I'm so very extremely sorry. Yes, it's another late update and yes, I'm very sorry. But it's been hectic and writer's block has been a massive bitch and sigh, yes. Okay. I've been lazy and procrastinating as well. I tried to use the archiveofourown platform for writing, and that's been helping, which is why the style is a bit different - tell me if you enjoy this new (kind of) style of writing!

How's everyone been, also?

Anyway. So at least the chapters long (almost 10, 000 words) which is compensation for something, right? I haven't even finished the episode, but I've been eager to finally show you something since it's been so long since I updated. Also. Fun fact: in my AU story, I had the triple goddess in that too - the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone - who came to Merlynn and told her that she would bring a darkness to Camelot, or something. If I still had my fucking file I'd be able to add that to my story and therefore, make the Disir a lot more terrifying. I don't even remember what I called them.

CHAPTER 8 - THE DISIR

"I, I can't promise you
that I won't let you down
And I, I can't promise you
that I will be the only one around
when your hope falls down."

- 'Hold on to what you believe', Mumford and Sons. (idek if this song goes with the chapter, but it goes with the episode and I really love M&S)


"Sword work is important. Countering and blocking at the right moment could save your life."

Mordred would have much rather preferred to use magic, but he was in Camelot and it was forbidden - if only for the moment. The king permitted he and Emrys - Merlynn, it was Merlynn, he had to call her - to use their magic outside of the castle, in the forest on their walks, so she could get stronger and loosen up a bit more. He was glad for it, even though the limitation on his use was mildly frustrating. He was used to it, anyway, being among the bandits and the thieves for the most part of his adolescent life.

In fights, he would use it, small tricks to win. But that was when he was travelling, a nomad. Here, Arthur would know and he would be in serious trouble; he did not want King Arthur to lose faith in him, to make him leave Camelot, leave Emrys. So he watched and he listened and he practised as any knight-in-training would do, and he learnt. He was a novice in sword fighting, better at defending than striking, as he learned from the rare tussle or two with whoever decided to attack him. But the fights were basic, simple - slash, kill, defend. Arthur taught him how to parry and block and defect, small details like weak points; he was becoming better, faster and now he could beat Sir Elyan in a practice fight.

"Sir Mordred, you'll be trying to beat me today," the king said with a wide smile, and he swallowed thickly.

He hadn't fought Arthur before. The worst was, perhaps, Lancelot or Percival. But he had seen him fight Gwaine once in training and when he escaped from the slave wagon - he was much stronger, more skilled than he was, graceful and powerful. He never wanted to draw swords with the man, ever. "I am?" he replied dumbly.

He laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and shoving him out to the middle of the field. The strike came before he could even take a breath and he jumped back clumsily a, quite girlish, yelp, leaving his slack mouth. Mordred tore his sword from its sheath to block the next hit; the attacks were relentless, and he wanted to shout at the man, tell him to calm down. But he couldn't. No, he wanted a good image of him - Emrys was watching, and if he backed down, if he did not fight, she would laugh and he would be called the one who surrendered. Mordred fought back, though it was blocking more than anything, just trying to keep himself from falling.

He could hear her laughing already from the sidelines, surrounded by her friends, the knights. Everyone was watching them now. He was the new knight, the one Arthur seemed to hold in the highest esteem - or, at least, that's what Emrys told him. 'I made a bet that you would lose.' Mordred froze in surprise as her voice wisped through her head which gave his opponent the perfect opportunity to whack him in the shoulder with the blunt weapon.

"Keep it together, Mordred!"

He blinked and glanced to her. She only smiled, wide and teasing as she leaned on Lancelot's shoulder; she knew exactly what she was doing. Emrys was making him lose on purpose by distracting him, and she was succeeding. Mordred grit his teeth and tried to ignore her laughing, both outside and in his head, fighting back with more vigour than he was before. There was no way to be rid of her, or to keep her from distracting him - a small part of him wanted her to keep talking to him, just so he could have her sweet voice in his mind.

Mordred lost in the end. A swipe to the knees and a sword at his throat and he was on his back in the sopping wet grass, staring up at a smug-looking Arthur. He surrendered with little struggle and accepted the hand that was shoved into his face.

"You did good." The compliment made him beam. He only wanted Arthur to be proud of him; he was his king, after all. "Very good. I may have to start trying soon - but you just need to work on keeping your head focused on the person attacking you. For now, at least."

"Of course, my lord," he replied. Mordred looked to Emrys; she was grinning again, and coins were being pressed into her open palms - ten of the twenty-five knights around them were looking rather abashed, among them were Gwaine and Percival. He was glad, though, that they had enough faith in him to bet against Arthur.

'You did very good - at earning me twenty gold coins,' she teased, but she was in deep discussion with Lancelot and there was no change in her posture. She's getting better, he thought, as Arthur led him away. Good.

[][][][][][]

Merlynn hadn't left the castle in a week. She was almost ready to tear the walls with her fingers, to scream and shout and attack whoever was in her path. She hadn't used her magic either, which was ultimately making it worse. Mordred was always training, it seemed - Arthur was pushing all the knights with double training shifts. War is coming, he would say when she asked for them to take a break, and she did not doubt him. She could feel it, creeping in through the cracks in the walls, black as poison. Even if she wanted to leave, go out into the forest and use her magic, she wasn't able to. Piles of parchment to read over and sign and she needed to write letters to other kingdoms, so her time was always consumed with work.

The only time she ever saw Gwen was in the mornings and in the late evenings - otherwise, she would be off, taking care of Galahad and teaching him how to be proper or cooking meals for her family. Merlynn couldn't steal that from her. So, she sat. Alone, always alone. Reading a book or laws or whatever was scratched along the inches of parchment that stacked high on her desk. But when she read, she could not retain. Her boredom reduced her to an empty shell of absolutely nothing. The only thing that was ever alive inside of her was her magic as it itched and curled in her very being. It was a live thing, a trapped beast in a cage.

