Fate Stay Night: Unlimited Boob Works

Chapter 12 – "Methinks She Has A Pretty Face"

"Merlin, I want to be a woman",

Arturia said, one fine morning in the month of May, when the grass was green and the weather was fair.

"Praise be to God! Why, of all the things you or your father have ever asked me, this one is the easiest."

And with that, Merlin waved his magic wand.

"Ahem – by the power vested in me, I declare that when you disrobe this evening to get ready for bed, that if you stand in front of the mirror and look at your reflection – behold! You shall be a woman!

'Ahem – very good – very good – I'll be here all week, but for now I'll be on my way – "

"No – no – no – I know all of that! What I mean is, I want to LIVE as a woman. For once in my life."

"Oh, well, that's a different problem altogether. This is all so sudden. You've never cared about any of that before – what or who ever put this idea inside your head?"

"It was Guinivere – we were talking, and – "

"Of COURSE it was Guinivere – that woman is the bane of my existence – and of yours too, if only you were smart enough to realize it – "

"It's just – she was talking to me about her life here in the Castle, and being the Queen, and how she sometimes missed just being a country girl, and the simple joys of maidenhood – and I realized that I've never known any of those things."

Merlin sighed.

"Guinivere was a French Princess before coming here to Camelot – and a royal pain in the – ahem – I doubt very much she was EVER a 'simple country girl', and I suspect that her ideas of the joys of maidenhood might be considerably different from what you imagine. But I can see you are determined, and I doubt anything I can say is likely to dissuade you, so I will see what I can do . . ."

That next day, a tournament was held, in order to celebrate May Day, and the start of the Summer, as well as to commemorate Sir Mordred being awarded her spurs to mark her ascension to the rank of Knighthood. As part of the ceremony, she had been given one wish – one boon – to be granted by the King, so long as it was something reasonable, and her sole request had been to carry Arturia's lance with its flying dragon banner in her first official joust as a Knight of the Round Table.

It was a bit of an unusual request, but so earnest had she been in asking, and Arturia was inclined to favor Mordred anyway, so she had granted it.

And so it was that the blue dragon soared over the fields at Camelot, swimming overhead in a sea of gold before tilting down – down – until it met with the shield of Sir Hector with a crash, at once exploding into a thousand pieces.

Poor Sir Hector nearly exploded as well – such was the force of the impact that it carried him up, over the back of his saddle, and off of his horse, sending him straight to the ground.

At once the crowd grew hushed, watching as the young knight tumbled to the dirt, then exploding in a cheer as he got back to his feet and waved. Mordred, for her part, went thundering back to the sidelines, where she flipped up her visor to flash the crowd a toothy smile before downing an entire pint of ale, bringing it down on the side boards with a smash that elicited more raucous applause.

Arturia sighed with relief.

"I always worry whenever Mordred rides out – every time I see her come back unhurt, it's always such a relief."

"Indeed", Merlin said, "though I think my relief is for different reasons. If ever she were hurt, once the doctors had her armor off and unbloused her shirt, we'd have an entirely different problem.

After pausing to flash the crowd another toothy grin, Mordred made her way back to her own banner to await her next match. The exploding lances had been Merlin's idea. In addition to looking dramatic, they took a great deal of the force out of the blow, and this, in addition to the use of a blunted safety tip and a barrier to separate the contestants and keep their horses from crashing together went a long way towards making the sport safer, though it was still dangerous of course, being intended to be as realistic and warlike as possible.

Mordred, for her part, seemed to laugh at death. She courted danger, and regarded all but the most serious of wounds as mere trivialities. When she'd fought for her spurs, one of her opponents had been Sir Gawain, and he'd given her such a terrible blow that it sent her sailing out of the saddle, crashing to the ground with such terrible force that everyone watching was certain she had been killed.

Lying on her back, she had begun to laugh – quietly at first, but then rather loudly, drawing up her knees and doubling over until those looking on feared she had gone mad, and that Gawain had quite literally knocked her senseless.

"Ha – ha – ha – ha! Now THAT's a good hit!"

"Are you alright, my Lord?" the Field Marshal had asked, rather nervous about the prospect of a royal casualty.

"Never better! Not many men can say they've taken a blow from Sir Gawain, and lived to tell about it! Now I know my Uncle's Kingdom will always stand, so long as there are such men to defend it – ha – ha! Only don't make me laugh. And please fetch me a sack – "

"A sack, my Lord?"

"Yes – to put my ribs in. I fear they're all broken – when I turn, I think I can hear them rolling around inside my chest!"

Gawain frowned. He was of a rather shy, retiring disposition when it came to compliments, and he had no use for flattery. But Mordred was so earnest and so persistent in her praise, that eventually he came over and helped her to her feet, saying,

"Pray, don't mention it."

The rest of the tournament proceeded smoothly. Mordred showed great prowess, easily defeating all her enemies, unhorsing some, and breaking her lances against others, until she chanced to ride against Sir Lyonels. There was some bad blood between them, owing to a quarrel that Lyonels had with Sir Agravaine regarding the Queen, and motivated by this, as well as what he considered Mordred's haughty and arrogant demeanor, he resolved to teach the new knight a lesson.

Shifting skillfully in the stirrups, he avoided the tip of her lance, while lowering his own, but the horses closed faster than he had anticipated, and before he could bring his spear in line with her shield, it struck her full force in the face.

Blows to the helmet were not illegal, but they were frowned upon. A number of knights had been killed by pieces from a broken lance, and even one king had died at a tournament when part of a broken shaft went through the eye slit of his visor. Lyonels' lance struck with tremendous force, shattering, and at once filling the air around her with a spray of wooden splinters.

Mordred did her best to hang on, but she felt the reins loosen in her grip, then slip from her fingers as she fell from the saddle of her horse. She came up quick as a lion, and just as angry too.

"Bastard! You bastard – "

"My Lord, it was an accident – "

"The hell it was! Did you learn that trick at a whore house!?" she shouted, drawing her sword. "No doubt while visiting your sister? Or perhaps it was your mother!?"

This last was too much for Lyonels, and he rode at Mordred full charge. But Mordred made no attempt to move. She remained rooted to the spot, and for a moment it seemed that she would surely be run through. But at the last possible instant she turned, pulling back her foot, and struck, shearing off the head of his lance.

Lyonels drew up, remembering himself, and that he had just ridden against the King's nephew, while the Marshals attempted to calm Mordred, but she would have none of it.

"My Lord, the point is lost – "

"The hell it is! I've got a perfectly good point right here, and I'll run him through!"

"Please, your grace – "

"You tell that coward to get done wiping the blood out of his underwear and get down here and fight me!"

Hearing this, it took every fiber of Lyonels' being not to charge her again. Straightening visibly in the saddle, he brought his horse around into a canter as he addressed her.

"My Lord, at this rate I fear I shall have to do much penance on account of making your royal mother mourn – after I've separated your shoulders from your head – "

For an answer, Mordred jerked out the pin that held her helmet to her breastplate.

