Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  One look at Morgan’s face and the man’s jaw dropped.

  All he could do was stare in disbelief.

  John of Orland clearly couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Morgan?”

  “Hello, John,” Morgan said.

  Orland stared. “Someone said they thought it was you, but we thought he was mad. We thought you dead or worse, in Haerold’s dungeons. Where have you been?”

  “The second,” Morgan said, “until Kyri found me.”

  His breath caught in wonder, Orland said, “Kyri?” and looked past Morgan to see her. “Kyri.”

  “Hello, John,” she said.

  For a moment he could only stare at her as well, shaking his head as his eyes went from one to the other.

  “Damn,” he said softly. “Welcome back, Kyri. After all this time you did find him after all.”

  Morgan looked at her, but Kyri wouldn’t look at him.

  Ducking her head a little, she only said, “I said I would.”

  “And Caleb, too. Good to see you, man. Who else have we got?”

  Morgan said, “Colton and his children, they had a safe house to the south and east. This is Gordon and this is Gawain.”

  John of Orland clearly missed it, but Morgan shook his head lightly at the boy. Not yet. Morgan had other plans.

  He grinned.

  “Well,” John said, “I know a few people who’ll be glad to welcome you back from the dead, Morgan. Quite a few. Follow me. That lot will draw them off, disperse in different directions and find their own way back. There’s more waiting ahead. I was to identify you as friendly and bring you in.”

  A dozen men and women waited over the rise, all of them in Gwen’s colors.

  They formed up around their small party as escort – several of them casting glances of amazement and relief to see Morgan and Kyri – leading them north and west, now, into the dense Great Western Forest.

  Single file, they rode through the cool green wood over rock and between boulders. A deer bounded away, startled. Kyri took a deep breath of the rich forest air. It smelled of good earth and pine, of the musky scent of lichen and moss.

  Once this had been one of her people’s places.

  Morgan turned in his saddle to look back at her. She smiled in return, knowing he understood and remembered as she did other trips into a forest.

  Around them, unseen amidst the rock and brush, were the King’s Guards. Morgan’s Marshals.

  They crested another rise and there below them was the King’s tent, a half a dozen others surrounding it and some open camps. Sleeping blankets ringed around campfires.

  The King’s tent had clearly taken some damage and been repaired but everything else was so like the last time he’d been there that Morgan was taken aback. It seemed only yesterday.

  How long had it been since he’d seen Oryan? Two years, more…?

  As they rode past a tall, somewhat familiar young man stared at them, gaped, and then took off running through the camp.

  “It’s Morgan,” he shouted. “It’s him, truly. It really is Morgan. And Kyri’s back, too. Kyri’s with him. The Queen of the Fairy has returned.”

  John of Orland clearly couldn’t believe his eyes.

  People popped up all over to look and see for themselves as the riders went by.

  “Jordan,” John shouted, trying to call him back before he gave up, shrugged and let the young man go.

  Dismounting outside the High King’s tent, Morgan lifted Kyri down from her saddle as he had of old, pausing for only a moment to look at her, to touch her cheek. She slanted a smile at him. His mouth brushed hers for only a moment before he slid his arm around her as the others gathered around.

  Morgan grinned, winked at Gawain.

  “Back in the pack,” he said, with a lift and turn of his chin.

  Gawain grinned, eyes widening as he understood and the rest surrounded him, young Angela grinning excitedly, too.

  It would be a surprise. This would be great fun.

  His pale blue eyes twinkling, Morgan, with his arm around Kyri in the lead now, followed Orland to the tent, the rest in tow.

  “Geoffrey,” Orland called, as they approached.

  The flap opened, Geoffrey sweeping it aside.

  His eyes met Morgan’s and he gaped.

  “My Gods,” he whispered. “It’s Morgan, by the Gods. It’s Morgan.” His voice rose. Then he looked at the woman beside Morgan. “And bless me, it’s the Lady Kyri with him.”

  Inclining his head, Morgan said, “Geoffrey, it’s good to see you again.”

