Crawls out of a hole * spits out this chapter * crawls back into it
Arthur's Ultimatum
Word came of the punishment to be dealt to the guards who failed in their duty to protect Morgana, and Merlyn stared in horror from a second-floor window as the first of a line was led to the whipping pole. She spun away before the first crack could sound and rushed off to find Arthur; he hadn't been standing beside his father on the balcony.
She burst into his chambers and found him reviewing a report – probably responses from the nearby villages regarding the missing highborn. His head shot up with her loud entrance, but she forewent an apology in lieu of exclaiming, "You cannot let this happen!"
His face revealed his resignation with the confrontation, and he dropped the report on the desk with a sigh before pushing himself to his feet. "The decision is made. It cannot be changed now."
"You are the prince!" she snapped, approaching with fervour. "Can you not talk to your father?"
"The only thing that will save those men is Morgana miraculously returning," Arthur said with finality, turning away from her and picking up a quill. "And since it seems that will not happen in the next ten minutes, those men will have to suffer for their failure."
"They're being lashed and dismissed from their duties like criminals!" she shouted, unable to believe he was being so calm. "They and their families have been shamed; no one will offer them jobs in the city after this!"
"I don't like it either!" he barked, spinning on her and throwing the quill onto the table. It bounced off the wood and clattered to the floor. "But my father will not change his mind. You," he jabbed a finger at her. "Only you can help those men and yet you shift the blame onto me like I'm the one who allowed Morgana to be taken."
"She isn't taken!" Merlyn cried, throwing up her hands. "I didn't know she would do this!"
"And yet you will not tell me anything so I may fix it," he retorted, and Merlyn tucked her chin, unable to argue with his words.
He waved her away dismissively. "Go tend to your steed," he ordered. "Get out of my sight."
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"Hey boy," Merlyn whispered as she entered the royal stalls and Sunstrider gave a soft whicker as he lifted his head over the gate. His neck was still covered in bandages, his lovely, flaxen mane having to be shorn for ease of access, but the critical stage had passed. He would have one wicked scar when it was over – and possibly some stiffness from internal scar tissue – but it had missed his spinal column and any major neck ligaments, so he would not be permanently crippled, thank goodness.
Also, she may have, possibly, used some special healing poultices while changing bandages. But that was neither here nor there.
He nuzzled her hair then rested his heavy head upon her shoulder. She grunted at the unexpected weight and a familiar, gentle voice said from behind her, "He's been hanging out for your visit all day."
Awkwardly, Merlyn turned her head to smile at the royal stableboy over the stallion's nose. "Hello Tyr," she greeted, stroking a palm over Sunstrider's eyes. "How are you?"
He smiled in his nervous way, eyes flitting to and from her face. "I'm well," he replied then chuffed a quick, mirthless laugh. "Better if – that –" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the courtyard, "– wasn't happening."
"Yeah," she agreed softly. "I think a lot of people would feel happier if that wasn't happening."
He didn't appear to know how to answer and with a quick wave, he moved back off to tend to one of the King's saddles. Sunstrider shifted his head off her shoulder and sneezed, thankfully missing her torso with his boogers.
"Alright," she said to him, letting herself into his stall and moving to unwrap the bandage. "Let's see how it's going today."
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"Merlyn?" a soft, feminine voice sounded tentatively and disturbed the black-haired girl from where she was bent double, cleaning out Sunstrider's hooves. She released his leg and straightened up, eyes searching for the speaker with a frown on her face.
"Alys?" she said in surprise when she caught sight of the other woman. It was Favian's wife – the gate guard of whom she was friends. The brown-haired woman had tears leaking down her cheeks and a sleeping baby in her arms. Alarms blared in Merlyn's head. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," she sniffled as Merlyn exited the stall quickly to approach the distraught woman. "I wouldn't ask but the Court Physician is going to be busy with all the other wounded…"
"Oh no," Merlyn breathed, realising that Favian must have been on duty the night before.
Alys gave a choked sob, the movement jostling the infant in her arms, who stirred and grumbled in his sleep. "He's in so much pain."