When Arthur returned after another day of training, she went to him and kissed him, but she barely even registered the affection. He didn't even seem to notice; if he did, he didn't ask. "Mordred used a contre quarte to my high-line attack," he told her, slipping off his chain mail and undoing his belt. "It was skilfully done, really." He paused and looked to her. "You do understand what a contre quarte is, do you?"

"A type of parry, beginning in the quarte position, ending with a twist of the wrist," her voice lacked much enthusiasm, or care, but rather practised cool. Merlynn sat again, straight and poised and far too quiet to be herself. Even she noticed.

Rather then question her, he gleamed with pride. "You have been paying attention. I guess the last few years have done you well." He went behind the screen, but continued to talk, "What do you think of the young Mordred?"

"He's well on his way to becoming a fine knight, I think," she remarked.

"As do I. We have many fine nights in Camelot, but I'll be damned if I don't think he'll be one of the finest, and I'm determined he'll receive nothing but encouragement from me." When he came out from the changing screen, she was smiling; a real one.

"Good," she said, kissing him. She was excited for him - whenever they went off for walks, he would gush over her husband, telling her how loyal, how great he was. She was glad for it, his unexpected adoration for Arthur; it made her think that perhaps his destiny wasn't to kill in the end, that perhaps he was not what Kilgharrah expected him to be. Maybe he was good after all. He would be a fine knight, that was for certain. "May I leave the castle today?" she asked, then. She wasn't made to be a queen, to be stuffed in the castle walls like a trophy. She was a wild beast rather than a domestic cat.

"Not today, Merlynn," he replied and gave her a regretful smile. "Another meeting to attend."

Merlynn wasn't in the mood to argue with him. So, she contended with a sigh and a nod; resolute. Arthur kissed her on the head, lips warm against her, and lifted her from the chair. Tucking his arm beneath the crook of her elbow, she was lead from the room by her husband toward the council chamber. She was dressed as a queen should be; a red gown, impossibly tight around her bosom and arms, a wreath of flowers pinned to her hair and slippers not made for running about and going on a dangerous quest. Merlynn was greeted by the knights, who smiled and hugged her briefly - not too tight, or friendly as usual, but polite and sweet and she held on for a few more seconds just because. Gwaine's hug, especially, was disappointing because while his smile was strong, his hug was lacking the lustre she was used to. She pulled away with firm lips and turned to the next person - Mordred. With his little smile, he wrapped his arms around her middle as she did the same to his shoulders.

'Emrys,' he muttered, and she felt a warm press of something against her head. His lips hadn't moved, but she felt the kiss anyway. 'Thank you for making me lose yesterday.'

'It was a pleasure,' she teased back, easy and comfortable, as though they were never enemies.

Arthur's hand was warm against the skin of her hand as she moved from Mordred. He, with a kiss to her mouth and a smile on his lips, walked her to her place beside him and pulled the chair out in the most chivalrous fashion. She giggled a little and set her hands into her lap as he joined his place beside her.

"Good morn, fellow men. Leon, what news from the East?" he began almost immediately.

"Serious news, I'm afraid, sire," Leon replied. "As you know, a few days ago, our garrison in the Forest of Brechfa intercepted the man who goes by the name of Osgar."

"The sorcerer?"

Merlynn's ears perked up and she looked up, making eye contact with Mordred. They said nothing to each other, neither word nor thought, but she could guess to what exactly he was thinking. Kin. But he was the enemy, he was 'evil' and 'dangerous' and they had to hate them.

"The same. They were trying to apprehend him when he used his powers to escape. I am sorry to report... Sir Ranulf was mortally wounded." And everyone's eyes dropped.

Arthur's jaw was locked, tight and constricted and his grip was now tight on her arm. "S - sir Ranulf?" he echoed, swallowing thickly. Then he said, "Place all the men in the east territories on high alert."

"Yes, sire," Leon nodded curtly.

"I -"

"I would like to lead a patrol to bring this Osgar to justice," Merlynn announced abruptly. The king's head whirled, eyes narrow and jaw tightened even more.

"N -"

"I'm more of a people person than you," she argued, though to others it would seem playful; really, she was completely serious. "I can talk to him and ask him what his intentions are."

"But what if he doesn't want to talk?" he bit out.

Merlynn took a breath to calm herself and turned her body toward him. "Arthur, I will have a band of the finest men to protect me, and let's not forget that I am no simple queen," with that, she turned to the entire court and smiled. Not another word was said.

[][][][][][]

"You're not going."

Arthur was well aware that she was stubborn, more than the ordinary servant. Especially now that she was queen, and did not have to follow him at every click of his fingers. But then, she thought, so was he. Possibly much more than she was - that was why she wanted to slam his head against a wall more often than not. Merlynn stood behind the changing screen as he shouted incessantly at her while she changed into a much looser, more comfortable gown. It helped clear her head.

"Arthur -"

"No!" he burst out. "No. You're not going. I'm not waiting here while you go off after a sorcerer."

"Are you forgetting that I was born with magic?" she retaliated. "I'm the best out of the two of us to speak to a sorcerer." Merlynn wasn't going to back out on her chance to leave the castle - especially, if she was able to speak to another member of her kin. She understood his concern, after all, because she knew he loved her and only wanted to keep her safe, but she still could not fathom it - she was his protector, the one to bend and shape to his will, not be protected by him.

Arthur grit his teeth, "Merlynn, you could be hurt."

"Yes, and so could you. Let's not forget that I'm supposed to be the one protecting you, right? Going off after a sorcerer is doing exactly that," she argued, setting her palms flat against the desk.

"Why can't I come?"

"Because we can't have Gwen watching over the kingdom every single week!"

"I'm the king!"

"You seem to be forgetting that I'm the queen, which means I have the same authority as you."

He chortled. "Not really."

She gaped at him, and he winced. "Are you really trying to demand male dominance over me now?!"

