Chapter Seven: The Gryphon and the Druid
It was Lancelot who found him, hours later and long after their shift had ended. Mordred didn't turn as the other man joined him, both of them gazing out at the island airport in Lake Ontario from their perch in the SkyPod of Toronto's CN Tower. It was far from their first visit to the tower; Mordred remembered begging his parents for a trip to the tower several times while growing up and his mother had always eventually obliged. With a latent gryphon Animagus form, Lancelot had probably been the same.
After a few minutes, Lancelot huffed a laugh. "I haven't paid for a ticket to come up here in years."
"Me either."
A touch of mischief rang in his teammate's chuckle. "I wonder what Arthur would say if I told him that I fly on a regular basis."
Startled, Mordred flicked a glance at his friend. "You fly? I thought…"
Lancelot laughed again and nodded towards the island airport with the runways that ran right next to the water of the lake. "I trained there. It's been a couple months since I had time to fly, but I got my license not long after I started at the academy."
Gray lit in understanding and Mordred whistled low. "I didn't know you had a pilot's license."
The other man fidgeted. "I thought I was going to be a pilot," he admitted. "Even went to school for it, but well…"
"You wanted to protect people more than you wanted to fly," Mordred filled in.
"Aye," Lancelot breathed. He bowed his head with a soft sigh. "My parents were pleased that I was giving up the 'flying nonsense' until I told them about the academy. Then I discovered why they had been so pleased."
"Why?"
Levity faded into a mirthless grin. "They believe that pilots and cops have one thing in common." A beat. "The life expectancy."
Mordred winced. "My parents believe that cops are no different from the bloodcloaks of old," he admitted.
His teammate shrugged. "Mine know nothing of magic and I do not intend to enlighten them."
"They'd reject you?" Mordred pressed, uneasy with the concept.
"I don't know," Lancelot admitted. "I haven't spoken to them since I joined the SRU." He hesitated, then added, "They are not the parents I remember of old."
Oh. Mordred turned back to the view, not sure how to respond to that or even if it mattered. He had his second chance, yet it had come with so many strings attached that he had to wonder if it was even a real chance. He longed to prove himself, but… At what cost? To report on his every movement and be forbidden from even trying to clear the air with Merlin and required to admit if Morgana even tried to contact him and… And… Hadn't he done anything worthy of trust? His new identity had never betrayed Team Four, yet he was still being judged for his past life's crimes?
"It won't be forever."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do," Lancelot countered, pulling Mordred's attention. "They are afraid and lashing out, but they did give you a chance."
"Some chance."
Lancelot sighed at that and leaned harder against the railing. "Will it be so hard, to teach me?"
"No, it's not that part," Mordred replied. "Your abilities are different from mine, but I can teach you. It's the rest."
"Ah." For several minutes, the other man was silent, considering his response. "Do you want to talk to Merlin? Or Morgana?"
Mordred slumped. "Yes. No. I'm not sure." At the amused glance, he shook his head. "I know what you told me about how Kilgharrah poisoned Merlin against me, but I'd rather hear it from him. And Morgana…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "She…she was kind once. I remember… When I was a child and Cerdan died, she was kind. She protected me from him."
"She and Arthur helped you escape," Lancelot murmured, earning a nod.
"The first time I saw her again, after I grew up, it…" Again, Mordred halted, searching for a way to explain. "She was happy to see me, until I brought up Arthur and then she was so angry. Obsessed." Lost gray shifted to meet Lancelot's hazel, bewildered. "I didn't understand how she could change so much." Grief shimmered. "But if it was Fated, then…"
"Anyone can fall," Lancelot interrupted. "It is in our very nature, Mordred. We come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve; that is honor enough to straighten the shoulders of the poorest beggar and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the proudest emperor." The constable sighed, his time in the Netherworld aging him by decades. " 'Tis only by the Grace of the Lion Himself that most people do not fall into chaos and destruction."
Mordred shivered. "Then it really is inevitable," he blurted.
"No." His friend's voice rang with authority. "The Lion would not grant us second chances only to chain us to the same Fate as our former lives." He shook his head. "Tash would have us believe so, Mordred, but history does not answer to him. Only the Lion and His Father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, may weave the threads of Fate and Destiny." Hazel gleamed with a strange triumph. "From the very beginning of Time, Mordred, the Emperor granted Men the greatest Gift and Honor He can: Free Will. We are free to choose our path."
"But?" Mordred pressed.
Sorrow peeked through and Lancelot gestured to the city beyond the SkyPod's windows. "To those to whom much is given, much is expected," he explained. "Our freedom is not to be abused, my friend, but used to help others. Simply because we are free to act does not mean we should act." The former knight sighed heavily. "We humans are selfish, Mordred. We can create hell on Earth very easily."
"We have," Mordred whispered, earning a nod.
"Many times," Lancelot agreed. "Yet the Lion has not abandoned us, Mordred. He and His Father have given humanity many chances throughout history. Every time Tash seeks to tear us down, the Lion is there, holding out His Paw to those who would accept His aid." Hazel shifted to Mordred again. "If you wish to chose a different path, He will help you. You need only ask."
