King Me!

by Deborah Blake

  “So, what did she do to you?” she asked curiously. “It must have been pretty bad, for you to hate her as much as you do.”

  Arthur looked almost wistful for a moment. “I did not always hate her, you know.” He swallowed his tea pensively. “There was a time when we might have even said we were in love.”

  “Really? You and Morgana Le Fay?” Morgan didn’t know what she’d been expecting to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  Arthur nodded, his eyes glinting under the bright kitchen fixture overhead. “Yes, hard though it might be to believe. Morgana and I grew up together, fostered at Sir Hector’s castle. I suspect such was the origin of the tale which says we were related, although I know for a certainty Morgana encouraged that mistaken belief later, when it worked to her advantage.” He looked at Morgan. “Are you quite sure you wish to hear this? It is not so entertaining a story as some, and I do not know what good it can do you to know it, truth though it might be.”

  She nodded. At the very least, she’d have some idea of what was going on. And maybe she’d gain some insight into Arthur’s behavior. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind telling it.”

  He sighed. “Very well. But I do not take pride in my part in it, you must understand.” He ran one large hand through his red hair, leaving bits of hair standing on end.

  Morgan saw a glimmer of light. “Oh, the old ‘woman scorned’ story, eh? Did you abandon her for someone else?”

  “That is the way she tells it,” Arthur agreed reluctantly, “although it might be more honest to say that I abandoned her for the throne, and the good of the land.” He frowned. “I feel something of a fool to admit it, but I was convinced at the time that what we shared was nothing more than an idle dalliance, the fond indulgence of a long acquaintance. A few pleasant nights; that is all.

  “But when my marriage to Guinevere was arranged, Morgana flew into a rage. She knew well that marriages of kings were matters of power and treaty, not youthful friendship, and I had not yet even laid eyes on Guinevere, but Morgana did not care. She was adamant that I was hers, and could belong to no other. And when I insisted I had no choice but to go through with the wedding, she swore she would have her revenge—and me—if it took until the end of time.”

  Goosebumps sprang up on Morgan’s arms. “That doesn’t sound good. Alienating a powerful witch is always a bad idea. What did she do?”

  “At first, nothing,” Arthur said. “After a few years passed, I began to think her words were nothing more than the meaningless threats of an upset and disappointed lover. Merlin tried to warn me that powerful forces were stirring, but alas, I did not listen. I was young and cocky, and because all was unfolding as I desired, I could not envision a time when such would not be true.”

  “Well,” Morgan said, sympathy lending her voice a gentle tone, “I think we all tend to be a bit shortsighted when we’re young. Why should you be any different?”

  “Because I was King,” he said simply. “And there were many who depended on me to be wise when I was not.”

  They sat silently for a moment while Morgan tried to come up with something to say. Eventually she just gave up and asked him, “So what happened?”

  Arthur shook his head. “Nothing happened. And that is how the problems started. Guinevere and I had a good marriage but she bore me no children. You understand; a king must have a child.” He looked morose. “That was when Morgana returned to court, bringing with her a young son she called Mordred. She claimed that the child was mine, and insisted I should put Guinevere aside and make Morgana queen in her stead.”

  “What did you do?” Morgan asked, fascinated.

  Arthur snorted. “I refused, of course. That boy was no more my child than Merlin was. He looked nothing like me, and was suspiciously small for the age she insisted he was at the time. I am quite certain she intentionally got herself with child after I went through with my marriage to Guinevere, for exactly such a purpose. She always was a sly and clever wench.”

  Morgana thought for a moment. “Well, yes, but sly and clever aren’t the same thing as witchcraft. It sounds to me like she was just a liar, not a witch.”

  “Sadly, she was both,” Arthur said. “Not content to smear my good name, she set out to destroy my marriage to her rival. She cast a wicked spell on Guinevere and Lancelot, my friend and staunchest knight, so that the two of them fell in love with each other. They resisted her magic for as long as they could, but in the end they betrayed me, just as she had planned.”