"That's not what I -"

"No! I'm going, and that's that."

Merlynn huffed and turned away from him. She was done with him, done with it all. It would be much easier to slap him round the head and storm off, but she thought that would be far too kind. No, she was going to walk off. Not give him the satisfaction. Yes, that was exactly what she was going to do. She left and didn't look back once, not once. Merlynn went to Mordred, though; since she forced the authority of the mission upon herself, she would have to band together a group of men. The knights, well, that was the obvious choice. Strong and powerful and they all shared a similar bond - more than the others, especially. But Mordred was new, he was young and fresh and eager to go off on an adventure, and she was not going to keep him from that. Besides, Osgar was a sorcerer - one of them - and she was sure he wanted to talk to another, just as she did.

He knew it was her before she opened the door; she guessed he could feel her magic in the very same way she did his. Mordred swung the door open and grinned at her, though it lessened as he took in her dishevelled appearance. "Are you -?"

"I'm fine," she answered flippantly, and walked inside. "In fact, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" he was curious, wide-eyed and a little pale, as if she was about to punish him.

A little smile twitched on her mouth. "I would like for you to join me on the patrol to the Black Mountains."

As if she had presented him with the finest gift to ever behold, his eyes, so very blue like cornflower fields, lit up and he almost seemed to bounce over to her, taking her hands in his grasp. "Me? To Brechfa?" he gasped out.

"Yes," she was grinning now, and he pulled her close, arms wrapping tight around her midsection. Merlynn laughed and removed herself from him, saying, "Prepare to ride at dawn, Sir Mordred."

"You won't regret this, Emrys," he was gleaming. "I promise."

[][][][][][]

Arthur had become far more reasonable the more she seemed to ignore him. Finally, he must have realised just how serious she was to take this mission alone and understood her reasons. At least she hoped this was the case; no doubt he was still angry, still resentful that she was going alone - without him, was his definition of the word - and he was to stay at the kingdom. Gwen had said that she wasn't fussed about watching over again, but she couldn't do that to her again. She was a maidservant, not a queen, or a high lady. Merlynn wasn't a true highborn, nor was she pretending to be, but she was whatever Arthur needed her to be. If he wanted her to be a queen, then she would try to be a queen. Gwen wasn't meant to have that responsibility - taking care of a child like Galahad was enough responsibility as it was.

The next morning she returned to her bedchamber (she slept in her old room over night) and washed and dressed silently, trying not to wake Arthur. He had a fitful sleep again, she noted, taking in the tangled sheets and his damp forehead. Gwen kept as silent as she could, too, braiding her hair and packing her back quickly so she could leave without any more time wasted than necessary. But, when she went to him, kissing his cheek and wishing him well, he woke and captured her wrist.

"Be safe," he muttered, mouth on hers, chaste and sweet. "Please."

"I'll be home soon, I swear," she promised. Merlynn felt guilty that she was leaving now, leaving him behind, especially since he looked so sad with his sleepy eyes. But she had to, because he was usually getting himself in trouble and here, in the safety of Camelot (which was stupid to say because the danger was usually inside the kingdom) among people who loved and protected him, he would be fine. "I'll speak to Osgar and then come back."

"Kill him. Or bring him here," he said, though it sounded like an order.

"We'll see," she replied, and kissed him once more.

Merlynn stood and lifted the blankets back over his body so he could get back to sleep. Then she made a motion to Gwen, slinging her satchel onto her shoulder. Her maidservant took her sword, one that was not begotten in dragon's breath, nameless until she saw fit to give it a title, and followed her from the room. She was, apparently, the last to join the travelling party in the courtyard. The knights, save Mordred, were all saddled and atop their horses, waiting for her to lead them on.

"You sure you haven't forgotten everything, Mordred?" Leon asked him.

Mordred paused, and looked at them with innocent curiosity and concern. "Do you think so?"

"Isn't he missing a dagger?"

"I can't see a waterskin."

"His boot. He's missing a boot, I think."

Mordred, by this point, seemed to realise the knights were teasing him, so he paused and chuckled and didn't seem to be angered by their jests. Instead, he turned to her with a slight smile, waving to her as she moved down the stairs to Firefoot. "Good morn," he chirped.

"Morning all," she called, and smiled as they greeted her in return. Now, they were not polite or professional - it was as though she was the servant again, the one who was odd and outspoken and one of the boys, not a delicate queen. It made her smile brighter, her movements more eager and less tiresome. Merlynn mounted her steed and caressed her flank. "You too, Firefoot." Gwen strapped her sword to the saddle as well as the satchel, then touched her knee gently.

"Be safe," she whispered. "And keep my husband safe."

She smiled at Gwen and squeezed her hand. "Always, Gwen."

In the early evening, as the sun began to drift down into the mountains, she took note of the games the knights played with the young Mordred. Games, ones that one as perceptive as she noticed that they were just teasing, but to someone like Mordred, who was so fit to please them and join in amongst their fun, thought nothing of it. They made him do tricks in his saddle, but one in particular had been lasting for two hours. Mordred was to sit on the saddle, facing backwards toward the rest of the knights with his hands resting on the front of it. He looked confused, but nonetheless did what was instructed of him.

"Uh, Mordred," she asked, brow furrowing slightly, "what on earth are you doing?"

"Melding the saddle, Em - my lady," he replied.

"As in the ancient tradition... of melding," Gwaine added. The rest of the knights snickered, but they were looking at her, asking her to play along with their eyes. Melding? There was no such thing.

"Ah, yes. Melding. Goes back years - all the finest of knights have to do it on their first patrol," she called back, though there was a playfulness in her voice that she couldn't simply get rid of. "I trust your breeches are inside out, Mordred?"

"Uh, my lady?"

