Chapter Text
“If I hear you have so much as . . .”
Sir Ector trailed off, letting the implied threat hang in the air; Arthur only sighed. Why did it always seem that his father was totally incapable of dealing with him? And why did his father automatically assume he would be trouble?
He wouldn’t; Arthur could interact maturely with a guest. But Sir Ector seemed unable to see anything but a much younger Arthur, one who would hide frogs in beds and pull other relatively harmless pranks. But he had grown, had matured. Why did his father still act as if he believed Arthur had no understanding of common civility.
“I shall be good, father,” Arthur promised, unsure if anything he could do would reassure the old man. “But does she have to come?”
It was the wrong thing to say, Arthur realized as soon as he said it. Sir Ector looked at him, disapprovingly. No doubt his father took his question as further evidence of his unfitness to interact with people whatsoever. But having said it, Arthur pushed on, “I mean, did we have to invite her?”
“Of course we did,” said the indignant Sir Ector. “Lord Erthwaile invited her for a fortnight. I intend to do no less.” What does that have to do with anything? Arthur wondered. Lord Erthwaile also—well, Arthur did not think Lord Erthwaile was the best of role models. “Besides,” Ector continued, “Living alone, with no one but servants and books—it isn’t healthy for a girl that age.”
That seemed to be more meaningful, but Arthur’s mind was quickly on other matters. “A girl that age”? What age? The Lady of Cornwall was obviously not in her forties. How close, Arthur wondered, would she be to his own age?
Arthur was thinking about asking, when his tutor, Merlin, entered. “My lord,” he said to Ector, “may I have a word with you?”
Arthur glanced at Merlin. His tutor was very good at appearing impassive, but Arthur knew where to look to read him. Merlin’s eyes were always incredibly passionate, and Arthur could read agitation in them.
“What?” Sir Ector looked up, startled. “Oh, good day, Merlin.”
“Good day, sire. May I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Merlin,” Ector answered. “Anytime.”
Yet at that moment two sets of footsteps could be heard, coming up the stone steps outside the door of the chamber. “That’ll be Susanna, with the Lady Morgan,” Ector announced. “Arthur, if you make her Ladyship’s stay with us anything less than pleasurable—”
“Of course, father.”
* * *
“Here we are, m’lady.”
The Lady of Cornwall nodded to her retainer. Here they were, indeed. Another castle, so like many other castles at which she had stayed, a stone edifice rising from the ground to tower over the landscape. From inside the courtyard, she admired the distinctive characteristics of the architecture of Sir Ector’s castle, but it was not all that different from her own castle at Tintagel. The essential function of the castle necessarily limited the nature of the design.
“Lady Morgan?” An older woman approached the Lady’s retinue. “I am Susanna, housekeeper to Sir Ector. Welcome.” Morgan nodded thanks to the woman, and Susanna led the way into the corridors of the castle. “Just this way, m’lady.”
Morgan followed the housekeeper, mentally keeping track of where she was going. This was to be her home for the next month; it was a good idea to get a sense of where things were in the castle. Finally, at the top of a series of steps, they came to a chamber in which stood three men. “The Lady Morgan le Fay, m’lord,” Susanna introduced Morgan to the oldest man, who Morgan assumed must have been Sir Ector.
“We are delighted to have you with us,” Ector told her. “This is my son, Arthur.” He pointed at the younger man, still a boy as much as Morgan was still a girl.
Arthur stepped toward her. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.” Morgan watched Arthur examine her, sizing up the new stranger who had invaded his home and would stay for the next month. Morgan decided he was younger than she, perhaps by a couple of years. He was taller than her, of course, but not markedly so; she just missed being able to look him straight in the eye. He likes what he sees, Morgan thought, not without pride, especially as she could see him eying the way her dress hung from her body.
As Arthur continued to study her, Ector continued with the introductions. “This is Merlin, Arthur’s tutor. You’ve met before, I believe.”
“Yes,” answered Merlin, not taking his eyes off her. His gaze was not the innocent lust of Arthur; Morgan could feel his penetrating gaze, trying to ascertain the secrets of her soul. “When I served as advisor to the lady’s stepfather, King Uther. You were only a girl then, of course,” he added to her. “You’ve grown quite a bit since.”
Morgan nodded at the compliment. Merlin had not changed at all in the intervening nine years.
Merlin turned to Ector. “My lord?”
“Yes, Merlin?”
Merlin let loose a shallow sigh. “I wished to speak to you, my lord?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Merlin. I remember now.”
For several beats, no one said anything. Morgan just stood there, watching the three men interact—or not interact, as the case may be.
“In private, my lord?”
“Ah,” said Ector. He turned to his son. “Arthur, perhaps you could show the Lady Morgan the gardens?”
“Of course,” said Arthur, a small smile on his face.
“This way, my lady.” Morgan followed Arthur down the steps and back into the courtyard. As they descended, Arthur asked “What do you think they’re talking about? Merlin seemed . . . impatient.”
“Us.”