  Beaming, the old man shook his head. “Oh, my good Lord Marshal Morgan and it’s good to see you again. And my Lady….my sweet Lady Kyri.”

  Kyri smiled at him fondly, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand. “Geoffrey, my old friend.”

  He almost wept and mopped at his eyes before recovering himself.

  Straightening, turning, Geoffrey declared, “Your Highness, welcome the return of your High Marshal Morgan, himself in the flesh and the Lady Kyri with him, who is Queen of the Fair.”

  Oryan went still.

  It was very nearly pain.

  Slowly, hoping against hope, Oryan lifted his head and his heart followed as he saw them framed in the doorway.

  Oryan looked at his oldest friend.

  Morgan.

  It was him. It was Morgan.

  Oryan almost couldn’t believe it, but there couldn’t be two like Morgan, not with that fair hair and those brilliant blue eyes.

  His heart ached.

  “Morgan,” he breathed, coming to his feet.

  He seemed almost unchanged, a little gaunt, a little sharper, perhaps, but it was Morgan.

  And beside him, her unusual eyes serene, smiling as always, was Kyri.

  Something in Oryan’s heart came back together again, seeing them.

  It had almost broken his heart to admit that Kyri had been right to do what she’d done and then it had all come to naught.

  Now….

  He’d dared not hope to see Morgan alive again.

  Now he did, but more…

  “Morgan.”

  There was a wealth of emotion behind that single word.

  He strode across the floor.

  Their hands met in an arm-clasp and then Oryan pulled his friend into a sharp, fierce hug before pushing him back again to look at him.

  Oryan shook his head.

  “Morgan,” Oryan said. “They said you were dead, disappeared, that Haerold had you, but there was no big public trial…”

  He’d given up on even thinking that Morgan was still alive. It had been just one more grief layered on top of the others.

  “I missed you, my friend. I feared you dead.”

  He’d grieved and deeply.

  Their arms were locked together tightly.

  “Morgan,” Oryan said again, looking into clear blue eyes he’d known so well for so long.

  Oryan had changed, Morgan thought, looking at him. His old friend had grown leaner in the time he’d been gone, had been honed by adversity, by suffering and sorrow. But he’d also grown stronger where others might have bowed beneath the pressure.

  “It’s unbelievable,” Oryan said, before turning to look at Kyri.

  She was so beautiful, so sure and so calm…

  Save for that one moment, that one time, when Oryan had Called her….

  Laughing, he swooped her up in a bone-crushing hug – mindful of her wings – and planted a kiss right on her pretty mouth.

  “You said he was alive,” Oryan said, “and he is. You said you would find him and you did.”

  Laughing, Morgan said, “Hey, she’s mine, go get your own girl.”

  Startled, Kyri staggered as Oryan set her down again but she grinned with delight even as Morgan pulled her back into his arms.

  Morgan looked at his old friend.

  The King, his friend, Oryan, was a less haunted man than the one who’d stood up only moments before.<
br />
  “It’s good to see you again, too, Oryan,” Morgan said.

  Their hands came together again in a strong handshake, looking at each other. Each who’d thought and believed the other dead.

  Oryan reached too for Kyri, brushed his hand over her gilded hair.

  Touched by that gesture as much as by the kiss, Kyri smiled, understanding as only she and Morgan could. Oryan been alone all this time. They each had been.

  Her throat tightened.

  Now they weren’t.

  “Let me look at you,” Oryan said, his voice rough. “I still can’t believe it. We thought you dead. We searched…”

  He’d thought Morgan dead and yet still had sent men to scour the countryside, hoping against hope to find him...

  “Who are these others, then?” Oryan said, finally remembering himself. “Galan, of course, I know. It’s good to see you again, my friend. We’ve missed you as well.”

  It was nothing more than the truth. He genuinely liked the quiet, gentle Fairy.

  Galan smiled and inclined his head slightly.

  Taking a breath, Morgan said, “You remember Caleb, of course.”

