Protector

Sir Morpheus’ eyes flutter, opening.

“Again?” the knight asks.

“Again,” the Lady of the Lake replies.

Sir Morpheus has dark, swarthy features with thick, braided hair, high cheekbones, and bottomless black eyes. His strength, skills, and seeming immortality have made him the most feared and respected knight in the kingdom.

With amber hair that cascades down her shoulders, shimmering green eyes, and an enticing figure, the Lady of the Lake is an enviable beauty. But she exists as a transparent apparition and is believed to be a witch.

“How did I die this time?” he asks.

“The fire-breathing dragon of Ergon swatted you with her tail. She broke all your ribs. One pierced your heart. Couldn’t save you, buddy.”

Morpheus slowly sits up, groaning. “Sometimes you speak so strangely.”

“You have to have a good sense of humor to live in this disease-ridden, dung-filled excuse for a kingdom,” the Lady of the Lake replies.

“How many deaths does this make?”

The Lake of the Lake’s transparent visage drifts closer. He feels comforted by her smile.

“I believe this makes eighteen in forty-five years, but you’ve had two in the last six months. You’ve got be more careful, Morph.”

“Or what? I will die?”

“Relax, Morph. It’s King Harold who’s dying. He’s promised to release us from our vow, and unlike us, he can’t live forever.”

“We should never have made such an agreement,” he says.

“We didn’t have a choice.”

    “I believe in keeping my word. But I want to die like everyone else.”

Bellamy, Sir Morpheus’ eighteen-year-old-squire, rushes down the corridor to Morpheus’ room. Boyish, brave, and eager to be a knight, Bellamy is wary of the Lady of the Lake’s hold over Morpheus.

He frantically bangs on the door. Getting no response, he bursts in.

Lady Anne confronts him, baring her teeth like a protective lioness, her hair flowing like flames, her eyes burning with anger.

Bellamy stumbles backward, cowering and covering his eyes.

“Stop frightening the boy,” Morpheus calls out.

“Please forgive my intrusion,” Bellamy says. “King Harold is dead, and your Queen demands your immediate presence.”

“Spoiled brat,” Lady Anne comments.

Morpheus quickly dresses. “Stay here,” he says to Lady Anne, who quietly fumes as they leave.

“She hates me,” Bellamy laments as the two men walk toward the throne room.

“Lady Anne hates everyone.”

“Not you. May I ask why you call your companion Lady Anne, and not the Lady of the Lake as the rest of us do?”

“Companions are allowed to be more familiar with one another.”

“Then she is a real woman?” Bellamy asks.

“She is to me.”

“You once told me you are not of this land, Sir Morpheus, but not how you came here,” Bellamy says. “How is it you came to serve the House of Astley?”

“I found myself in a lake. I do not remember how I got there or anything before that. I quickly became aware that I could not swim, so I thought it would be in my best interest to get to shore. I was wrong. I encountered four of King Eric the Bold’s knights. I managed to get a sword away from one of them and killed all four of them.”

“And so, King Eric knighted you and made you his protector.”

“No. The King saw what had happened and sent four more men to kill me. I killed two more, but one of them came up behind me and put his sword through my back.”

“And when you recovered, the King made you his protector.”

“No. I died.”

“For the first time,” Bellamy says.

“I was told later that was when Lady Anne fell from the sky and into the water. When she emerged and saw me laying there dead, she became enraged, threatening to kill the King’s entire army. But King Eric the Bold was unafraid. He told her he had seen her kind before, and he knew how to destroy her. She resurrected me, and in exchange for her life, we made a pact with King Eric that I would serve the House of  Astley until they set me free. That is when the King made me his protector.”

“You sound as if you regret your agreement. I cannot think of any greater gift than being immortal.”

“Really, Bellamy? Would you like to watch everyone you know grow old while you remain young? And if you had children, could you face burying them? Would you like to suffer the most grievous injuries possible, die in agony, and then wake up whole again…and again…and again?”

“So, you have given up the right to die because you honor your word?”

