Rating: PG

Pairing: still not telling...come on, it would spoil the surprise

Warnings: tight shoes! Poor Donny!

Disclaimer: you know, I never even thought to disclaim ownership of Camelot, King Arthur, etc. in the first issue. Are they in the public domain? Alas, I do not know! Either way, I didn't create that cool jazz, and again, don't own the Turtles.

Notes: this is very fun to write (alleviates the dark cloud hanging over me--it's like one of those Dollar Tree umbrellas!), and I'm glad so many people have enjoyed the opening "issue"! Thanks to the reviewers especially. You all rock my socks off. Sorry the second issue took so long...lately, I've been slow about my writing. Turtlish, even.

A Turtle in King Arthur's Court

by Becky Murakawa

Issue 2!

- or -

The Dragon Slayer

I was understandably reluctant to enter the city undisguised (and unprotected) as I was, without my katana and gear, but my apprehension quickly changed to wonder when I realized that the inhabitants of Camelot were, in fact, mutants. The shock left me reeling, and Donny picked up on this, though he mistook it for a small town boy's irrational fear of the Big City. Yeah, right.

"You've probably heard grotesque rumors of things that live within the city, in sculleries and outhouses--nasty places like that," Donny said sympathetically, before he caught himself and donned (ha!) his imperious act. "Do not fear, soon-to-be Squire Leonardo. Humans only exist in fairy tales."

"Eh," said I, staring warily at the diminutive mole-like...creatures...running in front of me, waving wooden swords. Children. But definitely not very cute children.

"It's highly improbable that, if they did exist, they would live in Camelot. It's protected by strong magic, and it makes more sense to live in the marshes, don't you think? Less chance of being sighted by normal people."

Needless to say, I was freaked out enough before we reached our destination. I have to admit, it was pretty cool, not getting screamed at simply for being (a charming shade of) green. But still, not an experience I'd like to repeat too often. Being ninja and all. Shadow warrior. Not good with crowds.

I'm a pretty avid reader, and many of my books on the Middle Ages have pictures in them, but I'd never seen a castle in my entire life. And this castle was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.

It is at the very center of Camelot--designed so that, in times of war, townspeople can retreat within the thick castle walls to safety. The walls are made of some clean, white stone, the origin of which I am unsure but which is probably super strong as well as fashionable and, being a product of an M&M and shrimp pizza induced dream, quite possibly capable of melting in your mouth but not in your hand. (I kid.) In any case, each stone is perfectly placed, and the overall construct is sturdy, a worthy fortress. Too bad Raphael gets to be Prince, the bastard.

It took Donatello and me some hours to actually make it that far into the city. By the time we got there, he was limping, having in my dream obviously not been in the habit of strenuous exercise.

"It's these shoes," he said, wincing as he pulled up his robes, revealing a pair of finely crafted boots. "My superiors ordered them a size too small."

"Why," I said rationally, "do you wear shoes at all? We're turtles, Donny."

He gave me a withering stare. "A great Magician without proper footwear? Surely you're joking, soon-to-be Squire."

"You caught me," I said, forcing a grin.

Donny barked a laugh, then quickly sobered up. "It isn't that funny, really."

I had to settle for rolling my eyes in reply, as by this time we had reached the inner city and were in close proximity to the castle, and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth with amazement. Donny had to pop my gaping mouth shut for me. "Happens to everyone, first time," he assured me.

It occurred to me that this was a very, very detailed dream.

Now, if you recall, I bent the truth a little getting my techno-turned-magic geek brother Donatello, who has no memory of our kinship, to take me to Camelot; I fed him a hastily rehashed version of a common 'medieval' plot device: my father Splinter, a poor nobleman, sent me to Camelot to train under a real knight and, if Donny ever asks for the reasoning behind my 'quest', essentially restore the family honor. You're probably rolling your eyes now in much the same way I was rolling my eyes at Donny's footwear dilemma. I don't blame you. It's a pretty flimsy story, but I wasn't trying for the Newberry, okay? Just a straight line to 'Prince' Raphael and, hopefully, a way out of this dream world. (Since I am currently drowning my sorrows in hot cider in a shady corner of a tavern, you can guess how well this plan worked out.)

I'm sorry. I know I'm jumping around. I'll try to keep it all nice and linear from this point on, okay?

