The Mark of Nimueh


Episode: The Mark of Nimueh
Category: Gen
Rating/Warnings: K


It should have been more difficult, sneaking into the bowels of the fortress in the dead of night. At least one of the guards should've cried out, "Halt! What business do you have down here?"

But they didn't say a word as he passed their way, the sleepy sentinels who counted him as one of their own. They only nodded and smiled, seeming not to notice the sweat beading his brow or the lower lip he nibbled to the point where he tasted the salty warmth of his own blood.

It should've been a far greater challenge to bypass them all, to reach that forbidden iron door behind which lay the legacy of a thousand shattered lives. Spellbooks and amulets, crystals and enchanted ornaments... they should've been dragging him away to a prison cell the minute he thrust the key into the tiny crevice, decrying him as a traitor before he was even given the opportunity to push the door open and slip inside.

But all was silent as he did just that, his eyes widening in awe as they passed over the heaping piles of glittering contraband that filled the room. Only a moment... a heartbeat and a breath to marvel over the wonders laid out before him, and then the briefest pause as the memory of an innocent young serving girl prompted an onslaught of questions that he'd never allowed himself to contemplate before that moment.

Could magic, those elusive powers which were capable of bringing all the splendor before him into existence, truly be evil? Were all sorcerers corrupted... or had a few who'd misused their gifts caused the rest to be condemned to a fate they didn't deserve? That girl in the yellow dress, the soul of kindness for all the years he'd known her... could she really be guilty of the terrible crime of which she'd been accused?

And then he remembered himself, passing over a mound of glittering jewels in shades and hues he'd never seen before in order to reach the one thing, the only thing, that could've inspired the most loyal of Camelot's guards to rebel against a lifetime of unquestioning service to his king.

The poultice hummed in his pocket like some sentient being, so vibrant and alive within his tightly clutched fist that he had to wonder that the others didn't sense it as he passed their way again. And yet there were only casual calls of, "See you on the morrow!" and "Give your girls my best!" echoing in his head as he stumbled out into the courtyard and made his way home.

There was terror in his wife's eyes as he withdrew the shimmering object, a gasp and a protest that were both silenced by a distracted kiss. She spoke not a word after that, only clung to his arm as he stepped over to the bed, his eyes closing in relief upon the sight of the shallow rise and fall of a pair of tiny chests.

It wasn't too late. Not yet.

He slipped it beneath their pillow then, the clumsy little talisman that stood as his only weapon against the certain death of his beloved daughters. And as he stared down into the identical pair of drawn, gray faces, envisioning them rosy-cheeked and full of laughter once more, he couldn't bring himself to fear the consequences of his actions. Let them string him up on the morrow, brand him a traitor and leave him to die in infamy. For if magic was capable of saving two such innocent lives, he would gladly give his own to defend it.

And so as the sun rose over the horizon, its gentle hues of pink and gold infusing a pair of pallid complexions with the glow of good health, a heart's alliance shifted forever. What the anxious young father had done the previous night would never be discovered, nor would the increasing frequency of escapes by those who'd been accused of sorcery ever be traced back to him.

But forever after, deep within the heart of Camelot's seemingly impenetrable fortress, magic had earned itself a staunch ally.