  Arthur looked so sad, Morgan’s heart hurt for him. Clearly the loss of his wife and his best friend still caused him pain.

  “What makes you so sure they didn’t just fall in love on their own?” she asked hesitantly. “People do, after all.”

  He shook his head, and a lock of red hair flopped endearingly into his eyes. Impatiently, he pushed it back again. “People do not go from indifference to love overnight, Morgan. And I assure you, that is exactly what happened.

  “One day Guinevere thought Lancelot was an arrogant, too-pretty foreigner, and the next she could not keep her eyes—or her hands—off him.” Arthur frowned. “It was terrible to watch the two people I loved the most behave so and not be able to stop it. Of course, that was part of Morgana’s revenge as well. She wanted me to feel as helpless as I had made her feel.” He sighed deeply. “And in that, at least, she succeeded.”

  “Couldn’t Merlin do anything to break the spell?” Morgan asked. “He was supposed to be the most powerful wizard of all time.”

  “He tried,” Arthur said, “but you must understand that we were constantly fighting battles. Most of his time—and mine, I’m afraid—was spent fighting to save Briton from the Saxons and others who would have overrun the land and destroyed my kingdom. And I confess; I did not take the situation seriously enough, soon enough. By the time Merlin was finally able to counter Morgana’s magic, it was too late. The damage had been done.” Regret lowered his voice to a deep rumble.

  “Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to say. Such a sad story. And it was obvious, for all Arthur’s insistence that the affair was brought about by magical trickery, that there was some part of him that wondered if his wife had voluntarily chosen another man over him.

  Pushing her lukewarm tea away, she asked, “So how did it end? I mean, how did you end up, um…”

  “Dead?” Arthur gave a sardonic laugh. “That was Morgana as well. In the end, she succeeded in dividing the kingdom, with many folk convinced her son was the legitimate heir to the throne. Eventually, I was forced to fight Mordred and his followers in a great battle at Camlann.

  “It was there that he struck the blow that would have killed me, had I not been taken to the Isle of Avalon where I could be healed. When Merlin found me there, he placed me in a magical sleep, so to remain until such time as I was needed again.” Arthur shook his head. “I doubt he intended that I should sleep so long. But who knows what one such as he would deem a long time?”

  Wow. What a story. Of course, she had read the tales of Arthur and Camelot, but it seemed so much more real when King Arthur himself told it. Morgan found herself looking at him differently now; he seemed so much more human than he had before. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do something sooner or later to irk her again, but still.

  “What happened to Mordred?” she asked, curious. “Did he die in the battle, too?”

  “I know not,” said Arthur. “I struck him a mighty blow at the end, but so did he me, and here I sit.”

  “Hmmm. Good point.” Morgan thought for a minute. “So do you think that he could be here, too? I mean, in this time?”

  She was surprised at how worried he looked. “Where Morgana Le Fay is, Mordred is likely to be as well. We must be wary. He was ever under her control, although sneaky enough in his own right.” Arthur scratched his chin. “I do not know how it is that they still live, and yet her magic must somehow have made it possible. I confess; I understand not the ways of sorcery.” His m
assive shoulders rose in a shrug. “Merlin always swore he could move backward and forward in time; mayhap Morgana can do such a thing, too.

  Great, Morgan thought. It just gets better and better. Not only did they have to watch out for a crazy-jealous centuries old witch, but her weasel of a son as well.

  “Why did you say that if Morgana is here, it meant Merlin was in danger? She wants you, after all, not him.”

  The king appeared, if anything, even grimmer than before. Frown lines deepened on his forehead. “She well knows he is the only person left I care for. If she realizes he and I are here, and if she can then find Merlin before we do, she will hold him hostage to force me to do whatever she wishes. And she will finally have me under her control, once and for all.”