"You want my head?" she roared, removing the great helm and maille hood beneath it with a flourish. "Here it is! Come and take it, if you think you're able!"

The sight of Mordred's bare face amid the carnage of broken lances and glittering armor made everyone pause. Lyonels could tell that there was no escaping further battle, and resolving to meet with her on the ground, threw down his broken spear. But as he was preparing to dismount his horse, Mordred grew impatient.

"Here, your Ladyship", she called, after replacing her helmet with a clang, "Let me help you!" And seizing both his hands, she hauled him bodily to the ground.

To her credit, she waited until he got to his feet and drew his sword to attack. But when she did, she fell on him like a wild animal.

Blows rained heavy and thick about his face and shoulders. Lyonels had kept his shield, but it did him little good, for Mordred held her Clarent blade in both hands, and struck with such force that the ringing of each blow was like a bell sounding in his ears. Desperate to make it stop, he lashed out, and chanced to strike her in the face.

The blow was ill aimed, but when it struck, it caught one of the horns that adorned the side of her helmet, which was still loose and carried it off over her shoulders.

By now things had gotten entirely too dangerous, and the Marshals moved to break them up, but Mordred could not be stopped. Sensing the danger, an even wilder rage came over her. Hacking away, she struck at Lyonels until he was utterly overcome. Even as he fell to the ground, she continued to chop away at him, oblivious to the cries all around her.

"My Lord!"

"Hold!"

"He cries for mercy!"

"HALT!" an imperious voice rang out, at once bringing silence to all of the crowd.

Turning, they could see the King had descended from the stands, and now stood on the field beside them. Arturia had the royal blue velvet robes around her shoulders, with their black and white ermine fur collar drawn up around her neck. At the sight of her, all turned and knelt, lowering their heads. All except Mordred, who remained standing, holding her sword with a look of shock.

For a moment they all stared at her uneasily.

"Is Sir Mordred going to attack the King?

At these words, Mordred fell to both of her knees. Inverting her sword, she plunged its point into the ground, and leaned on the cross guard heavily.

"My – my – Lord . . ." she stammered, barely able to find her words.

"How is Our beloved nephew?"

"W – well my Lord . . ."

"It gave Us great pleasure to see you carry Our banner on the field today."

"I assure you – the pleasure was all mine!"

Arturia smiled, turning away from Mordred before she melted from embarrassment.

"Is he alright?" she asked, as they helped Sir Lyonels to remove his helmet.

"His armor's a little dented, but it was of proof. He should be fine."

"My Liege, I apologize", Lyonels called weakly. "The fault was mine."

"There's no need. Such things happen in war."

Lyonels nodded appreciatively, then allowed himself to be helped away.

"Now tell Us, dear nephew", Arturia said, turning back to Mordred, making her twitch. "To carry the banner royal was your one request, but this was more a privilege for Us than you. Dost thou not desire anything else?"

"I assure you my Lord, I could ask for no greater privilege than to carry your standard."

"Very well."

And with that, Arturia turned to walk away.

"Your Majesty – wait!"

Looking over her shoulder, Arturia could see Mordred behind her, with her hand outstretched.

"There is one thing –"

"Go on."

"I – understand you are to take a trip soon?"

"Yes. We plan to go out hunting."

"Please! Take me with you!"

At her plaintive call, several of the older knights who had been displeased to see Sir Lyonels defeated chuckled wryly. But Morded didn't care.

"Forget being a Knight!" she went on. "I could be your Squire! I'll carry your sword! And shield! And polish your armor – I'll even polish your boots!"

"Oh Mordred . . ." Arturia said, stooping to brush her face. "We already told you – we're only going to be gone a fortnight – perhaps a month at most. We'll be back before you know it."

"I don't care!"

Arturia smiled.

"That's why we need you here. Your loyalty is beyond question. We need people here in Camelot that we can trust – to keep an eye on things while we're away. Can you do that for us?"

Mordred hung her head sadly.

"As you wish."

"Hmph! A Squire!"

Sir Agravaine teased, after the King had taken their royal leave.

"I suppose in the end Sir Mordred is still a boy after all."

"Oh shut up!"

"He fights like a lion, though" Gawain added, trying to soothe her a little bit.

"Yes, but with no technique! I fear that even the greatest sword is little better than a club in Mordred's hands!"

"Bah! Hit 'em hard!" Mordred countered. "And if they don't go down – hit 'em again!"

"A good strategy", Gawain agreed. "But seriously, you could do with a bit of technique. It's not good to be all rough. And besides, I hear the Ladies appreciate that kind of thing."

"Ha!" Mordred retorted. "SOME ladies LIKE a bit of rough handling!"

"Oh ho! So you've handled a few then?"

"Ha! I haven't found any that can handle me!"

"You don't have to try so hard, you know", Merlin said, as Mordred set her helmet on the table, then unbuckled her sword.

"I know you're under a great deal of pressure. But that doesn't mean you have to contort yourself to try and fit everyone else's expectations."

Ignoring him, she undid the clasps that held her armor shut, then, with absolutely no sense of modestly, removed her shirt, quickly putting on a fresh tunic before anyone else could see the bandages that hid her breasts.

"I've just got a part to play, Merlin, and I'm playing it. That's all", she said, taking her sword up off the table. "After all, that's how life ought to be lived", she said, drawing it, and gesturing demonstratively. "To the hilt!"

"She just wants polish, Merlin, that's all", Arturia said when the wizard threw himself down on the chair in her dressing room.

"Polish! My Lord – An antique wall hanger wants polish! Silverware wants polish, when it is only brought out once or twice a year on special occasions. But what you're talking about – you're looking at a lump of iron that is still in the hill – that needs to be mined, and forged, and drawn out, and fullered and sharpened and have a hilt put on it – and you say it wants polish!" Merlin exclaimed, clearly flabbergasted.

"Now, now – wasn't it you who always told me not to exaggerate?"

"Who said anything about exaggeration!?"

"Mordred has plenty of good qualities, too. She's loyal, and brave, and kind – perseverant – "

"And you can add to that rash, arrogant, ill-mannered, intemperate – how did Morgause ever HAVE such a daughter? She certainly didn't get it from Igraine or Gorlois. King Lot could be a bit much to deal with at times, but he was certainly never as bad as this."

"I have a theory about that," Arturia said, clapping her hands together as she turned to look out the window.

"Oh?"

"When you helped my father – I don't think you were helping him sneak off to see Igraine."

Merlin tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"I think you were helping him see her again."

The old wizard looked at her curiously.

"Go on."

"Think about it. Why go to such extraordinary lengths to see a woman he had only just met?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how foolish and how desperate men can be when it comes to such things."

Arturia shook her head.

"Until then, if the stories are to be believed, my father knew Igraine only in passing – he'd seen her once or twice – at the occasional banquet or ball. No – Uther's actions make much more sense if they are those of a man returning to see his lover. They had seen each other before, but something separated them, and he was desperate to see her again.

