I guess it’s time to talk a little about Morgan Le Fay.

No, wait. Let’s talk a lot about Morgan le Fay, because she’s fucking awesome, and don’t you forget it.

Who the fuck is she?

She’s Igraine’s first husband’s brother’s daughter. She’s also the foster sister—and cousin—to Igraine’s daughter Morgause, and cousin-in-law to King Lot of Orkney.

TL;DR: Here’s a chart:

Also, her mother was a Fay, making her half-Fay. And, because she’s half-Fay, she has all sorts of cool faerie powers. Mostly enchanting and illusions, but she’s got some practical knowledge, too (like, potions and how to cross into Faerieland—that sort of cool-ass shit).

What the fuck does she do?

She’s supposed to do princessy stuff*, including but not limited to:

• Tapestry Weaving
• Embroidering
• Making blankets for the poor
• Pining for a husband

What Morgan really does, however, is study. You see, Merlin took her on as a student a few years back. Morgan spends most of her days combing through books (some of which haven’t been written yet), testing out new potions (she came up with a new lust potion, and has a good side gig in selling it to Uther’s knights), and chilling with her besties in Faerieland. So, like, typical teenage stuff.

She splits her time between King Lot’s castle in Orkney, and King Uther’s fortress in London — the Faerie Road cuts down travel time for those in the know. Neither King really minds so much. In fact, most people tend to forget about her until they need something. Which is a bit annoying, but Morgan doesn’t mind so much. She especially doesn’t mind when Kings Uther and Lot forget that she’s old enough to be married off.

*Note: Morgan’s views do not necessarily reflect the views of the authoress, who personally spends quite a bit of time weaving and embroidering.

Anywho, the point is that Morgan has a pretty sweet life for a sixteen-year-old girl in 7^th century Briton. Well, had a good life.

Because then Uther straight up died. And that, as we can all guess, fucked up everything.

Right around the same time that Kay was knighted, there lived a squire named Scott.

This is the story of how Scott of Bortleaf became the most qualified knight ever.

Now, Scott lived a rather ordinary life up until this point. He served a knight named Sir Carlton. They lived in the village of Bortleaf, near the city of Dasengels in the Kingdom of Talaxia; and Talaxia, being an Angle kingdom under King Uther’s rule, was a peaceful land.

Bortleaf: from the Old English “Beorht Lyft” (beautiful air)

Scott and Sir Carlton spent most of their days caring for Sir Carlton’s sheep rather than any sort of knight things. Although not his chosen profession, nor that of his family (Scott’s father was a servant in Phillip of Dasengels household), it turned out that Scott was pretty darn good with sheep. He couldn’t take all the credit, though. Scott had always been good with dogs and raised a handful of corgis to help herd the sheep.

Anyway, one day, Sir Carlton received a message from his cousin, William of Adelphos. William had fallen in with some troublesome Frankish knights. He desperately needed Sir Carlton’s help. And so, Sir Carlton and Scott left Bortleaf to set out for what is now known as France.

Bonjour, la France! Comment ça va? Ça va bien, merci. Votre mère était un canard et votre père sentait les baies de sureau.

They soon found William. Moreover, they found an easy way to make money: Sir Carlton and William of Adelphos hired themselves out to the local armies as mercenaries. They lost some battles, won more. The three of them (Scott, Sir Carlton, and William) became far wealthier than if they had stayed in Talaxia.

Sir Carlton and William eventually found themselves in the services of King Ban of Benoic, who was at war with the Frankish king, Claudas. The very first battle of this war was held outside of Paris. It did not last very long, and King Ban won; sadly, neither Sir Carlton nor William survived.

Scott fought valiantly in his master’s place. King Ban rewarded him with a hefty prize (silver, and lots of it), and sent Scott packing back to Briton.

Upon his return to Bortleaf, Scott threw himself into his work. Sir Carlton had been his best friend, and Scott missed him terribly.

Within a year, Scott’s flock grew to more than a hundred sheep, a trio of goats, and a small platoon of corgis to round everyone up.

