REMISSION. The asterisk cancer went into remission shortly after I put up the new chapter of "Unto Albion." REJOICE. Also, who saw the first episode of the new season? I squealed. A lot. And I'm really super excited and the more I think about it, the more I think a story reconciling the new season with "Secrets" might not be as much work as I'm afraid it would be. Thoughts?
And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to Elfpen, who helped (beta'd? edited? suggested? RESCUED.) this chapter. Hopefully it lives up to your hopes, after the heavy editing in the middle. Thanks, always!
Two days left. Two days until the elf curse would be complete. Two days until Arthur died and left Albion with nothing but a queen. Not that that was a huge problem, as Arthur had discovered in the emergency council meeting before they left for the Valley of the Fallen Kings.
The new manor lords had gladly sworn fealty to Guinevere and were obviously worried for their king's life…but they'd also got a curious look in their eyes when the newest map of Albion was unveiled, a look that the king didn't trust. And the old lords had looked murderous at the thought of a woman in charge of all that land, never mind that Queen Annis was doing well. And what about the surrounding countries? they'd all said. What would they do when they realized there was no king to lead Arthur's armies into battle? Albion was the largest country the island had ever seen, and the wealthiest, true…but it was by no means the only land with considerable power and ability. There was still danger everywhere, and Gwen, perfect queen that she was, had only been queen for almost three years of peace. She didn't have the experience to rule a land at war.
Albion needed Arthur.
And Arthur was losing hope.
Oh, they had answers. They had entire books. Geoffrey had been a dream, gathering all the answers the castle had collected over the last few weeks, picking out the repeats, and binding the answers into books. Books, plural. There were three of them, two very thick and one about half that size. Every woman in in the six provinces of Albion had been asked, some of them twice, and they were still no closer to finding the answer than they were before.
And their time was quickly running out.
The Round Table, or at least the young and able-bodied men of the Table, were now on their way back to the Valley of the Fallen Kings, two-and-a-half books in tow, hoping that one of them contained the answer that would prevent Arthur from being killed. "If he even accepts more than one answer," Elyan muttered under his breath as they set out. Merlin glared at him and muttered something angry and arcane under his breath. Elyan had saddle sores less than ten minutes into the ride.
They made camp near the Valley, intending to reread the books of answers for the thousandth time, trying to find something that popped out at them despite the fact that nothing ever did. They had divided into pairs; Leon and Gwaine at one book, Percival and Elyan at another, and Galahad and Merlin at the last. Every once in a while someone read a promising answer out loud, only to be shot down by his fellows. Arthur paced around the campfire, growing more distressed with every passing minute.
The curse was not making him ill, but it was making him uncomfortable. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, each steady thump bringing him that much closer to the confrontation of the next day. This could be his last night on earth. Many times he'd thought that over the years, but never had he come so close to believing it. No one could help him now. The only reason the others were here was because he didn't want to be alone when he died—well, that and they were all determined to rip Gromer Somer Jour to shreds when—if—their king died.
"Sire?" came Galahad's voice, breaking him out of his reverie. "Are you all right?"
Arthur blinked, suddenly aware of everyone staring at him. He hadn't noticed, but he'd stopped moving and had been staring into the fire for the last several minutes. "…Yes," he said. "I mean, no. Thirsty, is all. I think I'll go get a drink at that stream we passed earlier."
"…It's getting dark, Sire," Leon said, glancing up at the sky.
"I'll be back before it gets too bad," he countered, already heading away. He glanced back after a few minutes to be sure he wasn't being followed, then headed toward the stream. He needed space, to think.
He knelt by the stream and scrubbed his face in the cool water, breathing heavily. Worrying wasn't helping anyone.
"Why hello, Arthur Pendragon," croaked a voice nearby.
Startled, Arthur looked up—and when he saw who (what?) it was speaking to him, he yelled in alarm and fell on his behind in the dirt. The woman—if it was a woman—sighed and took a step toward him. He jumped up and drew the dragon sword, pointing it at her.
She rolled her beady eyes. "Oh, please. Can't you tell the difference between a threat and a friend? You're really going to point that thing at a harmless old woman like me?"