'And think about my mother – Igraine was quite willing to marry my father only days after her husband had passed away. No, she had seen him before – I'm sure of it. Only something got in the way."

"So you think the old fox outfoxed even me? It's possible, I suppose. He certainly was a clever fellow. Still, that doesn't speak very well for Gorlois – if what you say is true, then the poor fellow was raising a bastard the entire time, and never knew it."

"I'm afraid the entire history of my line is one long, sad tale of treachery and betrayal."

"If you're right, then that would mean that Morgause is your full sister, and not half, and Mordred is Uther's grand-daughter, as well as your niece. That would make her claim to the throne as legitimate as your own, and leave you in a rather dangerous position. This is about the time that most people would begin to think about having Mordred and Morgause assassinated."

"I am not most people."

"Don't I know it. Still, your evidence is only circumstantial at best."

"There is one other piece of evidence."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Mordred herself. Think about it – yes, she's Morgause's daughter – and Morgause took after Igraine. But Mordred takes after Uther – she's bold and brash – she's got his eyes, his laugh, that spiky hair – the more I think about it, the more I become convinced – she's Uther's grand daughter, through and through."

"Hmm – an interesting theory. But – on to other matters. About your trip – "

"Yes?"

"I've got your cover story worked out. Your name will be Lady Elaine of Shallot. I'll put an enchantment on you, much like I did for your father. It should be enough to conceal your identity in most situations, though with those you know, there could still be a danger. I would suggest you avoid the company of those you know well, as well as your usual dress and customs – anything that might give you away.

'You'll have to hang up the blue and gold and white – The Lady of Shallot must have different colors. I would suggest something like red or green, or perhaps a nice purple. I was able to secure a few examples. Let's see if you can find something you like."

"Where on earth did you even GET all of this stuff?" Arturia asked as she rummaged through a pile of gowns and dresses Merlin had piled on the bed.

"The Queen's summer wardrobe."

"Summer wardrobe?"

"Yes. Once a season, Guinivere has an assortment of things sent over from across the water."

"All the way from France!?"

"Yes. The budget, as you can imagine, is rather extravagant. Pick out whatever you like. Guinivere hasn't even gone through them yet, so whatever you choose will never be missed."

"How do they even know it will fit?"

"Most of the pieces are sent unfitted, to be finished by a tailor on site, though some of the savvier merchants have managed to get hold of the Queen's measurements, and send things over that are ready to wear."

Arturia cocked her hand on her hip and frowned.

"It would seem half of France knows my Queen's measurements. Not that I care but – it seems like that should make me rather angry."

"Yes, it probably should."

Arturia turned to rooting in the pile of gowns on the bed. She passed over quite a number of them that were in gaudy brocades, with dagged sleeves and puffed shoulders, discarding each in turn. In the end, she decided to go with a simple dress of spring green, with a square neck, and beautiful gold borders.

"Are you sure?" Merlin asked as she modeled her choice. "After all, this is your big chance. I'd expected you would want to go with something flashier, and more elaborate?"

Arturia shook her head.

"This will do nicely. After all, Elaine is supposed to be a simple country girl – if I were to choose some great and extravagant personage, it would draw too much attention, and make it harder to explain why I had not previously turned up at court. No, this will be perfect."

"Very well my Lor – I mean, my Lady. A wise choice."

"Ah!" Arturia called, as she turned in front of the mirror. "Do women really WEAR this kind of thing?"

"They do."

"Argh – it just feels so light and flimsy – I'm practically NAKED under here!"

Merlin laughed.

"I think that's the point. Now just remember, if you want to wave, do it like this – and this is how you curtsey. And if you want to flirt – "

"There'll be no time for that – "

" – you should use your ankle."

"My ankle!?"

"Yes, that's the general way."

Arturia stared at him in disbelief. She was just getting used to the idea of admitting that she had breasts.

"This is far too complicated."

"You turn it out just so – apparently it's widely believed that the space of the leg above a lady's shoe and below the hem of her skirt is irresistible –"

"Now I think you're just MAKING stuff up!"

At the day appointed, the King rode out, accompanied by her two most loyal retainers, Sir Bedivere and Sir Kay. Merlin had arranged to meet them part way, once they were well outside the castle grounds, where they would transition to a carriage. For her dress, Arturia had chosen a fur vest, along with a tunic of worsted wool. It was a fine outfit for hunting, and she was sorry to leave it – she spent most of her time swaddled in the royal robes, and it was rather nice to lounge about in casual clothes.

"There's no use complaining about it now", Merlin scolded. He'd packed her green dress as the Lady of Shallot in a trunk that was strapped to the back of the carriage, along with a variety of other things he'd thought might be of use. "Now, in you go", he said, helping Arturia up the carriage steps, and closing the door after her, before turning around – only to find Bedivere and Kay both looking daggers at him.

"All right – out with it!" Kay demanded.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Don't beg your pardon me! We spend all these years closely guarding her secret, and now you let her go off and do – this!?"

"I have to agree", Sir Bedivere said, a bit more diplomatically. "All this time, we've been so cautious. Why let her take such a risk? Why now?"

Merlin sighed.

"The Lady Arturia is a lot like her Father. Once she gets an idea into her head – telling her no tends to have the opposite effect – as Sir Kay can no doubt attest."

"Well, she can be rather stubborn – and hard headed – and hot headed, I suppose."

"I knew, if I denied her this, she would still find some other way – either with or without me. At least this way, I figured the two of you could be there to help her. And besides, let's not forget, her Royal Highness is eminently capable. She's fought wars, and had to learn how to rule the whole nation or Breton from a very young age. I'm sure she's more than able to – "

Just then they heard a loud crash from inside the carriage.

"Oh! Now how did this go again? Is this the front? Or the back? Ack! It's upside down!"

Kay smirked.

"Eminently capable, huh?"

Merlin forced a smile.

"Argh! It's riding up my – "

"Ahem! Anyhow, you'll both be travelling under assumed names. Sir Bedivere will be Mr. Belvadere, the Lady's esteemed valet, and Sir Kay will be – "

Just then they were cut short by the opening of the carriage door. Wincing, Merlin fought to make himself look, afraid of what sort of spectacle he would witness after some of the noises that had come from the carriage, but to their shared amazement, there emerged a beautiful girl. She was wearing a dress of spring green, with emerald eyes, and instead of her usual bun, the tresses of her golden hair were swept back, accompanied on either side by a pair of princess braids.

For a moment they all stared, dumbfounded.

"So – uh – " Arturia said, dragging her foot timidly on the ground. "How do I look?"

Kay blushed and turned to the side.

" – you look rather nice."

"You'll find at the top of this rise a small castle. It's rather old, and simple, but the people there are good people. You can tell them that your carriage broke down, and you need a place to stay for the night", Merlin said, removing the pin that held one of the wheels.

