by K. M. Shea
“Indeed, I have! She has forgiven me, though I had to do a number of quests to get her attention. That’s how I befriended this fine feline!” Ywain crouched down and petted the lion.
Britt was mildly fascinated and concerned when it started purring like a barn cat. “That is a very unusual traveling companion you have with you.”
“I saved her, and ever since, she’s followed me. Laudine loves her, so it works out well. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you!” He abruptly stood, the set of his face serious as he met Britt’s gaze. “You were right; I didn’t understand what Laudine was feeling. I’ll be more mindful of it in the future, but thank you, My Lord. You’ve helped me, and Laudine, in more ways than you know.”
Britt shook her head. “I could’ve talked until I was blue in the face, but you are the one who chose to do something. If things are better, it is because you took an active role.”
“But I’d still be moping across the countryside if you hadn’t given me the lecture I needed. Laudine understands as well. She actually sent a number of troops who will be under my command during the battle.”
Surprised by this development, Britt hesitated for a moment. “That is very kind of her, especially considering I know protection is a great concern of hers.”
Ywain nodded. “It is, but she knows I have great loyalty to you, and Britain has flourished under your rule.”
“Thank you for coming,” Britt added. “I know it must’ve been hard to leave her so soon.”
“I won’t lie, I was sad to go. But what kind of shield would I be if I didn’t come when you needed me most?” He grinned and shifted his gaze to Mordred and Griflet. “I trust your ride was uneventful?”
Though his horse still snorted at the lioness with bugged eyes, Mordred was calm. “It was.”
“What in the name of all things holy possessed you to think that dragging a lioness to battle was a good idea?” Griflet asked. He peered down at the lioness from the safety of his horse’s back with a dubious expression.
“Ah, she’s as harmless as a kitten,” Ywain claimed.
“I imagine she is one of the Romans’ trained cats,” Mordred supposed. He dismounted his horse and offered his hand to the lioness to smell. “I had not heard they ever use them in battle, but I know some of the old stories regarding Colosseum fights.”
“I’m not convinced,” Sir Griflet said as he watched Mordred pet the lioness, eliciting more purrs from it. “I doubt a battle cat knows how to purr like that.”
Britt, feeling emboldened thanks to Mordred’s actions, also started patting the lioness. “Perhaps she was a faerie pet. Don’t they keep all strange sorts of animals?”
“Whatever she was, she’s mine now!” Ywain said happily. He inclined his head, fighting to see over the sea of horses and mounted soldiers. “If you don’t mind excusing me, my Lord, I would like to escort my father to the tent Laudine sent with me.”
“Let me guess, does it have a lioness on it?” Griflet asked.
“Go ahead, you hardly need my permission,” Britt laughed.
“I’ll see you at dinner, then. Take care My Lord, Mordred, Griflet-the-fainthearted.”
“You take that back!” Griflet shouted. He was too slow, for Ywain was already off striding through the horses. His lioness padded after him, causing chaos and spooking horses wherever she went.
Britt rubbed her head. “Has England always been this weird? Because I don’t remember things being quite so strange when I first arrived.”
“A tame lioness is a new one,” Mordred acknowledged.
“It’s probably just that your reign is now spreading so far, My Lord, that you’re hearing tales from all over England and not just the forest of Arroy.” Griflet dismounted and fondly patted his horse.
Britt smiled at Sir Tor, who beamed at her as he led three horses to a water trough. “Maybe…but it does make me wonder what changes, because it’s certainly not like this in the…” She trailed off before she gave away more.
Though her knights were aware of her true gender and that she was not from Britain, they still did not know that she was, in fact, from the future.
But the thought still nagged her. Now, things like fairies, magic swords, and, apparently, dragons were commonplace. But in the twenty-first century, ignoring the occasional Nessie story, there was nothing magical in life.
“I need to water my charger. Would you like me to take Llamrei for you, My Lord?” Griflet asked.
“Thanks for the offer, but it’s fine.” She offered him a smile, but Griflet tucked his chin and pursed his lips.
