In the Shadow of Camelot: A Femdom Arthurian Tale (Closed)

[Armphid]

The wind whipped over the cliffs and crags of the rocky shore; driving sea spray and long winged gulls ahead of it. It blew hale and hearty over forest and hill, rushing at last past the pennants snapping high on the towers of Tintagel Castle. The banner that flew highest was one not seen in many years; the Pendragon, rampant and in glory. Beneath it danced a simpler banner of white with a red cross. The stones of the great caste had seemed to shine all the brighter since the dragon and the cross were hoisted up together; proclaiming something far grander than even the dragon alone had once meant.

Word, faster than even the speeding zephyr, had spread. The sword of Uther had been pulled from the stone, the Pendragon's heir was found, and claimed his birthright. Arthur, proclaimed son of Uther Pendragon and Lady Igraine of Cornwall, was by right High King of all Britain. Already lords and knights called on Tintagel, refreshed, cleaned and restored almost overnight, as if by magic, to swear fealty to the king. Rumor, faster than lightning, snapped back and spoke in whispers of lords who renounced Arthur's claim and were rallying their armies to march forth and defeat this upstart who claimed the Pendragon's throne. Urien of Rheged and Lot of Orkney led them, and their forces were strong.

So it was that in the early light of morning, with the sun just cresting over the horizon, the young king was found in the council chamber alone. Arthur was tall, larger than most men by a hand or more, with broad shoulders and a powerful but flexible and quick warrior's build. His face was strong and noble, handsome, and startlingly young. No beard or moustache covered his cheeks, his clear features open to view for all. His hair was the gold of honey held up to the sunlight, falling down to the nape of his neck, and his eyes were as blue as the summer sky. His clothes were finer than any he had ever worn in memory; as the foster son of Sir Ector, he had been cared for but finery went to his foster brother Kay. He seemed almost ill at ease in the rich garments; decked in gold and white. A simple dagger was stuck in his belt; though on the table beside him was the sheathed sword that had announced the truth of his identity to the world only weeks ago.

In front of him several maps were rolled out, parchment beside them having notes scribbled upon it. a few pins decorated with ribbons of various colors were pushed into one of them. Arthur looked at it grimly. "Orkney and Rheged from the north. Cornwall and Lyonesse from the south." If he stayed here, he would be caught between the two forces. The knights and lords who had sworn fealty advised him to stay at Tintagel, so store up supplies and let the opposing forces beat themselves against it's walls. "And it would seem like wisdom, except that the ant knows if the spider is at the hill, it's too late."

"Then that lesson, at least, was well learned." The king, more a boy than a man still, jerked his head up. By the door was man taller than Arthur, but lean and wiry. He was clad in robes and a cloak ruffed in feathers, with a copper bladed sword at his side and a tall oaken staff in his hands. His eyes were never the same color twice, his face both young and ancient, his hair long and gathered back by a leather thong.

"Merlin." Arthur breathed out, "I had thought you gone to the Wood."

"I was," the druid answered, "and I have returned." He looked over at the table, picking up a few of the parchments. He nodded. "I see my lessons were not the only ones you heeded."

The young king smiled a bit, though the expression did not reach his eyes. Already many cares were on him. "Kay wasn't going to read them. At least Sir Ector didn't waste his gold." He looked back at the map. "...I don't think I can win, Merlin." The magician looked out the window, his face impassive. "Many of those who've sworn fealty are keeping their armies at home, waiting to see how this turns out. Those loyal...are not enough."

"They never are," Merlin commented. He looked over at the young man, not even in his second decade. "And they always are."

Arthur looked at the older looking man with a wry expression, "More riddles for me to solve?" A flicker of a genuine smile crossed his face for a moment. Then he walked over to the stand beside Merlin at the window. "I suppose they will have to be." He looked out at the rising run. "...Must men truly die for this? So that men who swore oaths will honor them?"

"You know the answer. It is the way of Might."

The king nodded. "I see the truth to your lectures on Might now. If only we men were better creatures."

Merlin looked over at him, "If you win, they will be." Arthur blinked at him. "Now, let us break fast before the first of today's messengers and noble guests arrive. News, both good and bad, is best taken with a a full belly as well as a clear head."

 

[Gwendolyn]

Urien was dead. The King of Rheged had taken violently ill a week prior. He'd been confined to his chambers, to be visited only by the most trusted and renown physicians. Several different diagnoses were made, every treatment and method of healing tried, failed, and tried again. Nobody could stop the swift decay of his body as the mysterious disease swept through him practically overnight. It presented like no other illness anyone had ever seen. But the King's food was diligently tested for poison. And he had been in the Queen's chambers that night, so if anyone had harmed the King, surely she would have witnessed it. None of it made any sense.

It was a blessedly quick death. Urien suffered, but for no more than two days. Then he was gone, after a particularly horrfic fit of painful and debilitating seizures. It was no way for a King to die, an undignified mess and nothing but a shell of his former self, driven half-insane by his agony, but at least it had not been more prolonged.

It was all very unfortunate. Rheged grieved the loss of their great King, and the young Queen was in private mourning. It was rumored that she was too heart-broken to face her people - oh, certainly, how very sad it was that she would never be spoken down to by her husband again. How dreadful that she would no longer endure the acrimony of his bratty children who rejected her as a mother. How terrible that she would never again experience the joy of laying under an old man while he took his pleasure like a dog in heat ...

But after a day of this so-called lamentation, she had addressed the court publicly, as regent queen, and informed them that she would traveling to Camelot to pledge the kingdom's allegiance to the young King Arthur, a young man whose succession was certain to be a rocky one. During her absence, Urien's eldest son, Lowen, would occupy the throne. She would much rather see him there than herself. There were more important issues at hand now. The time had finally come to shed the skin of obedient, stifled Queen and take the reigns of her true destiny.

They were less than a day from Camelot now. A messenger had been sent ahead, so as to cordially warn King Arthur of their impending arrival. Morgana was ever the sober and modest widow - this was not meant to be a celebratory vacation after all, but rather a solemn journey weighed with unimaginable grief and sorrow - but inside, she was positively teeming with excitement. She could hardly wait. She had so many ideas, so much to do. But first, she would meet her young brother for the first time since she'd looked into his tiny, round face as an infant. She would get to know him, not only as her King, but as her kin. She would take her rightful place at his court and reap the benefits.

Morgana was a widow at twenty-four, but her life was beginning, not ending.

They had stopped at a small castle in southern Wales for the afternoon, wishing to rest now in order to travel by night and arrive in Camelot by morning. It didn't matter - she couldn't sleep. There was a knock at the door. Morgana, who had been laying on the bed, staring at the stone ceiling, sat up and called, "Enter." The heavy wooden door opened just far enough for a small young woman to slip inside.

"My Lady," the girl said it with a sort of breathless reverence that made Morgana's lips twist into a smirk. The maiden's curtsy was broad and sweeping, and her sweet golden head bowed to avoid her mistress' eye. Locks of curly blonde hair fell forward onto her darling chest, which was clad in customary dark grey linen. Morgana wanted to twist the soft hair around her fingers, or even give it a firm tug and watch the girl's mouth fall open in a gasp as her eyes watered in pain.

