Another's Favor by ebhg
Rating: T
Pairings: Merthian/Arwen
Spoilers: Series 1-4 and up to episode 4 of Series 5.
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to BBC.
Capture
A/N: Thanks again for all your tremendous support and fabulous reviews! Another little detour from the lovelies, but have no fear, they will be back soon:)
Within a week of finding herself in his camp, Morgana had completely entrenched herself as the leader of Alvarr's rogue band. The weak man seemed content to allow Morgana to take control. Not that he'd had much choice in the matter, nor that Morgana cared whether he was willing to let her take control.
"My Lady," a breathless man addressed her. Morgana did not acknowledge the man right away, but let him stand in her periphery, fidgeting in his nervousness. Morgana smirked inwardly at her power over this small band of men. Finally, the High Priestess looked at the messenger and quirked an eyebrow in invitation.
"I've just returned from the city, My Lady," he said in a rush. Morgana said nothing, but continued to stare at the man, inwardly delighting at how it unnerved him. Morgana finally decided to speak before the messenger had to change his pants.
"And what news hails from the great city of Camelot?" Morgana drawled, smirking at the man's rapidly paling face.
"There has been some excitement among the citizens. Apparently Merlin, the king's former manservant, has been named First Advisor to the King."
"I know who the worthless wretch is; he's been a pain in my side for many years. Why should I care that Arthur has finally acknowledged where his brain is?"
The fidgety messenger didn't have an answer, not that Morgana had expected one.
"What else? Has Odin left the city? What about troop movements? Did you find out where the knight named Mordred is?"
"Odin left the city a few days before I arrived. The troop movements were being rearranged on account of Princess Mithian's betrothal, and-"
"Mithian's betrothal?!" Morgana interrupted.
"Y-yes. It was announced to the city on the same day that Merlin was appointed First Advisor that Merlin and Princess Mithian were betrothed. They are set to wed in a little less than a fortnight."
Morgana sat momentarily in stunned silence until she suddenly doubled over laughing, much to the discomfiture of the scout reporting to her.
"Merlin? Marrying a princess? What a fine son-in-law Merlin will make for King Rodor. A bastard and a princess. I would never have thought it possible." Morgana instantly sobered. "What of Sir Mordred?"
"He and a small group of knights left the city some three weeks ago. They're on a training patrol of the borders."
Morgana smiled her first genuine smile in days, calculating things in her mind. This was good, she thought. If Mordred and the patrol left Camelot three weeks before and had followed the traditional training route, they would soon be crossing through the area in which Morgana and Alvarr were currently camped. With Merlin and Mithian set to wed soon, Arthur would be less likely to act quickly to the training patrol's late return. And what patrol of Camelot's finest could ignore reports of magic being performed? Morgana smirked, standing up on a tree stump and raising her voice for all to hear.
"I want everyone to start using magic as obviously as possible. Knock trees down, make lights, strange sounds. The more unnatural the better. The nearest village is a standard stop for Camelot's training patrols. Camelot's finest will not be able to resist investigating such blatant signs of magic," Morgana said, smirking in satisfaction. "We will ambush them and take Sir Mordred prisoner."
"You mean for us to kill the rest of them?" Alvarr asked, his own self-satisfied grin on his face. He hadn't objected to Morgana's immediate and utter take-over of the group. He was not stupid; he knew that Morgana now had the power to kill him with little more than a gesture. But he also knew that if he played his hand well, he could end up very well positioned within their new Camelot. Perhaps even consort to the Queen.
"Yes; kill all but Mordred and perhaps one other to take word back to Camelot. Arthur won't be able to resist coming to rescue his young knight from my grasp. By the time he realizes it is a trap, he'll have a sword through his belly and I'll be there to pick up the pieces," Morgana said, smiling seductively at a smirking Alvarr, his lust for Morgana and her power entirely unveiled.
