A Witch in King Arthur's Court -3-

A Witch In King Arthur's Court
A Stupidity in Magic Text Story
Text for August 6th 2003

      Ridding pillion in silk, Octavia decided, sucked. A great deal. She was grateful, she supposed, that Kay didn’t want to get near her, so she was riding behind the incredibly handsome knight, whose name she still had not caught. Octavia freed a hand and cleaned her glasses, wondering how this had happened, and when the hell she was going to get home. Then she started wondering what would happen when they got to Camelot. Merlin would know she wasn’t a wizard. Gods above and below, what would Merlin be _like_? That thought kept her busy until the great white walls of Camelot came into view and she was struck down by the Monty Python sniggers.
“Lady Octavia, is something wrong?”
“No, no, it’s quite alright?”
“Are you sure, you sound as if you’re choking.”
“Quite sure, honestly.”

        They rode into the courtyard, and she gratefully slid down onto the rushes strew earth. Again, as she did in every stressful situation, she grounded and centered. The powerful flow of magic was still there, but also- there was a terrible feeling of emptiness, as if something that belonged there was no longer there. She pushed a thin braid behind her ear, and looked around curiously- to find every eye in the courtyard on her. Octavia was no stranger to attention. She’d given lectures at something on the order of hundreds of pagan gatherings. Somehow this was different.
“This way, Lady Octavia.” The dark haired knight said, and offered his hand. She hitched her purse onto her shoulder, and took the offered arm. She could use all the help she could get.
Somehow, the court was assembled when he led her into the hall. About then yards from a small raised platform on which there were two thrones and a stool, they stopped and recessed with the rest of the crowd, creating an aisle. Then, there was a brief fanfare, and Arthur entered, arm in arm with an exquisite woman. If you went in for the whole blonde thing. She wore white, embroidered in much the same fashion as her husband, and her hair was almost the same color as the embroidery, flowing down past her hips, uncontained except by a crown. Octavia wondered if this woman- who was certainly Gwenivere would be past the ‘jailbait’ phase in her own time. Then she noticed the man walking behind the king and queen. He wore blue and silver, with purple accents, and had a long, flowing silver-white beard and hair.
He reminded Octavia of Dumbledore.
So much for an awe inspiring example of wizardry. <Octavia obviously has not yet read the Order of the Pheniox-WW> She did however, manage a bit of a curtsy with the rest of the court as Arthur and Gwenivere sat. “Lancelot, please bring Lady Octavia of the Thorns forward.”
‘Lancelot?’ Octavia said eyes bugging out. She quickly moved forward before he could escort her, stood before the dais, and as an afterthought curtseyed like a little girl at a dance recital.
“If she is a sorceress, let her prove it.” Merlin said in a soft, yet carrying voice. Octavia winced. She didn’t think that a laser pointer was going to cut it this time. Shat did she have in her bag? Ah!
“I will conjure a daemon who shall speak in tongues, and give forth prophecies!” she proclaimed in her best amplified lecture hall voice. The court hall if nothing else had excellent acoustics. She held her pocket stereo
in both hands and cranked the volume.
If Barenaked Ladies wasn’t speaking in tongues- she didn’t know what was! Octavia threw her hands up and the music blared out, scaring everyone who was anywhere near her back a few feet.
“~Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has its cost/ Anyone plain can be lovely, anyone loved can be lost/ What if I lost my direction? What if I lost sense of time?/ What if I nursed this infection? Maybe the worst is behind/It feels just like I'm falling for the first time~”
Merlin pointed his finger at her and said something- nothing happened. He wasn’t half as surprised as Octavia. He frowned, and spoke again. This time the walkman shut off, giving Octavia a mild shock.
“She indeed has powerful magic, for a Moor.” Merlin said in that deceptively mild voice.
Octavia cocked a hip and put her hand on it, ‘for a moor?’
“I think it would be wise to befriend her.”
Octavia replaced her pocket stereo, as Arthur nodded sagely. Gwenivere leaned over and whispered in his ear for a moment, then the king of Camelot stood.
“Very well, I pronounce that Lady Octavia shall be a guest of the court. All give her welcome, for I am sure there is much she can do for us.”
There was a general cheer, and Octavia smiled weakly looking around herself. ‘well- that was easy.’

       Octavia had dumped her purse out on the floor beside her bed. She had asked quite firmly that the bedding be washed, but it was still a little dubious. The dark skinned witch had never seen a bedbug, and damned if she wanted to. They had also given her a loose robe which didn’t seem to have anything living in it, and she was wearing now, while her socks and underwear, which she had rinsed and hung up herself, were drying.
“Not what I would take if I was going to go back in time.” She said moodily. “I just bloody well hope I get back _before_ my period starts. Five tampons isn’t nearly enough.” Her treasure trove was the prism, the laser pointer, her cell phone, the pocket stereo, a CD case, a tiny tape recorder, her wallet, a roll of lifesavers, a few tubes of makeup, a pad of paper, five pens, three of which worked, a fountain pen she’d picked up at a yard sale, a few loose batteries, a mirror, a hairbrush, a handful of hair ties, a digital camera, some loose change, her ritual jewelry and- a pair of jeans, and a blouse! She’d forgotten she’d brought clothes with her to change into after the faire.
“Well that’s something.” She rested her chin on her hand. The stereo didn’t seem to be damaged, just like someone had given in a power surge- much like changing the batteries without turning it off first. Exactly what she would have done if she’d used magic to turn it off. She looked across the room, where there were a few candles in a table held candelabra. She had to wonder about the mix of dark ages and renaissance culture she was seeing here. It was, even for someone whose historical interest was several centuries earlier, rather disturbing. She rubbed her eyes, and began her evening meditations.

        First, Octavia became aware of every breath, then of every flame in the room, then that the water in the pitcher across from her was in fact, sweet and pure- then that the lands around the castle were rich and fertile. She drew this all into herself, and took one final look- there were no life sparks in the bedding. They had managed to get the fleas and bedbugs out of it. The Goddess was with her. Exhausted from her long day, made longer by the feast which had given her indigestion, she placed her glasses on the pillow beside her head, and fell fast asleep, hoping to wake up at her bed at the Institute.

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"Arthur entered, arm in arm with an exquisite woman."