"That's nonsense! No one will ever believe that! If my carriage broke down, I'd just fix it!"

Merlin laughed.

"A Lady does not fix her own carriage. She'd have an army of menservants and maidservants and dwarves for that. No, a Lady, you will find, is most often to be found in distress – " Merlin said, and with a blast of magical energy, he shattered the carriage axle to give it a more convincing effect.

"There, that should do. Now get on up to the door, and – "

"Wait – aren't you coming with us?"

"Heavens, no, I can't go with you. For you to be seen travelling with Merlin the wizard? That would be much too suspicious. Besides, someone has to tend to the horses. I'll have them stabled, and then get back to Camelot to make sure Guin and Mordred don't get into too much trouble."

"But what should I say when I get to the door!?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with something!"

As a wizard, Merlin's words were prophetic. At that moment, Guinivere was sitting in her room, when there came a knock at the door. It was a very soft and quiet sound, and one that she knew well.

"Enter, my lord."

At these words, the chamber door opened, creaking discretely on its oiled hinges, then shut.

"You sent for me, my Lady?"

Lancelot called from just inside the room.

Guinivere did not look up. She was seated on the bed, reading a manuscript line by line, unrolling it as she went, for among her other scandals, Guinivere had added reading to her list.

"You – wished to see me my Lady?"

"I did", she said, rolling up the scroll with all the decisiveness of an angel causing an apocalypse, before setting it on the nightstand. "As you know, the King is to be gone for a month."

"Yes, he has gone out hunting. After the Questing Beast."

"And in his absence, there are many who desire the Queen – might come to harm in some way."

"My Lady, there are some, no doubt, who wish you ill – there are always some – but you are greatly loved by all the people."

"That may be so, but their love cannot keep me safe. Someone must be with the Queen at all times – to protect her. I am certain that Arthur would agree – were he here."

"Were he here, my Lady."

Standing up, Guinevere went over to the window that looked out over the inner courtyard.

"Someone must keep watch – at banquets and at feasts – " she went on, turning around, holding her hands behind her back. "While she holds court", she said, stalking stealthily towards him. "While she eats and drinks – and bathes and sleeps – "

And here she dropped all pretense, and threw herself in his arms.

"Come, my Lord", she said, clasping her arms around his neck. "Life is cruel – but we have a month. I have perfumed my bed with incense, and scented my sheets with spices. It's decked with fine linens from Egypt, and silks from the caravan roads to the East.

'I have mixed myrrh with aloes, and bathed myself in milk and roses, and anointed every inch of my body with oil. Tell me – whom would you like to be? An emperor? If you are Caesar, then I will be Cleopatra, who clutched the serpent to her breast. Or if you like, I can be an Arabian princess, and hide behind a veil. It is up to you my Lord, for I have prepared all – and all is for you – "

And here she kissed him.

But Lancelot pulled away.

"Something troubles you?"

"Arthur has not yet been gone a day. If you listen, you can still hear his horse's hooves echo among the cobble stones – "

"You fear the people? You need not. No one will find us here. I've ordered my ladies in waiting to keep watch. I assure you we will not be disturbed."

"I fear nothing – "

"Then come unto me. The King does not mind – "

"How can you say such a thing?"

"Easily, because it's the truth."

"What, does he not love you? Does he not care for you?"

"Oh, Arturius loves me well enough. In all my days, I've never met a better monarch – or a kinder King. But I can assure you, the King does not care about our love."

"How can you – "

"Listen, my Lord – " she said, taking his face in her hands. "As Queen it is given me to know many things. Things that other men do not know. Things that I cannot say – neither what they are, nor how I know them. But I can assure you – beyond all shadow of a doubt – that the King does not give one fig about our love. Now, kiss me."

"This is never going to work", Arturia said gloomily as Bedivere approached the door.

They had decided that Sir Bedivere, being the politest of speech out of all of them, should go up and knock, while Arturia and Sir Kay looked on from the side. Arturia for her part was rather apprehensive, and clapped her hand to her hip to grip her sword hilt as she would normally do, only to be reminded that she wasn't wearing a sword, and that made her feel even more naked and exposed than the open airy feeling under her dress, while Kay stood doubled over and panting, for Merlin's last order before he left them had been that he and Sir Bedivere should carry Arturia's trunk.

"A Lady does not carry her own trunk", he had sagely, using the voice he normally used for issuing wizardly advice.

"What the hell did you put in here?" Kay panted. "It's heavy!"

"I have no idea – Merlin packed it – "

Their argument was cut short by the opening of the castle door. A woman looked out, who was neither young or old, and dressed in a vest and blouse that looked to be servant's attire.

"Ahem", Bedivere said, coughing politely. "I apologize for having to trouble you, and the lateness of the hour, but my Lady – the Lady Elaine, of Shallot – was travelling, when her carriage broke down, in yonder wood, and we are in need of a place to stay for the night."

The woman looked at Bedivere, then at Kay, who was still doubled over, and then at Arturia, who was seated on her trunk, and did her best to give a winning smile.

"I'll have to clear it with the Lord of the House", she said, a bit bluntly. "You may wait inside", she added, almost as an afterthought, before turning to a younger woman who was similarly dressed. "Aileen, keep an eye on them."

And with that, she disappeared.

"Ugh! Whatever's in here, he should have packed an enchantment along with it to make it lighter!" Kay groused, after he and Bedivere had hauled the trunk over the threshold and into the foyer.

"Oh, quit your belly aching", Arturia scolded. Taking a moment to look around, she could see that they were in a great room that seemed to form the base of a tower. The ceiling was very tall, with a wrought iron chandelier hanging down underneath, and off to the side was a large hearth with a modest fire burning within.

Arturia stood for a moment, warming her hands, for though it was nearly summer, the nights were still cold. She was still turning them over when the housekeeper returned.

"The Master will see you now."

With these words they were ushered to a large hall, furnished with a long table that was set with a great repast, worthy to be called a feast. A large fire was burning in a second hearth, but more impressive than the hall or the table was its single occupant. He was a man of middle age, evidently a Knight, for he was dressed in full armor, with a breast and back plate, and pauldrons over his shoulders that came down over his arms, overlapping with their metal vambraces, while his legs were similarly protected by a pair of cuisses and their greaves. A pair of roundels adorned his chest, one on either side, so that they would protect the space under each arm when he raised his sword. Only his head and hands were uncovered, his helmet and gauntlets being laid on the end of the table nearby.

He certainly made a formidable sight, and Arturia nodded her appreciation. The knightly code dictated that a man of arms was to always keep his armor on, save for when he went to sleep at night, so that he might be ready for anything at a moment's notice. But in actual practice, it was a custom that very few actually kept. Even in Camelot, only the guards tended to observe it strictly, while the other Knights wore whatever was the fashion of the day, so to find someone who kept it so dutifully out here was surprising, to say the least.

