Wow. I am so very sorry. I know I've been posting less frequently (it's been like a month, right?) and it's been ridiculous with life right now. School is a killer; I have assignments, a ton of homework - in the last week or so I've been doing work placement, so my writing and my writing inspiration has died severely. Also, emotional stuff has gotten worse. My depression is reaching dangerous points and my panic attacks have gotten more severe, so when I write it's all... discombobuulated.
I really apologise. Like, a lot. I know I should be updating every week, but I'm terrible at time management and stress and ugh.
I haven't made Arthur or Merlynn announce that magic is okay in the kingdom yet, simply because Elyan's died because of magic and people are all, "oh no Elyaaaaann," and stuff.
Also, go watch Iron Man 3. And Warm Bodies. And just.. everything, go see everything and see the amazing lineup of cinematic brilliance this year.
CHAPTER 12 - A LESSON IN VENGEANCE
All this bad blood here, won't you let it dry?
It's been cold for years, won't you let it lie?
If we're only ever looking back
We will drive ourselves insane
As the friendship goes resentment grows
We will walk our different ways
- 'Bad Blood' by Bastille.
Three weeks had passed since Elyan's death. The entire kingdom seemed to shift, or perhaps it was just for the group who knew him best. The knights, especially, were effected by his passing. A little less effort in training, less joy and laughter and games - even Gwaine couldn't seem to crack a joke. Arthur let them off early some days, and others he offered to pay for drinks at the tavern. There were some days where they would do nothing at all and just sit and talk and mourn the loss of their comrade.
"They need time," Arthur would say. "We all do."
Merlynn would visit Gwen as much as she could, and spent most of her free time with her - she was still her main chambermaid, for she denied any and all of Merlynn's suggestions to resign. Not even for a temporary period of time. Gwen appeared to be even more determined in her job, cleaning and dressing Merlynn with a smile far too bright and a laugh too loud. She sometimes took care of Arthur's chores, too. It was a touchy subject for Merlynn to breach, so she tried to ignore it as much as possible and pretend for Gwen in hopes that - in time - she would heal.
Her and Arthur's anniversary was looming over them, ever so close and completely inconvenient. A part of her thought that the celebration would be a nice distraction, but in the end it was a happiness in a dark time that would be tainted with bad memories. So she kept her silence, a smile equipped from years of pretending, hoping that none could see through her ploy. Gwen was far more excited than she was for the anniversary with good reason, she guessed - a distraction - and she would remind Arthur every second she could. Arthur knew it too, so he laughed and said many elaborate things of his not-so-secret plans for the day.
Merlynn doubted they would do much; a walk in the woods, or a small picnic. They had done it countless times in the past, and it was a default for Arthur whenever he couldn't think of anything else.
Among these matters was Mordred. Gaius ordered for regular meetings with the druid. "A man who has suffered torture by Morgana needs to be spoken to," he had said, and she agreed to it. He seemed uncomfortable around her, unwilling to talk; his eyes burned a cold flame when he looked at her, unlike the sweet vulnerability he usually did. Merlynn supposed it was because of what had happened. He faced serious psychological trauma from the Dark Tower. I can't imagine what Morgana did to him, she thought. Even his interaction with the knights were different, and it was clear that he had difficulty forcing normalcy among them.
She sat in the training fields, where the grass grew lush and flowers blossomed, the spot where the knights barely ventured. Merlynn had brought a rug to keep her skirt from being dirtied (for she knew the servants would be angry) and a few books, some full and others empty. Magic books disguised as Gaius' many hand-written novels, empty journals where she could write her thoughts if she pleased and historical pieces that Geoffrey of Monmouth almost threw at her after her wedding ceremony. It seemed only fitting for her to turn to them to keep her occupied. There was adventure on the horizon, and yet all she could do was it and be lost in words and rotting parchment.
Gwaine called for her sometime later, when shadows crept toward her outstretched feet and the pages began to turn inky black before her eyes. To turn from the books took a force far greater than she expected, and when she did she noticed that aside from them, the fields were empty. I'd barely even noticed them leave, she pondered, leafing the page she was on.
"Princess, you want to come for a drink?" he asked, that bare-toothed smile of his etched in his sun-bitten face. The offer to become lost in the ale and pointless laughter of the tavern was so tempting, she found her mouth opening on her own accord to accept; but Arthur was alone, Gwen would be alone if Lancelot went with them. Her being happy seemed so cruel when her friend was still so lost.
"Ah - no," she denied, a terrible feeling swelling in her chest. Merlynn spent little time with the knights now, and she missed them horribly. Her guilt kept her from it, however, for she was a murderer by assistance - one of you will not return. One of you will not return. She had known for some time that one of them would die, and she saw Elyan disappear; she knew then that he would be the one, but she couldn't move fast enough. Didn't. "I should retire to my chamber, anyhow. I'm sure Arthur is expecting me."
