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Author's Chapter Notes:
The new recruit has been chosen. Thanks to everyone reading this. Like a lot of my stuff, I know this reads more like fantasy fiction than fetish but that's what appeals to me as a writer. I hope you enjoy it.

Part 2

Poor, hapless Cecino, the inch-high League hopeful from Italia, had spent several tense minutes trapped between Nimue’s pretty toes. The priestess had quite forgotten him, failing to notice his continued presence on her foot after her playful games with the little men. He was given a rather harrowing ride as she descended the stairwell in Merlin’s tower, her steps rising and falling with terrible swiftness, the impact of each footfall rattling his very bones. Each of the lady’s toes was larger than Cecino’s whole body and the tiny lad was completely overpowered by them, squirming impotently in their grasp.

He finally got a reprieve from the hellish ride when Nimue reached the main hall of the castle and hurried to Merlin’s side. The magician brightened when he saw her and swept her into an embrace, delivering a passionate kiss to the young woman. Though this took place high above Cecino’s line of sight, he felt its effects at once when Nimue unconsciously curled her toes in arousal. The massive digits squeezed tightly around the tiny man, robbing him of breath and nearly crushing the life out of him. He was only saved when several other little folk – Hasan, Three-Inch, and Digit – scurried up from behind and began an assault upon the sorceress’ ankles.

“Here now, what’s all this?” Nimue said, pulling away from Merlin for the moment. She peered down at the mouse, the imp, and the little dark-skinned warrior trying to get her attention.

“The try-outs are over, little ones. There’s no need to—Oh!” At last, she spotted Cecino and lifted her foot gingerly to pluck him from between her toes.

Cecino was hoisted high into the air by a pair of giant fingers, the wind rushing past his face and nearly denying him the much-needed breaths he gasped for. He finally came to rest before Nimue’s vast green eye, which was almost the length of his torso.

“You poor dear,” she cooed, inspecting the tiny frightened face and the flailing little limbs. “How long were you stuck down there?”

“Release me…I beg you!” Cecino called in the Latin tongue of Rome. A learned woman, Nimue knew Latin well but ignored the squeaking protests.

“Is this a new recruit, my peach?” Merlin inquired.

“I’ll leave that for the wee ones to decide,” the priestess replied. “He’s very cute though. Almost cute enough to eat.” As the minute figure struggled in her grip, powerless, she resisted an urge to pop him into her mouth like the little chick-peas he’d been named for.

“A darling little mite indeed,” she murmured. “Perhaps I’ll keep this one for myself…”

Slowly and seductively, Nimue lowered Cecino towards the top of her gown. She gave a gentle tug at the neckline and flashed a devilish smile at Merlin, knowing this was driving him wild. She released her grip on Cecino and let him plummet into the bodice of her dress, where he landed with a plop on her bosom. Merlin leaned closer and watched, enraptured, as the tiny peapod-sized man rolled down the smooth slope and was swallowed up into the depths of her cleavage. A moment later, there was no sign he’d been there at all. Nimue released her collar and adjusted her breasts with both hands, squeezing the minuscule prisoner between them.

“A veritable temptress you are,” Merlin told her, breathlessly. Nimue smiled again and led him away by the hand. There were numerous small folk to transport home before she and the wizard could have some…private time. Perhaps she’d even let her tiny new pet join in the festivities.

* * * *

After a spirited debate and a tally of votes, the League’s new member was decided—Hop o’ My Thumb, the rakish little rogue from Gaul. This left Thumbelina ill at ease, for she remained disdainful of his cocky swagger and womanizing ways. But even she could not deny the advantages of the seven-league boots. The other thumblings’ information was retained on file and the idea of calling them in as reserve members in a time of crisis was discussed. The League’s next mission, however, was one that would require stealth, not strength in numbers, as it turned out.

The following day, a messenger arrived at Camelot, a young druid initiate in a hood and dark blue robes. He announced that Lady Nimue was temporarily recalled to Avalon to attend to business there. The League overheard this from their seat of honor at the Round Table, beside Queen Guinevere’s plate, and began to discuss the matter amongst them.

“This is our best chance to learn her real motives,” Tom whispered. “Among her own people, she would speak freely and abandon any charade she might be acting out here at court.”

“You’re suggesting we sneak into Avalon?” Thumbelina asked, wide-eyed.

“Hey, why not?” chuckled Thumbling. “We’ve infiltrated some tough spots before. It goes with the spy game.”

“I do not know zis ‘Avalon’ of which you speak, messieurs et madame,” Hop said, after listening to the discussion. “But I’m certain I could transport us there as easy as un, deux, trois!”