"Surely he must be a Knight of some reknown", Arturia thought to herself. "How can it be that I have not heard of him?"

"Our honored guests", the elder housekeeper said as he got to his feet, "I present to you the Squire Lelawney."

"Squire?"

And with that the older gentleman bowed.

"Greetings, and welcome to Castle Joyeaux – the Joyous Gard."

"It certainly doesn't seem very joyous", Kay said, once they were back in the hall, and out of earshot.

"Hush! Don't insult our host."

But Bedivere agreed.

"More like dreary and dolorous."

Though she did not want to, Arturia could not help but see their point. The castle interior was old, being full of ancient paintings and tapestries, along with swords and suits of armor. It certainly didn't have a very cheerful air. But their host was hospitable enough.

After a brief introduction, and explanation of their difficulties, it had been decided that they could stay for the evening, and while they arranged repairs for their carriage. Then they were invited to dinner, and after a quick supper, were shown to their rooms.

"Let's get you ready for bed", the old, housekeeper said, a bit more friendly now that they had gotten their host's blessing. "These rooms are old, and haven't been slept in for a long time. We'll have to get you a bed warmer –"

Arturia recoiled. In Camelot, a bed warmer was a young girl, sent to a man's room to assist with undressing, and other things. It was an evil custom, and generally looked down upon, but one that in some places persisted, in spite of her best efforts to root it out.

"I'm dressed as Elaine – have they somehow figured out that I'm really the King!?" she worried.

But the housekeeper misunderstood her confusion.

"Oh, my apologies – I haven't introduced myself. I'm Lady Justine, the Squire's wife."

"The Lady of the Castle!? But I thought you were the housekeeper!"

Justine laughed.

"That happens a lot – as often as we have company, at least, which isn't very often, so I guess it doesn't happen very often at all."

"But don't you have maids to help with this sort of thing?"

"Aye, Jane and Aileen are capable enough, but I'm very particular. It would be miserable for the poor dears, having to do everything with me going along behind them doing it over again, so I usually just do things myself."

At this they both shared a laugh. Much to Arturia's relief, a "bed warmer" turned out to be a strange device that consisted of two metal bowls at the end of a staff. Justine took the odd contraption over to the fireplace, where she used a shovel to fill it with hot coals before clamping it shut, and then waved it around under the covers.

"Have to be careful it's closed good. Wouldn't want to leave a spark – your backside wouldn't appreciate that!" she said, chuckling at Arturia's visible concern. "That, and it would be terrible for the linens", she laughed. "There, that should do nicely. You have a good night. Let us know if you need anything, and we'll see you in the morning."

Arturia watched her go, then waited a polite amount of time before getting undressed, putting on a white night gown that she found in the trunk that Merlin had packed for her. She made a quick check of the bed – just to be sure there weren't any lingering embers, then got under the covers and drew the curtains around her.

The last thing she remembered was seeing the vague shadows of the wooden panels that formed the underside of the canopy. And then she drifted off to sleep.

"Are you sure? There's no need for that," Justine said, when Elaine had offered to help the next morning. "You're an honored guest."

"Yes, I mean no insult to your hospitality. It's just, my two servants have gone into town to see about our carriage, and that leaves me with nothing to do – I'd rather not sit around idly."

"Well, if you're going to insist. There's a bit of spinning that needs to be done, up in the tower. You can have at it, if you like."

Castle Joyeux, as it turned out, was rather small, consisting of just a single tower, with a bit of a gatehouse attached. The gatehouse had long ago been converted into a manor, but the tower itself was quite old, being made of a construction that looked like it could have dated back to Roman times. Most of the rooms had been updated, like the one Arturia had stayed in the night before, and the Lady Justine had a sewing room up at the top of the tower, with a spinning wheel and a weaving loom.

Arturia had been glad to offer to help, but upon reaching the top of the tower steps, she began to regret it. The sewing machines were all utterly foreign to her, and she had no idea how any of them worked.

"Truly, being a woman is an altogether wretched and miserable experience", she lamented, hanging her head out a nearby window. On one side, the tower overlooked a courtyard, and she could see the Squire Lewlaney was already up and taking his morning exercises. He was dressed once again in a full suit of armor, and had armed himself with what was commonly called a bastard sword, or more politely a hand and a half, light enough to be wielded with one hand but with a handle long enough for two. He chose to hold it with both hands, and seeing his practice, he was certainly very formidable and warlike, so that she was surprised to find someone so capable so far out here.

"I wouldn't mind having someone like him on the Round Table."

When he had finished his exercises, the Lady Justine came out to see him off, and after kissing his cheek and bestowing on him a cloth bundle that presumably held some sort of lunch, just the thought of which was enough to make Arturia's stomach growl, even though breakfast had scarcely been an hour ago, he climbed on his horse and rode off.

There was a turnstile mounted beside the gate, of the kind that knights used to practice jousting. It was a clever device, consisting of two arms mounted on a swivel, with a target on one end and a weighted chain on the other. To strike it took considerable skill, for the target was very small, but it had to be done at a full gallop, for if one rode too slowly, the other end with the chain would come whirling around and deliver a terrible blow. As he rode, the Squire struck it fairly in its midst before thundering past.

"Perhaps that's what Mordred needs", Arturia thought as the sound of his hooves faded into the distance. "A bit more practice, and a sharp whack on the backside."

For a while she stared longingly, out at the world of swords and lances and things she knew, but there was only so long that she could delay the inevitable.

"Ah well", she sighed, turning back to the strange wheeled contraption behind her. "I guess this wool isn't going to spin itself.

'Now let's see, I remember seeing something like this once. The string goes here – and then picks up that bobbin there – grr, Merlin could probably automate all of this with his magic – and then – maybe it winds back around? Oh yes, and then you do something with the foot – " she said, working the pedal and watching the wheel turn.

"It's working!" she shouted, but her celebration was short lived. On the next pass, the machine folded its arm back on itself, and then began to pull itself across the floor.

"Oh dear . . ."

"What on earth did you do!?"

Lady Justine asked when she came back to check on Elaine, only to find the spinning wheel, distaff, and several baskets of yarn all hopelessly tangled together, and in danger of consuming the poor girl herself.

"I – I'm sorry! I wasn't quite sure how it all went, so – "

"There's no harm in not knowing, but there's a GREAT DEAL of harm in not bothering to ask!" Lady Justine shouted.

"I'm sorry! It's just – I was raised by my Father and Brother, so – "

"I could believe you were raised by a pack of wolves after seeing this! Lordy, this is going to take all morning to sort out – "

Arturia stared at the horrible snarl, trying to figure out what she could possibly do.

"What would Merlin do at a time like this?" she wondered. The old wizard wasn't there to help, but she might still be able to apply his methods.

"Hmm – what if we ran it – backwards?"

"Backwards?"

