Title: The Stone in the Sword
Author: ReganX
Rating: T/PG-13
Summary: "Albion did not need another Pendragon. It needed Arthur."
Arthur was born of magic… not of Uther. When an unexpected revelation rocks Camelot, Arthur and Morgana must come to terms with long-hidden secrets and their new roles in life, while Merlin has to accept that the destiny he believed he shared with Arthur will never come to pass. To others, however, the revelation is a beacon of hope for the Camelot that can be built, once Uther's reign is at an end and his true heir sits on the throne. After decades of persecution, they don't intend to wait any longer for their deliverance.
Notes: This story is based on a prompt from the Merlin kink meme and the timeline has required significant battering to facilitate the requirements, namely a good Morgana coexisting with the Round Table knights so there are some changes to the pre-story events compared to canon. Firstly, Arthur was not named Crown Prince in Excalibur. Secondly, Morgana had somebody to talk to about her magic from The Nightmare Begins onwards. Thirdly, the events of the episode Gwaine took place in Season Two rather than Season Three. Finally, Arthur's quest for the trident of the Fisher King takes place shortly before the beginning of this story, just prior to The Fires of Idirsholas.
For the purposes of this story, I'm taking a little artistic licence and having Morgause as the daughter of Vivienne and Gorlois.
This is my first Merlin fanfic, and my first Big Bang. It's been a fun, exciting, challenging, and often frustrating experience and I hope that readers enjoy the result.
I'd like to dedicate this story to AngelQueen for her invaluable help and support in plotting this story, and in betaing it at very short notice. I couldn't have done it without her.
I'd also like to thank aqualillium for her amazing artwork and her support in this process.
Chapter One
Merlin could barely remember what it was like to have a moment of leisure time.
Since Uther decided that a position as his son's manservant was a suitable reward for saving the life of said son, he had been at Arthur's beck and call, sometimes only able to manage to complete his lengthy list of chores with the illicit use of magic. In addition, he assisted Gaius with his duties as court physician, with tasks ranging from gathering medicinal plants to scrubbing out the leech tank, working to lighten the load of the kinsman who was kind enough to take him in when his mother feared that there was nothing left for him in Ealdor, and who risked his life by harbouring a warlock in the heart of Camelot. He might have been better able to finish his chores without magic, as his predecessors had, if he did not also have to accompany Arthur on hunts and patrols. He was certain that, strictly speaking, it was not part of his duties as Arthur's manservant but, considering how often trouble found Arthur, he would have a difficult time fulfilling his destiny as protector to the Once and Future King if he didn't tag along to save his neck when needed.
He sometimes wondered how Arthur would react when the day came for the servant he so often derided as useless to tell him the truth about his magic and about their destiny, and about the many, many, many times he had had to save the greatest warrior in Camelot from certain death at the hands of magical and non-magical foes alike. Knowing Arthur, he was bound to have a hard time believing it at first, and wouldn't want to believe it but Merlin eagerly awaited the day when he would no longer have to hide the truth about who he was and all he did for Camelot.
Once it was known how often he used his magic to save the kingdom and its Prince, nobody could doubt that, in the right hands, magic could be a powerful force for good.
Maybe Arthur would think that it was funny that the most powerful sorcerer to ever live spent years cleaning his chambers, preparing his food, doing his laundry, polishing his armour, mucking out his stables, being attacked during sparring practice and catering to his every whim. Maybe it would help convince him that magic could be a force for good, and that those who wielded it were not doomed to be evil. What evil warlock could have tolerated Arthur's incessant demands and frequent insults for a week without giving in to the temptation to turn him into a toad?
As busy as he usually was, however, the past week made his regular routine seem almost restful.
With a ceremony and feast to prepare for, and a castle full of noble guests to accommodate and care for, most of the palace servants, who already had plenty of chores with which to fill their days, found themselves burdened with extra duties for the occasion.
Master Varric, the Steward of the Royal Household, was determined that every inch of the castle should be spotless, every noble guest comfortably housed and well-attended, and that every feast would be a credit to the hospitality Camelot had to offer. The ceremony itself should be impressive, as befitted the investiture of the Crown Prince of Camelot, and everybody who was privileged to attend it should be awed by the splendour and remember the day for the rest of their lives. The King was in full agreement with his Steward that this should be an occasion to remember, sharing his determination that none of their guests, no matter how high their rank or how particular they were, should have the slightest cause for complaint about the hospitality of Camelot. To that end, Master Varric had permission to draft as many of the palace servants as he needed to carry out the work necessary to meet his exacting standards.
Struggling under the weight of a trunk that he was certain must have contained every garment in Lady Olwen's possession, he followed the lady and her husband, Sir Lucan, as they were led from the courtyard, where liveried stable hands were waiting to take their horses as soon as they dismounted, to the east wing by Master Varric. Sir Lucan's manservant followed Merlin, bearing a similarly heavy burden, and Lady Olwen's maid walked by his side, carrying her mistress' fur-lined cloak and a case of her jewellery. Both servants looked almost as tired as Merlin felt and he could imagine that the journey from Sir Lucan's estate to the citadel had not been an easy one.
Merlin's arms, back and legs ached and, had he not been within earshot of others, who would be quick to report him, he would have been sorely tempted to whisper a spell to lighten his heavy load. Gaius would disapprove, of course, but in consideration of his age and his position as court physician, he was one of the very few members of the royal household who was not pressed into extra duties. If he was, he wouldn't be so quick to disapprove of anything that could help.