"I'm sure Arthur wouldn't mind you spending time with your friends," he retorted smoothly.
Her mouth slid into a smile. "I... need to return the books first."
"That's a girl," he grinned. His hands, she noted, were so dark and large in comparison to hers, as he pulled her up from the ground. "Here, I'll help." Gwaine rolled the mat and collected half the books, leaving the rest for her. Merlynn almost laughed at his behaviour - she was no proper lady, she was a warrior just like the rest, with a crown on her tangled locks, and she needn't request others to carry things for her.
Gwaine walked beside her on the journey back into the castle, but she could see that he wanted to speak to her. His mouth would open, and when she looked at him he would smile and laugh a nervous chuckle, then keep walking. Eventually, she just said, "Come on, Gwaine. Spit it out."
"How are you?" was all he asked.
"Really? That's your glorious question?" He nodded. "I'm... fine. I think it should be Gwen you should be asking, I mean - she just lost her brother, not me."
"Yes, but nobody ever really asks you how you are, and I know that you enjoy putting blame on yourself," he replied. Merlynn almost smiled again because it was the truth, and he had a deep understanding of that truth; he was never one to sugar-coat it. She shifted the books in her arms, feeling his eyes on her face, which she had decided to keep turned to the front.
"If it wasn't for me, he would've lived," she blurted, and almost instantly she heard him sigh.
Gwaine tugged at his lower lip with white teeth from countless apples. "How could it had been your fault? Elyan ran ahead, he disobeyed Arthur's orders - he decided to fight an enchanted sword all on his own. How does that involve you?" he seemed almost scandalised that she would even place blame on herself.
"You wouldn't understand," she insisted. Heed my words which you concern, one of you will not return. One of you will not return. He knew not of her magic, of her knowledge, of her war with the High Priestess Morgana, of her true name. He knew nothing, and she wished she could tell him things - everything, for he would be the most understanding of the lot. Merlynn liked to think that he would react like Gwen did, demanding to be shown proof and becoming excited over her talent.
"Try me." Gwaine said the words as he came to a halt, his eyebrows raised to challenge her.
The words, her secrets, pressed against her tongue and fought against closed lips, begging to spill like running water down a stream. "I... can't." Five people knew, as did countless others who were faced with her wrath; Gwaine was possibly the next person to tell, but there was too little time, and she was afraid. Morgana was so close to breaching Camelot, she could feel her darkness threading through the walls and sticking to the people like oil. She was coming, fiercely and violently like a storm in the horizon.
"You've told me lots of things before, princess," he pointed out. "Why can't I know this one thing, especially if it's bugging you so much?"
"I..."
"Is it to do with Elyan? Arthur? You?" he pestered, brows settled in a curious confusion.
"It's me, yes, but also a myriad of other things. Things that could take years to tell, take even longer to comprehend. I've told only a few, to be frank - some reacted better than others," she smiled, almost bitterly, at the memory of Arthur hating her for weeks when she told him. Gwaine twisted his mouth into a frown. "I always get a little worried when I've told someone because it's such a large part of me. It took me years to tell Arthur."
"You don't have to tell me if you feel that strongly about it," he said with a kind smile, his mouth suddenly light on her forehead. "I'm sure I'll live."
Merlynn put all the books in one hand using her hip to leverage the weight, then moved her free hand to cup his cheek. "Thank you," she smiled. "In time, I swear, I'll tell you. I just need time, Gwaine."
"I understand, princess."
They walked in silence after that, and she was grateful for the comfort that it gave her to have a person beside her, not pressuring her or making forced conversation about her destiny or common things in the kingdom. Once they reached her chambers - with help from the guards who opened the door for them - he set her books and the rug on the desk. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and she doubted he would be hiding from them. There was no way to tell where he had gone. The room was cold, empty, and she felt disappointment that her husband was not there.
"Maybe he's out drinking with the lads already?" Gwaine suggested, as if reading her thoughts etched in her face.
"Maybe."
"Are you coming, then?"
"Why not?"
The tavern was spilling with life and off-key music from the drunken bards. The place was once where many used as an excuse when they had no clue where Merlynn was, so her minimal appearance at the tavern was usually quite a surprise to others; but when she was there, even as queen, merriment and games would ensue. The first few times she sneaked into the tavern with Gwaine, Evoric and the drunkards had regarded her with unease, obviously wondering if he needed to inform the king. Though, again and again she came, and slid among them like there was no title to her name. Soon they began to accept her presence, even enjoy it.