Perhaps later. "The blue dress," Morgana stated, and the maiden - Elside was her name - straightened up and walked across the chamber to fetch said dress. Like every garment Morgana owned, it was a beautiful creation. Rich fabric of the deepest navy blue composed the voluminous skirts and body. The hem was embroidered with silver thread in feminine, swirling floral patterns, and sturdier stitching across the front. It was well-structured and had a rather low-cut bust, toeing the line of modesty. The sheer, light blue sleeves would fall delicately on her slender arms and be secured by shiny silver cuffs (beautifully made in the shape of ravens) at the elbow to keep the fabric from billowing in the wind. Similarly, an ornate silver belt cinched the dress at the waist, ensuring that her comely body was shown off to it's potential - Morgana had never been one for drab, loose-fitting garments of grey or white. No, her days at the convent were long over. Now she was very much a creature of luxury, and she lived in a sea of expensive lengths of dark purple, green, and blue - had enough precious jewelry to drown herself in - drank from only the finest gold goblets and off only the shiniest silver platters.

A moment later, Elside was helping her queen into the dress. Her nimble fingers laced up the back tightly, and clasped the cuffs and belt on her arms and waist. She adjusted the hem so that it laid just so; brushed long dark hair and laid it in loose waves across Morgana's white shoulders; gently placed a circlet of silver on the top of Morgana's head and attached an opaque veil, that rested over her hair and ran to the middle of her back. The effect was just right. The darkness of the dress was appropriate to her grief, the hints of silver made it nearly ethereal, and the white veil was almost innocent and made it clear that her intentions were pure.

"My Lady, you are a vision," Elside whispered in the same genuine awe she always did; the girl was so earnest it almost hurt. She did so adore Morgana - but then, everybody did. She couldn't wait to greet Arthur. Surely he would take one look at her and damn their relation. It was difficult indeed to look upon the lady and not at least admire her physical beauty. She was stunning. Her skin was perfectly smooth and pale, and her black hair and expressive light green eyes gave her an air of alluring darkness, as did her often enigmatic and aloof demeanor. She was taller than most of her maidens by a few inches, though she had still remained a good head below the bulky, intimidating frame of her deceased husband. She had a lovely shape to her, accented well by her gowns. Icy and silent though she usually was in Rheged, Morgana had somehow demanded the respect and love of her constituents anyway. Though she'd never been quite as popular as the previous Queen, and she had not won the affection of Urien's children (she'd never desired that anyway), the people loved her.

The royal procession finally arrived at Tintagel Castle mid-morning. The wind was howling, but it quickly reduced to a calm, pleasant breeze. However, the trees beyond continued to sway in the harsh gusts. It was curious, as if Tintagel had been placed inside some magical bubble, protecting it from the elements.

She was helped off her handsome grey mare by a servant, and when her feet touched the ground she sighed. Lowering the hood of her heavy, dark green cloak, she looked around. Impressive. "I assume our message was received?" she inquired of the man.

"Yes, My Lady."

"And when will the King see us?"

"Right away, My Lady. I will go announce your arrival myself."

"Wonderful," Morgana said, smiling just a bit. Just a few minutes later, she was inside court and being introduced to her long-lost brother. Her smile, now, was quite sincere and she didn't bother to oppress it. She was bearing great news, after all. Even if her husband had just died, she was allowed to look a bit happy for that.

"The Lady Morgana, Queen of Rheged."

That was her cue. She curtsied deeply, but kept her eyes on his face. Oh, what a very handsome face it was...

"Sire," she said slowly, almost as if she wanted to relish in the pleasant taste the word left in her mouth. She stood up again, and clasped her hands loosely in front of her. "I have come to pledge my kingdom's fealty. This was not King Urien's first intention, but as the decision was ultimately left to me, here I am. I - like Your Majesty, I'm sure - am not desirous of tension, conflict, or war." She paused, then, and frowned, her beautiful face suddenly full of sadness. "This way, perhaps, something good may come of my husband's death."

 

[Armphid]

The grand hall of Tintagel certainly was that. It was a broad and high chamber, the pillars that held up the roof masterfully carved and a triumph or architecture in graceful curves. From the rafters hung proud banners and tapestries, the walls to the east and west festooned with them as well. Chairs were set along those walls, and off to the sides, within the shadows of the pillars, the court dwelled. At the north wall of the room, the twin banners of his golden serpent-like dragon and the red cross behind it, was the throne of Pendragon. Arthur found it both ostentatious and uncomfortable; the throne was designed to remind all who looked on it that the man who sat there was above them, and they subservient. As with other things, the more Arthur learned of his father, the more he saw a deeply flawed man, best not taken wholly as an exemplar as a king.

Or anything, really, other than perhaps as a war leader. That Uther Pendragon had been truly spectacular at.

Arthur sat on the massive chair now; dressed in the same garb as he'd put on that morning, save for a black band on his right arm. Sir Ector and Sir Kay had encouraged as hard as they could that he wear something more dramatic. However, he was a king whose crown had yet to be acccepted by all his vassals, a king at war. Putting on fancy clothes sent the wrong message. His clothes were well made and rich, of course, but also simple and easy to move in. His dagger was still there, but his sword was now belted about his waist as well. A cape of rich red cloth hung over his shoulders, and a golden coronet was upon his head. He didn't really care for either, but Merlin said men needed him to look like a king, and the young man was aware that Merlin was always right. Well, almost always. Usually. The blond king looked over to his right, Merlin seated on a plain stool to the side of the throne.

The herald entered, the nobles of the court buzzing to excitement and then hushing just as quickly. The noblewoman coming before them now was a mystery to many, as was her presence here, despite being renowned for her great beauty, devotion to her people, and her regal bearing. There were other things said too; whispers of magic and pagan ties. Some said the sudden death of her husband was not as natural as it seemed.

But to Arthur; her power, position, and all the rest were only a small sliver of her anxiety to meet this woman. The largest part came from the fact that she was his sister; though he had no memory of her. Half-sister, to be specific, but closer than any kin he had. She was family. Something he had never had before.

"The Lady Morgana, Queen of Rheged."

Then Morgana, Queen of Rheged, accompanied by her hand maidens and a few retainers entered the great hall. Arthur drew in a sharp breath as he saw her, and he was far from the only one in the room to do so, "God in Heaven." His shining blue eyes widened, softening a bit, as he drank in the sight of her. Morgana was beautiful, quite clearly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen before. Her porcelain skin seemed almost to glow, her dark hair drinking in the light, the contrast of them stunning. Her face was fair and gorgeous, her cheeks high, features soft, yet there was a hint of steel in them, and an unspoken challenge. Her eyes were a green unlike any he'd seen before, and there were depths to them that could take a lifetime to plumb. Her dress was one of mourning, but it still showcased her form magnificently; displaying well that she was a woman, fully grown and lush beyond what many others could hope to attain. Her bodice plunged, exposing without doing so blatantly, just how fine a womanly form she possessed. She carried herself with great dignity and poise, one would have known without ever knowing that she was a queen from that alone.