The guest chamber to which Master Varric led them was one that had not been used since Merlin came to Camelot two years ago, if not longer. He knew that, over the past few days, the deserted chamber would have been dusted and scrubbed from floor to ceiling, with the bed linens, coverings and hangings laundered, if not replaced, and the windows left open to banish the stale smell of a room left unoccupied for too long. Before he consented to lodge noble guests in any of the chambers, Master Varric would have examined every inch of it with a critical eye, and he would not hesitate to order that the preparations be redone if he was in any way dissatisfied with the condition of a room. Merlin would have bet a week's wages that the vase of flowers on the table was Guinevere's doing. Like him, she was pressed into service preparing for the guests and, over the past week, he had often seen her hard at work cleaning rooms and ferrying linens.
Master Varric bowed deeply as he ushered Sir Lucan and Lady Olwen into their chambers, telling them that he hoped that they would find them satisfactory, asking if there was anything else they required and assuring them that the King's household was at their disposal. To Merlin's relief, they had no complaints about their quarters and made no further requests so, once he had set Lady Olwen's trunk down for her maid to unpack, Master Varric dismissed him.
Any hope he might have had that he would be able to snatch half an hour to take his midday meal before he was called on to attend to the next new arrival was dashed when he glanced out the window to see Arthur and his knights returning. Their rank did not exempt them from extra duties to prepare for the guests but to Arthur, daily hunts to ensure that the kitchens were well-stocked with fresh meat, now that there would be so many extra mouths to feed, were a pleasure rather than a chore, and the same was true of the knights who joined him on these expeditions. They would probably be sorry when the guests departed and they no longer had an excuse to ride into the woods every day to kill as many animals as they could find.
Merlin hastened down to the courtyard to take Arthur's horse as soon as he dismounted, not wanting to give Arthur an excuse to complain if he had to send for him.
Four scullions joined him, having made their way from the kitchens to the courtyard as soon as they got word that Arthur and his company had been sighted returning to the city. They stood ready to take the slain deer, boars and rabbits from Arthur and the knights, so that they could bear them back to the kitchen to be skinned, dressed and roasted for the evening's feast.
A glance at the days' haul confirmed that nobody in the castle would go hungry tonight.
"You can leave the horses to the stable hands today, Merlin," Arthur told him, passing the reins into his hands. "I'll need you to get my robes ready for the ceremony."
"Yes, sire."
It would have been a welcome reprieve from a usually hated chore if Merlin wasn't certain that Arthur's ceremonial finery was likely to be in dire need of laundering and pressing before it was fit to be worn in public. No feast he had ever attended in his capacity as Arthur's manservant had actually ended in a food fight, and Arthur was a tidy eater, as far as he could see, so he was at a loss to understand how he managed to end up with his clothes in such a mess every time there was a feast. He would probably be lucky if there were no tears; Gwen would mend them for him if he asked but she was busy too and he didn't want to add to her tasks if it could be helped. This evening, attention would be focused on Arthur and Merlin knew that the sharp eyes of the courtiers would be quick to spot any flaws in his appearance and to comment disapprovingly. No matter how much of a prat Arthur could be, he wouldn't want him to look bad on this day of all days.
"And you'll need to get your ceremonial robes ready too," Arthur added, eyes dancing with mirth.
"Yes, sire," Merlin repeated, frowning unhappily at the memory of the last time he was required to wear the official robes of the servants of Camelot, which had been bad enough before Arthur decided that his manservant should wear an even more elaborate costume than the other servants, the better to serve as an object of ridicule. Even the solemn and dignified Master Varric could not have failed to look like a fool in that feathered hat, and the long cape was impractical at best, hindering his movement and making him feel certain that he was going to drop something.
With his luck, he would probably end up spilling wine in Uther's lap tonight.
That was bound to earn him a spell in the stocks, if not worse.
As Arthur made his way into the castle to report to his father, accompanied by Sir Leon, four of his companions stayed behind, opting to lead their mounts to the stables themselves rather than leaving Merlin to corral all six horses. He gave them a grateful smile, pleased but unsurprised that none of them had allowed their elevation go so far to their heads that they viewed a servant as existing only to cater to their whims. With the exception of Sir Leon, most of the nobly-born knights were usually very quick to land the nearest servant with any chores, never thinking that they were already busy enough without also having to dance attendance on them.
"I hope the King doesn't stint on the mead and ale for the feast tonight," Gwaine remarked, unsaddling his horse before handing it off to a waiting stable hand to be fed, watered and brushed. "I haven't been to the tavern in days, and I'll need a drink after sitting through a long ceremony and all of the boring speeches - a proper drink, not those fancy wines the nobles are so fond of."
"I'm sure that you'll survive," Percival said, giving his friend a good-natured shove. "And I'm sure that a Knight of Camelot isn't supposed to get drunk at a feast. We need to set an example."
"And I will," Gwaine pledged with mock solemnity. "Nobody will ever have seen a man do a better job of holding his ale."
Merlin, Percival and Elyan chuckled at that, but Lancelot's expression was sombre.
Merlin could guess why.
Lancelot had dreamed of becoming a Knight of Camelot since he was a boy, after he saw his village attacked by raiders. He had even earned a knighthood more than a year ago but, while Uther was pleased to admit the fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria to the ranks of the Knights of Camelot, he was furious to learn that his newest knight was a commoner, declaring him unworthy of the honour and stripping him of his knighthood. The only reason why Lancelot had escaped without further punishment was that even Uther would not imprison the man who saved his kingdom from a Griffin. Now that he had been a granted a knighthood again, this time by a King who was truly aware of his background, Lancelot was determined to prove he was worthy of the honour. There was no knight in Camelot who strove as hard to live up to the tenets of the Knight's Code or who was more conscious of the need to show that he was an asset to the kingdom's forces.
"Besides," Gwaine continued, "it's not as though we're nobles. I'm sure some of the stiff-necked lords and ladies are convinced that we could never behave ourselves. They must be dying to see one of the 'commoner knights' show himself up in public so they can mutter about what the King was thinking when he agreed to knight us. Who am I to deny them the satisfaction?"
