by J A Cummings
“Wait,” Arthur said. “If you… We should marry. The child should be legitimate.”
She sighed. “I have no wish to be High Queen. That is a role I do not want and could never bear. And if I marry, it will be for love, not duty. I do not love you, Arthur. I will not marry you.” She picked up her bags. “Merlin, please.”
Kay turned his back on Arthur and stalked out of the hall, nearly vibrating in anger. Merlin cast his spell, and he and Lionors disappeared.
The beginning of autumn found Arthur and Griflet at Brastias’s estate at Mons Badonicus. The two of them had received intensive training with lance, sword and shield during the summer and early fall. Merlin came and went at irregular intervals, keeping his own counsel on where he went and what he was doing. Kay stayed at Caer Gai, angry and alone.
Arthur sent letters to Lionors in Ceredigion, but he received no reply. He despaired of ever knowing his child, and he wondered if he would even be told if the baby was a son or a daughter. He hoped that he would receive at least that much news when the child was born in the spring.
Griflet came to Arthur’s room one day while they were washing up for dinner, removing the grime of training in preparation for an evening of food and fellowship. He had a scroll case in his hand, and the king looked at it with curiosity.
“What’s that?”
“I found this missive in Brastias’s library,” he said. “Did you know that there’s a place between Logres and Cambria called the Perilous Forest?”
“No. I’ve never heard of it.”
“I hadn’t either, but read this.” Griflet opened the case and spilled out a tightly-rolled piece of vellum. He handed it to Arthur, and the king unrolled the scroll and read the contents. Griflet, too excited to let him just read the letter for himself, told him what it said. “There’s a knight there who challenges all comers. He’s defending a magical spring, and they say he’s killed a hundred men or more. He’s the greatest knight anywhere in the world, and he’s wasted on defending this fountain or spring or whatever it is.”
“It must be a very important spring,” Arthur reasoned, “to be so stoutly defended. Does anyone know anything about it?”
“Nobody’s who’s gotten close enough to it has lived to tell the tale.”
“Then how does anyone know about it?”
Griflet clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Because people have seen it from a distance, and they’ve seen the fights.” He sat on Arthur’s bed, his eyes bright. “We have to go there. We need to try ourselves against that knight.”
“You’re insane.”
“No, listen. We can say we’re going to Viroconium to see my uncle for Yule. We’ll be riding straight past the Perilous Forest. It won’t be any trouble to just detour in and take him on.”
Arthur put the scroll aside and rose, shaking his head. “If he’s as strong as you say, and if he’s been able to kill that many men, there’s no way you or I could face him.”
“We could take him on together.”
The king was aghast. “That’s dishonorable!”
“No,” Griflet objected, “it’s practical. We could take Gawain and Owain with us.”
“First of all, we are too inexperienced and we would all be killed by this mystery knight. Second, there is absolutely no way that Sir Brastias will let us leave this keep without him.”
“He will if we leave right when the baby is born.”
“Lady Garwen will be the one giving birth, not Sir Brastias, so it’s not as if he’ll be prevented from riding. And if we leave then, he’ll feel obligated to come with us, and then he’ll miss his own child’s first days of life. No, Griflet.”
The younger man pouted briefly, then smiled. “You know, we can just go to recruit him and not to fight. Wouldn’t you rather have a man like that fighting at your side instead of against you?”
Arthur changed his clothes while he talked. “I’ll need all the help I can get to take Din Eidyn in the spring,” he agreed, “but I’m not sure asking a man whose claim to fame is murder is quite the way to do it.”
“It’s not murder if it’s a death in a fair fight,” Griflet said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
The king sat and pulled his boots on. “I left it in Vinovia.”
Lancelot crouched in readiness, his shield on his arm, his sword raised and ready. A centaur across the clearing from him hoisted a spear with a barbed stone tip and charged. He held his shield up and stood his ground, holding steady as the hooves of the centaur pounded the ground, throwing chunks of peat behind him. The spear struck him in the center of the shield, and he leaned into the blow at the last second, catching the spear on the boss and shunting it aside. His other hand brought down the sword and severed the spear in two.
The centaur laughed as he charged past, and Ysmon, Lancelot’s wood nymph master, applauded. “Well done, boy! Well done! Now, what will you do about this?”
Three more centaurs burst from the forest, each one with a different weapon. One had a sword, one a spear, and one had an evil-looking warhammer with a curling head. Lancelot dropped back into his crouch and waited.
The attack came on in a blur, and he felt something in his head click. He moved, but he felt like someone else was in control. He was a mere passenger, a tiny conscious speck in the back of his own head, watching the chaos but not directing it. He moved without thought, whirling and striking and blocking, his mind floating in a kind of fugue state. When he came back to himself, two of the centaurs were lying on the ground moaning in pain and the third was dead. He stood straighter and spun his sword overhand like a wheel at his side, flipping the blood from the blade.
Ysmon laughed and applauded again. “Yes! Yes! That’s what I’m looking for! Be a killer. Be brutal. Be the master of war.” He grinned at Lancelot, and his voice became oily. “Now come here and get your reward.”
