Yes, it's been too long. Far, far too long, but school has been a massive impact on my life as of late. I had half-yearly exams, prep for that, I had so many things going on and it just drained me to the point where writing this seemed like a chore - I didn't want to give you work that felt like I was forced to do it, ugh.
I'm so terribly sorry.
But I'm here now - I had to edit this once again because I had another damn idea (which ended up changing the entire chapter oops). Hope you enjoy it thought.
CHAPTER 10 - THE DARK TOWER
The deeper you dig, the darker it gets
There's nowhere else for us to go
We live while we learn, and then we forget
We'll never find our way back home
- 'Empire (Let Them Sing)' by Bring Me the Horizon.
A bird sung somewhere atop the hill. She could not see it, for there were no trees for it to sit in, but she could hear its song and it almost made the moment more lovely than it was. Gwen shut her eyes and listened to the bird, pulling her furs further about her shoulders - Winter was near, though it was still warm in Camelot. Here, deep into Arthur's lands and near the White Mountains, the wind was cool and sharp against her skin and she could almost smell the sea.
Here was where her father lay. Gwen remembered that day; her wails, clutching desperately onto his ashen hand, praying for him to be alive. But he was carted off to be turned to dust and she refused them, shouting and kicking and screaming until Morgana finally pleaded with Uther to let him be buried properly. That was the first time Uther ever showed her mercy. Though, when the king died years later, she felt no sorrow for him, but rather pity for Arthur, and for Merlynn who had to stitch the broken boy-king back together.
Uther was buried in the heart of Camelot's castle in the burial chambers, his coffin made of the finest marble - her father was carried to the top of the mountain and buried beneath the earth where he belonged, where his spirit could see the rolling mountains and the sunny plains, the hint of an ocean and the glorious kingdom that he was born in. Gwen decided that, when she passed, she would like to join him.
"He was a good father." Her sweet brother settled his arm around her waist and kissed her skin, his smile slight. "I'm glad we came." Elyan did not see their father since years before his death, and so she imagined how much worse the loss was to him, clutching him closer.
Gwen wiped a tear from her eye and set the small bunch of daisies - the only flowers she found along the bottom of the hill - on her father's grave. There was not much she could do to honour his death, for he wasn't a man who was interested in material things, physical declarations of affection, but it was all she could do. "Even after all these years I still miss him."
"So do I," said Elyan, his voice tight and gripped with pain.
Merlynn insisted that there be five knights guarding her, including Elyan. She could not guess why she had so many protect the queen's maidservant, but she did not argue with her - it would have ended with her losing, regardless. Merlynn's only words had been; "if I can't be there to keep you safe, then I'll just have to use other methods, won't I?" Her maternal, protective nature was flattering, and she thanked the men countless times for being so willing, though it was a slight hit to her ego to have Merlynn so worried that she would be hurt.
They spoke of her father on the journey back, even the few that did not know him, and she smiled and knew that he would have gleamed at the praise. Leon was the one who said the most, for he grew up beside her since they were babes and knew her father the best out of the knights. The others, namely Lancelot, Gwaine and Percival, spoke only of their regret of not meeting him. Mordred only kept silent as usual, watching and listening, a little smile on his young face.
"I think that he'd be proud," Leon declared, surety dripping in his tone.
"Particularly of Elyan," she said.
"Me?"
"Not because you're a knight, but because of the man you've become." Giddiness spread through her like ink on fresh linen - it must have been the heat on her neck, or the journey to see her father's grave, but she was laughing and teasing, eyes crinkled and shoulders slung back.
Elyan scoffed, "I don't think so."
"She's right," Percival was grinning at them, a twinkle in his eye. "You're outstanding, especially when it comes to sweet-talk the ladies if nothing else."
Gwen fought back a smirk at the red flush that blossomed on her brother's cheeks and then slapped at at arm. She was a curious woman, wide-eyed and unable to help herself when it came to knowing things - she liked to discover, and this was a detail she just couldn't miss. "What?"
"Don't listen to him," Elyan begged and sent a venomous glare to Percival.
"No," Leon teased. "Elyan's only in love with one woman."
"Who?"
"You!" Elyan said, but she knew he was lying.
Gwen sighed. "Tell me. I'm your sister."
"Has Merlynn not told you?" Lancelot asked with a small chortle.
"She knows?" she gaped at them all, and they nodded. "She hasn't told me - but she will once we get back."
"She's told you who Gwaine's in love with though, right?" Elyan tried to get the subject off of him. Yes, she thought. Merlynn. Gwen was quite aware of it - she was sure that anyone with an eye or ear knew about his affections. There were times when the topic would move to her, and Gwaine would go off in tangents about her, about the smallest things (her eyes, her hair, her talents; anything), and sometimes he would look at her and wouldn't be able to look away until he was physically steered from her, but she had hope that his love was fading.