Arthur felt a pang of regret that she was his sister. This was a woman the like of which would not be found in an age. She spoke, even her voice was glorious; rich and expressive, warm and pitched just perfectly to deliver many messages at once. Beside the throne, Merlin leaned over to Arthur, "A worthy ally. But take care, she is both strong willed and cunning."

"Neither of which are undesirable," Arthur replied. As she finished speaking, he rose from the throne, "Queen Morgana, your fealty is accepted, witnessed here by God and men, offered in good faith, and taken with gratitude by your king." He smiled. Thank God. It was something he'd been hoping for, that seemed probable. Why else would she come here, if not to swear allegiance? Well, he could think of other reasons, but that was the most logical one. With her, with Rheged, standing with him, the rebels lost one of their largest contingents. I swear to honor you and yours, that you shall prosper as I do, profit as I do, and you shall ever be under my protection." The words rang with sincerity and promise, rolling out over the crowd of nobles.

He then surprised everyone by coming down the steps of the dais the throne was upon to stand in front of Morgana. "Your wish is mine, Your Highness, even as you say." He looked around at the men and women of the loyal nobility here, of the men at arms and guards, of the servants in the shadows. "I do not wish for war. It is said that war is where men are made and honor won, but honor is best found in a happy people, well tilled earth, and all other things that are best found in peace."

This would make some of the old men livid, but it was good for them. Arthur looked at his sister with a smile, one that was apologetic while being truly meant. "I will not say that what comes to pass from this will be good from your lord's unfortunate passing, for the pain of grief does no good, nor death make us any stronger. It is from your wisdom and your choice that great good will come." He knew this was her idea, not some bedside recantation of Urien. She should get the credit for it. There was stirring in the assembled folk; and a buzz of conversation.

Arthur spoke again, the men and women of the court falling into silence. "I can only hope and pray that as King, I will be able to repay you for the many gifts you have brought this day. Not only your fealty and allegiance, but your grace and beauty as well." His eyes flickered down to the floor a moment, then rose to look directly into her green orbs. "Great as those are, the greatest gift is Your Highness herself. For one who long thought himself an orphan, without blood or kin, your presence here...is a grander event and a more singular joy than my poor words can express." He reached out to take one of her hands in his own. God, her skin was just as soft and smooth as it looked. "Welcome, sister. Now and always." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

Arthur moved back, a few steps up towards the dais. "Queen Morgana's favor has changed the course of our struggle, and we must act fast, friends." There was a fresh buzz. This was not the way to end a formal court. "Sir Kay!" Arthur's foster brother stepped forward. "Prepare the council chamber for a meeting at once." The loutish knight saluted, turning and starting to issue orders to the staff. "Sir Ector, gather the lords not in attendance here and bring them to the council chamber with all due haste." Arthur's foster father bowed and strode away. "Have faith and courage, all gathered here, for the moment is upon us. We will ride to battle, for the one purpose of war that is truly righteous, to prevent a greater war and win peace." He raised a hand in a broad gesture, "Go now to your duties, hard work will befall us, every one, to avoid staining our land with the blood of our countrymen."

The crowd bowed and curtsied as a whole, beginning to break up. Behind him, Arthur could hear Merlin approaching. The young king let out a large breath. Then he stepped down again to face Morgana, "Queen Morgana, Your Highness. It would do me honor if you would join us in the council chamber, as you are as true and worthy a voice as the lords who will assemble there, and far more fair," he added with a wry tone. "I know it is not customary, but if you will indulge me, I feel you have more than earned your place there." He paused, "Perhaps if we have the luxury of time later...and it meets with your approval, your brother would very much like to talk more privately, and start to make up for lost time."

 

[Gwendolyn]

Morgana's maidens were positively beaming, but the lady herself kept her poise. She inclined her head to the King, a regal gesture of gratitude and approval, but that didn't stop a small smile from tugging at her own lips. He was everything she'd dreamed he would be. He was beautiful. In the light, his golden head seemed to glow as readily as the sun - and if that were the case, then his eyes were the endless blue sky; or perhaps the watery depths of the sea. He was broad-shouldered and tall, built like a true warrior, and the royal colors looked so right on him. Morgana thought she would love to see him in all his gear, the shining metal, clinking chain mail, the heavy helmet and the by now infamous sword in hand. In her mind's eye, it was a handsome sight indeed, though, she'd always been inclined towards those type of men. Strong. Not only of body, but also mind and spirit - all things Arthur would need in the long road ahead. His young face held substantial worry, despite this newest development in his favor, and she could almost see those sturdy shoulders begin to sag with the weight of the world - but she had faith in him, and her faith was not easily won or hastily invested. Morgana knew he was the once and future king.

Once she'd taken her fill of Arthur, Morgana's eyes swept quickly through his court, taking in the various noblemen and women, and lingering ever so briefly on one man in particular - she eyed his staff, his wise face, and a momentary darkness enveloped her features, which, in their frigid elegance were almost suited to the expression. Yes, she knew what Merlin had done for the former King, how he had facilitated Uther's most appalling desires. The wizard was partly responsible for her father's death. For that she could never truly look upon Merlin as an ally, powerful though he may be.

Now, Morgana was not dim. She could see the bigger picture. She could understand the necessity of what Merlin had done, could realize that without it, Arthur would not be standing here before her, and because of that this country would be suffering a much worse fate. In fact, she understood sacrifice far better than most.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said with another nod. Despite saying otherwise, Arthur had a gift with words, a quality she had always admired. His voice was soothing to the ear, as were the confident and assured words spoken by it.

"You are too kind, my lord. I am honored to be welcomed so warmly. Your chivalry is more than even I could have hoped for." She paused. "I have long desired to meet you as well, my lord...my brother. From this point onward Your Majesty will always have the support of his sister, a love which knows no bounds." When he squeezed her hand, Morgana inhaled deeply, relishing in the feeling of his slightly roughened skin against her own. He stepped backward once more to address the court at large and she found herself very nearly distracted by him. He was radiant.

She was surprised by his invitation. "If Your Highness wishes it, then it would be my honor to attend." Another small smile, pretty and almost coy, as though it were something reserved for Arthur alone. "For you, brother? I assure you, I have all the time in the world... if it pleases you, you may take supper in my chambers. Indeed, there is much to talk about. I look forward to it. Until then, my lord," she curtsied marginally, "my maiden will escort me to the council chamber, where I will not be the only one anxious to speak with you."

Morgana turned from him and approached her maids. Elside removed her mistress' heavy cloak, revealing more of her heavenly form, more tantalizing expanses of white skin. Elside handed the cloak off to another handmaiden, and walked dutifully beside Morgana as the lady made her way to the council chamber. As she walked away Morgana glanced, just once over her shoulder at Arthur, unsmiling, but with unmistakable kindness. This was the start of something new, and the blossoming of something both sweet...and potentially sinister. But for now, she would be just a sister looking warmly upon a brother.


~*~


Several long hours later, Morgana was in her antechamber, which was large enough to allow for a good-sized table, several chairs, and it's own small fireplace. The main chamber itself was enormous and more than fit for a queen. Her accommodations were generous, and she'd taken to them quite nicely already. She was settled in a chair at the dining table, though it was turned to face the doorway in anticipation of her brother's arrival. "Start a fire, will you?" she said to Branwen, whilst Elside was brushing her hair. The circlet and veil had been removed, and the maiden was now brushing the dark locks and pulling them away from Morgana's face, pinning them back into a large bejeweled clip.

