1x11 – Her Father's Daughter (Part 1)
Thirteen years ago
Far from King Uther and his magnificent city, past rolling hills and forests and mountains and dales, lay a small castle nestled into a steep cliff. The air tasted sharply of salt, and the ever present wind bore the cries of gulls and the meeting of waves against rocks in a spray of white. The single road from the lowland to the castle gates was steep, and looking out over it one could see it stretch all the way to the small farming village on the horizon.
The small, ten-year-old lady of the castle had been watching this road for months, ever since her father had vanished down it with his men. It became something of a hobby of hers, sneaking glances out windows every chance she got, hoping for a collection of dots darkening the pale stones.
"My lady," her nursemaid scolded for the hundredth time, as it was once more obvious her young charge's attention was far from her lessons. When the girl still did not remove her gaze from the window, the nursemaid put her hands on her hips. "Lady Morgana!"
The little girl swivelled her head guiltily back to the front of the room and sat up straighter in her chair. She could feel her nursemaid's eyes burning into the back of her head, daring her to just try and slack off again. In front of her, her tutor's lips were pursed into a flat, sour line.
"Perhaps we could do this again, when the lady is feeling more inclined to attend to her studies?" the man inquired testily. "By all means, daydream all you like. We can always reschedule elocution in place of fencing."
"I'm listening," the ten-year-old sulked. Canceling her fencing lessons was her tutor's favorite punishment.
He disapproved of girls fighting, and only begrudgingly taught her the ways of the sword at her father's insistence. His lessons were a strange mix of coddling to avoid any scar which might lower her bride price someday, and a harsh regimen designed to make her to quit on her own. Morgana couldn't wait for her father to return from war and take up the reigns of her education again. Everything was better the way he taught it.
Despite her tutor's threat, Morgana's best efforts couldn't prevent the brain-numbing tediousness of elocution from sending her mind far from the stuffy room again. She found herself glancing out the window, her eyes as ever drawn to that winding stone road.
This time, she stood up. Ignoring her nursemaid and tutor's consternation, heart beating rapidly in her chest, she dashed out the door.
By the time she'd made it to the castle entrance, the company of horsemen she'd seen through the window was drawing up to the opening gate. She hurtled through, ducking under the still raising bars, and eagerly scanned the men dismounting for the familiar face that would be striding towards her with a broad smile, arms spread in anticipation of her flying hug.
But there was no such man present.
Confused, she scanned the faces again. Her father wasn't the only face missing; she didn't recognise anyone. A chill stole through her: these were not her father's men. Panicked, awful possibilities flitted through her mind – was this a ruse? an invasion? a kidnapping? – broken by the man at the head of the company stepping forward with a scroll stamped with the king's seal. This soothed her fears – until the man read it.
Then she screamed at him.
Her father wasn't dead – the king could take his condolences and invitations and assurances and shove them – she wasn't going anywhere!
She screamed herself raw, kicking and hitting the knight when he attempted to settle her. The next eleven days were a frozen stalemate: the king's men camping outside the barred gates to her castle yelling out their master's words, and she making periodic trips out the gate with her training sword to whack them with all the force her ten-year-old arms could muster. No one was getting anywhere – she lacked the strength to drive off a company of knights, and the knights lacked the explicit royal permission needed to outright kidnap her.
Then their messenger returned on day twelve, the king himself in tote. The gatekeepers meekly let Uther in no matter how she shouted at them not to, and not one person stopped him from grabbing her by the arm and forcibly marching her to the carriage that he had arrived in, which had a shiny new lock outside the door.
A carriage ride with a man she'd seen exactly twice before and was now proclaiming himself family and carrying her away would have been horrible even if she hadn't spent the whole time wrestling him in a bid to escape. Mostly it passed in an awful blur, but she distinctly remembered biting him.
To her surprise and delight they stopped no more than three hours from her home – had she worn him out, convinced him to let her alone? But such hopes were dashed when Uther took her arm in full grip and marched her up a hill that seemed quite random – until she drew near enough the top to make out the unmistakeable shape of a headstone.
"No!" she'd screamed with all her ten-year-old eloquence, and pulled harder on her arm.
Uther had just tightened his grip. She dug her heels into the dirt, but he dragged her to the horrid stone slab with grim determination.
"He's not coming back," Uther said in a ragged, exhausted voice – the voice of a man who'd lost his best friend and then had to travel more than a hundred leagues to drag the man's screaming defiant daughter to face reality. "I promised him I'd look after you if the worst should happen, and I'll not have you make a liar out of me."
She'd never hated anyone as much as she'd hated Uther right there and then, at a grave she hadn't wanted to acknowledge existed, being told to leave whatever echoes of her father could still be found in their home, by a man she barely knew.
"Your father worried about what would become of you." Uther continued, despite her hostile silence. "I know you're angry with me, I know you don't want to come with me, but I cannot in good conscience leave you alone. I cannot deny my best friend his last wish."
"And what was that?" she spat at him, this man whose concern for his best friend came too late.
"For you to be safe, and loved, and happy." The king put an arm around her shoulder. "That's all he ever wanted, and I intend to see it through."
Morgana trembled, too many emotions coursing through her to give them name. He'd called her father to fight for him, didn't even send any reinforcements like he said he would, and now he suddenly cared about Gorlois le Fay and his child? She carried that resentment with her all the way to Camelot, and made no secret of it.
She couldn't say when it had faded – she could remember no vow to forgive Uther, nor any great resolve to give him and Arthur and their entire city a chance – she couldn't remember when Camelot became home and Uther and Arthur family. Perhaps it had come on too gradually to notice. Perhaps forgiveness had happened kindness by kindness, day by day over the years…
Or perhaps the resentful heart of that angry little ten-year-old was still buried deep within her, beating out against Uther and his failings, only needing the final nail on the coffin before it broke free.
