BEYOND THE LIES

"I'm doing this as a favour"

"Don't worry, I promise to go easy on you. After all, being younger and the prince, it would be improper if I hurt you."

"You shouldn't, I won't go easy on you like I did this morning." He was standing across from her in the courtyard, warily watching her trouser clad frame as she took in his warning with a smirk and a tilt of her head.

"You were going easy on me when I dropped you on your arse?"

"You're a girl, I didn't want to hurt you."

"How chivalrous."

"But now I know you're actually a troll" There was a pleasant feeling of vindication when she balked at his words, for once falling short of being that annoying girl that lived in his castle.

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me" He taunted. "That is why you were kissing Lian yesterday right? He looks just like troll too!"

"You…"

"It's truth what they say about being attracted to our equals"

"You little brat!" She came at him, her training sword coming on his side and vibrating through his own wooden blade. Laughing, Arthur stepped back, quickly countering her blows and going on the offensive. He knew now not to underestimate her, so he tried to end it quickly.

For an instant he saw her eyes widening at his attack and he felt her struggling to defend from his blade, dancing out of his reach with her chest heaving. Grinning, Arthur pressed, barely stopping in time when her weapon whistled in front of his nose. Despite being confident that she wouldn't really try to cause him harm, he was still embarrassed from the yelp that escaped him.

"Tired?" Morgana asked.

He tightened his grip on the practice blade, feeling his muscles moving to raise it in the basic stance Sir Leon had taught him. The led filled wood was as heavy as a real blade, and the weight was actually a comfort as he blew a raspberry her way.

Morgana blinked, he wasn't sure if surprised or offended, and he didn't get time to find out as she cried out and came at him. She surprised him not by rushing him with her sword but her body, startling when he felt her pushing with such a force that he was thrown to the muddy ground. Cold and moist seeped into his clothes as his scream faded, his chest heaving as he blinked towards the night sky, the moon smirking down at the fallen prince.

"What the…" Her laughter slowly became clear to his shocked senses, a series of giggles she didn't bother to hide as she touched the round end of her practice weapon to his gut. "You cheated!"

"I never cheated you stupid!" She leaned over, raising her eyebrows all magnanimous. "When you're fighting, your whole body is fighting. It's not my fault you can only think of your sword" Her eyes darted to his weapon, lying on the ground. "Although stick is more like it."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her smug attitude, his annoyance returning. He looked from the wooden sword to her face, so different from the sad girl his father forbid coming to practice again. Then he smirked, grabbed the stick, as she called it, and pulled her down on him. Finally, those stupid green eyes widened in surprise and Morgana shrieked, batting him away as they fell on a storm of limbs and something that slowly morphed into laughter as he threw mud on her face and she pulled off his collar to drop some into his clothes.

Amidst the confusion, somehow, he found himself on his back with Morgana once more looking down on him, smiling. It was, he would realise later, the first time he saw her smiling, a real smile, not a mocking grin or a forced expression, but something real and beautiful, a joy that irradiated into his being and made him eager to see more of it. At the same time, a sound like snapping chains resounded inside his heart. I won, he wanted to say, to see if she would argue again. In instants this uncanny space they found themselves in would vanish, but just as he thought about that her eyes widened in surprise. The smile disappeared. As Morgana froze over him, Arthur frowned, opening his mouth to question her with a silenced voice. He couldn't talk! He shouted and yet no sound could be heard, he tried to move but his limbs were stone and heavy. Then, finally, he felt it, something warm spreading through his hand, the iron smell that reached his nostrils. Morgana's mouth opened, but instead of words there was a blotch of crimson running down her chin. She was falling away from him, her hands clutching her middle while his sword remained on his hand. Steel, not wood. Red steel… Red, red, red…

Pendragon.

The scream teared out of him like a chained beast.

Limbs flaying, he struck at the ghosts around him, sheets flying as he sought the target of his suffering, only to realize his reality was empty and dark and the realm of his dreams could not touch it. Under him there was a soft mattress and pillows, not hard ground. Before his eyes there were covers and furs and not the bleeding body of Morgana.

Someone was knocking on his door as well, and he idly asked about it, only for his voice to come out weak and husky. Gulping, he tried again, finally making the sound stop.

"My lord? Are you well? We heard noises."

"It was nothing!" He shouted, perhaps a little too harshly, but when the silenced stretched itself for a while, Arthur was all too glad.

