Chapter 3: Back from the Dead
"We've covered the area from Paulet down to Meldreath," Leon recounted to the roundtable at large. It was another one of those boring, uneventful Roundtable meetings. Mordred watched Arthur stare expressionlessly into the middle distance in the seat facing him while Sir Leon read on in a droning voice.
"This includes 30 troops at Bawtry, 15 at Tallen, 10 at Chime..."
Sir Gwaine was half asleep and from the looks of it, behind him, Merlin might be close to joining him despite the fact that he was standing up. Sir Elyan prodded Mordred's side under the table, having seen the boy's eyelids were also beginning to droop. Mordred sat up a little straighter, focusing on Sir Leon. He felt mildly jealous; regardless of the situation, Elyan always managed to keep focused. He didn't know how the older knight did it.
"...9 at Broom-" Sir Leon's monotonous report was interrupted by the loud clatter of all the doors to the hall flying open. Mordred and Elyan whipped their heads around to look while the others all watched with varying levels of surprise and curiosity. There was nobody there... somehow.
After a few seconds of silent scrutiny the knights turned back to look expectantly at their King. Arthur scowled at the misbehaving portals for a bit longer, then gestured to Sir Leon, "Continue."
Leon took a deep breath, pushing aside his discomfort and resumed reading the report in his hands, "11 at Bowell-"
With a loud crash the great iron chandelier overhead plummeted into the center of the round table, cracking the wood of the centerpiece. Everyone jumped in surprise and flinched away. Mordred looked from the damaged metal and wood to the broken iron chain overhead. It looked warped and menacing as it swung back and forth above them. He looked across the table at King Arthur to see him doing the same with only mild curiosity, apparently undisturbed by the strange occurrence. Mordred shifted his attention to Merlin. Emrys, unlike his King, was clearly troubled. A deep frown hardened his usually gentle features, and his blue eyes now glinted with subtle flecks of gold. Merlin's gaze locked with Mordred's, having felt the young knight's eyes on him. Mordred sent him a questioning look. Merlin shook his head, returning his attention to Arthur. Now was not the time.
As the meeting dispersed Mordred was quick to follow Elyan out the door, hoping to avoid any awkward exchanges with certain other knights. Alas, he was not that lucky.
"Wait, Mordred," Percival caught up with him outside the door and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Sir Percival," Mordred acknowledged politely.
Percival's mouth tightened somewhat upon hearing the formal address, but he didn't comment aloud. He and Mordred both glanced at Elyan for opposing reasons instead.
"I've got to go meet someone. See you later, Mordred," Elyan quickly excused himself, leaving Mordred with no way to back out. He still took his sweet time turning to face the tallest knight.
"King Arthur wants me to look into those reports of theft in the lower town," Percival told him once he had the boy's full attention again.
Mordred continued to look at him.
"I was thinking you might like to join me. The King did mention you, and we might be able to take Bran with us to the last place that was hit. It's the Miller's cottage. He should be no trouble out on the open land around the Mill."
"The King mentioned me?" Mordred echoed skeptically.
"He thought that it might be good for you- If I thought you were ready, and I do. So..." Sir Percival let the sentence hang, watching the teen's face for any sign of either acceptance or dismissal. He looked almost nervous. Mordred thought he was probably just imagining that.
"All right. Where will we start?" Mordred agreed, keeping his expression guarded and his tone nonchalant. Sir Percival smiled at him anyway.
"The first place isn't too far from here. There's a Goldsmith living under the East Wall. We can pick up something to eat from the market on our way out."
Mordred nodded, falling into step with his enthusiastic superior. It was clear to him that Percival was hoping he would forget their earlier disagreement. He didn't think that he would, but maybe in time he would be able to let it go. There was no point in crushing the man's hopes unnecessarily.
When they were passing through the courtyard, Mordred finally asked the question that bothered him most.
"Sir Percival?"
Percival stopped and looked down at him with obvious irritation. "You know you don't need to address me so formally anymore."
"Yes," Mordred acknowledged. "When you spoke with the King, did he mention why he thought me a suitable choice to accompany you?"
Sir Percival shrugged. "Not really. He knows that we work well together, and you've been making great strides with your training."
"I'm inexperienced."
Percival smiled down at him. "This is how you get experienced. Don't worry so much, Mordred. Nothing vital has gone missing yet."
