6.
Merilinn pulled the boy into Morgan's chambers expecting - hoping - to find Jens alone. Instead, she found Lord Morgan just turning to say something to Jens, a smile on both their faces, smiles which faded when they saw her.
"For God's sake, Merilinn," Morgan said, an affronted frown beginning on his face, "this is hardly - " he stopped abruptly when he saw the boy, indignation fading into shock. "Merilinn, what is this?"
He had no sooner spoken when the alarm bells began to peal. "I...I had nowhere else to take him," she said desperately, eyes darting from one man to the other. "The guards are after him and I...I couldn't do nothing."
Morgan sprang into action, decision clearly made. "Get behind here," he ordered, indicating a curtained alcove. Merilinn concealed herself and the boy quickly before Morgan opened the door to halt a passing guard. "Report," he snapped.
Merilinn heard bits and pieces of the guard's reply. "Runaway fugitive...king's orders...sorcery." The boy went slack against her, losing the battle to blood loss and fatigue.
"Very well," she heard Morgan say, "I shall be there presently."
Of course. The captain of Camelot's knights would need to be involved in any search for a wanted fugitive. And she'd taken the wanted fugitive right to his chambers, put them all in the most dangerous position possible. Ye gods, was there any idiocy she wasn't capable of?
The curtain was thrown back, revealing Morgan and Jens. "We'll make up a bed for him here," Morgan said, voice taut with some barely-concealed emotion.
Jens collected spare linens and pillows and helped Merilinn settle the boy onto the makeshift pallet. Morgan watched the action of the guards down in the courtyard, then suddenly spun on his heel with a frustrated sound that was almost a growl. Jens and Merilinn both turned to look at him, alarmed.
"Behold how King Uther protects the realm from the dangers which plague it," he said, sweeping his arm in a gesture that encompassed both the boy and the guards outside. "Even unto the likes of injured children! I am certain we all feel so very much safer." He paced like a caged thing while Jens and Merilinn exchanged startled glances; it was almost treason to say such things, and Morgan, captain of the knights, said it in front of two servants. But then, what were words when the three of them were in the very act of protecting a wanted criminal?
Morgan stopped, ran a hand over his face. When he dropped it, he was quite composed. For some reason, the abrupt change in demeanor troubled Merilinn more than his earlier words. "I must go," he said. "Jens, my mail."
Jens hurried to help Morgan into his chain mail and cloak. "See to it that the boy has whatever he needs," Morgan said.
"Yes, my lord," Jens said.
…
"Sire, we have searched the Citadel inside and out. My knights in the lower town have uncovered nothing. It is as if the boy has disappeared without a trace."
The king regarded Morgan narrowly. "You're telling me," he said, "that a wounded boy is able to evade the guards and escape the city? Nonsense. Someone is hiding him."
"Perhaps he really has disappeared without a trace," Ursula suggested. "For all we know, he is capable of such magic." She put her goblet down and leaned forward. "In any case, father, he's only a boy. And we have already made an example of the other Druid."
Morgan turned to her. "Really, Your Highness, I'm surprised at you," he said. It would be different if he meant his formality mockingly, as a joke, but he didn't. "He is a Druid himself, and therefore very dangerous. He and others like him would see the kingdom stripped to bedrock."
Ursula's eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline; a biting response was on the tip of her tongue, but her father nodded. "Quite right," he said. "Keep looking, and do not rest until he is found. Anyone caught harboring him will share the same fate as the boy, is that understood?"
Uther had glanced away to gesture to one of the servants; he did not see Morgan's hand tighten abruptly into a fist. But Ursula did. Her eyes went to Morgan's face, but there was no change in his expression. "Yes, Sire," he murmured, before leaving the dining hall.