Mordred swallowed hard, looking away. "How can you believe that after the Netherworld?"
His teammate shuddered violently. "Are you asking about the Netherworld or Morgana?"
Deep inside, Mordred flinched. To demand that his friend face the horror of what he'd endured for centuries upon centuries… It was wrong. Perhaps there would come a day when Lancelot could speak of the Netherworld, but it was certainly not this day. If he asked again, he knew his friend would try to answer, but should he ask when it felt so wrong?
"Did…" At the inquiring glance, Mordred swallowed hard. "Were you there when I joined her?" Did you hear me tell her who Merlin was?
Lancelot considered his reply and Mordred felt his throat go tight. Then hazel came up, a challenging gleam in them. "Why did you join her?"
For revenge. To spill his blood in payment for Kara's. Ashamed, Mordred lowered his head, but Lancelot had earned an answer. "There…" He stopped, wet his lips. "There was a woman. Kara; I knew her as a child."
"She was your friend?"
Mordred nodded without looking up. "We were in the same Druid camp," he explained in a listless tone. "There was a time when Morgana ran from the Butcher, after her magic manifested."
Lancelot allowed a thoughtful hum. "She came to your camp," he concluded.
"She did," Mordred whispered. "She wanted to stay and I promised I would look after her." He sniffed. "The Butcher wouldn't let her go. Merlin came to get her because the Butcher had rounded up everyone he thought might have sorcery and planned to burn them if Morgana wasn't returned." Tears slipped down. "Looking back, I know Merlin didn't realize the knights could follow his trail, but…"
"You were angry that he'd led them to your camp," Lancelot murmured.
"Yes," Mordred admitted. "They attacked us; those who survived the bloodcloaks were scattered." The constable sucked in a breath. "Kara's family died that day."
"Were the two of you together?"
"Not… Not that day," Mordred rasped, staring into his past. "I was with Morgana and Aglain when the attack began."
Slowly, Lancelot nodded. "So, you did not see her again until you were a knight?"
Anguish screamed, but Mordred forced each word out, confessing a truth he'd denied at the time. "We were patrolling. We found an overturned cart and several fallen knights. I saw someone in a cloak and went after them. When she tripped, her hood fell and I recognized her." A painful swallow. "I ordered her to run and lied to Arthur and the others about what I'd seen." By the gods, did he really have to do this? "After we returned to Camelot, I snuck into Gaius's rooms and stole some of his healing potions."
"For Kara," his friend concluded.
Instead of replying, Mordred squeezed his eyes shut. "I found her again and treated her wound. I knew I shouldn't, but I kept visiting her. Then the knights found us and Kara…" His throat worked, but nothing further would come.
A hand touched his shoulder. "She attacked one of them?" Lancelot ventured.
"Not…not with magic," Mordred choked out. "Merlin stopped her anyway."
"Mordred." Chiding rang. "That is like saying that a subject did not use magic to shoot at one of us on a hot call and we had our shields anyway, so what does it matter?"
Rage swirled and he whirled on his friend. "It's not like that! She just wanted for us to be able to live in peace!"
"Peace cannot come at the tip of a sword," Lancelot countered. "Uther claimed to want peace as well, yet he slaughtered hundreds and instilled fear in those who survived. Morgana claimed to want peace, yet she held the Knights of Camelot in the citadel square and ordered her troops to fire on the civilians when the Knights would not bow to her rule." One hand lifted and he shook his head. "Sometimes, Mordred, we must fight; I cannot and will not deny that; but you must ask yourself. In attacking that patrol and Arthur, how was Kara fighting for peace? How was she striving for a better world?"
Fury roared and ancient hatred boiled beneath his skin, howling for blood. He was Mordred the Dark, the embodiment of Vengeance against the Pendragons. His was the voice of a dead people, demanding that blood be spilt for the blood that was shed. Lancelot had no right to judge Kara's actions, nor his.
Why?
Mordred froze at that one still whisper in his soul. Why? Why what?
Why are you so angry?
A shudder worked its way through him, heart, mind, and soul. The rage. The hatred, the vengeance – why couldn't he escape it? Why did it constantly seek to overrule him?
Why do you get so angry if Kara's actions are questioned? the whisper asked.
He didn't know. It wasn't reasonable, it wasn't rational. His magic surged, impressing the old hatred into him, but his experience as an SRU constable fought back. He knew what obsession was, could identify it in himself just as he could've identified it in a subject. "I loved her," he whispered.
"And I love Guinevere to this day," Lancelot replied, sorrow ringing. "We can be fools in love, my friend, but that can be used against us." As Mordred looked up, his teammate looked away. "Morgana knew and that is why she called me back. That is why she turned me against my friends and my king."
"It wasn't your fault," Mordred insisted. Yea gods, a Shade; Lancelot's Free Will had been stripped from him, leaving him as little more than a puppet. That betrayal had been of Morgana's doing, unlike his own.
Hazel swung back, studying him intently. "And what of you? Do you see now where your fault truly lay?"