"Yes – if we turn this part around, and then thread this through here – "

Justine looked on skeptically, but the mess couldn't possibly get much worse, so she decided to let her try. With a few passes, the wheel had largely sorted itself out, and after some minutes, they were back to having several baskets of wool again, which was where they had started, but in light of the morning's misadventure, it felt something like progress.

"I'm sorry I snapped", Justine apologized, helping Elaine finish unwinding the thread. "It's just, I thought we were going to be here into the afternoon when I saw how big of a tangle it had made. You actually weren't that far off – you just wind this bit here – " she demonstrated, pulling several strands through, "and then feed it through there. You – don't normally do this sort of thing, do you?" she asked, seeing Elaine sitting at the bench, pressing her foot timidly on the pedal.

"No – I don't. To be honest, I know more about how to saddle a horse or sharpen a sword."

Justine stared at her for a moment.

"That settles it!"

"Settles what?" Arturia asked nervously.

"We're going to teach you how to be a proper lady!"

Arturia looked at her in horror.

"But that's enough for one day. Go on, get up – "

"No, I said I'll do it – "

"There's no need for all that. You've already proved your sincerity. Anything more is just stubbornness – "

"I said I'll do it. As a Lady, my word is my bond!"

"All right, stubbornness it is! I'll be back up to check on you around lunch. But don't feel bad about coming down if you change your mind."

It was late in the day, and the sun was going down, when a very tired Elaine made her way down from the tower at Joyous Gard to put in a very lackluster appearance at dinner, before once again climbing the steps to her room. As she sat on the bed, she was very much starting to think that all of those fairy tales about princesses being locked away at the top of tall towers might actually be true.

"When I get back, the first thing I am going to do is make a royal decree that house shoes are to be considered appropriate formal wear on all occasions!"

From what she could tell, women's shoes could be roughly divided into two categories. One type was designed to be pretty, and to make the foot look as small as possible, and was inevitably uncomfortable and made the wearer miserable. The other type were small, flat slippers, something like what dancers wear.

These could also be pretty, and were much more agreeable, and had the added bonus that they could be rolled up and stowed away in a purse. But their thin, flat soles gave absolutely no cushion or support, and after wearing them on a stone floor all day, her bones felt like they were going to come through the bottoms of her feet.

"Thick rugs will be required in all women's seating areas!" she went on, waving her hand with an imaginary scepter as she continued her tirade. "Tile floors will be outlawed! All women's clothes will be required to come with pockets!"

There, that ought to be enough for one day. And then, when she was really and truly rested – and her feet no longer hurt – she would declare all out war on the evils of the feminine undergarment industry.

"When I get back, I am going to find Guinivere and kick her squarely in her pretty little – the simple joys of maidenhood my foot – " she said, stamping angrily, but with disastrous results.

"OW! MY FOOT!"

Elaine was not the only one suffering. On the other side of Camelot was an old abbey, and past the abbey was a ruined tower, and past the tower there was a pool. And beside the pool was Lancelot.

He seemed to have fallen into a state of madness, for he stared at his reflection as though entranced by it. His clothes were all in disarray, and his long hair was down, disheveled and wild, with one end of it in his mouth, and all of it wet with the morning dew. He continued to stare at the face in the water as it stared back at him, and might have been there all day staring still, had not another reflection interrupted him, suddenly appearing in the water.

Looking up, he leered, his dim eyes illuminated with a hint of recognition.

"Watt – ?"

"What not?" the unruly page who owned the reflection answered, clapping his hand on his hip where his sword would be if he had one. "Ye wot not what ye wrought!"

"Watt! It is you!" Lancelot called, smiling.

"Well of course it's me! Who else would I be?"

"But what are you doing all the way out here?"

"Looking for you", Watt said, putting his arm around his neck to help him to his feet.

"Argh! No good! Don't move me!"

"Tell me you haven't been out here all night like this! Exposed to the elements – "

"Not at all – I have my skin, don't I?"

"Haven't you heard, my Lord? After Eden, we're all to wear the skins of wild beasts – to sew fig leaves will not do – "

"Agh – Watt, leave me, I've no heart for your riddles –"

"Hmph! Wait here."

"Drink this – slowly!" the young page ordered.

Lancelot did as he was told, carefully sipping the steaming liquid from the bowl.

"Ah – not that I'm not grateful, but how on earth did you know to come look for me?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that Merlin sent me?"

"I would not. Merlin's with Arthur, where he should be. All of England depends on that boy, and his goodness."

"Perhaps I'm a spy, sent by the Lady of the Lake."

"No good – I've met the Lady of the Lake. If she wanted to see me, she'd just send for me herself."

"Then perhaps I'm a Faerie – or a faun – some satyr sent to punish you for your recent revels."

"Now THAT I could believe. Whatever manner of creature you are, you always seem to appear when I need you most, and for that, I thank you."

"Really it's a simple matter of intuition I guess. For all their differences, both human and Faerie hearts beat quite alike. We suffer from the same vices, at war with the same virtues. In the end, I figured I would find you here, and I did. You've Sir Bliant to thank for the stew – his castle is a short ways off, and he told me to do as I like when I told him there was a Knight nearby that needed tending."

"A blessing on you both", Lancelot said, then leaned back against the tree and sighed.

"Are you alright, my Lord?"

"Oh Watt, I am sick – "

"I'm not surprised, what with being out all night. You've caught cold – "

"No . . . I am sick of Camelot."

"Then leave, my Lord. If this country makes you ill, go somewhere else."

"And forsake my post? I think not. No, a Knight can never leave."

"Knights do it all the time – "

"What? And get a cowards name?"

"They do it without a hint of shame. No one bats an eye, and the King gives them their blessing."

"How do you figure?"

"Go on a quest, my Lord."

"A quest? What kind of quest?"

"Any kind of quest! You could say you're hunting the White Stag, or the Questing Beast – or out looking for the Holy Grail – "

"It would never work. All the Knights of Camelot would want to follow me. They'd pledge their loyalty – we'd make a whole Company, and that's exactly what I don't want right now is company."

"Company . . ." Watt said, a little sadly. "Then say it's a dangerous quest – "

"No good. The greater the danger, the more would come – "

"Then better yet, a pilgrimage – "

"A pilgrimage?"

"Yes – you could say it's for the sake of your troubled soul – for after all, is it not your soul that is troubled?"

"A pilgrimage – " Lancelot repeated. "Watt, you just might be onto something . . ."

"A PILGRIMAGE!?"

"Yes, my Lady, that's what he said."

Guinivere stared at her lady in waiting with a sense of shock.

"Here? Now? WHY NOW!?"

"I don't know my Lady, that's all he said, that he was going away, and would be gone for several days. Apparently the matter was urgent, and came up rather suddenly."

Guinivere looked around her room. She had just finished decorating the main hall for a feast, and was in the processing of setting up her room for a private party – a VERY private party. The theme was to be "A Midnight Picnic", and she had spread a green blanket on the floor to imitate the grass, while a variety of ornamental trees and shrubs had been brought in to make a miniature forest.

