Chapter III: A Blessing and a Curse
Gwen was privately convinced that Morgana was in shock, denial, or both about the other Seer's revelation that she was a witch.
The women had known for some time now that Morgana's dreams were prophetic in nature, that she was technically a spellbinder. Now, though, they knew that soon she would have other powers, showier and less easy to hide. And Gwen was knowledgeable enough to realize that as a witch, Morgana would have to use her magic. Back when Gaius had been teaching Merlin, Arthur, and Leon about magic, Morgana had eavesdropped on their lessons and learned that witches and warlocks were physically incapable of not using magic. If they avoided casting spells in daylight, the old physician had explained, the built-up energy would escape while its source was sleeping.
Yet despite this fact, which Gwen knew Morgana had not forgotten, and despite the fact that they both lived in the heart of Camelot, her friend didn't seem particularly concerned. Didn't she realize that someone was bound to notice magic being used right under Uther's nose and that it would be extremely risky to interact with Emrys, a known spellbinder, long enough to teach her control? And then there was the fact that Morgana seemed very trusting of someone she'd only met a couple of times.
And what had Rodrik meant when he said that Morgana's soul was in Emrys's keeping?
With these thoughts and worries buzzing around in her head, Gwen had a hard time paying attention to the rest of the day's speeches. A lot of it had to do with creating safe houses and ways to avoid being exposed as a spellbinder or sympathizer, which she knew she ought to pay attention to what with Morgana being the former and her the latter, but her mind was full of the implications of Morgana being a witch in the heart of Camelot. Bad enough when her poor friend had only been a Seer. Now she was a burgeoning witch with much more noticeable powers who would be smuggling the person Uther hated more than any other into her presence on a regular basis so that he could train her in illegal activities.
After the last speech was over (some fellow called Tauren with a plan to rob the nobility and distribute the loot among spellbinders whose plan was politely rejected by Emrys and the other authorities), she and Morgana approached the blue-cloaked warlock. Emrys looked very young, Gwen realized with a start. Goodness, he looked like he was even younger than her.
"Ready to head home?" he asked them. His unusual yellow eyes were tired and far too old for his face. Gwen thought of the frequent references to illusion spells and wondered how old Emrys really was.
"Yes," Morgana said.
Emrys smiled slightly, nodded. "I'll have to take you back one by one, I'm afraid. I didn't learn teleportation until fairly recently and while I've managed to take one person with me, taking two is apparently exponentially more difficult."
"Anhora managed it," Morgana pointed out.
"Anhora is very experienced and very powerful."
"Why was he there anyways? I thought it would be you."
Emrys winced. "Morgause sort of cornered me."
The women winced back.
Emrys forced a smile. "But she's gone now, and I've got some good plans for the evening." The smile became considerably less forced. "But, Lady Morgana, when would you like to talk about your magic, now or later?"
"Later, I think," she admitted. "It's been a long day."
"That it has. Does Monday work for you? The meeting will be done then."
"Monday sounds perfect." She smiled at him. As always, it was lovely. "The evening, I think, after supper. You'll probably need at least a few hours to recover from the summit."
"Probably," the warlock sighed. "So, who first?"
Morgana chose to go with him first, then Gwen. Even if she hadn't known that Emrys was less experienced with teleportation than Anhora, she would have figured it out solely from this trip. The journey was oddly bumpy, and both she and her escort stumbled when they arrived back in the woods around Camelot.
"On Monday," Emrys said quietly, then incanted the spell that whirled him away.
"What did you think of the summit?" Morgana asked as she and her friend made their way toward the citadel.
Gwen tilted her head. "For one thing," she stated slowly, "I'm quite glad that Emrys is the one in charge and not, say, Morgause."
"I am too."
"And I think that he's raised a lot of very good points. You can't terrify people into liking you, you need to make a genuine effort to have a friendly relationship. I just wish that it wasn't necessary."
"It shouldn't be," Morgana growled. Her fists clenched, loosened. "Do you ever wonder what Camelot would be like if Uther never started the Purge?"
"Once, yes. You?"
"All the time."
"I'm sorry."
Morgana smiled sadly. "Thank you, Gwen."