And that final nail came one chill November night, when the king's men brought her to the audience chambers and she learned that her maid's father had just been arrested for treason.
# \ # \ # \ #
"Treason?" echoed Morgana, the last vestiges of sleep knocked right out of her.
She was still in her nightgown, still shaken from the horrible nightmare of a monster with the body of a leopard and the head of a snake that Uther's men had roused her from, and now, standing before her benefactor and king at an ungodly hour being questioned on her maid's recent behavior and any possible sympathies towards magic, she was overcome by a sense of unreality. It felt like she had gone from nightmare to nightmare.
"Yes, Morgana, treason." Uther reiterated impatiently, "The blacksmith was consorting with a known enemy."
The shock was fading, indignation rising in its place. This was so like Uther: see two men together and arrest first, ask questions later – if ever.
There was something more to this story, there must be. She knew Gwen's father, and he was a kind, gentle soul – exactly the man one would picture to have raised a girl as sweet and thoughtful as Gwen. He couldn't have done anything so horrid as to be deserving of the label treason.
"What enemy?" Morgana demanded.
Arthur, standing a respectful distance from his father with his hands clasped behind his back, spoke up, "Tauren – the leader of a band of renegade sorcerers sworn to bring down the King."
"And where is this Tauren now?" she may have been brought here still half-asleep, but she knew she hadn't passed enough guards for the castle to be under the full lockdown it would be if they were imprisoning a rebel leader.
A look of annoyance crossed Arthur's face. "He escaped."
She knew it! She knew Uther was creating enemies out of smoke and shadow again!
"Well, then how can you be sure it was him?" she demanded.
"Because Arthur saw him with his own eyes."
Morgana faltered, but quickly recovered. "Well, even if the man is who you say he is, you can't sentence Tom to death for just being seen with him!"
"We have reason to believe he was forging weapons for Tauren."
"Rubbish!" Morgana argued hotly. "He would never do such a thing!"
"Every man has a price," Uther said caustically. Arthur unclasped his hands, and in his right was a golden disc a hand span across and nearly two inches deep. He slid it across the table to her. Up close, she could easily see the telltale sheen of genuine gold.
"Found this on the blacksmith."
A chill went down her spine. It certainly looked bad… but no, she knew Tom. He wouldn't do this. "So he was paid! He's a blacksmith. He could've been paid for shoeing Tauren's horse!"
Uther just raised an eyebrow. "In gold?"
All excuses failed her. Instead, she spluttered, "This is madness! You condemn a man with no proof!"
"I have enough proof."
"Arthur!" she rounded on the thus-far mostly silent spectator to this travesty. "Have you nothing to say?!"
"Father," Arthur began slowly, and Morgana knew right then that it would be no good. He always did this, he always hemmed and hawed and gave such weak protests to Uther that he might as well have said nothing. Arthur could never bring himself to speak out directly against his father. "The blacksmith committed a crime, but we don't know for certain he meant treason."
"No. You're right. Nothing's certain. Save one thing: the law stands or this kingdom falls."
Morgana tried to interject reason, "But the law must give him a fair trial."
But by now, she should know better than to try reason against madness.
"He'll get a fair trial, and he'll be found guilty, because that's what he is."
"You execute Gwen's father, and I will never forgive you. Never."
She stomped out.
Needless to say, she could not get back to sleep. She didn't even attempt it, but rather paced her chambers cursing Uther and Arthur and Tauren and even the goddamn goldsmith who made the damning metal lump in the first place. She watched the sun rise in excruciating slowness, until finally it was light enough to not send the castle doormen into a tizzy at her departure.
Morgana had been to Gwen's home a few times over the years, bringing her flowers and fresh fruit when she was too ill to come in to work. So she was mostly confident she hadn't got the wrong house when her knock and query of Gwen? went unanswered. Just to be sure, she glanced around the side and yes, there was Tom's forge, this was definitely the right place.
Morgana sighed. Of course Gwen was out – this was clearly a day where everything that could go wrong would, and the sun had barely risen yet. The headache that had been building since she'd been woken with only three hours sleep gave a sharp throb. Wincing against the pain, Morgana knocked on the forge door.
"Gwen?"
There was no response… but what was that noise, coming from within?
Morgana pushed open the door, peering into the darkened workshop dazedly. There was no one here… but what was that noise, that beating… no, humming – throughout her skull? Looking around in confusion, the noise grew with every cautious step she took until it was so deafening she couldn't hear her own thoughts. She stopped and pressed her hands to her ears. It made no difference whatsoever. The noise continued from the floor in front of her, upon which lay strewn a drawstring leather pouch. Drawn in by the insistent hum, she picked it up and shook out a fist-sized red gemstone.
Immediately the humming left her head – instead it reverberate through her hand, her arm, her bones, her very blood. Her skin thrummed with the force of it. And the stone in her hands glowed like a fire had been lit from inside.
Nearly dropping the thing in surprise, Morgana regained her senses and thrust it back in the bag, which she dropped into the depths of her pockets. Deeply rattled, she hurried to leave.
The rock felt inordinately heavy in her pockets, and not just because she was winding her way back to Uther's castle with an object that was clearly magical. She couldn't fathom how she went unnoticed, so loud was the hum. But the city around her went about its daily business as though hearing nothing, yawning peasants passing her by without so much as a glance.
An awful thought occurred to her: am I the only one who can hear it?
For the sake of making it back to her rooms undiscovered she hoped so, but for every other reason… she already had unsettlingly vivid dreams that overlapped too neatly with future events, the very last thing she needed was another smudge across the line between the rational and the occult.
But all the way from the Lower Town to her personal chambers, not one head lifted to search out the source of the hum.
Still rattled, Morgana dropped the leather pouch in an ornate box Uther had gotten her for her last birthday – one that he'd said was made to repel the evils of enchantments. She had no idea how such a thing could exist unless by some other enchantment, but she was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when so much rested on no one finding such an incriminating object – not at her place, and certainly not at Gwen's.
