Chapter 7 - The Mother

June

Mithian, Princess of Nemeth, hid her face once again behind a stolen, clunky knight's helmet and drew back an arrow.

Archery she was good at, and with bared teeth she seized again the thought– I am the best; and I'll prove it. She'd fairly win this tournament against the kingdom's soldiers. She craved these real challenges, not the false victories offered to a princess.

She breathed, listened to her heart, and between the beats loosed an arrow. It struck true, and she lowered the bow, grinning.

A thick-fingered hand settled on her shoulder, and she saw the king's ring before she looked up to see her father's face. "Good shot, Mithian," he said.

She blushed, and raised the faceplate. "How did you know?"

"What man wears a full set of armor to an archery tournament, dear?" His aging face smiled, and he walked away, hands clasped behind his back, in that way that he knew she'd follow. She clanged after, juggling the helmet and bow.

He walked her behind the archer line, where servants and squires bustled, then further out where they could walk the line without being overheard. "I received a letter from King Arthur of Camelot."

Her former near-husband. "And?"

"Magic will soon be free in Camelot." He fished the scroll from his robes, handed it to her.

She had to juggle the helmet again to grab it. It was a long scroll, flowery in places speaking of Nemeth's and Camelot's recent tentative peace after the failed marriage and succession of Gedref. They hadn't allied in the Purge, so he hoped their alliance could strengthen with… she skimmed through the rest. It outlined Camelot's plan to steadily free and train magic users, starting with the castle city proper, then expanding to other major cities in the kingdom over the next decade. They were planning a sorcerer squadron.

He hadn't mentioned the Isle of Avalon headed by Morgana the bane of Camelot, but well, word had already gotten around about that. No spy system worth its salt hadn't heard news of that.

"So," she asked, "what are you going to do?"

"What would you do?"

She sighed. He was always doing this; maybe he'd given up on marrying her off. "Throw a spy into the mix. See how it goes for them, maybe learn something on how to implement the same thing."

"Hmm," her father said, "follow suit?"

"Why not, after seeing how they do it? Current law banishes those we find with magic, but you and I both know our enforcers more often turn a blind eye."

"Hmm," he said again.

She sighed, then clanked away to drop off the bow with a squire. On the way back she ditched the helmet, she wasn't going to need that anymore either.

"Well," she asked. "Did I answer correctly?"

"You so easily ally with Arthur. Why is that?"

She bristled. It wasn't a romance thing, she wasn't hung up on him. "He's a good man. The queen seemed like a kind woman, and his servant is… interesting. They're good people."

"There's a war coming, dear."

What? Here?

"Whenever there is a shift in power on the horizon, death follows. See it, Mithian. Who is the strongest, militaristically, in Albion?"

"We were evenly matched against Camelot during the skirmishes over Gedref!"

He walked, not answering her, and she huffed. Her tutors had told her, when together as a trio, Odin, the Sarrum, and Uther had reigned over Albion. No country could stand against their demands during the Purge. But, once separated… everything had reached a careful balance. Camelot came out rich, and The Sarrum was still treated as the greatest tactician of their lifetimes, and in all subsequent interactions was treated with care. Odin had been strong, but was a distant third now.

"No one is the strongest, father. A war is dangerous for any country who enters one at this time, there is no sure victory."

"And if Camelot has the Isle, the Druids, and knighted sorcerers on its side? Who then, Mithian?"

She blanked, was this all just a military strategy from Arthur? He hadn't seemed the type, but his father had a reputation, and it wasn't like she knew Arthur that well. She flushed. "I'm sorry, father, for letting my personal impressions cloud my judgement."

"Dear, don't apologize for trusting those you would consider friends. Be decisive. Now you know Camelot may become the greatest military power in Albion, and the king is asking for a continued alliance. What do you do?"

"I… I join the alliance. I still send a spy. And... " It struck her like a mace to the ribcage. "And I find out who he didn't offer an alliance to; or who refused. A war is coming."

"With the Sarrum, likely." Her father waved to a knight, smiling, calm. She couldn't read a hint of tension on him, but knew it must be there, coiled, hidden behind the facade of a king. She could feel that tension in her own breast, and hoped she hid it half as well. "Pack your bags."

"Father!" She hissed, "I'm not leaving you."

"No, you aren't," he said, as if they spoke only of finding her hidden in armor once again. "But everyone is certainly going to think you have."

Morgana grew her nose a finger span larger and added another goose-fold along her throat. She made for an ugly old woman.

Wrapped in a light cloak she headed for Camelot. Dark, she thought, would be too obvious. And in the middle of the day with no plans on skulking in shadows, she'd rather blend with a crowd.

