by K. M. Shea
“I cannot alter the memories of so many men—not to mention all of Camelot. My magic is not that plentiful,” Merlin said.
“Couldn’t you at least talk to them? Make them see it’s not all bad?” Sir Ector said.
“I could, but I won’t,” Merlin said.
“Why not?” Sir Kay asked.
Merlin drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Because if I meddle, Arthur’s knights—Britt’s knights—will never trust her again. I will become the person they hinge their hopes.”
“What of it?” Sir Bodwain said. “Have you not noticed, Merlin? If this does not end soon, our plans are doomed. Camelot will not survive this upheaval, and the knights will trust no one. All of our work will be destroyed, and once again, Britain will fracture into thousands of tiny fiefdoms and kingdoms. Rome will sense we are weak, and they will attack,” Sir Bodwain grimly predicted.
“I know that,” Merlin said, “but I won’t act.”
“Merlin,” Sir Bodwain said, shaking his head.
“Those knights belong to Britt Arthurs,” Merlin said. “I will not take them from her. She is fully the King of Britain. If Camelot is to be saved, it will be by her hand.”
“But Merlin, you could do it,” Sir Ector said, his brow puckered with confusion. “You could reclaim it.”
“And Britt will lose them forever,” Merlin said.
“But if you don’t act, we will lose everything,” Sir Bodwain said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin said. “I have faith in Britt. She will return. And when she does, she deserves a chance to rally her men again. Even if it means our plans might fail.”
Sir Bodwain and Sir Ector gaped at each other.
Sir Bodwain spent a few more minutes trying to convince Merlin otherwise, but Merlin stood firm. Finally, Sir Bodwain left—saying he would pass Merlin’s decree on to Sir Ulfius.
Sir Ector shook his head. “I never thought I would see this day.”
“What?” Merlin asked. “The ruin of Camelot?”
“No,” Sir Ector said. “The day you would allow affection to put all your schemes and plans in possible jeopardy.” The older knight smiled wanly. “You’ve changed, Merlin. For the better, I think.”
Sir Ector’s observation chilled Merlin.
It’s true. It is riskier to put my hopes in Britt instead of taking care of this matter myself. So why don’t I? Even with his vast experience, great intelligence, and superior knowledge, Merlin could not answer his own question.
Chapter 8
Redefined
It took Britt two days to ride back to Camelot. When she arrived, the guards at the gatehouse greeted her with relief. “Welcome home, My Lord,” they said with broad smiles.
“Thank you,” Britt smiled, nudging her horse forward. Any of the townsfolk or guards Britt ran across smiled at her, as if the mere sight of her could ease their tension.
“I guess they didn’t tell everyone,” Britt murmured as she rode the path that led to the keep. She passed the inner walls and directed her horse to the stables. She dismounted and led the horse into the barn.
She passed the chestnut off to a groom when she heard someone from the stable yard shout, “Arthur’s here? Arthur!”
Sir Ector—with Sir Kay on his heels—waddled into the stable, a bright smile on his face.
“Dad,” Britt said, her eyes momentarily clouding with emotion before she ran across the stable and hugged her foster-father.
Sir Ector squeezed her tight. It made her shoulder wound protest, but Britt didn’t care. Hugging Sir Ector made her feel like a child again, and like everything would work out.
Sir Ector finally released her and anxiously looked at her shoulder. “How’s your wound?”
“Stiff, but manageable.”
“We should have gutted Lancelot,” Sir Kay muttered.
Britt laughed and threw her arms around a surprised Kay. “You’re a man after my own heart, Kay,” Britt said, happy and amused for the first time since her parting with Lancelot, Ywain, Griflet, and Bedivere.
Sir Kay awkwardly patted her back. “I am glad you are safe, My Lord,” he said.
“I would never dare to return to you in any state besides complete health. Or, mostly healthy I guess,” she said, stepping back to give Sir Kay some space.
“We heard you meant to go to London. What good fortune brought you back to us?” Sir Ector asked.