Gwen, she felt with a twinge of guilt at having forgotten her purpose just because of glowing, buzzing rocks. She turned to go.
Before she left she locked the door – a mostly symbolic gesture due to the unlockable servant passages any determined trespasser could use, but it made her feel a bit better. Like that thing would be safe until she'd worked out what to do with it.
But when she found Gwen she was asleep in Gaius' chambers, face tear streaked and pale. Gaius was out on his rounds, but Merlin was reading on a stool nearby. He looked up as she entered and hurriedly shoved his book under the table, rising to greet her. She had him promise to send someone for her when Gwen woke, then Morgana left, a new purpose driving her steps. She didn't stop until she was standing outside a familiar door. After a breath's hesitation, she knocked.
"Arthur?"
No answer. He should be drilling the new recruits at this hour, but if that had been cancelled…
Cautiously, she opened Arthur's door a crack and looked left and right. The room was empty. Emboldened, she slipped through and quietly padded across the floor, to the hooks beside his bed where he hung his keys. Fiddling as quietly as she could, Morgana slid the dungeon key off its ring. Stuffing it in her pocket, she hurried out the room, only stopping to glance behind and make sure everything was as she had found it.
Returning to her chambers, she found a guard milling around outside her door, visibly bored. Her heart hammered in her throat, but when he saw her he snapped to attention.
"Prince Arthur's servant sends word that your maid has woken, my lady."
"Thank you," Morgana replied absently, changing directions again.
When she entered Gaius' chambers, Gwen rose to her feet, flustered.
"My lady, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be so late - "
"It's alright, Gwen. You're going through a terrible ordeal. Please, take as much time off as you need. I can manage on my own for a few days."
Gwen resettled in her seat at Gaius' table, clutching at the mug of tea in front of her with both hands as though it was a lifeline. Morgana took the chair to her left, since Merlin was already sitting across from her. He poured Morgana her own cup of tea, with she accepted but did not sip.
"I went to your house earlier, but you weren't in."
"It must have been while I was visiting my father."
"How was he?"
"As well as he could be. He said he didn't know Tauren was a sorcerer, he thought he was just a normal customer. Tauren offered to pay him a fortune, not to make weapons, just for an experiment."
"What kind of experiment?"
"Tauren didn't say. But when my father prepared the molten lead, Tauren used some kind of magic..."
"Alchemy," Merlin interjected. The two women stared at him.
"I'm sorry?" Gwen asked, beating Morgana to the punch.
"It's an obscure branch of magic with a two-fold goal: gold, and immortality. Tauren seems to have had some success on the first count, at least."
Gwen roused, "We must tell the king…" she was halfway out of her chair, but Morgana caught her wrist, shaking her head.
"Uther will just say Tom assisted with this alchemy for the gold."
But the spark did not leave Gwen's eyes. "I can argue it at the trial, at least. If Uther knows the gold wasn't a bribe, it should help. And if we can convince him that my father didn't know who Tauren was or what he was planning…"
Morgana stayed silent, unwilling to shatter Gwen's hopes, no matter how false. In truth Uther saw only enemies – as they spoke he was rounding up anybody who'd had any dealings with Tauren, whether to give him a bed for the night or a meal for the day. He must know on some level that not all of these people could possibly have known they'd been aiding a criminal – but that didn't matter to Uther. Not when the criminal was a sorcerer.
In truth, Tom's noose had been strung the moment Arthur saw him and Tauren together.
That night, standing outside Tom's cell under the guard's close watch, Tom asked hollowly,
"I'm a dead man, aren't I?"
"I cannot see the future, only the present," she took his hand in a gesture of comfort, "and one must always seize the moment."
Tom's face lifted as the hard metal of the key bit into his palm. Morgana smiled as she pulled away. "Good luck."
She went to bed easy that night, taking the three spoonfuls of sleeping draught Gaius had prescribed her and fell asleep almost immediately.
Blackness… glorious, peaceful blackness…
Blackness… to be able to just unwind…
to not think…
to relax…
Color.
Uther, a robe thrown over his night clothes, face resolute.
"He's just proved his guilt."
Tom, on his knees, hands outstretched and face twisted in terror...
"Please…"
Gwen in her morning shawl, running forwards, anguished,
"NO!"
Herself striding into the great hall in towering fury.
"You have blood on your hands, Uther Pendragon! Blood that will never wash off!"
Uther in full royal dress, the stonewall of the dungeons behind him,
"… and here you will remain …"
A rugged man in dark garb twisted Gwen's arm behind her back, slapping a hand over her mouth to smother her scream.
"Where is it?" he hissed in her ear, lowering his hand to a chokehold around her throat.
Gwen was terrified. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He shook her. "I want the stone!"
"Please… I don't know anything about a -"
The man's hand tightened…
Morgana shot bolt upright, trembling hand reaching for people who weren't there. A few rapid breaths later she realised she was still in bed; it had all been a dream.
Just a dream.
Just one of her nightmares.
It was ok.
It was all ok.
She got to her feet, pulling on a night shawl and opening her window, letting the cool night air shake the latching claws of sleep from her mind. The stars twinkled down, distant and beautiful, and in the lower town merry lights flickered in the windows as the commoners prepared for bed. Morgana breathed in the chill air, feeling the sweat on her brow cool, and let the peaceful night scenery sooth her.
It had just been a dream. Nothing to worry about.
The subconscious took stimulus from the waking world and twisted it, Gaius always said so. Her nightmares were nothing more than a result of stress. There was nothing mystic about them, they were completely, perfectly explainable.
They did not come true.
The times they seemed to were just déjà vu – a perfectly normal, natural phenomena – repainting her recollections to fit present events.
There was nothing magical about them.
She did not see the future.
That was not the future.