"It's okay," Merlyn said, putting her arm around Alys and turning them towards the door. "Tell me where he is and I will gather a medicine bag."
"He is within our home. He's only just managed to fall into a doze. He didn't… he didn't want me to disturb you – said he deserved it for the Lady Morgana's disappearance but –"
"You did the right thing," Merlyn interrupted, not liking that the kind guard believed he deserved his punishment. "Favian is a good man; if anything could have been done to stop Morgana's disappearance, it would have been done. He – nor any of those soldiers – are at fault."
"I wish the King could see it that way," Alys whispered, rocking little Adrian on instinct as they walked.
"I as well," Merlyn murmured back. Arthur said the only way the King would show lenience was if Morgana returned. So that was what Merlyn was going to have to do, whether the noblewoman wanted to return or not.
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Favian was resting peacefully atop his bed once Merlyn had finished, dosed with a pain tonic and muscle relaxant. His back was a mess of raised welts but there were only a few cuts, indicating that the punisher had been sympathetic to the ill-blamed men. The swelling was consistent for the type of abuse he'd received with no abnormal lumps or discolorations to indicate organ damage, so Merlyn felt secure enough to prescribe a simple anaesthetic paste to be applied topically each time the dressing was changed.
"The biggest factor we have to worry about is infection," she told Alys. "Wounds as broad as this, covering so much flesh, are more dangerous simply because there is more area exposed to the environment. But with care and regular check-ups with Gaius, he should have no permanent afflictions. The paste is also an antiseptic, which helps keep the area clean."
"Thank you," Alys said wetly. "I don't know what I would do if I lost Favian. Even now – out of a job, with little Adrian…" the little boy in question was too young to recognise his name but he cooed up at his mother, oblivious to her emotional stress.
"You'll be fine," Merlyn promised, taking the older woman's hand in her own. "This whole thing – it's a huge misunderstanding. In a couple of days' time, it will all be sorted and Favian will be offered his job back… hopefully with a care package from the King in apology."
Alys gave a warbling laugh at the thought.
"I must go," Merlyn said, packing up her tool. "I have an… important errand beyond the city. I will probably not return before tonight, so go directly to Gaius if there are any issues, alright? Excessive heat, swelling or pain, go straight to Gaius."
"Yes," she agreed. "I will. Thank you."
"No need for thanks," she replied, pulling the strap of the medicine bag over her shoulder. "Just look after yourselves."
Merlyn left quickly, marching straight up the thoroughfare to the courtyard and the arch leading to Gaius' chambers. Morgana might not have known the amount of pain she would inflict, but her actions had still been selfish. She knew there would be some sort of repercussions for her vanishing, yet she did it anyway!
If Merlyn wasn't so angry, she might have lamented Morgana's mindset, to have felt the need to flee her home to find peace. But, after dealing with Favian and knowing he was only one of many hurt for the highborn's selfishness, her perception was clouded by the cold clarity of hindsight.
Morgana needed to be found, and she needed to be found now.
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Merlyn cantered out of the main gates upon Hotshot ten minutes later, without so much as a by-your-leave to Arthur. He would never have allowed her to go on her own, and fat chance of Merlyn leading Prince Prejudice to the druids with his current mentality. She would deal with the consequences when Morgana was back in Camelot where she belonged.
"Come on, boy!" she urged the sturdy bay, leaning over his neck to encourage him onwards. "Put your back into it."
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She thundered into the Forest of Ascetir late afternoon with little regard to safety but slowed quickly when she realised she had no idea where in the forest the druids resided. Nor what kind of protection they employed. The forest was fairly rocky and uneven, boulders jutting unexpectedly from the earth while, in some places, it cut away into sharp gullies. It was good terrain for ambushes, particularly in the half-light of approaching dusk.
Hotshot grew nervous, clearly sensing something Merlyn could not, and she swallowed apprehensively as she glanced around the shadow-ridden trunks. What could defend this area that even Camelot's fabled knights refused to venture?
Her steed danced sideways beneath her and she put a steadying hand on his whither before closing her eyes and thinking loudly; Aglain. Can you hear me?