One day, Scott had a visitor: Phillip, the Earl of Dasengels and his wife Lady Vivian. Phillip finally heard of Scott’s exploits under King Ban (word traveled slowly in those days), and he came to commend Scott for his fine work.

But Scott was not with his sheep. They traveled the length of what had been Sir Carlton’s land (there wasn’t much to it). Finally, they found Scott inside: one of the corgis had puppies, and Scott stayed with her to assist with the labor.

Lady Vivian immediately fell in love with the pups. Scott promised to give her a pair once they were old enough. This delighted the Lady and pleased the Earl.

Phillip told Scott of the awesome things King Ban had said about him. “But that’s not the only reason I’ve come to see you,” he said. “In truth, I’m on my way to London to call upon High King Uther, who is totes dying. It’s a dangerous journey, and I need my best knight for protection.”

“Alas, my lord, your best knight lies dead in a field near Paris, where he did enter his final and eternal slumber,” Scott said in anguish, thinking only of Sir Carlton.

“Although I miss Sir Carlton a lot—he was like a son to me—I wasn’t talking about him.” At that moment, Phillip, Earl of Dasengels, had a servant bring forth a rather large lump. “Your father was my steward. He was my best and favorite servant. Moreover, he was the youngest son of a knight, Sir Dirk of Paxau, who served my father in the war against the Saxons.   This was Sir Dirk’s armor—it’s now yours.”

Scott was moved to tears. He knelt before the Earl. “Thank you, my lord! I am most humbled.”

“I’m the humbled one, bro.” Phillip drew his sword, and lightly bashed it against Scott’s shoulders. “I bid thee rise, Sir Scott of Bortleaf.”

And so, Sir Scott of Bortleaf did travel with the Earl and his lady to London. Sir Scott brought a pair of his favorite corgis as a tithe to his king. However, upon reaching London they were met with grave news: Uther Pendragon, the High King of all Briton, had died mere hours before.

OK. So. It wasn’t all fun and games for Kay and Arthur. Not long after they met the Goblin King, Sir Ector knew it was time to really attend to the boys’ education. For Kay, that meant becoming a knight. Eventually.

See, it’s not like you can take a two-week course and—BOOM!—knighted. Nor can you just race down a beach with Sean Connery or go through a five-minute training montage.

It takes fucking years, man.

Pages

First, to become a knight, you have to be a boy (because misogyny was alive and well).

At around seven years old, a boy would become a padawan page. This is when his education would really begin. Like I said, Kay and Arthur were taught under La Méthode de Chevalier Français, and they learned all the shit I mentioned there. Oh, and they helped the squires out with shit.

Literally, I mean helping with the shit. You may think castles are clean, fancy places, but that’s only because there was usually a phalanx of boys around to clean up all the various animal excrement at any given time. There was:

• horse shit
• cow shit
• pig shit
• pony shit
• a variety of crap shat out of the birds a typical nobleman would keep (hawks for hawking, pigeons for messaging, chickens for eating, ravens because they’re fucking menacing)
• people shit
• dog shit
• rat droppings

Squires

At about age 12 or 13, a page would be promoted to a squire once he had sufficient training and if he showed a glimmer of intelligence. (Or, in the British School of Knight-Making, he’d be promoted if looked to be a rather brutish thug.)

Squires were glorified man-servants to knights. A squire was be expected to:

• keep his knight’s horse clean and functional (hence the need for all those shit-cleaning page boys)
• keep his knight’s armor squeaky and shining, and assorted weaponry in working order
• help dress his knight
• serve his knight food and drinks
• be ready to act as a knight himself, should his master fall in the battlefield (or, more likely, die from a hangnail)

You may be thinking (or, probably not—I don’t know how you think, TBH): Can’t a knight do anything for himself? Well, he can. If he wanted. But then he wouldn’t be properly training his squire, would he?

Anywho, squires put up with this because in exchange they received the Dark Ages equivalent of mad money: a place to stay, food, booze, ladies, and clothing with minimum fleas.