And yet, even with the cool night wind soothing her feverish state, she could not stop trembling. She gazed out into the moonless night helplessly, chilled by an unnameable dread.
Far off in a corner of the Darkling Woods, a brilliant white light shattered the darkness.
# \ # \ # \ #
Merlin threw an arm up, squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding glare. A minute passed, and the searing white against his eyelids faded to a dull green. He lowered his arm and blinked away spots. His night vision utterly shot, he was only able to make out the shining runes he'd traced out in a great interlocking circle. As their glow faded to nothing, he was left in complete blackness.
"Leoht."
A small ball of light in his hand illuminated a wall of rocks in front of him, blocking off the entrance to a cave. Not much moss grew on the rocks, but there was some, and even a small flower or two. By all appearances, it looked to be the result of a cave-in that – while not brand new – was none too old either. Merlin experimentally put out a hand; it passed through the rocks as though through air. Grinning, he stuck his head in.
On the other side the cave was large enough to fit twenty people. One wall was stocked from dirt floor to stone roof with firewood. Four large barrels were lined up neatly against another wall, each with a pile of blankets deposited rather less neatly on the top. A few traps sat on a stone ledge, along with an old pair of boots, a jar of preserves, and several rusty old pots and pans. Satisfied, Merlin withdrew his head. All he could see now was the apparent cave-in.
All in all, not the most luxurious of quarters, but a decent enough place to lie low for a while. Certainly beat the executioner's block, at any rate.
Besides, he tried to think positively, we might not actually need it. But his hopes weren't high – nobody seemed optimistic about the outcome of Tom's trial, and frankly Merlin couldn't imagine Uther letting him off either. And that wasn't even getting into the innkeepers and shop owners who'd been arrested after Tom.
Still, better to wait until after they'd been sentenced to rescue them, if only because whatever smidgeon of a chance any of them might have at returning to their regular lives would be destroyed completely the moment they were spirited away. There would be no convincing anyone that they weren't in league with sorcerers after that.
Merlin glanced at the sky; judging by the position of the moon, if he returned now, he could still sneak in a few hours of sleep before Tom's trial. He hurried home and double checked he had packed the ageing potion, antidote, and Gaius' old robes in his sachet before passing out on the bed, exhausted.
Merlin woke, not to birdsong, nor the bustle of the courtyard, nor even the tolling of the bells, but to a great shriek of,
"NO!"
Merlin turned over, blinking confusedly. Now he was awake, the sun shining through his open window seemed almost blinding. He blinked again, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes. The brightness only accentuated a dull headache brought on by lack of sleep. It was much too early… he turned over… another twenty minutes wouldn't hurt…
"No!"the cry came again, choked. It broke into a sob. "No – Father!"
Sleep fled; Merlin knew that voice. He bolted upright and craned his neck out his window. Ice seized his chest – there was Gwen, in the lower courtyard, sobbing uncontrollably over a distinctly human shape under a white shawl, on a cart surrounded by red-cloaked guards.
Merlin had never gotten dressed so fast in his life. Yet when he reached the square the cart was gone and the guards had resumed their posts. Gwen was being led off by the baker's daughter who, still in her nightdress, was speaking in a low, soothing voice. She had an arm around Gwen's shoulder and was steering her towards the bakery, and Merlin caught something about a nice strong mug of before the door shut behind them. As though this were a cue, the others who'd rushed to the square in various states of dress broke into hushed discussions.
"Did you see? Her father was just carted away -"
"Tried to run for it in the night - "
"- always said he was guilty -"
"- the things people will do for gold -"
"- this, Susie honey, is why you must listen when Mummy says to never take anything from strangers -"
"- poor Gwen, she never asked to get caught up in this -"
Feeling ill, Merlin turned to get far away from these awful whispers, then stopped short. He turned to the guards, though not since his first day in Camelot had he felt less like speaking to one.
"Excuse me, but the others who were arrested…"
"Trial's in an hour," said the guard, sounding rather bored. "Execution's at sundown."
And it was hearing this, that there was an execution already set, that made something in Merlin snap.
Without another word he stormed off, back up the stairs, into Gaius' chambers, and up into his room. There, he kicked open the herb sachet, snatched up the old robes and threw them over his head. He grabbed the ageing potion, now rolling around the floor, and downed it in one gulp. He pocketed the antidote and was half out the door when he stopped, turned around, and said,
"Oþeawan æðm. Onbregdan stæf."
The loose floorboard under his bed shot upward, ricocheting across the floor. Sophia Tír-Mòr's staff flew into his outstretched hand. With another word he sent the floorboard spinning back, and heard it locking into place as he set off down the stairs.
In the main room, Gaius' head jerked up from where he was fixing breakfast. "Merlin, what are you doing?" he said in a panic.
"Something I should have done last night," was all Merlin said before he was out the door and striding down the halls, ignoring Gaius' frantic calls after him.
In the halls he was met with many stares, servants eyeing his staff nervously and flattening against the wall as he passed. As he drew near the dungeons a guard passed by, stopped abruptly, double checked, and drew his sword.
"Halt! State your name and purpose!"
Without a word, Merlin threw him into the wall. He crashed down, his helmet tumbling off as he hit the floor. Somebody screamed. Merlin broke into a run.
More guards awaited him in the dungeons, each as quickly dealt with as the first. He snagged the key ring from the last one, and found his way to the cells from memory. There, white terrified faces stared back at him as he multiplied the key before their eyes and opened every cell at once. No one stepped forward.
"Anyone who doesn't want their head chopped off at sunset, follow me." Nobody moved. He could have heard a pin drop. And then…
"Emrys?" an incredulous voice called out. Startled, Merlin turned. There, in the corner cell furthest from the light, stood the Lady Morgana, chained to the wall. So great was his surprise that he didn't think to reply.
"Emrys?" she called again, stepping forward until the chains gave a sharp tug on her wrists. This roused Merlin.