Merlynn and Arthur were together, and they would be together until the very end of all - she knew this, and she knew he did, too. Gwen pitied him for loving a woman who was so sworn to another, though she prided him on his ability to keep it away (as much as one could, of course).
"Himself," she said because it wasn't wholly a lie, and they all laughed.
They kept riding for hours in a heedless speed once they left the White Mountains, but as the sun hit the top of the sky, they reached Camelot. Gwen brushed her hand against Lady's - a mare she had fallen in love with - sweaty flank with a silent promise for oats and water once they returned home as reward, and she heard Lady snort in thanks. Lancelot, who rode beside Leon at the front, turned to her and winked, but then she watched as his face contorted into concern as his horse veered beneath him. Both their horses bucked and went mad once they hit the grass, positively terrified of something that she could not see.
"Run!" Gwaine was shouting as the two knights fell. "Run!"
"Get to the trees," Elyan grabbed her reins and moved the head of her horse away from the field. "Go."
She didn't have time to stop him, because her horse began to move and she had to get away. Gwen wasn't a fighter, she couldn't defend herself against much - one small tussle with Morgana, plus a handful of others didn't make her a competent fighter, and she was terrified of snakes. As she pushed Lady deeper into the forest away from the field, she saw flashes of black against the blurred green-brown of the forest and she felt a sudden fear grip her. Morgana, her dress of black lace and wire, stood before her, mad and dangerous.
Gwen didn't see Mordred, but she saw his hands on Lady's flank and she was pushed in the opposite direction, and heard him shout, "I'll deal with her!" She didn't even have a choice. Her hands were shaking as she raced further and further away, a desperation she had never felt before consuming her very being, but she knew she had escaped. A choice decision made her turn her head back to Morgana and Mordred, hoping she would see the young knight standing tall above a fallen priestess, but it was a silly hope to have.
Mordred was among the leaves at Morgana's feet and she was touching his cheek with a mockery of affection. Gwen was too scared to turn back, for it was a fool's game to think she would win, so she kept running.
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There were many things that Merlynn enjoyed about being with Arthur.
Feeling his mouth on her skin, for example. His warm breath would fan across her chilled skin from the evening air, then his tongue would slather over her breasts, her throat, the spot on her collarbone that made her thighs tremble. With his mouth, came his hands - broad and burly and rough - with strong fingers that would follow with soft, firm touches, forcing noises from her throat and sent her tumbling over with a shocking force.
What she liked even more than that, though, was his emotion. His possessive nature, his insecurities, all would come pouring from him with violent thrusts and white-hot pressure on her wrists. He was sweet, but at the same time rough, bordering on violent, pulling her hips up with his short nails embedded into her skin, his teeth skimming across her neck. Sometimes all she could do was clutch onto his shoulders, rake her nails down his back, cry out and react to him.
Merlynn enjoyed his sweet side as much as his aggressive one, for he would nuzzle into her neck and wind her legs around his waist, slow and deep until she was pleading for him to finish her off. This was one of these days; his mouth on her breast, one palm pressed to her thigh, lazy and slow. She rotated her hips and clenched, watching with a grin as his eyes rolled back in his head and he emitted something between a groan and a growl, his other hand moving to wind their fingers together. They came together - her, gasping and trembling, and he biting into her throat.
When they were spent, she kissed him again, fingers winding into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "I lo - "
"Sire!"
Arthur buried his face into her shoulder and moaned in frustration. "This had better be important," he grumbled, nose at her throat.
"It must be." She slid from beneath him and threw on his tunic before opening the door; she must have looked a horrid, sex-ridden fright, but she did not care. Gwaine stood at the door, pale and panting, his brown eyes frightened. Without a word spoken between them she went to him and took his face in her hands, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. "Gwaine, what's happened?"
"It's Lancelot - and Leon," he stammered, his trembling fingers on her wrists. "We - we were escorting Gwen back from her father's grave and then there were snakes and they've been bitten. You have to come - get Arthur as well."
"What about Gwen?" she asked, a fear she hadn't felt in a long time gripping at her chest.
"She's fine," he said but he tugged at his lip with his mouth and it was not all he had to say, "But Mordred's gone."
Merlynn's hands froze on his face; Mordred, who she had so much faith in, the one who would fight at her side, who thought so much of her, who was curious and hoped and wished for a better time - he was gone. The person she trusted with such secrets - he, who knew more of her than she did - had been taken from her, and she didn't doubt there would be consequences.
She felt sobs curl in her throat, but she held them back and set her shoulders. "Okay," she said with a swallow. "We need to get to the others. Arthur," she shouted to her husband, "get to Gaius' chambers as fast as you can. Lancelot and Leon are hurt."