This time, Lancelot's was not the only solemn expression. Elyan's brow creased in a frown and his fist tightened around his horse's reins for a moment before he was able to force himself to loosen his grasp and allow his horse to be led to a stall, to be attended to after the long day's exertions.
Elyan was the only one of the men knighted by the King as a result of the combined arguments of his son and pleas of his ward who was bothered by the fact that, as a concession to the First Code of Camelot to keep the nobility from complaining too much about the King's decision to break with tradition and knight commoners, they were granted the title, duties and privileges of a Knight of Camelot without being raised to the nobility. Lancelot did not care about his station, now that his dream of being a knight had been realised, nor did Percival, who had never thought to expect or want to be made a Knight of Camelot but who was proud to accept the position when it was offered to him. Gwaine, the only one of the four with noble blood in his veins, insisted that he would never have accepted a knighthood if it meant that he would have to be classed as a noble, and he embraced the term 'commoner knight' as a compliment, rather than the insult that it was intended to be. Elyan, however, was the only one of them with kin in Camelot.
"Will Gwen be serving at the feast?" Elyan asked Merlin, scowling when he nodded confirmation. "So I'm good enough to be the King's guest but my sister isn't?"
Nobody said anything, knowing that there was nothing they could say that would make Elyan less indignant about the fact that, despite his elevation, his sister was not accorded the status of a lady of the court, even out of courtesy. No matter how often Guinevere insisted that she was not ashamed to be a servant, and no matter how often she assured him that she was proud of him and happy to see him honoured for all he had done for Camelot, or how often she warned him not to make trouble for her sake and risk losing all he had gained, Elyan was still unhappy to see her working a servant while he was accorded the respect due to him as a knight.
"It will be different when Arthur is King," Merlin offered, when the silence stretched on so long that it became uncomfortable. He was certain that Arthur would not content himself with the half-measures that Uther had consented to. He would see to it that the four men who helped him save the kingdom from Morgause and the Knights of Medhir were accorded their full due as knights.
None of them spoke about it, even amongst themselves, for fear that they would be overheard and their words carried to the King's ears but they would have had to be blind not to see that Arthur was attracted to Guinevere, and fools not to be aware of the King's reaction if he ever learned that, given the choice, his son would marry a commoner. Like Elyan, Arthur was dismayed that her brother's elevation was not enough to allow her to be raised to the status of a lady, allowing them to converse openly. They so rarely had an opportunity to speak privately and, in public, they were obliged to observe the appropriate distance and formality between prince and servant.
Thanks to the love spell cast on Arthur a few months ago, Merlin knew that Guinevere was his true love. Had Arthur's feelings not been so strong, he would still be ensnared by Trickler's spell, still believing himself to be in love with Lady Vivian... if not dead at the hand of her enraged father.
He did not doubt that Arthur would marry Guinevere as soon as he was free to do so.
As a Prince, he could not marry without his father's approval and Uther would never agree to allow his only son to marry a servant girl. He would probably be convinced that he was enchanted if he ever hinted that this was something he wanted! Arthur would be fortunate if his father did not try to push him into a match with a princess for the sake of an alliance, claiming that it was his duty to Camelot to marry as he was bid, appealing to his love of the kingdom and its people to make him feel honour-bound to sacrifice his happiness for the sake of Camelot. Merlin was determined that, when the time came, he would be there to support Arthur and to encourage him to follow his heart, rather than allowing him to settle for an arranged marriage that could only lead to his unhappiness, unhappiness that would surely keep him from being as great a King as he was born to be.
Once Arthur was King, he would no longer be bound by his father's belief that only a lady of royal or noble blood could be worthy of being his son's wife and Queen.
When the day came for Guinevere to take her place as Queen of Camelot, everybody would be able to see how mistaken Uther was in his belief that a commoner was unworthy of a high position. Any courtier who disapproved of Arthur's choice of bride would not be able to help respecting Gwen, once they had a chance to know her as a person rather than dismissing her as a mere servant, fit only to attend to those who considered themselves her betters by virtue of their noble birth. She would prove to them that there was nobody who would be a fairer, kinder or more compassionate Queen and nobody better able to help Arthur become the great King he was meant to be.
There were times when Merlin thought that Guinevere's coronation would be an even happier and prouder day for him than Arthur's coronation would be.
What better beginning could Albion have than the marriage of a King and commoner for love?
Together, Arthur and Gwen would rule a kingdom that Merlin would be proud to be a subject of.
It was all Uther could do to keep a pleasant smile on his face as he made his way through the corridors of his castle to the vaults. The journey was no problem for him, especially as he was so proud of its purpose, but the company left a great deal to be desired.
"This much be such a proud day for you, my lord," Lord Agravaine de Bois remarked, seemingly unaware of the fact that his presence was far from welcome. His smile was a thin one that did not reach his eyes. In all the years he had known the man, Uther couldn't remember seeing a genuine smile of joy on his face. "It is difficult to believe that young Arthur is a man now. How time flies! It seems such a short time ago that he was just a babe in arms, and he was nothing but a boy the last time I saw him. It must be a good three or four years since I last visited your city."
"Five," Uther corrected him brusquely.
Given the choice, he would happily have gone another five years or more without having Agravaine under his roof. He could not force himself to voice any regrets about Agravaine's affairs keeping him away from court for so long, much less express any hope that his next visit would be any sooner. The last thing he wanted was to encourage him to stay on after the ceremony and celebrations were over, as it could be weeks or months before he finally left if he was given any kind of invitation to remain. He could manage only a curt nod by way of response.
"I am sure that my sister would be very proud of him, if she could see him now," Agravaine continued. "I see so much of her in Arthur. He's the image of Ygraine."