Hotshot snorted loudly in fear and Merlyn's eyes snapped opened to see a peculiar sapling waving amongst the trunks of the trees off to her right. A moment later, it shifted in a way that was not concurrent with the rest of the plant life and she realised it wasn't a sapling at all, but a tail poking up from behind the ridge beside the track. A hard-skinned tail with a barb on the end, curled forward threateningly as it slowly approached. She couldn't see the rest of its body but if that long, armoured limb was its tail, she shuddered to imagine how the rest of it appeared.
"Uh…" she said, eyes dancing over the length of the ridge and finding several more tails peeking from the shrubs, shuffling closer. Aglain? It's Merlyn – Emrys. I'd very appreciate you calling off your, um, guard dogs now.
There was a strange hiss from the creatures and Hotshot let out an uncertain neigh, feet jittering away from the noise. Merlyn raised her hand, prepared to defend herself when a shrill whistle sounded through the trees and the waggling tails paused in their approach. Apologies, Emrys, Aglain said, his soothing tenor rolling through her mind. I expected your arrival, but circumstances delayed me.
Let me guess, she said dryly even though she was unsure if mind-speak portrayed sarcasm. The Lady Morgana has made herself comfortable within your midst.
All are welcome in my camp, he responded, and she spotted a red cloaked figure flitting through the trees to her left, drawing closer with sure steps. A glance to the right showed the barbed tails had all retreated and Hotshot had calmed, though his ears were pricked towards the approaching man.
Aglain stepped onto the leaf-littered path and stopped a short distance away to throw back his hood. He greeted her with a polite smile. "Emrys," he said.
"Aglain," she replied with a dip of her head. "Thank you for the rescue."
She dismounted and shook out her heavy legs, the hard ride having abused her thighs. She patted Hotshot in silent thanks for his effort.
"Come," he said, stepping to the side in encouragement for her to move. "Morgana is with Mordred."
She fell into step beside him and they moved back the way he had come. "How did Morgana find your camp?" she asked curiously.
"It seems Mordred and Morgana organised her translocation prior to your leave yesterday. He snuck from our camp late in the night and guided her back to us."
Merlyn shook her head, annoyance growing at the other woman's deception. Even after words of caution, she had gone ahead and spirited herself away, leaving others to deal with the fallout. She hadn't realised Morgana was that uncaring.
They ventured up a deep, narrow trough that clearly doubled as a rain channel, the erosion exposing tangles of roots from two large trees on either side. They reached the crest of the rocky terrain and spread before them was a series of permanent tents and marquees – and in the middle, beside the main fire pit, was Morgana and Mordred, laughing together as if nothing was wrong.
"Morgana!" she called, her tone unhappy, and the highborn jumped, her head jerking around with an expression like that of a child caught. She stood up, appearance somewhat startling due to the peasant robes taking the place of her usual lavish garments. Her face was clear of any embellishment and her loose hair hung down her back in untidy strands.
"Merlyn!" the highborn said in shock, green eyes darting to Aglain. She approached nervously, Mordred at her heels with his blue gaze meeting Merlyn's unapologetically. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to take you back to Camelot," she said without preamble. Aglain nodded at them both and moved off to tend to other chores, giving them as much privacy as they could with the boy still shadowing Morgana's heels.
The highborn lifted her chin defiantly but the defensive crossing of her arms gave away her guilt. "Then I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. I'm never going back."
"You must –"
"Why?" she challenged, cutting her off. "I don't belong there. I'm not like you, Merlyn, I only want to live in peace. I don't want to hide who I am so I can live in a kingdom that would gleefully watch me burn if they knew who I really was!"
"The King thinks you've been kidnapped!" the black-haired girl snapped back. "Guards have been flogged and dismissed from their posts for failing to notice your passage, and the King is out on a rampage. It will not be too long before he cries sorcery and starts killing innocent people!"
The noblewoman was shocked, her eyes widening and mouth agape, arms falling limply to her sides. "But… I left a note…"
Merlyn's anger drained at Morgana's horror, feeling a similar despair within her own belly.
