Part 5
The League stepped between the massive stones and into the center of the ritual ring. At first, it seemed as if nothing had happened. No swirling portal or gateway appeared before the team and the Otherworldly wind summoned by Caelia had faded. The stones around them remained unchanged. It was as if they had not traveled anywhere at all.
But as they looked beyond the stones to the forest glen, subtle differences caught their eyes. The trees and bushes had realigned in a new pattern. Gone was the shimmering, dream-like glow of the Twilight Realm and the air no longer seemed electric with alien power. As they exited the other side of the ring-stone circle, they realized they were in ordinary Britain once more.
Thanks to Queen Caelia’s intervention, their detour to the Faerie Realm had been blessedly brief. But they were unsure of how much time had elapsed in their own world. All they knew was that the sun was setting in the west and dusk was fast approaching.
“Did it work?” Thumbling wondered aloud. “What day is it? Hell, what year? What century?”
Tom looked around, brow furrowed, assessing the situation. “The woods are still here at least. This looks like the forest on the outskirts of Camelot.”
“Zere is only one way to be sure, mes amis,” Hop ventured. “Join hands. I shall have us at Arthur’s palace in moments, if still it stands.”
Leaving behind the druid ring-stones, the group formed a chain and was swiftly whisked away by Hop’s seven-league boots. Out of the forest and down the hill they raced until the castle was in sight. Hop transported them across the lowered drawbridge and into the gates of Camelot, weaving nimbly between the feet of knights, nobles, servants, and ladies-in-waiting. At last, they stopped in a quiet corner to take it all in.
“It’s still here. Thank God,” Thumbelina muttered.
“Merlin,” Tom rasped, fear and dread suddenly striking him. “We must find Merlin!”
They raced through the great hall, seeking some sign of their mentor. The king and queen were not holding court and the hall had fairly dissolved into chaos. All around them, knights were arguing or crossing swords, flinging bitter oaths and accusations at one another.
“You’re a knave, Agravaine!” a lanky, red-haired warrior declared, drawing his weapon. “Take back what you said about the queen!”
“Never!” his opponent hissed. “You know it to be true, Kay! Or are you a blind man?” He drew his own sword and stepped forward with menace.
The League rushed away before a battle could break out. “What the hell have we missed?” Thumbling said, stunned.
“This is most strange,” Issun said, echoing his teammates’ thoughts.
“Knights are tilting in the hall and the king’s nowhere in sight,” ‘Lina added. “Something has happened while we were away.”
“Agreed,” said Tom. “But we haven’t the time to investigate. If Nimue’s beaten us here, Merlin could already be doomed.”
Scurrying down a corridor, they soon came across Queen Guinevere as she exited a nearby chamber. Her hair was a mess and her gown was wrinkled and out of place as if she had hastily slipped it on. Close behind her was Sir Lancelot, his fine tunic in a similar state of disarray. Hand in hand, they fairly danced down the hallway, giggling like schoolchildren. The League was forced to scatter as the queen nearly trod upon them, her huge slipper-clad foot landing with a crash in their midst.
“Mon Dieu!” Hop exclaimed, leaping out of the way.
“My lady!” Tom called out. “We are below you!”
The queen glanced at her feet and her eyes lit up excitedly. “My little League! How are you, you darling imps?” At once, she dropped to a crouch and gathered the little folk up in her hands. Standing once more, she brought the teeming handful to her lips and kissed their tiny heads repeatedly. As she pulled away, she found Issun-boshi stuck to her upper lip and peeled him off with a joyous laugh.
“My goodness,” the queen said. “You all smell of hollandaise sauce. What have you been up to?”
“You seem in good spirits, your majesty,” Thumbelina said, quickly changing the subject. “Considering all that transpires in the hall.”
Guiltily, Guinevere glanced at the main hall where the knights were still fighting. “At it again, are they? Lance, please put a stop to it.”
Lancelot turned towards the hall dutifully, but his eyes were still on the lovely queen. “At once, my lady,” he told her, smooth as silk. She smiled and blushed demurely.
Tom watched them both, a frown crossing his tiny face. He could well guess what they had been doing moments before in the other room, and suspicion of such was what the knights were likely fighting about. “Sir Lancelot, a word please?”
The warrior leaned down towards the queen’s hand and regarded the tiny man. Tom stepped carefully onto Guinevere’s fingers where they curved upward away from her palm. Balancing against her fingertips, he leaned out to speak in confidence with the knight. “Have a care, Lance. This is a dangerous game you and the queen are playing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir Tom,” Lancelot insisted. “But I don’t think I like what you’re inferring.” He feigned anger but a look of guilt was clear in his eyes.