Uther gritted his teeth, unwilling to allow the other man to see his distress at the mention of Ygraine, who should have been here today to see their son named Crown Prince and to know what a fine King he would be one day. All she ever wanted was to give him a son, and she was so proud and so happy when she told him that she was finally with child, thinking it a miracle after their years of childlessness and fear for the succession, little realising that her condition was the result of a spell, or that their son's life would be bought at the cost of his mother's.
Even if she had known, he was certain that she would have loved Arthur no less.
From the moment she knew that she carried a child, there was not a doubt in her mind that he - she told him that she knew in her heart that their son grew within her - would be extraordinary and that Camelot would thrive under his rule. She had so many plans for what she wanted them to teach him about what it meant to be a King, one who would grow up loving Camelot and its people, plans she had not lived to carry out. He could only hope that she would be pleased with his efforts to shape Arthur into a great King, a King who would have made Ygraine proud.
He had no idea whether or not Agravaine knew the true circumstances of Arthur's birth.
Tristan knew, and had sought to kill him after Ygraine's death, though he must have known that Uther would never willingly have harmed a hair on her head. When Tristan's spirit was conjured from the grave, he sought to kill the child for whom his sister had given her life, though anybody who knew Ygraine would have known that she would never have wished to see Arthur harmed.
Regardless of the means by which the boy was given life, he was her son and she loved him more than her own life.
Unlike his more hot-tempered brother, Agravaine was a man who kept his own counsel, and he had never given Uther any indication that his brother told him how their sister died or that he blamed him for it. On the rare occasions when he visited the court, there was never anything in his behaviour that would betray that he harboured a grudge against his brother-in-law or his nephew, towards whom he always behaved cordially and respectfully. Unlike Tristan, Agravaine would never challenge Uther directly if he believed him to bear responsibility for his sister's death, not when he knew that he had no chance of winning a duel against a more skilled opponent. He was not a man who would lay his life on the line for the sake of family honour, or for anything else. He would remain silent until he saw an advantage to speaking out and, once he saw an advantage, he would be merciless in exploiting it, willing to turn on those who trusted him to serve his own ends.
Given the choice, Uther would have preferred to keep Agravaine as far away from Arthur as he could. He did his utmost to keep them apart when Arthur was still a child, never able to dismiss the fear that Agravaine might be taking advantage of a boy's affection for his uncle to whisper stories to Arthur about how Ygraine had really died, in the hope of turning him against his father or of making him feel shame for having been brought to life by unnatural forces. However, he could not exclude his son's uncle from this ceremony, not when it would be attended by virtually every noble in Camelot, along with envoys from rulers of most of the other kingdoms, who were keen to show their friendship to the Pendragons. Arthur would be the first to question him if he failed to issue an invitation to his only living maternal kin, and the slight would be noted by every courtier.
When he reached the vault, he did not invite Agravaine to accompany him but, while the other man had the sense not to push his way past the guards – who would have stopped him had he dared, and by force if necessary, regardless of his status – he did not take the hint and make himself scarce while Uther retrieved the object he sought, choosing to wait outside for him.
Although he knew that Agravaine would not leave, no matter how long he was left to wait, Uther took his time as he made his way through the vaults where the treasures of Camelot were stored, well-guarded and under lock and key, kept as safe as possible from anybody who might seek to infiltrate the citadel in the hope of absconding with the collection of treasures that he had claimed along with the castle when he took his place as King, a collection he added to over the years.
Most of the objects in the vault were harmless, beautiful treasures that had been accumulated by generations of kings and powerful lords, many of them trophies of war. In a time of great need, these treasures might be sold to help raise an army to defend the kingdom or to feed the hungry. On occasion, they would be displayed to impress guests with visible proof of the wealth and power of Camelot, lest they make the mistake of thinking the kingdom weak. Other objects, most of them far from impressive looking, were priceless for all of the wrong reasons. During the Great Purge, he went to great lengths to ensure that any magical artefact he learned of was taken from those who might think to use it against him, and kept in a place where they could do no damage.
To this collection, seven swords had recently been added, taken from the bodies of the Knights of Medhir after the sorceress whose magic brought them to life was defeated and fled Camelot.
At the heart of the vaults, behind a heavy gate to which only he had a key, lay the object he sought, relic of a time when his ancestors ruled Camelot, before the Crown was lost to their line. It lay on an altar of polished marble, wrapped in a cloth of heavy crimson silk, faded with age.
Uther opened the gate and approached the altar, unwrapping the silk covering to reveal a sword.
If a thief somehow managed to make his way into the vault, he would undoubtedly deem this sword not to be worth the time and effort of stealing it, unless he knew of its history. Unlike the treasures that surrounded it, it was not crafted from gleaming gold and silver or studded with precious jewels, nor was it recognisable as one of the magical artefacts taken during the Purge. If the sword had been an impressive weapon in its day, it did not seem to compare with the weapons commissioned for the knights and soldiers of Camelot today. It was slate grey in colour, its edges dulled by use and time, and its only adornment, aside from the engraving of the name of the King who had wielded it on the centre of the blade, was the smooth black stone imbedded in the hilt.
King Bruta, the first King of Camelot, wielded this sword when he ended the cycle of bloodshed and war that had torn Albion apart, leading to the establishment of the Five Kingdoms.
No other man had played as great a part in shaping the land they lived in than King Bruta had.
Its history alone was enough reason for Uther to value it but the Sword of King Bruta had also helped him claim the throne, lost to his family for too many generations, after he and his supporters defeated those who tried to usurp his rights. Even those who had doubted his right to claim the title of King of Camelot no longer questioned it once the Sword proved to them that he was a direct descendant of King Bruta, and rightful heir to the kingdom he built.