"He refuses to believe it," she said softly to her friend. "He believes someone entered and forced your hand… the guards, Morgana… their backs…"
Morgana wavered for a long second before Mordred clasped her hand within his own and stepped closer to her side. The older woman shook her head, glancing down at the boy. "I'm sorry. I'm never going back. These are my people. They're like me. I don't feel so alone here."
"You aren't alone in Camelot," Merlyn pleaded, taking her other hand imploringly. "You must return. How long before the King starts hunting magical folk? Accusing innocents of conspiracy?"
"Merlyn…"
"Magic is about thinking of others first," she pushed, hardening her voice. "That is the only way we can be sure we are not stepping into darkness. If you truly wish to embrace Druidry, then you must recognise you cannot stay."
"I only want to be free of Uther's hatred," Morgana whispered, sounding miserable, and Merlyn's heart ached at the tone.
"That time will come, Morgana," she murmured, squeezing her fingers. "The King cannot rule forever. But right now, people are paying for your freedom; Favian, Gregis, Walter, Brom, Henry… just to name a few."
"I… I didn't know Uther would do something like that," she said, looking stricken.
"I know you didn't," Merlyn agreed gently. "But every action has consequences, and sometimes we need to own up to what we've done to begin making amends."
The highborn laughed, a little hysterically. "Uther would have me burned if I revealed what I have done."
"That," said Merlyn slowly. "Is where we can improvise."
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Morgana stood before the King, hands clasped together respectfully, though Merlyn could see the nervous twining of her fingers. King Uther sat on his throne, having retreated there when his ward revealed her tale. His expression was incredulous, one elbow on the armrest so he could rest his forehead against his fingers. To his side but behind his own chair, Arthur stood, gloved hands gripping the high-back tightly. His expression was disbelieving also, but his narrowed gaze darted to Merlyn often, suspicion lingering deeply in the blue orbs.
Merlyn herself, stood by a pillar perpendicular to Morgana's position, trying not to bring attention but also wanting to support the noblewoman in her story. Her own anxiety was beating her insides, the very real fear that Morgana would break script and ruin their chances affording the butterflies in her gut iron wings.
"So…" began the King slowly, lifting his head to stare at Morgana with a frown. "You are telling me this whole incident," he dragged the word out, causing both Merlyn and Morgana to flinch, "was brought about because you wanted to experience a commoner's lifestyle?"
The highborn's lip trembled with nerves but she straightened her shoulders determinedly. "Yes, My Lord," she said. "I… left the letter hoping it would ease your worry… I have felt… constricted recently and…" she shook her head and tucked her chin. "I was being fanciful and foolish, and many people were hurt because of it."
"Indeed," the monarch replied, sitting back so his spine rested against the polished wood. "How did you elude the guards?" Morgana hesitated, and he pressed, "If we have weaknesses in our defences, I would have them remedied."
"I… I snuck out through the secret tunnels," she revealed, knowing not to reveal specifics while among the public. "I circumvented the lower town completely."
The King was stunned and alarmed, pushing himself out of his slouch. "And how did you come by these tunnels?" he demanded, his reaction understandable since they were supposed to be known only by the royal family.
Thankfully, Arthur stepped in, moving around his unused chair to face the King. "I told her, Father," he revealed. "She has been raised beside me like a sister and I worried for her safety after the incident with the gargoyles. So I told her of the tunnels for if she ever needed them."
That was a lie. Morgana knew of them because Arthur smuggled Mordred down them when the boy was to be executed, and she must have deduced their path from where she saw the exit. But it was a plausible lie, and the King accepted it without censure, though his features were tense.
"Well, I am glad you are safe," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "I would not have stopped until you were found."
Morgana's smiled was forced and she said, "And I'm sure those poor guards will be reinstated. It hurts me that they suffered such punishment for my follies."
"Of course," the King said dismissively, waving his hand at a guard by the door. The man scurried off, Merlyn guessed to inform the lashed men of their cleansed records and, hopefully, offer an apology. "Dine with me. I wish to hear of your… escapade as a commoner. The Council is dismissed."