They were almost at the walls. If she didn't ask now, she likely never would. "About you having magic—not just Seer magic, witch magic too—are you all right with that? Because I would be completely terrified by the implications. I am completely terrified by the implications, and I'm not even the one in immediate danger."
Morgana thought for a moment before answering. "It's rather strange," she finally confessed, "but I'm not nearly as frightened as I thought I'd be. In some ways, it's actually a relief to know. But I think that this is because I have access to the magical community and because it looks like Arthur might actually end the Purge one day." She smiled.
They had to stop speaking then, for they had reached the gates. The women returned to Gwen's house in companionable silence. Once Morgana had changed back into her own clothes, they began a light, cheery conversation that had nothing to do with magic.
Sir Leon was waiting for them when they reached the citadel. "How was your day?" he asked.
"Good. Yours?"
"Slightly less good. You recall how the king hired those builders a few months back to chart and excavate the tunnels beneath the city?"
"I remember telling him how ridiculous it was," Morgana replied.
Leon's lips twitched. "I remember that too. But it would seem that you were wrong, my lady. The workers found a chamber filled to bursting with gold and gems and other treasures."
Gwen's brow furrowed. "But isn't that good news rather than 'slightly less good'?"
"Normally, yes," Leon sighed, "but it's full of booby traps. One of the men was killed by a poisonous dart, and Gaius is tending to three more as we speak."
"Are they going to be all right?" Gwen exclaimed, horrified.
"I think so, yes, but it's too early to know for certain."
Morgana and Gwen didn't need to speak. As one, they began walking towards the physician's chambers, Leon at their heels.
"It's a tomb, they think," the knight informed them. "No one is sure whose it is, though, and it's under guard until Gaius and Geoffrey can research potential traps."
"I didn't know there were tombs down there," Morgana said.
"No one did."
"Whose do you think it is?" Gwen wondered.
"Probably one of the ancient kings," Leon speculated.
"Or queens," Morgana retorted, pushing open the door to Gaius's chambers.
"Or queens," Leon agreed.
"What about queens?" the physician asked.
"The tomb," Gwen explained. "Do you need any help, Gaius?"
"Not unless you wanted to grind some herbs."
Gwen glided over to the mortar and pestle. Morgana made her way to the sleeping patient's bedside. "How is he?" the lady asked softly.
"He will recover."
Morgana smiled. "Good."
"Who do you think the tomb belongs to?" Leon asked.
Gaius hesitated, worry writ plain on his face. "I cannot say for certain," he confessed, "but the other workers mentioned a distinct raven motif in the funerary objects. I think that they might have stumbled upon the tomb of Cornelius Sigan."
"I've never heard of anything like that. Are you sure…?"
"Merlin," his mother replied, "we just spent the past half hour determining that I can, in fact, see through magical illusions."
"Which I don't think is supposed to be possible."
"That's what your father said," Hunith sighed. She swallowed hard.
Merlin noticed his mother's sudden nervousness. "It's going to be fine," he assured her, wondering if it was normal for women to become so anxious before their weddings. Her concern seemed a bit strange to him, what with her having already borne her husband-to-be one child and being pregnant with another, not to mention how she'd lived with him for months. "You'll be fine, Mother, and you look beautiful."
She was. Her hair, free from the head scarf that usually covered it, hung in a long braid down her back. Merlin had helped her weave forget-me-nots into her plait—not too many, since his mother didn't believe in going overboard, but enough to make her look younger than her years. Her dress was the same blue as the flowers, embroidered at the hem and bodice with green Celtic knots.
"I should have helped with the decorations," Hunith fretted, staring nervously out the window to the courtyard where Balinor and a few druids were putting the finishing touches on the venue.
"No, Mother. Father's in there, and he's not supposed to see you yet. So what do you think your ability to see through glamors means?"
Hunith raised an eyebrow at the clumsy change of subject but didn't comment. Instead, she replied, "I can only assume that it has something to do with my birth parents."
Merlin winced. "I suppose I could try to look up their record once I'm back in Camelot, but Gaius has probably already done that."
"He has, but perhaps you'll think of something that he didn't."
There was a knock on the door. Hunith paled, her hands fisting her dress, then smiled ruefully and approached.
