Thanks for Realmlife and Fayzalmoonbeam for the beat-reading, the help and the support in getting this project off the ground. I owe you even more fish than usual -x-

Post-movie, rated for language and violence.

Chapter 1 - Three Little Words

It was late evening, and the last rays from the sun lit the room from the open windows. The two men had eaten in silence. The Duke of Cornwall sat on his small, wooden throne, looking across the table to his guest. The man in question had eaten his way through the best meats and roasts the household could provide. Now Edward of Mercia had finished the food, it was time to discuss more important matters.

The servants removed the plates and refilled the goblets with mead, leaving the half full bottle beside Mercia. Then the two men faced each other, still silent.

As Edward took a long swig of his drink, Cornwall leaned forward.

'The meal was to your liking?' Edward nodded, finishing the wine then thumping the goblet down on the table with a clang. 'And the mead as well.'

'Where was it from?'

'Bragawd. From a Welsh tribute,' replied Gorlois. 'A special favour.'

'A tribute?'

Gorlois nodded with a slightly smug smile, but said nothing.

'You've shown me great favour, though my lands are gone and the Earldom has been forfeit. There is no need now for reserve between us.' This time it was Edward who leaned forward. 'I want to know why.'

The Duke of Cornwall clasped his hands in front of him and frowned, as if thinking.

'I need your help. In fact, you are the only one who can offer me this service.' Edward's expression showed his disbelief. 'I wish to be King.'

Edward laughed and it boomed round the hall. He reached for the mead once more.

'Your aim is high, Cornwall,' he said still chuckling. 'Too high. No one can get close enough to get rid of the current one. Not with his guards, and his knights.' There was a special venom in Edward's voice at the word knight.

'My aim is high, but true,' said Gorlois.

'Would you trick me into treason? To plot to kill a King is treason.'

Gorlois conceded the remark with a slight nod.

'But it is only treason if I fail. I have the only valid claim.'

'Once Arthur is dead,' pointed out Edward. He helped himself to another generous measure of mead and once again drank it down.

'Once Arthur Pendragon is dead.'

'I do not like the thought of treason,' Edward muttered.

'Do you like the thought of revenge?' asked Gorlois.

'What do you mean?'

'Consider what I have to offer you,' said the Duke. 'Consider what might be gained from another change in monarch.'

'What do you mean?' insisted Edward.

'The problem is, my friend, that Arthur is too well protected at Camelot. He had the power of the castle, and the loyalty of his knights. Most of his knights, at least.'

'Most?'

Gorlois smiled and continued.

'No betrayer in their right mind would strike in Camelot. So Arthur must leave its protection. I had hoped to tempt him out with the Mage from Avalon, but she is too far from my lands. So it must be one of his knights.'

Edward looked up, hopeful and suddenly filled with understanding.

'But you must not kill him,' said Gorlois.

'He murdered my brother in cold blood,' growled Edward. 'I have the right.'

'Peace, my friend, peace,' said Cornwall softly, holding up his hand. 'No one can deny that you have the right of vengeance.'

'I'd like to see him hang.'

'And there nothing that would dissuade you of this?'

'Nothing.'

Gorlois shrugged, seeming resigned to this answer.

He stood and walked to the window, motioning Edward to accompany him. In the courtyard below the window were three carts, with heavy bound boxes and chests. There was a noise from the doorway and a similar chest was brought into the room by four guards. It was set on the floor by the table and Gorlois moved back to open it. Gold. It gleamed in the evening light, spreading a warm glow through the room.

'I may not be rich by the standards of the King,' said the Duke. 'But I have wealth enough for my purpose.'

'What is this,' murmured Edward. He came forward, reaching out to touch the gold in the chest, picking up a handful of coins and weighing them in his hand. The Duke made no move to stop him.

'Half my treasury will be yours,' said Gorlois. 'The wagons are prepared and under guard and will arrive at your castle in days.'

'For his death?' asked Edward, confused.

'For his life. The knight must live.'

Edward looked at the chests of gold and treasure, shaking his head.

'I…'

'Be assured, Mercia, he will live long enough to serve his purpose, and then be left where no one can find him.'

'Then he will be dead.'

Gorlois nodded.

