Hey, all! Sorry for the long delay. End of summer, my kid is finally in school and things are calming down at last. I can now breathe deeply in the silence of an empty (and soon to be clean) house. Aaaaaaahhhhhh.

Ok, so quick note: As some of you may know, TheHeartofCamelot. com website is no longer :( BUT! In its place has come a new multi-fandom forum site and new story archive. Whimsicalwanderings. net I don't have all my stories up there yet, however, what I do have between chapters 28 and 29 of this story is an "M" rated bonus scene of the wedding night. It is only found through writings. whimsicalwanderings. net This is a way to help promote that site and my stories there (and also to keep the ffnet version firmly in the T rating for those who prefer things a bit less heated).

Check it out, if you're feeling adventurous!

As always, thank you to Wil1969 for the artwork and critical read-through, and to Nance for her great proofreading/line editing. Also, to all you wonderful readers, especially those who take the time to fav, follow, and comment on this story!


"You won't tell anyone?"

The wide-eyed, almost frightened innocence of the young knight had Gwaine questioning his own motives. After the encounter with Osgar, the kid had wandered off while the others were preparing to depart. Gwaine had gone to find him and discovered Mordred stacking rocks. It had been clear that he was leaving a marker for where the sorcerer had fallen. It had been Gwaine's dagger that had dealt the mortal blow, however despite that, Osgar hadn't actually hurt any of them too badly. Well, that wasn't exactly accurate, Gwaine thought as he rubbed the lump on his head. Maybe he could have advanced on the man differently, but all he'd seen at the time was a sorcerer who had killed one of his fellow knights. If he honestly considered the story they'd been told when they'd reached the Eastern Garrison, he had to wonder if Osgar had approached them with the same demand to see the king and just like he had, Ranulf had overreacted.

Snorting softly to himself, he realized that they always overreacted when it came to magic. He only had to remember the reason Merlin wasn't with them to see that.

"Sorcerers aren't allowed marked graves. But, no. I won't tell anyone. So long as you tell me why you're doing it." Maybe he could turn this situation into something favorable and get a bit more information out of the mysterious young man.

Mordred hesitated. He seemed embarrassed to answer the question. "He could have been like me, because I'm a druid…Or my father was, anyway."

"You're a magic user?"

"No, not anymore," Mordred stated immediately. "I wouldn't betray the king like that."

"So, Arthur doesn't know," the older knight concluded.

"He knows."

Gwaine's brow furrowed. Something wasn't adding up. Arthur would never willingly enlist a magic user to be a knight. He might have accepted druids as a peaceful people and given them leeway in his kingdom, but it still didn't make sense — especially after the tantrum he threw over Merlin's family history — that Arthur would personally train one. He wondered if that was part of the reason Merlin was concerned, that perhaps Mordred had cast some sort of charm on the king to get in his good graces.

"I was barely nine years old when I accompanied my father into the market in Camelot to trade some herbs. The buyer had betrayed my father, though. He was caught by the guards and executed. I managed to escape, but was injured. Merlin…" He cringed and seemed to catch himself.

"I know about Merlin."

Mordred's eyes widened in shock. "Is that why he's…?"

"Something like that." Gwaine wasn't about to admit to anything outright, but a little bit of inference went a long way with the impressionable young man.

The boy breathed a little easier. "Merlin helped take care of my wound, while Morgana hid me. Then, Arthur found out and helped me escape."

Gwaine sucked in his bottom lip and chewed on it a bit. It explained why the king had a rapport with the boy who had saved his life in Ismere. Mordred was returning the favor. A life for a life. Unless it was all some sort of elaborate setup. By the gods, what had he gotten himself into when he promised Merlin to keep an eye on Arthur and the kid? It might have been easier to swallow if he had a strong drink to wash it down.

"Speaking of Arthur, we should get back." Gwaine turned and headed back to where the others waited. He couldn't wait to get back to Camelot where he'd tell the king to shove it for a few days while he went to see Merlin. There was so much more to it all and if he was going to continue to help, he needed to know everything.


There was a stillness in the forest, as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for him to do something. What could he do? He'd grown up hating magic and everything it stood for. He didn't want to, but then people like Osgar would appear and solidify his father's teachings. He turned the golden disk over in his hands, carefully searching the markings for anything that made sense. Nothing did. Not the piece of gold in his hands, not the situation with the man who had been his best friend, not the reason one of his boyhood companions had been killed. His father, his sister, his mother…

Sometimes Arthur wondered what he was fighting for. Each time he thought he'd been making progress in stepping out of the long shadow cast by his father, he found that his father's influence was still there; still forcing him to combat the ghosts that haunted Camelot. How far back did they go? How old were those lingering spirits?

An owl hooted somewhere off in the distance, its haunting call tormenting him as he kept watch with his men. The sound was drawn out and lonesome.

Uther would have brought servants and a tent for himself, ordering those around him to keep guard and maintain the perimeter of the camp. Arthur wasn't like that. He wanted to be one of his men; to be accepted as more than just their liege. He wondered if he would have noticed more if he had kept himself aloof, as his father had done. But, had he followed his father's example, Arthur would have missed so much. He might not have fallen in love with Guinevere, nor granted knighthood to common men. His eyes scanned the camp. Leon stood on watch on the opposite side. He was the only knight born of nobility who always accompanied Arthur. The rest of his core group was made up of a blacksmith, a farmer, a drunk, and now, perhaps, a druid.

They were good fighters and loyal men, many of whom had trained together most of their lives. How had he come to inspire such loyalty from such men? His father had motivated by fear, ruling his subjects with an iron grip, and it had turned on him; creating dissension and chaos that followed Uther throughout his years. How long would Uther's deeds, good or bad, follow him? Arthur wondered.

The moon began to drop into the west. It would only be a few hours until the sun rose, and Arthur had already been up most of the night. He was actually running on less sleep than normal since the day after the feast in Nemeth. Guinevere and Gaius had both helped to ease his fears when it came to Merlin's overall intention, but he couldn't stop the internal fight that raged on over the issue of magic. Was it good? Was it evil? Was it simply a tool? The biggest question still lingered, and Arthur was no closer to an answer.

The entire patrol to capture Osgar had felt wrong from the start, even though he'd done everything he could to try and distract himself. He'd mentally cursed Merlin for having kept so many secrets. After all that he had gone through, he still couldn't rid himself of the feelings of betrayal. Not because Merlin had magic or even that he was a Dragon Lord. The thing that caused Arthur's heart to wrench the most was that time and time again, Merlin had appeared to side with Uther on the position of magic. How could he trust someone who couldn't even be true to himself?

Arthur could look into a mirror and know the man gazing back at him. He'd never been good at lying. He knew how and when to keep key pieces of information to himself, or when to twist them slightly for the betterment of his kingdom. He always looked for the best in people and held them to a high level of expectation that they would be just as honest with him. That was what truly hurt the worst. He knew that others weren't like him, but he'd never expected it out of someone like Merlin.

Turning the coin over once more before stuffing it into his pocket, Arthur wondered what Merlin would think of this judgment. Before being exposed for what he really was, Arthur was certain Merlin would have fallen back on the same actions of self-preservation. Merlin's own skewed logic leading him to believe that he was protecting Arthur by doing it. But, what would he do now? It wasn't as if he could hide who he was any longer. That ship had sailed the moment King Rodor had begun his interrogation. Arthur had always assumed that Merlin was like him, wearing his heart and soul on his sleeve for the world to see. He didn't know now how much of it had been an act. What would it take for the man Arthur once trusted more than anyone else to be honest to not only Arthur but to himself as well?