[][][][][][]

They were going to find him soon enough, it was inevitable. Percival was one of the finest trackers in the whole kingdom; he didn't require the magic like she did to find whoever he had to. He used the earth, the trees, any remnants of their person that they left behind in a fit of panic. A small bit of Osgar's clothing had been found, and she knew they were closer. Mordred kept close, whether to protect her or to keep himself safe, she wasn't sure, but she glanced at him with a smile and dismounted Firefoot.

"He's getting careless," Percival told her.

"Emrys," Mordred whispered, nudging her shoulder. He pointed at a spot far into the distance, where a black shadow disappeared into the deep green brush of the trees. It was him, at last.

Merlynn motioned to the knights silently and took off with Mordred and Lancelot at her heels, while the others separated in small pairs. She could feel his magic; weak, flickering like a broken flame in a dying candle. He wasn't dying, but he was a lesser magic, not like Mordred, or Morgana, or even herself. They chased at him, despite not knowing where exactly he was, or where he was going to end up. They went twisting through trees and down broken paths and eventually Merlynn made them pause in a long stretch of grass and twigs - no word, no nothing, it was so silent she could hear a faint ringing in her ears. But then, the twigs were cracking behind them on stumbling feet and she turned to face the sorcerer that had killed Sir Ranolf. He looked to be a simple man, with thin black robes and a tuft of hair the colour of hay, but he was strong enough to find them so that meant there was a danger present.

This was no chance meeting, she knew. They had meant to find him, to go to him.

"My name is Osgar," he gasped out, his hand pressed at his side, mouth twisting in pain.

"Yes, I know," she replied. Merlynn was concerned for him; he was quite obviously hurt, though he was fine when she first saw him. One of the knights must have given him a quick blow; she hoped they were only injured, and not killed. He fell to his knees, and she grasped his shoulder, clenching tight enough to warn him. "I'm -"

"Queen Merlynn? Yes. Where's the king?"

She paused. "He was otherwise indisposed - why?"

"I am sent from the sacred Disir to pass judgement on Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King," he told her, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips. They were stained with his blood. "It is my duty to pass their judgement onto him, my lady. My sacred duty."

"Oh?" The Disir was a name she did not know very well; it was faint, a memory from reading her books, but she did not study it. "He is not here. Will you pass this judgement to me, and I to him?"

"It is my duty. How am I to trust a queen to deliver this to her king?" he was panting now, gritting his teeth. Osgar would die soon.

Merlynn moved closer to him and crouched; she heard the swords of her comrades lift to poise at his head, a simple warning. Her eyes flashed, bright gold against clear blue, and he gaped at her, jaw slack and wide. "You have my word as Emrys," she swore to him. The title spoke like a thousand echoes from her lips - the name was true power, and it had the desired effect on the lesser sorcerer. He looked at her with a respect that wasn't there before, if not pity.

Osgar reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed a large coin, then put it in her hand. "Give him this. When it touches his hand, it will be done."

"What is it?" she asked, rubbing her thumb over it, feeling the runes beneath her flesh. It was no ordinary coin; thick and more gold than bronze but priceless, no doubt, as it was a runemark sent directly from the people called 'The Disir'. She had to ask Gaius about them.

"Both judgement and fate," he coughed, clumsily wiping away the blood on his chin. "Tell him that he has waged war against the Old Religion. Tell him that now, the ancient gods answer him. The Disir have spoken. The circle of fate begins to close. For even as Camelot flowers, the seeds of her destruction are being sown."

"Morgana," she whispered.

"But, tell him that it is not too late," he added. "Not too late to find the true path. Tell him to redeem himself - this is his final chance."

And then, he died, fingers dropping from her hand. Another kin was gone, yet again. Merlynn couldn't save him; his mission possibly came with the death. If the Disir were able to have contact with the ancient gods, then his fate would have been sown already. He was meant to die there, among the wet grass and the cool chill of the morning air. Mordred came forward and put an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder briefly; both mourned the loss of one of their own, but no tears were shed.

"Come, we will return to the others," she declared and turned away from Osgar. 'We will bury him later, Mordred,' she added to only him.

When they returned to their camp that Percival and Leon had set up once their patrol had been cleared, she was greeted with the usual hugs and check-overs. Once she was ultimately deemed 'healthy', they barrelled questions, asking where the dreaded Osgar was. And she answered, "He died," but that was all she said about it. Merlynn ate quickly and without tasting it - Percival was the one who cooked it, after all - then she stood, tugged Mordred on the shoulder, and left the camp with a quick excuse.

It wasn't right to leave a sorcerer's body exposed. It just wouldn't do. Sorcerers were forbidden to have marked graves, to be buried in the heart of their magic, but she would not have it. No, this Osgar was a man loyal to his magic, and she would give him the proper burial that he deserved. Mordred helped her lift the body and carry him into a deeper part of the wood, where the trees melted into the sky, and there was more dirt than grass. They used magic to remove the dirt, enough to fit his body inside, and then covered it right up. Then she went off to collect rocks, while he was on look-out.

"What would the king say?" he asked, once the rocks piled high on top of Osgar's grave.

"He was one of us," she said, her fingers touching the coin in her pocket.

"Sorcerers aren't permitted marked graves," he reminded her, though his smile was wry and his voice dismal.

It was true. As they were persecuted, they were considered beasts - non-humans who terrorised and spread evil and disease. So, in death, they were kept as monsters and animals. Merlynn took his hand. "It won't always be like this, though. One day we will live in freedom again."

"You really believe that?"

"Of course I do," she grinned.

"Until then, we will go unmarked - in death as in life," as he said it, her smile dropped and she, too, was sad again.

That evening they sat in a circle around the fire, as they would not be able to return to Camelot until the next day. It was merry and joyous, except for Merlynn. But how could she join in on the festivities of 'their latest kill' when that kill was her kin; yes, she never knew the man, but it was the same. He was a creature of magic, a practiser in the arts, as was she. And so, her mourning was true and real and she was beginning to get rather annoyed at the mention of Osgar's plight. Mordred seemed to notice her disposition, for whenever he was spoken about, he would pause and look at her, as if she was going to punish him if he ever played along with them.