“Kind people. I met a nice shepherd in a little village on Baron Marhaus’ lands,” Britt said.
Sir Ector seemed to suddenly have a great fascination with the ceiling. “Oh?” he politely asked.
“Father has traveled there a number of times in the past year or so. Baron Marhaus is a personal friend of yours, is he not?” Sir Kay said, turning to look at his father.
“I’ve been there a time or two,” Sir Ector said.
His cagey reply made both Britt and Kay frown.
Britt was about to press the matter further when her thoughts were interrupted.
“Britt.”
She looked past Ector and Kay to see Merlin standing at the stable entrance.
“Ah,” Sir Ector said, casting a glance over his shoulder before grabbing his much taller son. “Come along, Kay.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are. Come along,” Sir Ector said, yanking Kay out of the stable.
Kay suspiciously eyed Merlin but followed his father into the stable yard.
Britt wished they hadn’t left. She would now be forced to tell Merlin about her failure alone. They were silent for a minute. Britt stared at Merlin’s brown boots—a copy cat pair of her own boots she had personally designed and badgered a cobbler into making for her. Merlin, however, stared at her without embarrassment.
When Britt could stand it no longer, she finally spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“For ruining your plans. They found me out. I tried to stop them, but I passed out. I know—”
“Britt,” Merlin said, interrupting her stream of apologies. “It’s not your fault.”
“Well, yeah. Lancelot was the one who stabbed me. But I shouldn’t have—”
“Britt. It’s not your fault,” Merlin repeated.
With those few words, the careful control Britt had built up fell in shambles. Britt bit her lip to keep from crying and reached out—steadying herself on a stall door. Her shoulders shook, but she held it in…until Merlin pulled her flush against his chest.
“You did well, lass,” Merlin whispered.
The awkwardness of the past year was peeled away, and it was like coming home again.
In spite of the somewhat public setting, Merlin embraced Britt—who was trying to keep from bawling her eyes out.
Merlin held her until the tsunami of emotions passed, leaving Britt bone-weary, but more controlled.
“You have to speak to them,” Merlin said.
“I know. But can I?” Britt asked.
“I have absolute faith in you, lass.”
“No, I mean…can I? Hasn’t all of this ruined your plans and visions for the future?” Britt asked, pulling back from Merlin so she could look him in the eye.
“If you succeed, this incident will only make your relationship with them stronger,” Merlin said.
“Perhaps, but it is more likely to fail than succeed, in which case we lose everything,” Britt practically pointed out.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to run,” Merlin said.
“How many know?”
“Most of your inner circle. The knights Leodegrance sent with the Round Table are unaware, but the rest of your old court knows. The only ones that don’t are those out adventuring, but most of them have returned over the past few days.”
“Who is the angriest?” Britt asked.
“Ywain, still. He’s a hothead—he’ll have to learn to control his passion someday,” Merlin said.
“What about Gawain?”
“It appears that he to
ok it in stride—I would ask him about that if I were you. King Pellinore is…not pleased. But he’s not angry.”
“And Bedivere?”
Merlin sighed. “I won’t lie to you, lass. He walks around as if he’s lost his soul. He took it the worst—even more than Ywain.”
Britt wearily rubbed her eyes. “I thought as much. And has Lancelot been busy hissing in everyone’s ears?”
“He’s quiet—unnaturally so for him. It’s been reported that he hasn’t told a story about his past exploits since they returned to Camelot after parting with you.”
“He worries me,” Britt said.
“Still?” Merlin groaned.
“He stabbed me! I think I have a right to be leery.”
“You made him mad. What did you expect?”
“An ounce of chivalry, maybe? I swear I will give my knights a painfully detailed lesson about sportsmanship if we make it through this. Stabbing me after the match was over—what a jerk!” Britt grumbled.
“He should have his ears boxed,” Merlin admitted. “But at another time. You need to prepare to speak to your men. When they find out you’ve returned, I’m sure their reaction will not be to mewl like hungry kittens.”