The table was set rather simply with a platter of cooked and salted herring, a basket of bread, a tankard of wine, as well as a small jug of sweet mead and some plums for dessert. Morgana was still in her gown from earlier, as she'd seen no reason to make all the fuss of a change of wardrobe for what may not even be that long of a supper. She wasn't sure what to expect from Arthur. All the same, she was excited. She would finally get the chance to know him, and for him to know her in turn, and that was something she had been waiting for her entire life it seemed.

Finally, when she could hear footsteps ringing in the corridor just outside, Morgana stood up, which nearly knocked Elside off her feet. "The King and I will require privacy. You may entertain yourselves as you wish until I call for you."

"Yes m'lady," they both said, their curtsies practically in unison. They went to the large double doors to the private chamber, and in a moment were gone from sight.

Morgana herself walked to the main entrance, and opened it just as Arthur arrived there. "I heard you coming," she admitted, the apples of her cheeks colored pale pink. There was that little smile again. It could appear sweet and innocent, or as sly as a fox, depending on the light... "Please," she said, opening the door more widely and gesturing for him to step inside.

 

[Armphid]

The knights and lords who composed the war council, for the most part, aghast at the inclusion of Morgana in their midst. Which worked perfectly, since Arthur's plan would go contrary to much of what was established and their suggestions. However, they'd be too busy being insulted by the raven haired queen's presence to be insulted by his ignoring their advice.

Morgana's allegiance changed the world. Orkney would have to advance south alone, with no back up, and it was a long trip from the far north islands and highlands. It gave them time to deal with the southern force. Which had conveniently moved towards the castle of one of the lords who had sworn fealty to Arthur.

Arthur sat in his chair, the last of the lords finishing his oratory. The young king's eyes were on the map, but his ears heard all. Merlin was in the back, behind all of them, ever changing eyes watching with quiet certainty.

Arthur raised a hand as the man feel silent, before anyone else could speak. "My lords and my lady, your counsel is well intended and wise." In truth, much of it was not. "The choice is made. We will ride to the relief of King Leodegrance."

"Your Majesty," a red-faced Baron sputtered, "Surely that is madness! With...with," he flushed at having to acknowledge her, "With Queen Morgana fulfilling her oaths, Orkney's forces will be alone and vulnerable. We should ride north and crush them, then deal with the forces of Cornwall and Lyoness. Leodegrance can hold."

"And suffer," Arthur added. The man drew in a breath as if to speak again, but Arthur held up his hands. "Did you not listen, my lords, to the words of Queen Morgana or myself in the great hall? We fight to protect our countrymen, not to slay them. We could destroy King Lot's force and stain Salisbury Plain scarlet. Then, victory would be all but assured. But we would sow the seeds of our own destruction in the needless deaths of worthy men, whose only sin is fulfilling their oaths to their liege, though he is dishonest in his own." He shook his head, standing up. Around the room, chairs creaked as those seated did likewise. "It is a greater risk to attack the twin forces besieging our friend. But should we carry the day, and force their kings' renewed pledge, we will ride forth from that place with a force twice the size of ours now." He traced movements on the map, "Then when King Lot comes upon us here, he will see our army and know there is no victory to be had. He is not a fool. We will put up the white flag and speak and he will listen."

Behind the table, Merlin smiled.

"I will hear no further debate, it is decided." Arthur took a deep breath, "Those of you whose lands lie distant, I would beseech to leave tonight. Speed is our ally now, let us pay heed to it." He looked around the table, seeing resolve despite uncertainty in the faces around him. "On this contest, all will depend. Do not despair, my friends, or fear. This time is our dawn, and it will shine brightly for all time hence, if we act with virtue and valor, and forget not what we fight for. For Britain, and for peace."

"For Arthur," came Sir Ector's rumbling voice.

"For King Arthur," Sir Kay said, echoing his father, his brutish face determined.