'And his death will be slow. Painful. Lonely.'

Edward looked from the Duke back to the pile of gleaming gold in his hand.

'Why would Arthur care for a single knight?'

'The King is like Uther,' Gorlois replied sadly. 'He is an honourable man. The men of the resistance and the old knights of the previous court sacrificed a great deal to get him to the throne. He is in their debt. Besides, you know what he did to Greybeard, over a mere whore with a few bruises? Think how angry he would be if someone kidnapped one of his friends.'

'That's true,' admitted Edward. 'But there is no way to predict what he will do. You assume so much. From all accounts he is an arrogant and impetuous man. He will not follow blindly after his friend. I would not. Why would Arthur?'

Again, the Duke nodded.

'You are correct, of course, Mercia, but I do not leave it all to fate. There will be one on hand to guide the king to folly.' There was a long pause while Edward of Mercia gazed at the coins. 'Do I have your agreement, Mercia?'

Edward still hesitated.

'This is still treason.'

'This is still vengeance.'

The Duke moved back round the table to sip his drink. For another minute, neither spoke.

'If I were to agree,' said Edward warily. 'What would be my part? I want to see that man before he dies, bait for a King or not.'

'You shall, Mercia. You have my word. My men in Camelot will bring him to you. You may speak with him, and see that he understands his destiny, so he knows of your involvement. The men I provide will see to the rest.'

'I don't see why I can't...'

'No,' said Gorlois firmly. 'Arthur must believe the man can be saved. Only then will he risk himself in the pursuit. Trust me. I assure you the knight's just end will be most fitting.'

Edward looked back to the gold. Neither of them spoke for a long minutes.

'I agree,' said Edward suddenly.

A wide smile spread across the Duke's face.

'Then let us toast this alliance, and I shall tell you of my plan.'

Together they raised their drinks to the success of their enterprise. Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, erstwhile plotter of regicide, look a long drink from his goblet, draining it completely.

All this trouble over Edward. Still the man would no doubt fulfil his part, the look on his face when the gold had been presented was enough to convince Gorlois he had not misjudged his target. Then later, Mercia would be dead and he, Gorlois, would no longer control just Cornwall, but would be king, and without such a troublesome ally to deal with.

The end couldn't come fast enough.

Arthur was sleeping, lingering in that comfortable state between waking and dreaming, content to let his mind wander. Since confronting his Uncle and acknowledging his birthright, Arthur slept better. The nightmares were lost to the past, and though he still dreamt of his parents, the anguish and confusion that had accompanied those memories were now tempered with love.

The peace he felt was almost a physical presence, although he hadn't realised it at first. Perhaps it was the Sword's doing. Excalibur always rested nearby, its power shifting beneath the surface. He could sense its presence even from across the room, and it was a comfort. The power it held was beyond what he could understand and he had slowly learnt that the knowledge of that power would be forever just out of his reach. He knew nothing of magic, and Excalibur would always be a mystery. But Excalibur was his, and while the Sword was in his care, everything would be alright.

In the silence of the night it felt good to let his mind relax and, inevitably, it was drawn to the enigmatic lady that haunted his waking hours. She was still more of a mystery than the Sword was.

The Mage wasn't in Camelot. She had gone, maybe back to Merlin and his clan, or maybe just away from the castle, with the bustle of a royal court and all the people who used to stare. He lay there dreaming of her, how she had helped him, how she had guided him to claim his Father's legacy and embrace the power of the Sword. She had gripped his arm, she had looked into his eyes. She was doing that in his dream.

'There is always more to understand,' she murmurs. 'You will still need to see everything, to know the Truth if you are to help them and if you are to rule this land as King. You have the Sword but you must fight to unite the Land and her peoples. You must find the Truth to defeat your enemies.'

In his dream, Arthur frowns. This isn't what he wanted to dream of. She looks so stern now, so sure of purpose. Her eyes turn to gold, with black pupils like the giant snake's. He gazes intently into her eyes. She is beautiful. She is so beautiful. Until a snarl crosses her face and her eyes blaze with dark red fire. He wants to pull away, but he can't. The burning grows brighter...

He jerked awake, unsettled by the expression on her face as much as the fire in her eyes. As he lay there, his heart thumping, he could hear footsteps as they passed his door and faded into the night.

