by KM Shea
“Perhaps, My Lord.”
“Very well then, as much as you dislike it, you still have my thanks,” Britt said, nodding good-bye to her foster brother before joining Merlin on the dais. “I hear I have you to thank for my rescue.”
Merlin shrugged. “It was no trouble. I do not wish to see you miserable, no matter how you may think otherwise,” he said, looking out at the feasting crowd. “Him,” Merlin said, indicating to Ywain.
“What?”
“Young Ywain, what did he say to you?”
“That Morgause is a poisonous snake.”
“His loyalty to you knows no bounds. You have won him over for life.”
“What makes you say that?”
Merlin tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. “Do you not remember how Urien—Ywain’s father—and Lot are related?”
“They are brothers-in-law, related through their wives, right?”
“Yes. Think on that for a moment.”
Britt looked around the room before it hit her. “Morgause is Ywain’s aunt?”
“She is his mother’s sister, yes.”
“That means he is supposed to be my nephew…does he know?”
“Of your supposed parentage? Yes.”
“Then why hasn’t he said anything?”
“Sometimes men want to believe in a cause bigger than themselves. That is how Ywain thinks.”
Britt stared at Morgause, who was surrounded by knights clamoring for her attention. Kay stood at the base of the dais watching with a scowl. “Why didn’t Morgause recognize him? She wanted to know who he was.”
“Just because she is his aunt doesn’t mean she has seen him more than a handful of times in his life. I’m not entirely sure if she has ever seen him, to be honest,” Merlin said. “Regardless, he still would have heard of her from his mother.”
“You don’t think he’ll be pulled in by Morgause?” Britt asked.
“No. There are a few that are loyal to you, and they will not be moved,” Merlin said. “Ywain is one of them.”
“And Sir Kay and Sir Ector?” Britt timidly asked.
Merlin nodded. “Them, too.”
“I’m glad.”
“If you’re so glad, then you should work to win over more of your men.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
“Don’t you ‘yes, Merlin’ me!”
“Of course, Merlin.”
“That’s hardly any better.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“Harridan.”
“I find it amusing that you resort to name calling when you can’t think of anything better to say.”
“Only to those who deserve it.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
Early Sunday morning, Britt dozed in the comfort of her bed. As usual, the previous night gave her only snatches of sleep. Britt still enjoyed the luxury of sitting in her warm bed with no one pestering her, though. The room was quiet and smelled faintly of flowers—a new bunch were placed in her room every afternoon, a custom Britt had grown to love.
Britt was taking her time in bed to mull through the bits of Arthurian lore she remembered. “Gawain is here, now. If I can get him to stay, that probably means Lancelot and Guinevere aren’t far behind.” Britt moaned. “I hate Lancelot and Guinevere. As soon as I find out who Lancelot is, I’m going to slug him in the nose.”
If Britt remembered right, almost everyone portrayed the love between Lancelot and Guinevere as a beautiful but tragic thing. No one held them accountable for single-handedly ruining Arthur’s life, and no one ever commented on what a sucky best friend Lancelot was, or what a faithless wife Guinevere was. Instead, they focused on how much they loved each other but how Arthur tore them apart.
The only person who ever thought differently was one of the instructors at Britt’s first sword hall. Britt didn’t remember much about the man besides his dislike of Lancelot and his mustache, as she was barely five when she first started her lessons. However, she did remember that her instructor was the first person to point out what a playboy Lancelot was.
Britt yawned. “Yeah, I don’t care about the legends. As soon as Lancelot comes prancing into Camelot, I’m sending him prancing right out of here.”
Someone knocked on the door. “May I come in?”
Britt stretched in her bed. “Sure, Merlin,” she said.
Only Merlin and her guards ever woke her in the mornings, and her guards only shouted to her through the doors.
The door opened. “What are you doing? Did you not hear the first bell? You—.”
The door shut soundly.
Britt picked her head off her pillow. “Merlin?”