Arthur was among the knights at the small table, a half-full tankard of ale held loose in his hand. He smiled when he saw her and offered his lap for her to take a seat upon, to which she rolled her eyes, though complied anyway. Mordred was among them, smiling as usual, but she could see a strain at his mouth and his eyes, his grip a little tighter on his tankard. She tried to push her voice into his mind, to ask if he was feeling ill, but she couldn' was as though he didn't want her in there anymore - though she never broke through the boundaries and searched through his head without permission, because it was rude and she had no reason to doubt him.
Merlynn didn't think anything of it. He was mourning - Elyan was one of his closest friends, and he died trying to save Mordred. He had reason for his disclosed behaviour.
[][][][][][]
Their anniversary couldn't have arrived at such an opportune moment, Arthur thought. Merlynn was feeling terribly upset, as were the rest of the city, about Elyan's passing and Camelot had been in a wreck since. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to bring much life into his friends and his wife, which made his own sadness rise. After his father, he decided he would try and not mourn for those he would lose in the wars to come. It was proving difficult as Elyan was one of his finest knights and friends; loyal, trustworthy, skilled and wholehearted.
It never seemed to be the time to address the issue of magic in Camelot, so he couldn't do that. It made him anxious, to know that the Triple Goddess and the Disir were watching and waiting for him to fulfil his promise, and he hadn't yet. If he would do it now, his people would name him traitor - especially so close to Elyan's death. So, he planned for a picnic; Merlynn enjoyed it when he was assertive with plans, usually because he was horrible at remembering and planning things, and so it was a nice change.
He woke early in the morning and ordered for one of the first servants he could find to pack together some food into a basket, which they did so as quickly as possible. Arthur didn't ask for Gwen's help - while she needed distraction, he didn't want to force her awake early just to help him prepare (even though he was hopeless). Merlynn was still asleep when he returned, basket and blanket slung over his arm and dangling from his fingertips. He set them down by the door and went to her sleeping form, his smile soft and his fingers itching to wipe the stray strands of inky hair from her cheek.
"Merlynn," he reached over and pressed his lips to her forehead, feeling soft skin.
She murmured incoherently, but her eyes sprung open, bleary and glazed over; she smiled. "Why are you up? You're never up," she said, leaning up on her elbows to give him a curious stare.
"I know. It's our anniversary today, and I wanted to take you out for a lovely picnic." Even he could feel himself gleaming with pride, grinning like an idiot at her; he waited for her to coo, to bring him close and kiss him on the mouth, give him praise or something, like a small smile lingering at her lips.
"Someone reminded you, didn't they?"
Ah, she knew him. Before he could sputter out a lie, she laughed a silly laugh and got out of bed, her hair an utter mess about her thin face. She ruffled his hair with a playful little wink and stretched; he couldn't help but be deflated a little by her reaction to him. He expected... more. "Where are we going?" she asked, moving to her cupboard to pick out clothing.
"Uh, just to a little spot out in the woods." Arthur really hadn't decided; he thought of the place they had gone a while back, while his father was king and Morgana was scheming against them under innocent guises, but it brought back too many bad memories.
"So, we're going to go for a ride until we find a place, right?"
"...Basically."
They left Camelot once Merlynn was dressed, which didn't take very long. For a man who was almost obsessed with preserving his kingdom, Arthur found himself leaving it a lot; without a queen, even, which left it rather weak and defenceless. Some of the lingering council men met with him in his chambers some of the time, arguing that they were vulnerable without a strong hand (Gaius didn't count, apparently) and a crown. Arthur gave up on asking Merlynn to stay back, because it would be silly to do such a thing; she kept by him, even when he didn't want her, and she would keep by him until he was dust in the earth.
The air was crisp and cool, and there was a laughter in the air that kept him merry. It was rare for the two of them to leave the castle walls now without a mission, involving danger or fighting, or death. For them to ride out, smiles on their faces, their conversation light and sweet, as if there was no evil lingering behind them. There was no Morgana, no death, just the two of them. At one point, Merlynn bet she could beat him in a race, and she threw her head back and whooped as Firefoot shot off in the distance. This time, he left her win - one, because he had the basket hooked on his saddle and two, he liked her reckless laughter in the distance, the way she would look back and grin at him.
"I can't wait to eat," she said, once they had calmed down from their race. She was softly panting, either from the adrenaline or exhaustion and there was sweat on her brow, but she was smiling and she looked so glorious. "I'm starved."
"It's here. I made sure the servant got the finest of foods for today," he replied with his proud grin again.
Merlynn rolled her eyes. "Do you even know any of the servants names in the kingdom?"
"I know George," Arthur insisted.
"And where is George?"
Arthur didn't really remember the last time he had seen George; perhaps it was a few months before, and he had gotten so frustrated with the bland servant. "Oh, that's right. He's someone else's servant now, I think."
"You think? George dressed up like me, I remember, trying to impress you," she laughed.
"Yeah, he was a persistent one."