“Llamrei needs water, and your time is better spent than serving as a stable hand for your horse,” he insisted.
“I’m sure your time is better spent than playing stable hand for your horse as well,” Britt pointed out.
He laughed. “Perhaps so, but I need to do something with my hands after riding so long.” He plucked Llamrei’s reins from Britt before she could protest and wandered off in the direction of the horse troughs. “Sir Tor! How goes it?” he shouted before slipping around a tent.
Britt watched him go, a thoughtful frown settling on her lips. “Guinevere told me Blancheflor rejected him. He seems to be taking it quite well.”
Mordred chuckled and flashed his dimples. “I would suspect it’s because he is not seeing it so much as defeat, as much as a temporary loss.”
Britt pivoted so she could directly address Mordred. “He hasn’t given up then?”
“No, indeed not! Why, before he left, he asked the lady Blancheflor to give him a handkerchief as a token for war.”
“And?”
“He was rejected flat,” Mordred said cheerfully.
Britt winced. “Poor guy. I guess the one bright spot is that Blancheflor doesn’t seem to favor anyone else, so he still has a chance.” She smiled and waved when Sir Lanval and Sir Safir bowed at her, then continued on their way towards a campfire.
“Truthfully, I think his chances of winning her over are higher now that she has at least acknowledged his presence enough to reject him,” Mordred said.
“Perhaps...” She let her thoughts wander as her gaze settled on King Anguish and several of the other foreign kings. “I owe you my thanks, Mordred.”
The handsome knight pulled his horse’s reins over its head. “What for?”
“For convincing your brother and his allies to come.” Britt smiled weakly. “Though I’m sorry to drag everyone into this mess, there’s no denying that the more allies we have, the better off we will be.”
Mordred rested his arm on his horse’s neck. “I had heard it has been Merlin’s mission to attack Ireland. Part of why I appreciate you, Arthur, is because you see war as a last resort, not the first thing to do. That is why I took my vows to you, and I will honor them to the best of my ability. You’ve changed Britain.”
Britt shook her head. “People keep saying that, but I don’t think they understand. It’s not just me.” She gazed out at the camp, her eyes tracing over the familiar faces of her knights and allies. “Camelot isn’t great just because of the efforts of one person, but because of all the Knights of the Round Table, and all the men and women who serve there. Bandits are being defeated, and dishonorable knights are being routed not because of me, but because of the knights who go out and serve justice.” She hesitated. “It’s bigger than me now. If something were to happen to me, Camelot could survive as long as knights continued to serve there.”
Mordred abruptly straightened. “Even so, it is to be hoped that is something we will never have to find out.”
“True,” Britt said with a forced laugh. If Merlin’s right and magic has stopped my aging, it might end up being the opposite. I might remain in Camelot, alone, without my knights.
“Arthur, you rascal,” King Bors trumpeted. He smacked Britt on the shoulder with enough force to send her sprawling. “You do have a way with women! Why, I would say you are even better with them than Lancelot is!”
Britt coughed
, her lungs still rattling from the blow. “May I inquire as to what you are referring, King Bors?”
“Why, the ladies who are waiting in your tent for you, of course!” He winked at her. “Don’t worry; we won’t let word get back to your pretty little Guinevere. I should think even she would be jealous if she heard Morgan le Fay and the Lady of the Lake were lounging around in your personal tent.”
“Morgan and Nymue are here?” Britt asked eagerly.
King Bors scratched his wild beard. “Yep. Arrived this morning!”
As Britt had seen neither of her friends since well before she had been kidnapped by Duke Maleagant, she brightened considerably. (That, and their timely arrival reminded Britt that she wouldn’t be alone. For if she was immortal like the Faerie folk, she would have Nymue!)
“Thank you, King Bors! I will see you later!”
Britt made a beeline for the tents, looking for the biggest and grandest of them all—for she knew Merlin would never allow another king to have something better than hers.
She found it in the center of the camp: a red monstrosity decorated with black dragons and sword blades.
