La Damoiselle Arthur 10 (Patreon)

Chapter 10

“Go now,” Morgana said, having explained her plan to Mordred. “We must move with haste.”

“What of the huntsman?”

“He will wait for your return, should he arrive in your absence.”

“Of course.” Throwing up his hood, he raced off into the night.

Morgana pursued her grimoire once more before entering her magic circle. She knelt, and began to incant, the dark magic flowing through her, making her hair rise and crackle and spark.  Morgana completed her spell, the circle of candles she knelt within flying and then going dark. The room smelt of sulphur and sin. Getting up, she threw open the shutters, eager for the night breeze to clear the scent of her infernal magic from the space.  Staring out across the moonlit countryside, she wondered of Arthur’s fate. They had yet to hear back from the huntsman. Could something have gone wrong?

Guinevere, for her part, had received the note Morgana had sent promising her loyalty. To say the letter failed to deceive her would be quite an understatement. Indeed, she had never trusted Morgana, and the letter had only served to make her even more alert for treachery.  Lowbottom, too, called for attention. Guinevere knew she needed eyes, and so she sent for Aideen. Then, looking out her own window, she too, wondered where in that great wide world her husband slept tonight.  She had always worried about Arthur when he’d out for war or adventure, even hunts. It was part of being a wife, but now? He was so small now, so pretty, and he knew nothing of being a girl. There was little more she could do than worry, and then go to her private chapel and offer prayers for his safety.

Arthur would have been most pleased to know of his wife’s prayers, but even more so he would have loved a blanket. The night grew chillier by the moment, and the wind had picked up. Guinevere had often complained of chills in rooms he’d found perfectly warm, and he now empathized with her. His slander female form needed warmth!

He glanced toward the warm glow of the fire, toward his bedroll. He longed to for the heat, but Lancelot was out there! Lancelot! He was still angry at that, that-- brute! I would rather freeze than go crawling back out there! Arthur huffed.

He heard movement. Lancelot poked his head around the corner. “My King?” Lancelot said.

Arthur crossed his arms, put his nose in the air.

“I brought you a blanket,” Lancelot said.

“I don’t want it!”

“Please, your highness.” Arthur sat there, pretending to ignore Lancelot, who came forward, placing the blanket gently over Arthur’s shoulders. “I bid you goodnight.”

The blanket immediately warmed Arthur.  As Lancelot withdrew, Arthur almost called out to him, but he restrained himself. They would sleep on this, he decided.  The morning would be a new day. Pulling the blanket closer, he waited a bit, then crawled onto his bedroll, rolling it around himself along with the blanket. It had been a long day, and sleep came quickly.

Arthur woke to the sound of fighting. Snapping awake, he struggled to free himself from his bedroom, looking around frantically, calling out, “Lancelot!”

“Over here!” Lancelot called.

Looking over, Arthur saw Lancelot with a thick wooden stick, striking at the trunk of a thick oak tree. “Morning exercise,” Arthur murmured, slightly annoyed at his panic.

“Join me!” Lancelot said. “It will be good to get the blood flowing before out ride.”

“I don’t much see the point,” Arthur said, walking over the Lancelot. “I tried to fight the huntsman, but in this body? I am too small and-- weak.” It pained him to say the words, but he could not deny the weakness of his new sex.

“It is true, Arthur, that you may no longer rely on mass and strength to win fights. But you have new strengths.”

“Such as?”

“You are small and quick, my Lord. You need only learn to fight like the lynx instead of the lion.”

“I will only look a fool.”

“I can teach you,” Lancelot said, picking up a branch he’d cut to the length of a short sword. He tossed it to Arthur. “Let’s begin.”

Arthur griped the stick. Lancelot had even whittled the end down to fit his smaller hand. “Block my blows,” Lancelot said. He advanced, swung, the blow shook Arthur’s arm, stung his hand.

‘Don’t meet the blow. Deflect it.”

“I am too small!”

“Nonsense. Swing at me.”

Arthur swung. Instead of meeting the blow with a full, strength based block, Lancelot deflected it and stepped aside.  “See?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I was trained in this maneuver. I just never used it.”

“Use it now!” Lancelot said, swinging.

Arthur deflected it, stepped aside, spun around with a counter strike that Lancelot had to rush to parry. “Oh!” Lancelot shouted. “You nearly got me!”

Arthur’s heart sang! Perhaps he could still fight, defend himself, be a man! He needed only to fight like a-- well, he didn’t want to think the thought, so he instead switched it to-- younger man!

They began to circle each other. “Stay small. Stay quick. Use your speed and agility!” They scrimmaged, parried. Arthur kept moving. Remembering how the huntsman  had overpowered him, he never allowed himself to get into a position where Lancelot could use his size and strength to overpower him, and soon they were both slick with sweat breathing hard.  Often, Arthur didn’t even bother to deflect Lancelot’s swings, instead darting away from them, letting Lancelot swing wildly into thin air.

“I can do this,” Arthur said, ducking under a swing. He was quicker and more elusive than he’d ever imagined. “I might even be able to beat you!”

“Do not get arrogant,” Lancelot said. “I will admit you are doing very well, but I am still Lancelot.”

True, but Arthur had noticed that Lancelot had been getting lazy, perhaps due to growing tired from the sparring. He was taking big swings, and leaving his back leg wide open.  Arthur waited until the next time Lancelot attempted such a swing, then instead of darting away as he’d been doing, he rolled toward Lancelot, kicking his leg out from under him and rolling on top of Lancelot, pointing his stick at Lancelot’s throat.

“Got you!” Arthur shouted, a lopsided pirate’s grin on his pretty face.

“A lucky break,” Lancelot said, taking  one finger and pushing the stick away from his throat.

“Luck?” Arthur laughed. “You lie!”

Arthur was sitting on Lancelot, straddling him, his thighs pressed against Lancelot’s ribs. Without even thinking, Lancelot put his hands on Arthur’s hips and squeezed. “You can’t believe you could beat me?”

The feeling of Lancelot’s hands squeezing his soft hips made Arthur suddenly self-conscious about his -- um-- position. Blushing, he quickly jumped off Lancelot. “We better eat and ride,” he said, dusting the dirt from his pants, not wanting to talk or even think about what he’d felt.

“Yes,” Lancelot agreed, also eager to avoid a repeat of the previous day’s awkwardness. “Breakfast.”

They each got their food and ate, not looking at each other. When Lancelot finished, he brushed the crumbs off his chest as a question suddenly occurred to him. “Where are we going, anyway?”