"Wasn't he a good servant, though? Why'd you give him up?" They never spoke about it; one day, George just didn't show up and Merlynn didn't much like him anyway, so he wasn't at all surprised when she didn't notice.
It was easy to answer that. "He was so boring, and infuriating with how perfect he was at his job."
"You were angry with me for being incompetent, and when you finally get a good servant, you sack him?"
He flushed; he didn't understand why he kept Merlynn - well he did, but no one else seemed to get it - because she was clumsy and she back-chatted, and she wasn't very good at cleaning. But she was also helpful, and she eventually understood how to do things; they got into a ritual that just felt awkward with anyone else, even before they began courting. "Basically," was all he could say, and she rolled her eyes again.
They turned down the path, and that's when things went into chaos. There was a loud blast close to his horse, sending dirt and rocks into his face, and Lamri rears out of the fear of it all. His girth snapped, and he fell; Merlynn screamed out his name. Luckily, he didn't fall too hard, and he still had his sword attached to his hip, for bandits began to race out from behind trees and under hills. He fought as best he could with the stinging pain in his side, the blood trickling down his brow.
"Move, Arthur!" he heard, and he ducked to the ground moments before there was a crackling sound.
There were shouts, some screams, and gurgling sounds when bodies made impact. Arthur made the decision to look up. Merlynn was using her magic to kill them off - no, not knocking them unconscious, but snapping their necks and tossing them back with such a force that their bones crumpled in their bodies. And she was a dangerous thing, where she stood so tall, her eyes so gold it was almost blinding, words of the Old Religion spitting from her clenched teeth. She was almost shaking from the power that was escaping her, and the earth began to respond. Around her, nature was shaking, rising, moving to the natural curl of her magic.
She needed to stop. "Merlynn," he called for her, and she instantly relaxed. The storm that she was as Emrys, curling over the sky with flashes of light and darkness, disappeared once he said her name and the gold melted away. That, in itself, was both a relief and terrifying.
"We need to get you back," was all she said, crouching down at his side to examine his wounds. "Gaius will fix you."
Arthur rode back atop Merlynn's horse, Lamri racing after them in stride; either because of her magic, or because Lamri was always smart, and always knew how to get home. Gaius made a small noise in the back of his throat - a scoff, or a tsk - for he knew of their habits, but then he saw the blood soaking into Arthur's side. He said something in Old Religion, not a spell but a word, and dragged him over to one of the chairs.
"Merlynn, get the kit. It's upstairs," Gaius ordered. Then he looked at Arthur, that bare eyebrow raised, "What happened?"
Once he was finished telling the tale of the bandits and the girth snapping, Merlynn was back downstairs with the kit against her hip. "I don't think they were after our picnic basket," she remarked.
"Obviously not," he replied.
"He's going to be okay, right?"
"I'm going to -"
Gaius chuckled a little, amused at her concern. "Yes, of course. But you're very fortunate, Arthur. A fall like that... you could've easily broken your neck!"
"But I didn't," and it was all that mattered.
"Sire!" Leon, once seeing the disaster that was the king and queen's anniversary picnic, ordered together a few men to scour the area. Arthur wondered how they would react to the bodies; crushed against the trees, necks snapped, bodies pulverised by nothing. But, when the knight stormed in, he didn't seem to have the thought of the dead in mind. "We recovered your saddle from the forest trail. The girth has been unpicked and re-stitched. It was designed to break, sire."
"Another traitor?" Merlynn sighed, sounding exasperated rather than angry. "Really?"
[][][][][][]
Tyr Seward was a robust young boy, older than Merlynn but fresh-faced and sweet. He's not like the others, Arthur would say, because he treated horses like he would people, with such respect and kindness. He was often teased for it by the servants, but he took it in stride, and didn't try to alter himself for any of them. It was why he was named personal stablehand to the king and queen - and why he was named the largest suspect for the attempted murder of Arthur. He prepared both Lamri and Firefoot that morning.
Merlynn hated the thought of someone like Tyr being a traitor; it made her toes curl (and not in a good way). Arthur sent three men to collect him, and Leon to discover evidence, then called for a meeting in the council chamber. She hoped he was wrong, that it was all a mistake; someone else sneaked into the stable, changed the saddles and left before Tyr found them. But when he was dragged into the room, by Gwaine and another knight, she tried to keep her composure, to be a stern queen, merciful yet strong.
Arthur was the dominant speaker for it, because she refused to treat Tyr unkindly.
"The thread we found at the boy's home matches that used to sabotage your saddle, sire," Leon declared, moving to Tyr's side. The large boy looked positively terrified at that, his watery eyes widening and his mouth gaping. He looked to her, and she had to look away, for she could not bear his fear.
"Who put you up to this, Tyr?" Arthur sounded pained, and rightly so.