Merlyn shot Morgana a thankful smile when the other woman met her eyes, but the gesture wasn't returned, the highborn clearly heartsore over the events. Morgana felt everything deeply, and having the chance for freedom essentially ripped away had to sting.
The King arose and approached Morgana, taking her hands within his own; Merlyn turned away, leaving them to reunite in privacy. The worst of the confrontation was over, but the black-haired girl was unable to release the tension coiled in her shoulders; there were still so many things that could go wrong. Morgana was an unwilling participant and that leant a little bit of recklessness to her thoughts; who knew if she might decide to throw down a gauntlet and challenge the King for his laws. To oppose injustice loudly and impudently was a very Morgana thing to do.
"Merlyn!" Arthur called, and she jumped, spinning to see him waiting at an intersection that she'd unwittingly passed. He jerked his head towards the offshoot. "My chambers; now."
He strode off without waiting for her to catch up and she stared at where he had been apprehensively. His jaw had been clenched and his expression the type of neutral façade that gave away how angry he was. It was clear he did not believe Morgana's story – and since he already suspected Merlyn's involvement, she gulped at imagining what he might say.
She traced his path slowly, mentally trying to prepare herself but the memory of him looming over her in anger stuck in her brain, ruining any composure she tried to scrape together.
She slipped into the room quietly, closing the door behind her and hesitated to move any further. Arthur was at a window, hands folded together at his back while his eyes tracked people in the courtyard below, the very image of a brooding prince.
Merlyn's fingers crawled up her chest to play with the medallion that named her Friend of Camelot, the heavy metal reassuring with its solid presence. She could feel her heartbeat against her ribcage, thrumming as quick as a mouse's when cornered by a snake; seeing the threat but unable to escape.
"Merlyn," he said softly in greeting, his calm tone at odds with the anger she was sure he would express.
"Arthur," she replied just as quietly, nervous of stirring embers to life.
He sighed and lifted an arm to rest against the window frame, leaning his head against the back of his forearm. He said, matter-of-factly, "I know Morgana's story was a lie. I know you were involved somehow."
"I –"
"But I don't care to know the truth," he continued, ignoring her attempt to speak. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb as if plagued by a headache. "Your words are untrustworthy and your actions these past few days have only helped reaffirm what was wavering in my beliefs."
That didn't sound good.
"How much progress have you made in the creation of that Magical Cuff?" he asked, and Merlyn swallowed hard.
"Um… well, I'm not sure – perhaps halfway."
"Leniency," he stated, and Merlyn paused, unsure of his meaning. He sighed again. "I have become too lenient. I do not know if it is my fondness for you… perhaps a spell – you might be twisting my thoughts, muddying my senses without me knowing." He shook his head, scratching at his hair in frustration. Merlyn was too stunned by his declaration to defend herself.
"I cannot trust myself with you!" he blurted, suddenly angry. "I cannot know…" he trailed off just as abruptly as he started, and he took a heavy breath to recompose himself. "You have dragged Morgana into your deceit, coerced her to lie to the King's face, though I know not how. Morgana is not one easily coaxed into anything. You have skulked, lied, betrayed me, broken the law, and refused to obey my orders."
"Arthur," she breathed but he held up a hand and her words choked themselves to death.
"I have handled your insolence for too long; I will not deal with it any longer. You have one week before I hand you over to my father for execution."
Merlyn's breath left her like she'd been sucker punched in the gut. "No…" she gasped. "That's not – that's not enough –"
He finally turned to look at her, his eyes blazing with anger and… pain? "I have given you more than enough time!" he barked. "And you have squandered it as if my words mean nothing to you! You have toyed with me like I am a fool and I will tolerate it no longer."
"I haven't," Merlyn said, shaking her head rapidly. "I've never toyed with you. Never."
"Your entire person is a lie!" he yelled, taking a furious step forward before he checked himself and turned away. "I'm not discussing this with you, Merlyn," he said to his bedpost. "My decision is made. One week."