  With a salute and a sharp nod of his head, Caleb said, “Highness.”

  “Of course,” Oryan said, remembering.

  Morgan’s aide. So they’d found each other, too. That was wonderful.

  “This is Colton and his family, Brion and Angela.”

  Her eyes big, Angela asked in a whisper, “Are you really the King?”

  Oryan chuckled. “So they tell me.”

  “I like you better than the other one.”

  Horrified, Colton said, “Angela, what did I tell you?”

  Amused, Oryan said. “I like to think so, too.”

  “Of late, Colton maintained a safe house to the east and south,” Morgan said. “It’s been compromised. You might want to put a warning out.”

  “Geoffrey?” Oryan said.

  A gaping Geoffrey nodded and hurried out.

  “This,” Morgan said, “is Gordon. He’s been keeping a special charge.”

  With a little frown, hearing something in Morgan’s voice, Oryan looked at him.

  “You might know the young man, your Highness,” Morgan said. “His name is Gawain.”

  Gordon stepped aside.

  For a moment Oryan could only stand frozen in disbelief, looking at the boy.

  Oryan’s throat tightened.

  Gawain.

  His son.

  Not a boy any longer but almost a man. Tall, taller than Oryan had expected. Gwen had promised him tall sons and daughters and in that she’d been right. He looked into Gawain’s eyes, into clear gray eyes so like his mother’s. Gwenifer.

  All he could think of was that Gawain had her eyes, truly. He’d forgotten that.

  She would have been so proud.

  His son.

  His and his mother’s.

  Gawain had gone equally shy, staring at this man he barely remembered, save as a tall man who’d bounced him on his knee while his mother had given him sword lessons.

  Oryan was somehow both taller and smaller than Gawain expected.

  It was so strange.

  Memories fluttered through his mind like Kyri’s wings.

  All Oryan could do was stare at his son.

  He was a handsome boy. How had they, he and his beloved Gwen, managed that?

  Then he took a step forward.

  “Forgive me, Gawain” he said. “I know you don’t really know me.”

  He reached out, his hand shaking, and touched his son’s hair for the first time in six years or more. Just for a moment.

  “You have her eyes,” he said, his voice shaking to match his hand. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

  Gwen.

  Then he pulled the boy, his son, into his arms, and bowed his head.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  All who remained around the table in Oryan’s tent were the King himself, young Gawain, Morgan, Kyri, Galan, Caleb, young Jordan of Dorset and John of Orland. Kyri narrowed her eyes at that last and reminded herself she could kill him later. Gordon, professing himself a simple soldier, waited outside.

  For now, they were still getting through the whole story for the first time.

  Kyri would have passed over some parts more lightly, especially the more painful parts. It was her nature.

  There had been times during the telling when Morgan held her hand so tightly she thought he might crush her fingers and then he would lift them to his mouth to kiss them lightly, his blue eyes looking into hers.

  By turns Oryan had been astonished, shocked, horrified, and amazed. It pained him to hear what Haerold had done to Gwenifer. He was relieved to know her soul was now finally free, but it pained him even more to know what they’d done to Morgan. The long years of suffering, of torment and torture while they’d searched for him.

  Then there was what Haerold had done to Caernarvon, his home.

  He’d known Haerold had put the city to the torch, but that he’d turned it into his private prison…

  Now he sat back and stared at all of them, his hand absently going to his son’s hair to stroke.

  “You said you’d know he was in trouble,” Oryan said to Kyri, his throat tight. “After so long, I was afraid Gawain was gone, too. Or at least lost to me. Like Morgan.”

  Kyri shook her head. “The spell would’ve released him when he hit his majority or Galan would have done it for him, if I couldn’t.”

  With a nod of his head, Galan confirmed her words.

  Oryan waved his hand, “I know and you told me Morgan was alive, but after so long…”

  He sighed and looked first to Morgan, then to Gawain, before looking to Kyri.

  ”I should’ve trusted you.”