"No one - no one's put me up to anything, sire," Tyr replied, trembling.
Arthur sighed, and glanced back; she refused to return his gaze. She wanted to be the supportive wife, but to charge Tyr of all people, who once wept because he accidentally stepped on a chicken and mortally wounded it, was something she did not agree with. When he noticed that she was not going to participate, he let out another breath, defeated, and turned to Tyr again. "You're saying you acted alone? Had no help? No accomplice?"
He shook his head desperately. "I don't know anything about these things you're talking about, sire. I've done nothing, save look after your horse and tack like I always do."
"Tyr -" Merlynn tried to speak, but all that escaped her was some choked sound, voiceless and pained. She was staring at him, and he at her, with his wide, rounded brown eyes and she was unable to say anything terrible against him. It wasn't right - this wasn't right.
Arthur looked at her once, his brows furrowed, but then he looked away back at Tyr. "The evidence is staring you in the face. You can't deny it."
"Sire, I swear on my mother's life -!" he protested. Tyr, from what he had told her, was very close to his mother; he didn't have many friendships in the kingdom, and didn't talk to anyone other than herself, Arthur and the knights, so he cherished his mother as 'his best friend'. To swear upon her life was a statement she could not ignore, and so she stepped forward, taking Arthur's arm in case her knees failed her.
She hated being queen sometimes. "Just give us their name, if you are working with someone," she pleaded. "Please, Tyr. I'd hate to see you hurt because of someone else. Whoever they are, they have tricked you. Why protect them?"
His eyes were watering. He reminded her of a terrified mouse, staring up at their predator with their shining, brown eyes, so wide and so vulnerable for those few moments before they would flee. "I have no name. There's no name to give, I swear."
Merlynn wanted to turn to Arthur and tell him to let Tyr go; he was a good man, a sweet, kind man, and he didn't deserve any horrible treatment. But before she could, Arthur was tugging her behind him, his hand firmly clasped around her arm, and he said, "Then you leave me no choice! Though it saddens me greatly to do so I must charge you with treason." Her head buried in his back - she did not care for formalities, or her appearance. Not then. "Is there anything further you'd like to say?"
"You're my king, sire," his voice trembled. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. Never."
"Tyr Seward, by the power vested in me I hereby sentence you to death." If you listened deeply enough, you could hear Arthur's tremble as well.
Merlynn couldn't watch Tyr be taken away, and so she left the council chambers through the side door. She felt consumed by his grief and his betrayal, and she knew she could do little to sway Arthur's decision on Tyr. Usually, she would be perfectly alright with sending someone to their death had they put danger to Arthur's life - but this was Tyr, and he was different. He wasn't a bad person. She felt tears burn at her eyes again, like they always did, and she wiped at them hurriedly. "A queen never cries," she heard maids whisper once, when they found her sobbing in the hallway once.
Arthur's arms soon found their way around her waist, and she was pressed into his warm chest. "I had to," he whispered. "The law is the law, Merlynn. Whether we like it or not."
[][][][][][]
Merlynn refused to be around Arthur for the rest of the evening. She understood him, of course; as king it was his right to deal the mercies of those who wronged the kingdom, but... it was Tyr. She knew, more than most, that kind faces could hide dark shadows, but this was much different than Morgana. This was Tyr, the sweet fat boy who charmed her with kind words and bashful tendencies. Even when she was rushed or stressed, he found a way to make her smile. That was why she couldn't believe Arthur when he said that Tyr was the mastermind.
Tyr was an innocent soul.
"It just doesn't make sense, Gaius," she ranted. Gwen and Lancelot were far too busy with their son to be held accountable to Merlynn's tangents, so she went to Gaius; he was always willing to listen to her. "Why would Tyr want Arthur dead?"
She noticed that Gaius liked to clean his monocles a bit too much. "Perhaps he harboured some grudge, some festering resentment?" he suggested.
"No, that's not possible. He loved his work, and he respected Arthur. And Arthur respected him, I know he did," she replied, tugging at her hair which had come slightly loose from its ribbon.
"Merlynn," he sighed, "it's not always possible to know what's in the mind of another man."
"Maybe so, but Arthur was right about this - if it was Tyr, he couldn't have done it alone." Merlynn paused and sat on the soft-cushioned chair from across Gaius, her hand capturing his. "Someone else is involved and unless we find out who they are, what's to stop them from trying it again?"
Gaius didn't answer her. He only retracted his hand and returned to his work station. He had nothing more to say to her - neither did she. Merlynn was silent as she left the physician's chambers to return to her own bedchamber. A part of her regretted not taking up the offer of having her own extended bedchamber with easy-access door to Arthur's, though she could do nothing about it now. As she loomed closer to the door, where the guards bowed dutifully.
"My lady, Ser Mordred is speaking to the king," one told her. I've never caught their names, she thought, staring.
