La Damoiselle Arthur 15 (Patreon)

Chapter 15

“The girl escaped,” The Huntsman said. “Or, rather, she was rescued.”

“Escaped? Rescued?” Mordred, once more masked, seethed. “How? Rescued by whom?”

Once more, the two had met near the edge of the forest.  Sunlight dappled the shadowy forest floor, and gnarled limbs stretched over their heads.

“A knight armored in white.”

“A knight?”

“I tried to fight him,” The Huntsman said. “I did, but he was too strong for me to face alone.”

Mordred looked at the man. “You do not look like you have been in a fight.”

The Huntsman looked away. “I did what I could.”

“It wasn’t enough. Go. FInd the girl. Bring her to me as agreed.”

“But the knight?”

“Your daughter is still sick, is she not?” Mordred said.

“Yes. Please, I need the potion you promised.”

“And you will have it when I have the girl. Now, I tire of the sight of you. Go.”

“Please, have mercy.”

“I did say to go, did I not, peasant?”

The Huntsman gritted his teeth, biting back his scorn. Instead, he turned and headed off back into the woods, back towards his cabin, where he would pick up the trail. What he would do when he found the girl, he did not know, for he had truly fallen under her spell.  Yet, he loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and had to find some way to save her.  Mordred headed back to see Morgana. The blasted fool, Mordred thought to himself as he walked. To have Arthur and lose her? Idiot! The thought of this mysterious knight also unnerved him. Who could it be? He had thought Arthur alone and helpless. It was not good he now had a man to protect him.

As Mordred moved through the town that surrounded Castle Camelot– the stone walled, thatch roofed cottages of the peasants– he smiled.  Street nearly deserted. Stalls empty. The few people who did move in the streets had faces covered, and moved warily to the other side of the path as any approached.  Mordred paused outside one of the homes, listening, listening…

He heard coughing from within, and he smiled.

Back in the castle, he found Morgana in her room, where she spent most of her time these days. “Well?”  She said, eyes gleaming with excitement as Mordred entered.

Mordred closed the door, then checked carefully around the balcony, wary of spies. “Arthur remains free,” he finally said.

“What? But the signal was sent. The pyre on Gallows Hill lit!”

Mordred took up the poker and jabbed into the burning wood of the fire. Sparks flew. “Yes, but only to tell me Arthur had been captured– and then rescued.”

“Rescued?”

“It seems our fair maiden has found her champion.”

“Fie!” Morgana shouted. “Champion? Who?” She went to the window and looked out across the lands of England. Arthur was out there somewhere, and she had to have her!

“I know not. I sent that woodland fool back out with orders to bring the girl to me. He knows his daughter’s life lies in the balance.” Mordred threw a fresh log on the fire. “You have no idea how horribly that fool smells,” he said. “There are no animals that smell worse, I would wager.”

“Who cares about his smell?” Morgana said. “I am more concerned that you have chosen a fool! How can you be so nonchalant about this? This is your chance to be king!  Ruler of all England.”

In truth, Mordred was not sure he did want to be king. It seemed a rather dreary life from what he’d seen.  Yet, his disdain for Arthur was great enough that he would take the throne merely to see Arthur thrown down.  He yawned, unable, however, to hide his disinterest in his mother’s drama.

“You would yawn?”

“The plan proceeds, dear mother. The whole of Camelot falls to the plague you conjured. Lowbottom already whispers lies, spreading the word it comes as punishment for having a false queen on the throne. He goes from home to home to pray with the afflicted, each time repeating the same falsehood.. The people will turn on Guinevere. And as for Arthur, we know in the end he returns to Camelot. If he evades us now, we simply capture him upon his return. Soon enough, you will have your doll and play dress up with him as you please.”

“Do not underestimate her,” Morgana said.

“Calm, mother, calm.”

“I will not have this opportunity slip through my fingers,” Morgana said. “You shall be king, and Arthur will spend the rest of her life in dresses!”