Standing up, the prince moved to the table, taking the jar and gulping mouthfuls of fresh water like a man dying, before the sight of his window called for his gaze. Outside, one of the first nights of spring drew the citadel and the lower town into a blissful slumber. Despite the lingering cold, the promise of warm days lured his people into dreams of fresh harvests and sunny days. Yet, he knew that to be an illusion, like so many other things. In truth, the spring of Camelot promised only war, and men who would leave their homes, perhaps to never return.

Idly, his hand shot out to brush over the cold glass, ignoring the shivers running down his sweaty body. Like the coming days, it felt like winter clung to him as well, frosting over the slowly crumble of his world. Soft blue eyes darted to the scar on his wrist. It was a small thing that perhaps she hadn't managed to heal entirely, or maybe magic couldn't really erase scars. Arthur wasn't sure, but oddly enough he realized he would've liked to ask the question. There were many things he wanted to ask her.

Somewhere along the night his heart seemed to have given itself a knot, lumbering each beat through dams of stone he had built over the years. Suddenly her felt every bit of it, clutching at his chest to fight off the burning behind his eyes. He wouldn't give in to such a weakness, not even in the privacy of his chambers. No, he couldn't. Now, more than ever, more than anything, Arthur needed to be strong, strong like he was thought to be his whole life.

Cursing under his breath, he splashed some water on his face, letting the cold snap him out of it. The knot was still there, pulsing into his chest, but weak now as he moved to the table and the scrolls lying atop of it. Deft fingers brought the candles to life as he looked over letters and numbers, information that had blurred on his mind after the first hours pouring into it. It was still the same thing he had learned that morning, the same thing he learned two days ago.

The only thing that had changed was the tray of food lying by its side. He couldn't remember if it had been Merlin or Gwen who left it there. Given how they had both been trying to squeeze information out of him lately, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if they both brought it together. He knew they were worried of course, and he probably would be too, but the prince couldn't bring himself to reveal what he saw in that cave or what happened between him and Camelot's infamous traitor. Was it shame that kept his mouth shut? Arthur wondered. Or was it the inevitable pull of his fears into reality?

Once more, he looked to the scrolls. If that was the case of his fears, than this would surely bring down the curtains for good, dropping him into a reality he felt not ready to deal with.

That is what you did. He accused her ghost. You took the world and turned every truth into mud, bound to be washed away at a moment's notice. Arthur was raised into a world of honour and duty where a man made his fate with his own hands, but all of the sudden, that wasn't enough. So he read the papers again, glanced at the window and the tray of food, thinking of the simple truth and he could still hold on to.

Suddenly, Arthur realized that he needed to move before he lost the courage. His sword was hanging from the bedpost and he quickly tied it to his waist, noticing with surprise that there was a streak of light now cresting over the horizon. The castle would be waking up by now. Hurriedly he moved the door, only to be surprised by knocking into a pile of twigs in the shape of a boy.

"Merlin!" He cried out as his servant fell on his arse in a moaning heap.

"Oh, god! What the hell?"

"What the hell?" Arthur gritted his teeth. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I was… About to wake you up?"

"Wake me up?"

"Yeah, you know, that thing I do every morning?"

"Right."

"Are you going to help me up?" And there it was, the sheepish smile that was typical of him, a smile he had missed for a while, absent as he reported the state of his men. His men that were hurt battling Morgana. Morgana who… "So?"

"You have two arms and two legs, Merlin. Do it yourself!"

He stepped around Merlin walking briskly down the hallways. The sight of his servant encouraging him further, hurrying his pace. Behind him, he heard Merlin calling out, but he couldn't stop.

"Where are you going?"

"To talk to someone."

"Right now?"

"Yes, Merlin, right now" He climbed a set of stairs, two steps at a time, his servant struggling behind him.

"You're not even dressed!"

"I'm dressed enough." A shirt and pants, that is what he needed all right. His feet were cold though, almost too cold.

"Who are you going to talk to…"

His voice trailed off when they stopped in front of a door, his answer clearly answered. "I want you to wait here, Merlin. Do you understand?"

He didn't wait for a reply, entering before Merlin could try to argue with him. Arthur wouldn't have it, not if this situation could place him in danger.

His uncle was already up and about when Arthur crossed the threshold, with a servant moving around him to tie his dark doublet at his back. The man was surprised to see him, but quickly covered it with a familiar smile that both eased and made Arthur hesitate.

"Sire, what a surprise, I wasn't expecting you."

"Uncle." He stood awkwardly on the side, his eyes running across the rather common chambers. The only difference he saw from any other chambers were the displayed armour and the De Bois flag hanging on the wall which was nothing but a pair of dark wings.

