by K. M. Shea
She posed the question too late, as they had already reached a set of double doors. The recruiter knocked and opened one of them. “Miss Arthurs,” she announced. She then stepped back and motioned for Britt to enter.
Slightly disconcerted, for she hadn’t been to many interviews, but she didn’t think this was the norm, Britt slipped into the room, clutching her folder. “Thank you for inviting me to this interview.”
It did not appear to be an HR office, but a rather plush meeting room that contained an obscenely large circular table, a plush red carpet, artistically rendered stone walls, and sets of old weaponry secured above a horse-sized fireplace. A number of people were posted around the table, seated in fancy wooden chairs.
Hoo boy. There must have been a mistake. Why would they recruit me, a jobless graduate, and bring me all the way up to what is clearly the executive floor?
Even so, she made herself continue with a professional smile. “Avalon is an amazing company. I admire many of your community initiatives.”
Two men who were seated at the table with their backs to her stood and approached her. One had a carefully groomed mustache and a perfectly pressed suit; the other was slightly more casual with a clean-shaven face, tousled hair, black slacks, and a blue dress shirt.
They smiled at her—real smiles, not the bland gesture of professionals. Their smiles were big, and when both reached her, Britt stopped breathing.
“…Kay? Gawain?” She dropped her folder. Her resume papers fell out of it when it hit the floor and splayed everywhere.
Gawain pressed one of his arms to his chest and bowed over it. “My Lord.”
Kay’s mustache couldn’t hide his beaming smile as he held out his hand to her. “Britt.”
Britt’s leg muscles gave out, and she sat down hard. She tried to breathe, but she couldn’t seem to take in enough oxygen. “You’re not real.”
The knights crouched at her side. “But we are, Britt.” Gawain spoke in a coaxing voice that was probably a sure sign she was losing her mind. (It must have been the time travel. The side effects were finally getting to her.)
Kay placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “We’re really here.”
She shook her head. “It can’t be. It’s impossible!”
“Says the brat who once posed as a legendary king and wielded a mythical sword.”
Britt looked past the pair, and her lower lip trembled as she saw two women draw closer.
Morgan was recognizable with her silky brown hair piled into a messy bun at the top of her head, sporting heels, perfectly fitting black pants, and a black suit coat with a lacy blouse.
The second woman also had heels and black slacks, but she wore a kimono-like jacket made of blue silk with a lily pad pattern. Her hair was styled in a short pixie cut and dyed platinum blonde, and her features were round and oval. It was she who had referred to Britt’s time as Arthur.
Britt contemplated getting up, but her legs were still too weak. “Issie? What—how do you know about this?”
Her next-door neighbor smiled and snapped her fingers. Her hair turned ink black, and her features sharpened, turning elfin. “Did you miss me?” Nymue asked.
Britt stared at her for several seconds before her brain and blood pressure finally gave out, and she began to slump in a faint.
“Catch her!” another man—Bedivere, dressed in an impeccable suit—shouted, darting forward to help Gawain stabilize her.
Morgan crouched next to Britt and Kay. “This is why I said we should have broken it to her gently.”
Britt was with it enough to notice that Morgan took one of Kay’s hands in her own and squeezed it.
Nymue brushed some of Britt’s hair out of her face. “You have only yourself to blame,” she told her. “I was going to tell you the night we were supposed to meet up and do laundry. It was going to be a touching reunion and a sweet moment between us girls. But did you agree to meet me? Nooo! Instead you ran off into the wild blue yonder, making it dreadfully difficult to track you down!”
Tears—happy tears—clouded Britt’s eyes, and she laughed as she embraced first Nymue, then Morgan. Before she had released the sorceress, Kay swept them both into a tight embrace. Caught up in the exuberance, Britt then hugged Gawain and Bedivere, laughing as they all sat sprawled on the plush carpet.
When she finally recovered some semblance of control, she gazed around the room, taking in the familiar faces: Griflet, Percival, Lionel, Ragnelle, and—most strangely of all—Guinevere’s good friend and the recipient of Griflet’s passion, Blancheflor.