Merlynn checked over Gwaine's wound which, in itself, was superficial. Just a bump on his crown and a small scrape at the back of his neck where his chain mail could not reach. "You'll be fine," she assured him. "The swelling should go down by morning."

He squeezed her hand with a chuckle, "Let's hope so."

She stood and returned to her post closer to the fire, where her chilled bones could be warmed. Merlynn was cold, but the others seemed to be fine - perhaps it was her emotions, the stress of it all, cooling her insides. She didn't know, but she sighed as the heat washed over her, close enough to burn.

"How is he?" asked Percival.

"I've applied poultices. He - and Elyan - are going to make a full recovery."

"You're a skilled physician, Em - Merlynn." Mordred had to keep correcting himself, especially around the knights who, save from Lancelot, had no idea who she truly was. She was sure Gwaine had an inkling perhaps, since he was ever perceptive, but he hadn't given her any signs of knowing as of yet.

She snorted a little. "I just watched Gaius, that's all," she said, but a warm heat flushed her cheeks from the compliment.

"She also makes a very fine breakfast, as you'll see," Leon teased, grinning at her.

"Better than Percival's slop of a stew," Gwaine piped up.

"Shut up!"

Merlynn just wanted to return to Camelot. She was tired, and sore, and she had many things to do. Gaius had to be told about the runemark coin, and about the Disir (which she still had to research, herself) and she had to speak to Arthur. She had given Osgar her word, after all, to give him the coin. And, while the coin made her spine tingle, her head ache, she didn't want the Disir to flame an even worse judgement down upon them because of her misguidance. But now, she was in the forest, among her friends, and she would have rather been in the Veil.

"To the young Mordred - and his successful mission," Leon raised his goblet, as did the rest of the men, and they cheered together and drank.

Mordred was blushing, picking at a tear in his trousers at the knee. "It was nothing."

"It was timely and vigilant," he added.

"Congratulations," Merlynn's voice was dull and void of any pleasant emotion, and now the knights saw her. They were friends - the closest, many said - and to see her so downtrodden and empty, it must have been a change from who she was before. Which was, in itself, odd, because that year of them being 'The Knights of the Round Table' she had been possibly even worse, darker and angrier. Perhaps she was worse now, she was just strong enough to hide it.

Percival went to her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Come, Merlynn, we've triumphed," he squeezed her tight, pressing his mouth to her hair and temple.

"Osgar could've easily killed me," she mumbled.

"But he didn't."

Oh, he thought she was scared. "But he was a sorcerer, it was well within his power," she turned bitter, spitting the words out as if it were poison.

"He was deranged, obviously," Gwaine groaned out. "He was babbling nonsense when we saw him."

"All he wanted to do was give me this coin. Why?" she asked, but she knew the answer. Merlynn wanted to have them feel something for the man; pity, remorse, sympathy - something.

"I don't know, Merlynn," Percival replied, exasperated. "All I know is this man - sorcerer - almost killed two of our men, and managed to kill another. He was dangerous, and now he's gone."

She didn't sleep that night.

[][][][][][]

Camelot was bright and tall in the horizon, its white stone walls strong and proud. It showed an image so picturesque and appealing, so unlike what her life was truly like within those walls - it was danger, itself. Merlynn did not smile once; not when she awoke, nor when they ate or chatted or laughed, or even when they returned home to Arthur. He was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, waiting restlessly, pacing and such as though she had gone off to face a fierce beast rather than a simple sorcerer. Arthur smiled when he saw her, took her by the hips and settled her down into his arms, peppering kisses about her skin.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I was gone a day," she replied, barely twitching.

He frowned at her. Arthur, while he rarely knew what was truly going on around him, he could tell she wasn't herself. He touched her all over as though he was trying to find some major injury or ailment to her body. When he found none, he frowned deeper, kissing her again. "Come. You must be tired," he was trying to make sense of her.

Merlynn was led to their bedchamber, where she was placed on the bed. He tried to push her down, to make her go to sleep, but she refused, pushed and pushed until she finally released a frustrated cry. "No! You - you need to look at this," she tore the runemark from her pocket and placed it in his open palm, pressing it deep into his flesh.

"Wha -"

"It is both judgement and fate," she recited. "He - he said that you have waged war against the people of the Old Religion, that now the ancient gods are answering." Arthur was staring at her like she was an old drunkard in the tavern, spitting nonsensical wisdom from her cracked lips. "The Disir have spoken. B - but it's not too late! You can redeem yourself. It's not too late, Arthur."

He cupped her head, pulling her forehead to his, and said, "What are you talking about?" The runemark never left his fingers.

"I'm sorry, but I had to. I gave him my word - my word as Emrys, Arthur. The Disir, from what he said, are not to be reckoned with and I was scared! Scared for you, and for me, and for Camelot," she was almost sobbing, trembling against his warm touch.

"Who?"

"Osgar," she muttered.

Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat and pulled away, frustration etched in his golden face. "He has tricked you, turned you insane." He touched the skin of her forehead, now pallid and damp. "Something must be wrong with you - you haven't smiled in three days, Merlynn, not really. Are you ill?"

"No. Not at all. There just hasn't been much to smile about."

He sighed then kissed her again forcibly, as if he was trying to push his happiness through their mouths, clenching his fingers on the bone of her jaw, pressing until she could hardly breathe. She cupped his neck, pulling him closer and attempted to get rid of her own plight. Arthur could always make her smile, make her laugh and be happy and be who she was - she felt the spark, then, in their joining, a small burst of something that she always felt and she relaxed a little in his grip, swiping her tongue against his mouth. He moaned happily and lowered her, pressing up on her spine with his now free hand, forcing her to arch into him.

"There we go," he breathed as he pulled away from her.

"What?"

"A little bit of the old you, right there."

