Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, or Angel the Series.
Thanks to my beta-reader, deiticlast. I highly recommend reading his work over on Twisting the Hellmouth, "Hermione Granger and the Buffy Holos". A funny read.
The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come
By Alkeni
Chapter 12: A Chance to do Violence
It all happened so fast.
One moment she was riding on her horse, Gwen riding next to her, guards and knights in front of and behind the two women, providing an escort. Uther would never let his ward travel so far from Camelot without guards.
As she rode, Morgana's mind was not, for a change, dwelling on her magic, her training with Merlin—none of it. It wasn't dwelling on the Lady Illyria, or Wesley, and whatever they were up to...the vision she'd had of Illyria still worried her. But not now. Her mind wasn't even dwelling on the strange creature – the vampire – that had attacked her, or even thinking about it, about ways she could be better prepared if such happened again.
Her mind was, instead, thinking solely on her father. This was a pilgrimage to his grave. This time belonged to him, for reflection and consideration.
And so, one moment she was riding, her thoughts on her father.
The next moment, however, was anarchy. Arrows flew from the tree cover on both sides of the path, more attackers coming out to attack the column from the flanks.
Despite herself, Morgana felt panic setting in. Magic. . . I can use magic. . . no, she couldn't. There were too many witnesses. . . she couldn't control it. . . couldn't focus it. . .
"My ladies!" Sir Robert called from his horse, riding towards them. "You must follow me!" He hacked down one of the attackers – they wore no livery; they were mere brigands. But before Sir Robert could reach them, an arrow struck him down in the back and he fell from his horse.
In the confusion, Morgana and Gwen too were torn from their steeds, but only moments later, their would-be captors were struck down.
Any attempt at flight was put short immediately when another man, clearly the leader of the brigands, stepped in their way, another with him, both armed.
I should have brought a sword, damnit! She'd been planning to, but Uther would have stopped her, and with the guards, she didn't want to have the argument right before leaving for her father's grave.
And now she was paying for that.
Morgana tilted her head up a little as she looked him in the eye, adopting an imperious air, honed carefully over the years at Uther's court. "I warn you. I am Uther Pendragon's ward. He'll have your heads if any harm comes to me." Morgana clamped down on the fear she felt—some, but not an overwhelming amount.
The leader smirked. "I have no intention of harming you. At least. . . not yet. You're much more valuable to me alive, Lady Morgana."
Ransom? Morgana swallowed slightly. Better than dying. . .
AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin
That miserable little- Morgana fumed as she all but stormed down the hallways of the castle, heading directly to Arthur's chambers. First, upon finding her out there, after she'd escaped from the bandits, Arthur hadn't gone immediately after them, to rescue Gwen. Then, as if to prove his spinelessness...
He doesn't have the courage to defy his father even when he's glaringly in the wrong!
This wasn't how the escape should have worked...with the bandits not facing Gwen, it had been her part of the plan that had made it all work...and she had told Morgana to just go on ahead, after she fell...
I shouldn't have kept going. I should have helped her...
"Your guardian's actions have only increased my estimation of his foolishness." Drawn from her thoughts and her fuming, Morgana turned her head at the voice. It was all too recognizable – no one else in Camelot spoke the way she did. No one else Morgana had ever met did. She spoke stiffly, with an almost alien formality.
The Lady Illyria was standing against the wall, looking at her, wearing that strange reddish armor she always seemed to be wearing. Morgana had seen her among the various members of the court assembled at her return, which had surprised her. Rarely did the Lady Illyria leave the chambers Uther had given her – though Wesley often did.
What are they to each other? He presented himself to Uther as a servant or sworn man of Lady Illyria, but he certainly doesn't act like he is subservient to her. She acts as though he is—everyone is—beneath her, and in her mind, it certainly seems like. . .
"I have only rarely seen you since your arrival, Lady Illyria," Morgana said softly. "Why did you come out of your chambers at my return to Camelot?"
Illyria looked at her. "My will is not yours to question. Events are in motion, and nothing will go as it must." Illyria approached her, leaving barely a foot between them. "Ill service to those below you without just cause only grants such ill service in return. Uther is a small man determined to bring himself low by failing to properly reward those beneath him."
"He's an arrogant man who believes only those of noble blood have any worth," Morgana spat. And an angry, paranoid tyrant obsessed with his own self-righteousness. Morgana closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to clamp down on the anger once more. Already still furious at him for all that he'd done in pursuit of his 'war' on magic, now he was leaving Guinevere to die in the hands of that brigand and whoever he worked for.
"The right to rule comes from the will to act, does it not?" Illyria asked, turning away. "Are you as pathetic as your King, or are you better than him? Low though you may be, you may not be as low as him, if you possess the will to make the world yours." Without waiting for some kind of response, Illyria went down the hallway.
"What are you, Lady Illyria?" Morgana called after her, her curiosity—her fear—and her vision getting the better of her.
A smirk passed across Illyria's expression, though Morgana did not see it. It only took Illyria a moment to realize the smirk, and she wiped it from her face. The shell continues to seep through. "An interesting choice of interrogative, Morgana. Consider." Illyria vanished onto a flight of stairs, out of Morgana's sight.
Her skin crawling, Morgana shuddered a moment, as if shaking something off. . . shaking off the encounter, all its strangeness. She had more important things to worry about than the strange philosophical musings of the blue-haired woman.
She continued on her way to Arthur's chambers. When she reached them, she found the door closed. She didn't let it stop her, and burst into them. She saw Arthur moving around the room, but she was already ranting as soon as the door opened, berating him.