"Am I still able to go in?" she asked, almost in amusement. A smile tugged at her red mouth and she was almost ready to push open the door herself; Mordred had been avoiding her as of late, and it was starting to infuriate her.
"Ser Mordred specified that they -" she had enough.
Merlynn brushed past the men and strolled inside. Perhaps she was being irrational, but she was angry at Mordred for ignoring her, and angry at Arthur for sending Tyr to death. She didn't need to be ordered around by guards.
" - enemies are very often the last person you would suspect. Tyr is just such a person. I am sorry, my lord, that we were not able to figure him out until after he initiated his attack," Mordred was saying. Why would he, of all the men, be here to comfort Arthur?
It was easy to expect it from Lancelot, or Leon; they were the closest to Arthur of his men, and so it wouldn't have surprised her. Though Mordred had drawn closer to Arthur since his knighthood, they weren't as close as the others - not enough to be the comforter. Peculiar, she thought, as she forced a smile on her face and bared her teeth to the two men.
"Sorry, was just going to collect my coat. It's a bit chilly outside," she laughed, an odd, tinkling noise that she recognized as her false one. Merlynn hoped that Arthur did not notice her façade as she moved to kiss him on the cheek in greeting, and was glad to see him not mention her behaviour. "What are you two up to?"
"Just... talking about Tyr," Arthur admitted, arm looping around her waist. She turned to Mordred only to see his eyes focused on Arthur only, never straying to her; she wanted to speak to him through their link, but he refused to answer. It was like smashing her fists against a brick wall. "Are you going out? Do you think that's entirely safe, considering what's happening?"
"I'm just going to visit Gwen," she lied. Her smile returned, the one that hurt her cheeks and made her face tight. "I'll be back before supper."
"I could escort you, if you'd like," Mordred's voice was not the same, and it worried her. It was dull, void of all of his light and his vibrance that she was so drawn to. His magic no longer curled around hers, but hissed and puffed up like an angered cat.
Usually, she would have been eager to spend time with her young friend, but an odd feeling ached in her chest and she was put-off at the thought of being alone with Mordred. "No, it should be fine. We have double patrol this evening, so I have plenty of guarding." His eyes narrowed; her smile widened. "I'll be back soon!" she then shouted, as she raced from the room.
Merlynn went to Tyr's cell. The guards didn't care to ask her business down in the cells, for she was a queen and had the authority to speak to prisoners, and didn't question when she asked for them to give them privacy. She gave them a wink, fooling them to believe she would be tricking Tyr into speaking truth, and they left with a chuckle after letting her into his cell. In her hands was a bowl of soup, fresh and steamed from the kitchens, and she watched Tyr's eyes light up at the sight of food.
"I thought you might be hungry," she smiled, handing him the bowl. "The cook was kind enough to save some for you."
"Thank you, my lady," he stammered. He was blushing as he looked to the bowl, stubby fingers playing with the spoon; she noticed that he dared not to look at her yet, and she wondered why.
"You may call me Merlynn, if you'd like. I've never had a problem with it before." His lips tugged upwards, but he said nothing. So she took a seat beside him and added, "Listen, Tyr, I'd like to help you, if you'd let me."
"No one can help me now."
"You're forgetting I'm the queen, Tyr. I have the ability to speak to the king, to change his mind."
Tyr paused for a moment, his eyes sorely on the cooling soup in his lap, before he said, "I didn't do anything." His voice was calm, though his words were clipped with desperation. "On my honour, I didn't."
"But that's not the whole truth, isn't it?" she asked him, watching his face twitch.
"...No."
Merlynn felt frustration creep into her mind; it made her grit her teeth and clench her fists into the thick skirts around her thighs. Tyr was obviously lying, trying to protect someone who used his vulnerability to do a dirty deed. She only wanted to help. "I know you're not to blame, Tyr. Please just tell me what happened."
His face turned wild, panicked. "No! They -"
"Who?"
Tyr ushered her closer after a moment, his fingers clenched around her forearm to bring her closer. "This was a few days back," he whispered. "One of the horses came down with colic so I had sleep in the stable to watch over him. That night, I was woke up by a sound. There was someone there, going over the king's saddle. I knew it wasn't right. I tried to get away and warn someone, but they saw me. They told me if I so much as whispered a word of what I'd seen… they'd take my mother. They'd take her and they'd cut her throat." Tears spilled down his red cheeks, and she felt the need to bring him close as though she was his mother, but she only gripped his shoulder.
"Who was it, Tyr?"
"I can't!"
"You'll be hanged if you don't," she warned him.
He huffed. "And they'll kill my mother if I do."
"I wouldn't let that happen, I promise you."