And the crowd– by the Triple Goddess there was one. She had barely entered the front gates and already stood shoulder to shoulder with sweaty, shuffling people. Quickly, she gave up, and found a hidden spot to teleport from. She landed in Merlin's room and traipsed down the tower's stairwell to a better vantage point in the castle plaza. It would start soon.

Arthur was already at the head of the stairwell, hands up to quiet the crowd. Merlin cast a spell and when Arthur cleared his throat, it echoed over the city.

And… it happened. It came not by force, or death, or pain. Arthur freed her people.

She'd almost believed it wouldn't come, that he'd change his mind despite the rumors.

Goddess, she could remember watching people burn on pyres just feet below where Arthur stood now. She still felt the cold terror from her days as a ward, seeing Uther's grim smile and wondering if she'd faint before her skin flaked off, or if she'd scream.

She'd liked Arthur, but had expected him to follow his father's… their father's teachings. Well, she should have given Arthur more credit. She'd turned from Uther, too.

Arthur, she noted, stood straight-backed, chin up. He was every bit the princely, golden-haired boy he'd been raised to be, and charisma became him. Even she stood here and believed his earnest eyes and firm tone. She wanted to believe him, trusted to let him lead Camelot through this change.

How did he do that? He was so convincing! The same brat who'd put grass in her sandwiches!

As Arthur's announcement ended, conversation rippled through the crowd. Some people cried, she suspected some of those tears were fear, even if most were from relieved Druids.

Morgana, even, wiped at her cheeks.

Freedom, she thought. Goddess. Morgause, I wish you could have seen this.

Hours later, back at the Isle, Morgana heaved a deep breath of the summer air. Did it taste brighter?

It blew around her as if dancing, swirling in from the many windows in this tower room. The sunlight was good here, and she hoped to turn this into a permanent place for meetings and study. It had only one table not lost to age and rot, but with a few chairs, maybe a shelf….

Far below her, the man with the scarred back exited the tower, heading to speak with Alvarr. He'd just confirmed both of their expectations– he didn't know who had grabbed him. Interestingly, he had come from a port town in Cornwall, on the border of Odin and Alined's lands. Could one of those kingdoms be where the sorcerer hailed from? She'd expected someone from Amata, expected all of this to be from the Sarrum himself.

The breeze shifted, blowing softly from her back to her front, and then she heard the crunch of boots on dust. She turned and found Merlin.

"You saw Arthur's announcement?"

She nodded. He'd seen her then? "I've told the Druids here. They want to celebrate," she quirked a smile down at the people below. She didn't know what resources they'd celebrate with, but tonight would still be a welcome revel. "So you saw through my disguise. Is Arthur angry that I broke his rules again?"

"There are no old women that ugly, Morgana, you overdid it. But no, I didn't tell him. I can understand wanting to be there."

She'd known Merlin in four different shades, first as a strangely brave servant, the second as her secret enemy in Camelot. Then she'd feared him as Emrys and trusted him as the Dolma. It was a difficult mix to resolve into one person, but he'd offered her a truce– something she'd expected to have to trick him into while watching her back the entire time.

"What will you do now, Morgana?"

"What I said I would," she shot him a quick glare, "restore the Isle to what it could be, provide a haven for our people, and…." And fortify against this sorcerer coming against her, the one that had stolen her spellbook and threatened her. Did a truce mean sharing that? She hated to ask Emrys for advice, but wanted to ask the Dolma for it. What a mess.

"And?"

She sighed, completely turned her back to the window so she could study him. Did he look like he was planning on poisoning her if needed, again? "And what are you going to do?"

Merlin gave her a long look, then his eyes flashed gold and the rock dust and wooden splinters covering the floor whirled into a ball that flew out of a window. His frown likely hadn't been for the dust, but she'd take a good cleaning spell when she could get it. "We've convinced the Council at this point, but it's going to be a while of working out the details in the citadel and other towns in Camelot."

"How are his allies taking it?" She corrected herself, watching him. "Our allies."

His eyes flashed to her, and a silence settled on them again. "It would be good to have you as an ally again, Morgana. A real one."

"Well," she started, then stopped. She'd spoken true on her wishes for the Isle, and Merlin… Emrys… as an ally was a benefit beyond measure. "I admit I was wrong about Arthur, and Aithusa really would like to see you more often. She won't shut up about you. And some big golden dragon."

Merlin chuckled, and he seemed surprised he'd done it. "Kilgharrah. He's my next stop. I wonder what he'll have to say about all of this."