His skin prickled. "What are you talking about?"
"I am sorry you lost your childhood friend, Mordred, but let me ask you this. When did you lose her?"
"When she was executed."
To his shock, Lancelot shook his head. "No, mellon nin, that is not true and you know it."
"Why don't you tell me then," Mordred snarled, fists clenching. "If you're so smart, why don't you tell me when I lost Kara!"
Calm hazel locked on livid gray. "You lost her when she chose vengeance over her love for you."
Involuntarily, Mordred stumbled back against the railing, panting. And yet, now that Lancelot had said it, he could see it. Kara had been so obsessed with making Arthur pay that she'd taken every possible chance to strike at him. The patrol. Arthur himself. The guard during their escape. Even urging Mordred to attack his own comrades when they'd been cornered.
Tears slid down his face as he understood. His own betrayal had been Kara's ultimate triumph. She had turned one of Camelot's sworn defenders into one of its greatest enemies. Because of her death, he had broken his oath. Because of her death, he had gone to Morgana, willingly swearing loyalty to her and betraying Merlin's identity without a lick of hesitation. Because of her death, he had slain Arthur – and Kara's revenge on the Pendragons had been complete.
What had he done? What had he done? He was nothing but a Traitor and a monster. Even now, he was so obsessed with Kara that he'd been willing to lash out at one of his closest friends. He couldn't change; it was impossible.
Hands gripped his shoulders, squeezing until he looked up. "Mordred, stop," Lancelot chided. "We cannot change our course in life unless we realize we are wrong." He shook his head. "Half the battle is realizing that we don't like who we see in the mirror. Only then can we begin to change for the better."
"But what comes next?" Mordred asked, desperation ringing.
Hazel warmed with unshakable confidence. "Sometimes, my friend, the only way to make progress is to go back."
"Go back?"
Lancelot tipped his chin. "If you have gone the wrong way, you cannot get back on the right path by continuing on, Mordred. We humans can be a stubborn lot, though. That is why it takes a wise man to understand that turning around is often the quickest path home."
"I don't know if I can," Mordred admitted.
Releasing his shoulders, Lancelot stepped back and offered his hand. "Then let me help you."
Mordred stared at his teammate's outstretched hand. Inside his heart, all the chaos seemed to have fallen silent, waiting for his decision. Would he reject Lancelot's help and fall back into who he'd been in Camelot? Would he accept that he'd been wrong to turn on his friends and let those same friends help him begin anew? His soul wailed, crying out for its other half. For Kara. And yet… If she had truly loved him, wouldn't she have chosen him over revenge?
In spite of his crimes, his friends were willing to offer him another chance. Not because he deserved it, but because they wanted to. Because they'd seen something worth saving in him. Didn't he owe it to them to try? How could he beg, practically on bended knee, for another chance and then throw it back in their faces without even trying?
His hand trembled, but he reached out, grabbing Lancelot's whole forearm. The other man merely twisted and gripped back, two warriors offering aid to one another. "I don't want to be who I was," Mordred whispered. Please, help me. Don't let me fall.
"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," Lancelot observed, a tiny grin quirking his jaw. "And that is often the hardest step of all."
For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost. But what if the nail was there? What if Destiny and Fate met a Wild Card they could not control? A Wild Card they had sought to eliminate forever from the field of battle – why else would an ancient, canny dragon just happen to mention the price for sealing the Veil within a certain knight's earshot and how else could a soul freed from a necromancer's hold be bound to her fate and cast into the Netherworld?
As Mordred clasped his friend's forearm, Tash unleashed a horrible scream of denial. No! It could not be! He would not lose one of his greatest servants to the great cat! That one belonged to him by right of Fate, at the hand of Destiny! Yet the cat shielded the human from his influence, negating his claim on his own with the Emperor's Decree that each of the humans returned to Life could choose their path anew.
It wasn't fair, but ever had the Emperor cheated him of his rightful spoils. Tash seethed, longing to strike down the insolent Wild Mage who dared interfere with one of his, but he could not. Not without bringing the full might of the Emperor's Wrath crashing down upon him. Another method would have to suffice and already the plot was weaving itself together before Tash's eyes. Far more pleasing in the long run, even if it meant he would have to watch and wait and seethe as one of his served the cat for some time to come.
Vulture talons curled, determination swirling. By the time he was done, Mordred the Dark would rise once more. Mordred had been his once, he would be his again! And this time, his faithful servant would bring down far more than one measly little king!
~ Fin
Author Note: *fade to black, cue Flashpoint ending music* I considered BBC Merlin's ending music, but I think Flashpoint's is more appropriate in the current circumstance. *wink*
Anyway! I hope everyone enjoyed our latest installment. As ever, I deeply treasure feedback, so, please, please read and review!
Now... Ordinarily, I wouldn't detour to another Side-Story so soon after another Side-Story, but I believe this particular Side-Story is best told now instead of waiting for a future release. So! We will be starting "Lord of the House of Calvin" on Friday, November 18th 2022, right here in the Flashpoint/Merlin crossover archive.
See You on the Battlefield!