“Avalon is not like heading down the street to the apothecary, Hop!” Thumbelina said. “We’re talking about a mystical island paradise here. No one knows where it is. They say it’s not even fully of this world! If Nimue wasn’t from there herself, I’d think it only a legend. Tom, how do you propose we—”

“Don’t worry, ‘Lina,” said Tom. “I have a few ideas…”

“Rarely a good sign, honorable Thomas,” Issun-boshi muttered, remembering the League’s last adventure. Tom’s “ideas” had nearly gotten Issun digested in the belly of Morgan le Fay herself. He was not certain he liked where this was going.

Where it was going turned out to be to Nimue’s chambers as a number of ladies-in-waiting attended to her and prepared her for the journey. Servant girls rushed to and fro about the room, readying the priestess’ riding gear, braiding her hair, and packing supplies. The League members scurried across the floor in fits and starts, dodging the servants’ footfalls with practiced ease. Their timing was precise, sometimes avoiding the descent of a girl’s massive sandal by mere seconds. By now, they were used to navigating among full-sized people and had used similar techniques to spy on King Arthur’s foes in their own castle keeps.

The little heroes remained unnoticed, hiding behind an ankle or under the folds of a dress when they feared the eyes above them might be watching. At last, they climbed up the leg of a chair near the center of the room, where the gown that had been laid out for Nimue rested.

Hop was already there waiting for them, having transported himself across the room in the blink of an eye.

“Really, mes amis, you must learn to make better use of my talents. I could have—”

“Shut up and stick to the plan,” Thumbelina hissed at him. Quietly, the tiny spies crawled into the deep pockets of the gown and waited.

Moments later, Nimue stepped forward, clad only in her silky shift (Thumbling had to be forcibly restrained from sneaking a glimpse). The servants lifted the gown from its perch, unknowingly tossing the little folk about with the sudden movement, and allowed Nimue to step into the dress. Instantly, she felt the curious weight in the pockets and reached a hand in to investigate.

The League had anticipated this. They had each carried several walnuts with them and were wielding these like shields to mask their presence. Nimue’s long delicate fingers and sharp nails grasped about, coming dangerously close to Hop, Issun, and ‘Lina, who laid flat in the bottom of one pocket. The giant fingers found only the upper layer of walnuts however and soon pulled a few of these out into the light.

“Walnuts?” Nimue mused. “A snack for the road. How thoughtful. Thank you, ladies.”

The ladies-in-waiting smiled and nodded. Each was eager to please the High Priestess and none of them wanted to admit that the walnuts had not been her idea.

In short order, Nimue was ready to bid adieu to the king and queen and had given a passionate goodbye kiss to Merlin.

“Dream of me, Myrddin Emrys,” she whispered in his ear. “I will return to you soon.”

“I shall count the minutes, nymph of the woods,” the wizard answered.

“I am sorry to lose you, Lady Nimue, even for a short time,” King Arthur admitted as he and Guinevere arrived to see her off. “I value your counsel. And I owe much to the sisters of your holy order.” Unconsciously, he touched the hilt of Excalibur, a gift from Nimue’s predecessor.

Though Arthur offered her a chariot to bear her south to the Summer Country, Nimue preferred to ride a single horse. She had a rapport with animals and a love of riding alone through the open countryside. Nonetheless, the king sent a retinue of knights as her escort. The loss of Lady Viviane had made him wary and he wanted to ensure the safety of his new advisor.

The journey was not a pleasant one for the League. They spent several hours cooped up in the stuffy confines of the pockets, pressed tightly against the enchantress’ thighs through the fabric of the dress. The gallop of the horse bounced them here and there in the pile of walnuts until they were nearly sick.

“This is intolerable!” Hop lamented, as a jolt of the horse sent him slamming against Nimue’s hip. “I am not accustomed to traveling in this way!”

“Once we get a bead on Avalon’s location, then you can use your fancy magic shoes,” Thumbelina told him crossly. “Until then, you ride with the rest of us.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Hop said, beaming.

“Oh my Lord.” ‘Lina put a hand to her temple, exasperated. “I knew we should have recruited the quiet Russian fella…”

At last, they arrived in the Summer Country and approached the small town of Glastonbury. The sky was gray and overcast and a light rain fell upon the travelers. Mist obscured their surroundings and set an eerie mood as soon as the troop entered the town. The monks of the local abbey welcomed Arthur’s knights with gusto, though they eyed the sorceress accompanying them with suspicion.

“You’re certain you will be all right from here, my lady?” asked one of the knights, Sir Pelleas, as he helped to stable Nimue’s horse.

“Of course,” she said simply. “I am nearly home.”

