Previous Chapter | Story Index Page | Next Chapter |
In the Land of Stories Old
Arthur finally arrived at his home country, the Isle of Avalon, after making multiple delays for himself that extended the journey to be even longer than it should have been with him only a third his normal size. He could admit, to himself, that he was absolutely sick with the thought that he might run into his father or Sir Bors, his father’s man-at-arms and consort of several decades, and not be able to tell them who he was. And so he had taken a rather roundabout way of getting to the little village where the beautiful Gwenivere had gone to live with her husband all those years ago. Arthur had just been little more than a boy at that time, of course, but she’d handled his youthful crush with a delicacy which he was still grateful for to this day. She was just a lovely, lovely person inside and out. And he knew in his heart that she’d be willing to help him.
When he reached the cottage, however, it wasn’t his Gwenny who was living there; it wasn’t anyone he had ever seen before, in fact. So, he put on his best manners. “Excuse me, good woman,” he addressed the rather slovenly old lady who was out hanging clothes in the yard. “I was looking for the Lady Gwenivere. I had thought she lived here…”
“She did,” the woman snorted. Her eyes raked over him with more contempt than he’d expected to see. “Ah, got herself involved with the fey, did she? Well you’re too late, if she owed you gold or aught else; she’s been dead and buried near to a year now, and her husband was killed the year before that. Although you might bargain with the husband’s brother for their first-born, he’d no doubt be happy to trade the brat away if you’ve gold or magic to offer him.”
Arthur was shocked nearly speechless, and the expression on his face made her cackle. He composed himself. “Where does this man live?”
She pointed. “End of the village, the house with the arch over its gate.” Something changed in her expression, however. “Him I could care less about, but that child…he’s a mean man, dwarf, and bitter. If you take her from him you’d be doin’ her a favor, even if she’s just to be a servant in some fairy kingdom for the rest of her days.” She snorted. “She was supposed to be the goddaughter of our crown prince, they say, but for whatever reason her uncle never took that to the king as he should have. Not that he did anythin’ else proper either—I bought this cottage from him fair and square and I’ll not give it up, but by rights it should’ve been part of the child’s inheritance.”
Arthur’s jaw set, and he made a very correct bow. “Thank you for the information. I had the greatest respect for Lady Gwenivere, so I will consider it my responsibility to ensure the well-being of her child.”
The woman just cackled again and went back to hanging her laundry, and Arthur walked back down the road. He felt even sicker now, and angry. So, so angry. Nearly a year! If he only hadn’t been cursed…
He stopped himself. If he hadn’t been cursed, he likely still wouldn’t have been home to find out about any of this; he’d have been off with the rest of the Seven hunting down that bastard of a vampire who’d enslaved Cecilia and her sisters. He might never have known about Gwenivere’s death, or her husband’s, or the bastard brother-in-law who’d taken her property and her child. He only knew now because he’d come looking for her as a little green dwarf-troll, not as Avalon’s very recognizable crown prince. Something Merlin had once told him about the way magic worked came back to him. It’s like a web, you see, Merlin had explained, spinning out silvery strands of magic between his fingers as though he were some sort of spider himself. Not everything is a matter of fate, but when something is meant to happen, magic will spin out the web in such a way as to make sure that it does. There are no coincidences in magic.
No coincidences, right. He pushed aside the thought of what else that might apply to, knowing full well that it didn’t excuse him for…things. Or at least, no one but Merlin would think that it had.
But he wasn’t thinking about Merlin right now. Right now, he needed to be thinking about Gwenivere’s little girl, and how he would get her away from the uncle. Or if he even needed to get her away from the uncle, because there was always a chance that the woman had just been trying to cause trouble for someone she didn’t like. She had thought he was fey, after all.
So what Arthur needed now was more information, about both the uncle and the child. He left the road, almost immediately shifting back to his full size. When he was green he rather blended in with the grass and the bushes, and so if anyone were to come along who might see him…well, they wouldn’t, because he’d be two-foot tall and green the instant they looked. He made his way to the largish house with the arched gate, then made his way around it as much as he could, wishing he had Jack with him for reconnaissance because it was a damned sight easier when someone had an invisibility cloak available. The house was roughly twice as large as the cottage and had a tiled roof and plastered walls, and it had a large garden in the back as well as a growing field which seemed to belong to it. A few chickens were pecking away in the yard along with a fat white goose, and there were some goats in a pen. On the surface it looked like a prosperous sort of place, but Arthur was used to looking beyond the surface and what he saw was neglect setting in. The chicken coop in the back of the house was in poor repair, as was the goat pen. The plaster on the walls was discolored and cracked in places, and the chimney was black at the top and looked a bit crooked. And up close the garden was overgrown, although it was mostly free of weeds. In fact, he found a little heap of freshly-pulled weeds near the burning pile out back, so that chore at least was apparently being done regularly.