"What? I -"
"Hurry your arse up! I'll meet you there."
Merlynn didn't bother to put on trousers (though she was sure the servants and hand maidens would have a field day watching her run through the halls with Gwaine in nothing but a tunic) because she didn't think of it. All she needed to do was get to her friends, to try and solve whatever problem that had been caused; it was her duty, after all. She reached Gaius' chambers rather quickly, and immediately set to work. It was far more simple than she had thought to return into the role of the physician's assistant and he seemed rather thankful for the assistance.
"One gram?" she asked immediately.
"Two," he corrected.
"Then what?"
"Three grains."
No one paid mind to her current state of dress, and she was thankful as she ran into the storeroom where the most of his supplies were stored. While she collected the hollyhock, she could hear Arthur storm into the room and stir things up, shouting unnecessarily loud. Merlynn tried to ignore him, keep his worry from her mind so she wasn't distracted. If her mind left her, if she rushed or panicked, she would become sloppy and perhaps grab the wrong ingredients and then where would they be? So, she took a deep breath and grabbed the hollyhock, cradling the jar in her hands as she returned to the main chamber.
"We were riding. Came upon a nest of... snakes," Elyan was telling him. "Gwen and Mordred got away together, but... he never came back." He had Gwen trapped in his arms as she cried into his arms.
"I'm so sorry, Merlynn," she whispered.
"We'll leave at dawn," she spoke up, ignoring Gwen.
"Merlynn -"
She turned, her eyes zeroing in on Gaius. He was staring at her with a look she knew too well; he wanted her to think it over, to rationalise. It wasn't as though she could simply discuss the matters behind it all, not when the others were around - even though most of them were unconscious. No, she needed to return Gwen home. "We will ride at dawn," she repeated again, for all to hear. Not even Arthur argued with her.
The others left after Gaius shooed them all away. Arthur lingered though, kissing her quickly and asking her to hurry to bed as they had to wake early. But they both knew that it would be a rarity if she did sleep, even as she smiled and promised him. Merlynn applied healing cream to the bites on Lancelot's hand; the snake bite was black and was ran through his veins like ink, pulsing in his blood vessels. She had been bitten by snakes before, but the wounds were never black. Black meant infection, death, but there was no pungent odour to it.
It was odd. "This is no accident," Gaius remarked.
"I thought as much."
"There is dark magic coursing through their veins," he elaborated. "By any right they should be dead."
Merlynn shrugged. "But they're not. They were lucky - we should be glad for it."
"It's not that I'm not glad, I just... fear that there's more to this than we think."
It was an intriguing matter, but she doubted that there was very much more to it. The only name that entered her mind when she thought about it was the obvious Morgana, and she didn't second guess it; there were many reasons why she would do such a thing, and she had the magic to achieve the black magic snakes to attack them. "Not really. It's Morgana's work," she said, taking quick work of checking Lancelot's pulse. Feverish, but not dangerous. "It has to be."
"How do you know?"
"I just do," she sighed, rubbing at her eye in frustration.
"Well, alright then," he replied. "I trust your judgement."
Gwen caught her as she left the chamber, her face wet with tears and fingers clutching onto the neck of her tunic. "I'm so sorry - Morgana, she came out and Mordred made me run and I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry, Merlynn," she sobbed.
Merlynn didn't say anything. Instead, she left and returned to her bedchamber so she could finally get some rest - though she wasn't even sure if she could sleep, what with Mordred being gone. The walk back was silent, but even that was suffocating; Gwen did not follow her. Gwen was safe, which she was glad for, but Mordred was barely a man and he was gone. But when she went to her chambers where Arthur was reading some nameless novel she had seen on his desk a thousand times over, her shoulders slumped and it was easy to settle into bed beside him, her leg slung over his thigh. He put his arm around her, but kept reading, and she imagined him some day with spectacles on his nose - the thought made her smile as his fingers ran through her loose hair.
"Is everything okay with Leon and Lancelot?" he asked, his mouth running over her forehead.
"Yes. They'll recover fine," she mumbled sleepily.
He smiled against her skin and squeezed her shoulder. "Good."
"Morgana took him." Arthur tensed; he loved Mordred as much as she, but he did not know the implications behind the kidnapping. Mordred could be manipulated, twisted beyond belief, and he could return and cause harm to Arthur, and she didn't know if she would be able to kill him.
"Okay," was all he said, before he kissed her head again and held her tight. "We'll find him. I promise. We will bring him home."
This time, she could not doubt him.