Sefa however, was only becoming more and more disillusioned with the man who had charmed her into joining his group, promising her retribution for her father's death. Only now that Morgana had taken control did Sefa realize that she had perhaps gotten more than she had bargained for.
While she wasn't entirely forgiving of Queen Guinevere, considering the death sentence she had given Sefa, King Arthur had always been kind, if a bit aloof. Merlin, too, had been entirely good to her in their similar roles as servants to the King and Queen.
"Sefa," Morgana barked, startling the young girl from her thoughts.
"Yes, My Lady?" she asked, as humbly as possible. If there was anything she had learned in Camelot, it was that some nobles expected a certain level of bootlicking as Merlin had called it. Morgana seemed the type to expect utter and complete obedience.
"I'm going to need Mandrake roots. Lots of them. Do you know how to find them?" Morgana began. At Sefa's confirming nod, the High Priestess continued. "At least a dozen, more if possible. They cannot be damaged in any way while you harvest them."
Sefa nodded her understanding and jumped when Morgana suddenly yelled, "GO!"
"Yes, My Lady," she stammered, rushing to find a basket and a spade. It seemed she had some digging to do.
Nothing in all his travels prior to his knighthood could have prepared Mordred for nearly four weeks in the saddle. It had taken him some time before he had really felt comfortable astride the beast, considering that Druids tended to travel by foot, a habit he had retained though he hadn't lived amongst his kind in many years. There was the occasional pony used to pull a cart or carry a pack, but such luxuries were rare amongst the people of his birth.
Mordred winced for perhaps the hundredth time that morning and leaned forward slightly in his stirrups, hoping to take the weight off his aching backside. At the low chuckle from behind him, Mordred knew he hadn't been subtle enough.
"Sore bottom?" Sir Brennis asked, grinning knowingly. He and Sir Caridoc were veteran knights; both had survived more than eight years in the king's army. Both had been tasked with taking the lead for this training patrol. It was a long-standing tradition for a group of new initiates to take a tour of the borderlands on their first patrol to familiarize themselves with the lay of the land and the borders of the kingdom.
It was Mordred's first such outing, accompanied by two other fresh recruits, Sirs Bellvue and Orrin. The others seemed to be adapting better to their time on horseback though, having spent more time around the beasts in their lives prior to their elevation to knighthood.
"It's nothing," Mordred said, sitting back in his seat and straightening his spine.
"There's no shame in admitting it," Sir Caridoc chided from up ahead of Mordred. "We were all there once."
"Shows you've got some stones," Sir Brennis said crudely; Mordred was grateful that the man was behind him, unable to see his pinked cheeks.
"Brennis, there's no need to taint these boys' virgin ears," Caridoc teased, though Orrin and Bellvue scoffed.
"Please, I've been to the tavern with Sir Gwaine already," Orrin said.
"True, after one such excursion, there's nothing sacred left," Bellvue snickered.
Mordred said nothing; though he was prepared to fight with these men as his brothers in arms, he could not help but marvel at their very limited world view. The previous life he had led, roaming from one bandit or nomadic group to another in order to stay alive, was a far cry from the spoiled lives these sons of nobility had.
"We don't have much longer until we reach the next village, Mordred," Sir Caridoc assured the saddle-sore knight. "It is the last stop on our journey before we return to Camelot."
"And to good food, a decent bed and a hot bath," Orrin mused.
"Not to mention plenty of women," Brennis added. "They'll be a sight for sore eyes after you lot."
"Anything would be an improvement after nearly four weeks with your snoring," Caridoc called back, causing a ripple of laughter to move down the line of knights.
It had certainly been a long journey, with plenty of teasing and practical jokes, but Mordred could not deny that it had cemented his loyalty to these new brothers in his life. It gave him a sense of security and inner peace that the former-Druid had been sorely lacking through his adolescence.
"Perhaps you'll find a pretty lass in this village we're headed to," Mordred called over his shoulder, smiling at the glazed look that came over his superior's eyes.
"I'll be glad just for a hot meal," Bellvue groaned.