Everything was wreathed with garlands of fresh leaves, while all of the side tables were set with silver trays of fresh fruits – there were apples and oranges and peaches and plums, along with mangos and papayas and pineapples – things that were not native to England, and so had to be brought in at great cost – as well as a huge platter piled high with a hundred bunches of grapes.

The white linen table cloth spread over the bed left little doubt as to the main course.

At first Guinivere stomped her foot angrily, fairly shaking with rage. But then her face softened.

"I know what this is . . ."

"You do, my Lady?"

"Yes", she said, placing her arms behind her back and clasping her hands. "He's gone after Arthur."

For a moment she turned to look out the window.

"He's always so concerned about him. If only he knew . . . then he wouldn't worry so."

"What's that, my Lady?"

Guinivere sighed.

"Nothing . . . but DAMN IT! Now what am I going to do with all of these grapes?"

"What's all this?" Elaine asked as Justine threw a pile of fabric and thread down in front of her, amid the clattering of a pair of wooden hoops.

"Embroidery", Justine answered triumphantly.

"Embroidery?" Elaine asked incredulously. "But I don't know a thing about embroidery!"

"You'll learn. We'll make lady out of you yet! I'll teach you how to embroider your initials on your pocket handkerchief, so you can drop it at the ball, and then a handsome young gentleman will find it and come looking for you – and you can have a fine adventure."

Elaine looked at her in horror.

"Now let's see, green's your color – so we could coordinate and go with a darker emerald, or maybe gold – or we could use red for a nice contrast . . ."

Elaine sighed, and hung her head in defeat.

"Look, it's Lancelot!"

"It's Lancelot! It's Lancelot!"

"Out of all of Arthur's knights, he's the strongest!"

"And most brave!"

"And the most loyal!"

Thus Lancelot and Watt were greeted when they rode into the next town. Hearing the people's praises, Lancelot cringed.

"I suppose it must be jolly good fun, being a Knight", Watt said, unpacking the horses as Lancelot sat soaking in the bath. He took the two shields and stacked them against the wall, arranging a pair of lances beside them, along with a sword with its belt and baldric wrapped around its scabbard, and then set to polishing the armor.

"You have someone to sharpen your sword and carry your spear, and everywhere you go, the minstrels sing of you in ballads – where do I apply?"

"Oh, it isn't all fun and games, you know", Lancelot said, stretching himself as he evaluated the temperature of the water. "There are wars, and quarrels. And even in peace there are tournaments, and judicial duels, and matters of honor. I suppose that's why some knights are always errant – always out on some quest – while others are forever stationed to keep watch at their post – at some lonely tower or wall. And others still prefer to keep court in the beautiful hell that is Camelot. But mostly it's a lot of fighting – always fighting."

"I see – when you put it that way, it doesn't sound so good at all", Watt said, arranging a plate with a pile or roasted beef and potatoes. "I spoke with the Abbot, and he said you're free to use the chapel to keep vigil – he said you can use it as long as you like."

"Thank you, Watt."

"Your dinner is arranged – I'll just leave it here. And with that, my Lord, I'll take my leave."

After bathing and putting on a fresh tunic, and a simple but rather hearty dinner, Lancelot made his way to the abbey, where he kept watch for the last hours of the day, until the sun's light was fading. But as the night fell, and the shadows grew long, his thoughts fell along with it.

"Surely the shadows of Gethsemane could not have looked more sinister as they waited for Judas", he said. His sword was upon the altar, and all around him was purple and red as the light streamed through the stained glass windows, bathing him with their light as it illumined the pictures of Biblical scenes and the lives of various saints.

"No doubt the people say, 'Look, what a pious man he is! See how long he stays in the chapel.' Camelot would be better if I threw myself off of a cliff. I would be damned – and yet, what would it matter? I am damned already.

'And all the people would mourn. There would be a great, state funeral. The priests would deny me their rites. And I could live with all of that. Except – "

And with this, a single, golden light cut through his thoughts.

"I could not bear to see grief there – not upon that smiling face. Our one light that shines in all this darkness. I could not bring it to grief –

'And yet it is I most of all who have brought it to grief . . . And what should we ever do, if she were to conceive? If the Queen were to be with child, and she brought forth – for as yet she has given Arthur no children – would it be a little blonde lion? Or a dark headed Du Lac bastard, smiling back at me? No wonder Arthur favors Mordred! At least he can be sure his sister's son is related to him – his own blood – "

With this, he heard the chapel door turning upon its hinges. With a creak, Watt opened the wooden door, bound with iron bands, and shut it behind him again.

"My Lord, what is the matter!" he cried, seeing Lancelot's pale face amid the shadows.

"I am the matter Watt. I cannot be myself. For wherever I would go, I find that I myself proceed me."

"I see. That is a problem – " Watt said, placing his hands upon his hips. "But I just might have an answer."

"Oh?"

"In the Abbey treasury, there's a suit of armor. It was donated by some nobleman, meant to be auctioned off for charity. It looks to be of good quality, and I think it should be about the right fit.

'If you were to exchange your armor for that one, and then sneak out under cover of darkness, no one would be the wiser. I'm sure the Abbot wouldn't mind, and anyway, if it were a question of money, a suit of armor that had been worn by Lancelot would fetch a considerably higher price than any other, be the workmanship ever so fine.

'I could cover for you – I'll say you had to leave early, that you were called away on some errand. By the time anyone realized, you'd be miles down the road, and have given them the slip."

"Watt! You'd do that for me?"

"Aye, my Lord", Watt said, looking down shyly. "I would."

At that moment, Arturia was having her own troubles. Having survived a crash course in spinning and in weaving, the Lady Justine had moved on to knitting and crocheting. The embroidery lesson in particular had especially disastrous results.

"Not bad – especially for a first effort", Justine had said, examining the lumpy red 'E' at the corner of her handkerchief.

Arturia cringed.

Today's lesson was to have been on quilting, but she decided she couldn't take any more, and resolved to slip out.

Merlin had evidently anticipated this, as he'd packed some less fancy clothes along in her trunk. With some searching she'd found a simple shirt of plain linen, along with a leather vest, and these together with a pair of trousers and a floppy hat made a fine disguise. Being thus dressed, she resolved to slip away, and hide out in the stables for the day.

Just being in the old wooden building made her feel better, surrounded by horses and saddles and bits and bridles, part of a world she knew, far removed from the world of spinning wheels and looms and needles and thimbles and fingers sticks that had been her prison of late.

In short order she'd cleaned the stalls, pitching them with fresh hay, and filled the mangers with fresh feed and the troughs with water, and was just starting in on one of the horses with a brush, when she heard the squeak of the door. Turning, she saw the Squire. At first she thought that he was going to ride into town as he had on the other days, but to her surprise he took one of the other brushes, and made his way over to a stall where one of the war horses was kept.

"Perhaps if I don't say anything he won't notice me", she thought, and continued about her work, as if she had every reason to be there.