He smirked at some thought of his own, and she studied this fresh Merlin she was coming to know. He seemed older, his stance solid amidst the lost slouch. That must be why he seemed taller.

"Kilgharrah will likely have something for me to pass on to Aithusa, so I may be back sometime in the next few days," Merlin stepped into empty space, eyes turning gold.

"Be careful," she blurted. His eyes went blue and he turned to her with his head cocked. What is wrong with me, she thought. Well, I have to say it now. "There is a sorcerer after me, and they're likely from Cornwall or Deorham."

He nodded slowly. "The Sarrum attacked Arthur, and there was a sorcerer working with him. I've seen traces of them using dark magic."

Goddess, she knew the Sarrum was involved somehow, of course that bastard was. Why had his sorcerer been in a port town in Cornwall, then? Regardless, she needed to speak to Alvarr now.

Merlin gave her another nod, seeing she offered no other details, and disappeared in between blinks.

Morgana turned back for the window, scowling down at the courtyard. The Sarrum. Goddess. His sick glee when she'd been thrown at his feet still burned in her. He had resources she hadn't expected, and understood magic's limitations too well. She would not let him trap her again, would not let him trap anyone again.

She found Alvarr below, flirting with the scarred man from Cornwall. "Alvarr!" She snapped, and he jerked as her voice hit him, "Get up here, I have to talk to you."

Forridel woke up with her head in an awkward position, and cursed Leon. Snuck off at dawn and moved her off of his chest, had he? Idiot golden boy.

She swung her feet onto the floor and shivered, toes curling, then found her boots. What a drafty hut she lived in. She'd need to pack some mud… or with Leon's salary she supposed she could hire someone. Her shoulder tingled, partly numb, as it often was when she slept wrong.

She tried massaging it out, but knew it was a pain that would last for days. It always did. That's what getting older did to a woman.

Perhaps at the market she'd find… oh, wait! She might not have to look for some stupid herbal remedy today. Today was the first market day with Druid stalls containing magical items. Ooh, she should hurry. There might be a crowd.

A quick walk later, she found that there was a crowd– staring at the Druids. Dissimilar to Leon's guard trials they at least had magical participants, so that had to count for something.

She pushed her way through the gawkers, striding with purposed strides to that hawk of a Druid, Eldon, who smirked at her. She proceeded to haggle him to within an inch of her life.

Then, for the drama of it, she chugged her dose in front of the onlookers and stretched like a cat.

Merlin had worried the Druid stalls would go as badly as the call for witches and warlocks to join Arthur's squires, but Forridel had knocked that worry flat on its back.

Chugging a magical potion in front of at least a hundred people had to establish some level of trust on top of the many months of familiarity of Druids selling non-magical wares. The market did seem to loosen after Forridel's display, and she stalked off for another stall, perhaps unaware of what she'd just done on magic's behalf.

"I wonder if they sell the same poultice you used to save my father's life."

Merlin startled, finding Gwen just a step behind his shoulder. He hadn't been snuck up on in awhile, though leave it to a former servant to know how to step quietly. "In hindsight, I guess it's obvious I did that." She'd gotten thrown in prison over that, he cringed at the thought.

"Arthur reminded me you'd admitted to it in front of Uther and the entire court," her mouth quirked. Arthur had probably told her how he'd called Merlin slow, and how the court had easily believed it. "He stomped around for hours after he told me that story. He couldn't accept that the only time you'd told him straight out was for me."

Maybe he should talk to Arthur about it? He barely remembered the details though, it had been so long ago.

"We worked together well, in those days, wouldn't you say?"

They had.

The people of the market streamed before them, and many gave a nod or bow to Gwen as they moved past. So much had changed.

Gwen continued, "So the Sarrum is working with a warlock?"

She seemed unfazed, expression pleasant, small smiles still sent to the crowd before them. When had she gotten so good at this? He'd believed it of her, of course, but she threw him off balance better than Arthur ever would.

"Yes," he answered, and she waited, silent, as he worked through a response. "I found hint of another sorcerer using dark magic while in Saltmaw, and I've been debating on whether I should go back and see if I can find out more."

He'd searched all of the drawers and crannies of that boat while Arthur had distracted those pirates, and found nothing worth drawing conclusions from. He didn't know where else to look, but didn't want to let the clue go.

"Have you interviewed the pirates themselves?"

He'd seen remnants of what had felt like a memory spell, "No, I haven't. I think they may have been forced to forget what they saw."