She eagerly threw open the tent flap and stepped inside, laughing when she saw Morgan and Nymue lounging on a mound of pillows and drinking from gold goblets. “You came!” she said.
“Of course we came,” Nymue scoffed. “If we hadn’t, you would never have let us hear the end of it.”
Morgan stood, a gentle smile on her lips. “And the heavens know the Lancelot Hate Club must never be parted for too long.” She gently embraced Britt in spite of the armor she wore. “It is good to see you, Britt.”
Nymue patted the pillows next to her. “Sit. You’ve much to tell us, for Ragnelle mentioned she thought you and the Debaucher quarreled.”
Britt sat down gratefully. “We did, but that’s not my biggest news.”
“Out with it,” Morgan prompted.
As Britt settled into place—relieved she could finally discuss her newfound agelessness—she knew she was grinning like an idiot. Not because of the topic, but because her friends had come.
“When I followed Vivien to the main Roman camp, I was able to confirm that Emperor Lucius himself will be leading his troops,” Merlin said. “This means there are several inferences we can make based on the tactics and strategies he has used in the past.”
Britt only half listened to Merlin as he had already stated this in the morning meeting, and also because she was fighting a mild case of claustrophobia.
All day long she had been stuck in a stuffy tent with Merlin and dozens of men—mostly the kings and leaders of the troops. They were packed in so tightly, Britt couldn’t even fidget without touching Kay or Ector, who sat on either side of her. (And she was in the front where it was roomy!)
But while everyone else was free to come and go during the long, exhaustive, never-ending battle preparation meetings, Merlin and Britt had been cooped up all day. (Britt because she was the High King; Merlin because he was the mastermind behind their strategy.) The constant comings and goings were the reason why Merlin was starting to repeat himself.
The leaders had to inspect their troops, and it wouldn’t be wise to have everyone of importance crammed into one place at one time (never mind that there probably wasn’t a tent big enough to house them all), so instead the tactical meeting was scheduled to last all day.
“Lucius always keeps his armies in one big group as he favors the classic head-on battle,” Merlin said. “This means he will likely not split up his troops or attempt to flank our army. Normally, he overwhelms the enemy through sheer numbers. But while we are outnumbered, it’s not the great discrepancy he usually fights at.”
Britt exhaled. A muscle on her cheek twitched when she adjusted her feet and almost got herself entangled with Kay as a result.
Ector leaned over a smidge so he could whisper in her ear, “Why don’t you take a break, Arthur? Surely you deserve one by now.”
Britt shook her head. “It’s my responsibility to be present for this kind of thing.”
Now it was Kay’s turn to incline his head. “Perhaps, but our forces will become concerned if you force yourself to remain here to the point of screaming.”
“I am not that close to losing it,” Britt scoffed. Someone shifted behind her, and she could feel their breath brush her hair.
Her eyebrow twitched.
“Go, Arthur. There’s no sense in hearing the plans more than once when you are responsible for a single company of knights,” Ector urged.
Britt pressed her lips together for a moment, internally debating the wisdom of their words. Her selfish side won, and she stood and slipped from the tent. She passed by Morgan, who squeezed her hand in encouragement before she glided to the seat Britt had abandoned.
Britt paused at the threshold of the tent and watched Morgan and Kay exchange smiles. Her heart warming at the sight, she pushed open the tent flap and stepped outside into the cool, fresh spring air.
She closed her eyes and breathed in and out several times, stretching her arms out and enjoying the open space. She rolled her neck, then looked around, her gaze settling on Lionel, Bors, and Lancelot, who were huddled nearby.
When they glanced at her, Britt offered them a smile and a nod, then deliberately turned her back to them, intending to slink away.
Unfortunately, she was thwarted by Lionel, who called out after her. “My Lord! How goes the meeting?”
Britt awkwardly pivoted so she faced them again and scratched the back of her neck. “Well enough. Everyone’s agreed on the tactics we’ve outlined thus far.” She offered them another smile, her professional/political Arthur one, and began sidling away. “I trust your preparations have been going well?”