  Chapter Eight

  Morgan tossed and turned on the couch, but she couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. Arthur’s story kept running through her mind. And for some reason, she couldn’t stop seeing of Fay LeBeau’s face, staring directly at her. It was crazy, but she could have sworn those cold blue eyes had actually seen into hers. That was impossible, wasn’t it? Of course, what about this situation wasn’t?

  Around six A.M. she finally gave up and folded up the futon. A shower and a cup of coffee later, she felt almost human. And because of her early start, she actually had a couple of extra hours before she had to be at the shop. A glance inside her bedroom showed Arthur still asleep in her bed, one large callused foot poking out from underneath the covers.

  Morgan tried to think of something useful she could accomplish without waking her houseguest. Cleaning was out, since the only way she could bring herself to do any major housework was with the stereo turned up high. She looked out the window at her bedraggled flowerbeds. Perfect—it was a gorgeous morning, so she could pull weeds and enjoy the beautiful weather at the same time.

  Feeling virtuous, Morgan put on her oldest garden clothes and spent about an hour yanking up crabgrass and bindweed. About the time her back was telling her enough was enough, she heard a throat cleared genteelly behind her. She looked up into the glare of the sun, expecting to see one of her neighbors stopping by for a chat.

  Instead, Morgan was captivated by a vision in white silk with elegantly styled blonde hair and sophisticated oversized sunglasses. The woman gave Morgan a smile as white as her summer sundress, then frowned for a second as the stiletto heel of one shoe stuck in the lawn. But she recovered her poise quickly and flashed the smile again. A gleaming white limo idled across the street.

  Was that…no, it couldn’t be…Morgan had a moment to regret that she was facing this stunning woman while wearing raggedy cut-offs and a tee shirt that said, “You can’t have too many cats or too many books.” Not that she was in the same league even on her best days. She pushed her hair out of her face with one grimy hand and staggered to her feet.

  The vision took off her sunglasses, revealing startling blue eyes adorned by subtle but effective make-up. Once the glasses were off, the woman was obviously—Morgana Le Fay! Or Fay LeBeau, as she was calling herself these days. What the hell was she doing on Morgan’s front lawn? How had she tracked down Arthur so fast?

  Morgan desperately tried not to glance back at the house where Arthur lay sleeping. At least she hoped he was still sleeping. Now would be a very bad time for him to suddenly put in a royal appearance. Did Fay know he was here? How could she? On the other hand, if she didn’t know, what could she be doing here? Albany was a long way from Hollywood.

  “Can I help you?” she asked politely, trying not to sweat.

  Fay smiled warmly, as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, and put out one perfectly manicured hand. “Good morning,” she said in the same throaty voice Morgan had heard last night coming from her television. “I do apologize for disturbing you at your work.” She made “work” sound like something only a peasant would do. But her smile never wavered.

  Fine, thought Morgan, two can play this game. She stuck her hand out to take the one Fay had offered and enjoyed a moment of petty satisfaction when she saw the other woman wince at the sight of her dirt-encrusted nails as they transferred grime to Fay’s own lily-white hand. Hey, there is no such thing as clean weeding.

  “Good morning,” Morgan said blandly. “Were you selling something? Because I have to tell you, I don’t usually buy from door-to-door salespeople.”

  Fay’s smile didn’t falter, but her grip on Morgan’s hand tightened uncomfortably for a moment. “Not at all, my dear,” she said, “although I do have a particularly nice hand cream you might like.”

  Ouch. Point to the evil sorceress.

  “I’m Morgan Fairfax,” Morgan said in return. “And you are?”

  Fay raised one elegant eyebrow at Morgan’s supposed lack of recognition, and her smile widened in a way that reminded Morgan of a shark on the lookout for dinner. “I’m Fay LeBeau, dear.” She paused for effect. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, since you saw me on television last night.”

  Okay, the gloves were clearly off. Morgan couldn’t believe Fay was admitting she’d used magic to somehow identify and find Morgan. But if that’s the way they were playing it…

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said sweetly. “You just look so much older in person.”