"It is important enough that we're looking into it," Mordred pointed out. "There is no pattern between the thefts that I can think of... Stolen grain from the Miller's private store, a small chest of jewelry from the Goldsmith, and what did the thief steal from that tavern again?"
"The tavern was hit twice. First, a week's earnings were taken, then, a crate of gin," Percival reminded him. "You nodded off during that part of the meeting, didn't you?"
"Not exactly," Mordred disagreed. Then he admitted, "My mind may have drifted a little."
"It happens to the best of us," Percival reassured him.
"I didn't see the King having as much trouble."
"The King is a nobleman. He probably grew up in boring meetings. He's become impervious," Percival theorized with mock solemnity.
The corner of Mordred's mouth twitched upward, his mood lifting a little despite his misgivings. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after all.
The Goldsmith's home wasn't nearly as large or notable as Mordred had been expecting. A two-level, thatched-roofed, stone house poked out of the smooth grey stone of the east wall, looking only a little neater and nicer than the more humble huts around it. Mordred knocked on the pristine front door, which had been painted Camelot-red within the past year, judging by the state of it. A sweet little old woman whose embroidered linen dress was as close to royal purple as it could possibly get without crossing the boundary of law answered the door. She looked like somebody's kind but pretentious grandmother.
"Oh! Good day, Sirs!" she answered in a relaxing voice. Yep, definitely somebody's Gram. "Wasn't expecting knights today. A bit of excitement..." She waddled away from the door as she said the last bit, possibly to herself.
"We heard reports of a series of break-ins in the area," Percival explained, watching the woman wander farther from the door. "We were told that some of your gold stores were taken?"
"Ah, yes, yes. How exciting! Those would be Gareth's," the woman remarked conversationally, then noticed the uncertain way they watched her from the doorstep. "Well, come along then. You can't very well stand there all day."
Percival cleared his throat uncomfortably and followed after the strange woman. Mordred entered behind him, shutting the door in their wake. He would have followed them to- wherever the old woman was going, but he was distracted by a hanging metalwork on the wall to his left. It was a beautiful piece of worked bronze, shaped and welded into an intricate, squared weave-pattern. Mordred recognized it instantly, although he realized that perhaps a village devoid of Druids up until very recently might be the perfect place to hide such a brazen symbol in plain sight. There was a plaque hanging under it with some words etched into it, but he paid the addition no mind. Mordred didn't need to read the writing to know it was a lie. He could read the knot just fine.
"Sir Mordred?" Percival called from the other room. Mordred found the other knight sitting at the kitchen table opposite an apologetic-looking man with splatter burns on the back of one wrist.
"Please excuse my delay, I was just admiring your home. You must be Gareth," Mordred greeted, pleasantly. He was sure that he wouldn't be the first. This house might be smaller than he'd expected, but it was still, well, rich.
"Yes. Thank you both for coming. I must say, I didn't expect to get a visit from the Knights so soon after the incident," the man admitted, looking from Mordred to Percival. "Let alone one from the Round Table. I would have tidied up more."
"Two from the 'Table, really. Sir Mordred just joined us a month ago," Percival replied easily. "You don't need to go to any trouble for us. We're just here to get any details the guards might have missed in their report."
Mordred retreated to stand a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe to watch Sir Percival interview the Goldsmith and his mother. He let most of the words float through his mind as background noise while he probed at the very edges of the others' minds, feeling their reactions and emotions as they occurred, considering them carefully. The Goldsmith was afraid. He was intimidated. The presence of two of Camelot's elite was leaving him conflicted. He had seen more of the intruder than he was admitting. Someone he knew perhaps? Or it could be something more dangerous... Mordred thought back to the quaternary knot hanging in the hallway. He looked up from the Goldsmith to probe the old woman's mind. She met his eye with a penetrating stare. Mordred blinked and retreated into his own head, taken aback. One corner of the old woman's lips quirked upward in amusement and she winked at him.
"...So this all happened upstairs? He just hopped back out though the same window again, I imagine?" Percival was saying.
"Not in this case. The thief leapt out through my bedroom window I'm afraid," the old woman corrected, keeping her earth brown eyes on Mordred. "Terribly rude of him, I think. Sir Mordred, I could show you if you like. We'll let these two have their little chat while we take a closer look. The thief left a right old mess on the way out. You might find something there." She was already hooking her arm around Mordred's before any of the men could respond.
