The Mammoth Ego of Merlin

“You are such an egomaniac,” Asia said.

Angel peered over the top of the worn paperback and raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

Asia nodded at the spine of his book. “The Crystal Cave? And don’t think I didn’t see your copy of Le Morte D’Arthur and The Idylls of the King. Also, let’s not forget The Mammoth Book of Merlin.”

“I’m very interested in Arthurian legend,” Angel said.

Asia rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re just obsessed with how most legends turned you into a cantankerous old man with a massive white beard.”

A mutinous expression crossed Angel’s face, and he looked ready to launch into an age-old tirade, but then he said, “Actually, I’m fascinated at how you manage to not be in any of the legends. To my knowledge, no one ever mentions his page, squire, or personal servant.”

“Do you really want to know?” Asia asked. She plopped down on the other end of the sofa.

Angel closed the book over a bookmark (a tattered thing made of plaited yarn born of one of Keith’s bored days). “You actually know the answer?”

“Yes,” Asia said.

“Go on then. Tell me how history managed to utterly cock up one of our finest moments,” Angel said.

Asia leaned in and lowered her voice. “Well, after Arthur died, we went our separate ways. You became a samurai, but I stayed in the British Isles, and I returned to my ways as a wandering songstress.”

“And?”

“And I might have started telling stories about a wondrous king, a sword in a stone...and his cranky old wizard,” Asia said.

Fury sparked in Angel’s eyes, and his telekinesis laced the air. Pillows launched themselves at Asia from all sides. She laughed and batted them away. Angel lunged at her, and Asia leapt off the sofa, danced out of reach.

“You –!” Angel yelled.

Asia was still laughing. “Yes, me.”

Angel attempted to fling more household furnishings at her, but she just dodged. When they finally settled down, Angel picked up his novel.

“Fine, so maybe I had it coming, what with spawning Mordred,” Angel said. Then he tilted his head and looked at her, curious. “Why did you write yourself out of the legend?”

“Because no one would believe a woman was any good with a sword,” Asia said easily, and both of them knew she was lying.

“Do you think you’ll ever get a second chance with him?” Angel asked.

Asia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like with all the others – do you think you’ll have a second chance?”

“No.”

“But the prophecy –”

“Those are books, Angel,” Asia said, and she stood up. Maybe one day he would remember that he, too, had been there to witness the burial of the king, and he’d heard her say the words himself. Until then, he could keep reading and imagining.

(479 words)