Morgause's Command

Author's Note: I really enjoy Arthurian legend and this is my favorite of my adaptations. It's based mostly on the Tennyson, with bits of Malory and of historical evidence from the short film Arthur. As I'm currently enjoying writing it so much, hopefully I'll get beyond two installments.

The door to the library burst open and slammed shut behind Mordred. "Damn them! Damn them to hell!" he raged.

I rose from my desk, alarmed. "Mordred… what is it?"

He clutched a letter in his hand and waved it at me. "This… she… aargh!" He punched a wall.

"Mordred! Stop! Look – tell me what she wrote. It's from Morgause, right?"

He looked at the floor and nodded. "She told me… no, I don't want you involved."

I sighed and shook my head. "Mordred, whatever it is, I'll stick with you. You should know that."

He looked at me intently. "Are you sure? You would hate this."

I shrugged. "Well… I'd… I'd do anything for you."

He pursed his lips. "Very well. Morgause told me…" He dropped to a whisper and drew close to me. "She said that Arthur has no intention of passing the throne to me and that he'd do anything to prevent it. There are only two things that can prevent it: my death or Guenevere bearing an heir. They've been married for eight years, 'Sian, and there's been no heir."

I touched his shoulder. "She thinks he's plotting to kill you? He'd never do that."

He shook his head. "No. She said that… ach, 'Sian, it makes me furious," he said as he turned away, a hand to his temple.

I pushed him down on a bench and massaged his shoulders. He leaned back against me and sighed. "What did she write, Mordred?" I asked quietly.

"She wrote that she's prevented Guenevere from bearing a child."

Shock stopped my fingers for a moment. "How?"

"She didn't say… but she said that it's now my job and that I'll know what to do."

He turned to me and took my arm. "Sian, I don't want to do this. I'd be… you know I'd be content to serve a child of his. Morgause wants me on the throne – so that she can control everything. I know very few people with more knowledge and skill than she, and I'm not one of them. But that same skill would extend to punish me if I failed."

"Oh Mordred… what an evil woman," I said, sinking down onto the bench beside him.

He chuckled. "Who perhaps bore an evil child."

"You mustn't say such things!"

He laughed again, this time at me. "Sian, you're so silly! Still a superstitious country boy at heart, eh?" He grew serious again. "Sian, I don't want you involved in this in any way. You've heard nothing of it, eh?"

I sighed. "All right. I've never heard anything. But Mordred – if something drastic happens because of this… I want to be involved. We… we could run away and… start a farm."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Sian… sometimes I wonder if you say things just to cheer me up."

"God knows you always need it."

"There's no such thing as god, Sian, and I'm no farmer," he said as he rose to leave. He turned back before he reached the door and threw the letter in the fireplace.

Though the day had been bright and sunny, it was much cooler than it had been. Sian was a little disappointed, but after all it was May, that month of changing conditions. So much for the lusty month of May. Still, he was glad to be outside after being stuck in the library all day making twelve copies of Arthur's letter to his provincial governors. There were monks in the chapel – and he was no monk! – but he was one of the few who could decipher Arthur's hand and who could be trusted to interpret it properly. It was not for nothing that he practiced obeisance and honesty in court.

"Sian! What are you doing out here?"

Sian turned to see Mordred by the door staring guiltily at him.

"I'm potting plants. Milady said that the wall by the library was still covered with dead things from last year and that I must rejuvenate it."

Mordred gave him a thoughtful look. "Would you mind caring for a few plants for me in that case?"

"Of course."

"I'll fetch them, then."

Sian stared pensively at the petunia in his hands. Mordred had an herb garden of his own. Why would he need Sian to care for his flowers? He shook his head and put the petunia in the dirt, humming to himself. It was nice to be back in the dirt after such a long winter. Though he was always loathe to plant, once he was doing it it pleased him. He heard laughter and turned to see the queen leading a man into the garden.

"Lance, look at – oh – what are you doing out here?"

Sian waved the potted petunia. "Doing the planting you asked of me, milady."

"Ah. Yes. Well. Lance, come away. We'll visit my flower garden another day."

Lancelot ignored her and instead walked over to Sian.

"What's your name, boy?'

"Artesian, milord."

"Artesian?" the tall knight snorted. "I've never heard that name before."

"Me either. I mean… I've never met anyone else with it, milord."

"And you're responsible for the queen's flowers?"

"No, milord. I mind the library and the plants in its courtyard."

"So you can read and write? Who's your father, boy?"

"Nobody, milord."

"Nobody? Did you hear that, Guenevere?" he laughed. "He must be one of those bastards Arthur's so fond of adopting into his court."

Guenevere shrugged. "Arthur values the boy." Sian's heart gladdened to hear that his king valued him, but he kept his face carefully blank. Lancelot turned his attention back to his prey.

"Can you fight, boy?"

"No, milord."

"What? Do you have no ambition at all then?"

Sian flushed at the jab and met Guenevere's eyes. He was unable to speak. Lancelot looked between them, suddenly thoughtful. Finally he took Guenevere's elbow and led her away.

"Come, milady."

Sian turned back to the flowers and would have dashed them all to the ground but he stopped himself. Was he trying to provoke the wrath of the famed Lancelot? He'd never seen the man before, but his legend remained even when the knight himself was off questing. But Sian could never reveal his ambition, his desires, not even to Mordred. He plunged his fingers into the dirt, hoping to find solace there. Sian knew Arthur thought he'd stay as a scribe, or perhaps become a monk. Yet though Sian liked and respected Arthur, God knew he hated what his king represented.

"Sian!"

Sian turned, startled out of his thoughts by a strange, terrified instinct – but it was only to see Mordred, carrying three small potted plants.

"Here, I brought them. You must place them in partial sunlight and water them every other day. But take care not to touch the leaves or flowers with your bare hands or to inhale their scent."

Sian eyed him warily. "A dangerous plant, then?"

Mordred shrugged. "It can be."

After a moment's hesitation Sian made up his mind. "All right, Mordred. Put them here."

"Thanks, Sian." Mordred touched Sian's shoulder lightly as he left.

Sian stared at the plants, hands on his hips and his head tilted. Could this have something to do with Morgause's command? A chill ran down his spine, and he knew that it was not because of the day's chilly winds. He couldn't believe Mordred was following through with it. Perhaps Mordred was more afraid of his mother's wrath than Sian thought – and perhaps he really did want to become king. Sian shook his head and banished his dark thoughts. He would trust his friend. God knew they were each other's only friends, though they harbored secrets from one another.