Percival watched her escort the younger knight out with his eyebrows rising towards his hairline.
"I um, yes. Thank you." Mordred looked back over his shoulder on the way out of the kitchen, shrugging at his superior.
"Naturally, Dear Boy," the woman said idly, walking with him down the hall. "You will need to help me on the stairs; my old bones do protest on these cooler days."
"Yes, El-" Mordred caught himself, running his eyes over the woman's face as they reached the stairs.
"Clever Boy, but I think it might be safer if you just call me Nuala for now, don't you?" Nuala remarked with a twinkle of mirth in her ancient eyes. Mordred swallowed, managing to avoid giving away any other signs of his uncertainty.
Nuala smiled warmly up at him and rested a hand on his chainmail, directly over his Druid clan-mark. She turned away using the same hand to hold her skirt out of the way of her bare feet. "Now, let us tackle this new quest, Brave Sir Knight: help this silly old woman up to her room."
Merlin strolled back towards the palace proper, his bag brimming with freshly picked herbs and flowers. Two of the castle maids passing through the courtyard ahead saw him and spared him a friendly wave. The sun was shining merrily overhead, even if the temperature was still a bit brisk, and that odd feeling of impending disaster had finally ebbed out of him at some point during his search for the herbs on Gaius' latest list.
"Spare a momun', Mate."
Merlin looked to the left to see a leanly muscled, strawberry-blond man leaning against a statue. He looked rough and had a wily sort of countenance to him. It was unsettlingly familiar. He swaggered closer, slipping fluidly between a careless drawl and precise-articulation that clashed with his coarse accent, "I've go' a queschun: might you know this Druid?" He held up a roll of parchment and let it unfurl itself under its own weight, watching the manservant's face. Merlin finally placed him: one of his many past kidnappers. Merlin had only seen his face briefly, half shrouded in shadow and more or less forgot about the mercenary, but it was definitely him.
Merlin took one look at the ink sketch and snatched it out of his hand, balling it up in his fist.
"Ooh. Stroock a nerve!" His ex-captor looked too pleased by his sudden temper.
"What do you want?" Merlin countered coldly.
"D' ya know wot 'e is?" The mercenary smiled at his own taunt and strolled backwards towards the nearest servants' entrance.
Merlin stared back at him, not shifting his expression in the slightest.
"Ya do," the man confirmed, his hazel eyes dancing with mischief. "How intriguin'. 'e's a friend, den?" He studied the warlock's face. "No' a friend."
"What do you want?" Merlin reiterated, stepping forward to keep himself just short of arm's reach of the career criminal.
"I'll keep my mouf shut abou' the Druid if you agree ta give me access to 'is chambers in da dark o' night."
Merlin stopped and turned to leave, wondering how stupid this man thought he was. He didn't even like Mordred.
"Would ya call it 'igh treason?" the too loud query once again stopped Merlin in his tracks. The scruffy rogue stalked up to him like a prowling beast, and continued at the same inappropriate volume, " 'e'll be either burnt or 'anged, depends on wot crime really grabs attenshun," the mercenary said slyly, leading him back into a shadowed alcove by his arm. " 'e'll defini'ely be flogged first, not tha' ya care-"
Merlin tugged his arm free and stepped right into the older man's personal space, trapping him against the stone wall.
"Maybe ya do," the wretch theorized.
Merlin pinned the other man's chest with his forearm. "Stop. I don't care who you think you are, or what you think you know. I am not letting you into any part of Camelot's citadel. Nothing that you say is going to change that," Merlin informed him. "I haven't forgotten what you did. Threaten all you want, but the fact is, all you are is a treasonous criminal slandering a Knight of the Round table. You want my help?" Merlin smiled sarcastically. "Take my advice: you don't want to see just how badly the King would respond to your presence. Leave me alone." He pushed away from the leering criminal, and brushed off his arm as if it had been soiled by their mere contact.
"Never said I'd be doin' da talkin'."