Arthur gulped and dropped the point into the ground, but didn't sheath the blade. The woman sniffed. "I suppose that'll have to be good enough."
She was by far the ugliest woman he had ever seen—including the troll his father had once married. Her skin was mottled brown and a sickly yellow, but her face was a bright red. She had a huge, bulbous nose that ran nonstop over her thick brown lips and great yellow teeth—she had an overbite like a boar. At least a triple chin wagged over a neck thicker than Percival's arm. She was short and wide as a barrel and had only a small, straggly mop of white hair that fell into her narrow black eyes. Yet she was dressed in clothing finer than much that Guinvere wore and her brown horse was bedecked with jewels and fine silks. The juxtaposition was disconcerting to say the least.
"…I'm sorry?" Arthur said, taken completely aback and a little afraid for his life. "You…startled me, is all. How do you know who I am?"
"What do you take me for, an idiot?" The woman rolled her eyes again. "If I'm traipsing around Albion, I'd better jolly well know who the king is, don't you think? And you're on your way to the Valley of the Fallen Kings to die."
The king stepped back—worried as he was, he still felt a rush of anger at the thing for saying it so bluntly. "Excuse me. I'm not going to die."
Before the woman could answer, the knights and Merlin bounded into view, weapons drawn and hands raised. "Sire, we heard—" Leon started to say, but was cut off with a horrible strangling noise when he saw the woman.
"What is that?" Elyan said, shooting a look at Merlin and Galahad; surely nothing that ugly could be naturally human.
The woman tossed her head, spraying the surrounding trees with bits of drool and snot. "I am a who not a what. I am the Lady Ragnell, and you are the knights of the Round Table, and Lord Emrys." She looked back at Arthur. "And you are going to Gromer Somer Jour."
Arthur's eyebrows shot up as he looked to his knights—with the exceptions of Merlin and Galahad, who were both peering intently at "Lady Ragnell" as if looking for something, they looked just as confused as he felt. "…We never told anyone outside of the Table what his name was. How could you possibly know that?"
"I know many things I shouldn't," she said. "I know the question you have been seeking to answer, and I know I was never asked. I know this because I know the answer."
The men looked at each other, then back at the hag. Should they believe her, or move on? Were they even sure it was really a woman? Percival spoke first. "…How do you know the answer? All the women we asked told us different things."
She smiled, showing more crooked, yellow teeth. It didn't seem to be a happy smile. "I am acquainted with Gromer Somer Jour. I know exactly what he's looking for."
Arthur sheathed his sword—if Merlin wasn't acting already, she wasn't a danger anyway. "So what is it? What do women want the most?"
"Ah, ah," she said, raising a finger and shaking it. "That's not the way it works, Arthur, King. Do you really expect me to just tell you? There is no such thing as a gift. You cannot get something for nothing."
Tristan nodded in agreement and hissed when Merlin nudged him. Arthur shot the pair of them a dirty look. "What is it you want from me, then?"
Ragnell sighed and urged the horse closer. The men made faces and leaned away, almost unconsciously—the old crone stank. "I am lonely," she grumbled sadly. "You can't understand what it's like, being alone. I want companionship."
The king's eye twitched at the thought of spending any more time than he had to with her. "All right, we can…we can take you to Camelot. Surely you can find a friend there."
"I don't want a friend. I want a husband."
The clearing exploded. Tristan began to cough violently, and Elyan reeled backward, a hand over his face. Leon looked sick to his stomach and backed away as well. Gwaine bit back a gurgle of disgust. Merlin recoiled a bit and would have done more, but Galahad's eyes sharpened on the woman and he began to breathe deeply despite the sickly smell radiating from her. Merlin glanced at him and frowned before turning back to the hag. Her eyes were suddenly sad—if eyes that watery and dark could contain an emotion, anyway, that's what Merlin would call it. Was that what Galahad was looking at? The boy always did have such bizarre ways of looking at people…
Arthur swallowed back a mouthful of bile. "Uh…I…I'm sorry?"
"You heard me," Ragnell said with a pointed glare and a sigh that sent a wave of rotten breath rolling over him. "I want a husband."
