So, I liked King Owain of Gwent.
He was this big Santa Claus-looking dude with a dirty laugh and a twinkle in his eye. He was old enough to be my grandfather, but that didn't stop him from leaving his hands where they had no place to be when we hugged.
"So, you're the new Merlin?," he boomed, "Far easier on the eye than the old one! Softer arse, too!”
“And you’re from Gwent?" I replied, moving his hands above the water line. "I heard you had a bad harvest. What happened? You ate it all, you fat fuck?”
There was an awkward pause while all his bannermen drew swords and pointed them at me. Arthur’s' men did the same, and, for a few moments, we had quite the Mexican stand-off. Nope. That doesn't quite work. Cornish face-off? Until Owain's belly laugh - and my, what a belly. It shook like a bowlful of jelly – decreased the tension.
"Ha. l like her. She is, what, what do you call it?”
"Suicidal?” Arthur glowered.
"Moronic?" Igraine chimed in.
“Foolish?" Added Guinevere.
"A bitch!" Owain finished. "A bitchy cultivator. I like her." He turned to me." "And if you ever need a roll in the hay with a big man, you let me know. Once you go fat, you don't ever go back . . .”
As I said, I liked Owain.
King Beric of Powys, on the other hand . . .
There's a type of man that you just know hates women. Like, hates them. Sure, he'll fuck us, but it will be through gritted teeth and only to show he has the most enormous, hardest cock in the room. His wife had a look about her I'd seen far too many times in the various shared accommodations I'd spent time in. There were no marks on her face - because even in this culture, it wasn't seen as the done thing to beat the shit out of your women - but the way she held herself, and the way she moved, told me everything I needed to know. He was very lucky
I shook his hand when we were introduced, and it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to crush his fingers to mush. "Morgan Le Fey, I understand? I was expecting someone... more powerful."
"Beric of Powys. I'd heard you were -"
My dear, let us not try the patience of another Monarch this morning. There are bigger needs in play than your desire to be a smart-arse.
"Here," I finished lamely.
His cold eyes fixed on mine momentarily, and then the bastard winked. As if he knew exactly what was going through my mind.” So, is it true?"
"Is what true, your majesty?" I hissed the honorific through gritted teeth. "That you've studied hard and can make pretty lights appear? Truly, the enemies of Arthur have much to fear from such mighty a cultivator."
“Well, you know what they say. From small acorns, mighty things grow." I glanced downwards and his trousers. "Although, apparently, I hear that is not always the case." I might, or might now, have wiggled my little finger at this stage.
"Beric, you fucker!" Bors pushed past me and wrapped the King in a headlock, leading him away. “How's life in the valleys?"
My dear, unless you can keep your temper, it may be wise for you to steer clear of the King of Powys. He is famously thin-skinned, and you, apparently, have no ability to control yourself.
I bit back a reply and took in the last two major players that had been invited to Tintagel, Mark of Gwynedd and Corys of Dehuebarth. Their Kingdoms were far smaller than Gwent or Powys, but they continued to successfully hold the Saxons at bay, which was no mean feat.
Mark was grossly fat, so much so that he was carried everywhere on a litter. It took absolutely everything I had not to call him Jabba the Hutt, at least not to his face. However, I was with Winston Smith that nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull. And inside my head, this dude was Jabba Desilijic Tiure.
On the other hand, Corys was the life and soul of the party. He was tall, powerfully muscled and had the knack of making everyone he looked at feel like they were the centre of the universe. When we were introduced, Guinevere gave him an appraising look, which really had no place on a married woman's face.
Awesome, so I was going to need to be cock blocking with him and Lancelot.
A woman's work was never done.
Each of the Kings had brought a decent entourage with them, so the castle’s banqueting hall was pretty packed when it was time to eat. I'd not really experienced a full-on feast at Tintagel since I'd arrived and it was an awesome experience.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Look, give me a McDonalds and a large drink, and I'm anyone's. So, the idea of hundreds of courses that just kept on coming - plus every version of drink known to man - was something else.
With just a little injection of Qi, I'd found that I could pretty much keep eating as much as I wanted. As long as I burned it away, it never seemed to touch the sides.
Fourteen-year-old me hovering over the toilet bowl with her fingers down her throat approved.
"I love a woman who enjoys her food", Owain banged the table beside me approvingly.
"Just trying to keep up with you, big man " The King of Gwent patted his belly contentedly. "All bought and paid for, love. Sign of strength, you see? My people look at me and go, ‘Look at that fat bastard. He must be really rich to get that big. Probably can afford some serious men-at-arms. Better do what he says.”
He sat back and gazed around the room and I took the opportunity to follow his gaze.
We'd been seated at the far right of the royal table, with Owain wedged next to me. Presumably because he was immune to my insults.