  “Even if Morgan would have died,” Kyri said, and her throat tightened at the thought, grief piercing her until Morgan’s hand tightened on her own.

  He was here. He was alive, she reminded herself and looked Morgan to confirm it.

  Morgan lifted her hand to his lips to reassure her.

  Smiling, Kyri nodded.

  “There was always Gawain,” Kyri said. “I’m bound to him. I would’ve stayed until his memories returned to him or my successor was born.”

  Looking at his son, Oryan said, “A wizard. We thought he might be as it runs in both our families. Haerold doesn’t just get it from his thrice-damned father but through our mother. Gwenifer had none but her uncle had the gift. That’s why it was so important to keep him safe, he’s our best hope. Can you train him, Kyri?”

  “Magic is magic,” she said.“It’s only the darker magics I don’t know and I don’t want to, but between Galan and myself I think we can teach him what he needs to know.”

  “All right,” Oryan said, thoughtfully. “The question is, what do we do now?”

  He turned to look at Gawain.

  “This is a lot on you, son,” he said and waited to hear what Gawain would say.

  Gawain sighed. “I was raised on tales of you, sir… my m… Liliane...”

  Waving that away, Oryan said, “She was your mother for much of your life, Gawain. You can call her that. Knowing Gwenifer as I did, she wouldn’t have minded, knowing how devoted Liliane was to you. Go on… You can speak freely here among us….”

  Pausing, Gawain said, “All this time, I’ve been thinking. Kyri said that among her people, even the Queen has to live as her people do, to know them. In a way, that’s what I’ve been doing all these years. I don’t know much about being a King, but I do know that what Haerold does is wrong. Liliane died for me, to keep me safe so I could do that. Morgan, Kyri – she nearly died helping me get away – Galan, all of them, have been trying, fighting, to get me here. If you show me how, sir, I’ll do my best to be the King our people need.”

  Oryan’s throat went tight.

  “That’s all I can ask, Gawain,” Oryan said, his voice thick. “I’m proud of you, son.”

  Gawain str
aightened, his eyes brightening.

  “And what about you, Morgan? What now?” Oryan asked.

  “I need to find out how many of my Marshals are still alive and free. Start recruiting again,” Morgan said.

  Oryan laughed, relief running through him. “I meant to ask only if you wanted your old job back, but I take it then that the answer is yes.”

  Given everything Morgan had been through, even knowing him as well as he did Oryan wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him say no and, considering the circumstances, it might have been wiser. Oryan wasn’t certain whether he would have blamed Morgan for walking away.

  Nodding, Morgan let out a breath. “That would be a yes.”

  “Kyri?”

  Morgan turned look at her, awaiting her answer although he knew what it was. His hand tightened on hers as she smiled at him.

  Giving Morgan a look and then these others who now knew her so well, Kyri said, “Well, first, I have to kill John.”

  The non sequitur took them all by surprise, although Morgan choked on laughter.

  Startled, both Oryan and John looked at her in astonishment, as Gawain and Caleb burst into laughter.

  “What, why?” John squeaked, as even Morgan smothered laughter again at his expression.

  “For writing that thrice bedamned song,” Kyri said, exasperated beyond all belief. “Do you have any idea how much that’s bedeviled me?”

  Oryan fought not to laugh, knowing exactly what she was talking about. He tried to smother it, but he so needed it.

  He burst out laughing

  “Ah, that,” John said, finally, looking a little embarrassed.

  “Yes, ah that,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

  By now even John smothered laughter, if slightly abashed, laughter.

  “Don’t give me ah that. Killing is almost too good for you. Fair warning,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “I will get even.”

  “Oh Gods,” Oryan said, gasping for air, “Kyri, we’ve missed you.”

  She grinned impishly.

  This, Morgan realized, was what had been missing in the years she’d been gone, this ability to lighten the tension even in the darkest moments.

  “As for your question,” she said, looking at Morgan first, her eyes soft and then at Oryan and Morgan knew what the answer would be.

  “Of course.”