Ursula felt troubled. Her father spoke of the capture and execution of this boy as casually as if he were discussing a trade agreement, or some upset among the knights. Surely a person's life-a child's life-was worth more than a wave of the royal hand before moving on to the next item on the agenda. Need the strictures on magic be so...absolute? And in the case of an innocent child, who may not even know any better…
She glanced at her father, who had returned his attention to the meal. She had attended the execution earlier that day, along with Morgan. People of Camelot...the man before you is guilty of using enchantments and magic...under our law, the sentence for this crime is death.
Need that really be the sentence?
It was strange, this line of thought. Her father had been training her for the throne for some time, and even before that Geoffrey and her childhood tutors had made sure she had a thorough grounding in the laws of the land. She understood that it was her duty to uphold these laws, both now and as Queen. Never before had she questioned whether she might…
Might what?
Might change them. Change the laws. Her father's laws.
Your laws, when you're queen, she reminded herself.
The possibility sent a frisson of...excitement, apprehension...fear? down her spine.
"What are you thinking of, Ursula?"
Ursula kept from spilling her wine by mere luck. "I beg your pardon, father," she said. "I was merely woolgathering."
"Well, since you clearly need direction for your thoughts," her father said, "we should discuss the border dispute with Nemeth. Now, Gedref has been a point of contention between our kingdoms for many years, as you know, and - "
Ursula wrenched her attention back to her father's words. But there was still a part of her mind that would not forget, when you're queen…
…
"When you say that Morgan's hiding the Druid boy in his chambers," Gaia said carefully, "I take it that means you're helping him? When you specifically promised me that you would not get involved."
"Gaia...he asked me for help. Begged me. I couldn't do nothing."
"And if you're caught? If Morgan's caught? How can I protect you, Merilinn, if you won't protect yourself?"
"And who does he have to protect him?" Merilinn demanded. "Doesn't he deserve the same help as I have received from you?"
"Does he need help from me?" Gaia asked, sharply. "Is that why you've suddenly told me of this?"
Merilinn's silence was enough answer' Gaia sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She felt...well, she felt old. This girl she'd sworn to Balinor and to herself to guard as her own daughter, around whom swirled power and goodness, this girl who would recklessly bargain away her safety, maybe even her very life, for a stranger because it was the right thing to do, because she couldn't do nothing...
It reminded Gaia of all the times she had done nothing, all the times she'd had no choice but to do nothing. Merilinn had not lived through the Purge as Gaia had, never lived with the knowledge that one misstep on her part, one moment of recklessness, could cost the lives of people she cared about.
Until now, perhaps.
"After I treat this boy," she said, "he leaves Camelot."
"Yes," Merilinn said. "Yes, of course."
"And you are going to apologize to Lord Morgan for the position you've put him in," she continued.
Merilinn nodded.
"And Jens, too."
"Jens, too," Merilinn repeated.
"Four people in the royal household," lamented Gaia. "Ye gods, it's a conspiracy the likes of which even Uther couldn't dream up."
…
He wore dark clothes, plain, a brown ankle-length cloak with a hood provided by Jens. Quietly, almost silently, they got the boy ready, pulling his Druid's cloak tight about him to hide his white shirt, rolling provisions - strips of dried meat, a water skin - into a blanket and tying it with a bit of twine. He'd assigned the guards' routes himself, internally mapping his own route to avoid theirs. There was no reason to believe they wouldn't succeed.
And then after - when the boy had returned to the woods, never to be seen again - after, it was only a matter of dragging the fruitless search out for a few more days, poking a few more hay carts, dredging a few more wells, until even the king had to admit defeat. He'd draw his mouth down and level that steel gaze upon him - for it would be Morgan's fault, of course - and deliver a cutting verdict on Morgan's competency. And that would be that, until the next time His Majesty decided to part a man's head from his shoulders, or light a fire under a woman's feet, or let a child dangle from a gibbet.
He crouched with the child in the shadows, waiting for a pair of stray voices to fade away. Merilinn and Jens had not wanted him to go; had tried to convince him that either of them would be the wiser choice to help the boy escape. But no. "I'm the one with the keys to the door to the armory," he reminded them, "and if I'm caught, I won't be executed. I can't say the same for either of you."