Mordred left without further chat. He wanted to drink, and there was a comely wench down at the tavern he’d longed to “converse” with. He’d decided to have as much fun as he could now, for if his mother’s scheme came to pass, he would be king soon and far less free to be Mordred.

The road once more rose into the mountains– twisting and narrow, sheer cliffs of dark granite rising on either side. The road made Lancelot nervous. There would be no evading any brigands on this path, nor any pursuers. They would need to fight. Arthur rode in front. Lancelot did not like allowing a lady to take the lead, but nor did he wish to have a woman riding behind him, where he could not keep his on her.

Him, he tried to remind himself, his eyes falling to Arthur’s long, slender neck. I must remember this is Arthur and not a mere damoiselle. And yet his mind went back to the events of the night before, how helpless Arthur had looked held firm in the arms of his captor, struggling, his pretty face a mask of need, calling to Lancelot- save me!

Few things inflamed the passions of Lancelot like a helpless maiden in need! Even dressed as a boy, Arthur’s fine shape was not utterly hidden, and looking upon his narrow shoulders, Lancelot began to undress Arthur in his imagination, seeing the shirt slide off those soft, round shoulders, revealing the dramatic rush to a delicate little waist…

Just then, as Lancelot found himself lost imagining the sight of Arthur;s slender, female form, Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, checking on his friend and knight. Seeing the look in Lancelot’s eyes sent a shiver through Arthur–  a shiver of ungodly pleasure! He had seen this look in the eyes of men several times since becoming a woman and it had always made him feel disgusted, but now suddenly being the intense object of this other man’s passions filled him with a strange new excitement! Blushing, Arthur quickly looked away, squeezing the leather reins with all his might, scandalized by what he felt, was feeling.

I must relate, further, dear reader, that Arthur had already been struggling with still more strange new feelings. Indeed, he replayed the very scene Lancelot had been dwelling upon in his mind– the man’s powerful hands gripping his arms, the feeling of being so small and powerless– helpless!

But now, he felt an odd– thrill? Excitement? Attraction? The thought of being so small and helpless, totally at the mercy of a man now seemed– delicious to him, or at least a part of him.  The old Arthur felt only rage and disgust!  How odd, he mused, to feel such an unnatural pleasure at the idea of being captured and– well– rescued.  He remember meeting Lancelot’s eyes as he was forced down the stairs, seeing all the manly strength there and knowing he was safe, that Lancelot would save him.

It had been at that moment, as his heart had quickened and warmed, that he stole the glance back at Lancelot and seen such hunger in the man’s eyes the maiden in Arthur has bloomed brightly.

Terrified of their feelings, Arthur and Lancelot did what all good Christians must do at such times, and turned their minds to prayer, and their thoughts to God, asking his forgiveness and to relieve them of their sinful thoughts!

Near sundown, they reached the first of the landmarks on the map Colban had given them– Sidhe Springs. A narrow side branch led down to a large shelf, where steam rose from the milky surface of a series of pools, surrounded by bushes of holly, green with their bright red berries. “We should camp down there tonight,” Lancelot said.

Arthur almost said- yes, dear, but the utterly feminine nature of the response shocked him and he stopped himself. Truly, he found himself more and more thinking like a woman, and suddenly he now discovered he liked it when Lancelot took charge and made the decisions for them. Resisting the urge to smile and agree with the man, Arthur instead said– “It will grant us greater visibility.  And, a flat surface to sleep upon.”

With that, Arthur dismounted and carefully led his horse down the trail. Lancelot followed. The two of them set up their small camp, risked a fire, as the mountains in the north grow most cold in the winter, and then sat, eating their dry rations. Lancelot, meanwhile, faced a new dilemma, one that went beyond his growing amorous feelings for King Arthur. The truth was, Arthur had grown– stank? The small was quite unpleasant, and after spending the whole day riding in  Arthur’s wake, Lancelot did not think he could stand another moment.

