I smile back as if to accept the unspoken apology when Morgana sits beside me with a plate of cookies and mug of milk. She sets them down in front of me. "The Princess and I have some wine and cheese, but I think this is more appropriate for you, my adorable young visitor."
I flush slightly, for she is treating me as if I were a child in front of the Princess who I came to save. However, it is dangerous enough just being here - i do not need to antagonize her by refusing whatever hospitality she shows me. "Thank you, Sorceress. You are most kind." I take a cookie and nibble it. Shortbread, very crisp and sweet. "These are excellent!"
Morgana smiles and nods her head. "Well mannered, as well as cute. I believe there is hope for this one. Do you not agree, Princess?"
The Princess smiles at me as well, and I feel my pulse quicken. "Yes, Morgana. He has a kind heart and an honest soul. You can see it in his eyes."
I flush a bit deeper and focus on the cookies and milk, which really are good. Somehow, cute, well-mannered, and kind-hearted are not terms I had hoped to hear from either of them. Then I stiffen as Morgana reaches out and tousles my hair. Do I look that young to her? Granted, I have not a full growth of beard, but I have seen twenty summers. I am not some stripling boy.
The Princess giggles as she sips wine from her crystal goblet. "Freckles! That is so precious!"
I am surprised the faint spots can still be seen - my freckles faded almost completely as I became a man. Morgana slides a finger down my forehead and nose, grinning as if the Princess just made a joke. My cheeks burn now, the heat of my emberrasment seeming to flow through my whole body. I can understand Morgana making fun of me, but why would the Princess join in the ridicule of someone who came to save her?
"I beleive I will find a place for you here." Morgana's hand cups my chin. "There is much I can teach you when you are ready, should you still desire to follow the path of magic. However, that time is some years off. Until then, I think you will make a fine stable boy."
A stable boy? That is too much of an insult to take! I stand up, the flush of emberassment turning to the heat of anger. "Sorceress! I am a Wizard of..." What is wrong with my voice? I clear my throat and start again. "I am a trained Wiz.."
Morgana stands, and I step back in shock. She towers over me by at least a head. Both she and the Princess are smirking. The Sorceress gestures towards polished silver mirror hanging on the wall behind me. "Look before you speak again, my young friend."
It is only then that I realize that the warmth coursing through my body is not shame or anger - it is some sort of enchantment at work! I turn to look at my reflection and see what I should have known - she has stripped me of at least a half-dozen years!
Morgana moves behind me and pulls me into a gentle embrace. "Tell me again what you are"
I frown, unwilling to admit defeat. "Whatever magic you have wrought, I am no stable boy!"
"Ah, perhaps you do not see yourself clearly?"
The heat becomes more intense, and I slip down inside Morgana's embrace as the face in the mirror becomes even younger, and... different. My features get coarser, teeth bigger and slightly crooked, making me the very image of a typical peasant stable hand.
"Your eyes are still bright, as is your mind." Morgana kneels behind me, still embracing the homely ten year-old I have become. "Do I need to convince you further? Or do you accept my offer of employment as you are?"
I swallow hard, not wishing to admit defeat, but knowing that she can snuff out the intelligence that still burns in my mind as I might a candle. "I... I would be honored to serve you, Sorceress. As a stable boy."
The heat fades away almost instantly and the Sorceres rises. "Most excellent. It is late, boy. Go to the stable and sleep. You will begin work with the rising sun."
Trembling in fear, I bow to both her and the Princess and then make my way outside. What can I do? A glance down shows me that Morgana transformed my clothing with my body, for I now wear only a worn, stained tunic. Proper attire for a ten year-old peasant boy.