"Still worth asking," she said pleasantly. She was right, of course. He could probably slip into the prison tonight– "If I go with you, Citylord Nain will let us into the prison for questioning in short order."

Well, that was true. That would certainly be easier.

"No time like the present," she said, "meet me in Elyan's blacksmith shop after noon, and we will use your tunnel to go to Saltmaw."

Merlin reeled. It was as good a plan as any. "Has anyone told you you're way better at this than Arthur?"

Gwen's mouth quirked again, and she patted his arm. "Better they don't suspect, Merlin."

After a short discussion with Leon and an excuse thrown at Gaius, Merlin slipped into Elyan's hut. This was the same home he'd first known Gwen to reside in, of course, and he entered to her studying Elyan's knife sketches.

It hit him again how misplaced she looked here. Regality fit her well.

"Before we go, Merlin," she said simply, "does the Citylord know your face? I gleaned that she may have seen it."

True, but he'd already planned on changing form!

He thought of the strong-nosed lady of the Council, also tall and dark-haired like him. In whirls of magic he became a form of her, matronly and thin, wrinkles about the mouth, elegantly dressed. He covered his usual boots with that long skirt, believing no one was likely to notice.

Gwen scanned him, "A noble attendant? Lengthen your nails," she gestured with her hand. She yet kept her nails short, but other nobles, in Merlin's experience, liked to clack theirs against table tops.

The tips of his nails burned gold before solidifying, and Gwen said, "What spell did you put on Excalibur after I gave it to you?"

He jolted, then tried to arrange himself as an attendant might. Head held high, hands folded demurely before him, and he shed a few more layers of pretty cheeks for a stern strictness. "I did not place a spell, my lady."

Gwen smirked as she watched him, "You're overdoing it. Be less intense."

What did that mean? He tried to relax the hard line of his shoulders. Any attendant around Gwen would likely have given up strictness long ago. "I didn't cast a spell on Excalibur. How's that?"

"Good," she responded. "But then why the big secrecy with my father's sword?"

"Uhm," he said, why had he needed it so badly? "Spirits risen from the dead were attacking Camelot, weren't they? It's weird that's happened more than once. Kilgharrah's fire gave it the ability to sever those souls and send them back to the Spirit Realm."

She gave him an odd look, "That sounds like a spell to me, Merlin." She stood, straightening her skirt. "Anyway, it's time we left. Shall we?"

Gwen extended a palm, and he extended his elbow for hers to take. He hadn't lied, he wasn't sure he could cast a spell on Excalibur even if he tried. She made him question everything!

He used the bulk of his magic to build the portal for them, then bled into Albion's for the rest. The now familiar buzz deafened him along the tunnel, and he landed with a stumble on the outskirts of Saltmaw.

Gwen herself looked pale, but he lost track of her reaction as he pressed hands to his own ears. They rang like a morning bell. That didn't seem normal.

She was saying something, but he couldn't hear her. Merlin looked about himself, all he could hear was the storm. Had he kept the Veil open somewhere? He turned, looking for it.

He found nothing, but Gwen's palm on his elbow led him to the outskirts of the city.

As they passed other peasants eyeing their rich clothing, he tried to push the numbing buzz to the back of his mind. It faded slightly, with time. Not completely. What had he done to cause this? Why had it gotten worse?

They were at the Citylord's building before he truly grasped his surroundings, and Gwen handed a sealed letter to a messenger. She maneuvered him into a cushioned chair before whispering, "I don't know what you're looking for here, Merlin, I need you to wake up soon."

He tried, he truly did. He pretended the droning was a large crowd just out of sight while cold fear settled solid into his gut. "Sorry," he offered.

She shook her head, but accepted his apology, thankfully. To the returning servant and citylord she quickly stood, accepting their bows. "The sooner the better."

It appeared Merlin and Arthur had been in holding cells, but the pirates were now in a proper prison. They walked a short ways outside, passing smaller huts with short-term criminals hanging on iron-barred windows before reaching a final stone building guarded by heavy wooden doors and many sets of men. The door unlocked at the Citylord's command, and with a bow to Gwen, she and Merlin entered.

Long hallways of iron gates made up the room, the crew of the ship likely scattered through them. The pirate captain himself paced in his cell, long beard starting to grow scraggly.

Gwen gestured Merlin forward, falling back to strike fear into the man with only her eyes.

"Pirate," Merlin began, "the queen is aware your thievery would have failed without the help of a street urchin, who now works with her. She is willing to speak to the Citylord on your behalf, if you answer her questions."

Gwen hadn't said anything of the sort of course, but he hadn't actually promised the pirate anything either. He wanted to tug at his collar. Were Gwen and the citylord glaring at him? Pretending to be a noble was hard.