"It's time," Iseldir said, smiling widely.
Merlin offered his mother his arm. "It's so hard to believe," she murmured. "I keep thinking that any moment now I'll wake up."
"But you won't," Merlin pointed out. "This is real, Mother. It's completely real."
Wonder lit her eyes. "I know," she breathed, "but still…."
At least she didn't seem nervous anymore.
Merlin and Hunith rounded the corner. The courtyard was full of flowers: roses, of course; carnations of every hue; delicate bluebells nodding in the gentle breeze; and forget-me-nots, more forget-me-nots than any other species. The wicker trellis at the courtyard's center was so covered in them that it was completely blue.
Balinor waited beneath that trellis. His face lit up when he saw Hunith. Her answering smile was just as brilliant.
There weren't many guests, of course. Balinor's family had been massacred, and he'd spent the subsequent years avoiding humanity. Hunith was not particularly popular back in Ealdor, and anyway she didn't trust any of her fellow villagers with Merlin's secret. The only villager whom she had invited was Will, and he was unable to make the occasion.
Most of the attendees were druids, namely the folk of Iseldir's clan who had helped Balinor find all these flowers. Lancelot was there as well, and of course Gaius wasn't about to miss his only niece's wedding. Uther had forbidden him from taking time off, reasoning that Camelot couldn't be spared its court physician for so long, but Merlin had teleported him earlier that evening. He couldn't stay long, he'd said—something about a tomb—but he could certainly find enough time for this. Then there was Kilgharrah, the last of Balinor's kin, watching with a smile in his golden eyes.
By now, mother and son had reached the trellis. Merlin released his mother's arm and stepped back as Balinor took her hand. Their smiles were shy and sweet, their eyes riveted on each other.
Merlin sniffled.
"Friends and kin," Iseldir intoned, "we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman through the ancient rite of handfasting. Is it your wish, Balinor, to become one with Hunith of Ealdor?"
"It is."
"Is it your wish, Hunith, to become one with Balinor Caledonensis?"
"It is."
Iseldir turned his gaze to the audience. "Do any here say nay?" he asked, and though he was as peaceful as all his people, there was something almost like a challenge in his voice.
No one said a word. Any idiot could see that Hunith and Balinor were completely besotted with each other.
(If he was very lucky, Merlin thought, he might have a love like theirs one day.)
Iseldir wrapped a length of blue ribbon around the couple's entwined hands. "With this garland," he proclaimed, "I do tie a knot, and by doing so, bind your hands and your hearts for all eternity."
Hunith's smile outshone the sun. Balinor's wasn't any dimmer. He lifted their hands to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss against her hand.
"I now pronounce you to be husband and wife."
They kissed, him leaning down, her stretching up, meeting in the middle for a moment of joy and promise. There were tears in their eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow.
"Hunith Caledonensis," Balinor murmured, and kissed her again.
This was his final opportunity.
Cedric had been in Camelot for almost a month now, scouting out the castle for his greatest heist ever. His original target had been the treasure vaults, but the man was an opportunist at heart. When he heard that there was a room full of gold and jewels that had just been discovered and hadn't yet been inventoried, he knew that he'd be an idiot to not change his target.
Sure, there was the minor matter of the tomb (supposedly of Cornelius Sigan, if the rumors could be believed) being booby-trapped. Well, Cedric could be cautious. He'd gotten the survivors drunk, had wheedled them into telling him where exactly they had been. So long as he didn't stray from their path, he was highly unlikely to set off any more traps. Just to be safe, he'd brought in a walking stick which he waved around in front of himself. If there were any strings or wires or whatever, the stave would catch them, activating the trap before Cedric was in range. Sometimes, he had discovered long ago, the simplest plans were the best.
Cedric would have preferred a bit more time, but his temporary job would end tomorrow when Prince Arthur's manservant returned. The boy, Merlin his name was, had originally been replaced by a painfully dull fellow called George, who had been wounded by a boar within a day. (Cedric had no idea why Arthur thought it was a good idea to go hunting boar with only a servant. Didn't he realize how dangerous that was? But he wasn't going to complain, as George's wound and his own quick actions in saving the servant's life had gotten him access to the prince and, more importantly, the prince's collection of keys.) After tomorrow, Cedric wouldn't have an excuse to hang around the castle, wouldn't be able to sneak off with Arthur's keys.
