by KM Shea
He fell like a rock.
“I love this sword,” Britt said, raising Excalibur to look at it.
“You idiot,” Merlin wheezed, cracking the assassin on the head with his staff, making him fall unconscious. “Battle makes you mad.”
Britt grinned brashly enough to put a pirate to shame. “Maybe, but I love this sword.”
“We’re going to die young, both of us. And it’s going to be your fault,” Merlin said.
Britt didn’t answer and victoriously swung Excalibur through the air, her smile wild, her hair glittering in the sunlight.
“That’s it,” Merlin said, leaning heavily against his horse. “Your emblem has been decided. It will be a red dragon. It’s the same as Uther Pendragon, but that’s fine. He’s supposedly your father anyway. And you’re more of a dragon than he ever was.”
Britt laughed again as she swung her sword in the air one last time.
Merlin mended the worst parts of the field before he and Britt mounted their horses and limped back to Camelot. Merlin was grouchy and on the verge of passing out, but Britt was giddy with the pain from her wound.
Sir Kay, Gawain, and Sir Bedivere arrived at Camelot minutes after Britt. They clattered into the keep yard, calling for troops and scent hounds. Sir Kay collapsed to his knees when he saw Britt and openly wept in relief.
The expression of emotion finally made Britt lose the madness of battle, and she sat at his side, her hand resting on the normally stoic young man’s back.
Britt’s guards and the rest of the hunting party returned an hour later after Gawain streaked back out to the woods on a fresh horse to give the good news. They brought with the assassins—bound and gagged—that attacked the group. The assassins were taken for questioning, and it was revealed that they were Lot’s men—surprise, surprise.
After living through Morgause’s enchantment and topped with the bodily damage of their sovereign, Britt’s knights all but demanded war. Britt was able to sweetly talk it out of them only because a pigeon with a correspondence from King Ban, King Bors, and Sir Bodwain returned to say King Ryence had been run off King Leodegrance’s lands, and they were coming home.
Still, everyone from Sir Griflet to the head cook worried and fretted over Britt.
She didn’t get a moment to herself until nearly midnight when she settled on the castle walls with Cavall and her guards as usual.
She stroked Cavall’s head as she stared out at the grassy fields around the castle. She could barely see them in the moonlight, but she knew they looked untouched and green. Somehow Merlin had repaired all the damage he had wrought with his attack.
Britt heard her soldiers approaching before they spoke. “Let him through,” she said, knowing who it was that approached her in the darkness.
Gawain joined Britt at the walkway, his eyes fastened on her face. Britt turned to smile at him in the sputtering light of the torches posted on the walkway.
Gawain fell to his knees. “My Lord, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice broken with emotion. “I, I didn’t know. None of us did. Our father is a treacherous, traitorous—”
Britt slipped her hand under Gawain’s chin. “Your father is your father. You are not responsible for his actions, nor do you need to scorn him for my sake.”
“But, My Lord, he ordered your death,” Gawain whispered.
“When you become a knight, Gawain, one of the hardest lessons you will learn will be choosing when to fight. If we were to battle against your father, men would die because I was stabbed on the thigh. That is a foolish reason to go to war,” Britt hesitated, shutting her eyes for a moment. “I remember what my battle with your father was like. Everything reeked of spilled blood. The ground was torn up like a graveyard, and there were bodies slumped everywhere. Sometimes I have nightmares of it, and I relive the worst of it.”
“He has caused you such pain, My Lord,” Gawain said. “If you still remember it…” he trailed off, hanging his head.
Britt once more tilted Gawain’s chin with her hand. “It’s a good thing, Gawain,” she said. “If we forgot the pain of war, we would fight more than we already do. I’m not ready to rain a second battle like that upon my men, whom I treasure deeply.”
“You will not put my brothers and me in the dungeons?” Gawain asked.
Britt raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I am the type to do that?”
Gawain furiously shook his head. “No, My Lord, but it would be within your rights!”
“Gawain—please stand. I can’t crouch with you on the ground with this wound, and I’m starting to get a crick in my neck. Much better,” Britt said when the young man stood. “I don’t care about what is within my rights. You will be a great knight, I can tell. I want you to be a victorious hero and triumphant warrior. I want you to go on and do great things so everyone knows how wonderful the princes of Orkney are. I trust you, and I trust your brothers. You have my faith and love for life, Gawain.”
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 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 and not because he is trained to do it.”
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 smiled for a moment—it was soft, almost like a caress—and then 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. Few and far 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 exhausted 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 the 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.”
The End
You can find free King Arthur extras and short stories at kmshea.com
The Creation of Queen Morgause
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 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:
King Arthur and Her Knights Book 3
EMBITTERED
Copyright © 2017 by K. M. Shea
Cover design by Myrrhlynn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any number whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historic events is entirely coincidental.
www.kmshea.com
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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.
She 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.”
She 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 fifteen-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 r
umor 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 her 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 preferred—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.” She relaxed her stance but didn’t sheathe Excalibur. “I’m no more burdened than any other man.”
“That’s hardly accurate, 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.