“And for love, Bellamy. The love of a woman I cannot touch.”

Sir Morpheus and Bellamy pause at the throne room door.

“Do you think the Queen will grant your freedom?” Bellamy asks.

“I am hopeful. You are ready to assume my duties.”

They bow as they enter the throne room.

Queen Hester is sitting on a large gold throne. With her feet in the air, the twelve-year-old monarch resembles a doll seated in a highchair.

Small and slight with curly blonde ringlets and innocent pale features, Hester is often perceived as a child, but her intelligence, maturity, and piercing blue eyes say otherwise.

“Leave us,” she says to Bellamy.

Relieved, Bellamy exhales, quickly exiting.

“I remember when I realized you were the most powerful man in the world, Sir Morpheus. I was four. It was after the Battle of Chelsea Woods. You had single-handedly saved thirty of our men trapped by the Barbarians, and you were sitting proudly on your horse. You picked me up and sat me in front of you and said, ‘All is safe now.' We rode through the village together and everyone was throwing flowers at the future queen and her protector.”

“It was a very satisfying moment.”

“Now, as I ascend to the throne, I want to feel safe again. And I will when you take your place beside me.”

“Your father promised me that upon his death I would be free of my vow.”

“It was not his promise to make. When my grandfather, Eric the Bold died, your services were passed on to my father. Now, with King Harold’s death, the decision to end or continue your service passes to me.”

“So, you will not honor your father’s dying promise to me?”

“You can never be replaced.”

“I am training my successor.”

“Bellamy? He is a boy.”

“And you are a twelve-year-old queen. But because you were properly prepared, you will be an even greater leader than your father.”

Queen Hester sighs. “You deserve to hear the truth. I am frightened, Morpheus. Duke Typhon Ruthven of York has openly said he feels a child should not reign. I know he is plotting against me. I may be murdered before I even take the throne. I need you, Morpheus.”

The four conspirators meet at Duke Typhon Ruthven’s castle, intent on ending Queen Hester’s reign before it begins.

Short, squat, and pampered, the inky-haired, flinty-eyed Typhon Ruthven owes his riches to his cunning nature. He has convinced his compassionate, blonde-haired brother, Duke Willem Ruthven of Driffield, to join him, claiming Queen Hester’s overthrow will benefit the peasants. Enticed by the promise of gold and land, Corson and Cameron Mammon, a pair of bearded, unsmiling, brutal cousins from Leeds, have also pledged to help Typhon Ruthven overthrow the new Queen.

“You have not been very subtle about our intentions,” Willem says.

“I believe it was Sir Morpheus himself who said, ‘The easiest path to victory is the obvious one,’” Typhon replies.

Cameron agrees. “Now is the time to strike, before the people rally around the child.”

“But how?” Willem asks. “She has Sir Morpheus, the most powerful weapon in the kingdom, at her disposal. How do you defeat a creature that cannot be killed?”

Typhon smiles confidently. “We do not have to kill him, only neutralize him.”

All the nobles in the kingdom attend Queen Hester’s lavish coronation. A massive dining table with fresh fruit, bread, meat, and exotic flowers dominates the room. The walls of the room are decorated with the colorful family crests of the attending families. A band of minstrels quietly performs in the background, while the Queen’s guard, dressed in polished silver armor, stands at attention near the door.

Queen Hester moves about the room, her flowing white gown attended by two slouching female servants who appear embarrassed that they tower over her.

Bellamy is by her side as she talks with the noblemen and their wives, his eyes darting around the room, his hand poised on his polished sword.

The Ruthvens and Mammons occupy a corner of the room, cautiously greeting and speaking with potential allies.

The massive doors open. Sir Morpheus stands in the doorway, resplendent in black.

The guests gasp and gape at the sight of Lady Anne.

“She is as beautiful as I have heard. More so,” says Willem.

“Do not let her splendor put you under her spell,” Typhon replies. “She is an apparition. A trick perpetrated by Morpheus.”

“Are you certain? Perhaps it is the other way around,” Willem asks.