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Morgana was staring at him. He was too terrified, too vulnerable to use magic against her yet - in time, he would, though he doubted that she would be surprised. Mordred was a defensive creature by nature, a dog who only attacked when provoked, so she kept a distance away while she watched. He pretended to be asleep, but that was no good for she kicked at his side and he launched up with a howl, clutching with bound hands at the throbbing area. Her smile was wicked, but when he looked at her again, it was soft and almost (but not quite) like how she used to be, but it wasn't. It was different, he was older and she was void of anything but darkness - she was the reason for Emrys' plight, and for that he hated her.
It was almost painful how much she had changed, though.
He remembered her when he was a boy; she was silk dresses and soft hair, lips red and face coloured. She was sweet, forgiving, seeking and hoping and she had been manipulated, yes, but she became darker and darker until she was nothing but it, black as a raven's wing. Now, she was cruel, merciless, her face pallid and eyes mad.
"Good morning, knight," she teased, her eyes alight.
"What do you want with me?"
"I thought we could play a game."
"A game?" he spat. Games were for children, simple, fun things like skipping and hide-and-seek and the like, but Morgana's intentions were dark and so very dangerous. There was nothing good that would come out of whatever sort of game Morgana wanted to play.
She smirked, a horrible thing. "Just to find out how much you're loved in Camelot," the word turned rancid in her mouth.
"It won't work."
"You underestimate your worth?" a light chuckle left her, as if she was amused by her insecurities. "You wear the uniform well but we both know what lies beneath. Do you think Arthur would tolerate you for one minute if he knew the truth? One of his knights, a sorcerer."
"He knows," he almost grinned when she reeled back a little in surprise. "He doesn't care."
"Well, that makes this even better," she composed herself. "This means they will come after you - you can count on that."
Mordred didn't think Emrys could hear him from this distance, but he prayed to her anyway; 'Please do not come for me,' he begged. 'I'll be fine. Please, Emrys. Please.'
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All that was left of Mordred was his horse. The mare, whose name Merlynn had never come to learn, was docile and calm as the knights checked her over for any clues. She had been tied to a low branch by the reins, and given some apples to keep her alive. She almost smiled in amusement at the care Morgana took in keeping the horse safe, but thought otherwise, especially when she looked to was the most worried of the men, and he was becoming careless, aggressive, driven by the bond that he and Mordred shared. Gwaine was the very same, too, unable to focus on any task, whether it be collecting water or scouting, even though he gave a good image of being calm.
Merlynn was able to keep herself in a good state, though she doubted it would last long; by the end of it, she would be tearing the forest apart until she found Mordred again.
Percival crouched by the horse and palmed the dirt, noticing something that no one else could see. "Here. Tracks. They are heading east." He looked like a brute, but his intelligence lied in tracking and seeking, better than any other knight in their whole army.
"Lets go."
The day melted away as they kept riding after Mrodred, and soon they were swallowed by the night in the depths of the forest. Percival's keen eyes could see no more, even as he dismounted and crouched low to try and make shapes out of the odd patterns scattered across the forest floor.
"It's getting too dark," he cursed.
Arthur shook his head and said, "We need to keep heading east."
"We've lost the trail, Arthur," Leon pointed out. "We'll get lost."
"Arthur -" she called, but he kept on riding.
Merlynn sighed and tugged at her braid, then offered to go after him. He stood at the top of a cliff which spanned out the forest around them, where she could see the very tops of the thousands of trees, mountains and rolling hills, but none of them revealed where Mordred could be. Arthur was biting on his knuckle, concealed by his glove, and kicking at the dirt.
"He can't be far."
She dismounted and went to him, taking his other hand in hers. "We need to work together in this if we ever want to find her," she told him. "We'll lose him if we don't. It's why I'm not tearing through this forest right now." A hint of a smile touched at his mouth. "Come on. We'll make camp, get a fire going, in the morning we'll pick up the trail again."
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Mordred was exhausted. He had long since stripped his thick, red cloak and some of his chain mail from the muggy heat of the forest, and he was half-tempted to strip down to his smallclothes just to escape it. Morgana offered water in the beginning, but after the fifth decline she gave up and pulled his rope tighter, and so his mouth was ashen, tongue thick and uncomfortable and his skin now heated and bright pink from the golden sun. They were not on Camelot's land anymore, he guessed, they mustn't. He was lead through a forest broken and twisted with vines and thorns, and then into a terrain so dry he could feel heat radiating off the land.
He had never been in a place so hot. The druid camp had been hidden in the forest, cool and sweetly warm; Ismere was so very cold, so cold he almost lost three fingers to frost bite; and Camelot was for the most part lovely - but no place he had ever travelled into during his journeys was as unbearably stifling as this place. It took three days to travel there at their pace. It was a tower, a black pillar of stone so dark it could swallow the sun, the earth, and all the things around it. Mordred felt fear and a slight irritation pierce him as he gazed at the tower, and then Morgana. Break free, he thought. Just do it, but he was too frightened.