So, Arthur picked a spot where he had a good view of the house both front and back and concealed himself, waiting for someone who was inside to come out.
It took a while. A few times he heard raised voices from the inside, and once he saw someone walking by in the road look at the house and then look away again, shaking their head. Hmm, so people knew something wasn’t right, maybe? Or perhaps the family was just dramatic and they didn’t approve? Arthur kept waiting. Patience wasn’t always his strong suit, and he’d never denied it—the truly patient one in their group was Hans—but he could be patient when he needed to be.
Finally, a man came out from the back of the house. He was an average-sized man with dark hair and had the same easing-into-unkempt look as the house and yard; his shirt was too large and missing a couple of buttons, the bottoms of his pants were worn, and his soft shoes were dirty. Arthur sized him up. This man wasn’t a fighter, he’d stake his life on it. But the petulant twist of his mouth spoke to ill-contained temper, as did his stance as he looked out over the yard. “Girl!” he called out. “Girl, where have you gotten to!”
A little girl came out of the coop then, the clothes she was wearing ragged and dirty. She approached the man cautiously, and he looked down at her with disgust and a bit of anger. “Why were you in the coop?”
“I was hot, after I pulled the weedsies.”
“I don’t care,” he snapped. “You know you’re not to go in the coop, the chickens don’t lay right when you’ve been in there. Were there any eggs?”
She nodded and carefully pulled one out of her apron pocket, and then another. “Two.”
He took them. “And if you hadn’t been in there, tomorrow there would have been more. So what does that mean for tomorrow?”
She hung her head. “Not enough to share.”
“That’s right, there won’t be.” He gestured peremptorily at the garden. “Get out there and find vegetables for supper, and don’t you dare eat any of them!” He leaned toward her threateningly. “I will know if you eat them, Gwynneth, don’t you think I won’t. Find them, wash them, and put them in the basket by the door. And then go clean the goat pen.”
Even from where he was sitting, Arthur could see the fear in the child’s face. “But the goatsies bite!”
“I don’t care,” the man repeated. “Quit your whinin’ or I’ll make you sleep with them and then they’ll eat you up in the night. Now go do as you’re told, and if you’re quick about it you’ll get a cup for supper.” He actually rolled his eyes when she immediately scurried into the garden. “Worthless brat,” he muttered, and then stomped back into the house and slammed the door.
Arthur sat in his hiding place shaking with rage. He closed his eyes and made himself count to four, then to ten, then to fifty. He reminded himself that if he provoked a confrontation he’d be two feet high and not able to give the bastard the thrashing he deserved, and that even if he’d been full-sized he still couldn’t have because there were laws about that sort of thing. No, he needed to think this through, and make a plan. And it needed to be one that would work, too, because he was on his own and no one would be coming to help him. Which was something of a shocking realization. He’d been fighting alongside his brother and their friends for years, he hadn’t been alone like this in…well, since he was seven.
Gods that memory hurt. He pushed it aside again, viciously. He’d know that being home would bring the memories back, memories of the golden childhood he’d shared here with Merlin. But he didn’t have time to brood right now, or to curse himself for being an idiot and not controlling his temper—or for not having the balls to apologize for losing his temper afterward. Right now he had a little girl to save. He thought that, if anything, the woman at the cottage had downplayed the situation.
The back door to the house opened again, and a woman came out. She was just this side of slovenly as well, with a stained cap covering what he just had to assume would be a rat’s nest of unbrushed hair, and she tossed the pot she had in her hands out into the yard. “Gwynneth, get that and get me some water, and be quick about it!”
The little girl darted out of the garden and ran for the pot…and then she seemed to remember something and looked up at the scowling woman, making a little curtsey before picking up the pot, brushing the dirt off of it, and taking it to the pump. She was just barely big enough to work the rusty pump handle, but she got the water coming out and filled the pot with it, then with quite a bit of difficulty carried the full pot over to the woman and handed it to her. It was snatched out of her hands, water slopping over the sides, and then the woman went back inside without another word.