"Tospringe," he commanded, and the manacles fell to the floor, chains clinking beside them. Morgana rubbed her wrists, and approached him eagerly.
"It is you, isn't it?" she said, eyes alight, almost feverish. "What are you doing here?"
"Breaking and entering. What are you doing here?" Had Uther taken utter leave of his senses and arrested Morgana for treason? Just how paranoid was he?
Morgana's lips twisted. "Uther didn't take well to being called out for the blood on his hands," she spat, eyes flashing.
Merlin almost laughed; of all the terrible things he'd been imagining, one of Uther and Morgana's regular spats wasn't one of them. He was relieved it was such a little thing – though he had the sense not to say this to an angry Morgana.
"Excuse me, my lady," a timid voice broke in. Merlin and Morgana both turned to see the innkeeper's son, a gawky boy of around fourteen or fifteen whose badly spotted face was tight with tension, step forward, teetering on the threshold of his and his three little sisters' cell. "But is this man a friend of yours?"
The other prisoners seemed to be holding their breaths.
"Yes," said Morgana simply. "He saved my life, and that of a child very dear to me."
This seemed to be all the boy needed, he took his youngest sister's hand and stepped forward, his other sisters scurrying after him, clutching at his shirt and half-hiding behind him. Merlin met one of their eyes; the girl gave a small eep and buried her face in the safety of the course wool shirt.
"Urick," hissed the innkeeper in the next cell over, shaking his head ever so slightly.
"Oh come on, Da, what have we got to lose!" the boy demanded. "If he kills us, he kills us – not like we're not going to die anyway, just sitting here like lambs for the slaughter!"
He took a step closer to Merlin, as though goading his father, who went very white and dashed out from his cell. The innkeeper seized his son's arm and drew him back, spinning him around to face him. He had only time to open his mouth, however, for just then bells rang out from above. There was the sound of shouts, and many heavy boots descending the dungeon stairs.
The prisoners glanced up fearfully, then surged forward, converging on Morgana. She staggered as an elderly couple latched onto her elbow, and turned to Merlin, questioningly.
"Right, well, let's get moving then," he said, turning back to the stairs. Moans and whispered complaints broke out behind him.
"But the guards – !"
"Is he insane?!"
"Of course he is – he's a sorcerer, isn't he?"
Nonetheless, they followed, clutching at Morgana the whole time, as though she was some kind of shield against magic.
They met the guards at the foot of the stairs, where their forerunners lay sprawled, unconscious. The reinforcements glanced at their fallen comrades and gripped their spears tighter, lowering them to point directly at Merlin.
"You're under arrest on charges of trespass, sorcery, assault on knights of the realm, treason –" But the guard didn't manage to finish, on account of slamming into the wall at a speed fast enough to knock him silly. His fellows dropped where they stood a moment later, snoring.
Behind him, somebody whimpered. One of the little girls started to cry, and her father hushed her, sounding on the verge of tears himself. Not daring to look back, Merlin stepped over the guards and continued up the stairs, choosing to simply trust they would follow. As the boy had said, what other choice did they have?
"Come on, then," he heard Morgana say in a falsely bright voice. There was a reluctant shuffling of feet in response. "That's it," she encouraged with a touch of relief. "Sooner we're gone, sooner we're safe."
A jolt of unease shot through Merlin. She wasn't planning on coming with them, was she? Sure the king had gaoled her, but she hadn't exactly been charged with high treason to be executed that day. It seemed a bit much to throw away her home and all her friends over a simple argument gotten out of hand.
He didn't have long to reflect on Morgana's intentions, though, for at the top of the stairs they were met with more guards. Though these were quickly dealt with, as Merlin half-ran through the corridors he was met with more, one after another. He made for the servants' entrance, and had to swerve to avoid a rain of arrows; the knight's had set up an ambush there, blocking the door with a wall of shields over which they fired. They were clearly expecting him to sneak out somewhere that opened onto a path with low traffic.
Well, time to surprise them, then.
"Front entrance. Follow me."
Morgana gaped, and for the others he seemed to have confirmed whatever doubts they might have had on his sanity, but more arrows whizzed past and they hurried to follow.
There was no ambush waiting in the front hall, no shields blocking the doors. Perhaps they hadn't expected him to be audacious enough to attempt this, or perhaps they'd thought he wouldn't be able to break through steel reinforced oak. On both counts, they were sadly mistaken.
"Ætýne!"
The doors swung open, onto the bustle of the morning courtyard. One by one the crowd quieted, as head after head turned towards the open doors and the very wizard-y looking stranger poised on the top step with the dozen people meant to be on trial for consorting with sorcerers at his back.
Merlin's throat felt rather dry. He gave a great cough to clear it, and began in a booming, theatric voice,
"I, Dragoon the Great, do hereby declare these people innocent of all they have been accused, and take them under my protection as victims of a cruel, ugly, fat old tyrant with the brains of a toad and the eyes of a dead fish!"
Predictably, this was met with a surge of guards from all corners of the square.
Merlin looked down at them, and then out at the fearful faces of the crowd, who had shrunk to the very edges of the square. He suddenly felt very tired. They'd already cast him in the role of evil sorcerer plotting against king and kingdom – anything he did to fight off the guards would just add fuel to that flame. They expected a show of terror, the likes of which they'd been warned of in all their horror stories and dark legends.
It was time for a new script.
Merlin raised his staff. "Béoþ þá hláfas, béoþ þá -" The guards dove forward, spears in hand, "-dægégan!" and Merlin was whacked in the chest with the heads of a dozen oversized fluffy yellow dandelions.
The guards looked down bug-eyed at the harmless if huge weeds, several outright dropping theirs in surprise. One older, more scarred guard reached for his scabbard, and drew… a loaf of bread. Perhaps thinking it an illusion, the guard swung this too at Merlin's chest. It bent a bit but bounced off Merlin quite harmlessly. Merlin seized the former sword and tore off the tip, swallowing it with an exaggerated mmmm of enjoyment.