Merlin, once again standing out in the hallway, hissed through the door. “You’re still in bed.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It is indecent for you to allow a man into your bedchambers when you are still in bed!”
Britt peeled back a blanket and laughed. “What? Why? I’m fully clothed. It might be warm outside, but it’s freezing in here so it’s not like I’m showing any skin.”
“Indecent!” Merlin repeated through the door.
Britt rolled her eyes and sat up. “What did you want?”
“Get up. We’re going to Mass.”
“No, we’re not. You might be, but I’m not.”
“Oh, yes you are, you little heathen.”
“It’s boring. The pastor only talks in Greek or Hebrew or whatever that language is.”
“He’s the archbishop, and he conducts the service in Latin.”
“Mmm, yeah that,” Britt said, falling back into her bed with a thump.
“Do not lie back down, you unschooled foundling!”
“Too late,” Britt said. “If you want me to go to Mass, you’re going to have to drag me out of here. How indecent would that be?”
The door opened, and Merlin stormed in. “Drag you, you say? Fine! You were complaining I never use my magic, so I shall,” he said, staring at the wall and not Britt in her bed.
Merlin pointed a finger at Britt and said something that seemed to boom in the room. The next thing Britt knew, she was drenched in icy water.
Britt launched out her bed, spitting like a cat—narrowly avoiding stepping on Cavall. “You jerk!”
“Get dressed. We’re going and that’s final,” Merlin said, already out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Britt squeezed water from her hair. “I’ll remember this!”
“See that you do.”
Britt was seated on her throne, absent-mindedly petting Cavall as she stared at the ceiling when Sir Kay arrived.
“I was told you wanted to see me, My Lord?”
“Ah, perfect timing. Kay—sorry—Sir Kay, I need your help,” Britt said, heaving herself out of her throne. She picked up a few sheets of paper that were tucked against the side of her throne before trotting down the stairs. “I have decided I need a riding helmet.”
“A what?”
“A riding helmet. Where I come from, people wear thick, padded helms that encircle the top half of the head to prevent injury when riding. You know, in case the horse throws you or something. I was willing to go prancing around without one when I thought this was all a dream, but I’ve grown increasingly apprehensive with the idea of riding without one.”
“Wouldn’t a normal helm suffice?” Kay asked.
“No, the insides of a riding helmet are more cushioned. Also, the helmet rings across the forehead, then goes down behind the ears and encases the back of the head,” Britt said, tracing out the trail with her fingertip on her skull. “Nothing covers the eyes so the rider maintains optimum vision. A strap is fastened to the helmet and cinches at the chin to keep the helmet on the wearer.”
“I see. I could try talking to our armor smiths. I am sure we can come up with something for you, although it may take some time,” Sir Kay said.
“I drew up a couple of rough sketches to give you a better idea of what I’m looking for,” Britt said,
handing Sir Kay the papers she held.
Sir Kay briefly looked over the sketches. “This will be a help. Thank you, My Lord. I will keep you informed.”
“It’s not too bothersome?”
Sir Kay spared Britt a rare smile. “Anything that further protects you and your welfare is never too bothersome, My Lord.”
Sir Kay bowed and took his leave. Britt stretched and considered her options. “I could sit up on the throne, where even Morgause dare not bother me, or I could chance walking around—but she’ll dog my every step, and I’ll have to listen to my knights swoon over her,” Britt groaned.
Across the room, Morgause, ringed by young knights, started walking in Britt’s direction.
“I need to decide quickly,” Britt said. Merlin happened to walk by the throne room doors at that moment, carrying a bundle of flowers.
“Cavall, come,” Britt called to her dog before hurrying after her counselor. “Merlin,” Britt called as she bolted into the hallway.
Merlin turned, barely visible over the pile of flowers. “What? Oh, it’s you, Arthur. Looking to escape the harpy?”
“You don’t need to say it so loudly,” Britt said, catching up to him.