The pirate swept into a stiff bow. "Leniency is a welcome offer, great queen, as you can see this cell is blocked from the market and cannot travel the ports, a strange place for an experienced trader to live!"

He caught the gesture of Gwen's hands, telling them both to move on.

Merlin cleared his throat, "In the last few months a man rented a cabin from you, he would have had magic and performed a few spells while on the boat. Do you recall him?"

The pirate licked his lips– his mouth was dry. Nervous? "Many men rent cabins, my lady, and I would never consort with a sorcerer."

"Camelot released the ban on magic," Merlin added. "None here would deny it."

The man's eyes flicked between them, unbelieving.

"Show him," Gwen said.

Show him what? Merlin glanced at her, but she only stared at the pirate. He held his palm out, hovering between them all. He hoped this is what she meant. Eyes flaring gold, a soft mote of blue light lit and hovered, then he closed his fingers, quickly extinguishing it.

"Pretty, don't you think?" Gwen continued, "Magic's benefits are so new to the land, and I learn more of it every day. I wonder if it could be used to ensure you thoroughly answer my questions."

Voice faint, the pirate said, "Yes, your majesty."

Merlin shifted. Had she used him to threaten torture on this man? It was a line he'd never crossed, but he couldn't rightly say he wouldn't have threatened it on someone if Arthur's life had required it.

Eyes darting between them all to avoid Gwen's, the man said, "It comes to mind that a sorcerer may have rented a cabin."

Gwen's mouth quirked, and she took a half step back. Leaving Merlin to it, he supposed. "Do you recall when this was?"

"The last sleet rain of the season had come, and it was a full moon when I left him at a port. A new moon when I landed in Saltmaw and got captured. But at least one had passed between, I believe."

One to two months before Merlin had come to Saltmaw with Arthur, it fit with what he'd seen through the Veil. It lined up to the weeks or days before the Purge Trial.

"You recall where you dropped him off, where he came from, what he was doing?"

The pirate paled. "I don't, I swear it. Somehow I remember only slivers of that time," he shivered. "I don't know what that man did to me."

Merlin wasn't quite sure either, and with how dark the spell had been he didn't want to know. "What can you tell me of him?"

"I remember his face as he cursed me, can't forget it." The man ran a hand over his beard, fidgeting with the hairs. "Heavy brow, large eyes. Too round for his face, do you know what I mean? Thin beard, thinning hair. Brown or black hair, couldn't tell, and pale skin."

Not Ruadan then, that man had gone fully grey. Unfortunately, the description could have been anyone. Still, it was something. More than what he had before.

He stepped back from the cell, looking to Gwen. This was all he'd learn from the man, not unless Merlin somehow discovered how to undo dark magic– something he was pretty sure was impossible.

Gwen was reading something off of his own face, Merlin didn't know what. But she did say, "He is likely safer here, where this sorcerer won't go to him again. Still," she eyed the pirate, "perhaps a spell to know if he steals from me again could keep him honest."

The pirate swallowed, "The queen is kind, but perhaps it is unfair to leave my men behind while I go free."

"That's good of you," Gwen smiled, then strode away. Merlin quickly fell in behind her and they left, the pirate's warbling sigh of relief echoing off the walls.

Gwen guided him toward the ocean, and Merlin thanked her for it. A fresh salt breeze would be welcome after the prison's heavy smell of unwashed man sweat.

They made a strange pair, two noble women walking on a dirty pier without guards, but the sun was high enough to avoid any shadow-dwelling ruffians. "Merlin," Gwen said when they'd reached the water, waves and wind blowing loud enough to drown their conversation. "Did you recognize the description of that sorcerer?"

Dark hair, middle-aged… he could really be anyone. "I really don't, unfortunately. I'll ask Gaius and the Druids though."

"I think we need to assume this sorcerer is the same sorcerer the Sarrum has under his thumb. I don't see what need he'd have of pirates, or where they could take him."

"He may not know how to teleport, or how to go beyond where he can't see with his own eyes."

Arthur already had people watching the Amatan border, but would that be enough? Should I try and sneak in? Into a country that had a dark sorcerer and a king that had captured Morgana and Aithusa, that Arthur had already told him straight out to not do anything stupid about?

Gwen sighed, "We are so easily blind to our enemies. I have to admit, I expected this mystery to lead to Ruadan."