And Arthur just started off by counting to fifty this time. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt…but he knew, still, that he couldn’t afford to let his temper loose right now. He thought back over everything the woman at the cottage had said, thought about what he’d just seen…and it came to him. This bastard brother-in-law was stingy and greedy and lazy, and in Arthur’s experience men like him were bullies to hide the fact that they were cowards. He wouldn’t treat someone he didn’t have power over that way…and so he’d be unlikely to do it to someone he thought was a powerful fey come to collect a debt either. Decided on what he would do, Arthur slipped out of his hiding place and made his way around the yard so he could get into the garden. He wasn’t trying to be too quiet, and when the little girl looked up and he turned into a dwarf smaller than she was he just plopped down amongst the cabbages and carrot tops and grinned. “Well hello there, little Gwenny.”
Her pretty blue eyes—her mother’s eyes—went wide. “You know my name?” she whispered.
“That I do. I knew your mother.” He reached out with a blunt green finger and tapped her on the nose. “Now tell me about this aunt and uncle of yours. How did you come to live in their house?”
To his surprise, she shook her head. “It was my daddy’s house,” she whispered even lower, obviously telling a secret. “He built it for mommy, but when he went away Uncle made us move to the cottage he and Auntie used to live in. Mommy was sad, but she said it was better without the mem…mem…”
“Memories?” he offered, and she nodded just short of violently in agreement. “Yes, I suppose it would have been. And then she went away and you came here, I suppose?”
Another nod. “She went to sleeps and never waked up.”
Her little sniff almost undid him. He wondered how long it had been before anyone had found Gwenivere, or if her tiny daughter had gone for help to one of the neighbors. He’d need to find out where the graves were later. “Yes, of course,” he said. “As I said, I knew your mother. I knew your father, too.” He’d not known Lance more than by sight, they’d been too far apart in age, but he knew the young man had loved Gwenivere like she was the moon and stars for him and even Arthur had been able to admit through his youthful jealousy that Gwenivere had loved Lance back the same way. Finding out how Lance had died was added to the list of things he needed to do later. “And because I knew them, I know that you, little Gwenny, are not supposed to be here.”
She was surprised by that. “I’m not?”
“You are not,” he confirmed. “And once I found out you were here, I came to take you away.” He leaned in closer, offering her a secret. “I can make your uncle give you to me, but you’ll have to help me. Do you think you can do that?”
“After I get vegetables and clean up after the goatsies?”
“Of course. I’ll help you get the vegetables, even.” And he did, picking out a cabbage that had a few nice fat slugs sleeping inside its loose outer leaves while she pulled up carrots and small potatoes and found a handful of beans and a very questionable looking yellow squash to go with it all. He helped her wash all of it except the cabbage and then arranged it nicely in the basket, and then he turned the goats loose and let them have at the garden—he could tell they were underfed, which was likely the reason they’d been biting—and mucked out their pen himself after giving the child instructions to clean herself up as best she could. He cleaned himself up when he was done, and took a comb to the girl’s tangled hair, which was the rich bright gold of summer wheat. “Now then, we’re ready,” he said. “All you have to do is what I told you, and then we’ll be on our way.” He looked her in the eye. “But no matter what happens, Little Gwenny, I promise you that your aunt and uncle will never be able to hurt you again. One way or another, you and I will be leavin’ here today and you won’t be comin’ back.”
Arthur just hoped that wouldn’t be because he lost his temper and killed the bastard uncle and then fed his parts to the goats. Because his goddaughter didn’t need to see that.
He put Gwynneth where he wanted her to stand, and then he drove the goats in through the house’s back door, moved back to stand by the little girl and struck the most arrogant, disrespectful pose he possibly could. He didn’t have to fake the devilish grin that spread itself across his face, as the crashing and shrieking and ranting coming from inside the house was just music to his ears. And sure enough, the bastard uncle came roaring right out the back door, red-faced with rage, and then stopped dead when he saw Arthur standing there, grinning cockily, one hand hooked casually into his belt. He raised an eyebrow. “Well now, I guess I got your attention.”
The man spluttered. “What…girl! What is the meanin’ of this?!”
“Oh, she can’t be answerin’ you,” Arthur told him. “I’ve got her tongue, I have, so you and I could see about our business all quiet-like. Now, Man, I’m here because I want what’s owed to me. Pay up and I’ll be on my way.”