He also wouldn't be worked half to death by Arthur's ridiculous demands on his time. Merlin was either the best servant in the world or a bloody sorcerer. There was simply no other possible way that he could single-handedly complete all of Arthur's tasks and assist the court physician. Cedric could only assume that the man didn't do it single-handedly, that he bribed someone to help him, but he couldn't for the life of him get anyone to admit to being Merlin's assistant. So he'd had to do everything all by himself, which meant that he was exceedingly relieved that his servitude ended tomorrow.
But the point was, this was Cedric's best opportunity to rob the tomb, and he certainly wasn't going to waste his chance.
Really, the whole heist was going off more easily than he had dared to hope. It had been child's play to swipe the key to this set of tunnels from Arthur's chambers without him noticing, and the guards were so easy to avoid that it was really rather pathetic. Honestly, he almost felt a bit sorry for the citizens of Camelot's castle, trusting as they did in an oblivious prince and Sullivan's incompetent staff. But it was good news for a professional thief. On the off-chance that this job didn't set him up for life, he would just come here whenever his funds were a bit low.
For some reason (probably the heavy-duty lock on the doorway to these tunnels and the tomb's reputation for deadly booby-traps), the entrance to Cornelius Sigan's burial chambers was completely unguarded. Cedric shook his head in mild disbelief but didn't stop to ponder his luck. Instead, he thought back to what the drunken laborers had told him. They'd made a beeline for the coffin, he recalled, diverting only slightly to avoid a pile of golden coins.
Slowly, cautiously, his walking stick held at the ready, Cedric entered the tomb.
He could see why people thought that this was Sigan's final resting place. There was a definite raven motif on the walls, in the shapes of the statues, and especially on the huge stone sarcophagus. In the flickering light of Cedric's torch, some of the birds looked almost alive. Their eyes glinted, their feathers ruffled as the shadows danced over them. It was an eerie effect, but one that Cedric mostly ignored. This was a tomb, the domain of the dead. He was the only thing here which breathed.
Still, he moved a bit more quickly now.
Rubies were lighter than gold and rarer, too. A fistful went into his sack, followed by an ivory sculpture (a raven, of course) and a golden mask. There were sapphires and pearls, emeralds and topaz, and Cedric took as many of them as he could carry.
Not even the legendary kings of far-off Aegyptus had this much treasure, he was sure of it.
It was silly to think that this tomb belonged to Sigan, downright preposterous. The man had been executed as a traitor. Why would a traitor be buried with so much wealth? Surely this was Bruta's tomb, or perhaps the tomb of Innogen his bride.
What if the ancient monarch had been buried with his crown?
He shouldn't do it. The coffin was doubtless booby-trapped, likely with something fatal. He had enough already. Then the treasure in his bag shimmered and he thought of how much Bruta Pendragon's crown could be worth and he was opening the tomb.
He didn't die. No traps were triggered. Nothing happened.
The withered husk before him wore no crown, but it had been buried with a prize almost as valuable. The diamond was huge, the size of a man's fist, the biggest he'd seen in his life. Even better, it was exquisitely cut and completely flawless. There was a bluish tint to the jewel, one which seemed to give it its own light.
The thief reached out towards the gem.
Blue light flashed.
Cedric's eyes turned black.
OH NO!
Guys, if there is a formatting issue or something, I apologize. For some reason, the site wouldn't let me upload my Word doc, so I copied and pasted it into something else that I already had uploaded.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Something Good Happens in Merlin's Life, So of Course Something Terrible Occurs Almost Immediately Thereafter"
A lot of people had fantastic guesses about what the fic's title meant. The obvious meaning, as many of you deduced, is that The King's Shadow refers to Uther's Purge, which casts a black shadow over all the land. The less obvious meaning is that it refers to Merlin, who works in darkness and follows the Once and Future King like a shadow. The third, well, you'll just have to wait and see.
Next update: July 8. Cornelius Sigan. 'Nuff said.
-Antares