Merlin readjusted the strap of his bag, shooting the mercenary a withering look before he strode away. He paused at the palace entrance, glancing back briefly to see that the troublesome wretch had vanished. Merlin's lips thinned. The foreboding feeling was back, and Merlin didn't even know why he had defended Mordred. He stepped inside and jumped in surprise when the doors shut behind him, seemingly of their own volition. Did Uther's ghost just hear that? The idea was somehow even scarier than the thought of King Uther's return from the dead. I can't keep aligning myself with Mordred, Merlin reminded himself. He was pretty sure that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they could get better.
Mordred followed Nuala through one dimly illuminated room into the next. The old woman's bedroom was smaller than many of the palace's storage spaces, but it had a welcoming coziness to it that suited her persona. The modest, straw-stuffed bed was little more than a boxed mattress covered in mismatched pillows and a woolen quilt-marigold to match the drapes. Mordred eyed the fine cloth and gave her a look.
"The local merchants do like me so," she explained away, as if that was enough to disperse the obvious incrimination.
"Not my business," Mordred decided. He felt no need to be hypocritical; she wasn't a thief that Arthur was interested in. Mordred crossed over to the open window and knelt down. There was a scuff mark on the floor. As he neared it Mordred felt a familiar thrill run through his other sense and closed his eyes to focus. Clairvoyants perceived a layer of the world that others only dreamt of. That was one reason why Uther had been so hell bent on their complete annihilation during the Purge, but that same gift made them vulnerable. Something was close, lingering, not yet prepared to strike.
"You're safe with me," Nuala told him easily, a friendly reminder of the fact, and he refocused on the task at hand. Mordred ran a finger over the thick substance on the wooden floorboard and rubbed it between his fingers.
"Goddess see us through, he was a messy wretch!" Nuala remarked, moving to sit on the end of her bed. "Not that I'm judging, mind you. Brought in a thrill of excitement for me, by all means. Then he got that sticky sap on my nice linens! Almost stamped a foot on my good pillow too. The nerve of him! A good knock with my chamber pot had that sorted straight away!"
One side of Mordred's mouth quirked upwards in appreciation of her pluckiness. He was certain that in spite of her age Nuala was a force to be reckoned with, even in this form. He sniffed at the substance and narrowed his eyes.
"Not sap." He gingerly poked his tongue out to taste it.
"Oh!" Nuala huffed, scolding, "You know where that's been, Young Man!"
Mordred's jaw tightened upon recognition of the all-too-familiar substance.
"Mordred?" Percival called, jogging up the stairs to join them.
"In here, Sir... Ehm..." Nuala trailed off with a demure cough.
"Percival," Mordred supplied distractedly, looking up afterwards only to see a sly glint in her dark eyes.
"Right you are. Sir Percival."
"You found anything?" Percival inquired, pausing in the doorway to eye the richly made drapes with suspicion.
"Possibly," Mordred admitted, scraping up the smudged traces with the knife that he kept in his boot. "Thank you for the tour," he added, quickly pushing past the larger knight and down the stairs. The whole room was beginning to feel like it was pressing in around him. The air was thickening like glue.
"I was glad to meet you," Nuala called after him.
"Excuse us," Sir Percival said with an apologetic look and chased after his fleeing comrade. He managed to catch up to him in the street outside.
"Sir Mordred!"
Mordred stopped and rested his hands on his knees, steadying his racing heart. Whatever creature had escaped the veil, he could feel it drawing closer.
"What was that?" Percival demanded.
"Needed a breath of fresh air," Mordred gasped, still working to catch his breath.
Percival drew himself up straighter, pinning the novice with a discerning glare. "I know you may not be fond of me right now, but we're looking into this together. I can't work with you if you're going to keep secrets from me. "
Mordred drew out the blackened blade and showed it to him.
Percival inspected the sticky residue and shrugged. "Some kind of sap?"
"A kind of pitch." Mordred took the blade back and held it away at arm's length, striking the blade diagonally against the side of the stone wall until it sparked, igniting the flammable coating. "Birch tar."
"Why birch?" Sir Percival inquired.
"It's what I used," Mordred admitted darkly. "I might have known him..." He shook his head. "If someone from that time in my past knows that I am here, it would explain why there is no discernible pattern."
"What time in your past? Why do you think this is about you?" Percival inquired, locking eyes with the teen for a tense moment before he got an answer.
"I don't." Mordred sounded like he was lying even to himself. "They had plenty of time to come looking for me."