Bors smiled and approached Britt, breaching the few steps she put between them. “There’s not much to prepare—we cleaned and cared for our weapons back in Camelot. I assumed father would need more of our help with his troops, but since he arrived earlier than we, the soldiers from Gaul are already settled and well organized.”
Lionel threw his arm over Lancelot’s shoulders and followed his brother, dragging Lancelot in his wake. Clearly, they weren’t going to let her get away. “It is probably Uncle Ban’s doing, as well. They always work better together. Isn’t that right, Lancelot?”
“Naturally,” Lancelot said. He wore a politely interested smile but with an unusually closed mouth.
Britt nodded in the awkward silence that ensued. “I see. That’s good.”
The brothers nodded and said nothing more, and Lancelot flicked Lionel’s arm off him with a little more force than necessary.
Eager to escape the awkward situation, Britt began eyeing an exit route. “If you’ll excuse—”
“Arthur!” Britt had never been so relieved to hear Nymue’s prissy-sounding voice. “I’m bored. This camp reeks of unwashed men, and Morgan insists on not-so-subtly making eyes at your brother. Amuse me.” The faerie lady waltzed down a narrow lane between two tents and latched on to Britt’s arm. She spared the merest glance at Britt’s conversational partners, then recoiled in horror. “You!” She declared.
Bors and Lionel bowed together. “Good day to you, Lady Nymue,” Bors said.
“How’s your magic lake?” Lionel asked.
Nymue’s face wrinkled with disdain. “Still recovering from your most recent visit. I’m amazed you didn’t eat all the fish in the lake, only most of them.”
Lionel laughed and rubbed his stomach. “I do recall you have good eatings at your sanctuary.”
“And I recall you have the hunger of four packs of wolves combined.”
“Well, there’s an awful lot of me to feed,” Lionel supposed.
Nymue rolled her eyes in disgust, but Bors laughed.
Britt relaxed slightly, heartened that the attention was now off her. She straightened in surprise when Lancelot broke under their loud conversation.
“You aren’t going to apologize for your harsh judgment
against me?” Lancelot asked. He almost drawled the question, and his voice was deceivingly relaxed.
Britt inspected him, searching for any sign of hidden anger. “No.”
Lancelot laughed, drawing barely more than the briefest glance from Nymue, Lionel, and Bors, who were still arguing over appetites.
“I’m glad to see you stand by your word,” Lancelot said. “If you had apologized, I likely would’ve lost all respect for you.”
Britt shrugged. “You are the one who wanted to know what I thought of you, though I will admit I shouldn’t have railed at you like I did.”
Lancelot offered her a skin-deep smile. “No harm done,” he said.
Britt didn’t believe him for a moment.
“I am only sorry,” he continued, “that I fall short of the lofty goal you wish us knights to pursue. I’m afraid even I am unable to reach the impossible feats of justice and honor you have in mind.”
Britt frowned slightly. “What are you talking about? You absolutely are capable of being the sort of knight I praise.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? When you so deeply criticized my true personality?”
“I don’t care that you’re catty, or that you don’t really have the simpering personality you present my courts. What ticks me off is when you don’t help those who truly need your help, merely because it won’t benefit you. You’re absolutely able to do that, you just choose not to.”
“I beg your pardon, My Lord.” Lancelot narrowed his eyes slightly as his expression turned cold. “But I have yet to meet a person who truly does something out of love, not personal gain. The knights you preen over may perform their great feats because they know it would make you happy, but it is because they directly benefit from your joy.”
Britt shook her head and was about to correct him when Nymue stamped her foot.
“Fine,” the faerie lady spat. “But do not dare to show your faces at my lake, or I will have you tossed out!” She turned to Britt, her chin high with disdain. “Come, Arthur.” Briefly yanking Britt’s arm as she passed, she sailed away.
Britt was not sorry to leave the three men, so she did nothing to attempt to stop her friend, merely nodded to the knights, then caught up with Nymue. “Thanks for that timely save,” she said.