Others took up the cry, "For King Arthur!"

~~~~~~~​

The young king felt weary. After the council, there had been many preparations to make. They would be leaving in two days time. He wanted to go sooner; but it would be recklessness to do so. In truth, that was part of the appeal. He wanted this to be over. His father's ambition, now achieved by him, seemed ludicrous. What madman would seek to rule all?

His steps were a bit lighter though, as he traveled alone to the chambers of Queen Morgana. His sister. His gorgeous, remarkable, amazing sister who had delivered him from disaster. He thought back to that smile she'd favored him with, the glance over her shoulder, the way her dress hugged her form, the way it displayed her glory, how she had looked when she'd inhaled so suddenly...God, help him. Again, he felt that wry regret that such a woman was his kin. Alas.

Arthur took a deep breath as he neared her door. He felt more nervous now than when addressing the court earlier, by a wide margin. What could he say to such a lady? Until four weeks ago, he had been nothing more than a page, an orphan ignored and overlooked by his foster family, despite all of his strange and deep learnings from Merlin. To such a noble Queen, what would Arthur the Wart have to say?

Her door swung open as he neared it, and Morgana stood before him again. My God, what beauty and majesty. And so effortless. "My Lady Morgana," he bowed. "I am not suprised you heard me. My footsteps have grown heavier of late. Perhaps I've put on some weight." An entire kingdom. "Thank you for your kindness, your gracious invitation has made the heavy business of the day lighter." It was no lie, that.

Arthur stepped inside, the dramatic shift in temperature hitting him. The rooms were so much warmer than the hallways. Good, her chamber was richly appointed, as it should be. "I hope everything here is to your liking, Your Highness. I asked Sir Kay to see that you were treated well according to your high station and service. It seems to me that he has done well, but I am...inexperienced yet at matters of finery and etiquette."

There were no servants here. "My Lady, your servants, they are...we are alone, are you certain..." He sighed and chuckled ruefully, "I illustrate my own point. I thank you, My Lady Morgana. I am yet ill at ease, and in truth, wished to see you in private this way. I hope not to harm your reputation by it."

 

[Gwendolyn]

Quietly closing the heavy door behind him, Morgana hesitated in front of it, if only for the chance to be closer to him. "My lord, I am more than content. Again, I must thank you for your hospitality and your warm welcome."

No, he wouldn't be familiar with the frivolity of court, or 'etiquette' as he put it, would he. He was yet a boy, and unlike any other prince, he had not been groomed since birth to inherit his father's dynasty and all that came with it. But he was stretching his muscles and discovering his footing quickly - he was forced to. The finery could wait. It was hardly as important in a time of war. "And that is precisely why you will make an excellent King," she remarked after a moment's pause, observant green eyes trained on his face, as though searching it for something. It was clear she was not afraid to speak her thoughts, even to he. "Too many grow accustomed to the reverence, the fear, and the merry indulgence their status brings them and forget what it truly means to be King. Your humility sets you apart. It is a wonderful thing."

Morgana moved, then, finally. Such proximity was beginning to feel stifling, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the fire crackling ferociously in the nearby stone hearth. She walked over to the table and placed her hands on the ornately carved back of one of the chairs, drumming her long fingers slowly and silently over the wood as though to distract herself from something.

"Sire, you worry yourself over nothing," she assured him, looking in his direction. "True, any court loves a scandal, and will often conjure one up from nothing. But what is there to conjure from? An innocent supper between brother and sister is hardly food for rumor mongers." She smiled at him. She looked somewhat amused, as though he were a funny little boy who had just done something entertaining. "In any case, my ladies aren't far; they are in the privy chamber. Playing some game, I'd imagine, though they have real work to attend to," she said with an airy laugh.

Morgana studied him for a moment, then waved her hand for him to come closer, which he would, of course. It felt easy, natural even, to obey her, especially when she seemed so comfortable issuing orders. She never sounded condescending - her voice was soothing and lyrical as ever. Perhaps it was that Morgana exuded a kind of feminine mystique, or power. Either way she was glad of it.

When he was close enough, Morgana reached up, the sheer sleeves of her gown slipping back to reveal slim wrists, and she placed her hands on either side of his face and gazed up at him intently. His features were so reminiscent of her mother's. From his golden hair to his nose to his eyes, though Igrayne's had been slightly more grey. Something in her expression changed, softened maybe around the edges, if only for a moment. She removed her hands. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I just-- I can scarcely believe that I am meeting you. I have not seen you in almost two decades. To say that I have anticipated this moment for all my days would not be an understatement; but my lord did not allow me leave, and truthfully, I would not have guessed where to look." She gave him a watery smile. "So please, sire, forgive a lady's momentary sentiment. I hope that I have not made you uncomfortable. Shall we dine?"

She pulled her chair out then, and waited until Arthur was seated before she sat down herself. The chair at the head of the table was given to the King, while Morgana occupied the seat to his immediate right. Wasting no time in pouring herself a goblet of wine, she said, "We could speak for days without addressing every possible topic of conversation...since we are not presently afforded the luxury of such time, let me ask you this, my lord: What would you like to talk about?"

 

[Armphid]

Arthur watched her as she passed him, his face momentarily stunned before he gathered his wits. His ignorance was a good quality? It seemed ludicrous. But he could also see her point. Humility, she said. He smiled a bit. When you spent your life mostly being called "Wart" you learned a lot about humility. "Not everyone would agree with you, Your Highness. But I do, and despite what you said about humility just now, it occurs to me that the High King's opinion is all that matters," he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

When she beckoned to him, he obeyed without a second thought. It may not be proper for a king to do so. But this was a woman born to command; her very nature exuded authority. It helped that he wanted to go to her, to be near her. Out of brotherly affection, but also out of sheer admiration for this woman. Her beauty, yes, but also her resolve and courage. It took great will to do what she had done today, particularly since there was no guarantee she had chosen the winning side.

Then she reached up, the sleeves of her dress revealing more ethereally beautiful skin, and touched him. Arthur stiffened a bit at the initial touch; surprised by her boldness. But the feeling...her hands were warm and so, so soft. He looked back into those mysterious eyes as she studied him; peering deep into their depths and wondering what she saw in those moments. When her hands moved, he felt regret. "Do not speak of forgiveness, My Lady Morgana. There is nothing to forgive." He reached out to take her hands in his, "In truth, far from causing me discomfort, you have made me more welcome and glad to be here than I have felt in these walls since I came into my birthright."

They sat, Arthur noting how she obeyed the formality of seating even here in private. Matters of power and face meant something to her. Arthur nodded at her words, taking the bottle of wine after she set it down and pouring himself a goblet. "There are many things that I wish to hear from you, My Lady. If only to hear your voice, for a sweeter and richer sound I can scarce imagine." He paused a moment, "I would desire," hmm, perhaps he should avoid that word, "ah, I beg your pardon. I would greatly wish to speak of your life, and your interests, to know you, so long have I craved to know any kin."

This was risky. Even with his sister, could he afford to be so emotional? So vulnerable? He looked at her steadily, as if gauging her. If not with her, then with who? "But...I find as I am preparing to ride to war, and potentially to my death, there is one thing my thoughts return to. My lady Morgana, sister...would you...if it is not too bold...can you tell me about our mother?" His tone was mostly level. Mostly. "I have no memory of her, and Merlin has told me of my father, but..."

 

[Gwendolyn]

Oh, but he was precious. So hesitant and careful, afraid of stepping on toes even though it mattered not. Arthur was High King. Perhaps he was the only one unable to grasp the full concept as of yet, though he joked about it. Either way, it tickled Morgana.

Reaching across the table, she grasped his hand and gave it a brief comforting squeeze. "No question is too bold, my lord," she told him quietly. "In truth, I thought you might inquire of her." She took a small drink of wine, and when she set the goblet back on the table, she kept her hand on it, once again drumming her fingers silently this time against the polished silver. Her curious green eyes once again found his own as she spoke. "If nothing else, you must at least know that the Lady Igrayne was widely considered to be the most beautiful woman in all the land... You bear a keen resemblance to her," Morgana remarked, and smiled warmly at him. "She was married to the Duke of Cornwall, Gorlois, my father. Yet the lady continued to be desired by many. Kings, even."

Morgana knew that she must proceed with caution. She wasn't certain just how much Arthur knew of his father's vices or of his own magical conception - surely it was best to avoid the subject altogether. That wasn't what Arthur had asked about, anyway; and there was far more to Igrayne than simply the tragedy of her first marriage and the sadness of her second, Morgana knew that very well.

She paused before speaking again, "Fair though she was, it was clear to anyone who knew her that the Lady Igrayne's beauty radiated from the inside outward. One would be hard-pressed to find a woman more faithful, more just, more kind or sweet than our mother. The few short years that I enjoyed with her were more than I could have asked for. It brings me great sadness that you never had the pleasure of knowing her. But I see her in you, my lord. Not only in your appearance, but in your very nature. Your humility, which I spoke of earlier, and your honor, and your goodness. These are traits that our mother would have cherished in you and that I myself admire."

Another pause, another sip of wine. She seemed pensive, and a little sad. She was frowning slightly, but her eyes were bright and inquisitive as ever.

"I knew Igrayne as a mother for five years," Morgana said at last, "and then I knew her as my Queen. I received my education in a convent in the mountain village of Gerne. When I was of age, I was married to my lord, Urien... My lord, brother, I profess that my life may not be nearly as interesting as you may imagine it to be. I could bore you with tedious anecdotes of court life in Rhegad, but that would be a poor use of both of our time," she admitted almost sheepishly, if the emotion could truly affect such a confident and flawless lady. Stabbing a sweet plum with her knife, she dropped it on her plate and began cutting it into slices. She picked up one of the slices and put it in her mouth, all the while continuing to watch her half-brother. "If Your Majesty has any exciting tales of his own to regale me with, then by all means." She smirked and popped another slice into her mouth.

 

[Armphid]

Arthur listened closely as his sister spoke. It was still so shocking to think of her that way. His own flesh and blood. It was so amazing and wonderful, and yet...to look on her, to hear her speak, to feel the touch of her slender hand, he almost wished it were not so. He would a queen in time, and Morgana was surely the worthiest woman he had ever met of such a position. Her talk of his mother and their similarity made his heart both soar and ache. the wine dulled the sting a bit, and by the time she was done speaking, he had but dregs in his goblet.

The young king smiled at her sally, taking a few plums and one of the herring to his own plate. "I wish that I had known her. Yet I count myself fortunate that I may know part of her through you, My Lady Morgana. For if I have inherited good quality from her, I am surely not the only one. You are the most regal lady I have ever seen and yet you have acted with great humility this day." He paused, "And surely you too resemble her, for her beauty was renowned the land over, as is your own. For good reason." He sighed a bit, "I almost regret...well, it is of no moment."

He cut off a large section of plum, chewing it to decide how to say this next part. "I would now dwell on the grim parts of our past overmuch, but I feel there is something I must say. I...am aware that my father's actions have caused you great pain. That your treatment at his hands, his sending you to the Abbey," he would not mention her marriage, "was not kind or wise. I regret the indignities you have had to endure, and would change them if I could." He took another bite, looking pained. "I cannot change them though. But I will do the best I can as your brother, and as king, to make better your future as much as I am able. Though I would do so out of affection regardless. But I am sorry for the sins of Uther. I can only hope that Arthur can remedy them."