The youth wiped his blade and sheathed the sword. Stiffly, like a statue come to life, he walked to join his master.
What Ysmon did to him was painful, but he had begun to find pleasure in it. If he was honest with himself, he gained pleasure from the pain itself. He didn’t understand it. He only knew that Ysmon would fuck him hard, doing everything he could to make it hurt, and Lancelot would secretly revel in the agony.
When the wood nymph took him, he turned his face toward the dead centaur. What am I becoming?
When Arthur came down to the great hall, he stopped short in shock, stopping so quickly that Griflet collided with him from behind. Arthur was staring, mouth agape, at the other people sitting at the table. King Leodegrance and Princess Guinevere were in attendance, standing together and talking to Sir Brastias and Lady Garwen, their hosts. Guinevere looked at Arthur when he appeared in the doorway, and she smiled at him. He thought it looked like a forced smile, but it was a smile all the same. He was happy for whatever he could get.
Merlin was standing with them and announced him when he arrived. “King Arthur,” he said. “I would like to present King Leodegrance of Cameliard and his ward, the Princess Guinevere of the Fey Realms and Dal Riada.”
Arthur tried to smile without looking over-eager, which was a significant challenge, given the way his heart was trying to pound out of his chest. He crossed the flagstone floor of the great hall as Leodegrance inclined his head respectfully and Guinevere lowered herself in the most graceful curtsey that Arthur had ever seen. He extended his hand to his fellow king.
“King Leodegrance, Princess Guinevere, welcome. What an unexpected and joyous surprise.”
Sir Brastias said, “His Majesty and Her Highness have come to speak with you, and they will be staying with us for a time.”
“That’s marvelous,” Arthur said. “Marvelous.” He glanced back at Griflet, who was looking stone-faced. He realized suddenly that he was pushing his lover away and fawning over someone else in front of him, an egregious insult. He held out his hand to him. “This is my dear, dear friend, Sir Griflet.”
Guinevere
looked from Arthur to Griflet and back again. She nodded to the young knight. “Sir Griflet.”
He bowed. “Your Highness.”
Sir Brastias looked to his heavily pregnant wife for rescue. Lady Garwen said, “We are so honored to have you in our home. King Arthur has the lord’s chambers, but I will ask the servants to place your bags in the lady’s chambers, Your Majesty. Your Highness, I will have the solar arranged as your own bower. It gives a lovely view of the fields and the forest beyond. I hope it will be to your liking.”
Guinevere smiled. “Many thanks. I hope that we aren’t putting you out by coming here.”
“Not at all. We’re delighted that you’ve come.” Lady Garwen beckoned to a trio of porters, who hurried forward to take the royal pair’s bags and the heavy chest they had brought. Their hostess turned back to her exalted guests. “Dinner will be served at your majesties’ pleasure.”
King Leodegrance looked to Arthur. “I defer, of course, to the High King.”
“Uh…” he said brilliantly. “I think we would all like to dine soon, Lady Garwen, so whenever the food is ready would be a grand time to serve it.”
Guinevere smirked, and although he knew she was laughing at his awkwardness, he thought it was the most charming smirk he had ever seen. “Merlin,” he said, “may I have a word with you?”
“Of course.” He bowed to the king and princess. “Excuse me.”
Arthur pulled him into the stairwell leading to the private apartments above the hall. “Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?” he hissed.
“Because you’re already acting like a fool, and I knew you would be twice as bad if I gave you time to work yourself into a lather over this.” He glanced over his shoulder at Griflet, who was talking politely with the king and Sir Brastias. “And I didn’t want to risk a full-blown lover’s argument when they arrived.”
“Don’t worry, there will probably be one after dinner,” he said ruefully. “Merlin, why are they here?”
The druid smiled. “Because I have made certain arrangements and suggestions, and the princess is here to see if those suggestions are to her liking.”
He may have been acting like a fool, but he was smart enough to understand what Merlin was implying. “Are you…”
“Arranging a suitable marriage for you, yes.”
“She’s…”
“Fey. I know.”
“That’s not -”
“You know this pleases you. Stop acting so appalled.”
He shook his head. “I’m not appalled, I’m…” He took a deep breath. “I suppose I’m scared. What do I say to Grif?”
Merlin looked at the young knight again, then said, “Leave that to me.”
Dinner was filled with polite conversation about the harvest, the change in seasons, and the signs for the winter to come. Throughout the meal, Arthur stared at Guinevere, who ate nothing, and drank only clear water. At one point she caught him looking and stared back, a shrewd and intelligent look in her dark blue eyes. He felt that she could read him all the way to his soul with that look, and the thought was both intimidating and thrilling.
After the meal was ended and the tables were cleared away, Brastias called for a bard to play for them. He had a fair voice and a decent collection of songs and poetry, but Arthur could not concentrate on a single thing with Guinevere sitting so nearby.
She was exquisite. Her black, glossy hair was thick and hung in waves to her waist, and pearls were woven onto the long strands like a net. She had a necklace of green stones that hung about her swan-like neck, and her gown was white as snow. She looked like a dreamer’s vision of a princess, and he smiled to think of how many times he had dreamed about her, himself. He realized that he was staring half a second after she noticed, and he looked away, blushing.