Here were the springs. Why not bathe? Were Arthur yet a man, Lancelot would have simply told him he stank, and after some back and forth, they would have jumped into the pools. But, Arthur was now a lady, and Lancelot did not know how to tell a woman she smelled awful. The fact this woman was Arthur did cause him to consider merely making the suggestion, but Arthur seemed more and more the woman his body indicated, and as such he was likely very emotional. Lancelot would not risk upsetting her.

“The pools look warm and inviting,” he said. “I wouldn’t doubt they have some curative powers, as such pools always seem to, don’t they?”

Arthur glanced longingly at the steam rising from the nearest pool. It was more the warmth that drew him, as he had decided smelling terrible was a sign of his masculinity. Yet, given the way Lancelot had been looking at him and his own seething passions, the thought of getting naked in this body in the vicinity of any man, let alone Lancelot, made him– uneasy. His dear wife’s warnings about men echoed in his mind.  “I am sure they do,” Arthur said. “But, perhaps they are also cursed?  They are, after all, named for the Sidhe.”

Blast! Lancelot thought as at just that moment a breeze slammed him in the face with Arthur’s horrific odor. So awful was it, his face pruned into a grimace of pain.

“What is it?” Arthur said, alarmed by his friend’s sudden pain.

“Nothing. Nothing,” Lancelot said. “Just a cramp from riding all day.”

Arthur sensed the lie. “No. What? Tell me. Maybe I can help.” Do I sound like a woman, offering to help? Arthur wondered. It seems feminine, maybe I should mock him?

Another breeze, and Lancelot struggled not to vomit, covering his mouth with one hand.

Arthur, now utterly confused on what would be the manly response, leaned back. “If you are going to vomit, please do so far from camp.”

Another breeze, and Lancelot doubled over in pain, the stench was so great. The horses, tethered nearby by, whinied in annoyance.

Arthur started to get up and go to him, offering comfort, but was he being a woman? And what if Lancelot took it the wrong way and tried to kiss him? Vexed, Arthur froze, his hands clasped at his chest. “I don’t know what to do,” he finally confessed.

“Take a bath!” Lancelot shouted, unable to contain himself as he stood and at least moved down wind of Arthur. “I am sorry to say, but you smell like a pig sty gone bad!”

Arthur took a step back in shock. “But, that is part of being a man. We eat and drink, fight and stink!”

“Then, please,” Lancelot said, “and I say this with both love for my good friend and desperation on the part of my nostrils, be a lady!”

Finally, Arthur, assessing the entirety of the situation, couldn’t help but laugh. “Is it really that bad?”

“Worse than you can imagine,” Lancelot said, laughing now as well.

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“I didn’t want to offend you, since you’re… um…”

“A lady? Lancelot, please, you mustn’t think of me as a lady.” Without realizing it, however, Arthur planted one hand on his round hip, while running the other over his short hair in a classically feminine manner. “I am still Arthur.”

“Of course,” Lancelot said. “I was being a fool.”

“I will bathe,” Arthur said, his concerns about Lancelot’s manly passions making his head buzz with concern. He decided now he had no choice but to play the lady. “But you mustn’t look.”

“Of course not,” Lancelot said.

“Not even a peek,” Arthur insisted, now with both hands planted on his hips, in a classic pose of feminine resolve.

“I will sit behind this holly bush,” Lancelot said, “and do my nightly prayers.”

“Very well.” Arthur did not have to wonder at how he was so nervous about disrobing even in the presence of a man. He had seen himself, and he knew he was now very beautiful. For now, the days when he and the other men would leap into a lake and bathe together were gone.  Making his way over to a pool, checking the sightlines to make sure Lancelot could not see from behind the bush, Arthur began to unbutton his shirt. More than eliminating the smell, he longed for warmth. He’d felt cold since the time he’d become a girl, and it was even worse up here in the mountains.  Soaking for a bit in a nice, hot spring would be most welcome.

Lancelot sat behind the bush, his back to Arthur. He was not praying.  In spite of his best intentions, he was eagerly imagining what Arthur looked like as he slowly removed his clothes, revealing that exquisite shape. It took all his willpower to fight against the urge to take a glimpse.