Merlynn rolled her eyes and sat up, legs dangling either side of him. "Come with me to see Gaius," she ordered.

"Why?" he asked, furrowing his brow. Arthur was trying to seduce her now, pressing his mouth and tongue to her neck and her collarbone, fingers gripping at her outer thigh. But it was wrong, it was all wrong. Yes, the pleasure was there, seeking and aching for release in the indent of her thighs but she was still in the wake of panic. Merlynn still had to figure out what was going on with the Disir and the runemark coin that seemed so impossibly dangerous for something so simple.

"To see about the runemark coin," she explained.

"Ugh, it's a trinket - nothing more." He dangled the coin between them, then dropped it in her lap. "We'll get the jeweller to mount it if you'd like?"

"No," she said firmly. "We have to go to Gaius. These Disir people don't seem like the kind to simply ignore."

"Fine."

Gaius was less than pleased to see the object in her hands, but took it while fixing his spectacles and peering closely. Now that she saw it - truly saw it - she noticed the runes and she was sure she had seen them before. If she were not mistaken, they were written in places in the Druid cave she had once gone to many times, inscribed on the walls. But she didn't know what they meant. Gaius was beginning to figure it out, she could tell, by the widen of his eyes and his lose jaw slackening as he read through his books and touched the runemark. His fingers, old from time and dry from potion-making, brushed over the runes thrice before finally, he stopped and set it down on the table. He was done with it.

"This mark once aroused fear," was the first thing he said, mouth twitching into a frown. "Great fear. It was given to those found wanting by the court of the Disir."

Merlynn had taken her place in her old chair, curled up in the soft padding as though she had never left. "Osgar told me about them, but not much - who are they?"

"Well, they are the highest court of the Old Religion. Three women were chosen at birth to be trained as seers and soothsayers. Their only task was to interpret the word of the Triple Goddess. When they sat in judgement, their word was final," he told them. A loud tapping was emitting from the table where Gaius' fingers were trembling, bumping against the rotting wood of his desk; a sharp look in his eye, like a startled cat, came over him and he was straight, stiff and tense and she was worried.

"Gaius -"

"No, this is nonsense - irrelevant," Arthur barked, sniffing. "I don't see how what bearing it has on me or Camelot!"

"Sire," Gaius uttered, and he leaned forward, his hands once more capturing the runemark, "the Disir saw fit to give you this. This is the judgement of the gods against you."

He paused, then. He stared at Gaius, then at her, and back again; again and again as if he was trying to make sense of the seriousness of it all, the fear in Gaius' eyes and the concern in hers. Battles with the Old Religion never ended well, especially with her involved - magic battling magic, it was never a positive thing. If she were to go against those who were inextricably linked to the Triple Goddess (or if Arthur did), then they would surely be accounted for their own disaster.

One should never go against the ancient rulers.

"This... is nonsense, surely?"

"No," she replied, when he finally looked at her once more.

"The Old Religion held that the runemark not only contained a man's guilt but the path that the gods had chosen for him. That is why it is both a judgement and fate."

Arthur grit his teeth and stood straighter, taller. "I make my own path," he said with a hint of defiance.

"Do you? It is said that only the gods can alter a man's fate..." Gaius paused, and a hint of a smile quirked at his lips though it lacked any sort of humour. "And even then, only when he repents and appeases them."

"You don't believe any of this," he sputtered. He glanced at Merlynn again, eyes pleading with her to agree with him, call it nonsense or something. All she did was twitch her nose and look down at her hands. "Gaius?" he whirled around to face the physician.

Gaius was silent. He refused to look away from the king, even when the runemark clattered from his fingers and hit the table with a loud clang. "I'm an old man, sire," he said finally. After another moment, he added, his voice hardened and almost mad, "Old enough to be wary of dismissing other people's beliefs."

[][][][][][]

Arthur didn't dine with her in the evening. He paced and muddled as she ate her fill with bread, chicken and fruits, watching him from the corner of her eye. Merlynn hadn't eaten much over the past week, too buried in her own thoughts to have the proper nutrition. But now, it seemed, amongst the madness of the Disir, she felt hunger and she sated it with little guilt.

"Have I not made Camelot a fairer and more just kingdom?" he ranted at her, fingers dragging through mussed, golden hair.

"Yes, you have," she replied lightly and sipped at her wine.

"Have I not rid it of the cruelties and injustices of the past?"

Merlynn paused. Yes, the kingdom was a much lighter and less fearsome place to travel, but there were still dark spots. It was a tumbling wave on the bottom of a cliff in a storm, inevitably going to crash and destroy anything that came into its path. They were going to be consumed by those spots soon, if they didn't work quickly. Magic was still outlawed, and those who had magic were still being prosecuted and ostracised from the rest of society. "You have."

"I... am not my father," he spat out, daring her to say otherwise. Arthur never wanted to be his father, avoided it like it was the plague; but, perhaps, it was a subconscious trait. She was sure he wasn't aware of it - he would never truly become his father, not completely, but there were moments, decisions, where perhaps his father was influencing him. He still couldn't free magic from the danger of a death sentence, after all.

"You're not," she assured him.

Arthur slumped in the chair beside her and caved in on himself. He was a small boy again, vulnerable and alone, with wide glossy eyes and trembling fingers. "Then why do they judge me so?" he asked in a quiet voice.

She took one of his shaking hands and placed it in her lap, her long fingers tracing patterns that became runes she could not name. Protection, possibly, because that was all she ever wanted to do - keep him safe, keep him loved and alive for as long as she could. It was her duty as his protector, and his wife. "Perhaps... perhaps they feel that you are worthy to be judged."

"How?"

"Well, judgement... it's wasted on a man who won't listen," she replied, not fully understanding the words herself.

"I should take them seriously, then?"