“I’ll say it as loud as I please,” Merlin snorted before starting off again.
“Actually, I did have something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, did you talk to Sir Ulfius about the Round Table?”
“Are you still going on about that? No, I haven’t. I’ve been quite occupied since Morgause arrived, if you haven’t noticed,” Merlin said as they started climbing stairs.
“Could you ask him? It’s important,” Britt said, slightly out of breath by the time they reached the floor Merlin was looking for.
“It means that much to you, does it? Very well, I shall speak to him.”
“Where has he been anyway? I haven’t seen him at all since Morgause arrived.”
“I’ve been closeting him away. He’s loyal to me, but I’m not sure how loyal he is to you. It would be a dicey thing to have your chamberlain in love with Morgause.”
“Ahhh,” Britt said, blinking when they stopped outside a set of doors. “This is my room.”
“It is,” Merlin confirmed before he struggled to open the door. He entered it and kicked Cavall’s blanket aside as he stomped over to the vase of flowers. He took the old flowers out and struggled to arrange the flowers he carried into the vase.
“You’re the one who has been putting flowers in my room?” Britt asked. “I thought it was a maid.”
“Nonsense. Do you think I let many people prance through your rooms? It would be dangerous indeed,” Merlin said, cutting a flower stem shorter with a belt knife.
“Why have you been bringing me flowers? I mean, I love them. They’re the only part of the whole room that I like besides my bed, but you didn’t strike me as the flower type,” Britt said.
“I am most assuredly not a flower man,” Merlin said, “but you said you love flowers.”
“What? When?”
“The night we spent on the castle walls. You said you and your sister visited a specific flower shop whenever she came into town, and you always wanted a house with a garden so you could grow your own flowers.”
“You actually paid attention?” Britt blinked.
Merlin paused in his flower arranging and turned to face Britt with a furrowed brow. “Do you really have such a nasty image of me? Of course I paid attention. You are important, Britt, and I would like for you to be comfortable, if not happy,” he said, reaching out to briefly rest his hand on Britt’s shoulder. He leaned close to study her face. “Are you alright?”
“I’m, I’m fine. I’m just, surprised,” Britt said, biting her tongue to keep from crying.
Merlin tilted his head and squeezed her shoulder. The deep blue of his eyes turned warm—like a tropical ocean.
Britt shook her head to clear her thoughts, then smiled ruefully. “You are forever catching me off guard.”
He looked at her a moment longer with the unusual warmth before he pulled back. “Good,” Merlin said, turning back to the flowers with satisfaction. “As an enchanter, it is my duty to push people off their guard,” he said, gathering up the old flowers.
Britt and Cavall followed Merlin back into the hallway. “What are you going to do now?” Britt asked as they started walking.
“Throw these into the rubbish and find Sir Ulfius to ask him about your blasted circular table. What will you do?”
“It’s the Round Table, and I’m not sure,” Brit said when they started down the stairs. “Any news from King Ban, King Bors, or Sir Bodwain?”
“The company has arrived in Leodegrance’s lands. King Ryence was starting to shift his troops, but nothing beyond that.”
“Perhaps he will leave now that extra soldiers have arrived.”
“It’s possible. He is a spineless mouse of a man,” Merlin said as they exited the staircase.
“He can’t be that spineless if he rallied against Leodegrance,” Britt said. She paused and took several steps backward. Gawain, Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth were all seated on stone benches in front of a window.
“Not necessarily. Are you coming?” Merlin called from farther down the hallway.
“No…I think I’ll go outside to check on Roen,” Britt said.
“Don’t ride off for a day again,” Merlin warned before he started walking away.
“I won’t,” Britt said before turning to face Morgause’s sons. “Aren’t you all a cheery bunch?”
The four boys looked up at Britt.
Gawain shrugged. “We do our best to stay out of the way,” he said.
“That must be dead boring. Come on.”