Uther reached out to caress the hilt of the Sword, marvelling, as he always did, at the way the dull metal of the blade gleamed as brightly as polished silver in the light of the noon sun in response to his touch, while the black stone in the hilt transformed into a crystal, glowing with a mesmerizing light. Delicate veins of gold and silver threaded their way through the blue-green glow of the crystal, with tiny scarlet flames dancing in its heart. It was said that the stone in the Sword's hilt looked different for every King who wielded it but he had never had the opportunity to prove this story true or false, as he had never known any other man who was capable of wielding it.
The Sword was an object of magic but, unlike so many of the others locked away in the vault, it was a tool for good, one that could not be wielded by his enemies.
But for the Sword, he might not be King.
Wrapping the Sword securely in its silk cloth, ensuring that it was completely covered, he carried it away from its place in the vault, locking the gate behind him.
As he had expected, Agravaine was waiting for him when he emerged from the vault, and fell into step with him as he walked through the corridors. He spoke as they walked, undeterred by Uther's lack of response. Uther kept his gaze fixed ahead as he walked, doing his best to ignore the other man's words – though he knew that it was too much to hope for that Agravaine would take the hint and leave him alone – until he registered a change in his tone from casually conversational to appreciative in a manner that Uther did not like, especially as he could guess the reason for it.
"…grown into such a beautiful young woman."
Even before he followed Agravaine's gaze, Uther knew what had caught his attention.
Morgana had rounded the corridor, accompanied by two ladies with whom she was conversing, and Agravaine's attention was focused entirely on her, reminding Uther of another reason why he was so glad that he had not had to put up with Agravaine's presence for the past five years.
On one of his rare visits to Camelot a year or so after Uther took Morgana as his ward, Agravaine paid no attention to her, focusing his attention on cultivating Arthur's good will with gifts and praise so that he could be certain that his future King would think fondly of him, and deeming an orphaned little girl beneath his notice.
On his last visit, however, his avid gaze tracked Morgana whenever she was in the same room, his barely concealed interesting forcing Uther to see that, though she was not yet sixteen, the little girl who sparred with Arthur at every opportunity and who pouted whenever she was told that it was not seemly for ladies to fight was rapidly blossoming into a young woman. Beauty, nobility and wealth were an irresistible combination and Agravaine would not be the last to take an interest in Morgana but Uther could feel his skin crawl when he saw how he looked at her. The unconcealed admiration in Agravaine's eyes whenever his gaze was directed at Morgana and his remarks about how it would soon be time for him to find her a husband set Uther's teeth on edge, and it was all he could do to keep his temper under sufficient restraint that he did not hurl the man from the citadel with a command never again to darken his door, if he did not wish to be lodged in the dungeons. Thankfully, his insistence that his ward was still little more than a child, and far too young to worry about marriage was pointed enough to ensure that Agravaine left without asking for her hand.
Now that she was twenty, he could no longer cite her youth as an excuse not to entertain offers for her hand and he didn't want her around Agravaine any more than could be helped while the man was their guest. Thankfully, he could rely on Master Varric to see to it that Morgana was not seated close enough to Agravaine for him to be able to engage her in conversation.
The older of the ladies accompanying Morgana was the first to notice the presence of the King and, tucking her arm through Morgana's, she all but dragged her over to Uther. The third member of their little group, a young woman around the same age as Morgana, trailed behind them, her wide-eyed gaze betraying her awe at being in the presence of the King of Camelot.
"My lord," the older lady greeted him, curtseying deeply. She eyed the wrapped bundle tucked under his arm with undisguised curiousity but decided against remarking on it.
Uther inclined his head politely by way of response. He did not recognise the woman, who looked to be forty or a little older, and who was decked out in a heavy velvet gown lavishly trimmed with fur, despite the heat of the summer day. The thick gold necklace she wore looked so heavy that it was a marvel that it didn't choke her. Wide gold bands encircled her wrists, and she wore rings on almost every finger. Her elaborately coiffed hair was secured by a gold net, dotted with pearls. He wondered if she had a husband wealthy and indulgent enough to allow her the funds to purchase any finery she took a fancy to, or if she was one of the ladies who wore every item of jewellery she possessed when she came to court, so that her family appeared more prosperous than they were.
"I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be present for such a momentous occasion," the lady gushed. "It was so kind and gracious of you to invite my family. Prince Arthur has grown into such a fine man, a credit to you, my lord, and to the kingdom. My son tells me that he is the greatest warrior he has ever known, and that it is a privilege to fight by his side. He will be a fine King one day... though not for many, many years, of course," she added hastily, in case he might take offence at the idea that the end of his reign, and the beginning of his son's might be eagerly anticipated. "If the Prince takes after his father, my lord, Camelot will be blessed."
"You are very kind," he glanced towards Morgana, who silently mouthed the name, giving him a small, understanding smile, "Lady Bronwyn."
Lady Bronwyn visibly preened, convinced that she must have made an impression on her last visit, whenever that might have been. "I am flattered that you remember me, my lord. It is some years now since I last visited your court. I had quite forgotten my way around! Lady Morgana was kind enough to offer us her assistance, or we would surely be lost. Ursula, come here, child... allow me to present my daughter, Ursula, to you, my lord," she added, realising that he would not know of whom she spoke. She motioned the girl forward with an impatient hand. Lady Ursula kept her gaze lowered as she took a few steps forward and curtsied but she did not speak - not that she had the chance to, as her mother was quick to continue. "Ursula has not had the honour and pleasure of visiting court before today. The poor child knows little of life away from the countryside."
"Then I hope that her visit will be a pleasant one," Uther gave the girl a slight smile that brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks.
When Ygraine was alive, she always had at least several girls of noble blood entrusted to her charge by parents who were anxious to see their daughters learn courtly manners and, under the chaperonage of the Queen, meet young knights and lords who would be suitable husbands for them. The young ladies attended her in court and trailed after her like ducklings as she went about her duties as Queen, watching her avidly so that they might learn, by example, what would be expected of them when they married and became chatelaines of their husbands' castles. Ygraine was endlessly patient with them and unfailingly kind, securing the loyalty and affection of every girl sent to join her household. He could remember that, when Ygraine was pregnant with Arthur, the girls in her charge had dedicated themselves to sewing and embroidering tiny garments for the coming child, eagerly anticipating the day when they would have a baby to fuss over.