It was a weight he would carry for a long time, but one he was determined to. His education with Merlin had taught him clearly how poor a ruler, a man, his father had been. Morgana was not the only one to suffer for it, but perhaps most personally. "Again, I speak of dire things on this happiest of days." He smiled sadly, "Forgive me, Your Highness."

He refilled his goblet. "I don't know that my tales would interest you. I was raised and taught to be a squire to my foster brother Kay before I met Merlin. My life was one of servitude, hardly the thing to enthrall so great a lady as yourself." He leaned back in his chair, "But after him...there are some things worth telling, though I fear you will think your brother a liar or a madman."

 

[Gwendolyn]

Morgana smiled kindly at him, gazing at him as though she understood completely. "Arthur, there is nothing to apologize for," she said in a soft, melodic voice, once again taking his hand from across the table. "You are not accountable for the actions of your father. You could not have known. All the same, I am appreciative. Your Majesty is generous. Your words are...too kind." It was true. She had never received an apology in any way, shape or form regarding her step-father's treatment of her. It was something that she had dwelt upon as a child, but as she grew older and began to see the shadows of destiny that awaited her, Morgana's rage and sorrow were reduced to nothing more than luke-warm embers which very seldom, when fanned to life, sprang to a modest fire. For the most part, her anger had dissipated. All that remained was a subdued bitterness, a foul taste in her mouth when she thought of Uther. But she found that even that mellowed into something very manageable when she looked upon Uther's son. Arthur was not his father - they were so vastly different, and that was perhaps what Morgana enjoyed the most.

Deciding to leave it at that, Morgana once more pulled her hand from his in order to cut herself another small plum. His next words made her laugh, and she glanced at him, grinning. "Crazed or dishonest though they are, liars and madmen make habit of weaving the most interesting tales," she pointed out. "I would never doubt a man such as yourself, my lord. Whatever you see fit to tell, I'm certain that I will enjoy hearing of it. Now, regale me!" she demanded, leaning back in her chair slightly; the order sounded so ludicrous that she was hardly able to keep a straight face. She picked up her goblet and brought it to her lips to drink heartily as Arthur spoke ...

And so it continued, with rousing conversation and plenty of laughter. Evening blended seamlessly into night, and before she knew it, several hours had passed since Arthur had showed up in her doorway.

The wine began to flow more and more freely, and though Morgana was not nearly as intoxicated as she was acting - she was in fact still fairly sober of mind - she started to consider her half-brother in a different light. Or, not so different. The moment she'd laid eyes on Arthur, she had been awed by him. There was no denying his beauty. Even now, smiling goofily and staring at her with that happy, glazed look of a man well-indulged, she found it very difficult to take her eyes off him.

"Yes, yes..." Morgana said wisely, nodding her head as though she'd actually listened to a word Arthur had just said. As it were, she'd been rather distracted by the way his lips moved when he spoke, and from that, even wilder thoughts of how those lips might feel against her own, or trailing hotly down her neck, or perhaps even pressing against the flesh of her inner thigh before ...

Before she knew what she was doing - maybe she wasn't as sober of mind as she'd previously assumed - Morgana was leaning forward, perched on the very edge of her seat, moving sideways to avoid the edge of the table that separated them, a very uncomfortable position that could've had her toppling out of her chair if her hand didn't find purchase on Arthur's thigh. She could feel the warmth of his flesh plainly even though his clothing, and as though the heat were absorbed through her palm, she began to feel warm herself. A burning, but not unpleasant, sensation was building within her, like a hot coil was wound tight inside her stomach and was slowly uncurling.

"Arthur..." she whispered, her face inches from his own. There was an intensity in her eyes as she stared into his own for a few long moments. The air in the room suddenly felt very close, almost stifling, and there was no denying that it all but vibrated with sexual tension. Her gaze shifted downward, to his mouth, and then, without giving herself time to think about it, Morgana kissed him. Her mouth opened just slightly and her tongue touched just briefly against his own, while at the same time her hand slid a bit further up his thigh. It wasn't at all how she'd imagined it. But it was good. It was so, so good, and she didn't want to stop. Still, she had to. This wasn't a game that she took lightly, and it would be nothing short of disastrous to play all her cards at once.

So she pulled back, quite suddenly, and kept her poker face. Morgana stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide with what might have been fear. She removed her trembling hand from Arthur's leg, and clasped her hands demurely in her lap...as though any sense of decency could be regained now. "Brother, I," funny how she reverted back to the familial term now, "forgive me, but I think perhaps you should go. It has been a pl-- a joy to dine with you this evening, but I am...quite weary, and I wish to retire now."

 

[Armphid]

Arthur laughed at her absurd command. "As Your Highness wishes," he answered with a bow. "Let me tell you about the time Merlin transformed me into a fish..." And so it went. Over the course of the next few hours, Arthur told the beautiful and regal woman dining with him tales of his lessons from Merlin, of Sir Pellinore and the Questing Beast, and more besides. All the while they two of them laughed and smiled. Morgana was dazzling; delighting him with both her wit and her ethereal loveliness.

He felt lighter, somehow, with her. In these joyful hours, the burden of England was lifted from his shoulders, though it hovered omnipresent just behind him. The wine helped as well, and the young monarch was imbibing a bit more than was wise. He wasn't quite drunk, but he was far from perfectly sober.

He felt Morgana looking at him, which she had been all evening, but not like this. It was different somehow. Her stare was appraising and interested in a way that he was vaguely aware had nothing to do with the story he was telling. It made him feel good, in a way he was unfamiliar with. A way that made him feel warm; with a heat radiating out from within him.

Suddenly she moved, almost falling from her chair. Save that her hand fell on his thigh, steadying the dark haired queen. Arthur stiffened for a few moments when she touched him. Her hand was warm, the heat of it reaching him through his garb. It felt sweet, sure, erotic, that steady touch of her hand. His breath seemed to be coming a rougher for some reason, his mouth a bit dry, his heart thudding faster in his broad chest. Her face, that perfect porcelain glory, was so close to his. He could feel her breath on his cheeks, smell the faint hint of wine on her lips, those sweet lips. Then she kissed him; his eyes widening before half-lidding. The kiss was sensuous and heated, sweet and soft, demanding and giving, and oh, how he loved it! Even as his mind shrieked at the sin of this, that very fact somehow made it all the more intense and real.

She pulled away; her expression hitting him like a bucket of cold water. Her hand had left him, grasping its mate and curling in her lap. Her eyes were wide and...afraid? Of him? Or of the feeling they had both shared, the want expressed between them in that forbidden kiss? "I-yes. Yes, of course." Shame hit him now, as well as the lingering memory of that brief taste of her. "I have kept you too long awake after so long and wearying a journey." Arthur stood quickly, almost upsetting his chair. "...This has been very...I enjoyed it as well, deeply, my dear sister." Damn all to hell that she was his sister. "I will take my leave, Queen Morgana."

He inclined his head, and walked to her door. Then he paused a moment. This was something he had considered earlier. But now...he still...he had to. "Tomorrow, I will leave here. Many of the knights who ride forth will carry a token from a lady they hold in esteem and affection. An inspiration to them." He took a breath; turning back to face her. His face was oddly shy, though his voice did not waver. "It would give me great plea-, excuse me. Great satisfaction, if you would...give me a favor of yours to carry with me into the fire and steel I face." He took a half-step back into room. "Will you, Your Highness? I can think of none other whose token I would wish to bear more than yours."

 

[Gwendolyn]

He was hers, then. Ensnared in a sticky, dangerous web of desire and now Morgana could do as she pleased, but all in good time. She had found that even the strongest of men could be bent to her will, and Arthur would be no exception; however, it would take time. She had planted a blasphemous seed within his mind, and it would ferment while he was gone, and every moment he was away from Morgana, he would secretly and shamefully long for her. He would dream of her lips and her touch and her body wrapped around his own until he was nearly sick with lust. Upon his return the tension between them would be intense and erotic, and then she would make her move, and he would be unable to resist her.

It would all work perfectly, Morgana would make certain of it.

For now, though, it was a pity to see him out. He was so pretty, and she did sincerely enjoy his company, and the way he stumbled nervously over his words was so unbecoming of a king and so pathetic that she almost found it a bit endearing. He seemed to have taken her cue - smart boy - and was pretending that their previous moments, their sensual kiss, hadn't happened at all, even though they would both remember it vividly in the coming days and weeks. For Morgana was not as unaffected as she would like to be. Her chest clenched, she felt short of breath, hot and dizzy, as the beginnings of arousal stirring within her. And whenever her thoughts betrayed her and turned to more than just kisses and fleeting touches between she and her half-brother, it resonated between her legs and a throbbing, almost aching need would blossom there, something she knew she would have to keep under control.

Arthur spoke, anxious and stammering and confused, and Morgana simply kept her head bowed, not meeting his eye, instead looking into her lap where he hands still lay, folded. When he stood, so did she, and now she did look at him, her expression a painful mixture of confusion, guilt, disappointment, and a forced smile. She watched him go to the door, and was about to open her mouth to say goodnight, when he suddenly made a request of her. Her favor. Of course, it made sense. The chivalry and romance of it somehow suited Arthur.

"I could not deny Your Majesty such a flattering request," Morgana said, quietly. "Excuse me." She turned around and disappeared into her private chamber for now more than a moment, and then she emerged once more. She walked across the room and dared to stand close to him - their bodies were almost touching, and the sexual energy crackled and buzzed in that sliver of space left between them, and she could feel her skin break out into goosebumps.

"It is my honor to present Your Highness with my favor," Morgana said with a smile. She held it up for him - it was a long, silken handkerchief of sorts, of the same dark blue color as her dress, and embroidered with silvery flowers, and her name, in white, swirling letters. "On one condition," she added, "that you present it to me upon your victorious return." Of course, he wasn't expected to agree. But it was a wistful, romantic notion, which paired with her expression of longing, might easily occur between parting lovers.

Morgana took his hand, gently, pressed the handkerchief into his palm, and closed his fingers around it. Her own hand lingered on his. "It has been a pleasure and a privilege to speak with you tonight. Rest assured that while you are away this heart will ache and pray for your safety as well as your triumph." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then released his hand and stepped back. "Good evening, my lord."

 

[Armphid]

Arthur took the elaborately decorated square of cloth from her. The touch of her porcelain hand, so smooth and soft, so warm, sent energy crackling up his body. The young king braced himself; holding back the urge to do the forbidden once more and claim those tantalizing lips. “It is you, Your Highness, who has done me the greatest honor of any man alive. I shall return your favor to you, this I swear.”

If he did not, it would be because he had fallen. Thus it did him no harm to make the promise, and it might go a long way to earn her…her what? She had given him her support, and her sisterly love. Yet he wanted more, though his mind shied away from what that more was. “Good night, dear sister. Know that I will think of coming back to your smiling face as the greatest of victory’s spoils.”

He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. The young man let out a long breath. How the world had changed since he entered that door! It seemed to be changing a lot lately. He lifted her favor to inspect it, smiling slightly, and taking a deep breath. Lavender.

Arthur turned and headed back towards his own royal chambers. A far more lonely thought that it had been before; something that both troubled and enticed.