"He said," Jens had pointed out in a low voice, "the king said, whoever was caught helping him would be found guilty of treason."
Morgan had felt a frisson of fear down his spine before he ruthlessly suppressed it. "Let us say, then, that I have the least chance of all present of being executed," he'd said.
Out of Jen's earshot, Merilinn had apologized. "My lord, forgive me. I never meant to put you in such a position," she'd said.
"You only did what I would have done," Morgan had replied, and then hesitated. "You only did what I later would have wished I'd done." He'd let Merilinn realize the compliment he was paying to her courage, and then he and the boy were gone.
They darted across corridors and down stairways, choosing always the path Morgan knew to be less traveled. He was grateful, for once, that the boy seemed to be mute. He wished - he wished he could learn the boy's name, before - but there was no time for wishes and regrets; they'd reached the armory and climbed through the hidden door to the lower town -
- Two cart-lengths away from a troop of guards making their way conscientiously down the street, poking into every nook and cranny. Morgan pulled the boy into the curve of the castle wall. There was absolutely no cover, and no way to get to cover without being seen, not even back the way they'd come. It was mere serendipity that they hadn't been seen exiting onto the street. The shadows hid them for now, but it was only a matter of time - where did those thrice-damned guards come from, anyway? He'd assigned each squad of men search areas far from here - which thrice-damned commander decided to take initiative and bring his men this way, instead?
He looked up. If it was he alone, he might be able to climb; but could the child - ?
The boy suddenly turned, facing him. "Goodbye, Morgan," he said, without moving his lips. Morgan's mind went blank with shock, and by the time he realized what the boy was going to do, it was too late.
"No!"
But the boy darted away from both his fierce whisper and his grasping hand. Morgan reached, desperately trying to drag the boy back into the shadows, away from the guards and their terrible light -
"There! The boy! After him!"
The guards did not even glance at Morgan as they pursued their quarry. Their prey. He wanted to jump out from the shadows and challenge them, fight them off, his own knights, anything to keep the boy from being dragged to the dungeons and killed -
But it was too late, and he knew it was too late; the boy was on the ground, bound and gagged. And he was a coward and a failure, skulking in the shadows of his own home.
…
"Sire, I would speak to you about the Druid boy."
It was the end of open court, and the king was just stepping down from the dias. Ursula stood too, stretching surreptitiously to rid her shoulders of the knots that had formed there over the past few hours. She didn't mind open court, listening to the troubles and disputes and requests of the citizens of Camelot; in fact, she rather liked it - although she did wish her father would invite her opinion sometimes instead of expecting her to absorb the proceedings silently. But ye gods, it was a lot of sitting.
Her father glanced at Morgan as he continued down the steps. "Ah, yes, captured at last," he said. "What about him?"
"I ask that you spare his life. Not pardoned. Just banished."
Both Uther and Ursula turned fully towards Morgan. Ursula could feel the surprise on her own face and saw both surprise and displeasure on the king's. "One of the reasons the Druids are so insidious," he said, "is that they do not respect boundaries. Their shiftless clans wander hither and yon, pledging loyalty to no lord, no king. They are loyal only to sorcery. Banishment would mean nothing to a Druid."
"So then," Morgan said, and Ursula wondered if her father could hear the quiver in his voice, coming from what she could swear was not nerves - not nerves, not from Morgan - but rage? "You intend to execute a child for sorcery, a crime no one has even seen him commit."
The king could perhaps not be blamed for being confused. Was it not two days ago that Morgan was himself saying of the Druids, they would see your father's kingdom stripped to bedrock?
"You forget yourself, Morgan," the king warned. "Camelot's laws must be upheld without exception. The alternative is anarchy and chaos."
"Anarchy and chaos embodied in a ten-year-old boy," Morgan said, voice and manner carefully, ruthlessly calm. "Tell me, Sire, if the Druid man had been holding an infant, would you have murdered it, too? As an alternative to anarchy and chaos."