When he looked away, he turned toward Griflet, and the sorrow and pain in his eyes was like a splash of cold water in his face. Arthur met his gaze, but then Griflet looked away and began to talk to his sister, Garwen. After a few minutes, Merlin pulled the young knight away for a private conversation, and in his absence, Guinevere turned to Arthur.
“I have heard that your foster father was lost in the battle of Vinovia,” she said.
He nodded sadly. “That is true.”
“I am very sorry to hear of this. My guardian says that Sir Ector was a fine man, and that his loss will be felt very keenly by many people. May you somehow find solace in your grief.”
“My thanks, my lady. It’s very gracious of you to mention it.”
She sipped from her cup of water and glanced toward the door where Griflet and Merlin had left. “Your dear, dear friend looks unhappy this evening.”
He looked toward the door, as well, and sighed. “I fear that’s the case.”
Guinevere smirked again. “Hopefully you can comfort him sufficiently tonight.”
His mouth fell open, and the princess turned back to Lady Garwen, still wearing that beguiling smirk.
Merlin and Griflet walked out into the kitchen garden, which was just beginning to go fallow for the autumn. Griflet looked around them in the moonlight, remembering how lush and green it had been in summer, saddened to see it reduced to bare twigs now.
“You know that he will have to marry,” Merlin said.
“That’s what I like about you: your utter lack of compassion.”
The druid chuckled. “My boy, if I were truly lacking in compassion, I would find ways to accomplish my ends other than talking to you here tonight.”
“Like what?” he asked.
He didn’t answer. They walked further into the garden, and he said, “You know that he can’t marry you.”
Griflet was annoyed. “Well, obviously. I know he has to take a queen and make little kinglets. It’s the way of things. I just never expected him to be so… enthusiastic about it all.”
“Princess Guinevere is an extraordinary creature.”
“Yes, a creature,” he agreed. “Not human. That means that his heirs would be only half human, and I don’t think anyone wants a faery on the throne. If she’s your choice, then I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’ve chosen badly.”
Merlin took no offense, which surprised him. Instead, he nodded. “I know. There were other, more suitable brides, but none that could bring him the power and the allies that she can.”
“Faery allies? Faery power?”
“Yes. A power that isn’t derived from man or god is still power, and the faery armies are stronger than you may think. With the faery kingdom and all of Dal Riada at his back, he will be well-nigh invincible in all the ways that count, in all the times that count.”
Griflet had the suspicion that Merlin wanted Arthur to succeed for his own ends, and he distrusted the druid. He stepped away from him. “He’s not your puppet, you know.”
This time, Merlin did look offended. “Of course I know that. I don’t want him to be a puppet. Malleable in the right ways, perhaps, but a puppet? No.” He stopped walking, and Griflet turned to look at him. “And it’s possible that he has been too malleable for too long. Did you seduce him, or did he seduce you?”
The knight frowned. “That’s not your concern.”
“Quite the contrary. I need to know who started your liaison.”
“Liaison? You make it sound so tawdry.”
“That’s because it is.”
He crossed his arms, glaring. “I offered and he accepted. Happy?”
Merlin nodded. “Very. I’m glad to hear that you’re the one who began it. That makes it so neat and tidy when you’re the one to end it, too.”
He let out a short, barking laugh. “End it? Why would I end it?”
The druid looked at him, and Griflet would have sworn that his eyes were star-speckled like the night sky, with no normal blue iris and no white around it. “You are going to end it so that he is not distracted from his destiny. There are things that he is meant to achieve, a legend that he is meant to be, but those things cannot happen wit
h you at his side. Do you understand me?”
Griflet backed away. “No. I don’t.”
Merlin advanced, keeping the space between them narrow. “I think you do. I think you understand exactly what I’m saying, and why.”
He stopped backing up when his back hit the fence around the garden. He suspected that Merlin had done this exact intimidation tactic a hundred times before, with a hundred different people. He planted his feet and faced the druid.
“You’re asking me to leave him and to break his heart so you can marry him off to a faery creature who will never be accepted as a real queen.” He watched as Merlin slowly smiled, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “You’re asking me to stop sleeping with him so his pleasure and his joy all come from sources you arrange, and so that you can be the gatekeeper of his happiness. Am I correct?”
The druid chuckled. “More or less.”
Griflet nodded. “And what if I say no?”
“Then I will have to resort to other methods of convincing you.”
Merlin’s voice was cold, and the menace in his tone was unmistakable. Griflet narrowed his eyes as a realization struck him like a thunderbolt. “You killed Amren, didn’t you?”
The druid laughed softly. “Now, why would you say something like that?”
He was convinced. “And now you’re implying that you’ll kill me, too, to get me out of Arthur’s life.” He lowered his hand slowly toward the dagger at his belt.
“You don’t understand, Griflet,” the druid said. “The High King has duties to fulfill and actions that he must take at the right time. If you are with him as his lover, he will not take those actions, and his destiny will not unfold correctly. And his destiny must unfold correctly. This is not open to debate.”