"Me too," Merlin said. "I tried to track him down as you asked. I'm pretty sure he's back in Essetir." After the ban's release she'd asked it of him. The magic beyond the Veil had helped him see Ruadan's path East out of the forest, and rumors of strife in Essetir had made it a likely place to hide. Someone had killed the king of Essetir in the past year, or he'd died naturally, his mother didn't quite know.

If Ruadan sought protection and power, a middling lord looking to get ahead during this ongoing succession issue made a good ally.

He said as much to Gwen who pursed her lips as she thought. "I haven't followed the succession closely, but the Council members discussed it before yesterday's session." Taking bets, Merlin guessed, on who would win and if Camelot should back any of them. "I recall a few names, those who have had many minor lords swear to them. Perhaps we slip by and see if anyone stands out."

"People are going to remember the Queen of Camelot stopping by."

She gave him a flat look, "No one ever remembers servants," then she smirked.

That was his line! A cackle burst out of him, "You are very right, we can get anywhere." Taking a deep breath, bracing himself for the cacophony of the storm, Merlin built a new tunnel to a field he knew lay empty in far off Essetir. The roar slammed into him and they landed in that posey field with magic's winds deafening him.

It would die down again, he had to trust magic wouldn't suddenly take him now that his supposed destiny had been fulfilled.

Gwen stumbled a bit away, and Merlin swayed on his feet. The booming undulating roar of the storm made him dizzy, the flowers and grass and trees spinning round him.

He tried for a step forward to balance, but ended up on his hands and knees. He'd lost the form of the lady along the way; his own hands clenched the grass before him.

Get a grip, Merlin. Arthur's voice spoke to him as Merlin shuddered. I don't have time for you to regret a bad breakfast.

A weak laugh escaped him. Yeah, that was something Arthur would say. But with all this screaming….

His existence became endless voices, like thousands shouting at the top of their lungs–

Merlin collapsed, and concern flooded Gwen. Had she pushed him too hard?

She moved quickly to his side, pulling his head out of the dirt to instead pillow on her skirts. He was pale and muttering, and, shaken, she tried to soothe him with calming strokes of her hand through his hair.

"Shh, Merlin," she hummed, "Come back to me."

Could she get help from someone? Trees scattered on all sides, and tall grass and weed flowers filled the field. She didn't know where he'd taken them, though she assumed a field near Ealdor. Could she guess the direction, find his mother?

Merlin jolted, shaking, but stopped muttering. She looked down to see him blinking.

He struggled to sit up, and she had to lean quickly to support his weight. He was heavier than he looked. "Are you okay? What happened?"

He shook his head, mouth moving soundlessly, then closing in a wince. "I… I don't know. I don't know what's happening to me."

"I can requisition horses. We should go back to Camelot the normal way."

He sat straighter, shaking his head again. He rubbed vigorously at his face, and blood bloomed, returning to him a healthier color. "We'll have to go in stages, and rest, but I can get us back faster than horses. And I can still use magic."

He seemed trying to convince himself, and so Gwen jerked in surprise as her dress lightened on her frame. The skirt shortened to brush her ankles, and delicate slippers became hardy boots. She wiggled her toes– she'd missed good boots.

She wore one of her old serving dresses, she realized, and reached back to touch her hair suddenly shortened in haphazard cuts. He'd even tied it back with twine, like she once had.

"Is it… alright?" Merlin asked, worried.

"Of course," she said. He'd even given her her favorite yellow apron. It had the best pockets. This was so strange. She'd been this Gwen for most of her life, why did it feel wrong? "We should forgo this plan. You aren't well."

"I'm as well as I'm going to be," he said, cryptic and earnest in his usual frustrating mixture. "And, well, I think I know exactly where Ruadan is."

How? But he had such a hard time explaining whenever she asked questions like that. "Merlin, are you sure you're up to this?"

"Yes!" He said, standing quickly to his feet. He didn't sway– she'd waited for it. He even yanked her to her feet soon after, scowling at the treeline. "It's only a short jump."

A moment later she stood in a herd of cows, looking up at a modest estate. Many soldiers camped at the far side of the property, too far to spy the sudden appearance of two servants. How could Merlin know to hide them here?

"He's inside," Merlin said while breaking them away from the herd. Gwen grabbed a forgotten pail, dented from a hoof, letting it clank at her calf as she hurried for the estate alongside Merlin. It was a gait faster than a queen's: fast enough to not be called out for laziness, but slow enough to dodge any noble that might jump in her way.

Merlin seemed mostly fine, not in danger of collapsing again, but she worried. Yet the longer he strode with a scowl and no hint of a waver, the more her worry shifted to anticipation. Ruadan was here.

She'd face him, finally.