"Morgan!" Ursula gasped, as the king's puzzled disapproval turned to outrage.
"How dare you speak to me in the manner?" Uther growled, brow lowered, eyes glittering in anger. "If you do not wish to join the boy in the dungeons, you will apologize at once!"
Morgan bowed, managing somehow to make the action disrespectful. "Sire, if you intend to go through with this execution, you will not find me here. Sir Leon shall take charge of the knights effective immediately. I shall ride for Tintagel before the day is out."
Ursula stepped forward, hand outstretched, as if she were not too far away to take Morgan by the hem of his crimson cloak and hold him before he turned his back on the king. But she was not close enough, and as Morgan began to turn away, she saw from the corner of her eye that her father had cast away his outrage and in the blink of an eye become not the affronted parent but the wronged monarch.
"My lord of Tintagel," he said, "turn and face your king."
No one, no matter how angry or how righteous, ignored Uther when he used this tone, and Morgan turned. Ursula's eyes jumped from him to her father, who had never used Morgan's title to address him before.
"If I find that you have ridden for your lands without my express permission, I shall have you pursued and brought back here like a wayward child. Your lands and title shall then be forfeit to me and your birthright stripped. Have I made myself clear, Lord Morgan?"
Morgan's face was bone-white; every muscle in his jaw stood out. Uther approached him inexorably, without haste. "I asked you a question, sir. Have I made myself clear?"
For a heartbeat, Ursula thought Morgan truly would not answer. Then, in a voice like the scrape of iron on stone, "Yes, Sire."
"You will leave my presence," Uther said, "and you will not return until you are willing to offer such apologies as I will believe. Get out."
A ringing, terrible silence, and then Morgan turned on his heel and left the hall, not as as chastened child but as a knight on a mission, great strides eating up the floor. The heavy oak door shut behind him and when the last echo had faded Ursula turned to her father, who had not moved from watching Morgan go. His expression was unreadable.
Ursula approached him quietly. This must be handled perfectly, or she would risk the king's anger transferring to her. "Father," she said, "Disrespect notwithstanding, Morgan is right that the child has not been observed to practice magic."
Her father swung around to face her. "How many times must I repeat myself? There can be no mercy in these matters, Ursula. I cannot claim to know what foolish ideas have gotten into Morgan's head, but I will not hear you echo them."
Ursula repressed a frown, noting that her father had not answered her objection. "I have no wish to displease you, father," she said. "But if there is a chance the child could be innocent of sorcery - "
"He is not!" Uther shouted. "He is not innocent, Ursula, no Druid is! Do you think it brings me pleasure to cause this boy's death?"
Ursula met his gaze, held it a long moment. "I do not know," she said at last.
…
"Lord Morgan. Did he come this way?"
"Yes, Your Highness, I think he was goin' up."
Up to the battlements. Of course. Ursula acknowledged the servant boy with a nod, then picked up her skirts and climbed. And climbed, and climbed. If she knew Morgan at all - though lately she wondered how much she really did - he'd be at the very top of the castle.
She hesitated when she saw him. She had not allowed herself to be alone with him - in any proximity to him - since he'd asked the king for her hand. The air between them remained uncleared, and she was still angry - not as angry as she was, but still angry.
His back was to her and he was staring over the parapet at the countryside beyond. He stood not like a chastened child but like a knight, stance wide, hands on his hips. He'd taken off his red cloak; it hung bundled over one arm. She saw his back rise as if to draw a deep breath, then a minute flinch and one hand pressed suddenly to his side as the other reached out to grasp the battlement.
She moved before she thought. "Morgan!"
He turned slightly, acknowledging her without actually looking at her.
"Are you injured?" She wouldn't have been surprised. What with one thing and another, Morgan had been a demon on the training field, working the knights hard and himself harder.
"I'm fine." He kept his eyes on the great green land below.
Ursula felt like tearing out her hair. She leaned against the battlement next to him. "Morgan, what are you doing?"