“What I know is our plan will succeed. That is all I need to know.”

Sensing Lady Anne’s reluctance to enter the room, Morpheus extends his hand.

“No! Remember, we must never touch!”

“Sometimes there is nothing I would rather do,” he says.

The guests back away from Morpheus and Lady Anne as they move around the room.

A comely raven-haired servant girl crosses their path, holding two steins.

“Gimme,” Lady Anne says. “I get nervous in front of crowds. And when I’m nervous, I turn into a sponge.”

The servant smiles. “I do not understand you, my lady, but if it is drink you require, I am at your service. But can an apparition hold a stein?”

“No problem, homegirl. And I’m not a ghost,” Lady Anne replies.

The stein floats from the servant's hand into Lady Anne’s fluttering grasp. She takes a long drink.

“Mmm. Have some, Morph.”

Lady Anne finishes her drink as Morpheus takes his first sip. She floats the empty stein back to the servant. “More please.”

She notices Morpheus’ sullen expression. “Still sulking over Hester’s decision? It’s a party, Morph. Pretend you’re having fun.”

Noticing how quiet the room has become, Lady Anne turns, glaring at the people around her. The guests cringe, looking away.

“You medieval morons! Am I showing too much decolletage? Am I speaking too strangely? Then why is everyone looking at me?”

“Perhaps because they can see right through you,” Morpheus whispers.

“I’m not a curiosity. I’m not a ghost. I’m a woman!”

“And a beautiful one at that,” Morpheus says, hoping to appease her anger. “But we must face the truth, Lady Anne. There is no one like you in the Kingdom. And no one like me.”

The servant girl returns. “Then let’s drink to being outcasts,” Lady Anne says. Whisking the stein from the servant’s grasp, she quickly downs it.

Typhon turns to the others. “It is said that the power to destroy Lady Anne is passed from one Astley to another. Now we possess that power.”

Typhon moves toward Sir Morpheus and Lady Anne, bowing.

“On behalf of myself and the other guests, allow me to apologize for our behavior.”

“Accepted. I would offer you my hand, but…”

Typhon laughs. “That is not necessary, my lady. It is a pleasure to have you present for this historic event.”

“I didn’t have much choice. Little Miss Muffet ordered me to come.”

Typhon gives her a confused look.

“She occasionally speaks in her native tongue,” Morpheus offers.

“Curious. I have heard you will be continuing in your role as protector, Sir Morpheus,” Typhon continues. “You never seem to age. May I ask what your secret is?”

The servant girl returns with two new steins for Lady Anne and Morpheus.

“Avoiding drink,” Morpheus jokes, taking a gulp.

Typhon holds up his stein. “A toast then, to a long and healthy life.”

They drink. Lady Anne shakes her head, causing her transparent body to disappear and reappear.

“I hear you are planning to overthrow the Queen,” she slurs.

“What? No!” Typhon replies nervously.

“Then you’ll be loyal to Queen Hester?”

“Of course!”

“Good. Then repeat the sacred oath of loyalty and say it loudly... Zippy-do-dah.”

“ZIPPY-DO-DAH!”

The guests look at  Typhon strangely, laughing.

Embarrassed, Typhon storms off.

“That was small of you,” Morpheus says.

“That fop had it coming.”

Lady Anne hiccups, her body fading in and out of focus. “This mead is very strong.”

Her body fades, returning as a blur.

“Oh. Oh.”

Lady Anne disappears, the stein hitting the floor.

Morpheus wobbles, feeling ill. Bellamy catches him as he passes out.

Typhon turns to his fellow conspirators. “The poison has done its work. Now we must do ours. We will move against the Queen’s army in the morning. By this time tomorrow, I will be King, and you will all be very, very rich.”

Queen Hester and Bellamy watch the dukes’ forces set up camp in the valley only a mile away from the castle.

“The combined armies of the four Dukes have routed our men,” Bellamy says.

“How many men do we have left?”

“Perhaps a thousand against four times as many.”