Yes, he acknowledged, that he was strong and powerful - he was a Druid, after all - but he was not as powerful as Morgana. He was too exhausted, too sweaty and dehydrated, the only thought on his mind was to sleep, to go back home to Camelot. But there was no way out of this game.
The tower was empty, which was of little surprise to Mordred. Anything that tried to survive this wretched place was long dead, he thought darkly as Morgana dismounted her horse and came to him. He snarled at her, hoping he could at least intimidate her - he was larger, broader and had more skill with a sword. And, I've been working with Emrys.
Morgana only threw her head back and laughed, then grabbed the rope close to his wrists. He was good at wordless magic, yes, but the look in her eyes told him that she was better, that she was ready for him to try. So he trailed behind her, wrists red, raw and aching. He was dragged up an impossibly long, winding staircase which spread out to many rooms along many corridors - but they did not stop. Not until they reached the very top, he guessed, did Morgana swing open a door finally and push him into it.
Not even the light from Morgana's torch could illuminate the shadows of the room; he was emerged, completely, in the blackest of darkness. He squinted his eyes, trying to peer into the chamber, but still there was nothing.
"What is this place?" he asked, his voice betraying the fear he felt.
"Sleep well," Morgana sneered, and slammed the door shut.
He was left in darkness. Mordred turned and faced the shadows, wishing he had a sword if only for a piece of mind. He was waiting for a monster to leap out and tear at his gullet, swallow his whole, but the room was still, buzzing with a trepidation that crept over his flesh. He began to tremble - all he could hear was his own footsteps and the rapid pulsing of his heart. "Hello?" he called, hoping that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't the only prisoner.
It was as though his voice had triggered something. A single scream echoed through the room, sharp and piercing, and then with it others followed. The screams grew closer, almost as though the noise was trying to reach out and pull him in. Mordred tried to run to the door, but that was consumed in the black mist of the room, and he could not see it.
Morgana said she wanted to play a game. This is a cruel game, he thought as he ducked low to the floor, a very cruel game. Wherever the screams sourced from, he was sure it was part of the twisted, wicked game that was made to torture him. All he did was press his fingers to his ears, and wait.
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Arthur needed to distract them all from Mordred, if only for a little while. The entire party of men - who were named the first Knights of the Round Table - had grown close to the young knight, and so their personal admiration and friendship were slowly consuming their very selves. Each function, trivial or otherwise, were being taken over by the mutual sense of protectiveness they felt for Mordred, and it needed to stop. He looked over at Merlynn; she, who had been the most calm of them all, was on the cusp of bursting. Her eyes were flickering gold-blue and her body was almost buzzing with the force of her holding back her magic.
"Men," he cleared his throat. "I... well, we - we need to tell you all something." Arthur was going to do this; the men trusted him, treated his word with respect, and it was his duty as a friend and king to reveal to them important details about the kingdom they were protecting.
"Are you pregnant?" Leon asked, his gaze zeroing on Merlynn's belly.
"No!" she laughed. Then she looked at Arthur, and asked quietly, "What are we telling them?"
He didn't answer her. "If you don't recall, it was only a few days ago that we went and visited the Disir and Mordred was mortally wounded."
"Yes, and he lived," Percival said.
"That was only because the Disir gave me a choice, and I took that chance to save a young, loyal man. The choice they gave me was... accept magic in Camelot, or let Mordred die," he admitted.
Gwaine was smiling, which was of a surprise, and so was Lancelot. Leon, Elyan and Percival, however, were silent and staring.
"Good on you," said Lancelot, patting Merlynn on the shoulder. Only Arthur understood why, but he grinned anyway.
"Mordred was taken by Morgana, who has magic, and all you can say about this is 'good on you'!" Elyan exploded, his fist slamming into the nearest tree.
"Elyan." Merlynn's voice, sometimes, became something that was so powerful that even the wind seemed to pause. Her tone was one of the highest authority, commanding whoever she pleased to bow to her. It wasn't something she even did on purpose sometimes, but it was when Arthur truly saw Emrys simmering just beneath the surface of her being. "Stop this. Magic isn't all evil, you should know."
"How -"
"Elyan," she repeated again, and the knights as a whole ducked their heads. "It is the user of the magic that is evil, not the power itself. Magic is a tool, one that can be used for most magnificent things. People who practice it, usually, try to use it to heal or to create or to do good and then they are persecuted for knowledge!" Merlynn's hands were shaking, and he wished he could reach out and take them to calm her down, but it would do nothing but make it worse. "Ridding the ban on magic will allow so many people a chance of freedom, of peace. The only people that should be taken in for their crimes are those that have done something worthy of it - stealing, molestation, murder, not magic. I understand you're angry about Mordred, I know. We all are. I've fought Morgana for years and my rage is still growing for her, but to judge an entire community as a whole for something that - for some - they cannot control, is just plain stupid."