"Who did?" Percival asked sternly.
Mordred locked eyes with him for a moment, considering the consequences of telling the truth before he answered, "The men I served before Ragnor. That's all you would want to know."
"We need to report this," Sir Percival advised. As much as he wanted to know what his friend was hiding, he knew better than to pry, with things as they were.
"No," Mordred denied a little too quickly. "No. It could be nothing. We were going to talk to the tavern keeper. Let's just see what we can learn there first."
"That isn't your decision to make," the older knight reminded him.
"We have no evidence that it is anything to do with me."
"The birch tar is evidence, Mordred."
"It was, or it was a coincidental reminder of my youth," Mordred reasoned. Percival didn't look like he was buying it. At best, he was questioning what a person of Mordred's age could mean by 'my youth'; at worst he was questioning Mordred's veracity. "Please. Let us see where this leads first. That is what we were sent to do, isn't it?" Mordred urged, wearing a guileless expression.
Sir Percival hesitated, but eventually acquiesced, nodding once despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm.
Nothing more of note occurred until after dark. Percival and Mordred had parted ways, each uncertain of the other. Sir Percival was thankful for his shift on patrol that afternoon, while Mordred spent the time meditating on a crystal hourglass to settle his troubled consciousness. It was finally time for the night shift to transition into patrol. The three remaining knights were just coming off duty, unaware of their silent company.
"Why is it that you always take twice as long to change out of your armor?" Gwaine teased, prowling around Percival's bench in the changing area.
"Because I'm twice the size of you, Little Man," Percival responded in a tone that stressed just how obvious that answer was.
"Then why's it that your brain is so small?" Gwaine replied in a mockery of the larger knight's tone. Percival rose from his seat in silent challenge, nudging the other knight's shoulder halfheartedly. Gwaine, flitted away and out of reach with his fists up, too busy laughing not to ruin the effect. Behind them Elyan shook his head with a fleeting smile at the other knights' antics, passing by on his way out. He was halted once again by an unexpected sight.
"Mordred?" Elyan questioned, walking over to the small alcove where the youngest knight had sequestered himself. Mordred paused with a throwing knife poised ready to fly in his left hand, and looked up.
"Oh. Good evening, Sir Elyan," he greeted, looking like a guilty puppy.
"Don't you start Sir-ing me now, Mordred," Elyan chided, walking up to stand beside the teen's bench. "We're both off duty." He eyed the target board before continuing meaningfully. "And training ended ages ago."
"I need more target practice," Mordred explained, throwing the knife to embed itself an inch and a half off-center on the target. Elyan's eyebrows shot up in reaction to the young man's accuracy when using his non-dominant hand. His surprise was mirrored by the newly-arrived Gwaine's low whistle in appreciation, of which Mordred was clearly skeptical. It only served to amuse Gwaine more.
"That's pretty good for your left hand, you know," Elyan assured the gifted young novice.
"I can do better," Mordred said decisively, rising from his bench.
Gwaine and Elyan exchanged a look, the latter shaking his head in surrender before he slipped out the door. This was not the first night that he had found Arthur's newest recruit behaving in this way.
"Just one more round," Mordred announced, moving to retrieve the throwing knives and start again.
Gwaine stepped forward to intercept him. "Wait. I think that's enough for tonight," he reiterated.
Mordred looked down at Gwaine's hand on his shoulder, then up at him with wide, innocent eyes. That's it, the older knight remarked internally, this boy is either a cherub or a baby animal in disguise.
"You won't get anywhere if you wear yourself out before every training," he pointed out, with a hopeful smile. "It'd be healthier if you tried for a bit more fun and relaxation once in a while."
"I can't sleep," Mordred confessed, not so much a contradiction as it might have sounded. He still wasn't sure how to deal with the ever-upbeat Sir Gwaine.
The older man's smile faded in sympathy. He didn't know the whole story, but they all knew in vague terms how screwed up Mordred's life had been before Arthur had stumbled upon the ragamuffin and led him back to civilization. Gwaine was about to say something reassuring -not that he had a clue what- when Mordred cocked his head to one side. He was listening for something, then he was gone. Gwaine frowned at the edge of his scarlet cloak disappearing around the corner.
"That was rude," he observed. "He's going the wrong way. Hey! Mordred!" He ran after the slippery young knight.
