Theft

It was late May. Most of the trees had already exchanged their blossoms for young green leaves. Sian lay facedown and smelled the earth. It was very peaceful. The sun warmed his back and made his hair shine golden. He heard the swoosh of approaching footsteps in the grass and looked up to see Mordred approaching, white hair glowing in the sun, dressed in fine dark linens, and holding a small bowl.

"Sian!" Mordred called, matching his smile. He flopped down beside him. "I finally managed to get away. Look, I brought you strawberries."

"Strawberries! Where on earth did you find these?" Sian asked, popping a tiny red berry into his mouth and savoring the sweet yet tangy taste.

"I'm not sure if they're earthly," Mordred joked. "I stole them from Morgause's table."

Sian froze, another strawberry halfway to his mouth. "From Morgause?"

Mordred popped one into his mouth. "Don't worry, Sian. She won't hunt us down over strawberries."

Sian rolled over onto his back and put a hand over his eyes. The sun was so bright! "What have you been doing for the past two weeks, Mordred? I've hardly seen you and not even spoken to you. Have you been attending Morgause the whole time?"

Mordred sighed loudly as he too lay back on the grass and stretched. "Yes, sadly, I've spent nearly every waking hour for twelve days attending the queen of the Orkneys, waiting on her and her brats hand and foot, serving her every whim."

Sian sat up and gave him an odd look, half-amused, half-concerned. "What do you mean? What has she been making you do?"

"In her court she's much more industrious, but here she's lazy. She sits around and watches her boys shoot, fight, ride, or play games. I serve as someone to make comments to or to be beaten at games by my younger brothers. I must never beat them in anything, though she and I both know I could beat them in most things."

"What is her purpose here?"

"She's not clear about it. I think she wants Gawain, her eldest, to become a knight under Arthur instead of going to him after being knighted by King Lot. I think she also wants to check on me and get a better idea of what's going on at Camelot. I suppose I'm not a good enough spy – no, don't give me that look, Sian, I'm not spying on Arthur."

Sian gave an uncertain half-chuckle. "But King Lot is no longer King Lot."

Mordred nodded. "Sorry. Force of habit. Morgause always made us call him king, though he lost to Arthur when I was… I think… thirteen. Personally, I think she wants one of us to become king of England – whether me, Lot, or one of her boys – so that she can control everything."

"Control, control, control. Can't she be just a normal woman?"

Mordred laughed. "No chance in hell. My aunt Morgan is even stranger. They call her fay for a reason, I think."

Sian looked uncertainly at him. "But… neither of them use… magic… do they?"

Mordred shrugged. "Everyone says they do. But really – what is magic? Is it praying to your gods? Is it curing someone of illness – or killing them? They're frightening enough without magic. Why is it so warm today?" He stripped off his shirt and lay facedown on the grass. Sian stared at his back, then reached forward and traced the scars across it.

"Some of those are from battle," Mordred said, his eyes closed and head pillowed on his hands. "A few are from standard childhood accidents. Those – the ones you're touching right now – are… well. When I was eleven, I was accused of stealing something and I refused to return it or repent so Lot had me whipped. He'd been waiting to do it for years. I never really knew why he hated me, except for that I was equally nasty to him. But when I was seventeen my mother told me that Lot's not my father. I was very surprised, naturally, but that decided me: I left his court two weeks later and traveled around a bit before I arrived at Arthur's court."

"Who is your father?"

Mordred shrugged, something he managed to do even while horizontal. "It doesn't matter. But look – I'm sure you've had a much happier past."

Sian sighed and lay back down. "Well… my mother was a Saxon slave and my father a Norse warrior. My mother was killed in a raid when I was seven and so I was raised in a monastery, where I learned my letters and numbers. When I was twelve my father was wounded in battle and he died very slowly and painfully from a rotting of the wound site. Once he was actually on his deathbed he was brought to the monastery where it was determined that he was my father – based on my appearance, what the monks knew about me, and this ring, which he had given my mother and she had given me. Yet a year later the monastery was attacked by a band of Norsemen who did not respect Christianity and I was captured as a slave. After two years I was sold to someone who then passed through Camelot and Arthur bought me out of pity."