"No," Tyr puffed up his chest. He looked scared, but his face was hard and he was slowly pushing her toward the door. "If it means me dying instead of her then so be it. I would much rather die."
Merlynn clenched her fist over his shoulder, and she opened her mouth only to say nothing. She hadn't a clue of what to say to convince him otherwise; he had determination to protect his mother, just as she had done the same to protect hers, and so she could not judge him for his sacrifice. But as she had someone to keep her alive, she would do the very same for him. So she gave him a sad little smile and said she would return soon, then left to return to her bedchamber.
Merlynn hoped Mordred was not still there - his presence was now off, an odd feeling of dread she hadn't felt since she first saw him in Ismere. She hoped it was just because of his extended time with Morgana, and his post-traumatic behaviour that seemed to linger over him. But, she couldn't show her feelings to anyone just yet. She had to be supportive, patient. He was still there when she returned, like she had dreaded. It seemed that Arthur offered for him to join them for supper - she wanted to slap her husband upside the head for it.
"Arthur," she said, while he was in the middle of eating. "I went to see Tyr."
"And? We've been over this, Merlynn. The evidence doesn't lie," he responded and sent an exasperated look toward Mordred.
"No one denies the crime, but the only part that Tyr played was to see it done."
Arthur paused, as did Mordred. In fact, the young druid seemed to tense. "He told you this?" Arthur asked. She nodded. "Who was it?"
"He won't say," she sighed. "Too frightened. They threatened him."
The unnamed 'they' was infuriating, to both her and to Arthur; he clenched his jaw tight and his eyes, set cobalt blue and blazing, looked to the door. "I must speak with him at once. My apologies, Ser Mordred," but not once did his eyes return to the young man seated at the table. But Merlynn's did. He was still, the fork pressed with the pad of his thumb, digging deep into the table so hard she feared it would crack.
As Arthur stood, though, he leaped into action. He moved so fast she barely saw him. "But sire - Gaius said to rest. You should let your injuries heal."
"It's fine, Mordred - but thank you for your concern. I have Merlynn here to keep me upright," he smiled teasingly at her, and she fought to smile back. Merlynn was still looking at Mordred, watching his reactions to each word and movement. What if he was the 'they'? No, she told herself. He can't be. He's Mordred. He was too good, too innocent and kind and soft-spoken. He was passionate about being a druid, about living in a free world. He loved Arthur.
"He's frightened, sire," his voice was no longer desperate and loud, but smooth and cool. "I don't think it would be wise to interrogate him anymore than he has been already. Let him think it over and maybe after a night in the cells he'll be prepared to speak about this mysterious criminal."
Things were silent between them, and as she watched Arthur's expression change she knew he would agree. "You're right," he finally said. "Come, Merlynn. Join us for supper."
Merlynn swore she saw, as she sat across the table, Mordred's lips twitch upwards.
They supped and drank red wine and laughed, but Arthur's was the only genuine one. Merlynn couldn't stop passing a glance at Mordred and each time she did, he was always looking right back at her. He would cock his head and furrow his brow, but his mouth deceived him - even if he tried to hide his feelings with his eyes and the shape of his face, it was always his mouth that spilled his secrets. He would always smile, a faint, wicked smile she had seen many a time on Morgana, and then it would fade once again once Arthur regained himself.
When he left, Arthur asked if they had spoken through their minds, and she replied with a small, "no," and an amused smile. It was all she could do, because without the smile he would know something was wrong and persist - perhaps she was just being paranoid about Mordred and his behaviour, perhaps everything was the same but she was simply having a bad day. She only hoped it were true.
[][][][][][]
By morning Tyr was dead.
Arthur held Merlynn close and pressed his mouth to her temple, but all she could do was stare. No tears were shed by her, or by those who watched Gaius check over the body, but her throat was thick and she could feel her hands begin to tremble as they clutched at Arthur's tunic. She promised that she would help him, and there he lay at her feet, blood brown and dried against the stone. It was a blade that killed him, from what she could tell.
"The blade punctured his heart," Gaius' voice was solemn. "He suffered very little, I'm glad to say."
She felt his breath exhale against her hair as he sighed, "You've spoken to the night patrols?"
"They saw nothing unusual, sire," Percival spoke up from behind them.
"What about the guards?" he asked. "Why didn't they raise the alarm?"
Leon came forward with a roll of cloth in his hand, tinged black as though it had been burnt. "Sire. We found this in a grate in the guard room," he declared, holding it out for Gaius to inspect.
"Clary wort," the physician said after sniffing it. "A powerful soporific, sire."
"I've been a fool," Arthur cursed. "I should have spoken to him when I had the chance."
Merlynn put her hand to Percival's shoulder and sent him out of the cell, along with Gaius and Leon. She needed to speak to Arthur alone. "Arthur," she whispered, moving closer to him. "Whoever did this was no stranger to Camelot. They knew the citadel inside and out."