Knights

To finally becoming a knight, a squire had to be of the minimum age (15 and five-eighths) and meet any of these qualifications:

1. If a knight fell in battle, the squire would get his master’s armor and weapons and horse and be expected to carry on in his place.
2. A squire bred a sufficient amount of corgis.
3. He or his family had to be rich enough to buy his own horse, armor, and weapons; and his family had some sort of social standing (Yeoman was the absolute minimum).

A squire would go to his local nobleman once he met any of these qualifications. The nobleman, provided he was at least a Baron, would bash a sword at the squire’s shoulders, and BOOM! Knighted.

Not pictured: the Thin White Duke, the Duke of Earl, or the Prince of Pop.

Arrogance level = Steve from “Stranger Things”

Kay was knighted on his 16th birthday. Sir Ector bought him the shiniest new suit, a very large horse, and a sword forged by the finest blacksmith (read: the only blacksmith) in their village. Arthur, who wouldn’t turn 15 for another few months, became his brother’s squire.

Ector took it upon himself to do the knighting. Afterward, there was much drinking and toasting—except for Arthur, who had to stay sober enough to fetch Sir Kay another round.

TL;DR

Fine. Here’s a training montage.

MEANWHILE, IN LONDON…

You may be asking about now what happened to Uther? Well, even if you’re not, I’m going to tell you: Uther’s reign continued and was pretty uneventful. It turned out that having a sane and mostly decent king rocked for Briton’s stability.

Uther and Igraine didn’t have any more kids. Speaking of: Igraine had a daughter from her first marriage—Morgause—who married King Lot of Orkney right after Arthur was born. Morgause and Lot had a few kiddos of their own, and they also looked after her foster sister, Morgan le Fey. But more on that later.

After a few years, Uther got sick. Like, really sick. Like, Dark-Ages-Health-Standards-Are-Shit-and-a-Hangnail-Can-Kill-You sick.

On realizing he couldn’t put off death forever, Uther summoned Merlin to ask: “What’s going to happen to the kingdom when I die? You sort of peaced out with my only kid.”

Merlin—who had seen some shit—considered this for some time. At last, he said, “I’ll take of it, bro.”

Who could Uther and Igraine’s kid possibly be??? Such question. Many mystery.

MEANWHILE, IN SAN FRANCISCO…

A gnome named Chris Arr met an unfortunate fate. That’s all you need to know, and we will never speak of this again.

MEANWHILE, IN THE GOLBIN KINGDOM…

Ralph the Goblin led Kay and Arthur deep within the Goblin Kingdom. As they walked through the Goblin Kingdom, Kay couldn’t help but notice a sense of sadness among those they passed. The other goblins did not seem to mind the two boys passing through—but on the occasion that Kay met a crust-filled gaze or heard a wheezing sigh, it was filled with a sorrow that he couldn’t begin to fathom.

At last, Ralph brought them to the Goblin Palace: a brown mottled toadstool with moss-covered doors and windows the color of a winter sunset before it snows. Kay and Arthur stretched their necks and still couldn’t see the top.

The stench of burnt cheese puffs filled the inside of the palace. Ralph took them through a winding series of corridors until they came to a vast throne room.

The room was filled with representatives from across the Faerie and spirit kingdoms, including: Fey, Korrigan, Brownies, Pixies, Sprites, Seelies, Selkies, Kelpies, Corgis, Valkyries, Dryads, Naiads, Elves, Leprechauns, Clurichauns, That Weird Guy from Finance, Gnomes, Dwarves, Bridge Trolls, Internet Trolls, Goblins, Moblins, Keese, Fire Keese (motherfuckers), Imps, Djinn, Ice Ifrits, Fire Ifrits, Marid, Banshees, Baobhan Sith, Sith Lords, Simon from the London Office, Like-Likes, Unicorns, Will-o-the-wisps, Wag-by-the-ways, Move-bitch-get-out-the-ways, Basic Bitches, Bean-tigh, Grugach, Tomtra, and Feetlebaum.