Merlynn smiled and turned his head to face her, thumb wiping across his cheek. "You know what I'm like when it comes to these things. Of course I think you should - but I think you already have. These people, they're not like the Druids. They have far more power than anyone else, because they have direct link with the gods, or so its said." He didn't say anything after that, other than let his head fall back onto the chair and rub at his jaw. She kissed his cheek and stood. "I'm going to see if Kilgharrah can tell me anything, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, dull and empty.

She left him with a heavy heart and an ache in her chest, but at least he knew now. Knew not to brush off matters involving magic, particularly if she was terrified about it - Morgana's evil power was one thing, but she was known, sometimes predictable, and Arthur had met her before. But the Disir were much different from Morgana. She could guess that Morgana had never even gained council with them, but she was a follower of the Old Religion, and never went against the idea of a free magical society.

As she went to the forest and into the clearing where she met the dragon most times, she could barely feel that relief of being reunited with him. Instead, she was more exhausted than she was before. Her feet were molasses, dragging against the fallen leaves and stones that graced the dirt pathway and her vision hazy. It was as though she had been drugged. She was walking toward the foreboding, heading straight into the answers she didn't want; she needed them, yes, in order to save Arthur and make sure that the gods didn't curse their path, but the weight of knowing was pain enough. To know that Morgana's chance of defeating them was growing greater, especially with the ancient gods of Old Religion on her side. That there was a small chance that Mordred was going to kill Arthur anyway, even though she was changing him, turning him into that hopeful, eager young boy he perhaps once was. That Arthur could die before she could stop it.

It was crowding in on her all at once and she couldn't stop it and she was going to explode -

"O drakon! E male so ftengometta tesd' hup' anankes!" Merlynn roared out to the heavens, her despair turning the words cracked and broken.

Kilgharrah flew down to her with minutes to spare. She told him everything, everything she could - the meeting with Osgar, the runemark, all the way to her journey to the clearing. And as she spoke, he listened, those molten eyes zeroed directly onto her. When she finished, he was silent, almost too silent. Merlynn wanted to scream at him, demand he tell her all that he knew in return for her suffering. But instead, he said, "You were right to summon me, Merlynn. The Disir are the mouthpiece of the Triple Goddess. It is she who has decreed Arthur's fate."

"Yes, I know," she huffed in frustration. "What is it to be?"

"The runemark depicts Arthur's death."

Merlynn should have known it to be already, but even so it brought a cool chill over her, tingling up her spine and stopping her heart. She was frozen there, lost in the blackness behind her closed eyes; there, she was lost in the shadows and where the worst of her nightmares hid. Arthur's death. The one thing she was meant to prevent - the Once and Future King, now king. The most loyal king to ever be. His death was brought up around her far more than she would ever like as though there was no way to stop it. As though (she feared thinking of it) it was surely going to happen. A fixed point.

"Oh," she uttered, and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. "Wuh - when will this happen?"

"The future is never clear, Merlynn," he told her, as he had many times before. "You should know that by now. There are many paths - not all lead to Camelot's ruin."

"Do they lead to Mordred?" she asked. If a path lead to Mordred, that didn't mean it would end negatively, would it? Not all paths were paved with blood and betrayal.

"The Druid boy? His fate and Arthur's are bound together like ivy round a tree."

"I used to fear he was dangerous, but not now. He's helping me, Kilgharrah. Surely he can't be now?"

Kilgharrah huffed out a breath. "There is good cause to doubt him," he mused. "Merlynn, your ability to see the good in others may be the path to your destruction. You failed to kill the Druid boy once before - you must not fail again. He may be your kin, but you are both very different - he will turn to dark, while you walk to the light. There is no other way."

And he was gone, again.

Arthur wasn't sleeping that evening, that much was for certain. They got into their bed and he wrapped himself around her, but he never went to sleep. Neither did she. He was sighing against her hair, grip changing every few minutes. He was uncomfortable and restless, which was making her the same in return. But finally, once his shuffling stopped, she finally got to sleep. Until he was moving again and his warmth was gone from her back. She didn't open her eyes, but she could hear him, moving about around the room and stuffing things into a bag - maybe, two.

"Swords - need two, uh, clothes... what does she even wear?" he was babbling, much louder than respectable since he thought she was asleep. "We're going to need blankets. No, she's asleep. Now, food - yes, I'll have to go and fetch Gwen so she can get it -"

"You'll not be doing that," she groaned out, but didn't move. Her eyes snapped open, and she realised with annoyance that it was barely even dawn. It was still dark.

"Oh, you're awake. Good." Arthur tore the top blanket from her body (his favourite travel blanket) and began to roll it, before attaching it to his bag. "We're going to see the Disir - wherever they are."

"How are we going to find them?"

"Gaius, of course," he drawled.

"Arthur -"

"You told me to take it seriously, and so I am," he retorted. "Get up. We have to get going. I don't know what you wear, or if you're concerned about matching cloth - I know Mo - Morgana was, so I'll leave that to you." Arthur was almost manic in his movements, unable to truly stand still or keep his movements halted. His terror must have manifested, she thought, into something else. A man who was faced with his own death turns into a shadow of themselves until they are nothing at all.

Merlynn dressed in her travelling wear and braided her hair back as best she could, even when her arms began to ache from the position of her hands. Arthur almost shoved her sword into her hands, to which she rolled her eyes and strapped together her belt so she could attach it. He was certainly in a hurry. "Arthur -"

"We'll leave within the hour," was all he said, before he took her by the wrist. They went to Gaius' chamber, where he began to bang and bash on the door. Merlynn flicked the door open with her magic to speed things up, because she was beginning to grow tired of his too-eager behaviour. As they stormed inside, she saw Gaius only just sitting up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes and sliding on his spectacles.

"Sire?"

"How do we find the Disir?"

"Sire -"

"No, Gaius. You're the only one who can help m - us," he replied, finally releasing her.

"I don't think it is wise..." he suggested with a grimace.

Arthur went to him and took his shoulder. "Do I look like a man to trifle with?" there was an undertone of a threat that was not mistaken by Merlynn, who had to fight back another roll of her eyes.

