Morgan Le Fay; The True Story

Chapter Five

Looking back on those three days that I was in charge of the household, I’m still not sure how I survived. Within an hour of Uncle’s leaving the youngest twins (who were four at the time) got into a fight over whose toy was whose, Linette (who was five) had gotten scratched up her arm by the barn cat, and Caedmon (who was three) got stuck in the privy.

After I had settled the fight, stopped the bleeding and rescued a crying Caedmon from the privy, I laid down some rules. No one would touch any animal without permission. Anyone caught it a fight would help with chores. And the bigger children would always assist the younger ones in the privy.

Thankfully Devin backed me up on these rules, and anytime a new problem arose, he’d assist me. By the time the three days had passed, we had made a good undefeated team, and an extremely exhausted duo.

We left for Brittany early on the morning of the fourth day, the little ones riding in the wagon with the last of Kellan’s dowry. I’m fairly certain that we made an odd looking procession to those that might have seen us. Seven little children rode in the cart, talking laughing and crying, surrounding the chest of finely embroidered clothes and household items. Personally, I think that it was the sight of so many children that protected us from being attacked by highway robbers.

I rode beside the cart, feeling the need to stay close to the children. On the other side of the cart rode the cousin closest to my age, Caelan, a boy of eleven. Ahead of us were his older brothers, Devin and Belanus, while their twin sixteen year old brothers rode behind us, dressed in their respective squire uniforms.

We rode all of that day, and arrived at the ancestral home of Duan Cyric just before nightfall. Aunt Mary was waiting for us anxiously, and as she scooped up Rose, who was only two, she began showering her children with kisses. I hung back, ensuring that their things were unloaded with care, and that nothing had been missed.

“Morgan,” she said sharply, and I looked up.

“Yes, Aunt Mary?” I asked, afraid that I’d done something wrong. She surveyed me for a moment and then motioned for me to come closer.

“I owe you thanks for protecting my babies,” she said. “Now, there’s stew for everyone inside. I imagine that you’re famished.”

“I am,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in comparison to the shouts the children gave up. I stole a shy glance at Devin, and then spoke up. “Aunt Mary, I couldn’t have cared for your children without Devin’s help.” The look on her face was one of surprise, and it quickly changed to satisfaction.

“Honesty is indeed a good virtue to posses,” she said. “Come and eat now.” With that she led the way into the palace.

The king of Brittany, Kellan’s father-in-law to-be had a smaller palace than my father, even though we had called ours a manor house. Maybe it was just because so many people had come for the wedding, but it was positively cramped.

All of the relatives were not helping Kellan at all. She spent most of her time sitting in the midst of her older family members, looking sick.

Aunt Mary noticed this, too, and she began lacing all of Kellan’s drinks with a tonic for the nerves. Kellan went about her days, subdued and pale. On the last night before the wedding, Kellan slipped into my chambers.

“I can’t do this, Morgan,” she whispered, crossing the floor quickly to my bed, which I had been laying on, reading. “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” I asked, setting aside my book and sitting up. “It will be easy.”

“Everyone will be watching,” she said, beginning to cry. “I can’t marry him. I don’t care for him.”

“It’ll be alright,” I said, reaching out for her. She was only a year older than I was and that night all of our differences were gone. “Maybe you’ll even grow to care for him. He’s not that bad, either.” Kellan hid her face in my shoulder, still crying.