They all stopped and stared at Ralph and the boys.

“If this is a bad time,” Arthur whispered to Ralph, “we can come back.”

Kay nodded in agreement.

“Nah, we’re good,” Ralph said. “Come on.”

Perched upon a shimmering beryl throne and the far end of the throne room was the Goblin King: other than his pointed ears and pointed teeth, he looked nothing like the other goblins. He was handsome, with cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes that changed color and abs of actual fucking steel. I mean, I could go on but the one thing you need to know is that all the Goblin Kings are always hot as fuck. Trust me. In fact, let me google that for you. You’re welcome.

Anywho, Ralph and the boys stood before the Goblin King’s throne. Kay and Arthur, who were trained in courtly manners, bowed deeply.

“What manner of creature do you bring before me?” the Goblin King asked.

Ralph scratched at his armpit, sniffed it once, and then said: “Human children, your Redolence. I returned from the realm of the Unseelie only to find myself caught in a trap. These children saved my life.”

“Then please come closer, human children,” the Goblin King said.

Kay and Arthur obeyed and approached closer. Here, at last, Kay understood the sadness he saw outside the palace, and why there were so many fucking creatures in the throne room. The Goblin King was dying.

The Goblin King regarded them, his eyes flickering from blue to orange. “Fate brought you here.”

“Actually, is was Ralph,” Arthur said.

Kay punched his arm. “Shut up!”

The Goblin King paid this no heed. “My name is Chad. You have done a great service to my people, for Ralph is my son and will be King when I am gone.”

“Wait, him?” Kay asked, glancing to where the other goblin dug around in his pants.

“Indeed. He is handsome now, but upon ascension to the throne will be transformed into a hideously sexy and poised creature. Alas, I cannot alter this curse. Howe’er, I can and must thank you for your good deed. Henceforth, you may both consider yourselves friends of Goblin-kind. Should you ever find yourself in danger, you may call us and we shall come to your aid.”

Kay and Arthur bowed again, both touched by Chad the Goblin King’s kindness. “Though we are but lowly page-boys, we are honored by your generosity,” Kay said.

Seriously, who could that masked man be?

A man suddenly appeared next to Chad’s throne. Kay was sure he recognized him, but couldn’t place where—the man seemed to resemble the poor beggar that sometimes came to Sir Ector’s castle. “Yo, Chad, I got to take these two back,” he said.

Chad held up a finger. “One moment more, if you please. It is my time.”

He closed his eyes. He gurgled and drooled, and with that, died.

A mighty chorus surged through the throne room, voiced by the power of Whitney Houston, Céline Dion, ‘90s Mariah Carey, and Adele. It was the most beautiful sound Kay ever heard. He wiped away his tears with his sleeve and turned before his brother could see him cry.

He caught sight of Ralph as he did. The new Goblin King already grew to twice his old size, and his skin cleared as Kay watched.

“Oh, shit,” Ralph said, looking down at his changing body.

The beggar—for Kay was sure by now that the man that appeared moments before King Chad’s death was the same guy—soon took Kay and Arthur from the Goblin Palace.

After the requisite glitter and three or so minutes of “Thunderball,” the boys found themselves in a field not far from Sir Ector’s castle. Barely an hour had passed.

The beggar turned to them said, “I have to go, but before I do, a warning: do not go unaccompanied into the Faerie world again, and do not speak of this day to anyone.”

And then the beggar disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Part One

Reasons to always let the beggar in

Even if the beggar had shown up any time other than when he did, Sir Ector still would have let the man in.

Sure, Ector might have hemmed and hawed a little more had it been summer or autumn; but Ector was an educated man, and knew that when a strange looking beggar carrying a crying sack of rags shows the fuck up on your castle doorstep, you let the beggar in.

Anyway, it was the fifth day of Christmas. It was just after dinner when the beggar showed up, and Ector might have been more than slightly intoxicated. (BTW, this was a time when dinner was between 10:00 am and noon.)