“How much time do you think I have?” Britt asked.
“Not long. The guards were already singing of your arrival. If we hurry, we can hustle up to my study and help prepare you for what you’ll face,” Merlin said. “I’m sure you would like some refreshments?”
“That would be nice,” Britt said, slapping dust from her clothes. “I think my shoulder needs to be rebadged. Where is Cavall?”
“He’s been staying with Sir Ector. We’ll have a squad of guards wait in the hallways while you talk—lest your knights act…unseemly.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Britt said.
“I hope it won’t be necessary,” Merlin said. “There’s no telling—”
“My Lord,” a stiff voice said.
Merlin and Britt whirled to face the front of the stable, where Sir Ywain stood with Sir Griflet and a cheerful Sir Tor.
“We request your presence at the Round Table, My Lord,” Sir Tor said, his smile was as good natured and genuine as ever.
“Immediately,” Sir Griflet said with a bone-weary sigh.
“She just returned,” Merlin said, tilting his head and half smiling. “Couldn’t you let her enjoy some refreshments and have her shoulder dressed again?”
“We will not give her the time you need to tell her what she should say to us. We will see her. Now,” Sir Ywain said.
This is too soon. I’m not ready! Britt thought, her heart beating in her chest like a throbbing drum.
“Very well,” Merlin said. He shrugged as if this change in plans was nothing to be bothered with. “I assume you do not mean to allow me to accompany her?”
“That is correct,” Ywain said, his voice icy.
“In that case, good luck. I have confidence in you,” Merlin said, smiling at Britt.
Panicked, Britt took in his expression, searching for hidden hints and clues. To her surprise, the wizard turned on his heels and left the stable.
Britt watched him go as her heart sank into her gut.
“If you’ll come with us, My Lord,” Sir Tor said, leading the way from the stables. Britt had no choice but to follow.
Britt was led all the way to the hall where the Round Table was located. They had stopped only at Britt’s room so she could change into a clean tunic. When she entered the hall, the chambers were eerily silent. Everyone was seated, watching her with dubious looks—or narrowed eyes.
Britt was led all the way to the space where her usual seat was—although the chair was pulled back, far away from the table. Excalibur lay across the seat, and Britt longed to reclaim it. Her side felt bare without the magic sword strapped to her side. She wasn’t given the chance to grab it, though. Sir Tor neatly maneuvered her so she stood in the blank space—visible to everyone gathered around the table.
Sir Kay and Sir Ector were there—as were the rest of Merlin’s minions. Britt had no doubt Merlin was listening in somehow. The thought made her square her shoulders and raise her chin.
This is my one shot, Britt thought. If I ruin it, it’s over. If there was ever a time I needed to speak well, this is it.
When Sir Tor sat down, the knights turned their gaze to King Pellinore.
The older king leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Britt. After several long moments of silence, he gestured with his hand. “Explain yourself.”
Britt looked down at her hands. How do I begin? How do I assure them that I’m still me?
“My name is Britt Arthurs,” she began. “I am a foreigner. I come from a different place—a different world. I was summoned here by the sword in the stone—which judged me to be the kind of person needed to rule Britain. And I resented that.”
Whatever her knights were expecting, this wasn’t it. Britt watched them exchange glances and shift in their chairs.
“I longed for the family and friends I left behind, and I wanted to leave this place so badly it hurt. But I couldn’t. No one has the magic needed to send me back. So, Merlin popped me on his throne as his puppet king. I intended to sit there like a lump and do nothing—mourning my lost life for the rest of time—but something happened.”
Britt waited until all of the knights looked up at her. “I met you,” she said, her gaze sweeping the circle so she could meet their eyes. “I met knights who were good and just, and I fell in love with Camelot. You put your trust and faith in me, and together we were able to mold Britain. There are fewer recreant knights now than ever before. We have stopped the petty wars that used to devour time, resources, and precious lives. You ride forth and right wrongs, helping the weak and the oppressed.”