Having exhausted himself to the point of not being able to stand up, Sir William Wilson finally made his slow way back to his chambers high in the castle. His nightly walk was getting longer, and he was aware that soon he would need to find some other way of getting himself to sleep. Pacing the halls was not a practical idea, and eventually he was going to meet someone and have to explain why he was unable to rest.

Uther was avenged. Igraine was avenged. Vortigern was defeated. The danger had passed, and all he and Sir Bedivere had worked for was complete, he should be able to sleep better, not worse. He should be able to let the past go and let the dead rest in peace.

Outside the door of his chambers he stopped for a moment. Perhaps he should speak to his King. Or maybe even speak to the boy himself as the tension between him and Blue had grown more obvious each day. He shook his head. No, he had no right to do that, and his problems with Blue were only part of the whole picture. But speaking to Arthur was perhaps the appropriate course. With each passing day the conversation was more difficult to start. Arthur was still adjusting to the life of a ruler. Finding an opportunity to speak with Arthur would be hard.

Bill's chambers were sparsely decorated, not so rich as others he had seen, but comfortable enough, better than most places he'd spent the night in the past twenty or so years. Furs covered most of the stone flags of the floor and in the fireplace were the red embers of the fire he'd left flaming there a few hours earlier. It was at least warm and dry.

On the table by the fire was some food, some berries and a little bread and cheese. The girls who cooked left things like that occasionally. The berries looked tempting, red and delicious and he helped himself to a few and some of the bread as well, more just because they were there than because he was hungry.

Tomorrow he would go and see Old John from the east coast, after the usual practice with his bow. John would have the latest news, and after that meeting, he would be able to decide on his next move.

Slowly, he changed his clothes and lay back on his bed, grateful for the comfort and feeling sleep finally creeping up on him. Hopefully it would be a deep sleep with no dreams. Arthur wasn't the only one who had dark memories that only surfaced at night. Sometimes, Bill would wake, the sound of singing in his mind and the air heavy with the smell of burning wood and blood.

Revenge hadn't eased the sense of loss. He had a grim satisfaction that Mercia was dead, but that action had failed to lift his own feeling of responsibility. And the consequences of the fatal shot were still being felt by others. Even so, he found it difficult to regret killing the Earl of Mercia. It had been the only chance he was going to get. He might be able to get himself out of prisons and tight places, but getting himself close enough to rid the Kingdom of the Earl of Mercia had previously proved impossible.

Each shot he'd fired over the years since the fall of Uther, it was Mercia's face he'd seen at the centre of the target.

They have history, Sir Bedivere had told Arthur. Well, that was a fucking understatement.

Part of him wished that Mercia had been brought before the Throne, with Arthur sitting smugly in the centre of it. He wished there had been a chance to list all of the crimes and injustices Mercia had wrought on the people in the name of King Vortigern. His arrow stopped that. Dealing with the aftermath would be more problematic.

He had checked the lists again that morning. Edward's name wasn't among those on the role of nobles and so, to all intents and purposes, Mercia's brother had disappeared. That couldn't be good for anyone here at Camelot, least of all himself. Edward of Mercia, although not now entitled to the Earldom, could still throw significant weight behind trouble. It wasn't could; he would throw all his efforts behind disrupting Camelot. In his heart, Bill knew it.

There was a feeling of responsibility for this that he couldn't shake. If the Earl of Mercia was still alive, tried by a court and properly sentenced for his crimes, there would be no need for Edward to act against Camelot.

He'd not spoken of it to any other the other knights, although Bedivere should have figured it out as well. There could never be true peace with the second Mercia waiting in the shadows to take swift revenge for the cold-blooded murder of his brother.

He hadn't considered any of that when he shot the arrow through the Earl's chest. He hadn't considered what else could happen afterwards; Backlack's death and Blue's reaction, Rubio's treachery and the slaughter at their hide out. Was it all somehow down to that one shot? Maybe if he had managed some restraint there wouldn't have been so much death. Or maybe there would be no new King in Camelot.

That didn't matter now. He couldn't change it.

They have history. Now they had a whole lot more.

And with that disquieting thought, Bill fell into a deep but troubled sleep.