"You are asking me to die!" she shouted, throwing up her hands. "Whatever happens, you are demanding that I kill myself! Magic is me! It's a part of who I am and has been since long before I met you –"
"Then you are at your heart, corrupt!" he interrupted, his own voice rising to meet her anger. "And I will rectify that whether you consent or not! I will not have some-some demon living within my home, threatening our way of life –"
Something snapped inside and she screamed, "I'm not a demon!"
Arthur snarled back, "A demon is exactly what you will be if I do nothing!"
"Your facts are bred from bigotry!" she shouted, agitated beyond composure. "Sorcery does not make one evil! I am as human as you are; I feel as you do; I need the same things to live as everyone else. I am not a monster!"
"Words mean nothing coming out of your mouth," the prince barked, face red and hands clenched into fists. "History tells us all we need to know. I have seen and heard and suffered the terrible things sorcery has wrought. The multitude of innocent people who have died by its hand. One person does not make a society, but a society does make a person – and it tells anyone with sense that sorcery is a darkness!"
"You only hear what you wish!" she accused with a snarl. "Good things and awful happen all the same but the awful is what lingers. People talk of the exciting, the scary, the dangerous, and so others like you decide that it must be all there is. You deign to paint sorcery with a single brush as if it is not worth the effort of distinction and then accuse us of lacking compassion!"
"Whether sorcery can be used for good or not does not mean it should be," Arthur countered sharply. "Sorcery is a power that should not be touched by mortal hands, not of those who wish to remain good in their hearts. Intentions mean nothing when our reality grows twisted."
"How can you say that?" she shouted, throwing up her hands. "You are so – so – urgh! You refuse to see the truth even as it stands blatant before you! I cannot argue any longer!"
"Good, because I am done discussing it. You have one week before you either comply or I turn you over to my father."
"Why wait?" she asked venomously even as her voice cracked with despair. "Kill me now. Seven days will make little difference to my fate."
"You will not comply?" he sounded incredulous, disbelieving, angry. "Even knowing you will burn on the pyre?"
"I will not let you take this from me. Magic is me and I refuse to let myself be subjected to your cruelties any longer." She lifted her chin, jaw clenched even as her hands trembled at her side. She'd said it. She'd finally said it.
"If you deny me, I will have no choice, Merlyn," he said, voice solemn but certain. "I will expose you to the King."
"You have a choice," she bit out, voice straining to contain her emotions. "Let me leave. I will go far away where you will never see me again. You can keep your hatred and I will be in peace."
"Your absence here will not save your soul," he retorted, sounding pained. "I do not do this because you are nearby; I do this – I do this because I believe that you are not irredeemable. I know goodness lives in your heart, and I will not see it diminished by your follies –"
"Even if your words were true, that is my decision to make!" she interrupted furiously. "You do not have dominion over me!"
"You are first and foremost my servant," he barked, his voice drowning hers in volume. "And I am your prince! Even if we were not… I still have the authority to act as I see fit. And it is clear you need guidance!"
"You cannot make me do this. You cannot force my magic to act as you demand unless I command it also."
"Then you leave me no choice," he snarled then turned towards the door. "Guards!"
"What – no!" Merlyn cried, anger evaporating as alarm shot up her spine. "Let me leave! Let me go!"
"That will do no one any good in the end," he said, voice resolute even as he avoided her eyes.
"This will do me no good at all! You are condemning me!" She took several steps back in disbelief. He was truly doing it. He was going to have her killed.
"You are condemning yourself."
The sound of heavy boots grew louder, and Merlyn's heart squeezed in terror.
"Alright!" she cried in panic just as the doors opened and two guards stood at attention.
"Sire," one greeted but Arthur's gaze had turned to her, features neutral as he assessed her for honesty. She stared back, raw with fear and dread, lungs begging for air even as they squeezed too tight to allow her breath. Oh gods, she was going to be executed.
"Send up a meal," he said, and Merlyn flinched before the words registered.
What?
Arthur turned away and faced the guards. "I find myself peckish, but my servant is terrible at multitasking."
Eyes flicked to her and she mustered up a weak smile before twisting so her back faced the men, expression devolving into shock while she fiddled with the fruit bowl atop the table to appear busy. The guards left quickly, and Merlyn's shoulders folded in on themselves, reality starting to sink into her skin, burning her with the knowledge of what had just occurred. Of what had almost occurred. She had nearly been unmasked by one she had once trusted with her life. Once but no longer.