"It is said," began Gaius, "that the Disir divines use an ancient pool. In turn, the pool is fed by the sacred spring at Caerlanrigh. The source of the spring is a grove of yew trees in the White Mountains. The Grove of Brineved." He spoke to Merlynn directly, then, "Be careful, Merlynn. I'm not sure what you'll encounter, but the Old Ways are at their strongest." Arthur was looking at them, but said nothing; she guessed he didn't understand what they were really saying.

"I know, Gaius. Thank you," she said, kissing him on his old cheek.

Arthur went off to collect the knights, while she readied the horses for their long travel to the White Mountains. She was stepping into a realm of magic she had never experienced before - the Isle was the heart of the Old Religion, but the Caerlanrigh was the soul of the Disir, where the Triple Goddess' judgements were passed. Merlynn was worried they would reveal who she was to the other knights without even realising, or do it on purpose as punishment. If they did, she would surely be facing some trouble - especially with Gwaine who, no doubt, would feel betrayed by her secrets the most out of all of them.

Merlynn busied her thoughts with the horses, helping the stablehand, Tyr, who was robust and kind hearted, and blushed whenever she paid him favour. "My lady, no! I - I can do it," he insisted, and tried to take the saddle from her hands. "A queen shouldn't."

"Why?" she laughed. "It's not proper?"

"Yes, my lady," he nodded, another flush reddening his cheeks.

"I'm going to do it anyway." Merlynn hefted the saddle up onto Gwaine's horse, which she only knew because of the long twists of her mane. A few horses were already saddled (including Firefoot and Lamri, thankfully) and Tyr was preparing the rest as quickly as he could - being the only stablehand. The horses Tyr tended to were those reserved to the knights, Arthur and herself; he was the most trusted to tend to them, and so he looked over the royal stable on his own.

Once the horses were prepared, she beckoned sentry to lead the horses out in waiting for the knights while she mounted Firefoot and walked her out of the stables. The knights were tired, but their chain mail was impeccable - training certainly didn't begin in battle, it was in speed and being able to be ready in minutes. She smiled at them sleepily, as did they in return, and positioned herself at the head of the group. Arthur joined them soon, Excalibur held in his hand by the sheath; he strapped it to his saddle and mounted Lamri with ease, before turning to the men.

"I -"

"My lord, you are going to the Black Mountain?" Mordred shouted as he raced down the stairs, clumsily trying to clip his cape to his shoulders.

"I am."

"Then I humbly petition to go with you," he declared defiantly. You failed to kill the Druid boy. You must not do so again. Merlynn couldn't look at him - she refused to. He was going to figure it out if she did; she could feel the tears swell, her bottom lip tremble. Lancelot could see her face though, and he reached over and took her hand wordlessly, never asking why she was so upset. She smiled wetly at him in thanks, and squeezed his fingers.

"It is not for novices, Mordred," Arthur sighed.

"Did I not serve you well?"

"You did."

"Then I will do again."

"It is no mere sorcerer this time, Mordred," he warned. "Our mission is dangerous - in ways we cannot perhaps imagine."

Mordred's voice came to her. 'Please, Emrys. Let me help you.' But she didn't reply. "Then you will need good men by your side," Mordred pointed out with determination. If he was miffed that she ignored him, he kept it hidden. "Let me serve, let me do my duty."

Merlynn had a strong desire to slap Arthur round the head for surrendering. He let Mordred come, gave her the opportunity to fulfil her - Kilgharrah's - 'duty'. But, she didn't know if whether, when the time came, she would be able to kill the boy. When he was saddled on his horse, he smiled at her, pride and excitement gleaming in his blue eyes, and all she did was turn away and ride off.

She didn't want to look at him ever again.


So. Emotional. Dark. I don't know, what did you think?

Subtle Resplendency: I'm sorry TGE is so long, omfg. Actually, there's not much of an age difference - maybe about 4 or 5 years. I made her sixteen, when we first meet her in Camelot but yeah, it's kind of odd I guess haha. And in my defence, he's... not really in love with her anymore, I don't even know! I'm not going to give him any defining love interests soon, though, so... I guess he'll just be a linger-er.

Ryn of Magic: Thank you! I'm wondering how it will pan out myself uwu

Reviewer: I don't know if I'm going to do that - it was a thought - but that would be a load of work and I don't know if I have the time to do that, haha~ :/

ShadowsMelodie: thanks bby uwu ahhh so many Mordred feels askfjkbhn and this episodes going to be Mordred/Merlynn central, really.

Merthur: Writer's block. So much writer's block.

ArmyWife22079: She's not really old enough to be his mother, though? Like I said above, there's only really a 4-5 age difference~ (She's like 23-24, now).

Corey Youngblood: Well, I'm guessing Mithian isn't trained in magic like Morgana or Merlin, so she wouldn't know anything about runes or magic symbols - she's a regular mortal, after all. It was all she could do to tell Merlin and still try to remain inconspicuous at the very same time.

Sam: Since I never really know what I'm doing with a chapter until the end, one can only wait. I'm no good with decisions, either, so if I say yes now - I'll probably give up, and never do it ever and then just let the idea fade away with self-doubt and writer's block. So here's to hoping, eh? (also thank you xx)

Dhragonis-Slytherin: ahwskfjdfkh thank you so much! I'm really glad you're enjoying all of this and everything and that you don't hate it and gaaahh. I've been saying "and" a lot lately - oops. Also yeah, she hasn't gotten back to me when I asked her to delete what she had stolen, and I've checked her story and it seems she's been just simply ignoring me. I've reported her, and all I can do is wait I guess? Thank you, though (again), for your support! x

So, please tell me how you liked it - it sounds a little different than what I'm used to, since I've written it using a different style, but I hope you enjoyed it? Review, and I'll try to get the next chapter up by next week.

Love you all,

Khaleesi~