“Have it your way,” the little man answered. “We haven’t time to discuss it at any rate. We seek Merlin or the Lady Nimue. Have they passed this way?”
“They have not,” Lancelot replied coldly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must prevent my sword-brothers from killing each other. Good day to you.” He turned abruptly and departed for the great hall.
“You must excuse him,” the queen said to the tiny folk in her hand. “Lance has been a bit out of sorts since the death of his foster-mother, Lady Viviane. He has been grieving and much in need of…comfort.” She glanced back at the room they had just left and her lips curved once more into a smile.
“Oh, my wee ones, it is such a lovely day!” Guinevere exclaimed, suddenly clutching the League against her chest. The action was the nearest thing to a hug between such disparately sized participants. But in truth, the lady had not considered the low cut of her gown and the Leaguers had been half-thrust into the queen’s generous cleavage as a result. Guinevere withdrew her hands and found that the tiny folk remained trapped upon her bosom, some face-first in her décolletage, others dangling from an arm or leg caught in the gap. She laughed at this mishap, bouncing them with each girlish giggle.
“As always, you are close to my heart,” she joked but she did not immediately retrieve them. She walked briskly to a nearby window, leaving them to cling desperately to her chest. “Arthur is away fighting Saxons or searching for the Grail or some tedious thing. I have been so lonely. Will you stay and watch the sunset with me, my little champions?”
“Er, no thank you, your majesty,” Tom said, extricating himself from those sizeable breasts. He balanced atop her chest and searched about for Issun, who had vanished entirely. “We are seeking Merlin and Nimue. It is really quite urgent.”
“Nimue,” the queen repeated. “I regret turning over command of your team to the priestess. I have missed your antics at the royal banquets and tournaments.” She placed a hand over Thumbling, pushing him deeper into her bosom with a grin.
“We shall remedy that as soon as possible, my lady,” Tom said hastily. “But right now we really must find Merlin. Could you take us to his tower? The stairs are difficult to navigate at our size.”
“You won’t find him there,” a voice called out nearby. Merlin’s owl, Archimedes, swooped out of a tree and landed on the windowsill before the queen.
“The talking owl!” Guinevere squealed, delighted. She reached out and ruffled the feathers on his head. “Tell us a story or a riddle, wise one!”
“Unhand me, woman!” Archimedes said, pulling away. “Er, I mean, your grace. I must speak with your toy soldiers.”
“Oh, very well,” the queen answered, lifting the League members one by one from her chest and setting them upon the sill. She counted them silently. “Am I missing someone?”
“Issun-boshi is still, um…close to your heart, your majesty,” Thumbelina told her. “Very close, I believe.”
The queen gasped and slipped two fingers into her cleavage. She pulled the inch-high samurai out into the light and set him with the others. “Zounds, your lady wife would be most displeased with me, Issun. Our little secret?”
The League turned to Archimedes curiously. Though much smaller than the queen, of course, the bird still towered above them by several inches. Huge round eyes scrutinized the League disdainfully and the little folk shifted nervously at the sight of the animal’s sharp talons and beak.
“Archimedes, where is your master?” Tom asked.
“He’s not my master anymore,” the educated owl replied. “If ever he truly was. He let me loose from the cage and told me he couldn’t look after me any longer. I can only assume that means the day has finally come.”
“What day?” Thumbling inquired.
“The end of his life,” said Archimedes sadly. “Merlin spoke of it often. He’s gone to meet Nimue one last time, as he always knew he must.”
“Meet her where?” said Tom in a panic.
“The forest. Hooo, it’s bad business, no doubt about it. I tried to talk him out of it. But Merlin’s such a stubborn old goat.”
“The forest?!” Thumbelina cried. “We’ve just come from there!”
Tom immediately searched for a solution. “Hop, can you—”
“We could do a sweep of ze area with ze boots, Monsieur Tom,” Hop answered. “But I would not know where to look.”
“I would,” Archimedes told them. “Merlin described the spot from his visions. Jump on my back. If you think there’s a chance to stop this, I’m for it!”
The League looked at each other hesitantly. Archimedes had never approved of them and, in fact, had often eyed them as he would a potential snack. But with few other options, they prepared to climb up onto the owl’s back. It was then that they noticed the glass beaker he clutched in one talon. Trapped within it was a tiny, inch-tall young man.