Somewhere in the crowd a single laugh broke out, cut off almost immediately with a loud cough.
Spirits rising, Merlin took advantage of the lull to mutter a few more spells under his breath. The giveaway glow in his eyes and staff seemed to snap the guards out of their dumb shock.
One aimed a bare-fisted punch at Merlin and found himself flying back down the steps, landing in a heap at the bottom. The others tried to follow his lead, and ended up much in the same way. They tried to scramble to their feet… only to discover the ground beneath them had turned into a pit of blueberry jelly. They flailed around trying to escape the sticky viscous gloop, and were not making any significant progress.
There was a definite low rumble of suppressed laughter from the crowd.
Merlin felt absurdly pleased. He was getting the hang of this.
"Come on," he said, for what felt like the tenth time that day, beckoning the slack jawed escapees onwards. But they scarcely crossed half the square when heavy footsteps rang out behind them. A stream of knights poured out of the front gate, with Arthur at their head.
"Halt!" he barked out, "You're under –" just then Arthur's eyes landed on Merlin, and widened to the size of small saucers. "Em-" he cut himself off, clearly thinking better of shouting out the name of a sorcerer he had no business knowing, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "You're under arrest," he finished lamely.
Merlin quirked a bushy white eyebrow. "Oh am I?"
"Yes, you are," said Arthur, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Well you'd best get on with it, then," Merlin rolled his eyes, obscuring their momentary glow, and faked a few coughs. "My rheumatism is acting up again, and I haven't got all day."
"Er - right," Arthur said like he wasn't sure he'd heard right. He took a step forward… and a loud raspberry blew from beneath him.
Arthur froze, and scattered valiant attempts to hold in snickers were heard all across the square. Coloring slightly, Arthur took another step… and a wet honk sounded under his boot. Face now turning a blotchy red in some mix of embarrassment and anger, Arthur half ran down the steps, only slowing to edge along the narrow strip at the bottom of pavement that wasn't now blueberry jelly. It was hard to say which was louder – the various rude noises made every time Arthur or his knights put down a boot, or the laughter of the crowd.
"Enough of this!" A young knight particularly red in the face drew his sword, which immediately began a shrill,
Ninety-nine flaggons of ale on the wall!
Ninety-nine flaggons of ale!
"You might want to sheath that, it'll get quite annoying quite soon."
If one of those flaggons should happen to fall -
Ninety-eight flaggons of ale on the wall!
Ninety-eight flaggons of ale!
Ignoring the swearing and new bursts of shrill singing as the other knights checked their swords, Merlin cast about the square for more ideas … and his eyes fell on a stall of exotic rugs at the fringe of the market.
It was too perfect to pass up.
"Inbringe cume mec." A large sky blue rug flew over, hovering a few feet off the ground. "Íece!" It grew the size of a horse drawn wagon. Merlin stepped on, and turned to the escapees. "Don't be shy now, there's room enough for everybody."
"You're not serious," the boy Urick demanded.
"Perfectly," Merlin said with a winning smile. "Now step lively, young whippersnapper, we'd best be off before the knights grow bored of their new toys."
With a grudging look, Urick hoisted his littlest sister up and climbed on after her, the rest of his family scrambling to join them a heartbeat later. Morgana helped up the elderly couple, then climbed on herself. As though afraid of being left behind, the others hurried to follow.
With an uneasy glance at Morgana – there was going to be hell to pay for her disappearance, he just knew it, but it was far too late to leave her behind now that half the guards had to have seen them together – Merlin raised his staff, "Úpáhefe."
The carpet rose shakily in the air – ten feet, twenty feet, fifty feet – "ástæge norðanwestan" – it turned and started drifting in the direction of the Darkling Woods – "ástæge snellice" – it picked up speed. Cold wind stung Merlin's eyes, but he did not dare shut them. He had never attempted anything remotely like this before, and he was not about to risk flipping over or crashing into a tree.
By the time he spotted the false cave-in, tears were streaming down his face. A few more spells saw them safely on wonderful, firm ground again. One demonstration of how to get in later (and a hair-raising shriek from the grocer's wife when his arm vanished into solid rock) and they were all in the hideaway, the escaped prisoners looking around half in amazement, half in terror.
Merlin cracked a grin. "Welcome to your new home!"
# \ # \ # \ #
Gwen couldn't remember a worse week. Not even when her mother died or she'd been sentenced to the pyre had been so awful.
It had started innocently enough, when her father had given her that dress. If only she'd taken that feeling of foreboding seriously… for where could he have gotten the money for it? If only she'd pressed the issue, made him talk to her - ! But she'd shied away from the confrontation and now he was gone, taken from her suddenly with no chance to say goodbye.
Why did he have to run? His trial had been that morning – he might have gotten off, he might have - ! But he wouldn't have, she knew, he probably did too, that's probably why he had run. That's why she'd headed off to his trial after a sleepless night only to find his body being carted out the square.
Her father dying should have been enough. No person should have to deal with more in their grief. But then Morgana had gotten kidnapped.
Although, 'kidnapped' might not be the best word for it. She'd disappeared with Emrys, after all, along with everyone else who'd been in the dungeons at the time (and it physically hurt to think her father could have been part of that group, if only he'd stayed put another few hours), the rest of whom had been officially declared co-conspirators rather than victims. Nonetheless, after the king had gaoled four knights who'd insisted Morgana hadn't shown any sign of resisting or even being restrained in any way ("he's obviously enchanted her, how dare you slander my ward!"), anybody with half a brain had taken to referring to her as 'kidnapped' even in the safety of their own head.