The beggar was shown into the Great Hall and sat at a low table, and given scraps from the day’s feast. It was then that the bundle really start to cry.

It was also then that Ector finally realized that the bundle of rags was actually a baby.

“This is Arthur,” the beggar said.

“Who were his parents?” Ector asked, his sobriety starting to come through.

“Nobility,” the beggar said, “but no one of consequence to you.”

“And where are you taking the boy?”

“To be fostered. I am looking for a man who will raise Arthur as his own, and teach him how to be a good person.”

La Méthode de Chevalier Français

See, back in these days, fostering meant something different. It was really common for kids of a certain rank to be sent away to be fostered.

Girls were sent to live with aunts and other female relatives. They would learn domestic arts, such as accounting and how to run an estate because fucking someone has to pay the fiefs. Boys would be sent to live with uncles, where they would be taught how to hunt and fight and be a knight.

Sir Ector himself was a product of such an education. He was sent to a cousin in Normandy, which was then one of the most civilized parts of Europe. Ector’s foster family taught him how to be a knight, but did so in the French way.

This included:

• Extensive equestrian training
• Reading (in Latin)
• Poetry
• Swordsmanship
• Farming
• How to Respect Others and Be a Generally Honorable Person, Because as a Knight You’re a Pillar of the Community, Gosh Darn It
• Church Type Things
• Court Etiquette
• Hunting
• Castle Management
• Cheesemaking

“OMG, want,” said Sir Ector.

And so, in talking to the beggar, an idea was born in Ector’s head. To be more precise, it was an Athena-like, fully formed and complex concept, replete with hypotheses, backing data, and a five-step plan.

“I will take Arthur,” Ector said. “I will raise him and he will be a brother to my own son, Kay. I’ll train them both in the French method. And when Kay is knighted, Arthur will be his squire.”

The beggar thought this over for a second. “Yeah, that works for me.”

It could have been far worse for Uther.

Based on deadliness, number of instances, likelihood, and supernaturalness

First of all, he could have been Vortigern. But, unlike that asshole, Uther was actually pretty good at this High King business. He was universally tolerated among the peasantry and gentry.

The nobility–all those lesser kings and princes and dukes–mostly tolerated him, as long as he didn’t look too closely at their taxes.

Secondly, for the first time since ever, the island of Britain wasn’t under the threat of a foreign invasion.

For one reason or another, all the nearby nations were all dealing their own issues to worry about the High Kingdom of Briton. Yet Uther found himself restless.

Actually, “restless” isn’t quite the right term. “Being forced to consistently roam the countryside because all your vassals are kind of jerks” is a little more accurate.

With Merlin at his side, Uther spent the better part of the year roaming the Kingdom. He settled old feuds and stopped new ones; taxes were collected, and immediately put the money to good use on public projects; and more often than not, Uther was judge, jury and executioner.

It’s all about results, man.

December

The right sneeze? Demons. (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Uther woke up one morning with a terrible cold. Remember, these were the days where the wrong sneeze could kill you.

Merlin, who had some practical medical knowledge in addition to being wise in the ways of magic, sent away the court physicians and forbade Uther to leave his bed for a good few days.

“You’re going to ride yourself to death, and I can’t allow that,” Merlin said. “I’ve foreseen things.”

“But I’m only two days from West Saxony,” Uther said. “I can’t let the Saxons go unsupervised for too long. They start getting ideas.”

Merlin thought about this for a while. Finally, he said, “Instead of you running yourself down, why don’t you summon everyone here, to London?”

Uther sneezed. “Do you think they’ll come?”

“Why not?” Merlin said with a little shrug. “You’re the High King. They’re supposed to listen to you.”

February

And so, the summons went out. All the dukes and princes and lesser kings of Briton obeyed Uther’s command and gathered in London. Everyone went willingly–everyone except Gorloise, the Duke of Tintagel, who had to be persuaded (read: dragged along begrudgingly) by the other dukes of Cornwall.