~~~~​

Arthur stared at the map on the camp table. He and his war council stood under a pavilion in the deepening twilight. Marks of charcoal sticks indicated the deployment of the enemy around Leodegrance’s castle. “Thus, my king, by attacking the assembled footmen here, we will prove our bravery and skill to the approbation of the enemy.” The old knight who had finished speaking nodded firmly.

Arthur looked at the mark that indicated the peasant levies. “Pray tell, my lord, what armor do the footmen wear?” The young king had been outfitted spectacularly. Merlin had provided a suit of knightly armor, plates of hard metal shaped and fitted exactly to Arthur’s body, allowing him full movement despite being protective. Mail guarded him under that, and a thickly quilted gambeson beneath. The armor was simplely but elegantly designed with smooth, flowing lines, the burnished metal trimmed with polished brass, save for the rearing lions on each pauldron that were hammered gold. Much to Arthur’s distaste.

The man looked as though his king has just asked him it grass was green. “Well, Your Majesty, it depends on the largess of their lord. Most will wear gambesons or hardened leather, though many will have nothing at all. Some few may have poorly made mail, but no more than that.”

Arthur looked down at his own armor, then up at the men around the table. “So it would prove our bravery to fight men with little or no protection while wrapped in steel from head to toe and on horseback?” He shook his head, “My lords, to do such a thing is to turn a knight into a bully, and I will have it not. Besides, my quarrel is with the oathbreaker lords, not those who have no choice but to serve them.”

There was a light, haunting call and a great owl swooped under the pavilion. It circled the table as many of those assembled gasped, some warding themselves against the evil eye. The owl flew to the empty space at Arthur’s right, then blurred and dissolved and a moment later, Merlin stood there. “I have found them as you asked, Your Majesty.” Some of the men drew back from the table as Merlin approached it and made a mark with one of the charcoal sticks. “Here is where the knights and lords leading this force are encamped.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” The magician nodded, stepping back from the table, grinning a bit behind his beard at the reactions of those present. Arthur nodded, “This is where our enemy is, and this is where we will do battle.” He looked up, “Begin preparations. We will ride among them at dawn.”

