.
“My Lord?”
Britt pushed herself off the ground and had Excalibur unsheathed in the blink of an eye.
A knight stood a stone’s throw away. He wasn’t one of Britt’s knights—Britt didn’t recognize the coat of arms painted on his shield. He wore a helm, obscuring his face, but he had the kind of armor most knights who fancied themselves chivalrous rode around in—serviceable but elaborately decorated.
“Can I help you?” Britt asked. A glance at Camelot confirmed her suspicions of Sir Kay and the spyglass, the gates were opening to let out a squad of mounted guards.
“I was only wondering if you were well,” the knight said. “You seem burdened.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Britt said, relaxing her stance but not sheathing Excalibur. “I’m no more burdened than any other man.”
“That’s hardly right, My Lord. As King you have a great many more burdens,” the knight objected.
Britt walked to Llamrei and patted the mare’s neck. “And how do you know me to be a king?”
“I have seen you before, My Lord. We met once in the woods when you found a lost girl, and I saw you when you first pulled the Sword from the Stone in London,” the knight said.
“I remember the girl,” Britt said. “She was the one who inspired me to build public bath houses in Camelot.”
“That is so, My Lord,” the knight said, bowing slightly at the waist.
“Whose courts are you part of?” Britt asked, glancing at the incoming soldiers. They set their pace at a canter and would be on Britt soon. Britt raised an arm and signaled that all was well. The soldiers slowed their mounts to a walk but kept coming.
“My father’s I suppose, but I have pledged my allegiance to none yet. Do you desire to run me off your lands?” the knight said.
“You aren’t stirring up trouble are you? Badgering my subjects, stealing food and such?” Britt asked, confident he would answer no. Her people would have let her know if recreant knights were terrorizing them. During the past fall the first, and only, knight who ever plagued her people refused to let anyone pass over a bridge. Britt arrived with an escort of knights two days after he set up camp. Sir Bedivere trounced the man in a joust before Britt beat the snot out of him in a swordfight. The knight repented and now worked as a guard under Sir Kay’s watchful eye, but all heard of the tale and Britt’s lands stayed curiously clear of rebel-rousers.
“No, My Lord. I travel with my cousins, performing deeds for the wellness of mankind,” the strange knight said.
“In that case I don’t care,” Britt said, nodding to her guards as they spread around her in a fan formation, not intruding on the conversation but drawing close enough to spring into action should the need arise.
“I thank you for your generosity, My Lord,” the knight said, pulling off his helm.
Britt was amused to see that he was handsome and young, falling somewhere between Gawain’s age of 18 and Kay’s age of 21. His black, curly hair was just a little shorter than Britt’s, falling almost to his shoulders. He had dreamy green eyes and thick lashes most women would kill for. His jaw line was curved and his facial features angular. Had he been American and from the twenty first century, Britt could have mistaken him for a celebrity.
Britt was delighted to see his face—and not because he was handsome, he was too young for her taste—but because of one very important fact.
He was beardless.
The young knight shaved, unlike the majority of Britt’s court. Even Griflet and Ywain were trying to grow scrawny beards with ill success. Britt and Merlin were the only clean shaven officials in the whole castle.
Britt chuckled and sheathed Excalibur before she gathered Llamrei’s reins.
“Is something the matter, My Lord?” the knight asked, puzzled.
“No. Nothing at all. I have suddenly been struck by a capital idea. It was good to talk to you, sir. As long as you remain on the path of the chivalrous, should you find yourself in need of anything please come to Camelot,” Britt said before she boosted herself onto her mare’s back.
“I thank you for your kindness and generosity. May all be well with you, King Arthur,” the handsome knight said.
Llamrei chomped on the bit as Britt swung her in Camelot’s direction. “Thank you, and you as well,” Britt said, cuing Llamrei into a swift trot.
Britt’s guards surrounded her in an instant. “Where to, Milord?” the guard captain asked.
“Back to Camelot. I must speak with Merlin and our associates immediately. I have the most brilliant plan!”
When Britt entered Merlin’s study, the attractive wizard was sitting in a comfortable armchair, yawning. Sir Ulfius was with him, looking at the ceiling with a great amount of dread. Sir Ector nursed a glass of wine and avoided Britt’s eyes as she slammed her open hand on one of Merlin’s wooden tables, making a loud crack.
“I have it.”
“You have what?” Merlin asked, gesturing for Sir Kay to close the door behind him when he slipped in after Britt.
“A way to make my knights accept the notion that I shave,” Britt said.
Merlin frowned. “You are King. You do not need a reason.”
Britt shook her head. “As long as you and I are the only supposed males in this castle with beardless faces the
re is going to be suspicion,” she paused. “Where is Sir Bodwain?”
“Keeping Sir Bedivere busy so he doesn’t poke his head in the study just as we’re discussing your feminine nature,” Sir Ulfius said.
Merlin crossed his legs at the ankles and sighed. “Alright, let’s hear your idea, My Lord,” he said without any expectations.
“Rather than attempting to explain it, why don’t we make it a court fashion for men to be clean shaven?” Britt asked.
Sir Ector choked on his wine.
“My Lord,” the normally well spoken Sir Ulfius started. “Facial hair is, well, custom. Once a boy becomes an adult—like a squire getting knighted or an apprentice becoming a master—it is a sign of manhood to grow facial hair and it aids with…um…heat retention and…”
“What Ulfius is trying to ask is do we have to?” Sir Ector said, his face turning the same fetching shade as a crimson tomato.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean the older knights. Heavens, no. Some things should not be seen by the light of day. No, I meant the younger knights. Perhaps all knights who are unmarried,” Britt said.
Sir Kay shifted, the thick mustache on his upper lip twitching.
“With some exceptions of course,” Britt amended.
Merlin rubbed his chin. “It is an interesting proposal, and it certainly holds promise. But how do we make it a court fashion?”
“The church could make a proclamation that all unmarried knights must shave,” Sir Ector suggested.
“Yes, they could, and they would be willing to, but what would they tell the people when asked why they’re making the proclamation?”
“It is an, erm, idea from God?” Sir Ector said.
“One would have more luck making it common if the knights adopted the practice in their own will,” Sir Ulfius said.
“To make it fashionable it would take a man everyone loves,” Merlin said. “Right now there are no such knights in your court. You are the favorite of all.”
