A/N: A short chapter, apologies, will post another asap :P

Lady of Magic

Chapter Thirteen

When Merlin next woke, she was somewhere she did not recognize. A vast chamber, held upright by marble pillars, flickered in the dim torchlight. It did not appear to be a bedroom, but she was on a canopied bed, and near it was a large desk with papers and bottles scattered on top, a container for quills and several large crystal orbs.

There was no one nearby, nor were there windows. The chamber darkened as it stretched away from her, but she saw steps going down, as if she were on a stage, and there was a faint smell of flowers and herbs mixed with mold. The air was damp, and she could hear dripping water.

"Gwaine?" She dared to call, "Roskin?"

No answer.

Merlin slid off the bed, noting that she was wearing her healer garb. She had no shoes, however, and after a few seconds of searching, opted to continue barefoot. The ground was carpeted with soft rugs that were amazingly dry compared to the humid air.

"Hello?" She called out again. "Is anyone there?"

Her voice echoed, rebounding from the walls, but there was no answer.

Great…She looked around again, noting bookshelves now, with little figurines of animals and fairies, some tomes, a portrait of…

Merlin froze. That was…strange. The portrait was a standard life-size, depicting a regal-looking woman who looked…oddly, like herself. Not entirely so—paintings were rarely so accurate, but the distinct cheekbones, the intense blue eyes, were all there. In the painting, black hair curled around to obscure the ears, but the figure was clad in rich velvets studded with pearls and gold from the East. Her eyes were cast slightly downward, as if presiding over an audience from a higher point. On her head was a headdress glimmering with precious stones. A scepter extended from her hand, which hung by elbows resting against the armrest of a throne.

There were others, now that Merlin noticed the first. None of them looked precisely like her, but they bore a chilling resemblance. They all featured her in different personas; the one next to the first showed her in plainer garb, a hood over her head and a staff that looked about as polished as a newly-yanked tree root. She looked diagonally ahead as she walked. The forest provided the backdrop, lush and green, and the central figure gazed out at her with defiance.

There was one showing her on horseback, clad in armor that seemed to accentuate her slender form, but her hair was loose and free about her and her eyes gazed at something in the distance. A staff gleamed as she raised it from her side, the other hand pulling the reins. Another portrait showed her in leather armor instead, much of her face turned away, hair braided under her cap. Fire raged in the background, interspersed with smoke, and in the dark smog were figures of people running, falling, arms covering their heads and their loved ones.

Other portraits were even stranger; one showed her in black robes with eyes flashing gold and an expression frighteningly similar to Morgana's. Another showed her in a rocking chair by a window, cradling a bundle in her arms and gazing down tenderly as a tiny hand reached up for her face. The oddest one showed her floating above a lake covered in mist, her own features slightly obscured but her body only a silhouette, showing only the outline of her very apparently unclothed figure.

Unnerved, Merlin stepped away from the pictures, wondering what manner of a lunatic would take the time to draw her in all these different personas. Possibly the same kind that would abduct her—where was she anyway?

Swoosh. Something dark wafted across the chamber below the steps. Merlin whirled around, magic coiled and ready to be unleashed…but there was no one there.

"Hello?" She tried again. "Who is there?"

Silence.

"Selene? Paris?" Merlin frowned. "Phaedrus?"

The tomes on the bookshelves did not seem to be written in any language she knew. It certainly did not look Culacian either. The place did not feel like Culacia either—did not have its golden style nor its oriental look.

Maybe she had been kidnapped.

"Crestathion!" She called out, "If it's you, I swear…" Power gathered at her fingertips, but she had nothing to unleash it against. The ceiling, maybe? She could blast her way out of here.

"The issue with you," Mordred's voice was a complete shock as he turned out of a path Merlin had not even seen to emerge in the central chamber, "Is that you have no common sense when dealing with these sort of things."

He had not looked like a boy the last time she had seen him, so it was no surprise that this time he looked no younger, broad shoulders lifting under his draped robes and face chiseled by manhood. He was elegantly slender, and would not look like a warrior, except he carried a sword hanging from his belt, and in his left hand was a shield, which he slid carelessly over the papers on the table.

