Chapter Three: The Truth About Magic
Leon did his best to keep from looking like he was fleeing the 'truck', but given that he'd forgotten about the 'seatbelt' and gotten stuck until the friendly guardsman that looked uncannily like Percival freed him… Well. It didn't help that the black-haired guardsman they'd first met had disappeared, grimacing and muttering something about 'SIU' under his breath. Nor did it help that Percival was handling all this 'technology' much better than he was. The big, usually quiet knight was chattering away with a tan-skinned guardsman, almost gleeful as he examined the man's 'phone' and poked at the brightly-lit 'screen'. Despite knowing that nothing around him was magical, the noble just couldn't shake the feeling that magic was near.
"Heck of a day, huh?"
The knight jumped, turning towards the Percival lookalike. A faint scowl appeared. "How would you know?" he asked, well aware he sounded like a sullen child and uncaring of that fact.
Amusement flashed across the other man's face. "Let's just say I know what it's like to find yourself in a completely different world."
Leon's frown deepened, but he said nothing further as the guardsmen led himself and Percival inside the building.
"You want to send us home with magic?" Leon blurted, jerking backwards in open fear. "Are you mad?" Use magic? Trust magic? After everything he'd seen, everything he'd gone through? Morgana. Mordred. The old man who'd promised to heal King Uther. Time and time again, magic had ripped away those Leon cared for. Killed good men and twisted others into pale mockeries of themselves.
"Magic's not illegal," the blond guardsman pointed out, his tone nonchalant.
"It's not?" Percival asked, trading a dismayed glance with Leon. "Why?"
The half-bald Sergeant stepped in, clearing his throat. "Actually, sir knights, most people these days don't know magic is real. To them, it's nothing more than myth and legend."
Leon gawped in abject horror, but Percival's gaze sharpened. "If magic is nothing more than legend, how do you know differently?" the big knight demanded.
The guardsmen traded looks of their own, as if silently debating how much to share. Leon stiffened, but Percival's elbow jabbed into his ribs before he could speak. At last, the leader sighed, running a hand over his head and through the remnants of his brown hair. "My team is signed onto a law called the Official Secrets Act. We're legally authorized to know about the existence of magic and also authorized to deal with magical…incidents."
Leon, no fool, knew there had to be more to the story and bristled. "You have magic," he hissed.
The Sergeant never flinched. "No member of my team is a sorcerer, Sir Leon." One brow arched. "Actually, Sir Leon, I'm surprised at you. You fear and hate magic even when you know two sorcerers who never once laid a hand on you. Even though magic saved your life. More than once."
The noble's eyes narrowed, fists balling, but he didn't respond, even as Percival glanced between him and the guardsman in confusion. "What are you talking about?" the big knight asked, defensiveness radiating.
The guardsman cocked his head to the side, a gleam in his eyes. "The Cup of Life," he remarked, voice bland.
"You think one instance of magic helping instead of harming will change my mind?" Leon hissed.
"No," the other granted. "But then, I would've thought Geoffrey Calvin telling you he was born with magic might've made an impression. Especially since I know he also told you Sir Lancelot had magic."
Leon felt his insides freeze. "How do you know that?" he rasped.
A shrug. "I've read his journal."
There was a wealth of meaning behind that simple statement, but Leon was in no state to parse it. Rage welled up, raw fury and anguish and how-could-he, why-would-he.
"Leon?" Percival's question was hesitant, fearful. "Lancelot had magic?"
Damn them. Damn them for knowing about Geoffrey, for knowing what he'd sworn he'd take to his grave. "That's what Geoffrey told me," Leon replied as evenly as he could. "He said Lancelot never used it, but that…"
"Every member of his family is born with magic," the Sergeant finished quietly. "He wanted you to know, Sir Leon. He wanted you to learn that magic isn't evil. It depends on how it's used."
No. It couldn't be that simple, not after magic had taken so much from him. From Camelot. It had taken Lancelot, too. After all, what other reason was there for Lancelot to have so blatantly betrayed his King? How else could have Lancelot forced Gwen into her betrayal? No, as soon as Leon had discovered Lancelot's magic, he'd known.