Gareth and Gaheris shot off the bench and attached themselves to Cavall. The mastiff sighed but let them hug his shoulders.
“Where are we going?” Gawain asked.
“To the practice fields. I need to do a bit of stretching, and Excalibur is hurting for a fight,” Britt said.
Agravain frowned. “You just told Merlin you were going to see your horse.”
“I lied,” Britt cheerfully said.
The four brothers grinned to each other as Britt led the way outside.
4
The “Sable” Knight
Britt smiled as the sun warmed her face. She snuggled farther into her couch—Merlin insisted it was a couch, but as it was nothing but a large pile of rushes with a fancy blanket thrown over it, Britt doubted this—and reveled in the silence and peace.
“We should make it back to Camelot by tomorrow afternoon,” Merlin said, walking past Britt’s napping couch.
“That’ll make Arthur sorely disappointed,” Sir Ector said, his voice hushed.
“Arthur is lucky he had a Morgause-free holiday at all. He’ll be fine,” Merlin briskly said.
“It was a good thing you did for Arthur, Merlin. Finagling lords and such so Arthur could leave Camelot for a bit. Well done,” Sir Ector said, smacking Merlin on the back.
It took all of Britt’s will to keep her eyes closed and breathe deeply as if she were still dozing.
Several days ago, Merlin had announced that Britt had to leave Camelot to settle a dangerous dispute between two barons in the south. The barons were a two- to three-day ride away, and they would be adopting a grueling pace to travel, so naturally Morgause could not come. They left Sir Kay in charge and traveled south with a large band of knights (those that were the most susceptible to Morgause’s charms), more at a care-free pace than a grueling one.
Britt thought it odd that the urgent dispute—a squabble over land rights—took only a day to right, and that they were taking their sweet time returning to Camelot.
“When you say it like that, it sounds like I’m going soft. It was for purely selfish reasons that I arranged for our travels south,” Merlin insisted.
Sir Ector belly laughed. “Of course, Merlin. Whatever you say. Lo, what’s this?”
“I’m not sure, but he looks badly hurt,” Merlin said, marching off.
When Britt opened her eyes, Merlin and Sir Ector were halfway across the meadow in which they were camped. At the edge of the forest was a mounted knight and his squire. The knight was tipping in the saddle, and blood dripped from a nasty wound on his leg.
Britt’s guards rushed to aid and apprehend the knight, and Merlin started questioning the squire.
Britt rolled off her couch and stood, brushing at her clothes and fixing her hair. She took a drink of water and ate a hunk of squashed bread before she judged enough time had passed that Merlin had very likely gotten most of the story out of the squire—no sense listening to the entire dramatic and traumatic tale when she could get the Reader’s Digest version—and started meandering towards them.
“Arthur, this young esquire has been telling me of his master, Sir Myles. He just came from fighting the Sable Knight. The Sable Knight speared him and took his shield before hanging it on the branches of an apple tree—which is covered with hanging shields—and rode away without inquiring to Sir Myles if he was in need of aid,” Merlin said.
Britt did not have to fake the sorrow and anger she felt. “That is horrible. It is dishonorable and black hearted to leave a fallen knight on the ground.”
“It is even more dishonorable to take away the shield of a fallen knight who fought well,” Merlin added, making the squire nod vigorously.
“You people have wonky priorities,” Britt grumbled. “Are we properly aiding the knight?” Britt asked, peering over the swarm of her men that moved around Sir Myles in an organized fashion.
“To the best of our abilities, yes. The problem is that he has lost a great deal of blood,” Merlin said.
“My Lord, if I may approach you?”
Young Griflet nervously rubbed his hands as he stood before Britt. Ywain stood some feet behind him, cheering his friend on.
“What is it, Griflet?” Britt asked.
Griflet squared his shoulders. “I ask that you would knight me, My Lord, so I may ride off and meet this Sable Knight and thrash him.”
“No,” Britt said before turning back to the squire.
“My Lord,” Griflet protested.