The only reason he wasn't throwing up by now was because kings did not show weakness, curse it all, stay standing. "…All right…well I'm sure we can find some…nice old man…" Who was blind and had no nose…
She laughed, a hollow, bone-chilling sound. "Oh, so you'll peddle me off to whatever old fishmonger will take me? I don't think so. Can't you see how high-born I am? Honestly, if you can't tell a Lady from a farmer's wench, you need to get out more often." She gestured at the bejeweled bridle in her hands. "I'll be no peasant's wife. I want someone of distinction, of status equal to my own…a knight of the Table. And of royal blood." She looked at the knights and grinned. Predatory. They all stepped back again.
Arthur's eyes automatically strayed toward Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival, who looked back at him with expressions of ardent horror. "I can't promise you to anyone, my lady," he said, his voice gentle and placating. "I threw off enough arranged marriages in my time to force anyone to marry against their will." And he would not, could not, promise any one of his knights, his brothers, (and sometimes he considered them his sons, too, though he'd die before admitting it) to a harridan like that.
"Fine," she said with a shrug. "Doom yourself. No skin off my nose." Another trail of snot dribbled onto her chin.
So far Merlin hadn't seen anything that could explain Galahad's sudden interest—no spell, no glamours, no curses. The Lady Ragnell was who she appeared to be. But why did the scrying squire seem so intent on studying her? He watched as Ragnell's gaze drifted to Gwaine—actually, she'd been looking at Gwaine more than any of the others this whole time. Why hadn't he noticed that before? What was so special about Gwaine? "You there," she snapped, pointing at him. "With the nice hair. What's your name?"
Gwaine winced. "Sir Gwaine."
She smiled again. "Awww, little Sir Gwaine? Or is it Lord Gwaine, who was until the death of King Lot and division of his lands, Crown Prince Gwaine ap Gywar of the Orkneys?"
He winced again. "What's it matter to you?"
She laughed again, a screech of delight this time. "Oh, you are Lord Gwaine, aren't you? You're handsome, highness, and very amusing. I think you and I would be quite well suited to each other."
Galahad's head jerked up higher, and he scanned the lady's face with even more intensity.
Gwaine blanched. "Oh, you don't want me, My Lady," he said, shaking his head and speaking perhaps a bit too quickly. "I'm a scoundrel and a drunkard. Ask anyone. They'll tell you the same."
Percival and Leon nodded, although Elyan looked dubious—he was a prince, too, and while she was fixed on Gwaine, he was safe. Tristan made a small sickened sound.
"No, I think you're the prince for me," she insisted, wiping the drool from her chin with a bloated, warty hand. "I'll take him, Oh King. Give me Gwaine ap Gwyar to wed and I'll tell you the answer to the question that will save your life."
As if someone had placed a spell on him, his so-called "brother knights" scattered from the ex-prince of Orkney, leaving him completely open to Ragnell's beady-eyed appraisal. Arthur snorted, trying to ignore the helpless, pleading looks Gwaine was giving him. "I can't just give you Gwaine! He can make his own choices about who he wants to marry!"
"I'm not in the marrying business, sorry," Gwaine muttered, leaning away from the woman. "I've never serious or loyal with a woman a day in my life. And I come from a bad background, too, you know. My mother wasn't loyal, either. Doesn't that say something about the way I could have been raised? You don't want me. I'll just follow Mother's footsteps."
Actually, that was a lie. Possibly. Probably. What not very many people knew about Gwaine—no one but Garis, in fact—was that he held nothing but the greatest respect for marriage. He didn't consider very many things as "wrong" or "sin," not a proper one, the way some of the other men did, but betraying a spouse was close to the top of his list. Marriage to the Lady Ragnell was a prison sentence, to a dungeon far greater than the most enchanted of cells.
The Lady Ragnell just shook her head at him, as if he were a child. "That's what I want," she insisted. "Marry me, Sir Gwaine. It's the only way to make sure you have the right answer."