“Pay…I don’t owe you anythin’! I don’t even know you!”
Arthur just shook his head. “Is this yer house?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve got it because yer brother is dead?”
“Yes, I took it over when he died. Everythin’ his was mine by right!”
“Then you’re the one I’m comin’ to for my payment,” Arthur said. “I had an arrangement with Lady Gwenivere and her husband, you see. I gave them a bit of help one day, and I agreed to come back at a later date for the settlin’ of their debt to me.” He made a show of looking around at the house and yard, lips pursed. “Not what I expected to come back to, but I suppose you aren’t the man your brother was. But that’s neither here nor there, boyo. Now give me my gold and I’ll be on my way.”
“G-gold?”
“Yer either deaf or stupid,” Arthur told him. “I did yer brother and his wife a favor, and he agreed to give me gold. You’re standin’ for him, you said everythin’ his was yours. So that’s his debt too, stop laggin’ around and pass it over.”
The uncle seemed to be trying to decide whether to get angry or be frightened. “I…we don’t have any gold. So go away! There’s nothin’ for you here!”
“Hmm, you think?” Arthur looked around again, and then looked him up and down. “Yeah, I guess I can see where you wouldn’t have gold, a lazy pillock like you.” He turned on his best glare. “So what else have you got?”
“I…nothing! We’re poor, we don’t have anythin’!” Arthur bared his teeth and drew his sword. “Oh wait now, we don’t…take the girl! People like you, they take children, right? That’s their child, take her!”
Arthur drew back a little and gave him a look like he thought he was trying to pull something, and then he sheathed the sword again and looked Gwynneth up and down. He looked back at the uncle. “Yer kiddin’, right? She’s barely more than a babe!”
“She knows how to work, we made sure of it,” the man said desperately. “S-see, she picked vegetables for us, and weeded the garden, and…and cleaned the goat pen, all just today! Just think how much work you’ll get out of her when she’s older!”
“Hmm.” Arthur looked at Gwynneth again, and then he made the little gesture with his hand that he’d shown her earlier. “There’s your tongue back, girlie. Would you be willin’ to leave yer uncle and come work for me, in the Kingdom of the Fey, until yer parents’ debt is paid?” He glanced around the yard again, shook his head. “At least I can guarantee it’ll be better than this, that I can.”
“It will?”
“Oh yes, you’ve my word on it. So, will ye come of yer own free will?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He nodded back, reached out and took her hand. “Well, then I guess that’s settled,” he told the uncle, who looked far too relieved and not at all like he’d just bartered off his own niece to a wild green fey man in his garden. “We’ll be on our way. Oh, and feed yer goats better, I’m surprised the poor hungery things haven’t taken one of yer fingers off yet.” And then he stalked out of the yard, pulling Gwynneth along after him, and disappeared into the bushes he’d been hiding in earlier. He wasn’t really afraid the cowardly bastard would follow them, but he wasn’t too sure about the wife—or about what the wife might goad the man into doing—so he led his goddaughter a good ways away from the house and then crossed the road and came back, concealing their passage by going through a field of tall-growing alfalfa. He wished he could risk having her shut her eyes so he could carry her, but he was taller than the alfalfa and she was taller than his dwarf form, so that was just asking for an accident to happen. They walked until he thought it safe enough to stop, and then he dug into his pack and pulled out some dried fruit and candied nuts and a currant bun—Hans may have been angry with him, but that didn’t mean he’d shorted the pack any—which the little girl accepted with such astonishment that Arthur really had to discipline himself to not just leave her there eating while he went back and killed her uncle. Instead he got back into the pack and scavenged some of his clothes to create two small leather and cloth wraps that would at least do something to protect little bare feet from rocks and thistles and such while they walked. He tied them on her and made sure they’d stay, and then he got out another currant bun to eat himself because she was trying to share hers with him. “My friend Hans made these,” he told her. “He’s very good at bakin’, Hans is.”
She blinked at him. “Are we goin’ to see him?”
“No.” It was an option he’d like to have had, but he wasn’t sure how he’d get her to the Black Castle without someone along the way deciding something funny was going on and taking her from him. It wasn’t just the idiot uncle who’d know stories about fey creatures taking children, after all. “No, I don’t think we can get all the way to Hans, although he’d certainly love to meet you.” Wouldn’t he, though—there wasn’t a one of the Seven who didn’t have a soft spot for children, and Hans was the worst of them all. “Did you know you had a godfather, little Gwenny?”