"I am gazing over the great domain of Camelot," Morgan said, and Ursula winced to hear the bitterness in his voice. "Is it not peaceful? Prosperous? A veritable utopia, truly."
"Stop," Ursula snapped. "Just stop, Morgan." She angled herself to try to see his face better. It was drawn, weary, shadowed in a way that had little to do with the bright sunlight. "The way you just spoke to my father. What good did you possibly imagine it would do to bring his ire upon you? What were you hoping to accomplish?"
"The king has shown himself unable to listen to reason in these matters," Morgan said coldly.
"And you supposed he'd be convinced by gross disrespect and insubordination? Morgan, what's gotten into you?"
"What's gotten into me? Ursula, look around. Look at your future kingdom. It looks beautiful from up here, but it's rotten to the core. While we stand here in the air and the sunshine, a frightened child is cowering in the dungeons, waiting for his death. And you're going to stand there and ask me what's gotten into me?"
Ursula was aghast to see Morgan's eyes go bright as he spoke. She hadn't seen Morgan cry since - when had she ever seen Morgan cry? When they were very small children together, perhaps.
"Can't you see your way clear to do anything?" he continued, and there was something like despair in his voice.
"What is it exactly that you wish me to do?" Ursula protested, stricken. "I can't go against my father's wishes in this, Morgan, and you yourself just said he won't listen to reason."
"You could free him from the dungeons," Morgan said.
When Ursula merely stared, unable to think of a response, he pressed, "I'll give you my keys. You can send the guards on some pretext. I'd do it myself, but if I was caught anywhere near the dungeons, I don't believe the king would stop at stripping me of my title."
Ursula caught her breath, realization dawning. "It was you," she breathed. "You were the one who hid the boy!"
Morgan looked at her; his expression gave her the answer she needed. "In your own chambers, too, wasn't it-who would think to look there? And the lies you fed my father-!"
Morgan turned, took Ursula by the shoulders. "You need to think very hard, Ursula-think about the kind of queen you want to be one day. Are you going to be the kind of ruler who hides behind the customs and the laws while innocents shed their blood in the courtyard?"
"It's treason," Ursula hissed.
"It's the right thing to do," Morgan said.
Ursula shook herself free of Morgan's grasp, turned to look back out over the battlements. "All right," she said, forcing the words out between her lips. "All right. I'll do it. But we need a plan. My father can never know, or even suspect, or things will be worse not just for us but for others like that boy."
"Your Highness?"
The words came from a cautious distance behind them. "Merilinn, does this look like a public conversation?" Ursula asked, with exaggerated patience.
"Beg pardon," Merilinn said, eyes shifting to Morgan and back again, "only the king has the whole castle looking for you. Something to do with the party from Elmet…?"
Which wasn't due to arrive until the following week. Her father wanted her mind off the Druid boy, and she wouldn't put it past him to try to keep her from speaking to Morgan til the child was dead.
"We'll talk later," Morgan said, not trying to keep his voice down. When Ursula tried to give him a quelling look, he said matter-of-factly, "I trust Merilinn."
And just like that, Ursula knew that whatever had happened in the past few days, whatever secrets had been kept, Merilinn had been right in the thick of it-as usual.
…
"The reason I ignore your counsel is because I don't like you and your advice is confusing!" Merilinn cried.
The Dragon threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. "Confusing, is it?" he rumbled. "Then let me be very clear. If the boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny."
"Oh," Merilinn said, "thank you. That's very helpful. So, if I don't let a little boy die, I won't be protecting Ursula."
"You seem to have drawn the conclusion very well for such confusing counsel," the dragon said.
Merilinn gaped at him, then shook herself. Do no evil, her father said. "Just to make sure I understand," she said, "that little boy is going to kill Ursula."
"That depends," the dragon said.
"Depends on what?"
"You."
Revulsion welled up inside her as she gazed up at the dragon, his eyes glowing amber, the torchlight reflecting off a thousand thousand golden scales. Do no evil. "No!" She cried, backing up, putting distance between herself and the dragon. "You talk about my destiny as if it's the answer to all questions, the summit of all things. Well, it isn't! It isn't worth innocent blood. It isn't worth my soul!"