"Here, here!" Orrin chimed in. Mordred laughed, and shook his head, pondering once more on how different his life had been from his fellow knights. Living amongst the trees and subsisting on dried provisions and scavenged berries was nothing new to him.
Less than an hour later, the trees thinned until they gave way completely to a patchwork of fields guiding the way to a small village nestled in the center. Several young children scampered out from among the mud and stone walled homes and met the knights of Camelot with cheers and laughter. Mordred smiled at the boys who ran alongside their steadily moving horses, their eyes wide at the sight of their chainmail and crimson cloaks. It was an intoxicating feeling, being so utterly welcomed and adored; so different from the distrustful stares and sneers that had often followed Mordred wherever he went.
"My Lords," a harried-looking man greeted them on the edge of the village, bowing low as Sir Caridoc reined in his horse, eased himself down from the saddle and introduced their party.
"Can we trouble your humble village to house us for the night?" the senior knight requested, his brow furrowing at the utter relief on the peasant man's face.
"You are more than welcome, Sir Knights. We gladly welcome you and the protection you could provide, even just for one night."
"Is something troubling you?" Sir Brennis asked, any pretense of finding a pretty lass and relaxing for the evening gone. Several more men emerged from the village and joined the village leader as a few women came running to usher the children into their homes.
"We have been plagued for more than a week now by all sorts of unnaturalness. The trees are moaning with terrible noises, falling even though they are strong and healthy. The night sky over the forest has been lit by all manner of strange lights and the animals are disturbed. We have found several animals with strange deformities and odd characteristics."
"Odd characteristics?" Sir Orrin asked. A young man, perhaps sixteen summers, nodded his head.
"I was hunting two days ago when I saw a fox with deer's legs. My father saw a deer with a snake's tail."
"Sorcery, then," Sir Caridoc said with a grim expression. Mordred's heart sank at the fearful looks that were exchanged around the circle. He had mostly stayed out of Camelot's borders in the last several years. Hearing magic spoken of with fear and apprehension gave Mordred a new appreciation for Emry's precarious position.
"We'll stay the night," Sir Brennis assured them, looking at his fellow veteran knight in silent conversation before giving a curt nod.
"Tomorrow, we'll make a loop back through the forest where you have seen these things, and see if we can't rout the scoundrels."
"Thank you," the first man said, his relief palpable as he bowed again to the five knights. A few young men came forward, offering to take their horses while the knights rested around the central fire pit. Once there, each of them were afforded a hot bowl of stew and a mug of cider. The others dug into their food hungrily, making plans for the next day's detour. Sir Caridoc busied himself with a piece of parchment and quill, scratching out a quick missive to the king, explaining their delay. One of the young men that had tended to their horses quickly volunteered to take the letter on to Camelot at first light.
Mordred half-heartedly pushed the chunks of parsnips around his clay bowl, an uneasy feeling settling itself into his gut at the prospect of hunting down other magic-users. He also couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap; sorcerers didn't announce their presence for no reason. Not in Camelot at any rate.
"Nervous?"
The question startled Mordred from his thoughts, and he looked up to find Brennis eying him with a fatherly expression, though the man couldn't have been more than seven years his senior.
"No," Mordred denied out of habit, though he looked down at the bowl in his hands at Brennis' raised eyebrow. "Just a bit of a bad feeling, I suppose."
"It happens to all of us, when we knowingly head into battle."
"You are expecting battle, then?"
"I fear we cannot expect any less. Why else would a sorcerer make themselves known, but to start a fight?"
Mordred said nothing in reply, though he couldn't help but wonder what Brennis would say if Mordred made himself known as a warlock just then.
"Probably just a senile old wizard," Bellvue chimed in, a cocky look on his face. "Took too many special potions."
"We can hope," Mordred said flatly.
"You going to finish that?" Orrin asked, eying Mordred's bowl hungrily. Mordred chuckled humorlessly and shook his head, offering his bowl to his fellow knight and standing up. "I think I'll turn in."