There was a beat of silence then Arthur said to her back, "You have seven days. I will not concede a second time, and I will not require your presence until you have completed this task. You are dismissed."
"Yes, sire," she whispered and fled the room before he could see her tears.
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Four days later…
"Hello, Gwen," Merlyn greeted her curly-haired friend when she opened her front door. The morning sunshine was warm on Merlyn's back and glowed upon Gwen's bronze features as the woman stepped forward to give the girl a quick hug. She added without preamble, "I have a way to cure your ailment."
"Merlyn?" Gwen said, worried frown heavy on her features as she pulled away. "You should not be worrying about me. You have only a short time before your week is up."
"I know," she said softly, glancing over her shoulder lest anyone be near enough to overhear. "I've completed it."
"What? How? I thought…"
"I found a way to shortcut the moon rituals for the triple bindings. I just need to activate it before it…" shackles me, she didn't finish, glad her hands were hidden within the folds of her cloak so Gwen couldn't see them shaking. "But I still have three days before Arthur will take action. So I am helping you as I promised.
And once she was done helping Gwen, she would free Kilgarrah as per their agreement. Kilgarrah, who she hadn't spoken to since before Arthur's ultimatum because she knew exactly what he would say.
"Merlyn… you can still leave," Gwen said, her tone imploring. "Just go back to your mother's, stay there until Arthur comes to his senses. This Cuff… you said you don't know what it will do to you…"
"Gwen," Merlyn said, reaching out and taking her friend's hands, resolutely squashing thoughts of her imminent future. It was the only way she'd made it through the past few days. "Let me give you this. Please."
Gwen clutched at her fingers tightly before she released a sigh of resignation. "Alright," she murmured, guilt written across her features, as if she should feel bad for wanting the ability to start a family.
"Hey," Merlyn said, tilting her head until Gwen's eyes met her own. "This is for me as much as for you." She let a cheeky smile pull at her lips. "After all, you are going to name your firstborn after me, yes?"
"Merlyn!" Gwen cried with a surprised chuckle, reaching out to shove her shoulder. The black-haired girl laughed, dancing back out of her reach.
"That's the name," she grinned, and Gwen shook her head fondly. Merlyn's humour quickly faded, and she added more seriously, "We will need to leave in the next couple of hours to make it to the Isle of the Blessed in time."
"Isle of the Blessed?" Gwen repeated, taken aback.
"It's the heart of the Old Religion," Merlyn explained, approaching the door again to keep their conversation private. "And to complete this ritual, I need to call upon that power."
"But that journey takes almost two days, one way," the ex-maid said. "Lancelot doesn't return from border patrol for another three."
"I know," Merlyn said apologetically. "But it's the closest sanctuary I know that will have what I need."
Gwen twisted her hands together, tucking her chin with a worried frown. Merlyn knew she was leery about approaching a place renowned for its magical practices, particularly one so far from Camelot's heart. It might be within the borders of King Uther's realm but even his reach had limits.
But Gwen shored up her courage and lifted her head to meet Merlyn's gaze. "I'll prepare immediately."
Merlyn's face ached with the force of her smile and she jumped in excitement. "Excellent!" she said. "Fantastic! Pack lightly. I've organised food and what we will need. Meet me in the guard stables in an hour."
She dashed away, mind spinning with preparations. She'd already sent a missive to Iseldir requesting use of the Cup of Life, and the elder had granted it upon her explanation of intent. He had been grave in his warnings of the dangers and she had accepted the words of one wiser than she even if she had no intention of halting her plans. The clock was ticking; the time for second-guessing was over.
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Gwen and Merlyn made it to the Isle of the Blessed in the dark of predawn, having continued without pause for most of the journey. Since they were upon two generic bays, Merlyn felt secure enough to use a magical globe to guide their path, lighting potholes and rabbit warrens for their steeds to avoid. Their faces had been veiled and their garments unremarkable, so the black-haired girl was confident they hadn't been recognised by any that may have seen their passage.