Ygraine was not yet cold in the ground when the girls left court, summoned home by families unwilling to leave them once there was no longer a Queen in Camelot.
For all he knew, Lady Bronwyn was once one of the noble girls in Ygraine's charge.
She must be about the right age, as strange and unsettling as it was for him to think that, had Ygraine lived, she would be in her middle years by now, of an age when most women anticipated becoming grandmothers, rather than the lovely young woman who had captured his heart, the woman he always pictured when he could bear the pain of thinking of her.
He didn't doubt that, if he had been able to stomach the idea of remarrying after Ygraine's death - a true marriage, not a farce born of a troll's malign enchantment, a farce he had ordered never to be spoken of again, on pain of immediate banishment from his court - and Camelot had a Queen, Lady Bronwyn would seek to send her daughter to live at court under the Queen's supervision.
As soon as he found a suitable wife for Arthur, she would almost certainly be among the first to seek a position for her daughter in the household of the future Queen, regardless of whether or not the girl wished to leave her country home to live at court. Like virtually every member of the nobility, she would be eager to seize any possible opportunity to curry favour with those who could further the interests of her and her family, and she would want her daughter to enjoy every advantage that service in the household of Arthur's future Queen could confer on her.
He couldn't imagine that Morgana would like it when they had young noblewomen clamouring to come to live at Camelot.
When she was younger, he used to worry that she would be lonely without the company of other girls of noble birth, with whom she could enjoy a friendship of equals instead of only having her maid for company. He even considered the idea of inviting a couple of noble girls to come to live in the castle as her companions. However, far from feeling deprived by the lack of suitable female companions, Morgana was quite happy to join Arthur and his friends in their combat training and their games, determined to prove that she was well able to keep up with the boys and, on the rare occasions when they had girls her age visiting the court, she had little time for them.
He was certain that, for Morgana, the worst part about growing old enough to take her place as the First Lady of Camelot was not that it was no longer seemly for her to take part in combat training - he was well aware of the fact that she continued to practice with a sword in secret, whenever she had the chance but didn't have the heart to take steps to keep her from training, especially when she might have to defend herself one day - but that she was expected to act as hostess, in the absence of a Queen. They only occasionally had ladies visiting the court but, when they did, it invariably fell to Morgana to entertain them during their stay, a duty she had never relished.
He could imagine that the past days were a trial for her, with so many ladies visiting, especially if there were others like Lady Bronwyn.
That lady was still talking, this time about the most recent attack on Camelot, and her words, though very complimentary of Arthur, sent an icy chill through his body, forcing memories that he knew would live the rest of his life as nightmares to the forefront of his mind.
His head ached, his muscles were stiff and sore, and when he tried to move, he found that his legs were tangled in a thick, roughly-woven blanket that encased the lower half of his body.
The last thing he could remember was that he was sitting at the table in his quarters, working his way through the day's dispatches, yet he woke up on the stone floor of the throne room, bundled in a blanket that would never have been deemed fit for the use of the King. It took several moments for him to recognise where he was and to register the distant sounds of fighting, and a moment more before he was be able to move any part of his body.
When he was finally able to summon the strength to lift himself into a sitting position, kicking feebly to free himself of the blanket, he was horrified by the sight before him.
Morgause stood before him, her back to him, looking down at somebody in front of her. He heard the faint chink of a sword against her armour, and muffled words he could not make out, and then he saw her shoulders slump, as though in defeat. The spell she incanted swept her away in a whirl of light and smoke, and without Morgause standing in his way, he could see what she must have seen before she spirited herself away.
Morgana lay in Merlin's arms, ghost-pale and completely unmoving.
"Morgana!" He tried to shout her name but only a hoarse whisper escaped his lips. When he tried to hasten to her side, his weakened muscles and the tangled blanket combined to leave him sprawled on the floor, helpless to do anything but watch as Arthur's manservant and another man he recognised… the commoner who tried to sneak into the ranks of the Knights of Camelot… what was his name?… hovered over her, trying to force clear liquid from a glass vial into her.
The servant was close to tears, cradling Morgana's head in his lap and watching in despair as most of the liquid trickled out of her still mouth, running down her chin and neck and dampening the neckline of her gown. His words were coming in a jumble and Uther could make out only brief snatches of what he was saying.
"…only way… wake up… didn't want to… nothing else…"
He passed an eternity as he watched the two men working feverishly to revive his ward… his daughter…wanting desperately to be able to help them, to be able to hold her as she passed if there was nothing he could do to help, but he couldn't force his limbs to obey him, couldn't come close enough to Morgana to touch her. He could only lie there, helpless, watching what might be the final moments of his daughter's life... if she wasn't already dead, and the two men attempting to do the impossible and restore her to life when the world of the dead had laid claim to her.
Another eternity passed before Morgana choked on the liquid being poured down her throat, droplets flying from her lips as she spluttered.
When she opened her eyes and looked right at him, he felt no shame over the tears of relief and joy that ran down his cheeks in rivulets.
It wasn't until later that he learned what had led to Morgana almost dying before his eyes.
His first priority was to have Gaius examine Morgana to ensure that she had suffered no ill effects from whatever had happened to leave her in that state but, once the physician reassured him that she was as well as could be expected, he looked to Merlin for an explanation.
He was sickened by what he heard.
He was no stranger to the evil of magic, having experienced the harm it could do at first hand, as the victim of one he had thought of as a friend and trusted to give him the heir he needed, but who tore his beloved from him for no other reason than that she could, but it seemed that he could still be shocked and repulsed by the cruel, repulsive things that sorcerers were capable of.