Whatever the case, Morgana was currently missing, and Gwen was worried for her, out who-knew-where in the wilderness with every knight in Camelot on the hunt. And – it felt selfish to admit it when any number of dreadful things could have happened to Morgana – but more than anything Gwen missed her company. What she wanted, what she needed right now, was to be too busy to think. But her employer was gone, so she had no work. She needed someone to talk to, but her best friend had left, and Merlin had fallen dreadfully sick with some highly contagious disease that had Gaius cordon off his chambers and ban visitors.
Due to Merlin and Morgana's simultaneous absence she was keeping as busy as she could doing odd chores for Arthur (though both of them drew the line at helping him dress or bathe). This turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He'd been surprisingly comforting about her father, despite how difficult such a subject couldn't help but be between them. And he was the one person left she could talk to about what on earth Morgana was thinking, running away with Emrys like that.
"If she's just popped off to have a nice little chat with Mordred, I will kill her," was Arthur's opinion of it all. He was in a foul mood because he no longer had a working sword – or, well, he had a sword that worked, but it also sang the most irritating song Gwen could think of any time it was out of its sheath.
Actually, the knights were all in a bit of a bind, as about three dozen of their swords had either turned into loaves of bread or been bewitched to sing horribly. And Gwen was not goodhearted or forgiving enough to tell the king she knew how to work her father's forge; it was his own damn fault he didn't have a blacksmith.
Even if she was, though, she didn't think she could bear to step into the smithy – she couldn't even step into her house, not after last night.
"Tauren attacked you in your home?" Arthur repeated quietly, hand automatically drifting to where he normally kept a sword – forgetting he wasn't wearing one, there being too few left to spare for someone off duty. "And he wants you to bring him a stone?"
Gwen nodded. It had been hard to approach Arthur with this, but who else did she have left? She'd go mad if she didn't talk to someone, no matter how afraid she was that Tauren would kill her for reporting him. He'd got into her home – what if he were here, now, listening? If he knew she'd told the prince…
Gwen shuddered. "Yes, only I don't know what he's talking about. I don't know anything about a stone. How am I …" she cut off at hearing a hitch in her voice. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some dignity. "What I mean is, you wouldn't have any reports on anything like that, would you?"
"No," said Arthur, rising from his chair. "But Gaius might know something."
Twenty minutes later saw them seated across from Gaius at his ever cluttered workbench, watching him flip through pages of a musty old tome.
"Here," he said, turning the book so they could see an illustration of what looked like a very large gem. "The Mage Stone, wonder of the ancients. Lost for a thousand years or more. Said to give the bearer the power to alter the very essence of things. To be able to turn any metal to gold."
Gwen's hands trembled, not with fear, or lack of sleep, but fury. Tauren and his damn gold - the gold that had cost her her father.
Arthur looked like he was restraining himself from kicking something. In a tight voice, he asked, "And this stone? Where is it now?"
"Tauren would have had to have it with him when he met Tom. If he lost it as he fled, then I supposed he'd come back to search for it and – upon not finding it – assume someone had taken it." Gaius' eyes strayed to Gwen's.
"I don't have it," she said shortly.
"I'm not saying you do," he replied evenly. "But do you know who else has been to your house in the last few days?"
She thought for a minute. "There was you and Merlin, Old Mrs Thatcher dropped by to see how I was, same with Natasha from the kitchens and Beatrice from the laundry… Morgana said she came while I was out… and then there was Mr and Mrs Cobbler from down the street and Mary from next door… the guards, of course…"
Arthur rose with a purposeful look. "I'll ask around, see if any of my men remember it."
"Thank you," Gwen nodded, rising as well. Perhaps one of her friends had picked it up? It seemed unlikely, she couldn't think why they would… but she might as well make a few visits, just in case.
# \ # \ # \ #
"I see something!" a pair of muddied leather boots raced over the dew-laden forest floor, the metal srhk of a sword being drawn punctuating his exclamation.
"Where?" a cleaner pair of boots entered the scene, nearly tripping over a stray log in their scurry over. The boots' owner cleared the hurdle and turned in the same direction as his colleague, his red cape catching on a twig. Then he stopped short, "You idiot, that's just a rock!"
"I saw movement," the first man insisted, but the muddy boots scuffed the ground, almost sheepishly.
"Of course you did," his friend scoffed, red cape swishing as he turned away. The muddy boots trailed after him, dragging in their steps. "Way you were drinking last night, it's a wonder that's all you're seeing."
"I'm perfectly sober! Even if I have got the mother of all hang-overs …"
"Is that supposed to convince me? Here we are, working night and day to catch these criminals, literally needing every sword we've got… but what do you care, so long as it's Tipsy Tuesday?"
"I stopped drinking at least four hours ago!" the man with the muddy boots protested, catching up to his colleague's angry strides at a half-jog. "I even got in two hours of sleep, what more could you ask for!"
"What more could I ask for?" the second knight rounded on the first, who cringed back as his colleague swelled like an angry bullfrog. His muddy boots fell a half-step behind, instinctively flinching away from the tirade he'd provoked.
The raised voices could be heard long after the two pairs of boots disappeared into the trees. When she could no longer make out the bickering, Morgana released a breath and crawled out from under the rock.
She'd been checking the rabbit traps when Sir Muddy Boots almost caught her. Although it was a risky chore made riskier by the knights' familiarity with her face, it was also one of the few useful tasks she could do, having been gently asked to leave the cooking to others from now on, and similarly requested not to attempt laundry again. She'd never realized how much she'd taken Gwen for granted until she'd had to fend for herself.
To be honest she had a feeling the only reason the others let her even do something as simple as check traps was because to walk outside the cave they had to wear boots Emrys had enchanted to leave only rabbit prints. And there was a noticeable shortage of volunteers for that.
And so it was Morgana – the most recognizable of the escapees – who'd spent the last day narrowly dodging patrols to liven up the gruel that was all they could make out of Emrys' rations. Emrys himself had brought them more supplies in the form of fresh vegetables, which oddly consisted mostly of tomatoes and potatoes – two items impossible to get anywhere other than the Lower Town market, and even then the price was none too cheap. Emrys wouldn't say where he lived, but Morgana was far from the only one entertaining the thought that it might be closer than one would think.
