Chapter 12
He was preparing for the fight. The servant took an eternity to secure the chain-mail and the shoulder protection. What could take him so long? The gauntlets were just behind on the table!
Arthur felt something in his back. A subtle scent of roses invaded the space. Morgana…
"Please, let me… I used to help my father before he fought…"
Her voice was soft, free of the usual mockery she was using with him. He turned his head slightly, to watch her adjust the cloak on his back and the remaining strings. She worked swiftly. When she picked up his helmet, Arthur took a step forward. Her eyes were so clear…
The upper town was farer than they first assessed. They climbed the narrow path up the cliff and choose a steady trot on the road ahead. The surroundings had the faded colors of late fall. It was damp with too much rain and misty. A forest they hadn't seen from the docks appeared on their left.
The dense bush prevented Arthur to see through the grey naked trees. The sad landscape matched his mood. This kind of weather was Morgana's favourite. He hated it. The gloomy light was undermining his energy and made him feel oppressed. Arthur kicked the white mare impatiently and distanced himself from their little group. Humidity gave him the impression to fight for every breath. He slowed his pace again and let his companions join him.
"Thank you."
Morgause's low words turned his attention to her. Arthur dismissed her appreciation with a brusque wave of his hand.
"It's very frustrating you know."
Apparently, she finally decided to talk. The prince stared at her silently.
"I've seen her all my life, whenever I wanted and now I can't. But you do. You never cared, and yet you're still able to reach her."
Arthur didn't smirk. He never showed he cared, but he did care. He always did. He stayed quiet. There was more that the jealous spit in her voice. He knew the feeling. The subtle mix of helplessness and bitterness was too familiar. His absence of reaction cut short the tentative conversation. Morgause straightened up a little more on her saddle, and closed up again.
The village finally appeared at the next turn of the road.
They found the tavern rather easily. It was a two-storey building with small windows. The sign-post was squealing in the chilly wind. It wore a golden splash picturing a ram's head; or so called the title beneath the spat.
Merlin stepped inside first. All heads turned toward them, then conservation resumed. A strong woman with ginger hair twisted in a bun and a white apron invited them in.
"Welcome. I am Mistress Marion. Please this way."
"Madam."
Arthur's polite reply and gracious nod earned him an appreciative smile. The woman escorted them to a table and called a waitress for wine and food. Then she bowed and excused herself.
The tavern was a typical one on the seashore: Low ceiling, dark wood furniture, prize and nets on the walls. Merlin spotted faded white and red circles near the bar with scars looking very much like knives marks. Some men caught him looking and he turned his attention back to his cup. It was fine pottery, not the crude tin cups he expected. He sipped the beverage. The ale was good too. Sometimes, travelling with Arthur had its perks.
"Merlin, you're going to the stables."
And some things never changed…
"But the lads will take care of…"
Arthur glared impatiently.
"Exactly, Merlin. Talk to them. Or rather, make them talk. Servants love gossiping, don't they?"
"As if Nobles didn't…" Merlin muttered. Arthur knitted his browns. Merlin got up.
"Fine. I'm going."
"In the meantime, Morgause and I will look for this Helen."
Merlin stopped his retreat and stared at his prince. Suspicion was painted on his face. The blond woman smirked.
"You don't trust me with the well-being of your master, Sorcerer?"
Merlin grunted his teeth. She was insulting him on purpose, insisting on his abilities, and his position as a servant. They challenged each other in a hostile silence. Merlin could feel her power running just below the surface. It was tingling on his own skin like dozen of ice stings, calling to the magic within him. She was powerful. Something stirred in his stomach, the usual shiver started to heat his blood. Morgause's dark eyes narrowed suddenly. She was feeling the connexion too.
Arthur put his cup back on the table loud enough to bring both their attention to him. Merlin took a deep breath, and left with a short bow. Morgause watched his retreat with an undefined expression.
"You mess with Merlin, you mess with me. Do I make myself clear, Morgause?"
The witch turned to Arthur, icy.
"I can crash you into some spineless puppet before you know it."
"Do it. But I won't be of any help afterward."
She smiled her savage smile of hers.
"You're brave, Arthur. Thus the line is thin between bravery and foolishness."
Anger paled his eyes to silver. Arthur did an immense effort to bridle his temper and hold the nasty retort coming. Morgause had still some part to play in his quest for Morgana. He settled back to sarcasm.
"If you're done with flattery, maybe I can interest you into a walk?"
Her carnal smile widened; his insides cooled uncomfortably. But Morgause simply bent her head gracefully and stood. Maybe having Merlin around was not such a bad idea, after all.
The upper town was apparently richer than the fishermen village, but not by much. Save for the taverns and one or two shops, most of the buildings were one-storey structures. The wood of the faces was bleached by the salty sea air and looked old. Some of the houses showed the efforts of their owners to cheer up the depressing effect with flowers or brassy curtains.
They were reaching the last house of the little town when Merlin joined them. He pointed to the opposite direction.
"Joseph, that's the handyman, said that Mistress Shalot lives that way. He said she might be at the manor though because –he squealed excitingly- she helps the lady there. He said she, the lady, is not from the area. He said she's weird but she's a looker."
Arthur frowned. Merlin blushed, trying to catch his breath from the run and the long tirade.
"Sorry."
Morgause hadn't flinch. Maybe Arthur just imagined the light shiver of her hand when she grasped her long cloak as she turned around. Both men followed in hast.
On this side of the village, the housing was more spaced. Patch of vegetation between the buildings could nearly pass for tended gardens. Arthur regretted they didn't stop at the tavern to ask for direction to this Helen's. The surroundings were extremely calm, too calm. They had not met one person outside. No kids; no dogs; no one.
Some vague feeling spiked the hair in his neck. Arthur's hand automatically found the guard of his sword. The warrior began studying the access to their current position. The road they had just walked by was wide, without possibility of an ambush. Now it was narrowing in front of them to turn toward the cliff. The copse of trees nearly could mask brigands. His heart was pounding; apprehension was attacking him again, down to his stomach.
Arthur glimpsed at his companions. There were looking around curiously. What had Morgause said about bravery and foolishness? Arthur took one step forward, and another. Then he saw her.
She was walking to him, a tall dark-haired man stalking her side. She was wearing that velvet dress he dreamt about. Arthur flinched. She was laughing. The musical sound washed over him like a cascade of shattered glass. She was here. She was safe. She was smiling.
"Morgana…"
Behind him, Merlin grunted.
"Please, not her too…"
A/N : So... Arthur found Morgana... What is to happen next?