There was a stir among the older council members. One of them spoke up, “Your Majesty, it is the custom of war to allow the enemy to gird himself. This smacks of dishonor.”

Arthur smiled ruefully, and others at the table now drew back, “You speak your mind, my lord, and I thank you for it. But I say to you, these men are oathbreakers. They have brought our country to the brink of destruction for their pride and petty desires. I will not treat them as though they will not act with treachery, for that is all I have seen of them.” He paused, then continued, “Recall as well, that I am here to end this strife with as little bloodshed as possible. You all know, my lords, that these rulers would care not a whit if we paint the ground red with the blood of their infantry and archers. But once we start shedding noble blood…they will come to heel.”

The High King stood up straight, setting his shoulders, “This is the moment, gentlemen. This is the critical hour. Britain shall live or die by the actions of this dawn. We will show our valor and our wisdom in seeking out foes of our own measure. We will meet them, we will throw them down in the muck, and forgive them as they make themselves again our countrymen.” He gestured, “Go and let it begin.”

~~~~~~​

King Leodegrance was old but strong, with broad shoulders and a benign countenance, his head bald save for a monk’s tonsure of grey locks. He rose , having been kneeling before his king. “Your Majesty, I confess that I am as confused to have your relief as I am glad of it.” He shook his head. The old man’s armor bore testimony to his participation in the siege of his home. “I had thought you would take the course of wisdom and pursue lonely Orkeny to the north. But…I am well glad you chose the way of compassion, for I was afeared for my people and my daughter.”

Arthur clapped the man on the shoulder, “Your Highness, the way of compassion is the way of wisdom, and only the brute believes otherwise. By saving you, I have added your force to mine, and that of surrendered Cornwall and Lyonesse, their lying rulers fallen and the new ones sworn fealty anew.” He grinned, “Thus King Lot will come upon Salisbury Plain to find an army five times his size awaiting him. More clever than brave, he will then submit, and no more blood need be shed.”

Leodegrance’s expression was as though he’d just been hit on the head with a fish. Then his eyes lit up as he began to see how it fell together. “By God…truly, Your Majesty is meant to be High King.”

Arthur looked a big chagrined at that. “Walk with me, my lord.” The two men set out across the castle’s battlements, scarred by the recent siege. “I know you are weary, Your Highness, but I must ask something of you.” The old man nodded. “Tonight we do not tarry here, but ride north. We now race to take Salisbury Plain before Orkney so he will find us waiting, defenses erected on the best ground.” He paused. “I would have you and yours among us.”

The old king nodded again, “I shall select those who are able, Your Majesty, and we will go forth with you.”

“Father, please do not!” The voice made Arthur turn; sweet, high, somehow perfectly feminine. Approaching them both was a girl, younger than he by several years, beginning to blossom into a glorious flower of womanhood. Her hair was like wheat in the late summer, and her eyes as blue as deep sea water, her face fair and achingly lovely. She wore a dress of shimmering golden cloth, her creamy skin seeming to be swathed in light. The girl came up to Leodegrance, “The siege has just ended, and you have worn yourself badly in it. Should you go, I am afraid you will not return. My heart had just begun to conquer the fear of the attack, will you now place only fear of your falling on some distant plain in its place?”

The old king laid his hands on her slender shoulders, “My Guinivere, I would only bring you joy. But the High King was asked, and I will go.”

The teenaged beauty, still only beginning to riped, looked over as if seeing Arthur for the first time. “Oh!” She blushed as red as the rising run, curtseying deeply. “Your Majesty! Forgive me, my liege, I did not realize, I am distraught overmuch with all these events. I pray you, think not poorly of my father’s rearing of me, nor-“

“Princess, peace,” Arthut raised a hand and the girl quieted. He smiled. She was stunning, even now. Should she continue to develop as her dress hinted, she would be a rival for all the beauties of the land. Save one. His right hand fingered the blue handkerchief tied to his sword hilt. “You do your father honor by showing concern, and you do all gathered here a great service by showing us such great beauty after the ugly business of this morning.”

The girl’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and her cheeks colored rosily. It was not often one was complimented so by the High King. “Thank you, Your Majesty. And…thank you for saving us, I wish there were some small recompense I could offer for your gallantry.”

The king chuckled, “You have done it, Your Highness, by lifting my heart with your compassion and your lovliness.” She blushed brigher, curseying again. “Now, I have need of your father, for his heart is true and his arm strong. But I say this to you, Princess Guinivere. I will return and bring your father back to you, this I swear.”

~~~~~~~~​

King Lot looked up, his hands wrapped around the naked blade of Arthur’s sword. The king of far north Orkeny knelt before Arthur and his supporters and across the field his army did the same. “My congratulations, Your Majesty.” He rose, and behind him so did his men. “You have won the greatest battle our island has known without a single blow.”

“The best kind of victory, Your Highness.” Arthur nodded, “I have accepted your fealty and that of your men, but do not think that there is no weregild due for your actions, King Lot.”

The man’s face darkened. “Whatever you ask, I shall deliver.” He was in no position to refuse and he knew it well.

“Your sons,” Arthur answered. “When they come of age to be squires proper, and begin the height of their training, you will send them to me. They will finish their training at my castle, and be knighted by me.”

Lot nodded slowly. “…You are wise, indeed, Your Majesty.” Such a thing would steal away any resentment towards Arthur he managed to instill, making them firm supporters of the king. “It shall be as you have commanded.”

“There is one more service I ask of you.” Arthur caught Merlin’s eye, the old magician nodding slightly. He cupped a hand beside her mouth and blew; magic carrying the words Arthur would speak now to all the men in both armies. “Take your weary and brave men home, King Lot, and carry with you tidings of love to my sister, your queen.” He stepped past Lot, casting his gaze over all those assembled. “Let all of us return to our homes, victors and countrymen united, to give love to those we have left behind and comfort them for the pangs of our absence.” Morgana. How he longed to see her, to touch her, to hold her. It was a shame, yet it had driven him all this time. When he let his thoughts stray, they turned to her and that wonderful, forbidden kiss. His dreams were of her. His fingers sought her favor, running the silk through them. “All here, Britons, let us go home and build our country together, never again to tear it apart. Let no man ever say that any man who came here was in the wrong, or was traitor. We leave here friends and allies, bound by kinship, by fellowship, and by this good, clean earth that is mother to us all.”

~~~~~~~~~~​

That night in camp, Arthur sat outside his tent, watching the dancing flames of the campfire. In the distance, men were singing, in many places, many songs, all melding together into a celebration of safety and relief more than victory. “…Well?”

Merlin stood by the fire, the ancient man who looked not old, turned his head to the young ruler. “Good. But let me ask you, Arthur, having faced fire and steel, felt the roar of battle singing in your blood, what now do you desire?”

The young king touched Morgana’s favor, thinking of her. “I desire…home, Merlin. And that I shall never go to war again.”

The spellweaver smiled, “Then excellent I say, my lad. Well done, indeed.” He turned back to the fire, “And home we shall go. For now.”