As a sign of his appreciation, Uther held a grand tournament for his vassals, followed by an even grander feast.

Uther was in the middle of a (rather undignified and unking-like) drinking contest with Llewellyn of Rhos when he saw her.

He elbowed Llewellyn and, belching, pointed. “Who’s that?”

“Who?” Llewellyn asked. He swayed in his seat, trying to follow Uther’s gaze.

“Her,” Uther said.

She was a lady of poise and grace, such that Uther had never seen before. In short, she was the most beautiful woman Uther had ever laid eyes on. He was in love.

“That’s Igraine,” Llewellyn said after a long pause, remembering in his drunk stupor that his lord and king had asked him a question. “Duke Gorloise’s wife.”

“She’s hot,” Uther said.

“She’s married, my liege.”

“Yeah, but I’m the king.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, my liege.” Llewellyn signaled to a servant, hoping to occupy his monarch with another round of Drink the Mead.

“I’m going over,” Uther said.

Uther didn’t forget.

Throughout the next day’s events, he sent increasingly suggestive gifts to Igraine: things like furs and jewels and pear trees and milking maids.

That evening, Igraine and Gorloise agreed they had enough of this shit and peaced out of London.

March

Have you ever been so angry at someone that you’ve threatened physical violence? For most people, it’s just empty words–once they’ve calmed down, they realize they were overreacting.

Not so much for Uther. He immediately declared war on Tintagel. Not even Merlin could stop him.

“OK, this is going to sound weird,” Merlin said, “but if I get you into the castle, there’s a good chance that Igraine will sleep with you. If you do get down with her tonight, there’s a really good chance that you two will conceive a kid. I need you to give that kid to me within an hour of his birth, and never speak of any of this again.”

“Yeah, that works,” Uther said. Admittedly, he had stopped paying attention halfway through Merlin’s speech. “I promise to do all the stuff you just said. Now, how are we going to get into the castle?”

This was good enough of a promise for Merlin. “So, I’m going to disguise you as Gorloise…”

Meanwhile, Gorloise had been watching Uther’s camp from the castle battlements. He saw Uther and Merlin ride away. This, he decided, was the perfect opportunity to launch a sneak attack on the King’s army.

It did not end well for Gorloise. As I mentioned earlier, Uther brought with him his best knights, and they promptly ended Gorloise’s life, thereby ending Uther’s little siege war.

Six months later, the widow Igraine reluctantly married the High King, and moved to London with her daughter, Morgause. A few months after that, on a cold late-December afternoon, she gave birth to a son.

Though his wife wept, Uther kept his promise to Merlin.

Of course there was war.

“Well, fuck me,” said Uther, hoping for a nice, quiet reign. (Source: British Library Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts)

There was never not a war during this time. This war, however, was a little different.

First of all, seeing the success their island counterparts had, all the various tribes of Angles and Saxons finally started to band together to form a sort-of oligarchy. Then, they decided to go to war on the Picts.
That was where Uther Pendragon drew the line.

He was cool at first with the Angles and Saxons getting their act together. The all the various tribes and kingdoms of Briton did that under his dad, and—aside from the whole Vortigern incident—things turned out really well for the Britons. There was peace and prosperity, and even a little bit of education and innovation.

And, seeing how well this worked out for him, Uther wanted the same sort of good things to happen to all of his immediate neighbors. After all, peace for them meant more prosperity for him, and who doesn’t want that?

First of all, there was Duke Gorloise down in Cornwall, who was BFFs with young King Lot of Orkney.

Then there was Llewellyn of Rhos who was tight with Mungo of Fib.

Finally, there was Strathclyde which was a Pictish Kingdom signed on with Briton under King Constantine.

So, yeah, Uther wasn’t happy with the Angles and Saxons, and interfered in their war on behalf of his Pictish friends.

It wasn’t a pretty war, so I’ll skip to the end: Uther won, and became High King of the Britons, the Angles, and the Saxons.