Mordred ran toward the source of the distress. (He explains, "Pain is like a siren. Its sole purpose is to draw attention to danger, or damage. This is doubly so with the pain of those close to me. We are all connected. You don't need to be Clairvoyant to know that." He winces at the sight that meets him on the other side of the pillar, adding, "Regardless, I only bother with pain when it has meaning. Otherwise, it is a waste.")
"Sir Percival!" Mordred exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside the cowering blond. The aura of flaring, red pain that he perceived crackling over Percival's skin only encouraged the clairvoyant's feelings of guilt. Percival hadn't really shunned Mordred now that he knew he was a Druid. He'd even apologized for his initial reaction. Mordred had been the one avoiding Percy, hiding away in a corner, and now his friend was injured. The truth was Mordred doubted that all the others would have been as open-minded or accepting as he had been. Mordred tried to clear the unproductive thoughts from his mind and scrutinized the wound in the larger man's back. The air around them felt inexplicably chilly, Mordred tucked that detail away for later scrutiny.
" 'S not as bad as it looks," Percival rasped, not quite managing to hide his wince.
Typical, Mordred thought. He's got an axe in his back and he's trying to calm me down.
"Percy! What happened?!" Gwaine shouted from almost directly behind Mordred, nearly startling the teen into giving himself whiplash. He didn't usually allow anyone to sneak up on him like that. Focus, he silently scolded himself.
"Bloody thing must've fallen off of the rack," Percival provided, allowing the others to pull him to his feet and duck under his arms.
"Let's get you to Gaius," Gwaine muttered, directing Mordred, "I've got him. Get the door."
Mordred followed his instruction, but stopped short when he turned back to close the door behind them. The air around him had turned frigid. He had that ominous prickling feeling on the back of his neck. They were being watched. When Mordred cast his magic out in search of the observer, he found no one there except for the three of them. He brushed it off and shut the door behind them, then stiffened. Ice cold fingers trailed over the back of his neck, grasping for his cloak. He whirled round to find nothing but empty air.
"Mordred?" Percival called. Mordred shook himself and ran to catch up with the others, disregarding his racing heart.
"Sorry," he mumbled, ducking back under Percival's arm without looking at either of the others. He therefore failed to notice his friend's concern. Mordred had gone white as a sheet.
"It was certainly quite an accident. I'm surprised that you got a wound this deep from a fallen axe," Gaius thought aloud while he stitched up the sizeable gash in Percival's muscled shoulder. Opposite him, Merlin was leaning against the shelf facing them with his arms crossed in displeasure.
"Not as surprised as I was. Just my luck I guess," Percy brushed it off. "Although..."
"What is it?" Merlin pounced on his uncertainty.
Sir Percival reflected on his answer for a moment before admitting, "It's probably nothing. I thought that I heard someone lurking. It was likely this one mucking about with Gwaine on the other end of the armory."
"Target practice," Mordred murmured without looking up or halting in his pacing. Merlin narrowed his eyes in response to the Druid's uncharacteristic distraction.
"Are you all right, Mordred?" Gwaine asked, frowning at the novice from his place beside Percival's bench.
Mordred looked blankly up at the others; for once it wasn't a front. He had been too lost in his own thoughts to track their conversation.
"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Percival told him with a subtle note of protectiveness in his tone.
"Have you?" Merlin put in, locking gazes with the younger mage. Percival's brows knit together in confusion.
"No..." Mordred began, hesitating only briefly to continue, "I felt something when we were leaving, as if we were being watched, and when I went to shut the door behind us, something brushed the back of my neck." He squeezed his eyes shut, correcting himself, "There was no one else there. I checked."
"I need to speak with Arthur," Merlin decided, pushing past Mordred to the door. He had noticed the other mage's slight hesitation when recalling what had frightened him.
"Merlin!" Gaius called after him.
"First the round table conference this morning and now this? I don't believe in coincidences, Gaius!"
"And would you care to explain what this coincidence concerns?" Gaius probed with a suspicious arch of his mighty brow.
Merlin froze for a second, like a doe caught in an archer's sights. "No..."
There was an awkward moment while everyone stared at Merlin with varying levels of suspicion. Finally, Sir Gwaine took pity on him.