“Cecino?” Thumbelina said, recognizing one of the potential recruits from several days earlier.
“She used me!” Cecino babbled in Latin. “I was but a toy to that damnable sorceress! I’ve been to places I didn’t know women had places! And now this bird means to eat me, I’m sure of it! Saints and martyrs preserve me!”
“What’s that, lad?” said Tom. “My Latin’s a bit rusty. Do you speak the British tongue?”
“Good God, Nimue must have held him captive after the tryouts!” ‘Lina realized.
“Captive sex-toy to a beautiful priestess?” Thumbling mused, letting the image set in. “There are worse fates.”
“And just what were you doing with him, Archimedes?” Tom said, pointing an accusing finger at the owl.
“Whoooo, me? Erm…saving him, of course! I couldn’t leave him to that witch’s tender mercies, could I?”
Hop looked up at the darkening sky and frowned. “Messieurs et madame, we must to ze Merlin.”
“We’ll sort this out later,” Tom decided, pulling the beaker from Archimedes’ grasp. He rolled it across the windowsill towards Guinevere. “Your majesty, would you look after him until we return?”
“Of course, Sir Tom,” she said, picking up the beaker and holding it up to her eye. The distorted shape of a huge blue iris filled Cecino’s vision and he cowered at the bottom of the beaker. “Oh, how adorable he is! Would you like to keep me company, tiny one?”
“Oh, no!” Cecino muttered. “Not again!”
The League clambered up onto Archimedes’ back and held tightly to his feathers. “Have fun on your adventure, little ones,” Guinevere told them, uncorking the beaker and letting Cecino tumble into her hand. “You too, Archimedes.”
“Simpering twit,” Archimedes grumbled under his breath. A moment later, they were airborne.
The old brown owl soared out over the fields and into the forest. The League could only cling to him for dear life as the world raced past, trees and branches rushing by them at alarming speed. They passed the druid standing stones and swooped away to the south, finally approaching a clearing where the lone figure of Nimue stood patiently waiting.
The Lady of the Lake saw the owl at once and eyed him curiously. “That’s far enough,” she said with a gesture and let loose a spell in the Old Brythonic tongue. Archimedes screeched as if he’d been struck by something and plummeted from the air like a stone.
The owl crashed to earth, sending the League members flying from his back and into the underbrush. The bushes thankfully broke their fall but all of them were quite shaken and bruised. Nearby, Archimedes lay unconscious, his wing bent and broken.
The League stumbled out of the bushes just as a shadow darkened the world. Nimue was already upon them. She placed a huge, bare foot upon Thumbling, not with enough pressure to crush him but more than enough force to pin him to the spot. His head and upper body protruded from under her toes and the little tailor squirmed desperately to pull himself free. The others froze, fearing for their comrade’s safety.
“So, you did survive,” the High Priestess remarked. “When you disappeared into the mists, I feared you lost. I suppose you’re here to stop me.”
“You guess correctly, madam,” Tom called up to her, straining his neck to stare up the towering length of her body. Shapely legs extended up like castle turrets to her short green gown. High above, her face was slightly obscured by the jutting cliff of her chest.
“You know you’ve no hope,” Nimue said. “You are helpless against me, little ones. I have but to shift my weight, even slightly, and Thumbling will be but a red smear on the forest floor.”
“Never mind me, fellas!” Thumbling cried. “Stick to the mission!”
Nimue curled her toes, digging the nails into the little man’s back. Thumbling winced in pain. “On second thought,” he said, “mind me, mind me! Sweet Jesu, I don’t want to die!”
As the homunculi readied their attack, Nimue spoke another incantation. Instantly, the League members began to levitate into the air. The priestess gathered them one by one in her hands, like a child catching fireflies.
“Alas, champions,” she said. “I was ready for you this time.” She took a small leather pouch from her belt and slipped each of the little folk inside it. Nimue lifted her foot and retrieved Thumbling, dropping him into the pouch as well. Pulling the drawstrings of the pouch closed, she trapped the League within it and held the quivering bag before her face. Inside, the Leaguers struggled and kicked but to no avail.
“I’m not a bad person, my little friends,” Nimue declared. “What I do, I do for Avalon and the sake of Britain itself. In time, you will understand that. Now, stay silent until this unpleasant business is completed.” The priestess gave the bag an underhand toss into the bushes.
Moments later, Merlin entered the clearing. His face was impassive and if he knew what awaited him, the old bearded wizard showed no sign.
“You wished to see me, nymph?” he asked Nimue.