  For a moment, she thought Fay was going to slap her. Instead, the actress allowed herself to look just the tiniest bit peeved, then shrugged and let out a light and tinkling laugh.

  “Oh, very nice, dear.” She smiled at Morgan. “You have more backbone than I would have guessed from looking at you.” She stared openly at the house behind them, then back at Morgan. “Arthur’s tastes must have changed over the years. He never used to like women who had spirit. How nice to know that he’s matured a bit.”

  Morgan tried not to show her shock. Fay knows he’s here! Or was she just guessing? “Arthur who?” she asked casually.

  Fay shook her finger. “Now, now, dear. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Did you really think I wouldn’t have magical alarms set to go off when the King finally awoke?” She rubbed her hands together. “In fact, I’ve been waiting in this era for some time now, for just this moment. I was beginning to think no one would be clever enough to bring him here, no matter what my crystal ball showed me.” She eyed Morgan dubiously. “Of course, I never anticipated someone like you, dear.”

  If that bitch queen calls me “dear” one more time, I’m going to pull her bleached blonde hair out by the roots, Morgan thought. Oops—witch queen.

  “Yeah, well ‘nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition,’” she retorted. Fay just looked confused.

  “I have places to go and things to do. So why don’t you just tell me what you’re doing here?” She didn’t want this overly polished she-devil still here when she had to leave for the shop.

  Fay made a little moue of distaste, probably at Morgan’s bluntness, then shrugged. “Very well. I came to offer you a proposition, Morgan. One that would benefit both of us.”

  “And what would that be, pray tell?”

  Fay smiled her barracuda smile again. “Why don’t we go inside and discuss it, dear?”

  Morgan shook her head. “I don’t think so, Fay. Dear. I doubt you’d be able to get past my wards against evil. So I’m sorry, but we’ll just have to talk out here.”

  Fay smirked. “Do you really think that your magic could stand up to mine?”

  “You’re welcome to find out.” Morgan said, waving a hand toward the front door. She had no doubt Fay was a much stronger witch (after all, she’d had centuries to practice, and no pesky ideas of right and wrong to slow her down), but Morgan had worked long and hard on her protective spells. She had a feeling they would hold, although against this woman, she couldn’t be sure. And hoped like hell she wouldn’t have to find out.

  Fay looked at the house and back at Morgan. “Perhaps some other time,” she said, a not-so subtle threat in her intonation. “For now, why don’t I tell you my
offer and give you a day or two to think about it?”

  “I can’t think of anything you could give me that I’d want,” Morgan said evenly. “And I have no intention of giving you what you want.”

  “Oh, I assure you, I will get what I want, with or without your help.” The steel in Fay’s voice hadn’t been there a moment before. “If I were you, I would think twice about turning down my proposal. It might be the only chance you have of coming out of this mess you’ve made with anything at all.”

  “I’m listening,” said Morgan. The only way to get rid of the woman was to listen to what she’d come to say.

  “Very wise, my dear.” Fay said. “I am willing to give you a great gift, you know. Especially considering I would eventually achieve my goal without your help. Your assistance would merely save me from wasting time and energy.” She paused dramatically before going on. No wonder she had become an actress. “If you hand Arthur and Merlin over to me, I will teach you some of what I know. Not all, of course,” she added with a sly little laugh, “but enough to make you the most powerful witch of your time.”

  “What makes you think I feel any need to be a stronger witch than I already am?” Morgan answered coolly. “After all, I already brought Arthur back from Avalon. I’ve got mad skills.”

  Fay held up one pale hand. “Don’t be too hasty, dear. You may be strong and possess some knowledge, but think of all I could teach you. Think of the good you could do, if you were that much more powerful.” She waved her hand, and a series of pictures appeared in the air before them. Scenes of Morgan healing the sick, aiding the helpless, receiving accolades from important public figures.