"I'll wake you for second watch," Sir Caridoc ordered, and Mordred nodded his acceptance before winding his way to where they had set up their bedrolls for the night.
After nearly a fortnight of tearing down trees, conjuring strange lights over the forest and generally terrorizing the hapless villagers in the area, Morgana's efforts finally paid off.
Alvarr and four of his men lay in wait amongst the trees with Morgana. Before they had been waiting for more than an hour, the distant sound of horses could be heard. Morgana smirked and nearly trembled at the battle reflexes that were tightening her muscles. Alvarr moved to attack just as the first horseman came into view, but Morgana held him fast with a silent grip of magic. It would not do for him to ruin the element of surprise. Morgana inwardly celebrated at the level of control she had over him, and the element of fear that was clear in his expression now that Alvarr knew just what she could do to him.
"Wait..." the High Priestess whispered almost soundlessly.
At last, Mordred came into view at the back of the column, and Morgana stepped soundlessly onto the trail behind them. Mustering all of her considerable rage and letting it boil just under the surface, Morgana reached out a hand and closed it into a fist. Each of the mounted knights froze in their saddles, their animals prancing nervously as they sensed the power around them.
Suddenly, Morgana jerked her hand backwards, ripping all five of the soldiers off their horses. The senior knights fell hard, stilling instantly. One of them, Sir Brennis, if Morgana remembered correctly, was dead as soon as he hit the ground. The other lay on his side, struggling to breathe. Morgana ignored him in favor of the younger knights who were quickly scrambling to their feet.
"Morgana!" Mordred called out, surprised to see the witch after he'd stabbed her in the back.
"Did you really think you could kill a High Priestess with a mortal blade?" Morgana asked smugly, holding the young warlock-knight under the grip of her magic. The panic on Mordred's face grew as Alvarr and his men finally descended on the other two knights.
One of the younger knights managed to run the weakest of the sorcerers through and charged at Morgana, a battle cry on his lips. While still holding Mordred captive, Morgana threw her left hand out and cut off the charging knight's air supply. The red-clad soldier dropped to his knees instantly, clutching at his throat as he gagged and choked.
The third knight was fighting valiantly, even Morgana had to admit. Alvarr's men were not talented enough in magic to best the soldier, and Morgana was currently occupied with choking one and holding Mordred captive.
"Alvarr!" Morgana screamed, angry that the knight wasn't dead already.
The former druid raised the crossbow he'd pilfered from the saddlebag of an anxious horse. Acting quickly, Alvarr took aim, using a touch of magic to ensure the bolt hit the knight with a killing shot.
Morgana smirked, then crushed the windpipe of the knight under her grip, regretting that she hadn't done the same to Merlin when she'd had the chance. But the witch was smart enough to realize that Merlin's death was the only thing that would have caused Arthur to abandon his quest to save Rodor. But not again, Morgana vowed; the next time she saw Merlin, he would be dead before he hit the ground.
Mordred looked at her in anger; Morgana saw the determination in his eyes and instantly knew what the knight was thinking. Closing his eyes, Mordred took a deep breath and bowed his head, trying to center himself to call upon his magic as his first mentor had taught him.
Morgana growled, gripping him in the same magical chokehold as she had Merlin. Just before Mordred lost consciousness, Morgana stepped closer and sneered.
"The problem with hiding the fact that you have magic is that you don't learn how to use it properly," she whispered. "You could have been so powerful, so worthy. Look at what Arthur has made you. A stunted coward."
Mordred's eyes grew wider one last time before he passed out. Morgana instantly released his airway and dropped her hold on him, allowing him to fall to the ground like a stone.
"Alvarr!" Morgana barked, eyeing the remaining four sorcerers and the unconscious knight half-buried by leaves.
"Leave the rest, but gather the horses and Mordred. I'm taking him to The Dark Tower at dawn."
Morgana left the others to do the work, her euphoric expression unseen as she disappeared into the trees as silently as she had emerged.
