The Once and Future Queen

I don't normally write short stories, and short stories of 600 words are things I particularly avoid. However, there was a contest and at the same time a kernel of an idea, so I scribbled down that kernel of an idea and submitted it to that contest. The result was Regina Quondam Reginaque Futura, the Once and Future Queen, a story I hope at some point to turn into a prequel of Tempus Regina.

enjoy.

Merlin was very old the first time Gwenhwyfar laid eyes on him.

She was sitting in the red glow of evening that poured through the windows of the great hall, looking, as she had often looked, at the carvings etched into the rough stone of the table before her. The places around her were empty, seats in shadow, and it was quiet now that her lord and his companions had ridden out; the sound of her hand as she traced the figures was loud.

Then he was there, a man as ancient and blasted as an oak and yet as large and strong as one, too, and Gwenhwyfar found that she was not surprised to see him. “You are Merlin,” she said without rising. “Did I summon you?”

“No one summons me,” said Merlin. “I come when the time is right.” He approached through the slanting light until he stood across from her, and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he cast no shadow as he walked. “You are looking at the Table,” he continued. “Tell me, Gwenhwyfar, queen: can you read me the runes?”

Gwenhwyfar cast her gaze downward; her hand still rested on a blood-dark symbol. “I do not understand them.”

“Can you tell me from whence the Table comes?”

Like a child giving the right answer, she said, “It was part of the dowry my father paid my lord. It stood in his halls for as long as I can remember.”

“And before?” This time Merlin did not extract an answer. “The Table has a history older than you or your house. It stood in great halls when Albion herself was not yet born. But it was meant for you, Gwenhwyfar, queen, though it is but a partial gift. Tonight I bring you that which completes it.” He drew his other hand from the shrouds of his robe and held it out, the thing in his palm gleaming fiercely gold and ruby in a shaft of dying sun. Gwenhwyfar could see only those flashes between Merlin’s fingers; she reached for it, then paused and answered his gaze.

“How do you know,” she said, “that it was meant for me?”

“Take it.”

Gwenhwyfar took it, and as its weight tumbled from his palm to hers she shut her eyes, testing it with touch alone. Then she reopened them. Nestled in her palm was the head of a dragon worked in the brightest gold she had ever seen, with eyes like the spark in Artos’ garnet brooch. The dragon mouth opened like a lid; within lay a clear pane, figures etched about the rim, and several long, thin black things in motion across them. It seemed to pulse in her hand, and it gave forth the sound of a heartbeat as the smallest black finger moved.

“Now, Gwenhwyfar, queen,” said Merlin, “can you read me the runes?”

Slowly Gwenhwyfar raised her eyes from the dragon head to the circle of dark stone.

tempus regina

holds the years

tempus regina

dwells in the future

tempus regina

come back to the past

tempus regina

beware

A portion was blurred and she could not discern it. She touched it, almost unaware that Merlin still spoke. “In your hand you hold the ability to move in time. It is a powerful thing; it comes to you as you stand by Artos’ side at the rise of Albion. Gwenhwyfar!”

Gwenhwyfar looked up.

“Heed the warning. Power corrupts; you must remember.”

Her eyes turned again to the table while he was yet speaking, and she saw the rune that was clearest: Beware!