Elyan said nothing else, only bowed his head and took a seat beside Leon.
"Wow," Leon chuckled, hands scratching through his curls. "You're passionate about this, huh?"
"You have no idea," she grinned and retook her place on the log.
Arthur knew she longed to tell them all, to admit that they were, in fact, in the presence of one of the most powerful beings in the earth, but she seemed to refrain from it. He wasn't sure why, but he took her hand and squeezed it tight and hoped that it was enough. Gwaine was looking at her, though, with an expression he was curious about; it was almost as though he was trying to figure it out, something deep in his mind, and the pieces were slowly coming together one by one. Arthur knew that Gwaine would be one of the first to figure it out, now that he was aware of it himself.
"When are you going to declare this to the kingdom?" Percival asked.
"We were supposed to do it a few days ago," he replied, "but soon after we bring Mordred home, I hope."
"Are you okay with this?" Leon had been his best friend for the longest out of all of them, and so he knew all the trials he had gone through involving magic.
He nodded. "I think it's time." Arthur looked at his wife, and saw that she was smiling, a gleam in her eyes.
It was obvious that some of them - Percival, in particular, what with his family's death - had more to say about his choice, but it was not theirs to have. If they had issues with it, then they had all right to leave; he could not keep them in Camelot, though he hoped they would stay. And so they went to sleep, for the day would come quicker once they settled down. Merlynn tucked her body against his and he curled his arm around her waist, his nose burying in her hair. It was one of the few pleasures his life gave him, to have her held close to him, to be the warmth in the cold nights. Arthur thought of only a few days ago, when he held her like this, but she had been weeping and clawing against him, screaming about immortality and his death. It had scared him to see her like that, someone who was so strong collapse like she had.
He imagined it. Him, old and wrinkled lying in his bed with Merlynn's body, the same as it was now, settled atop him. Arthur wondered if she would stop sleeping with him (intimate, or otherwise) once he grew too old, or if she would be disgusted by his age. She would remain young and beautiful (but she would always be beautiful), her skin soft while he would gradually become ash and bone. It sounded so cruel, he thought, to live forever.
Arthur felt a sudden need to have her close, and so he tugged her by the waist and tucked his chin on her shoulder, kissing whatever skin he could reach just so she knew he was there. His palm moved beneath her tunic and ran his fingers across the warmth of her belly; he heard her chuckle before a warmth was flung over their bodies. A blanket, he noticed, which she must have pulled on top of them from her satchel, and he smiled against her hair. Her magic isn't so bad, he mused as he pulled her body further on top of his and finally fell asleep.
It seemed he had only fallen asleep for a few moments before Leon began to scream. It was a terrible scream, one he never wanted to hear again. Arthur sat up quickly and raced over to his dear friend who was thrashing about near the dim fire. "Leon!" he smacked at his shoulder and roused him from his nightmares.
They were all awake now. The rest of the knights rubbed at their eyes and crawled over to where Leon was awake and panting, clutching at his damp, sweaty hair and rubbing his other hand over his face. Merlynn went to him and, like the maternal figure she was among them, brought the knight into a small hug.
"It's alright," she soothed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"The tower," he gasped. "Everything in it's shadow...was dead. The sound it was like - like children screaming."
Lancelot gaped and added, "The rain that fell was like blood. I had the same dream. I was lost in a forest, the trees had claws, and when I finally escaped it there was a plain. . ."
"Empty as far as the eye can see, except..." they were looking at each other now, eyes wide.
"Beyond the skyline there was a black pillar of stone."
Leon swallowed thickly. "The tower was so dark, it could swallow the sun."
Merlynn could make no sense of them, but it appeared that Arthur knew, for he rocked back on his heels and said, "The Dark Tower. Its a place where every young knight is taught to dread and highly so. Its where many have met their end."
"I've never even heard of such a place," she admitted, brows furrowed.
"With good reason," he replied. "Its said that the mere mention of it can bring doom to those that hear it."
Gwaine grunted. "Well, lets not mention it again. I was having a dream of eating cheese that tasted of apple pie. Anyone else have that dream?" Everyone shook their heads. Merlynn laughed a little. "Well you're all missing out."
It was a curious thought that the both of them had the very same dream, with exact details. He took hold of Merlynn's arm and took her away from the camp to a thick-rooted tree nearby so that he could talk to her in private.