"I wouldn't read too much into it, Merlin. Sir Mordred hasn't been sleeping well-Sorry, Mordred-" he interrupted himself.
"That's true enough," Mordred conceded, not offended in the slightest.
"He's been under a load of stress." The guilt in Percival's voice made the Druid hate himself a little bit.
Merlin turned in the doorway to give them a flat look. He returned his attention to the novice knight. "You think that you're hallucinating?" The way that he said it made it sound more like a sarcastic statement than an actual question.
"I don't know," Mordred replied truthfully. Merlin left to find Arthur. Mordred moved to follow him.
"You aren't leaving yet," Gaius stated, stopping him before he could take the first step. "I'm prescribing you a sleeping draft."
(Mordred flashes a sarcastic look before turning back to accept the small, glass phial that Giaus has fetched from his cupboard.)
Arthur looked up from the parchment piled on his desk as his ill-behaved manservant burst into his chambers without knocking.
"Merlin, we've talked about this," Arthur chastened, dropping the diary entries back onto his desk.
"What? Oh." Merlin looked around as if he thought he might have misplaced something. "Gwen's not here so..."
"Where's my dinner?" Arthur prodded.
Merlin stopped short, thrown by the completely valid non-sequitur. He shrugged it off in the next breath and returned to his own concerns, "I think we're in trouble."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing!" Merlin denied, looking affronted. "Why is it that when I say we're in trouble you instantly assume that it's my fault?"
Arthur let the question hang in the air for a moment, then prompted, "Why do you think that we're in trouble?"
"Because I think you may have released Uther's spirit into the world of the living."
There was another, decidedly angrier beat of silence between them.
"And what makes you think that?" Arthur asked, avoiding Merlin's gaze. He didn't want to think about his father's ghost or his stinging words.
"The candelabra in conference room-"
"Was old, Merlin!" Arthur dismissed, annoyed.
"Were the doors?" Merlin countered.
Arthur pulled a face.
"The doors that slammed open in the middle of the meeting - not very secure if you ask me."
"I didn't. That is hardly evidence that my father has risen from the dead!" Arthur argued, walking around to perch on the front edge of his desk with his arms crossed.
"That isn't all," Merlin persisted. "Just before I came here, I was talking with Percival and Mordred-"
"That boy really should be getting some rest," Arthur complained, then a thought occurred to him. "I thought you hated Sir Mordred!"
"Gaius had to stitch up Percival's wound because an axe supposedly just dropped off of the rack and embedded itself in his shoulder! Gaius was very surprised by the depth of that wound!" Merlin scrunched up his face; he could have phrased that argument better. "Sir Mordred thought that he felt something odd. A presence in the room, but the others have him thinking that it's just exhaustion."
"It probably is just exhaustion! The boy needs his sleep... as do you," Arthur said, standing up and herding Merlin towards his chamber door.
"I'm not overtired, or paranoid, Arthur!" Merlin insisted, standing his ground several feet short of the exit. "The Round Table represents everything that you've changed since you became King. Percival is a common knight, not to mention Mordred! You said it yourself: Uther doesn't approve. He's protecting his legacy! Who knows what he's capable of!"
"That's enough! Merlin," Arthur warned, turning away towards the window and retreating into his own troubled thoughts. "Leave me be."
Merlin's lips thinned. "Would you like me to fetch you your dinner, Sire?"
"Out!"
Merlin left the King to think over his words, before he could start throwing things. Arthur probably just needed time. This was his father they were talking about after all; it was bound to be difficult for him to accept. That didn't make the situation any less dangerous.
Gwen was just heading back to Arthur's and her chambers to get ready for bed when she heard another pair of footsteps echoing hers. She looked back over her shoulder to see who it was… only to be met with an empty corridor. She looked the other way - empty. Gwen resumed walking and so did the phantom boots.
"Hello?" Gwen called uncertainly, "Is someone there?"
No response.
Gwen stopped walking. So did the phantom. She started again. So did the phantom. Gwen resisted her mounting unease and told herself that perhaps it was no more than a distorted echo. Logic told her that she had worked in this castle for years before becoming Queen. She should already know about such things. Gwen had almost talked herself back into feeling secure when the 'echo' suddenly vanished. She stopped dead. Somehow, its absence was far more disturbing than its presence. The sound came back, only different. Booted feet were now marching hastily towards her from behind. The Queen whirled round, and snapped, "Show yourself!"