"Magic is evil," Leon hissed. "It twists men, turns them against all they believe in, all they stand for. Lancelot…" He faltered, then forced the words out. "Lancelot betrayed us. I never understood it, not until Geoffrey told me about the magic." And he would never, never understand why Geoffrey had chosen to learn magic. Chosen to use magic.
Sorrow and understanding shone in hazel eyes. "You don't believe they were born with magic, do you?"
Leon shook his head. "You cannot be born with evil," he insisted. "Magic is a choice, one that corrupts and destroys."
The guardsmen traded glances, the Sergeant's gaze resting particularly on the blond. The man grimaced, then motioned for his leader to go ahead. Snapping his head back towards Leon, the Sergeant said flatly, "Sir Lancelot died at the Isle of the Blessed, Sir Leon. You never saw him alive again after that."
Confusion hummed. "Yes, we did," Leon countered grimly.
"What came back to Camelot was a Shade," the Sergeant explained. "Morgana used necromancy to bind Sir Lancelot and resurrect him, but he was nothing more than her puppet."
Percival growled, low and furious. "What proof do you have of this?"
"Here." The black-haired guardsman was back; he held out an ancient looking book, worn, faded, and already open to a particular page.
Dread stirred, but Leon took the tome, jerking in surprise at the sight of Gaius' handwriting. Gaius had written this? The knight laid the book on the curiously smooth stone colored table so Percival could read the account as well. Blue eyes snagged on the opposite page, the noble paling at the eerie skeletal figure depicted. Drawing in a breath, he read the words.
The old legends do speak of such creatures. They call them 'Shades'. Poor, tormented souls summoned from their rest by the necromancer's art. They possess the physical form they had in life as well as knowledge of their own skills and name. Beyond that, they are mere shells of what they were before and can be forced to betray everything they were in life. Though Sir Lancelot was an honorable man in life; in death, he was forced by the Witch, Morgana, to seduce Lady Guinevere and thus come between her and King Arthur. After being caught, the Shade committed suicide on Morgana's orders, taking the truth of what had occurred to its new grave. Even after the Shade's death, the soul remained bound to Morgana until freed by magic equal to the dark magic used to raise the Shade.
No. No. Leon's hands began to shake. It couldn't be true, it couldn't. To tear a good man from his rest and force him into the basest treachery. "And you still believe magic isn't evil?" he cried, jerking away from the book as though burnt. "You still believe it doesn't corrupt and destroy everything it touches?"
Hazel pinned him. "Magic is a talent, just like any other," the guardsman insisted. "My team, we see the worst of humanity every day. The worst twenty minutes of other people's lives. You don't need magic to hurt someone and magic doesn't automatically make you a monster. Magic or no magic, people are still people, Sir Leon. And we humans have a choice, every day. Magic, by itself, can't corrupt any more than any other power can."
Leon stared at the man. He truly believed that. He truly believed that magic could be good, that those who wielded it could choose to use it for good or ill. "I have seen far more of magic than you, Sergeant. It is evil and it turns even the best of us to darkness and despair. Perhaps you are right that Lancelot had no choice – that makes it even worse in my eyes. Because of magic, one of the best knights I have ever known betrayed his King. Do not shame him by defending what destroyed him."
"Well then," an impossibly familiar voice rang out from behind him, "I guess I should be the most evil person in the world."
Leon and Percival whirled as one, gawping at Merlin. Merlin who regarded them with joy and sorrow, Merlin who nodded greeting to the guardsmen, Merlin who looked exactly the same as he had in Camelot. Merlin who lifted his hand, a globe of blue-white light appearing above it as he continued, "After all, I was born with magic and I'm the most powerful warlock who has ever existed. Or who will ever exist."
Percival's jaw dropped open, but Leon felt his entire world compress down to that magical light. His King's best friend had magic. A man he knew possessed not an ounce of evil had magic. Something wrenched in his chest and his mind's eye overlaid another man's features. Geoffrey Calvin, gazing at him calmly, but with a hint of pleading.
Please. Don't judge me by her standards. Don't judge my magic by her actions.
But he had. Involuntarily, Leon's head turned back towards the Sergeant and he recognized that shade of hazel. Geoffrey's eyes gazed at him, calm, steady, and yet that same pleading lurked in their depths. The knight's stomach twisted. Parker had denied his team had sorcerers amongst them.
He had not denied that they had magic.