They pulled up by the dock, the bright half-moon bleaching everything into a silver spectrum. The water glistened with mirrored light, minute ripples on the surface the only thing breaking the perfect reflection. On the shore, beside the short, weathered pier, was the same small rowboat as the last time Merlyn had crossed, hitched to a rotting post like it was waiting for them.
They dismounted, untacked, and Merlyn set the horses loose in a magical pen, free to rest and graze until they returned. She turned to the boat but saw no evidence of others nearby.
Iseldir, she called in her mind, gaze dancing over the shadows in the trees lest they be waiting within them. I am here.
Come to the Isle, Isledir responded. We are waiting at the plinth. And image of the roofless chamber with its manicured grass and ritual dais appeared in her mind; the very same place where she had faced – and killed – Nimueh.
"Merlyn?" asked Gwen, drawing her from her mental conversation. The woman was peering at her worriedly and Merlyn hastened to assure her.
"A druid elder and some of his clan are awaiting us on the isle. They have the main ingredient I require to make this work. Are you ready to cross?"
Gwen glanced towards the island in the middle of the lake. Even in the clear night, the ruined spires and jagged silhouette of the damaged castle was an intimidating sight, but the ex-maid shored herself valiantly and said with determination, "Let's go."
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In the end, the ritual was easier than Merlyn had anticipated. She had mapped it out for days beforehand, following the rules of the Old Religion so she didn't test the grace of the Triple Goddess while working within the deity's dominion. She would be a fool to dismiss the rules of an ancient order because she didn't approve of their core values. Nevertheless, for all her studying and strategizing and accounting for variables, the execution of the spell was but a few simple steps.
It was a grave reminder that the Old Religion seemed to demand power over proficiency – the life exchange called only for a vow and gift of water from a spelled cup and relied on the strength of the sorcerer to dictate the success of the task. It left a lot to interpretation and was high risk, but as Merlyn was still a novice and had little time to experiment, she didn't feel comfortable enough to forego the ancient order and conceive her own structure.
Merlyn incanted in the Old Tongue her intention to give of her womb, lightly slicing the points of her abdomen wherein her ovaries were situated before adding a drop from each cut to blessed water residing within the Cup of Life. As it was the Old Religion, Gwen didn't technically need to grant her permission, being the recipient of a spell and without magic herself, but Merlyn refused to act without a final consent, even if it was for herself and not the ceremony.
"Do you accept my offering to your body, Guinevere du Lac, and take it as your own?"
Gwen stared down at the proffered cup, tinted the slightest bit pink from Merlyn's blood, with a faint grimace on her face. Merlyn tried not to laugh, wanting to preserve the solemnity of the moment and maintain the magic rippling through the air.
Eventually, her friend said softly, "I do," and took the goblet from Merlyn's hands, inhaling a bracing breath before she gulped down the liquid.
There was no grand pulse of light, or sudden sensation of difference but the magic in the air dissipated like mist under the sun and Merlyn decreed the ritual concluded. The only way of knowing if it was a success was to wait for Gwen to fall pregnant – as Merlyn had no plans to test her own fertility.
And, with prudence, neither Gwen nor Lancelot would realise that the black-haired girl had just given Gwen her ability to bear children, knowing it would devastate them to learn that truth.
Thankfully, besides Iseldir's sad blue eyes, none of the druids' present had reacted, and Merlyn finally felt as if she'd achieved something wonderful. Children were a gift to be cherished. They were the future – they were what would make Albion – and such an ability was wasted on Merlyn, who dared not even think of creating a family. She may be striving towards a land equal for all, but she was not so naïve as to think there would not always be people who craved to control others. If she had children – if they carried her gifts – they would be targets. They would have to live lives guarded and wary, perhaps in secrecy, and she refused to force that upon an innocent. Not if they could live another way, born through one who could raise them as they ought to be raised; fearlessly.
Besides… the only object of her interest had turned into a monster. And who knew, perhaps once she was bound by the Cuff, she would fade into nothing and it wouldn't matter anyway.
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TBC…
… Don't hate me…