The idea that Morgause could have crept into his castle in the dead of the night, infecting Morgana with her dark magic in order to turn her into a weapon against Camelot, appalled him. He was doubly grateful that he had shielded Morgana from the knowledge that she had a half-sister; she would be heartbroken to learn that a relative of hers could be so evil and so cruel as to force her to be the unwitting instrument of doom for the city that was her home, and the people in it. Even if Morgause intended to spare Morgana's life, caring enough for the sister she had never known not to want her die with everybody else in Camelot, she would have left her to live with the terrible burden of knowing that she had been used to bring about the destruction of all she held dear.
If Lancelot had not heard tales of such vile enchantments, and known how to end them…
If Gaius had not had a potent general antidote prepared, in case of need…
If Morgana had not been far braver than most people would give her credit for, willing to lay down her life in the defence of Camelot…
He couldn't bear to think what would have become of his kingdom if Morgause had been allowed to triumph. At the very least, all of his work to protect his people from the evils of magic would be undone. Sorcerers would be free to use their powers to enslave law-abiding citizens, and the taint of magic would spread from Camelot until there was no place in Albion that was free of it.
It did not bear thinking about.
"Lord Agravaine," Uther cut in, when Lady Bronwyn's cloying compliments about Arthur's heroism, and her speculation about the terrible things that could have happened if he had not been there to save the kingdom from the invaders who threatened it, became too much for him to bear. "Perhaps you would be so good as to escort Lady Bronwyn and Lady Ursula back to their quarters. I am certain that they will want time to prepare for the festivities." If he was going to be rid of one irritant, he might as well rid himself of the second. He had no qualms about burdening Agravaine with a companion he was certain to dislike. "Stay a moment, Morgana." He didn't have the heart to leave her stuck with Lady Bronwyn when it lay in his power to give her a break from what he knew to be the most trying part of her duties, especially when she had performed them without complaint for days, and he certainly didn't want her left alone with Agravaine, even for a moment, after the other ladies were delivered to their quarters. "There is a matter I would discuss with you."
He had the spiteful satisfaction of seeing Agravaine's calm facade drop for an instant, betraying his displeasure at the thought of enduring Lady Bronwyn's company, even for a brief period of time.
That lady looked affronted at first, clearly taking offence at the barely veiled dismissal but, an instant later, she caught Uther's eye, giving him a half-grateful, half-conspiratorial smile before moving to take Agravaine's arm. After curtseying and making her polite farewells to Uther and Morgana, she all but marched him away, a resigned Lady Ursula trailing behind them.
"Lord Agravaine won't thank you for that," Morgana observed, as soon as the three guests were safely out of earshot. "Lady Bronwyn has had her eye out for a second husband since Sir Arran died. I think she meant to petition you to find somebody suitable for her. Now there's nothing that will convince her that you don't want to see them married. Agravaine won't have a moment of peace as long as they're both under the same roof."
"Really?" Uther chuckled at the thought of Agravaine being chased by a noble widow determined to ensnare a new husband, particularly one who was under the impression that the King sought to act as a matchmaker on her behalf. He might dislike the man but to Lady Bronwyn, it would be a fine match. He now knew exactly who would be seated next to Agravaine at every feast and entertainment over the coming days. At the very least, he would have no opportunity to sniff around Morgana if Lady Bronwyn monopolised his time. He would happily dance at their wedding if it meant that he would never have to worry about his brother-in-law courting his daughter. "Does she have any family at court?" If she cornered him again, talking his ear off about any kin she had, he wanted to know who she spoke of, so he could have some idea what to say in response.
"A son, Sir Marcus. He was knighted three years ago."
He raised an eyebrow at this, not troubling to hide his surprise.
While he might not recognise many of the female members of Camelot's nobility on sight, he was familiar with each of the knights serving in Camelot's forces, having personally approved each of their appointments, and ceremonially conferred their knighthoods on them.
Sir Marcus, a quiet, earnest young man, who was a good, steady warrior but who did not distinguish himself, either in combat or as a courtier, was perhaps the last man he would have thought could be related to someone as pushy and talkative as Lady Bronwyn. He was a solemn young man, who preferred to observe than to be the centre of attention, and in all his years at Camelot, Uther exchanged few words with him. He could imagine that Sir Marcus must have rued the day that his father died, leaving him as head of the family but with a mother who seemed far more likely to take charge of her own affairs than to be guided by any man, least of all her son.
If Lady Ursula's shyness around him was not the exception rather than the rule, it would appear that Lady Bronwyn's confidence and talkativeness had been balanced out by her quiet offspring.
"I know," Morgana remarked, knowing what he was thinking. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen them together. He loves her very much. I've never seen him as happy as he was when he came to greet her and Lady Ursula when they arrived. It's a bond to be cherished."
She sounded wistful as she spoke, her eyes clouding with grief at the thought of Gorlois.
Even after living half of her life without him, Uther knew that she felt his loss as keenly as she did the day when the news of his death was gently broken to her. Vivienne died before Morgana was old enough to take her first steps or speak her first words or to have any memory of her mother. Gorlois had had no close kin apart from a cousin Morgana barely knew – though the man had eagerly petitioned to take charge of her and her inheritance before Uther made it known that he intended to take her as his ward – so theirs was a family of two.
After Gorlois died, he tried to make her understand that she was not alone in the world, as she believed herself to be, but he could never truly convince her.
When he overheard the nurse he engaged to attend her scolding her for some childish misdeed or another, lecturing her about how fortunate she was to be taken in by the King instead of left alone in the world, as countless other orphans were, and telling her that it was her duty to be a pleasant and well-behaved guest to show herself properly grateful for the King's generosity, the woman's bags were packed and she was gone from the castle before the day was out. He turned a deaf ear to her pleas to be given a second chance, determined to send a message to everybody in the castle that he would not tolerate anybody treating Morgana like an unwelcome guest, a burden he shouldered only out of duty, rather than a welcome and honoured member of his family.