Merlin was speechless for a moment. To make up for it, she uttered, "I see you're doing better than the last time we crossed paths."

Mordred's expression tightened briefly, but he seemed to discard the comment after a while. "How can I not? I was treated by the great Healer Emrys."

He lifted his sword from his belt, setting it next to the shield. Merlin watched him silently for a moment.

"Did you bring me here?"

An odd glint flashed in his eyes as he looked up at her. He stepped so that he could lean back against the table, folding his arms.

"We," He said silkily, "Need to talk."

One moment, Gwaine was taking a swig of water, and the next moment he was on the floor, head pounding something awful. He let out a groan before thinking better of it.

"Ah, the knight wakes at last."

Gwaine snapped his head violently at the sound, almost giving himself whiplash. A stranger he did not recognize sat near a large dining table that was empty save for a large pitcher and several mugs.

"Who the bugger are you?" He demanded, his voice coming out in a croak. Where is Merlin?

The man reached forward to take the pitcher and poured into one of the mugs. "I," He explained as he did this, "Am Crestathion. No need to introduce yourself; I am perfectly aware of who you are."

Gwaine cursed mentally. "What have you done with Merlin?"

Crestathion was not an old-looking man. Gwaine was not sure why he thought the sorcerer would be old, exactly, since all he had known was that he was powerful and not someone to be messed with, but Merlin was a good example of why power did not correlate with age. Still, Crestathion was young, probably as young as Merlin, though his eyes held a sinister light that when illuminated from the right angle, made him appear much older than he was.

"I have done nothing with Merlin," Said Crestathion, "And I know, you do not have her. That bratling took her from right under my nose. I will give him credit. He is well-worthy of his destiny as the Bane of Camelot."

It took a moment for Gwaine's throbbing head to process everything. "Mordred?"

Crestathion let out a bark of laughter. "Knew some of you are sharp! Now, he and I normally get along quite well, but this will not do. And unlike your fair healer, he does not stay in one place, which means it is somewhat frustrating—though not impossible—and not even hard, really, to smoke him out, but frustrating, and since you and your fellow knight—" Gwaine noticed that Roskin was still unconscious near him, also on the floor with a giant bump on his scalp; Gwaine imagined he sported a similar appendage—"are kind enough to be present, I have an idea that would make retrieving her much less aggravating."

Gwaine glared. "Right. You count on a pair of non-magical knights to do your work. Are you sure your spells are up to par?"

The magical blow he got to the face for that remark was not a complete surprise, but he had not expected that either, and it increased his headache ten-fold.

"See, the plan is simple," Crestathion went on as if nothing untoward had happened, "Mordred wants Arthur dead and I want Emrys, who happens to be in Mordred's custody. You and your friend will head back to Camelot and tell Arthur that he needs to seek Mordred—see, this will be easier done than said, even, because Mordred wants Arthur out and about—and if he does not cooperate, what is happening in Culacia will happen to Camelot."

But Merlin already cured…unless…" What is happening in Culacia?"

Crestathion sneered. "They ran out of clay. Pity that only the great Healer Emrys can create the substitute for silver squirrels." He shook his head. "Pity indeed."

Merlin scowled. "Were you responsible for the Duo Petrification?"

"No," Mordred said instantly, "You have to admit, that is not my style."

"I actually have no idea what your style is," Merlin sneered, "Because frankly, you hardly seem to know what you're doing."

Surprisingly, Mordred did not choose to take offense. "You are playing a dangerous game, Emrys."

"Am I? And what game is that, exactly?"

"There are a lot of eyes watching you, Emrys. They have always been watching you, you just never paid attention."

"Like you? Well, I guess I can't help that. Creeps will be creeps, after all."

He was suddenly right in front of her, and Merlin almost summoned her magic, but he did not touch her.

"You and I both know your nature, Emrys. Once you commit to something, you will never stray. I am warning you now: if you commit to Camelot, no one will give you the benefit of a doubt, especially not me."

"You made that abundantly clear before."

"You do not know my power, Emrys."

Merlin leaned close so they were almost upon each other. Magic coiled in her, turning her eyes gold, and she could feel them burn from the inside as she glared at him.