The knights all sported cut hair and stylish clothes, blending in effortlessly with modern fashion.
“Can you stand, My Lord?” Bedivere asked.
Britt nodded and stood on shaky legs like a newborn fawn. “But…how?”
Nymue snorted. “How do you think? Magic, of course.”
Ragnelle glided up to Gawain, tucking her hand into his elbow. “It was all My Lady’s and the wizard Merlin’s doing. They constructed a spell that would allow a few people to be entombed in a small cavern. Doing so would set those inside the cave out of reach of the flow of time.”
“Ragnelle is making it sound much grander than it really is,” Nymue said wryly. “Faerie lands all possess similar spells; it was just a matter of making one in which the flow of time was a precise ratio to that of the rest of the world. We crafted the spell so that a day in the cave was the equivalent of a year outside it.”
“It required several persons gifted with magic to power it internally,” Morgan added. “So Ragnelle, Blancheflor, and I aided the spell from the inside.”
“I did not know you to be a sorceress, Lady Blancheflor,” Britt said.
“Actually, I’m not,” Blancheflor confessed. “I am one of Lady Nymue’s handmaidens. I was sent to watch over you in Camelot.”
Britt stared at Nymue, who innocently studied her nails. “You didn’t stay in there with them, Nymue?” she finally asked.
The Lady of the Lake laughed. “Hah! You must be jesting. You founded Camelot centuries ago. Even with a year outside equaling a day in the cave, they were locked up in that small, enclosed space for approximately two years. Never would I put myself through that sort of misery.”
“You didn’t have a problem ordering me to endure,” Blancheflor said sourly.
Britt felt as though her brain were leaking out of her ears. She was having a hard time gathering her scattered thoughts. “But…What became of Camelot? Where’s Mordred, and…” Afraid to speak the name that burned in her heart, she found she couldn’t utter it.
Their smiles took on a sad edge.
“Mordred,” Kay said gently, “stayed behind to rule in your place.”
“He was going to come with us,” Griflet ran a hand through his slicked-back hair as he leaned against a wall, and his eyes were filled with pain, “but eventually we realized that out of those in your service, only Ulfius and Bodwain were remaining behind, as Bedivere and Kay had sworn to come. Ulfius and Bodwain would rule Camelot well…but they were older, and they didn’t have an ounce of royal blood.”
“Mordred said he swore to you that he would remain with you because you needed knights you could trust in your own castle,” Percival said. “So he stayed…because he knew your heart was with Camelot, and it would break you if your legacy of a united Britain were to fall.”
“It grieved him.” Nymue said. “I cannot begin to tell you how much it grieved him that he could not see you again. But he ruled Camelot well. Under his reign, the practices you put into order expanded and flourished.”
“You weren’t entombed with the others, so you got to see him? You got to see the rest of my Knights?” Britt asked.
The Lady of the Lake nodded and gracefully seated herself on one of the wooden chairs pulled around, Britt now recognized, a smaller version of the Round Table. “Your lionhearted Ywain stayed behind and was known as a force to be reckoned with, as well as a devoted husband. He, along with King
Pellinore, frequently visited Mordred in Camelot and were his staunchest allies. Agravain became King of Orkney after Lot—though whenever he visited Mordred in Camelot, he griped that he should’ve been allowed to come with Gawain. Gaheris and Gareth became excellent knights in their own right, and they served Mordred all their lives with Sir Tor, Sir Lanval, and Sir Safir. Sir Bors stayed in Camelot until his father’s health started failing, then he returned to Gaul—though he remained Mordred’s ally.”
“And Guinevere?” Britt asked, worrying for the kindhearted blonde princess.
Nymue threw her hands up. “It is inexplicable to me, but she fell in love with Mordred, and the two married and had many spawn of their own.” Folding her arms across her chest, she grumbled, “They were always sending their brats to my lake.”