"I wouldn't marry you if we were the last two people on earth!" Gwaine snapped, losing his temper in panic. He took a step closer to her, ignoring the stench. "Nobility isn't something you're born with, it's something that has to be earned. If you want a noble husband, you're looking at the wrong man, because to me, nobility is dirt. If you force me to do this, then you're dirt, you and all the titles you may or may not carry. They're nothing! I will not marry you, Lady Ragnell, be you lady or princess or devil itself!"
Ragnell's eyes grew harsh and cold, and her voice went sharp and desperate. "Then Arthur Pendragon will die. The court will weaken and the Table will break. The Dark Ones will rise and destroy all semblance of light. Albion will fall before it has properly risen and it will be all your fault. You will be responsible for the deaths of your friends and brothers, and all you've ever cared for, and I will ensure the world will hold you to that responsibility." She was practically yelling now, spraying Gwaine with spittle and snot. Her voice had…almost a sort of echo to it, a menacing sound that chilled the men to the bone. She settled down now, sitting up straight in the saddle, peering at him down her huge nose "The choice is yours, Lord Gwaine."
Galahad had crept forward, winced through the hurricane of spit, and grabbed Gwaine's elbow. "Gwaine," he muttered, tugging on the red-faced knight's arm. "Gwaine, please."
"What?" Gwaine growled, not taking his eyes off the woman.
"I just…I have a feeling," Galahad muttered, shooting a look in Ragnell's direction. "You trust me, don't you? Because this is important, and I'm sorry, but I think you should do as she says."
Gwaine spun to face the squire, thunder in his gaze. "What are you saying? You know this demon?"
Galahad shook his head, all nerves and innocence. "No, but it's for Arthur, Gwaine. It's for Arthur. We're always talking about how we would die for him. Maybe this is your turn?"
Arthur's eyes popped. "Gwaine, Galahad—"
"Shut up a minute, Queenie."
Merlin approached now, taking Gwaine's other arm. He didn't know what Galahad was playing at, but he did know what thing for sure. He didn't like it, but it had to be said. "Gwaine," he said softly. He waited until he had the knight's undivided attention before continuing. "Gwaine, you're one of my best friends. You're like a brother to me. But I've got a duty, just like you do. Now you're on one side and Arthur's on the other, and Gwaine, I'm begging you. Don't make me choose."
Figures. Threaten the country and the Defender of Albion turns against you. "Merlin I'm not going to marry that…thing," he hissed, nodding in the hag's direction.
"Oh, don't insult both of us by suggesting you getting married to a woman like that would actually mean something," he hissed back.
Ow. Oh, that hurt. Gwaine blinked and said nothing, wishing his brother were there.
"Besides that," Merlin continued, regretting the hurt and betrayal in his friend's eyes but pressing on despite it. "How long's she going to live? She's old. You're be a widower before the year's out. Think about this for a minute."
He growled and looked at Merlin's sorrowful, unrelenting gaze and the hand curling into a fist on his chainmail sleeve. Then at Galahad's calculating, hopeful expression, then at the stunned men around the clearing. He took a deep breath, blinking back the prickly feeling in the corners of his eyes. Feeling as if he was signing his own death warrant, he turned back to the woman. "…Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I will marry you."
"Gwaine," Arthur started, his voice soft, but was cut off with a look.
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Lady Ragnell answered. "You give me your word, your solemn vow that you will marry me?"
"I give you my word," he said, barely audible.
The woman nodded and, so fixed on staring at her were the knights of the Table that no one noticed the hiss of understanding from the squire of their number. The boy stood up straighter and gave the woman a shy smile that none but Merlin saw. The warlock bit the inside of his cheek and pulled the squire away from Gwaine. No one else moved as Ragnell dismounted from her horse—the ground sank a bit and the horse sighed in relief, and sweet Camelot, she was a hunchback, too—and waddled over to the king, trying to hide his aversion. All loathing was forgotten, however, as she leaned forward and whispered into his ear.
Arthur's eyebrows shot up as he received the answer they'd all been looking for. "…That's it?"
"That's it," Ragnell said.
"Really? Happiness makes so much more sense…"
"It leads to happiness. Think about it."
Percival frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "What is it? What's the answer?"