A familiar young man came around the corner behind her and froze, in the middle of folding up his Camelot red cape. "Your Majesty?"
Gwen let out a laughing sigh. It really was only an echo. "Sir Mordred. Forgive me, I... I thought you were someone else."
Mordred gave a half-nod and fell into step with her.
"What are you doing here at this time of night? I thought that Arthur had given you the evening off."
"I was practicing my aim, and then Percival had an accident. Sir Gwaine and I had to take him to see Gaius."
"Is he all right?"
"He will be in no time, or so he insists. One of the axes fell and cut-" the shutters to the window on their right rattled loudly, interrupting Mordred's explanation. He stopped talking; the shutters stopped moving.
They began to walk again - and only then did it dawn on the Queen: Mordred's steps barely make a sound.
"Someone else is here," Gwen breathed.
Mordred frowned at her uncertainly. "What-" the rest of his question was drowned out by the shutters. Gwen looked from the trembling shutters to Mordred, wordlessly verifying that they were both witnessing this.
She walked over and held the misbehaving pieces of wood steady, backing off when the resistance ceased. They remained appropriately still.
"That was strange," Mordred remarked as they resumed walking. The next set of shutters began to quake, as did the next and the next.
"It only happens when you talk," Gwen noted. Her theory seemingly confirmed by the lack of an interruption. She shivered and rubbed her arms to combat the plummeting temperature and noticed that she could see the Druid's breath clearly. Mordred flinched and turned away from her as if someone had just pushed past him.
"Something just-" he cut himself off this time, realizing his mistake. Gwen grabbed his forearm and hastened her pace, ensuring that he would keep up with her. The odd quaking of the windows seemed to pursue them, growing more violent the farther they went. When they reached the next fork, the Queen stopped and looked back at the clamor that had chased them. The shutters abruptly stilled.
"What is this magic?!" she demanded, frightened. Mordred looked around them in search of a source for the madness.
"I don't think it's-Look out!" Mordred shouted, pushing Gwen out of the way of a flying shield that had torn itself off of the wall. It altered its course in midair to hit him hard in the center of his chest, knocking him back against the wall with an unnerving crack. He slumped to the floor with a pained sigh.
"MORDRED!" Gwen shrieked, jumping up to rush to his side. Before she could reach him an invisible force yanked the Queen's feet out from under her, dragging her away down the hall. "No!" Gwen struggled and reached desperately for anything to anchor herself with. Whatever magic this was, its wielder was clearly intent on killing them, and Gwen would be damned if she was going to let it separate them. She managed to hook an arm around the edge of the doorway while she was being dragged into the kitchens. "Mordred!" Gwen shouted. She heard him stumble to his feet and start towards her. The door slammed shut on her. Black spots threatened her vision. She looked up to see Mordred catch the door and hold it back from hitting her again. Her eyes went wide as saucers, "GET DOWN!"
Mordred followed her command and a flying sword narrowly missed his head, embedding itself deep in the wood. Gwen let out the breath she'd been holding. Unfortunately the sudden drop to his knees had forced Mordred to loosen his grip on the door. On the second slam the Queen went limp, sliding stunned into the kitchens. Mordred swore loudly in both the local language and his mother tongue, cradling what he suspected was a broken right hand. The door slammed shut in his face and bolted itself. The furious young knight tried to force it open with his uninjured hand to no avail.
"QUEEN GUINEVERE!" he shouted. When he got no reply, Mordred reached out cautiously with his magic. Her mind was still there, unconscious, but thankfully alive. Mordred threw himself against the door a few more times. It wouldn't budge at all and to his horror, the Druid noticed the first tendrils of smoke creeping around the edges of the wood. He let out a frustrated shout, giving the door a vicious kick. Then he stilled, looking down at his hands while he considered using a spell. It would be dangerous for both of them in his excited state. Even so- Mordred was torn out of his thoughts when the tapestry behind him coiled and struck like a snake, wrapping tightly around his neck.
A/N: Okay yeah, it's a cliff hanger, but it's not really a bad one at least, right? I dunno. I hope you liked it. Anyway, thanks for reading, and special thanks to catherine10, Agana of the Night, and Linorien for reviewing. As always, feedback is welcome!