“What’s that?”
“A man who’s supposed to look out for you if your parents go away.”
“So that’s you?”
Well, there that was. He was pretty sure he could have said yes, but he’d have had a hell of a time not being able to explain it to anyone later. “Your godfather has the same name as me: We’re both named Arthur.”
“Okay.” She cocked her head. “Are we goin’ to see him?”
“We’re goin’ to see his father,” Arthur told her, relieved the curse hadn’t stopped him from saying that much. “Because your godfather is…not able to take care of you right now, so his father will do it until he is. But it’s goin’ to be a long walk to get there.”
She held up one small foot encased in cotton and leather. “That’s why you made me shoes!”
“Yes, that’s why I made you shoes.” He thought about it, then made a decision. “We’re gonna stop in the village to see someone before we go on, okay? She’s the lady who told me where you were, and I want to thank her.”
“Okay.” She finished off the bun, then stood up. “Let’s go, Not Godpaw Arthur!”
Arthur laughed so hard he almost choked on the bun.
They kept walking through the alfalfa until Arthur decided that it really didn’t make sense to do that anymore because dusk was falling, so he led her back to the road and they walked back to the cottage. It was all dark when they got there, though, and there was no laundry hanging in the yard…because there was no rope there to hang any laundry on, because the rope had rotted away and he could see what was left of it hanging down on the side of the house. The hair stood up on the back of Arthur’s neck. He knew he was in the right place, but this cottage hadn’t been lived in for quite a while unless he missed his guess. He needed to know for sure, though, so he parked Gwynneth just inside the gate and then cautiously went up to the door and pushed it open.
He’d been right, nobody had lived in this house for a good long time. He considered it, and then went back and got Gwynneth and brought her in, shutting the door behind them. “We’ll stay here tonight,” he told her. “And then early in the mornin’ we’ll be on our way.”
She looked around, and then her lower lip started to tremble. “This was Mama’s house.”
“It was, yeah.” He brushed dust off a bench and sat her down on it, then climbed up beside her, wishing he was just a little bit bigger so he could pull her into his lap. “This was the house you lived in. And when I came by earlier, there was a woman here who told me where you were, and told me you should be with your godfather and not with your uncle. So I came right down to get you.”
Little arms were flung around his neck. “Thank you.”
Arthur felt tears start in his eyes. “Oh sweetheart, you’re welcome. I’d have come sooner, if I’d known.”
She pulled back to look at him. “You’d have helped Mama?”
“I’d have done anything for your mother,” he said. “Anything she needed, I’d have given her.”
She considered that. “You’d have made her not sad anymore?”
“I’d have certainly tried.”
She caught one of his tears with her finger and studied it very seriously, then looked him in the eye. “You thought Mama was pretty?”
Arthur wrapped the little girl back into in a hug and held her tight. “She was the loveliest creature to ever walk these lands,” he told her, somewhat hoarsely. “And she had a heart like a fallen star, it burned so bright and beautiful.”
The child pouted. “I’m not pretty. Auntie says I’m…” she gave him a slightly worried sideways look, then whispered, “troll-spawn.”
Arthur chuckled and kissed her forehead. “My little Gwenny, you are no such thing. And once you’re grown you’ll be the most beautiful woman in the world, just you wait and see.”
She snuggled into his arms. “Promise?”
“I know it for a fact. If your mother was a star, you’ll be a little shining little sun.”
Gwynneth made a little humming noise. “Okay, I will. Because you said so, Not Godpaw Arthur.” And then she tipped her little face up and kissed his cheek.
Pink light flared and flamed, and Arthur found himself looking down at an astonished little girl. Who clapped her tiny hands and squealed in delight…and vanished.
Arthur blinked, and blinked again. The little foot-wrappings he’d made were lying on the floor, in the dust that only showed his own footprints and no others. But when he bent over to pick them up, he saw something else. Tucked inside one of the wrappings was a slip of paper, and when he pulled it out he saw that there was writing on it. This was the only way I could help, it said in looping handwriting that seemed to be laughing at him and crying with him both at the same time. Take your kiss and go home to your father, Arthur. Our love goes with you.
And Arthur had to laugh, even as he dissolved into tears. Because no, he hadn’t had to die to end the curse…he’d just had to have his heart ripped out.
Previous Chapter | Story Index Page | Next Chapter |