In answer, the priestess merely extended both hands toward him and recited a Brythonic spell. Thorny vines sprang up from the earth and wrapped themselves around Merlin’s arms and legs, holding him fast to the spot.
“So...” he said, still showing no emotion. “The day has come at last.”
“You knew this would happen?” Nimue said, puzzled. “Then why did you—”
“Why did I love you?” the enchanter finished. “There have been several women in my life, Nimue, but never did I think to find love in my twilight years. If it is to be the end of me, it was worth the price. You were worth the price.”
Nimue paused, clearly touched. For a moment, she hesitated. “Oh, Merlin. I—No. I am duty bound to carry out Avalon’s will.”
“Very well then,” the wizard agreed. “Let us get on with it.”
Nimue stepped forward, back straight and head held high and proud. She tried to show no emotion as she recited the words she had long practiced. “Myrddin Emrys, called the Merlin or the Hawk of Britain, you are hereby charged with the manipulation and potential destruction of the court of Camelot.”
“Destruction?” the old magician repeated. At last, his passive expression changed. “I MADE this kingdom! I, Myrddin, advisor to kings! Right hand of Vortigern, Aurelius, Uther, and Arthur!” His face flushed with anger but Merlin stopped and tried to compose himself. “But very well. Let me hear the charges.”
“Avalon’s seers have foreseen the Day of Destiny, the downfall of Arthur Pendragon,” Nimue said. “And they have seen the chain of events that will lead to it. Fact one: The coming of Sir Lancelot du Lac, whom you urged Arthur to summon. Even now, his affair with the queen creates unrest among the knights and leads this land to war.”
“Aye, that it does,” Merlin answered. “But think of all the good Lance has done, the inspiration he has been to other knights and future generations. Think of his son, noble Galahad, who will achieve the Holy Grail. Are these not worth the cost? Besides, as I recall, it was your mentor Viviane who fostered Lancelot as her own.”
Nimue considered this but continued her recitation. “Fact two: The incestuous union of Arthur and his half-sister Morgause. Their bastard child, Sir Mordred, is at the heart of this coming war. You foresaw this and could have prevented it, Merlin.”
“Yes, I stood by idle,” Merlin stated. “Mordred has yet a part to play in this drama that no one could have guessed. No one, save me. His battle with Arthur will heal the old enmity of the king and Morgan le Fay. In my visions, it is she who takes Arthur to be healed on the holy isle when Mordred deals him a mortal blow. Do you not want your fallen sister to return to Avalon?”
Nimue paused again. The seers had not told her of this, if indeed they knew.
“Fact three,” she proceeded nonetheless. “Allowing Arthur to embrace the Christ-god, thus turning the people away from the Mother Goddess and the Children of Dôn. Pagans and Christians struggle against each other even now and fracture this kingdom further.”
“And now we come to the heart of it,” Merlin chuckled bitterly. “Viviane may be dead but her influence is still strong upon you. The world is changing, Nimue. More and more men turn to the carpenter god. But what Viviane and the Avalon sisterhood failed to see is that this is but another path to truth. A man may devote himself to the Christus while another follows the Children of Dôn. In other lands, there are other gods and other prophets and the divine manifests as it will. In each, there is truth and men must follow whom they choose.”
“Would it shock you to know that I have paid homage to the Christus myself?” Merlin asked.
“Blasphemy!” Nimue cried out.
“Oh, not to him exclusively,” the wizard explained. “I still keep the Goddess in my heart. The divine is too great to be limited to one face alone, no matter what the narrow-minded priests claim.”
“You do not deny the charges,” Nimue said, tears forming in her eyes. “You have set this kingdom on a path to ruin and betrayed the people of Avalon! I love thee, Myrddin, and would not see your light go out. But I must do as the Goddess commands.”
“The Goddess?” Merlin asked. “Or the elder priestesses who are put out that they didn’t get your job?”
“Enough, Emrys!” the High Priestess of Avalon declared. “Judgment has been passed!”
As she gestured, the vines extended, wrapping themselves over more of Merlin’s body. Tighter and tighter they embraced him, squeezing about him like the fingers of a great fist. As Nimue chanted, the vines and brambles began to fuse together, forming an enormous tree with Merlin at its center. The wizard’s face was calm, almost serene, as the trunk of the tree closed over him, leaving only his head visible.
“Farewell, sweet Nimue,” he said simply. “Mourn me not. All has happened as it must.” The two halves of the tree fused together, covering his face, and leaves and flowers sprouted from the bark. Merlin was gone.