The old crone shook her head. "Arthur knows. You can give Gromer Somer Jour all the answers you like. If he refuses mine and takes another, the deal is off and Gwaine goes free. If he does take mine…I'll be waiting on the road back to Camelot."
Gwaine swallowed, looking positively green. "Let's get out of here," he snarled, turning away from the hideous woman and heading back to camp. Elyan and Arthur followed behind, all too eager to get away from the woman. Percival frowned at Ragnell until it became clear she wasn't going to tell him what the answer was, then he and Leon trailed after the others.
Galahad hung around behind, and only part of the reason was Merlin's hand on his arm. When the other's were out of sight, he gave Ragnell a sort of half-bow, which the hideous thing returned with a curtsey and a wink at the warlock. Merlin shuddered and whispered in Galahad's ear. "What are you doing, anyway? What do you know?"
"Just look, just take a good look," the squire answered, nodding at the woman again.
Merlin turned around and stared into the woman's eyes, before feeling inexplicably drawn to the jewels on her saddle. He could see them better now that the lady had dismounted. Strange, the way they were arranged almost made them look like—Merlin gasped and looked back at her eyes. They were smiling, though her mouth was fixed in a line, her tusk-like teeth hanging over the fat lip. "Don't you two have somewhere to be?" the woman snapped, but it didn't sound…mean. It sounded almost playful. She grabbed the horse's bridle and led it back into the trees.
"…She's not human, is she?" Merlin muttered, comprehension dawning on his face.
Galahad shook his head. "I suspected from the beginning, but when she targeted Gwaine, I knew for sure. He's a classic spellbreaker, Gwaine is. Handsome, eldest-born prince of a powerful royal family that rules a large piece of land...even if he doesn't have magic, he could be used in a lot of it. She needs him for something. I just can't figure out what." He smiled again. "It reminded me of home in Astolat. I think she's setting up a fairy game.
"So what sort of game is this? What is she? What's she playing at?"
"I don't know," Galahad admitted, watching the horse and its rider vanish. "Feels like Avalon politics." Then, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he whirled onto Merlin. "We can't tell anyone, you know. You're not used to this kind of thing, but I am. We can't tell anyone. It'll ruin the game."
Merlin shook his head. "Never mind the game, Galahad. Arthur's life is at stake!"
"Apple blossoms on the saddle, Lord Emrys?" Galahad said with a withering look. "I don't think Gromer Somer Jour is part of it, and he may be dangerous, but do you really think Avalon is just going to let Arthur die? Don't say a word about anything. Just watch and see how it plays out. It's the most help we can offer, to anyone." He took the magician's arm and led him back to camp. Neither could resist one final look at the path the woman had taken into the underbrush.
Reconciliations
Last chapters-in the actual story, Arthur was not bound by a curse by a promise. I think that's a little wimpy for the show. It's honorable and romantic, yes, but really, really stupid and I don't think Merlin would LET Arthur go back after a year if they knew he was going to his death. Yet another reason I'm stalling the Green Knight thing. Oh, and Arthur and company had a year to find the answer. That was a REALLY long time, so I knocked ten months off. I don't think anyone minds. Also, Andrivete-and all you people who told me you want to ship Leon/Ann now, you made my day. Andrivete was originally a princess of Northumbria/Northumberland with whom Sir Kay fell in love at first sight, back when he was one of Arthur's strongest and most loyal knights and not an angry churl. I was rather hoping you all liked her. More on her later.
This chapter: I usually NEVER write description like I did in this chapter, but Ragnell demanded it. Her description was inspired by the actual description of Dame Ragnell. Bleary eyes, yellow teeth, hunched back, wide as a barrel, the works. It was fun. And although most of the dialogue is original, there's a line about Ragnell being a devil or demon that originally went something like "though she be a fiend as foul as Beelzubub, I'll wed her." Gawain never actually saw Ragnell before agreeing to marry her on the spot-it would save Arthur's life, see, so he did it without thinking. There's a reason Gawain was considered the greatest of his knights.
Finally, thank you all, my wonderful readers, and I hope you enjoy. Oh, and be an enabler today! I'm still addicted to reviews. :)