Everyone in the De Bois family had birds as their crests. His mother's own martlet still rested on the brooch he had in his chambers and, not long ago, a white Phoenix was haunting the kingdom with a succession of single combats. His uncles' crest had once been a falcon, Arthur remembered, but these days the symbol that decorated his belt buckle and jewellery was that of a martlet and a phoenix side by side, the meaning never lost to anyone of high birth.

"That should be all boy" Arthur recognized his old servant for an instant as he left, then he was the target of his uncles' interested eyes. He must make for a fretful sight really, with a shirt and trousers and bare feet, he was more a peasant than a prince seeking a proper meeting. "So, to what do I owe this early pleasure? Does it concern our latest counsel meeting? You didn't speak much, but everyone could tell you seemed off, somehow."

"I'm afraid I was unfit for lengthy arguments at the time."

"Aren't we all?" Agravaine turned around - his sword glinting from where it was, tied to his belt - pouring wine into two cups and offering one to Arthur who hesitated. "It's watered down, worry not."

"Of course."

"So?"

Arthur took a long gulp. "You have been of great help since you came here uncle, I really can't say that enough."

"I was only doing my duty."

"No, I mean, yes, but your counsel, your knowledge. You know how to deal with the church, how to deal with the court. I'm really thankful."

"That is only age talking" Agravaine paused, the gentle smirk stabbing Arthur somewhere into his twisted heart. "I did promise your mother I would protect you."

"You did…" His voice broke down into a choking mess at the echo of a dream, when his mother's face stood before him, but that had been a lie as well, another dismantled lie revealing the horror behind it, because that was all that lies could reveal. Suddenly, he half wished the wine wasn't watered, because at that moment he could really use a strong burning in his throat, if only to wake up and ward off a headache he was sure to have coming.

"Arthur?"

"Did you really promised her that?" He caught himself asking, nursing the cup on his hands. He felt Agravaine's presence by his side, but his eyes had strayed to the De Bois crest now, taking in the rich detail of the wings, the craft of the golden thread intertwined to take in the beautiful pattern.

"I did promised your mother that, Arthur, I would never lie about such a thing." His uncle said. "After her marriage it was hard not to miss her. She would always be at court, seeing to her duties as Queen, while Tristan and I, we'd both be running our state, riding out in Uther's wars. Fair to say, growing up together only to be apart for so long, it was tough on us, so when she came to visit us one summer, we were thrilled. Of course, it was in that same visit that she told us about her pregnancy. She made us promise to be good uncles to her son."

"She was that certain I would be a boy?"

"She knew."

Arthur frowned at the cryptic answer, but his uncle offered nothing more. The older man had his lips pursed, his eyes darkening into something somber and brittle that almost made the prince give up on his next question.

"You loved her?"

"Our parents perished very early, Arthur." Agravaine told him. "In some cases that might destroy a family, but the three of us, we grew closer than ever. Did I love your mother? With all my heart, Arthur. I loved both my siblings with all my heart."

Arthur nodded, outside the day was bright and early, birds would be singing and the peasants would begin their day. Bakers would be making bread and smiths would be heating up their forges. Children would play and dogs would run wild, barking to their hearts content. Lovers would snuggle closer trying to steal one more kiss in their beds. Long ago, he had grown closer to someone who lost parents as well didn't he? And Arthur was sure, so sure, that she loved him them.

"Have you any love for me, uncle?" For an instant he was angry at his own question, at how soft and earning he sounded in revealing such a stupid, girly thought. He was supposed to be a man, a king, not a maiden earning for affection. "Have you any love for me at all, given that you would betray me?"

"My prince." His uncle faltered. "Is this a joke?"

"I'm not joking."

"Where did you get this idea from?" Agravaine questioned angrily, pacing back to stare at him in a clear display of indignation. "Did Hector plant these doubts in your mind? I assure you Arthur, that is preposterous! Clearly the work of real traitors"

"I doubt that." The visions were so vivid in his mind, of Camelot burning, his men dying and Agravaine marching through their corpses with a cruel and dishevelled Morgana by his side. "My father never liked you, I never understood that. I thought he was just being father, but…" It was so painful to look back to those days where his uncle's presence was always marked by his father stone hard stares, vigilant, intense.

"Your father is a hard man, there were never doubt about it."

The bitterness didn't escape his notice as much as Agravaine tried to hide it. Arthur wondered if it was always there and only now he was open to see it. "I know you're working for Morgana, uncle."