Her suspicions were clear; there were few people who she could name that had enough access to the castle and the dungeons and everything in between, and who had any reason to have vengeance against Arthur. But she said nothing about that then, for it was mere suspicion and to bring her husband to the very same paranoia would ruin his chances at survival.
[][][][][][]
Mordred escaped mid-morning, while the rest of the knights were in the tavern to mourn the loss of their stablehand. So silly, he thought. The boy took care of their horses, but he was no one special; he was just another part of his Lady's grand plan. A part of him - a very small part of him - felt a little upset over the killing, but Tyr deserved it. Mordred told the boy to not speak about him, or about the plan, lest he or his mother be killed, but he went against his strict instructions. Tyr was just lucky he didn't go for his mother instead.
His Lady was waiting for him in the forest a little way from the citadel. His hood, a copy of the one he had as a boy, flew behind his body as he ran to their meeting place. Mordred hadn't seen her since before the attack on Arthur, and he had missed her. He lived to serve his Lady, to watch her dreams come to reality - and he would help her.
"Mordred," his Lady's sweet voice crooned, and he was brought into her arms.
"The plan failed," he admitted. He watched her eyes darken and her lips purse. "Arthur lives."
"Does he suspect you?"
He smirked. Arthur Pendragon, the gullible man that he was, never suspected him. He looked at Mordred with a softness akin to a paternal love, and would probably spill his secrets to him if he were to ask. "No, not yet." Though I doubt he ever will.
"And Merlynn?" Morgana's voice went deep into a growl, bitter and revolted, as though the name was poison. And it was. Merlynn was a poison to Morgana, and so a poison to him.
He didn't know how to answer her, though. From what he knew, Merlynn was smart - much smarter than Arthur - and at first, she stared at Morded the same as she always had. She would smile at him, a light in her eyes that he recognized as something that once would have made his heart clench, but all he did was curl his lip and watch her flinch away. Soon, she stopped smiling at him with genuine intent, and she began to look at him with something else. Her prying eyes would watch his eyes, his mouth, his hands, even when she thought he didn't notice. "I - the stablehand saw me, and almost told her everything. But I did what had to be done."
Mordred wanted her to be proud of him. "With Tyr gone you have to find someone else to take the fall," she told him, her pink mouth smiling. "When Arthur dies you have to be beyond all suspicion. Especially to Merlynn. She will be our tool, Mordred, in me gaining the throne. You must have the support of the knights - only with their allegiance can you turn them against their blessed queen."
Morgana's plan was an odd one, one he didn't understand. But he could not question her. Whatever she wanted must have been the right choice, so he went without a peep. "Arthur's still alive."
"For now. By tonight you'll have everything you need to finish the job."
"Arthur's doubled the guard, and there are patrols night and day. I can't risk leaving -"
Morgana laughed, and the sound was beautiful. "Mordred," she interrupted his worries. "It is I that will come to you."
"Morgana, I have something to tell you -" He had forgotten about it in the beginning, but when he felt a persistent pressing against his mind some days, when she looked at him, he knew he had to tell Morgana. It was important, so very important.
But, horses whinnied behind them and he knew his chance was lost. Mordred turned to see Gwaine in the lead of the mid-day patrol, heading straight toward them. Did they leave early? He turned back to Morgana, for she always knew what to do; she was pushing him toward the castle, a calm expression on her face.
So he ran.
So I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really do, considering I made you wait over a month for it (omg).
Ascello: I'm so glad I'm bringing people different emotions than in the show, oh my god, and making them like Mordred as a character. Because he is a beautiful, broken character and ugh. I haven't written the second half of the episode yet, so when I do I'll decide haha.
cottonwool: I was originally going to do that, but since Merlynn is Emrys... Morgana would've killed her anyway once she found out, so it would have been very difficult to write. Although, the dark side of Merlynn has come out here, and it will when she finds out Mordred is brainwashed onto Morgana's side, trust me.
Corey Youngblood: hahahahhheahaheuugh
Ryn of Magic: That's why I thought it was such a good plot point. He was weakened and had his mind twisted by the tower to break him down, but then Morgana enchanted him~
Lavender Lightning: oh my god, thank you. (Also I did watch the Walking Dead Pewdiepie Let's Play and I was sobbing near the end ugh) Goodness, thank you so much for all of what you said, gah.
sgt pippa: adfkdfjbkfnh thank you, ahh. And in response to all of that, omg, to be honest I haven't figured out what I really am going to do in the end. I have ideas - some happy, others gut-wrenching, others just eh - but I haven't laid down the concrete yet.
guest: (shhh i know i'm sorry omg)
Oleander: I actually predicted this the day I got this review wow
Please review! (Don't hate me)
Love,
Khaleesi~