As Pelleas left the stable to rejoin his comrades-in-arms, a monk stepped towards him with curiosity. “I wonder greatly that good Christian knights should be sent to escort a heathen witch such as her,” the holy man murmured to him. “Surely the king has not turned away from the light in these dark times?”

“Pagan she may be,” Pelleas replied, “but the Lady Nimue is a good woman and one of King Arthur’s most trusted advisors. You would do well to watch your tongue, brother.”

“I meant no offense, Sir Knight,” the monk added quickly and hurried back up the road. From the shadows of the stable, Nimue smiled.

When the knights and all curious onlookers had departed, Nimue approached the shore of the lake that lay near the center of Glastonbury. Far across the misty waters, she saw the high, rounded hill known as the Tor and at its peak, a structure called St. Michael’s Tower. But this was not her destination. She walked to the water’s edge and began to chant quietly in the ancient Brythonic tongue.

Still hidden in her pockets, the League wondered at this. Truth be told, none of them knew where Avalon was or how Nimue planned to get there. Had they known the answer, they would not believe it.

In moments, a long, wooden barge sailed slowly out of the mists. No one was at its helm and it seemed as if the priestess has summoned it through sheer force of will. Nimue stepped gracefully into the barge and muttered another chant. The boat resumed its motion and sailed gently across the lake. As it did so, the mists over the surface of the water began to deepen until visibility was all but eliminated. The barge sailed on, bearing its passenger into the fog.

“Where are we going?” Thumbling whispered to Tom, as they both peered over the edge of Nimue’s pocket. “That island over there? Is that Avalon?”

“It can’t be,” Tom whispered back. “I saw a Christian tower on that hill. Avalon’s a pagan holy site.”

“Bloody hell, it’s thick as pea soup out here!” Thumbling said, staring blindly into the mist. “Can’t see a blessed thing. Maybe there’s another island further out or something.”

Eventually, the mists cleared enough for the tiny heroes to watch the barge make landfall on the shore. Several young women clad in long blue robes were waiting to greet their High Priestess as she exited the boat with regal bearing. The League ducked out of sight but stayed close to the tops of Nimue’s pockets, watching the scene with fascination. As the women led Nimue further onto the island, the little people felt their breath catch in their throats.

This was indeed the same island they had glimpsed from the shore, but it now seemed transformed. The dim, foggy weather of Glastonbury was gone and the sun shined brightly on an endless field of green. The Tor loomed majestically over the landscape, its peak topped not by the Christian tower but a ring of standing stones. Apple orchards lined the road, their output as full and ripe as the richest crop of summer. In the shadow of these trees sat stunningly beautiful women and handsome druids of noble bearing. Bards idly strummed their harps and poets composed ballads of long-dead heroes. All around, there was life and light and beauty.

The League stared in wonder at the people of the island--not just Britons, but red-haired Irish and Scotti, woad-painted Picts, and even the small, dark, aboriginal Hill Folk. Though their tribes were often at war in the outside world, here they stood united.

This was truly Avalon, but how? Was the gloomy isle they’d seen in the distance only an illusion? Or had they somehow passed into another realm entirely?

Thumbling considered these options and decided he didn’t care. What mattered quite emphatically to him though were the gorgeous young women gathered beside the road.

“Will you look at those beauties?” he whispered. “Virgin priestesses ripe for corruption, no doubt! Oh, mama!” Without care, he started to pull himself up out of the pocket.

“’Ling! What are doing?” Tom hissed. But he was too late to stop him from leaping over the side. Thumbling tumbled down Nimue’s hip and leg, riding the smooth fabric of her gown like a slide. He landed on the road with a skillful jump and quickly scurried out of the way of the procession leading the High Priestess.

“Where’s that idiot going?” Thumbelina muttered, as she and the others watched Thumbling dart across the road.

“Je ne sais pas,” said Hop. He soon spotted the maidens to which his teammate was making a beeline. Hop grinned. “I believe I shall go investigate this. Excusez-moi.” A moment later, he had vanished and was already beside Thumbling in the grass near a group of lovely young girls.

“Oh, for the love of—” ‘Lina swore as Hop vanished. “Does no one care that we’re on a mission?! A little professionalism would be nice, folks!”

As it turned out, the women were seers gathered around a small bowl of water that they intended to use as a scrying pool. Thumbling grinned towards Hop and indicated for him to watch closely. The little tailor lifted a large rock (barely a pebble by anyone else’s reckoning) and tossed it into the bushes. Surprised, the women turned towards the source of this sound. While they were distracted, Thumbling hoisted himself onto the edge of the bowl and jumped in.

Moments later, the women returned to the scrying bowl. “Can you see anything, Alcina?” one of them asked her sister priestess.