"Why would they both have that dream?" he asked her, as if she had all the answers. She usually did; he hoped she did now.
She was silent for a moment, mouth gaping and closing like some dying fish before she finally said, "The venom from the snakes. It wasn't venom, it was poison. I think Morgana wants us to come to her, so she implanted the hallucinations inside of them."
"You're right. If she wanted them dead, they'd be dead."
"I knew it was a trap," she cursed.
Arthur took hold of her shoulders. Yes, it was a trap and yes, it was more dangerous because Morgana had the upper hand, but it was fabulous because now they knew where to look. "We can find Mordred now. This is an opportunity."
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Merlynn knew taking Mordred wasn't about Arthur's plight, or even Gwaine's, but her own. Morgana didn't care for Gwaine; he was part of the leverage, as were the others, just another knight. But she was the enemy that just kept on slipping, who aided Arthur's survival - she was, quite possibly, worse than Arthur in Morgana's eyes. She just knew this chase was for her. Merlynn wished the others hadn't come. They all believed it was some game, some sort of torment; Morgana was smart in that way. She made them believe that it was for them, to lure them with her demise as bait. Morgana used the trickery of capture and kidnap and fear to bring them to a designated spot just so she could play with their bodies and minds.
This 'game' was to send Merlynn spiralling out of control, to get her angry and vengeful, to make her weak. It was a power play, she guessed. Morgana wanted to remind her just how powerful she was.
She got the message, and she would retaliate.
In the morning, things were silent among them. They ate, dressed and prepared to leave in the span of a half hour once they woke. Merlynn strapped her belt and slid her weapon into its sheath, thumb rubbing at the golden twist of metal that surrounded the hilt, and watched the others. Lancelot's movements were quick and jerky from his nerves, the nightmares he had last night; Leon was in much the same way, but he had been a knight longer, hidden his feelings more frequently. Arthur didn't bother with hiding because he was visibly on edge, jaw gritting, fists clenching, huffing and buffing like some bull ready to charge straight into battle. Gwaine and Percival were the most calm of all of them, chatting and laughing and being the playful friends they were.
She smiled at them fondly. How they were able to bring happiness into such a dark time always amazed her, and she loved them for it.
"I've decided to journey to the Dark Tower," Arthur declared, stepping forth to the middle of the camp. "It's my belief that Mordred has been imprisoned there. I don't know what horrors will be waiting so I'll travel alone."
"Uh, excuse me?" she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"No," Elyan abruptly said.
"I've made my decision," he shrugged.
Percival raised his chin and said, "he's our friend, too."
"And he's basically a maiden in a tower," Gwaine added with his wide grin. "Now with all the stress I was born for this moment."
"Arthur... you were never going alone," Lancelot spoke up, a hint of a smile on his face.
They all looked to Merlynn, then. She was leaning against one of the trees, hand still clinging to the sword at her hip, and she stared right back.
"You can turn back," Leon suggested.
"You're our queen - it'll be much safer back at the kingdom," Elyan added.
Neither Gwaine or Lancelot had input to keep her away from the fight; she was glad for it, because they knew who she was and why she began to laugh at their attempts. "I'm not leaving until Mordred's at m - our side again," she announced. "Can't turn back now."
They reached the Impenetrable Forest in the afternoon. Merlynn must have known that it lived up to its name, but she had hope that, perhaps, it would be a much easier journey to get to the tower. It wasn't. They hacked and cut away the branches that twisted and blocked the path; she knew why it was named 'impenetrable' as she stabbed into a root that had grown upwards from the base of a tree and locked with another. Merlynn, as well as the others, continued to get stuck in the vines and thorns, leaving pieces of their clothing behind.
All they could do was go forward.
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Mandrake roots. He heard of them once or twice during one of his reading sessions when he was a boy; evil plants, he remembered, things that crept into the mind of the victim and produced the most horrible screeches when uprooted from the ground. Any victim to their power was subjected to misery and torment, a pain only found in the deepest subconscious of their minds. Mordred guessed they were for him. They dripped a black, muddy goo that stained his skin and made his hair sticky and tangled, and hung from the ceiling by the dozens.
Footsteps clicked in the distance, but he didn't know whether they were male or female. Mordred stood from the floor and peered around one of the stone pillars and hoped he was alone - there had been no sign of any life (other than the screams) so a presence in the room was far from pleasing. The footsteps never stopped, though. He ran forward, a sudden bravery making him hope to catch the owner of the phantom footsteps twisting and turning and peering through the darkness. Mordred stumbled back and fell into a body. It wasn't warm, or comforting, but cold and hard and as he turned, he saw his mentor from such a time ago. He was frightfully white, his eyes blank and almost black, but he was smiling.