To the best of his knowledge, nobody had dared to say anything like that to her since then but he knew her well enough to know that, even if they had, she would not have told him of it.
Even at ten, she preferred to fight her own battles than to seek his help.
He tried to show her that she meant as much to him as Arthur did, coming as close to the truth as he dared by telling her that she was the daughter he never had, but it saddened him to see that she didn't believe him, didn't know how much she truly meant to him, accepting it as a matter of course that he cared far more for his son than he did for his ward.
There were so many times that he wanted nothing more than to take Morgana in his arms and tell her what she really was to him but fear always stilled his tongue; fear that, if it was known that Arthur had a sister, she would be used against him by enemies seeking to dethrone him, fear that he would never be able to allow her to marry a great lord or prince who would be worthy of her hand, for fear that he might use his power, wealth and influence to seize the throne of Camelot in her name… and fear that, if he told her, the news would devastate her.
Gorlois was a good man, a man who loved Morgana as his own, and who she had loved in return.
How could he, who chose not to claim her when Vivienne first sent word of her pregnancy, presume to usurp the title of 'father' from the man who raised his daughter?
When Gaius confided in him that Morgause, the woman who defeated Arthur in a duel so that she might demand that he walk into her trap, was Vivienne's first daughter, the child he believed to have died at birth, and that that child had been raised and trained by the priestesses of the Old Religion, he knew that he could not allow Morgana to learn that she had a half-sister.
After so many years of feeling alone, he feared that she would fall prey to Morgause's influence, once the prospect of having a family was dangled before her.
He was certain that Morgause would not be above preying on her sister's emotions if she thought that she could lure her onto her side. She had undoubtedly planned to tell Morgana of their kinship once she succeeded in killing the other occupants of the castle and seizing control of the kingdom, thinking that this would be enough to persuade Morgana to ally herself with her.
As terrifying as it was to think of how close Morgana had come to dying, there was a part of him that wished that he could have seen the look on Morgause's face when she realised that, far from being willing to side with her, her half-sister chose to die to protect the people of Camelot.
He reached out to her, gently brushing her cheek with his free hand and frowning slightly at her pallor, and at the faint shadows under her eyes. Gaius insisted that the antidote had cleared the poison from her body but he couldn't help but worry that traces of it might linger, doing silent damage, that she might be snatched away from him after all. "You're pale, child. Perhaps you should see Gaius."
"I saw him this morning." The response was automatic and, if the wary expression on her face was any indication, she had not intended to share this with him. "I didn't sleep well," she elaborated.
It was no surprise, under the circumstances.
He could not fail to be aware of how difficult the past year was for her.
Her nightmares grew steadily worse after Arthur's near-death after being bitten by the Questing Beast, and despite Gaius' skill as a physician, the sleeping draughts he brewed for her seemed to provide her with very little relief. She was attacked with magic in her bedchamber, where she should have been safe from harm and, despite his best efforts, he was unable to discover the sorcerer responsible. All he could do was round up those under suspicion of sorcery, hoping that the guilty party was among their number. He had not been able to discover which of them was responsible but, as the attacks had ceased after that, he was sure that one of them must be to blame. He was ready to execute them all, to be certain that the culprit would not escape retribution, but had relented, against his better judgement, allowing himself to be swayed by Morgana's plea that she did not want innocent people to die for her sake. Just a few weeks later, she was abducted by bandits during her pilgrimage to Gorlois' grave, mercifully escaping their clutches before they could harm her. He would have paid whatever ransom they demanded in order to get her back, and then burned Hengist's stronghold to the ground. Like him and Arthur, she was rattled by how easily the troll infiltrated their lives, and by the damage it did in its short weeks posing as Queen. He still couldn't believe that the troll was able to lead him to disinherit his son, or that he threatened both of his children with death for speaking against it.
And then there was Morgause, who used her to try to bring down Camelot, forcing her to choose between her life and the lives of those around her.
"If you need to rest, don't worry about any of our guests, or about the ceremony," he told her.
"I'm not going to miss Arthur's big day," she protested immediately. "Everybody is looking forward to it. They're all very proud of him, after what he did."
"He would have failed, if it hadn't been for you."
He had no wish to disregard Arthur's true accomplishments – between his successful quest and his defence of the city against Morgause, his son had more than proven his worthiness to be King – but there was no escaping this truth. Had it not been for Morgana, Arthur and the men who joined with him to fight off the Knights of Medhir would have succumbed to Morgause's spell, and would have been rendered incapable of fighting, incapable of defending themselves when the Knights slaughtered them, along with every other victim of the sleeping curse.
They would not have lasted another minute, had the curse not been lifted.
He wished that he could see her publicly honoured for the part she had played in defeating Morgause but, not only would that mean diminishing Arthur's heroism in the eyes of the people he would one day rule, people who needed to be able to have faith that he was strong enough to defend them from all those who sought to threaten the kingdom, it was bound to lead to questions about why Morgause chose to single Morgana out to be the vessel of her spell, sparing her from its effects. The last thing that Morgana needed was for anybody to connect her to Morgause, or to wonder if she was her willing accomplice rather than her victim.
He wished that he could tell her just how proud of her he was, and just how much it meant to him to know that, while they might quarrel about some things, he could trust in her loyalty in every way that truly mattered, but the words wouldn't come.
"Gorlois would be so proud of you," he said instead.
"I hope so."
"I know it."
She smiled at that, holding his gaze for a moment before excusing herself to prepare for the ceremony.
He watched her go, berating himself for all he left unsaid.