“I…yes, I can!” Alcina exclaimed, leaning close over the bowl. Curly brown hair hung like curtains on either side of it and her pretty nose was practically touching the surface of the water. Below the surface, Thumbling floated, holding his breath, and flailing his arms and legs about mysteriously.

“I can see someone! A man!” Alcina said with excitement. “O Great Goddess, I knew I had the Sight! He seems so real. It’s almost as if I could reach out and touch him…”

At this, Thumbling popped his head out of the water and kissed the tip of her nose. “You can do more than that, baby!”

Alvina let out a shriek and pulled away from the bowl. Similarly startled, the other young priestesses backed away or jumped in alarm. A moment later, Hop transported himself onto one of the women’s shoulders.

“Bonjour, mes belles,” he said with a little bow. Startled once more, soon all the priestesses were screaming and running for their lives from whatever spirits they had summoned with their scrying spell. In the commotion, the bowl was kicked by a woman’s shoe, sending it a fair distance away to spill its contents and passenger onto the grass. Hop lost his footing on the shoulder as his hostess made a sudden dash to escape. The little Gaulish hero tumbled down the front of her robe, slipping between an impressive pair of breasts before continuing his descent down her body. He plummeted past her wildly kicking legs and fell out the bottom of the robe, nearly being crushed underfoot as she ran from the glen.

Nearby, Thumbling coughed and sputtered and tried to pick himself back up from the puddle of water. “Worth it!” he declared.

“Truly,” said Hop, climbing back to his feet to dust himself off and rub his bruised limbs.

Meanwhile, Nimue had been ushered into a ceremonial hall that stood tall and proud among the humble cottages of the Avalon village. A row of nine elder priestesses greeted her.

“Nimue ferch Dyonas, Avalon welcomes you in the name of the Great Mother Dôn and Beli Mawr, Lord of the Sun.” The women made the holy sign of the sun and bowed to their leader.

“Such ceremony,” Nimue said, waving them off and taking the hand of the priestess who had spoken. She pulled her up out of the bow to stand as an equal. “Surely I have not been Lady of the Lake so long that you have forgotten our friendship, Glitonea. Were we not children together in the Hall of Maidens?”

“Of course, my lady,” Glitonea answered, still more formal and proper than Nimue would have liked.

“Now then,” Nimue proceeded. “Why have I been summoned?”

“The sisters wish to know your progress with the Merlin of Britain,” Glitonea stated. Below in Nimue’s pockets, Tom, ‘Lina, and Issun listened closely.

“I have the Merlin wrapped about my little finger,” said Nimue. “The old man adores me.”

“And has he shared his secrets with you?” Glitonea continued.

“All and sundry,” Nimue answered. “Magic and alchemy, wisdom and learning. His mind is an open book and he keeps nothing from me.”

“What of the Day of Destiny?” Glitonea asked. “Has he foreseen it, just as our seers have?”

Nimue was silent for a moment. “He has,” she said at last.

“And?” The women looked to her expectantly.

“And he will do nothing,” Nimue said sadly. “He knows the future and cares not. The Merlin has told me of his visions and it is clear that he will not lift a finger to avert the tragedy that is to come. In fact, he has engineered it himself. As ever, the wizard moves pawns where he will and manipulates men’s lives. Whatever happens will be on his head.”

The priestesses chattered among themselves in alarm, discussing this, until Glitonea lifted a hand to silence them.

“Then you know what must be done,” she said.

“I do,” Nimue agreed. A frown crossed her lovely face.

“You hesitate, my lady?”

“No, I…it’s just that I’ve grown somewhat fond of him,” Nimue said. “Though I know the truth now, he…he really does seem like such a sweet old man. But worry not, sisters. I am High Priestess of this isle and I know my duty. It will be done.”

In the darkness of the pockets, the League members looked at each other bewildered. What were these women getting at?

“The Brotherhood will not be pleased,” an older priestess stated.

“No, the druids will not approve,” Nimue agreed. “The Merlin was chief among them. But in time, they will see it is the gods’ will.”

Glitonea’s severe expression softened slightly and she looked to Nimue with empathy. “Would…would not this duty be more suitable for someone else, my lady? As High Priestess, your place is here. Surely one of your novice priestesses could act in your stead or—”

“No, Glitonea,” Nimue answered, resigned. “Only a power like the Merlin’s own can accomplish this. And I alone have learned those secrets. This is how it must be.”

“Then we are agreed,” Glitonea said. “For the sake of the future, Myrddin Emrys, Merlin of Britain…must die.”

The blood ran cold in the League’s veins.

To be continued...


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