"You know what the difference between you and me is?" She whispered, letting the chamber amplify it so it was almost a hiss, "It is not that I support Camelot while you do not. I choose my destiny. You let it rule you."

He smirked scornfully. "You think you choose, Emrys."

"Perhaps," She said in a level voice, "But you do not even think. You blindly believe. That head of yours is good for nothing."

She released her magic.

"You underestimate us," Gwaine scowled. How did they even get into this room? There were no doors that he could see. "Merlin has dealt with Mordred before, and you are certainly not the first sorcerer to threaten Camelot."

"I suppose I shall have to learn my lesson, then," Crestathion said casually. He lifted one of the mugs. "I heard the great Sir Gwaine has a fondness for Amber ale. Am I wrong?"

Gwaine looked warily at the pitcher. "Only when the mood suits me."

"Ah, my apologies."

The sorcerer snapped his fingers, and suddenly Gwaine was parched. His mouth ran dry and it almost hurt to swallow. Drinking anything, even poison, seemed like an incomparable luxury.

"Come along," Crestathion pointed out, "Drink your fill. I have more need of you two alive than dead, after all, and you two have a long journey back to Camelot."

Despite himself, Gwaine found his feet moving toward the table, and his hand reaching for his mug of its own accord.

"What have you done to Culacia?" He demanded, even as he drew the mug to him. "They did nothing to you."

"Of course not. If we all waited for the other side to act first, sooner or later it would be too late."

"But if your target is Camelot, why bother with Culacia at all?"

"You do not think I would trust Arthur and his merry knights to handle someone like Mordred on his own, do you?" Crestathion laughed as if the suggestion were ludicrous. "No, Culacia has its uses, but the Queen has a mind of her own sometimes. Emrys is my main priority, why chance failure with one kingdom when I can summon the might of two? Simple as that. More ale?"

Gwaine had his mug out even as he thought to refuse, and Crestathion cheerfully poured out the liquid.

"Your partner there has a weak skull," The sorcerer noted. Roskin was still passed out. "If he does not wake up soon, the ale will run out. Oh well, more for the two of us, I think. Best drink your fill, Sir Gwaine. You two both have quite a journey ahead of you."

Gwaine downed his drink, and his blood simmered at being manipulated like this. Once they rescue Merlin, he was going to ask her for some kind of spell to protect against this sort of thing. Especially for Arthur.

After he cuts off this bastard's head.

When the light from the spell died down, Mordred was nowhere to be seen.

Merlin snarled, looking around, eyes still burning and certainly still gold, but there was no sign of the man. The chamber was empty.

"Mordred!" She yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls eerily, "Mordred, show yourself, you fiend!"

No answer.

She raised the torchlights to illuminate more of the place. If the sorcerer chose to hide himself, she was going to use this time to find a way out of here. The path leading from the steps went a little further away, and Merlin hurried to it to see where it went.

It banked and wound around to—a dead end.

What is this? How did Mordred even get her in here without an entrance? She looked up and then down, looking for some sign of a door or anything that might lead away from here.

Nothing. She even tried throwing some spells, but the walls absorbed the magic without any effect at all.

You still have much to learn, young sorceress. The voice was not Mordred's, but she had no idea who else could have spoken those words in her mind.

Merlin scowled. Young she might have been when she was Arthur's manservant, but women her age have had multiple children already. She was no longer young. The brat.

"What is this genius plan of yours, Mordred?" She asked out loud, "Lock me in here so you can have a free path to Camelot? You hardly needed to wait this long, you know! I was gone for five years!"

Silence ensued. She slammed a hand against the rock walls, turning around. Maybe the exit was elsewhere. Behind one of the portraits? Maybe even under the bed. She hurried back.

Turn, bank, and the stage where the table and bed was loomed with the bright light of the torches she had enhanced earlier.

Merlin stopped short, nearly screaming.

All of the portraits had shifted. Their faces were raised so their eyes stared right at her. Even the ones where she was supposed to be facing away had turned around.

She whirled around and hid behind a wall, heart hammering in her chest.

That was the creepiest thing she had ever seen.