Merilinn fled, unwilling to hear the dragon's response. But as she sprinted up the passage she could still hear him rumbling behind her: "Is Ursula's death something you can bear to have upon your soul?"
Do no evil. Help those who need it. But turn the words sideways and the words could easily be interpreted to mean do not allow a future evil, with Ursula the one in need of help.
In that possible future. In that maybe-time, that hazy land of not-yet-come-to-pass.
And in the present, an innocent child's blood was about to be spilt.
…
Morgan did not allow himself to pause when he got to the heavy oak doors leading to the dining hall. He nodded to the guards, who opened them, and stopped only when he reached the foot of the table.
Uther looked up from his dinner and regarded him narrowly, taking in Morgan's black tunic emblazoned with a white boar, the emblem of the house of Gorlois of Tintagel, without expression.
Morgan bowed. "Sire," he said, "my disrespect earlier today was inexcusable. Nevertheless, I humbly beg that you excuse me anyway. It is not my place to question the laws of Camelot, nor your judgments. It is my place merely to uphold them."
There was a silence while Uther studied him. Morgan did not let his eyes drop from the king's. Exhaustion pulled at him, made him feel stretched, dizzy, and he drew in a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that erupted behind his ribs. He used the pain to focus, to steady himself, until the king spoke.
"Very well," Uther said. "I accept your apology. I am sure I need not tell you that such an episode will never happen again."
Morgan bowed again. "Never, Sire," he said, "you have my word." The pain in his chest deepened, spread, stole his breath. He was almost relieved when the king gestured to the chair at his left and said "join me." Relieved because he could sit down at last, not because he would be sitting next to the king while Ursula risked everything to help a prisoner escape. Such a passive role was not in his nature. But this time he had no choice.
…
"We'll meet again, Emrys." The boy spoke the words in her head, turning to fix her with an unnerving, clear-eyed stare. Emrys. A name of prophecy. Her name.
If the boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny.
She watched Ursula ride away with the boy in front of her, riding alone into the forest with the boy who might kill her. Do no evil. Help those who need it.
When did that advice become so confusing?
…
A guard burst into the room when the alarm bells began to ring, and Morgan and the king both rose. "The boy has escaped, Sire, my lord," the guard said, addressing both of them.
"Gather the knights. Death to whomever helped him escape," the king ordered, words clipped with rage. He turned and glared at Morgan. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, I will not spare you," he said.
"I swear to you, Sire" Morgan said, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to lean against the table, "I did not."
Uther made a noise deep in his throat that told Morgan nothing about whether he was believed or not, and turned in a whirl of red cape to stalk after the guard. Morgan sank back into his chair. The room spun with the suddenness of relief and he struggled to quell a burst of unexpected nausea. In a moment he would have to get up, follow the king, take charge of the guards and the knights and make a show-again-of searching for the boy. In a moment.
But for now, an instant's reprieve.
…
"You're quiet," Gaia remarked.
Merilinn looked up from picking at her breakfast. "Do you think destiny means always having to decide between two bad choices?" she asked.
"I think that's an awfully heavy topic for so early in the morning," Gaia said.
Merilinn did not smile. "The dragon is angry with me," she said.
"The Great Dragon is a creature of time and magic," Gaia said. "He does not see things the way we do. It is difficult to understand the importance of a single innocent child when one is looking at the shape of a thousand years."
"Is that the way I should be looking at things?" Merilinn asked.
"You are a young woman of twenty summers," Gaia said, "not a fifteen hundred-year-old dragon. I don't believe you would be able to look at the world that way, even if you wanted to."
"Only," Merilinn said, "it's that name. Emrys." She looked Gaia in the eye. "What it means."
Emrys. In Latin, Ambrosia. Immortal.
"Eat your breakfast, Merilinn," Gaia said gently.