"How can you be so heartless?!" Morgana demanded, glaring at him. "Gwen is the most kind, loyal person that you would ever meet, and she has been more than a friend to all of us! And you-" she gesticulated angrily, pointing at him, "would leave her at the mercy of those animals."
Arthur looked at her, "Morgana—"
Rather than letting him finish whatever excuses he had planned, Morgana raised her voice, speaking over him, almost shouting. "Have you no shame? Do you think of no one but yourself!?"
"Morgana. . ." Arthur started once more, stretching the name in exasperation.
Morgana raised her voice even more, now really shouting. "I knew you were many things, Arthur Pendragon, but I didn't know you were a gutless coward!"
Arthur looked right at her, managing to raise his voice enough to get a word in edgewise. "Morgana! Perhaps if you would stop shouting at me for one second, you would notice that I am packing!" As he was saying this, Morgana did in fact notice that he was indeed packing. Arthur moved away from the table to grab his sword.
"You're going after Gwen." Morgana's face flushed a little as she realized how she'd made herself look a bit of a fool.
"Of course I'm going after her. What do you take me for?" Arthur grabbed a few more things, slinging his back over his shoulder. He looked back at her. "I couldn't disagree with Father in public."
"I'm going with you." I panicked. . . I should have tried to use my magic during the attack...or to help Gwen. . .
"Morgana, you were the target to begin with! You'll be going right where they want you." Arthur tried to walk past her, but Morgana stopped him, stepping into his path.
"Exactly. Which is why I should go with you. It's my fault she's been captured." Morgana smirked. "After all, I'm just as good with a sword as you. I even beat you that one time."
"Never happened, Morgana." Arthur replied, too quickly. "And it's too risky-"
"It's too risky for you to go alone, and you're bringing Merlin along, right? I can use a sword, at least." Of course, Merlin could use his magic to help—always has.
"If Merlin gets injured, Father won't be demanding my head. If you get injured—" Arthur shook his head. "Besides, he's got a strange knack for making himself almost useful at times. You're not coming." Morgana didn't move, except to sidestep to stay in front of him.
"You can't stop me Arthur." She looked at him, staring him right in the eye. "I'm going with you."
Arthur facepalmed, letting out a sigh. "Fine. But don't take too long."
"I won't."
AtS-Merlin-AtS-Melrin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin
Merlin smirked as the barrels rolled over the guards, leaving them sprawled prone on the ground, bruised and battered, but fundamentally fine. But also unconscious.
"You use your magic too sloppily," Merlin heard Illyria's distinctive tone behind him. Why didn't I- "I am capable, with concentration, of masking the effect I have on users of magic, such as yourself." Illyria continued, as if reading his thoughts.
"What are you doing here then?" Merlin demanded, turning to face her.
"Because I wish to be. I will be going with you to rescue your friend." Illyria replied coolly.
"Why? What is it to you?"
"I wish to do violence. You will not be able to simply make your way in and out without a risk of battle." Illyria looked out over, towards the stables. "Wesley will be coming as well."
"Arthur is not going to just accept that you two are coming along as well," Merlin hissed quietly. "He's annoyed enough as it is that Morgana is coming as well."
"He lacks much choice in the matter. I will be going, regardless of his will," Illyria replied.
In the stables themselves, Morgana and Arthur were getting horses when they saw another in the stables. Arthur held up a hand, gesturing for her to stay put and drew his sword, wandering towards the man, who was saddling up a horse, muttering what were likely curses, given the tone.
Of course, Arthur couldn't be sure, because he couldn't understand the language. It was the strange one that Wesley and the Lady Illyria spoke between themselves when they didn't want anyone else to overhear. Arthur pressed his sword to the man's back.
"Stealing a horse, Wesley? I admit, this I did not expect of you." Wesley straightened up, but did not turn.
"It isn't stealing. I'm borrowing. Two horses, to be exact. The one in the next stall is already saddled. Can I turn around?" Wesley didn't actually wait before turning, slowly, facing Arthur.
"Borrowing without requesting permission is the same as theft," Arthur countered.
"Not if I return them when I'm done. And I'd say the same to you – you're sneaking out here to get them as well. For the same reason Lady Illyria and I are, I'd imagine." Wesley placed the back of his hand against the blade and gently nudged it away from his neck. Sharp objects and his neck. . . He'd rather a great deal of distance between the two things, as a general rule.
"And why do you say that?" Arthur didn't lower his sword, but didn't stop Wesley from moving it a little. "Why do you think I am-"
Wesley rolled his eyes and interrupted. "You're going – likely with Lady Morgana and Merlin – to go and rescue Guinevere. Which is exactly what we're doing."
"Why would you care to—" Arthur demanded. Wesley interrupted him again.
"Honestly, I wouldn't care that much, given that I'm sure you three are capable of managing it on your own. But the Lady Illyria has a fondness for killing. And now she has a socially acceptable opportunity to do so. I mean, neither you nor your father would object to the mercenaries and brigands in Hengist's employ being killed by her, would you?"
Arthur had to grant that point. But still, "You're not coming with us—" He heard steps behind him and spun, sword still held up—and he stopped moving when he saw the Lady Illyria behind him, his sword caught perfectly between her hands, palms on both flat edges of the blade.
"I do not think, young prince, that you will be in any position to refuse me. I can go alongside you, or travel ahead of you." Illyria let his sword go, stepping back. "Your servant has rendered the guards unconscious, but we don't have time to waste. Take your beasts and we shall go."
"I don't take orders from you!" Arthur protested.
"Consider them 'advisories' if it makes it easier on you," Wesley suggested. "That's what I tend to do."