"My prince…"

"I looked about it, the ledges from De Bois. More than half of the horses bred in your state disappeared, and I found no clue to where they might've gone. Nobody bought them, Camelot requested every and each mount for the coming war, and yet not even half of them came into our possession. Your state also has set its own patrols across the borders, every and each one sent from Camelot to your territories disappeared. It was you, you made them disappear so you could aid Essetir did you not?" His fists were clenched, his knuckles white as he diverted his gaze from the man in front of him. He was another lie. "Tell me the truth uncle."

"Arthur…"

"TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

Something changed on Agravaine's face, his gaze hardened and for a long instant he didn't move. His uncle's lips widened into a bitter smile. He looked down as if lost and then, after meeting the De Bois crest on the wall, he finally spoke. "So you do know, don't you?"

"I wish I didn't"

"Did you tell someone about this?"

Arthur gulped, speaking softly. "So it is truth."

"Did you?"

"You'll be arrested and judged for your crimes, uncle." Arthur forced himself to say, recomposing himself. "I assure you that you'll receive just treatment as it fits your station, and that you'll be free to present any proof of your innocence as you may be able to."

Agravaine laughed, a cruel mocking laugh that sent Arthur reeling back. It sounded almost like Morgana's in those sparks of cruelty he glimpsed in the cave. "I know very well what justice I can expect from Pendragons."

"Uncle."

Agravaine's sword came free with a whimper. "Move aside, Arthur."

"How could you? You promised…"

"I promised her, yes." Agravaine snarled. "I promised her to look after her whelp right before Tristan and I learned the nature of her pregnancy! Before we learned of what your father did…" He hesitated, seeming struggling to reign himself in. "Move... Aside... Arthur!"

Beyond his shock, Arthur managed to shake his head, putting himself in front of the door. "I cannot allow your treason to continue, uncle."

"You can't?"

"In the name of my mother I promise to advocate for mercy…"

"You mother was my sister first!" Agravaine shouted before stopping himself, a bitter chuckle resounding like a hammer hitting an anvil, crashing any hope Arthur had of the man calming down. "Look at you! As if you had any right! You, the abomination Uther made grow inside my sister."

My fault. Arthur thought, numbly, cold. "I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that."

"I'm sorry."

"My lady will have to forgive me, she was supposed to kill you herself." He almost didn't react in time, tripping clumsily to escape the sword that whispered in front of his face. His back hit a column behind him, while his fingers desperately grabbed for his weapon. "Alas, I'll have to end you."

"Uncle, please!"

Arthur sliced blindly, the clash of steel filling his ears and echoing through the chambers. Gritting his teeth, the prince moved the blades together, running his own steel along his uncle's until the older man had no choice but to step back. The reprieve was short lived. Like the warrior Arthur had heard about only in stories, Lord Agravaine was immediately upon him, each slice flourished by anger and advanced fencing. It struck Arthur suddenly that his uncle was not mad beyond reason, the gaze in front of him was cold and calculating through a throng of hatred that he only now saw the depths of.

Had this being there all along?

The thought distracted him, and for a moment he lost all sense of space, knocking his hip on the table. The pain flared, coming out in grunt as he heard the clattering metal and shattering vases on the floor. Something hard and brute hit the side of his face. A door burst open as a familiar voice called out his name in such a raw desperation that it reached him all the way into his bones. Somewhere in the back of his mind Arthur half expected to be dead already, but the mortal blow never came. Instead, years of training moved his arms in a stabbing motion, blindly seeking the enemy where his senses felt him.

Experience made it easy to feel when the steel plunged into flesh.

His uncle's voice made a gargled motion, the echoes of a dream of dying and red. When Arthur turned, his eyes found first his uncle's arm, somehow wrapped around the drapes, and then his face, frozen in clear shock. Sticking to his guts, the sword shook, seeping the red of blood into his dark clothes and over the crest of his belt buckle.

"Arthur?" It was Merlin's voice. "Arthur are you all right?"

"Uncle?" The prince called instead, rushing in to hold the man before he fell down. Desperate eyes searched for his own, and Lord Agravaine's mouth twisted into a crimson grin. "Uncle?"

"Killed… by a Pendragon…" The man said, struggling with every word. "How appropriate…"

"Uncle, don't talk."

The man wasn't listening anymore, his eyes were focused on something else, losing light. "Tristan… Ygraine…"

After his breath ceased and Arthur followed the dying man's gaze, he found the open wings of De Bois on the wall, dark and menacing like the truth behind the lies.

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