The Calling

When Francis awoke the next morning, the bed he lay in was empty apart from his sweaty body and the stained sheets from the oil and the passion of the previous night. He struggled to sit and gazed through blurred vision around the room. There was no sign of his female company from the previous night and nothing remained apart from muscle tension in the top of his thighs and the stained bedding which revealed their shame. He stood from the bed naked, allowing the blankets to collapse on the floor around his feet. Slowly and tenderly, Francis stalked into the bathroom where he stared at his reflection for a moment and allowed himself a wry smile at his prowess, looking at his naked body in the surface of the glass. The figure in the mirror copied his every movement as Francis placed his hands on his hips and examined his body carefully. He couldn’t shake the effects of the night and the effect that Gwen had on him and he smiled as he reached for the shower controls. The steam from the jet of water flushed the confined space and hot water connected with the cool air of the bathroom and condensation fogged over the reflective glass. Francis stepped into the cubicle and closed his eyes as the water cascaded down his body, flowing and cleansing every part of his physique. His hands rubbed at his body, smearing soap over his chest, arms and legs before a layer of thick foam covered his groin and trickled down his legs into the swirl of water escaping down the gaping plug hole. He smiled as he thought of Gwen and the night before, visions flashed in his head of her naked body and as he remembered the positions of their passion he could feel himself becoming aroused under the combination of thought, water and his own activities. He rubbed his groin as the foam lathered further under the flurry of pressure from his working hand, while he steadied himself against the wall with his free hand. The water from the shower head intensified and poured over his head as he stood with his eyes closed, remembering and rubbing faster and faster until...

“Come to me...” the voice, no not the voice...a different one. The shock of the voice forced him to stop his ‘washing’ and he staggered back against the wall of the cubicle, opening his eyes expecting to see the naked form of the woman before him. His naked buttocks pressed against the cold glass of the cubicle as he scanned the steam filled space searching for the source of the voice. “Come to me”, laughter filled the bathroom and through the steam, Francis could see the regal form of an older woman. The woman from the train. She was standing in the bathroom dressed in full clothing, one hand pressed down against the sink, the other raised in front of her as she examined her fingernails. “Oh...don’t stop on my account” she laughed as she eyes the naked Francis, “I understand...a man has needs” she stepped forward toward the shower and leant forward “so does a woman” she teased, then abruptly turned away and returned to the sink where she spoke into the mirror. “I ache...” she said staring at her reflection, her hand drifting between her legs. She stood and closed her eyes as her hand rubbed herself between her groin then slowly snaked its way along her stomach and over her chest plate, where her fingers followed the contours of her golden armour. “But the difference is I ache for something more than that of the flesh” she turned to look directly at Francis, “Excalibur...” she whispered. Francis reached for the towel hanging close to the open cubicle and pulled it over his body, which forced a feign smile to cross her lips. “Oh, come now...don’t be shy” she teased as he pulled the towel around his waist, “it isn’t something I haven’t seen before” she laughed and approached Francis standing close so he could feel her hot breath against his face. Her hand reached beneath his towel and he could feel her fingers wrap slowly around his shaft. “Where is Excalibur” she whispered. Francis stood dumbstruck at the sight of this woman standing in the bathroom, with her hand gripped firmly on him. “Tell me and I can take you to places where you have never been before” she whispered as her hand slowly moved beneath the towel, stroking his growing bulge. Morgan smiled, “This I can promise...”

Despite himself Francis closed his eyes as he could feel the sensation of her touch, “I...I... don’t know” he stammered through his pleasure. Her grip became weak and Francis opened his eyes and stared at his own reflection in the mirror. The towel he wore, hung limply around his waist and the bulge beneath rose to attention, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. He shook his head free of the vision and gazed around the small room whilst he rubbed the towel over his body. He felt dirty from this encounter and rubbed harder with the towel, attempting to remove any evidence of the presence of the woman. He peered out of the bathroom and into the room, and satisfied that there was no-one in the room he moved and sat on the bed and buried his head deep in his hands.

“The forces of Morgan will be moving” stated Merlin as he stood before the stone chalice. He cast his gaze around the seven figure standing around the alter. One of the Knights ran his armoured hand across the roughly strewn rock.

“Why, Merlin. I do not understand” he stated simply.

“Nor do I Lord Kay” admitted Merlin, “all I do know is we must do what we must to protect the King”

“The King is dead!” snapped Galahad from the edge of the cavern. He stood with part of his armour cast on the floor while Tristan stabbed at his wounds with a small damp cloth.

“Why do you insist on this course?”

“We all saw Merlin” insisted Galahad, “he fell at Camlaan. I remember lifting the lifeless body of the King and carrying him over the moorlands to this place”. There was a murmur of agreement from his fellow Knights as Galahad continued, “now you ask us to follow blindly this...this boy!”

“He is hardly a boy my Lord, he is the direct descendent of the King”

“Your words mean nothing to me!” roared Galahad as he stood, pushing away the concerns of Tristan, “you play in lies Merlin. You are a master of false glib” he stood before the old man and stared down at the frail old body of the magician. “You play your own games, for your own position” he accused, “I do not trust thee My Lord Merlin, I stand for the King, whom do thee stand for?”

“I stand for God” said Merlin simply, “I stand for the crown of England, and I stand for right. Are these enough?” he stood for a moment meeting the accusation of Galahad matching his glare.

“How do we know this is the true descendant?” a new voice pitched through the darkness. A Knight pulled himself away from the wall, his golden armour shining off the dim light of the flaming torches hanging from the cavern walls. He removed his tall thin helmet and shook his long golden free from its confinement and stepped between the two men. He stood for a moment, his golden armoured gauntlets pressed against the bodies of the two men. The cavern was filled with tension and mistrust as the accusations thrown by Galahad had drawn serious doubts over the plausibility of the bloodline of the King.

“Bedivere...?” queried Merlin.

The Knight stood glancing between the two men, his arms outstretched holding each in check from their words. His armour shone through the cavern like a beacon and revealed a thin grey mesh covering a red and yellow fabric tunic beneath the large chest plate. “This boy...” Bedivere indicated toward the water filled chalice, “how do we know he is the one?”

“We don’t” replied Merlin simply. Galahad snorted his derision and stalked away to the back of the cavern, where Tristan eased him back into a sitting position and replaced the cloth to the cut on his shoulder. “If we are awake, then Excalibur has made the calling” he continued looking at the Knights in turn until he view rested on Galahad. “We must have trust, otherwise are we not lost? Have we not hope? We would be no better than those we are inclined to protect against” He waved away Bedivere and returned to the chalice and gazed into the water and spoke into the shimmering pool as he watched Francis dress, “it is not our place to judge my Lords...he is coming. He will decide”

Galahad rose from his position and thrust forward, “You can’t mean...”

Merlin nodded sagely, “he was charged with its protection”

“Merlin...”

“It is too late my Lord Galahad, if we are here then the calling would have awoken him”

“May God have mercy on us all” whispered Galahad as he stared into the depths of the tunnel. He frowned through the darkness, expecting the shapes to move and contort under his scrutiny. He closed his eyes and as his hand wandered to the cross around his neck he whispered quietly to himself, “Fisher King...”