Looking over, the Squire studied her for a moment, before going back to brushing his horse.

"I don't remember hiring a stable boy."

For an answer, Arturia brushed more furiously, and said nothing. The Squire chuckled.

"Playing hooky from embroidery today? It's alright. I know how Justine can be. She is very dear to me, but she can be a handful. I sometimes have to sneak out here myself, to get away for an hour or two."

Having finished with her brushing, Arturia went around to the back of the horse, where she picked up one of his hooves, cradling it against her lap.

"Be careful. Menelaus there isn't ill tempered, but he can be a bit skittish. I wouldn't want him to kick you."

Undeterred, she scooped out the muck, the studied the underside of the horse's foot.

"Let's look at your shoes, shall we? I've been having a bit of trouble with shoes myself of late, so you could say I'm a bit sympathetic."

In spite of the Squire's warning, Arturia and Menelaus got along famously, helped along no doubt by the fact that she slipped him an apple and a cube of sugar when the Squire wasn't looking.

"Not to be rude, but – I'm surprised that you don't have a stable boy for this kind of thing."

"Evidently I do", the Squire chuckled. "But I take your point. A Knight and his steed both march just one step from death. I'm of the opinion that there are some things he should tend to himself. But there, that's enough for one day. Go on and wash up. May it please you to dine in the hall tonight? I would appreciate some company.

When Elaine came down to dinner she was dressed in a gown of beige muslin, together with a brown bodice of sueded leather over the top of it. It was much simpler and humbler than her green one, but it was possessed of its own charm none the less. Dinner for the evening consisted of roasted pheasant, done up with a dressing of bread crumbs and wild herbs. She finished her plate quite heartily, and sat beside the fire, nursing a wooden flagon filled with ale.

"Are you enjoying your time at Joyous Gard?" the Squire asked. "Or Castle Backwater, as I like to call it", he laughed. "The tower was built to guard the ford at the river, where the land goes up into the mountains, only the river is more like a small creek, and the mountains are just hills, so I can't see it's of any strategic advantage. I don't think we're likely to have many battles out here."

Arturia looked at him, a thought crossing her mind.

"Does something trouble you, my Lady?"

"Not at all – it's just . . ."

"You're thinking I look too old to be a Squire."

"I don't want to be rude – I mean no offense – "

"None given or taken. If it seems unusual, that's because it is. There are reasons for things, I suppose, as there usually are."

"I've seen your practice, in the mornings. And I've watched the trials more than once when young men are Knighted. You are most formidable. If you took the test of arms – I dare day you'd pass."

The Squire turned to the side, and looked thoughtful.

"I did mean to take it, once. Back when Justine and I were newly married. I only intended to wait until the birth of our son, but things . . . did not turn out as expected."

"I am sorry – I never should have asked – "

"Oh, it's all right. That was all a very long time ago. But afterwards, some things just didn't seem as important anymore. The local Count let me keep my title, and the castle and its grounds – after all, having a man in armor about helps to keep the peasants in line. I always said I'd take it the next year – or the year after . . . and now here we are.

'But hark, here's something you might like – " he said, going over to one of the columns that supported the roof of the hall, and taking down a sword.

"Ohh!" Arturia said, as he handed it to her. "That's a fine blade!" It was of a very old pattern. The guard was small, barely extending on either side of the hand, while the center was fullered out to reveal a wavy pattern that showed the different steels from which it was made.

"That was my fathers' fathers' – fathers!" the Squire said, pausing for a moment to count out the generations. "Things were a bit different back then, as you can see."

"It's tip heavy", Arturia said, holding the sword out. "But it has a nice weight. And it would cut ferociously too!"

The Squire looked at her, smiling as she hefted the blade, lifting it up and down, testing the balance.

"You – don't normally do a lot of weaving or embroidering, do you?"

Arturia shook her head.

"I was raised mostly by my Father and Brother, Sir Kay – dense!" she added at the last minute, suddenly remembering herself.

"Sir Cadence?" the Squire asked, trying to stifle a laugh. "My apologies my Lady, it's just, that sounds more like a name for a girl."

"It's all right. We all thought so, too, and teased him mercilessly about it. I'm afraid it gave him a bit of a chip on his shoulder. But he grew up to be a Knight, and very formidable in his own right. For a time I was his Squire – and I was rather good at it. But the result is that I know more about how to sharpen swords and tend horses and polish armor than I do about things like knitting or cooking I'm afraid."

"Heh, heh, now it's all beginning to make more sense. What you need is an adventure, though I'm not sure what sort of adventure you could possibly have all the way out here. Nothing much happens in these parts, and unless the fabled Faerie folk come marching down out of the mountains like the tales say, I can't see as much ever will. And if THAT ever happens, it will be more than one Knight or Squire can possibly manage."

"Well if it does, I promise to do my best to help."

"Ha – seeing you heft that sword, I think you'd be a great help indeed. But the night is moving on, so for now I'll take my leave."

After parting from the Squire, Arturia went back to her room, and sat on her bed, looking pensively at the wall. She was still sitting there when Kay came up to check on her.

"Are you – alright my Lor- ahem! My Lady?" he asked, still getting used to the new terms. "You seem a bit out of sorts . . ."

"It's funny . . . I've travelled all this way, and had Merlin concoct this elaborate ruse – all so I could be myself for a while. Only to find out I still can't be myself, even when I'm a complete stranger, in a strange land, with nothing but strangers around me. It's ironic, that's all."

Kay lowered his gaze to the stone tiles of the floor, uncertain of what to say.

"It's strange, you know – you see those paintings, in books, or in stained glass windows or in tapestries, of some distant castle, far away in fairy land, with a lone tower, that has a single light burning at the top. It's odd to think that here, that single light is me . . ."

"Are you SURE you're all right?" Kay asked again, not at all liking the tone of the conversation.

"Yes. You needn't worry about me. Go ahead and go on down. I'm going to be up for a while. The sun's just now going down. You and Bedivere get some rest. You needn't trouble yourselves over me."

Kay moved to press her again, but this time she shooed him out of the room, shutting the door behind him, before going over to the window. Its old wooden shutters opened with a clatter, looking out over the ground below and the forest path beyond.

For a moment she leaned on the sill, admiring the sight and the smell of the flowerbox, until presently she noticed the approach of a horse.

On its back was a lone rider, evidently a Knight, for he was dressed in a suit of full armor. It bore no emblem or heraldic device, but evidently he was a man of some standing, for it was of good quality, and there was something in his bearing, and the way he held his head aloft, that suggested a certain nobleness.

His visor was up, and she could see his hair, all long and flowing where it spilled down over the plates. Puzzled, she looked closer, studying his armor's design, hoping it would give her some clue as to who he might possibly be. She was staring still when suddenly he looked up.

Arturia recoiled, pulling away from the window with a gasp, and pressing her back against the wall.

"Oh my God! That's Lancelot!"