Merlin pulled to a quick stop, and she nearly stumbled into his back. He nodded at a high window, "There."

An elder, gray-haired man leaned from that window, hands clasped and eyes closed.

Gwen's eyes darted around the property. Merlin's magic would be seen this close to the house, but Ruadan had to be alone in that room. All they had to do was get there.

"Follow me," she whispered, dropping the pail and heading for the manor's front doors. The sun hovered now midway between noon and the horizon, and she hoped that meant much of the staff filled the servant's kitchen.

The white breezeway doors trailed conversation from that kitchen, but she ducked Merlin the opposite direction, passing through an empty dining room and into a foyer. A servant with a pitcher spied them from the top of the stair, his step stuttering.

He was far older than her, so she decided innocence and idiocy were the better play. Scurrying up the stairs she tried for panic, skirts in her hands, and put a blushing smile on her face as she ducked a quick curtsy to the serving man. "Message," she said, trying for breathless and hoping she was mistaken for one of the outcamp's serving women, then ducked for the hallway that must lead for Ruadan's window.

She heard nothing in her wake, and hoped it was enough. Merlin lumbering behind her may be suspicious, but the serving man seemed to accept it for now.

Counting doors, her hand clicked against a locked doorknob. She'd hardly felt it before Merlin sucked in a breath and the knob turned under her palm. The door opened to Ruadan in a cramped room. A white skirted bed lined one wall, and a cluttered desk the other.

"Still praying for forgiveness," Merlin muttered.

"Lock it behind us," she whispered back.

Ruadan had turned by then, eyes widening in the seconds it took to recognize them.

His hands went up, then down as if yanked. They twisted behind his back and forced him to his knees.

Ruadan opened his mouth to speak, then closed his eyes and bowed his head. He knew he'd been beaten, and he knew he'd done wrong.

It did not lessen the sudden rage that filled her.

"You tried to kill us, and then you left your daughter to die for your crime." He still wore his belt, but he could not move to grab the knife tucked in its sheath. Gwen pulled it surely, testing the blade's edge with a practiced finger. Not sharpened recently, but good enough. "What words do you have for yourself?"

Ruadan sagged, "So, she is truly dead."

Merlin had said Ruadan had been praying for forgiveness– how he knew that she couldn't guess– but Ruadan's remorse must be genuine. "She isn't, so perhaps that's more reason for you to live through this encounter."

Ruadan said, "You want answers."

Gwen nodded, and Ruadan's eyes dodged to Merlin. "Emrys, my wife died in the Purge. She had no magic and no weapon, but knights still ran her down in a raid. To learn you'd been defending Camelot burned. I wanted your head for it." He huffed in dark amusement, "Then to see magic freed only months later… I'd miscalculated. If only I'd listened to Iseldir…."

He'd been after Merlin? Gwen could hardly believe it. Ruadan had taken Arthur to Morgana, and the cloak had come from her too. "You didn't move on Morgana's orders?"

"She had made the cloak, and I had expected her to support me against Camelot, but something must have changed since I'd last seen her. She's got a treaty now, I hear," he shook his head again, closing his eyes.

"She's obtained reign over the Isle of the Blessed," Gwen said, lowering so she sat on her knees before Ruadan. It put their faces level. It was kind of her to do it, Ruadan relaxed further seeing her so calm. "Ruadan, is there anything else I should know? Have you been in contact with other sorcerers working against Camelot or the Isle?"

He blinked at her with confusion. "No, is someone working against you?"

This close, she could see every nuance of his expression. He still spoke the truth. "Would you like to see your daughter again?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"Do you think you deserve to see her again?"

His mouth worked, "I… I don't know."

Gwen put one hand on his shoulder, holding him just firmly enough to still be soothing. "If you had come to Camelot with this regret and remorse, we may have pardoned you. Camelot has its own share of crimes that it can never atone for. But Ruadan,"

She flipped the dagger in her grip and drove it into the bob of his throat. Merlin gasped but didn't release Ruadan, whose arms stayed tied at his back. Ruadan's blood spilled in a sheet, covering his neck and soaking his collar.

"But Ruadan," she said again, softly, "you did not come before the Queen of Camelot and beg pardon. Today you were caught by Gwen the blacksmith's daughter, and your actions killed my child. And that Gwen will see you dead for it."

Blood choked up into his mouth, burbling with weak coughs, and Gwen stood to her feet. She'd left the dagger in, and the blood did not spread quickly. It took another minute for his eyes to roll closed, and another few for the body to stop gasping. He'd likely died from lack of air rather than her knife wound.