Given the nature of Donatello's information concerning my purpose for being in Camelot, it was no surprise when he offered to direct me to the nearest training facility. I agreed, secretly resolving to infiltrate the royal court that night, come hell or high water...providing this dream lasted that long. I was still hanging on to the vague hope that the Real me might snap out of it any minute now.

We were on our way to above mentioned training facilities, when we ran into a large crowd of mutants, cheering on someone very small, very green, and very familiar. He was brandishing a clunky, Western-style sword and posing for his band of admirers, a huge grin splitting his happy face almost in two. I abandoned Donatello to push my way through the crowd, nodding my apologies to any mutants upon whose toes/claws/flippers I might have stepped. Having the experience with my first brother under my belt, I knew better than to rush up and embrace Michaelangelo, but it was very hard to resist.

He had by this time noticed me and, sheathing his sword (a little awkwardly--he'd never been adept with the katana; I suspected that this weapon was for show), sauntered up to me. The mutants on either side of me backed away respectfully.

"Ah, a fellow turtle!" he said warmly, slapping my shell. Hard. I was too happy at seeing him to get really angry, but I did grace him with a pretty nasty glare all the same. "Where're you from, stranger?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Well, wherever it is, I'm sure my reputation has receded me."

"Preceded," I corrected calmly.

"Right on. Probably, I saved your village slash township slash major port and or trading post from a fiery doom. Probably, you've come all the way to Camelot on your own, tracking me through rain and sleet and snow, all to take my hand--here it is--and say," Michaelangelo took a deep breath and fixed suddenly sincere, worshipful eyes on me. "'Thank you.'"

"Um, no. Probably you didn't, and I haven't," said I uneasily, wiggling out of my insane brother's grip.

"Oh." He rubbed his bare head. "Well then, today is your lucky day, stranger, for it is your Very First Encounter with--"

"The Dragon Slayer!" Donatello leaned around me, grabbing hold of my shell in his excitement. The look on his face just screamed, 'OMG!'

Mikey struck another pose. "The one and only."

"You're a celebrity! I have two of your posters and a lunchbox!"

"This is so weird," I felt inclined to point out. The fact that Donatello, the genius, admired Mikey, the...Mikey, was enough to completely blow my mind. I was seriously beginning to worry about myself; after all, it was my subconscious that was spewing out this stuff.

"Want an autograph?" Mikey asked. His voice was deeper than I remembered. I realized he was pitching it low for effect.

"Do I!" While Donatello searched his robes frantically for a scrap of paper, I confronted Mikey.

"Dragon Slayer?"

"Yeah," he said. "For a limited time only here in Camelot. Promotional reasons, mainly," he confided. "Usually, not that many dragons try to get into the city. They like little villages with lots of pretty maidens." Mikey grinned. "So do I."

"I can imagine," I sighed.

Donatello finally gave up on his quest for paper. When Mikey saw his crestfallen expression, he offered to sign his arm. Donny seemed to think this was a wonderful idea.

"I'll cast a Protection spell on it," said Donny reverently. "So it'll never wash off."

"Well, I'll catch you men later," Mikey said, stretching lazily. Most of his admirers had dispersed by then, it being near supper time. We took our leave of "The Dragon Slayer," Donatello with a dreamy expression on his face, and me wondering if I'd see my youngest brother again during the course of this crazy dream.

"Oh!" said Donny suddenly, breaking out of his daze. "We'd better run."

"What?"

"Run, Leonardo!" he yelled, and we did. "Training...facilities close...five minutes," he panted out. I had no trouble keeping up with him; in fact, I had some difficulty preventing myself from running ahead. He was winded already, and if we weren't turtles, he'd have been red in the face.

We finally reached the training facilities, which consisted of a series of low, stone buildings with few windows and a prominent stable and weaponry. Donny led me hastily around to a side entrance of one of the buildings. "You have your letters of introduction, right?" he was saying, when we heard a voice raised from the far side of the building. Donatello paled and pulled me into the bushes. Unfortunately, the bushes were the kind with thorns. My shell protected most of me, but my arms and legs were not so fortunate. I gave Donny a half baleful, half questioning look.

"Oroku Saki," he whispered urgently. "Senior Magician, representative of Chell--and he hates me!"