"Cerd -"
And he laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed, clutching at his belly, his face cracking and twisting until it became a monstrous creature. His jaws separated, gaping until it hit his chest, his teeth falling grotesquely from his gums. It was a black abyss that replaced his mouth as his eyes melted away; he heard bones crack, and then he began to wail as his laughter continued to echo through the walls. Mordred screamed and ran from Cerdan, but he just laughed and screamed some more.
[][][][][][]
The forest became thicker, the vines tougher, thorns sharper. There was no telling which way was north, or east, nor south or west, but they kept on moving. Merlynn's feet were hot with exhaustion and bleeding from the odd thorn she stepped on with each misplaced step. Sweat dripped from her face, even when she tied her jacket around her waist and rolled the sleeves of her tunic, and she was unbelievably tired. The others were very much the same, but they must have been worse, she thought. They wore their chainmail and capes, which became hotter with the sun and muggy air - she couldn't imagine the torture they were going through.
"Gah," she gasped as a thorn cut through her tunic, slicing at the flesh of her belly. Merlynn hissed and palmed it quickly, trying to alleviate the small droplets of blood seeping through.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked from ahead of the line, glancing back at her.
"Y - yes. I've had worse," she tried to chuckle, but it was more of a grimace than anything else.
Ahead of her, from where she was near the back, Percival hacked at a thick vine viciously. It was almost as big as his arm, and looked a lot more difficult to cut through. His sword - which he named Thunder - snapped beneath the pressure and broke off as he finally broke through the vine.
"Blunt, anyway," he grunted, but she knew he was mad at losing his sword as he kicked the broken piece. Merlynn handed him hers, which he took with a smile and a squeeze of her shoulder; he was stronger with his arms, and could cut through whatever was in their path better than she could.
"Keep moving," Arthur ordered, stumbling over a root hidden with twigs and leaves.
"We've lost the path," Percival shouted.
"We'll keep heading north."
Gwaine rolled his eyes and stabbed at a vine, cutting it away viciously from his path. "How do we know which way is north?
"The ivy," Arthur said, though she was sure he barely had a clue. "Pale leaves face south; dull leaves face north."
And so they kept moving forward after Arthur. Merlynn, at this point, wasn't sure which way they were even going, but it felt like they were moving north. They were walking forward, never deterring from their path from the first step into the Impenetrable Forest. Nothing told her that they were going in the wrong direction, and so all she could do was hope that they were closer to the tower and not hopelessly lost in the depths of the forest.
Arthur stopped all of a sudden, forcing the others to grip onto low hanging branches and thick vines to keep from tumbling into his back. Ahead of them was a beacon of light; the Dark Tower. It stood past the rolling hills of thick mossy trees, standing tall and almost melting into the sky. Leon was right, she thought, it was so dark it could swallow the sun.
"We are on the right course," Leon laughed merrily.
"We should reach the tower by sundown," said Arthur, and began to move again. "Let's pick up the pace."
Okay. I hoped you enjoyed this (again, so sorry for the late update - school's a killer!). Woh, tho, a little twist with Mordred being the one who was taken - originally, it had been Gwen, but on the night when I was supposed to publish this I had a thought and then bam! it was done.
Dhragonis-Slytherin: ahahahaha, you're welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed it - writing that episode was an emotional rollercoaster, so I'm happy that it all turned out positive c:
Amour de Pamplemousse: (that is such a cool penname). Uh, well, I was reading this thing (I think it was an auto-biography) from Ernest Hemingway, and he said that a good protagonist/hero/main character is put through torture, has the things they care about most stolen from them - if I can find the quote again, I'll post it up on here. To your question about Mordred, idek but I'll explain it in later chapters - all will be revealed, as they say. Her punishment is her destiny (which none of you will understand until the end). I'm sorry if I just confused you, but yeah. The Goddess simply deals the future, she does not create; she knows, and she tells the Disir, and they relay.
^ that was so confusing, and I'm sorry. I'll try and rewrite this when it's not a school night.
Sunflowers in Moscow: I don't even know how accepting magic changes Camelot's plot, but I'm going to try and weave it in there - I tried to put it in this chapter, and I hope I did that well omg. (also thank you ajskxcjdgbh)
Scribbler95: I don't even remember, but it probably was - I was reading it before I began writing, so maybe!
Ryn of Magic: It was Gwen. Yes, I know. I kept to the canon, but I'm trying to work up something. I - yeah.
allenleonardo: no, no, it's fine! And thank you so much for your review, I - it's difficult for me to put into works how much I appreciate criticism and/or comments, simple comments, about this, so all I can say is thank you!
Please, if you enjoyed this/had any thoughts/want to shout at me for taking a fucking month to upload, then review (or PM me)~
Love you all,
Khaleesi.