The Lady of the Lake stood before the tree and placed a hand upon it gently. “Sleep now, my love,” she said quietly. “Dream of me, Myrddin Emrys.”
At this, she sank to her knees. “It is done, Viviane,” she screamed at the heavens. “I have done my duty.” Nimue knelt before the tree, weeping softly.
A few minutes later, a young man entered the clearing clad in shimmering armor. He was fair of face and had short, dark hair, but his features were sad and distant. Nimue looked up and recognized him.
“Sir Pelleas,” she said, remembering him from her escort to Glastonbury. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to look presentable.
“Lady Nimue,” he replied with a bow. “Ae me. Forgive my doleful countenance.”
“What troubles you?”
“I have lost the woman I love,” Pelleas answered. “The Lady Ettarde will have nothing to do with me. Her eyes are only for Gawain. I thought a walk in the fresh air might lift my spirits but alas, it has not.”
“I…I too have lost someone I love,” said Nimue. “If you’d like, I could enchant this Ettarde with a spell to make her pine for you. She would pine until the end of the world but receive only your scorn.” Nimue blanched at the bitterness of her own words. She could hardly believe what she was saying.
“Nay, my lady,” Pelleas said. “I would not wish such a fate on anyone. But perhaps…if you too have known lost love, we might walk together in these fine woods. Perhaps it would ease our sorrow.” He extended a hand to the priestess. After a moment’s hesitation, Nimue took it and rose to her feet.
“Yes,” she said, still brushing away tears. “I think I would like that.”
As they walked from the clearing, Nimue looked over her shoulder at where the League’s bag had fallen. Whispering ancient words, she gestured with her hand and the drawstrings of the bag undid themselves.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. Moments later, she and Sir Pelleas disappeared into the forest.
The League scrambled from the pouch in a daze. Seeing the tree, they rushed to it with alarm.
“Merlin! Merlin, no!” Tom shouted. “We heard everything! Oh, Merlin, what has she done to you?”
She has done what she was fated to do, an echoing voice answered him.
The League looked about in confusion. “Lord Merlin,” Issun-boshi said. “You still live?”
I do, samurai. After a fashion, the voice explained. Nimue’s bidding of sleep was no mere turn of phrase. She could not bring herself to kill me so instead, I lie dreaming within this tree. It is the voice of my mind that you hear now.
“Then there is hope!” cried Tom. “Tell us, Merlin, how can we break the spell?!”
You cannot, Tom, Merlin said. This is powerful magic. I taught it to her myself. But worry not about me. Return now to Camelot and resume your duties, my League.
“Resume our duties?!” Thumbelina shouted. “How can we do that with you stuck in this great bloody tree?! Damn it, man, we've been to the isle of Avalon and the Otherworld itself trying to prevent this! We can't just give up!”
This is how my story ends, Princess. I have known this since I first set eyes on Nimue. Time is a river, inexorably following its course. That is what Nimue and Viviane and the people of Avalon could not understand. I knew full well what would result from my actions, but I knew I must play my part, for good or for ill. This is the gift and curse of foresight: To know the future but be powerless to change it.
“Then you knew all the bad stuff that’d happen?” said Thumbling. “But did it all anyway?”
Yes.
“Forgive me for saying, boss, but that’s pretty loony.”
Merlin’s psychic voice gave a chuckle. Ha! Perhaps it is. But despite the struggle that builds even now, I knew what the end result of my work would be—a legend that will live for all time.
“Cold comfort,” Tom muttered.
“Lady Nimue will pay dearly for this,” Issun said, reaching for his katana.
Do not judge Nimue too harshly, my friends. She had her role to play as well and she acted as her heart guided her. Now, go. With me gone, Camelot will need magic folk like you more than ever. It will be a rough road ahead.
“We won’t give up on you, Merlin,” Thumbelina said.
“Never,” said Thumbling.
“Mais oui,” echoed Hop. “We shall live in hope.”
But the voice of Merlin had faded. With heavy hearts, the League said their farewells to their mentor. They gathered Archimedes from the bushes and attempted to set his broken wing with a makeshift sling formed from strips of their clothing. Bearing the wounded owl on their backs, they turned towards the road to the castle.
Tom Thumb lingered for a moment with a hand upon the trunk of the tree, saying goodbye to his true father and creator. Bowing his head, he turned and followed the others. Their leader was gone but the League’s work was not yet done.
The End
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
Here's the conclusion of the League's second story. Again, thanks to everyone who read this. As I said before, it's more of a straight-up fantasy story than a fetish one but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.