“Us?” Arthur said the word as if it were exotic.
“Undoubtedly,” Morgan answered. “Either you or me, but probably both of us. Why else would Merlin require privacy?”
“In that case, I hope they are saying good things about us?”
“You really believe that don’t you?” He looked at her with confusion. So young, so innocent, so full of naïveté. Had she ever been like that? “People rarely say good things when they aren’t present.”
“How can you say something bad about someone if you’re not there to say it?” Arthur asked, confused. Morgan had to laugh as she went over the sentence in her mind. Perhaps it was slightly ambiguous.
“Merlin has a problem with something,” Morgan explained. “Probably my visit. You said yourself that he seemed impatient. Has anything else of import happened lately?”
“Not that I can think of, my lady,” Arthur told her. “It’s not a very exciting place, here.”
“Then we’ll take my visit as the reason. He’s afraid of me, afraid I will upset his plans.” Silently, she vowed she would do just that. She had known Merlin for most of her life, and never grown to trust the man.
“Plans?”
“His plans for you, whatever they are. Merlin’s type always has something up their sleave. He’s not teaching you for your own edification.”
“Why not?”
Morgan shrugged. She didn’t trust Merlin, but couldn’t explain it to Arthur.
“So what do we do?” They had reached the gardens, and all around them, the trees and flowers were showing their first blossom. Arthur sat on a bench near the fountain; Morgan sat next to him.
“Do?” Morgan asked. She could tell Arthur didn’t understand the full truth of what she was saying. “Wait. Watch. Wonder. Live our lives to the fullest, and cause enough problems to give him nightmares.”
“How?”
Morgan smiled. She had a mischevious streak; she knew that.
She kissed him, hard. “My lady!” Arthur said, shocked, when she finally let him free.
“Sorry,” Morgan lied. “I grew up the step-daughter of the king. I’m not one to ask permission.”
Arthur nodded. She could see him thinking: a young girl, her every whim fulfilled, every wish granted, servants. . . . “It was grand, was it?”
So little does he understand. Morgan was about to give him a noncommittal answer, when she turned back and looked into the eyes of the boy she had just kissed. He really doesn’t understand, she realized. He’s never known loss, never known pain.
She raised her hand to her neck, slid it up under her hair. She felt she could trust Arthur—with her secrets, and with her pain. She pulled back her hair to reveal the scar at her temple. “That’s what I got from the king,” she said. “I was twelve. I have others.”
Emotions crossed Arthur’s face, afflicted, as he tried to come to terms with what Morgan had shown him. “My lady, I—” He couldn’t go on.
“You didn’t realize. Of course.” There were many things Arthur didn’t realize, Morgan could see. But was it her place to show them to him? “You’ve never known loss, have you?”
Arthur eyes dropped, embarrassed. “Not really. When my mother died, I was too young to understand. I’ve always had my father to turn to if I was in trouble—and for the last nine years, Merlin.” He paused. “It was—it was bad, wasn’t it?”
Morgan let loose a grim laugh. Arthur still had no way of grasping the scope of the world’s troubles.
Flashback.
“Suffice it to say,” she told Arthur, “the day my stepfather died was the happiest day of my life—although my mother hadn’t the strength to hold on another month. Britain was left without a king, and I, as well, was orphaned. Or freed. But those days are over, and that cloud has lifted. For the last nine years, I have lived my life in the here and now. Right now, I am here, in your gardens.”
“I am glad you are, my lady.”
* * *
“My lord, are you certain about the Lady Morgan’s visit?”
“Of course,” answered Ector. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?”
“Remember,” said Merlin, “that I knew the lady in her younger years. She had quite a reputation for involving herself where she needn’t have.”
Ector dismissed it with a gesture. “All children go through that, it’s a stage. Besides, we can afford to have the Lady Morgan involved for a few weeks.”
“Perhaps you can, sire. I fear for the boy.”
“Arthur?” Ector asked. No, Merlin thought, the other boy—the invisible one. “The two of them will get along fabulously.”
Perhaps, mused Merlin. Perhaps a little too fabulously. “His studies—”
“There’s more to life than studies,” Ector said. “You teach him well, but there are other things he needs to learn. When you brought him to me, Merlin, I promised myself I would bring him up like my own son—and that I’d do it well.”
“Which you have, my lord,” Merlin assured him.
“No, Merlin, I’ve left him almost entirely to you. I can hardly deal with the boy.”
Now just leave him entirely to me and everything will be fine. “The girl—”
“The girl stays.” Ector spoke with a note of finality. The fool could be stubborn sometimes. “She’s just like Arthur. They’re both orphans, spending too much time with books and not enough with other people. The boy needs someone his own age, and so does she. They’ll be good for each other.”
With that he left Merlin alone in the room. Merlin turned and looked out the window at the two children; a black raven sat on the sill. “Her path is obscured to me,” he said. “She could be my downfall. Whatever she does here, it cannot be for our good. If the girl upsets my plans, there will be hell to pay. I so vow it, Nimue.”