“You enjoyed it,” Morgan chided as Kay slipped an arm around her shoulders. “With two thirds of the Lancelot Hate Club unavailable, you had no friends around.”
“I object to that conjecture!” Nymue declared.
“So there was peace?” Britt’s heart almost hurt with the hope that built up inside of it.
“There was peace,” a voice said from the shadows of the room. “Mordred was a great king because he was loyal to you…far more than I was, My Lord.”
Some of the tension in Britt’s chest eased as the speaker stepped out of the shadows. “Lancelot.”
Lancelot was dressed the most casual, wearing a green sweater and khakis. His black hair was cut short, and his expression was more subtle now.
The sight of him made Britt smile because it meant the legends were wrong. Lancelot’s betrayal hadn’t ended Camelot. The Round Table was still whole.
Lancelot bowed his head. “I apologize, Britt, for my part in your injury.”
Britt smiled reassuringly at those clustered around her, then slipped from their grasp and approached the somber knight. “I told you back when it happened I forgave you.”
“I know. I remember well.” Lancelot met her gaze, his usual good charm and charisma stripped away. “You were right about me. About everything. And I will spend the rest of this age making sure that I prove you right about my potential.”
Britt tilted her head and studied the knight. “You don’t have to prove anything, Lancelot,” she said, “because you came.”
He blinked. “How is my presence here at all noteworthy?”
“It would have been easier to stay behind where your name was renowned and your pedigree meant something.” Britt smiled and clasped his forearm. “Your actions say a lot. I’m glad you’re here.”
Lancelot’s smile grew charming. “As am I, My Lord.”
“Are you still angry about my sadly lacking knowledge of emergency dismounts?” she asked teasingly.
“Angry? It’s his fault you didn’t learn as a child!” Griflet snorted.
Britt cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“Here.” Morgan pointed to two framed photos that hung on the wall.
One was nearly a twin copy of the photo Britt’s sister had just sent her. The only difference was that the teacher was still in the frame. Britt’s jaw dropped as she stared at the instructor.
As a child, she could remember very little besides the fact that he had a mustache, she worshipped the ground he walked on, and he had taught her the basics of swordplay. But now, Britt was easily able to place her teacher…as Kay.
The other photo was of Britt’s sister and herself, posing with her sister’s riding instructor…Lancelot.
“You two were our teachers!?” Britt squawked.
Kay bowed. “We created the sword hall solely for your sake. I was given the honor of teaching you because I best knew your sword fighting style.”
Lancelot frowned, and for the first time since Vivien had shot Britt, she saw a glimmer of his vain self. “I also wanted to be part of the sword hall. Unfortunately, Lady Morgan, Lady Blancheflor, and Lady Ragnelle all insisted I be the riding instructor because they could use my face for marketing purposes.”
“We got quite a few clients that way,” Blancheflor reminisced.
Lancelot’s frown turned into a smile that held hints of smugness. “Although, I was given the honor of being the one to call the ambulance when you arrived back in modern Britain.”
“That was only because we had no idea when she was going to get sucked through and then come back,” Griflet said.
“Now, now,” Lionel said. “You’re just sore because you missed the chance by one shift.”
“Once we had the approximate timeline down of when we knew you would visit Britain, we all took shifts watching the graveyard for you,” Percival said for Britt’s sake.
Britt, her jaw hanging as she still tried to process that Kay had been her teacher, stabbed a finger at her foster brother. “It was you who taught me to hate Lancelot!”
“Of course,” Kay rumbled.
Morgan rolled her eyes. “In your case, dear, Kay thinks pretty much any male is the enemy.”
“I don’t understand. How did you pull this off? And where’s…” She hesitated yet again. No one had mentioned Merlin, besides crediting him as the source of the spell. Her throat closed uncomfortably for a moment, but Britt shook her head and made herself speak. “Where’s Merlin?”
Everyone abruptly looked away from her. Kay stared at his fancy watch; Nymue went back to studying her nails; Percival actually pulled out a cell phone. Britt’s breath came slowly, as she feared the worst.