“You will not sway us with your speeches this time, My Lord,” a knight warned. “No matter how you flatter us, we will not fall for your schemes.”
“What schemes?” Britt asked. “What have I made you do that you are morally opposed to? I have pushed you hard, yes. I have asked for your best and demanded much of you…but for purposes and for things you believe in.”
“Lies!” Ywain shouted, standing up so fast he sent his chair flying. “Nothing but drabble falls from your lips.”
Sir Kay put a hand to his sword, and Sir Ector said “What?” and tried to roll to his feet. Both he and Kay froze when Britt signaled for them to remain still.
Time to play rough, Britt grimly thought as she gathered all her courage.
“You speak lies and manipulate us to accomplish your own goals!” Ywain spat.
“How can I lie and manipulate when the only thing I have ever done is accomplished what I promised!” Britt shouted, her voice was loud like thunder in the hall. “When I met you, Ywain, I told you I dreamed of a place where my knights could be equals, and here we stand,” Britt said, slapping her open hand on her table with a crack. “I have said since I was crowned that I wanted Camelot to be known for its justice—not for military strength and campaigns. How did I lie, exactly? Give me one example!” Britt demanded.
“You cannot be angry,” Ywain said, his voice rising in volume. “You were the one who proved to be a traitor—”
“NOT TELLING YOU MY GENDER DOES NOT MAKE ME A TRAITOR!” Britt roared.
Some knights leaned back in their chairs, recognizing the rage and anger Britt faced them with, as the temper she had briefly shown against King Urien in the battle for her throne.
The dragon king was enraged.
“I was upfront with everything I wanted to accomplish! I haven’t made any of you follow me. You chose it because you wanted the same things I did. Guess what—we accomplished them! I won’t let you color them as the acts of a traitor because you’re too prideful to admit you can’t believe it took A WOMAN to get these things done!” Britt shouted, her voice ringing in the hall.
The silence was suffocating. After several heart beats, Britt added—in a more controll
ed but still angry voice, “I am sorry I had to lie to you. It was wrong, I know. But if I had even hoped that you would listen to me, knowing who I was, I would have told you!”
“So, it is true. You didn’t tell us because you didn’t trust us,” Sir Bedivere said. His voice was heavy with heartbreak as he stared at Britt. “You hid from us and never felt the way we felt about you.”
Britt was silent. She leaned forward and placed both of her palms on the table, as if drawing strength from it. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. I didn’t want to lose you.”
“You didn’t trust us to stand with you,” Sir Bedivere said.
“Yes,” Britt said.
Sir Bedivere lowered his gaze.
“So now you want us to stand with you, even when you didn’t believe in us?” Griflet asked. His voice quavered twice.
“Do you really think I don’t believe in you, Griflet?” Britt asked, her voice soft. She stared at the young knight, trying to push every ounce of affection she had into her eyes. “Do you really think I don’t believe in your abilities, in your goodness?” she asked. She paused before addressing the Round Table. “I made a mistake because I was worried you would think that I’m not good enough. I have trusted you with my life and with my kingdom. In this one area I have held back, but no more.”
Sir Ector made a noise of distress as Britt stripped off her jerkin so she stood before her knights in a blue tunic that set off her eyes.
What made the men stare at her—as if she had grown a second head—was that she had removed the extra underclothes that flattened her chest when she had visited her room to change. Her chest, wider hips, and more slender waist were made obvious by the tunic.
Some of the knights averted their eyes; others stared at Britt with dropped jaws.
“I regret my actions,” Britt said. “And if I had a choice, I’m not certain I would have it known that I am a female. Not because of you, but because of what will happen when all of Britain finds out. I apologize, and I recognize I have wronged you. So, I will step down from the throne.”
“What!” Sir Percival said, his face turning pale.
“My Lord, you can’t!” Agravain—who stood behind Gawain’s chair—shouted.