Or maybe he just liked me. It was sometimes hard to tell.
"What do you think of all this?" he asked, his voice nothing like the jovial tone I'd become used to.
“All this?”
He gestured to encompass the banquetting hall. "I don't know what Arthur thinks he's playing at. He's a nice enough lad, deadly on the battlefield, but he's no Uther. He nodded over towards Guinevere. "And she's no Igraine."
“And you are, I suppose?”
Owain's laugh was genuine and heartfelt. "Of course not, love. It's all I can do to keep my table full and the damned Saxons out of my land. I don't want the responsibility of leading the charge against them. Never have. Uther was the man for that. Besides, I wouldn't have the votes. No more than Arthur will.”
"So, why did you come?"
"I hear there’s going to be a quest for Caeldfwich. Fat as I may be, but you can be damned sure I will be at the forefront of that.” He looked at me, and I understood just how much of his former behaviour had been a front. I could see how this man commanded the loyalty of his people. “We all lived under the fear of Merlin razing our cities to the ground. If there's a way out there to stop that ever being a factor again, you can bet I'll seek it out. My people would expect nothing less from me. You seem like a nice enough girl, but I don't trust cultivators. None of us does. You tell me there’s a sword out there I can kill you with? I’m after it.”
“And if Arthur finds the sword first?".
"Well then, love. He will have the most powerful Cultivator in the British lands and the only way to protect himself from the magic you wield. I'd think that will be enough to get the man my vote at the Witan."
Something about the way Owain said that did not sit well with me.
Arthur had envisaged this quest as a way to build bonds with these Kings. To hear Owain speak, it was less about that and more about doing whatever was possible to stop Arthur from finding it first.
"Do the rest of the Kings feel the same?”
"Who knows? We don't have any sort of secret communication system. But Uther was the Pendragon because we knew he'd kill us if we didn't acclaim him. Either with spears through the door, a thunderbolt from the sky or,’ and Owain glanced towards Igraine, “a Knife in the back in the dark." He refilled his glass with a nod to a serving girl. His hands were pretty free with her, too. "But then Isca happened, and none of us are too sure anymore that Dumnonia is the power it once was. Not with Uther gone..”
"For someone without a secret communication system, you seem pretty well informed about how everyone else is thinking. Arthur couldn't have done anything about what happened at Isca."
"Then what's the point of us having a Pendragon? If the Saxons can rampage with impunity across your lands, what help can we expect from you when they attack our holdfasts? More than one of us wonders if we would do better to treat with the Saxons for peace than rely on Arthur’s strength to keep us safe.”
"I thought the British didn’t deal with Saxons . . ." My voice was tight
"And I thought all you could do was cast pretty lights?"
I looked down at my left hand and was surprised to see a little ball of lightning crackling and arcing in the palm of my hand. At the same time, I became aware that all the talking in the hall had stopped, with everyone's eyes on me.
"Big M, what's going on? "
I could be mistaken… sorry, that's just me being self-effacing. I am never mistaken. I know exactly what has just happened. You have finally raised your various resistances to such a level that you have been able to unlock one of my favourite techniques.
"Which is?"
Well, I call it
“Okay . . .”
Firstly, the last time I checked your Metal Qi was significantly behind your other aspects, so it is a touch surprising you have closed that gap this evening. If I did not know better, I would assume that someone has slipped something fairly viciously nasty into your wine.
My eyes searched out a serving girl who seemed to have slipped away. “I’ve been poisoned!”
Relax, my dear. There’s nothing of it left in your system – it has all been burned away in the formation of that little lightning ball. Think of it as a mark of respect. We’d have known they were not taking you seriously unless at least one of them had tried to kill you.
“You said there were ‘a couple of things’?” I couldn’t help but feel Merlin was being a touch blasé about – you know – my attempted murder, but I sensed there was not going to be much more sympathy coming my way on that front.
Yes. Maybe I should have led with this. Unless you make use of
I raised a hand to the ceiling and let a stream of energy lance out to strike the ceiling. It blew a hole straight through the stonework.
A second ball of lightning appeared in my second hand and I emptied that one closer to Beric than I truly needed to. To be fair, I barely singed him, and I was fairly sure that wanker was the one who’d tried to kill me..
"Sorry, guys. Apparently, l just levelled up. Talk amongst yourselves.”
Hundreds of eyes stared, appalled at the smoking holes I'd blown in the walls and ceiling; Owain leant over and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. "If everyone in the room didn't want a Qi-deadening sword before, I can guarantee they do now. Arthur will quite certainly have his quest.”
Arthur raised his cup and saluted me. Looking at the expressions of people who I sensed were suddenly very motivated to kill me, I wasn't sure, though, whether I'd truly helped or hindered.