Sefa waited anxiously in her tent, cleaning the last of the mandrake roots Morgana had demanded. The camp was still and silent except for her, everyone else following the witch on her mad quest to capture a knight of Camelot. Alvarr and the others had changed over the last week and a half. Sefa had originally joined their camp when they had found her running in the dark, her feet blistered and raw from her blind flight.
Alvarr had charmed her, she was sad to realize now. Sefa had imagined quietly living amongst the Druids many times during her childhood. Her father had become bitter, like Alvarr was. Sefa could see that now. That was why they had left the Druid camp she had been born in; her father had not been willing to live in peace.
The mandrake roots made her uneasy. Or rather, what Morgana had in mind for them. Her magical knowledge and herb lore was sadly lacking, having lived on the run, moving from place to place with her father until he had sent her to find work in Camelot. She had thought her father was proud of her when she had written to tell him that she had been given a job in the citadel; the queen's handmaiden no less. Then his requests had started, and before Sefa had realized what was happening, she had been charged with treason. She had loved her father; it had taken her many weeks to come to the realization of what it was he had done to her by turning her into his unwitting pawn. She had thought the queen a friendly and personable figure. She had allowed Sefa to call her Gwen when they were alone in the queen's chambers. She had been very conflicted by how she felt about it all.
Then Morgana had come.
Sefa was at a loss as to how her father could have allied himself with such a bitter and hateful woman. She had no remorse, and no thought for the innocents caught in her wake. She had spent time with the king and queen; she knew them to be good people. Yes, they were against magic, and now that Sefa had come to know Morgana Pendragon for who she really was, she could almost understand the king's position.
Sefa placed the last mandrake root into the basket with the others, and a shudder went down her spine as she thought of what the witch could possibly have in mind for them. More and more, Sefa was regretting not just the moment she had found Morgana Pendragon, but also telling Alvarr that she had. She had hoped that by getting to know the high priestess, she would understand her father and the cause that he had died for a little better. But all that she had realized was that King Arthur was a good and noble king; far kinder and more merciful than his sister, even to the people that Morgana professed to be helping. Sefa could only hope that she could find some way to make up for her mistakes.
That was when Sefa's eyes had fallen upon the basket of mandrakes. Morgana had expressly instructed her that they could not be damaged. Perhaps, Sefa thought rebelliously, a small nick would go unnoticed? She had just finished doing just that with three of the mandrakes when the triumphant shouts and gleeful cheers echoed across the camp; they were back.
Dumping the mandrake in her hands into the basket and rushing out of her tent, Sefa's eyes widened as the rag-tag band came into view, dragging a scarlet cloaked knight between them. Sefa looked into the young knight's unconscious face, seeking any sign of him from her memory, but to no avail.
"Alvarr, tie him up!" the witch commanded before turning to the young woman sadly watching the knight. "Sefa, this is Sir Mordred," Morgana said, her voice falsely sweet, and her thinly veiled warning clear. "He's a traitor to his kind just as Emrys is. Tried to stab me in the back. But no matter; he'll be a fine puppet."
Sefa's mind froze in horror, recalling vague memories of the warnings of meddling with mandrake roots and realizing what the witch had in store for the young knight. Her stomach churned at what she now realized she had done in harvesting the mandrakes, wishing she had denied any knowledge of what they looked like. Then Mordred groaned, his head lolling as he struggled to regain consciousness.
"Sefa!" Morgana called; to her disappointment the witch was just emerging from Sefa's tent with the roots in hand. "Give Sir Mordred some water. I can't have him unfit for travel."
With shaking hands, Sefa found a water skin and brought it to the groggy knight, holding the vessel to his lips and letting a few drops into Mordred's mouth.
"I'm so sorry, Sir Mordred," she whispered, struggling to hold back the tears that welled up in her eyes. "The king will come for you, I'm sure. Be strong until then."
Thanks for reading! Next chapter is one I'm sure you've all been waiting for. ;)