“You have acquitted yourself well against overwhelming odds, Bellamy. Sir Morpheus was right; you are ready to protect the throne. Unfortunately, it appears there will soon be no throne to protect.”

“How is Sir Morpheus?” Bellamy asks.

“Still unconscious. Perhaps dead. I cannot tell. And the Lady of the Lake has forsaken us. I thought of them as gods, Bellamy. They proved to be all too human.”

“If it is any consolation, the court physician said one drop of poison should have killed them,” Bellamy says. “They each drank two or three cups of it.”

“It is of no consolation at all. And the serving girl?”

“She is how we found out it only takes one drop.”

Lady Anne can feel her body winking in and out of focus.

Concentrating, she forces her transparent form to stabilize itself.

She quickly finds a chamber pot, throwing up in it.

Clutching her throbbing head, she looks around the room.

Morpheus lies motionless on the bed.

“Dead again,” she mutters.

Queen Hester and Bellamy continue to watch the activities of Typhon’s army in the valley.

“Is that music I hear?” Queen Hester asks.

“Bagpipes. I hate bagpipes.”

“Perhaps Duke Ruthven’s celebration is premature,” a voice behind them says.

The Ruthvens and Mammons click their glasses together.

“To King Typhon Ruthven,” Corson says. “Long live the King!”

As the men cheer, Willem looks up at the hill overlooking the valley.

“I think you need another plan, Typhon,” he says.

The other men look up at the horizon.

Sir Morpheus is sitting on his horse, looking down at the celebrating army.

Fear whispered on the lips of uneasy soldiers, spreads throughout the camp.

Typhon’s men drop their weapons and flee.

Sir Morpheus raises his sword, charging down the hill. A thousand vengeful soldiers follow him.

Bowing, Sir Morpheus enters the Queen’s throne room. The Lady of the Lake glides in behind him.

“You sent for us, my Queen?”

With a wave of her tiny hand, Queen Hester dismisses her court. Only Bellamy remains by her side.

“Typhon Ruthven and his fellow traitors are hanging in the village square. He did have a final message he asked to be conveyed to the Lady of the Lake. He said, ‘Zippy-do-dah, indeed.’”

Smiling, Lady Anne says. “A personal gag between us, your majesty. Looks like the joke was on him.”

“Well said, I think… Sir Morpheus, you rallied our men and saved the kingdom. Your actions are worthy of the greatest reward I can give. You asked me if I would release you from your vow. Do you still wish to be freed from our agreement?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“I am grateful for your friendship, guidance, and heroism. I free you and the Lady of the Lake from your obligation to the House of Astley.”

Morpheus packs his belongings. Turning, he looks at the shimmering vision of The Lady of the Lake.

“You are free to return to the ether.”

Despite her watery, transparent appearance, Morpheus can see she’s crying.

“I’m staying with you.”

“Why? Our duty to the House of Astley is finally over. The next time I die, you will not be able to bring me back.”

“Then I’ll die with you.”

“But you are immortal.”

“No. In fact, you and you and I are very much alike,” she says. “I’m an exile sent from the twenty-fourth century.”

Morpheus looks at her suspiciously. “It would explain the way you speak. Why were you sent here?”

“I dared to love a man. And in our time, that’s against the law.”

“Who was it?” he asked.

“You. And I still love you. Your real name is Adrian Archer. And I’m Anne Lockhart. I came up with the name Morpheus because you put your enemies to sleep…permanently.”

The Lady of the Lake’s transparent visage begins to solidify.

Their eyes lock. She moves toward him and kisses him.

“I thought you said we could never touch?”

“It was part of our punishment when we were sent here. You were banished first. Your memories of our life together were erased, so you wouldn’t know who I was, and you’d never realize you have the same powers that I do. We were supposed to be separated, but I begged our supreme leader to be sent here with you. He agreed, but only if we never touched. I wanted to be with you, so I said yes, knowing if we touched, we would no longer be immortal.”

He holds her close. “Now we’ll both grow old and die.”

“Yes, but we’ll do it together.”