Britt pivoted so she faced Gawain, instinctively knowing he would tell her.
Gawain scratched the back of his neck “Merlin is…”
The sound of someone running up the hallway tapped out a steady beat. Whoever it was sprinted full-bore and slammed into the door rather than stopping. The double doors were nearly flung off their hinges, and when Britt swung around to see who it was, she sprinted.
“Merlin!”
Merlin, who was usually impeccably dressed, was flushed and a little sweaty. The coat of his charcoal gray suit was flung over one arm, and the sleeves of his blue dress shirt were messily rolled up. When he set his brilliant eyes on Britt, a glowing smile lit up his features. “Lass!” He dropped his suit coat and took a step into the room, only to be bowled over by a massive, apricot-colored dog from behind.
The dog loped up to Britt, wagging its tail merrily. Britt laughed and caressed Cavall’s head, but she kept running to Merlin.
By the time she reached him, he had recovered and swept her up in a tight embrace. Britt clung to him and hoped he would never let her go. She laughed and cried at the same time, clutching Merlin around the neck as he wiped tears off her cheeks.
“You came,” Britt cried. “Even though Britain was united, you came.”
Merlin leaned forward so their foreheads touched. “I told you, Britt. I met you, and you changed everything.” He smiled, then kissed her deeply.
Once again, all was right with the world. Yes, perhaps she would eternally be in limbo between the stories of knights and the skyscrapers of modern life. But the legends of the past had joined her, and Merlin had moved time itself to be with her.
It was more than she could have ever hoped for.
The kiss stretched on, and Britt could hear Kay tap his foot and grunt, “Humph.”
“Let them have their moment, Kay,” Morgan said. “This has been centuries in the making.”
Britt couldn’t help but giggle when Merlin finally ended the kiss, though he did not loosen his tight grip on her waist.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He kissed her cheek and under her ear. “I couldn’t lose you.”
Nymue stabbed a finger in their direction. “You are horribly late. You were supposed to get here before Britt.”
“I got caught in traffic whilst picking the monster up from his daycare facility.” Merlin eyed Cavall with great reservation.
The mastiff licked his chops, then pressed his face into Merlin’s side, leaving a wet smudge behind
.
Britt was almost distracted by the thought of Merlin hauling Cavall around and dropping him off at doggy daycare, but more important matters pressed to the front of her mind. “I still don’t understand how this all works,” she said. “How could Kay be my teacher if you were all entombed in a cave? How did you even find me?”
“We had to reset the spell periodically,” Nymue said. “So every few centuries, everyone piled out of the cave. While the ladies and I reworked the spell, your sideshow-hack and knights went off on adventures, trying to figure out and piece together history.”
“If you search history, there are multiple times when King Arthur and his knights became a popular topic and had a renaissance of sorts,” Morgan said wryly. “That would be the time when we let them loose, and they caused havoc with their zeal.”
“We were mostly working blind for the first few centuries,” Bedivere said with a smile. “Thankfully, you did leave us a few hints!”
“Like what?”
“We found your backpack and the British travel book in your room in Camelot,” Gawain said. “It took a while for us to decipher modern English, but at least then we had the year.”
“And we had the iPod you gave Merlin,” Kay added. “When we knew we were coming close to the time, we popped out of the cave more frequently to inquire if Apple was yet a corporation.”
Lionel laughed heartily. “As soon as it was available to the public, Merlin heavily invested in it from some of the gold horde we stored in the cave with us.”
“It was one of several investments we were able to make that turned out well due to the loose historic timeline we were able to piece together from your travel book,” Lancelot added.
“That and Nymue is a real-estate guru,” Morgan added.
“But how did you find me?” Britt asked.
“You certainly didn’t make it easy on us, Britannica Arthurs.” Merlin used her full name—which she had never gone by and had certainly never told any of them. He leaned closer and whispered into her ear. “Britannica, from the root word Britannic, which means ‘of Britain.’ No wonder the sword chose you.”
Kay began tapping his foot again.