Only a little of Ruadan's blood had gotten on her hand, and this she wiped on her apron. Turning to Merlin, she saw him watching the body with hooded eyes. Did he judge her for it?

"I poisoned Morgana," Merlin said abruptly. "I tried to kill Mordred. I did kill Agravaine, and so many others."

Gwen moved to stand at his shoulder, pressing just slightly against his arm. Dressed again as a servant next to Merlin, it was easy to remember sharing grins while juggling wine pitchers, or resting together on the steps of the castle after another long day. In those early years she'd pictured him next to her the rest of her life, and had seen him as one of her greatest friends. So much had happened, so much had changed.

She tucked a hand into his elbow, giving him a small squeeze.

I'm glad he's here with me. "You understand me, don't you?" I understand him. "I trust you did what needed to be done."

He put his hand over hers, giving her a soft squeeze back. "Camelot?"

"In stages, Merlin, I don't want you fainting again."

Merlin nodded, his eyes swirled gold, and they were gone.

The high tops of trees swayed around Mithian, sunlight trickling through the gaps between strong summer leaves. Far below her, she heard her father's men, well, her men, climbing up the ladder to her vantage point.

This former childhood playpen, a once small but growing wooden platform in the woods, now camouflaged well in the thick forest branches. Enough of these platforms, and no attacking army could sneak up on Nemeth without arrows between the eyes.

However, she doubted they had time for that. A single hidden command post would have to suffice for now.

Nervousness had her jittery as she looked out on the castle far beyond her reach. What did her father really think she could do from here, with only a few handfuls of men? Was he using himself as bait?

"Princess," a man said at her back, and she turned to him with head held high. Her father had commissioned her custom armor, still incomplete, so she instead imagined the confidence it would lend her. She hoped it hid her nerves.

"Report," she said.

He gestured back for the maps spread behind them, and she stood at his side as he pointed out the routes sentries had run today.

Nemeth sat on the southern border of Albion. Amata with the Sarrum bordered their right, and Deorham with King Alined bordered their left. Alined had traditionally been an ally, if lackluster, of Nemeth.

To Alined's left sat Odin's lands, however. With Odin's former allyship of the Sarrum, Nemeth and Deorham could be in danger from a pincer move of those two kingdoms. The Sarrum would want to secure the South before pushing upwards. She had to be sure Alined would support her.

The messenger then handed her an envelope sealed with a king's seal. She eyed the emblem, recognizing it as Alined's. "Did father send him a missive?" She hadn't started communication with Alined, wouldn't have without her father's permission.

"No, princess. Though his men caught our sentry on the road and handed him letters for you and the King."

"Our sentires are meant to be moving quietly–"

"I agree, princess. I can't guess how Alined's men knew, but it makes my skin itch."

The castle likely had spies, every kingdom had spies– she couldn't fault it of Alined. Though, her skin itched for it too. She didn't like the idea of that angry little man keeping an eye on her.

She'd have to start doing her own reconnaissance more efficiently, but she pushed the details to the back of her mind. The letter came open easily in her hands.

"Odin raises an army at my border. Deorham considers Nemeth a friend. I will send men to help shore your defenses, and my jester and servant, Trickler, to bring a second message that I won't risk to a letter.

King Alined."

It seemed honest and friendly, perhaps too much so. They hadn't asked for extra men. And who sent their jester with a message?

Mithian's gut churned. It felt wrong, but she couldn't pinpoint why.

She turned to her messenger, "None of your reports mentioned an army building in Odin's lands."

"We did not discover that, but perhaps we should look closer at the border instead of the capitol. Perhaps they are closer to moving than we think."

Mithian frowned. Stories of the Sarrum's skill with battle strategy made her wary, and perhaps that was what sat wrong with her. This felt too easy.

"Pull a few more men from the castle, knights we can trust, I'd like at least fifty hidden in these woods. And find me Sir Cardric." It would still do good to check. "I'd like to find the best way to probe Alined's border with Odin without our men being seen."

Eyes on the Prize sung by Mavis

Footnotes:
(1) King Rodor and Princess Mithian of Nemeth
(2) King Alined (and his jester the Trickler) of Deorham
(3) The Sarrum of Amata
(4) King Odin of Cornwall

I love Mithian and Rodor's relationship. And Merlin and Gwen's. And Merlin and Morgana's. And Forridel being Forridel. Yeah, no wonder people write stories about these characters.

So much going on! I would love to know your theories. What's going on with Merlin? Who's the dark sorcerer? What's the Sarrum's plan here?

Next time: Zombie Plague. It wants their brains.