They'd been waiting on Emrys to bring them soap, actually, so when Morgana walked through the illusionary rockfall and saw the sorcerer in question, she was hardly surprised.
"Emrys," she greeted in delight, depositing three dead rabbits on the large flat rock by the cooking pot. The grocer's wife, who was on dinner duty that day, didn't seem to even notice. She gripped the skinning knife so hard her knuckles were turning white, but it was Emrys her eyes were fixed on.
Emrys didn't return her greeting though. He seemed to be doing a silent head count, and once he'd reached the leftmost person he began,
"I came to ask if any of you know anything about a stone Tauren was carrying with him."
The others went cold at the mention of the man who'd got them all arrested. Morgana went cold for a different reason: a stone.
The rebel leader had had a stone.
Perhaps a red one… one that hummed, tingled at your senses, called you…
"Why?" demanded the innkeeper frostily, drawing her out of her thoughts.
"Because he's threatening to kill the blacksmith's daughter if she doesn't turn it over to him by midnight tomorrow."
Morgana felt like she'd been punched in the gut, her dream coming back to her…
A rugged man in dark garb twisted Gwen's arm behind her back, slapping a hand over her mouth to smother her scream.
"Where is it?" he hissed in her ear, lowering his hand to a chokehold around her throat.
Gwen was terrified. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He shook her. "I want the stone!"
"Please… I don't know anything about a -"
The man's hand tightened…
"No," Morgana whispered, and all eyes turned to her. "No, I won't let him!"
She couldn't fail Gwen. Not again.
"And how do you propose to stop that beast?" the grocer's wife asked caustically. "I don't know about you, but I didn't see no stone. All I did was sell the bastard some bread and cheese, and now look at me!" A murmur of agreement went through the cave. "All because that sorcerer just had to get caught plotting with the blacksmith!"
The innkeeper frowned. "We don't know the blacksmith meant to -"
"Did Tauren pay you in gold?"
"Well, no, but – "
"I thought so!"
Morgana rounded on the woman, swelling in fury at her slanderous assumptions, but before she could lay into her Emrys interceded.
"This isn't helping," Emrys said firmly. "The blacksmith has already paid a far steeper price than he deserved – steeper than yours. What we need to focus on is saving who we can now – Gwen. Now, has anyone seen this rock?"
One by one they all denied it. Morgana held her silence, until Emrys turned to her.
"And you, my lady?"
The cave full of eyes, still burning with anger against Tauren and everything to do with him, turned to her.
Morgana swallowed. "Of course not."
Mrs Mason stood up and faced Emrys, hands on her hips. "Well of course Her Ladyship didn't – she doesn't have anything to do with this!" a round of agreement rose from all around. "Shame on you for even asking! Now, will you stop fretting about rocks, and fret more about getting us out of this wretched cave."
Emrys looked worn. "It's not that easy. The king has ordered too many patrols for the rescue of the Lady Morgana. You'd never reach the border without getting caught by one."
"Rescue me?" Morgana scoffed, her wrists burning where the manacles had been clamped. Where Uther had ordered them clamped.
You have sentenced yourself here - and here you will remain, until you learn your lesson.
Then release me because I've learned it already! That you care not for me, or anyone but yourself! That you're driven mad with power! That you're a tyrant!
"Rescue me?" she repeated. "He's the one who threw me in gaol in the first place! And now I'm free he wants to rescue me?"
She was trembling with fury. "How like him," she spat. "To rescue me just to lock me back up!"
A strange look came over Emrys' face. "The guards have been ordered to prioritize your wellbeing above all else - Uther even told them if it came down to a matter of saving you or killing me, they were to save you. He swore not to stop the search until you're brought back, safe and sound."
Morgana didn't know what to think. Uther cared for her enough to risk a sorcerer slipping away … but he'd thrown her in chains just for questioning him.
Mrs Cobbler interrupted. "It's great the king'll welcome the lady back with open arms, but the same is hardly true for us."
"Indeed. You need to lie low until Uther gives up the pursuit."
"You just said he wouldn't stop until the lady returns."
Once again, every eye in the cave turned to Morgana. She swallowed.
"You're certain Uther has no hidden intentions towards me?"
If she had her way, she'd never go back to living under that madman's roof, at the mercy of his whim… but she was putting these people in danger by staying here, besides which…
She needed to get her hands on the stone in her chambers, before midnight tomorrow. There was something she needed to do.
"I'm certain."
"Then take me back."
/**
To Kill the King revolves around the already-covered conundrum of whether killing Uther will really help Camelot. But my Merlin's been there and angsted about that, so I had planned to cut it short and start Le Morte d'Arthur early, but then I was reading the transcript and remembered that Uther also arrested anyone who 'harboured' Tauren. I was extremely pissed at the time because I knew after three angsty chapters of questioning his decision to save Uther that Merlin wouldn't let him kill innocent people, which meant I had to actually write a full chapter where he rescues them.
Then I ran into the problem that Morgana was being held in the dungeons and Merlin wouldn't just leave her chained up down there. I tried to have her stay behind but Morgana point-blank refused to obey, which meant I now had her in a random cave in the Darkling Woods when the plot required her to be in Camelot. So some of the character's frustration with Morgana is actually my own, for making writing this that much more difficult.
And then it became a two chapter plot and it's not until next chapter that we'll get to the only thing that was actually in my original chapter outline. Thanks, Morgana. (I'm only being half-sarcastic – after finishing these chapters I do like how they turned out and wouldn't cut them for the world. But I am bitter at having to rework them from scratch because of one freaking character throwing a hissy fit anytime I tried to "but the plot says you must"-ify her.)
**/