Mordred sat up suddenly, shocked. "You're Arthur's slave?"

Sian threw up his hands. "I don't know what my status is. He formally released me when he bought me but I don't know how indebted I am to him."

"You haven't sworn an oath to him, have you?"

"No, I've just been packed off to the library to rot."

Mordred chuckled. "Well, he does care for you. He speaks of you favorably."

"Does he?"

"Indeed. If you play your cards right, you'll earn an even better position. He thinks you innocent and somewhat simple but knows you have a scholarly aptitude."

Sian looked at the clouds. One made a shape like a great serpent. "What good would his favor do me?"

"It would at least protect you in times of trouble."

"I hope so."

Warmth. Dark. Quiet. Languid half-thoughts of trees, water, birds. Noise.

A panicked fumbling at the door brought Sian out of slumber. He half-sat-up and stared, wide-eyed, mind full of the bogeymen of dreams. Finally the door opened and in the torchlight creeping in from the hall Sian saw Mordred, all shadow and darkness. Mordred came towards Sian's bed with a half-whispered plea.

"Sian, help me, I'm hurt."

Sian exchanged his nighttime fears for a fresh set of worries, threw off his blankets, and grabbed his shirt from the floor. Mordred took his hand of his shaking arm, revealing a gash that ran from his little finger and across nearly to his elbow. He and Sian wrapped the shirt tightly around his arm and Sian held it with his hands and his concern.

"Mordred, what happened to you?"

Mordred shook his head, still breathing raggedly. "Morgause, Sian… she… she punished me."

Sian stared at him in shock. "Your own mother would do that to you? You could have died!"

Mordred gave him a wan smile. "Sian, I-"

The door burst open and slammed against the wall. A tall, dark, broad woman stood in the doorway holding a candle, finely clad and malevolent: Morgause. She closed the door, put the candlestick on the low table near the empty fireplace, and stepped toward them, looking from one face to another. Sian involuntarily glanced at Mordred, who stared at his mother with a mixture of defiance and fear.

"Who are you?" Morgause finally asked, looking at Sian.

"Artesian, milady," he said nervously.

Her brow furrowed. "You're one of Arthur's boys?"

"I suppose, milady."

She reached out to touch him, but Mordred raised a hand to block her. "No, Morgause. You will not touch him."

"Won't I?" Suddenly she raged. "You ate my stolen fruit too, didn't you? Well? Didn't you?"

"Yes," Sian squeaked (something that surprised even him) at the same time that Mordred said "No."

Morgause's eyes widened, then she chuckled. "Come here, boy," she said to Sian.

"No! You shall not harm him!" Mordred repeated forcefully.

Morgause considered them and a malevolent smile stretched across her face. "Do you know what he is, boy?" she said softly, her eyes fixed on Sian. Her voice had become steel. "He is the bastard son of a queen, forced on her by her own brother. He has killed men as a coward would – by stabbing them in the back, slitting their throats, poisoning them. He raped a girl. He stabbed one of his own brothers. He plots against the king, and even now," she said, her smile growing as she played her trump card, "he is poisoning the queen. He is not your friend, Artesian. He is a villain. He is not kind to you because he likes you, but because he is using you and your position with Arthur against the king."

When her list of indictments finally ceased the room seemed oddly silent. Morgause held out her hand to Mordred. He looked at Sian, whose eyes were on the floor. Mordred removed Sian's bloodied shirt from his arm, rose from the cot, and followed Morgause out.

When the door closed Sian let out a low cry and collapsed on his cot, hugging his pillow and the bloodied shirt.

"Gone? What do you mean, they're gone?" Arthur said, though it was closer to shouting than speaking, as was evinced by Sian's ability to hear him through rows of books and a stone wall. Not surprisingly, the door between Arthur's study and the library swung open and the king strode into the library with his page and, as always, Lancelot in the rear. Sian only allowed himself to look up from his work when the king drew near.

"Sian! When was the last time you saw Mordred?"

Sian tilted his head and thought for a moment. "I believe it was two days ago." Sian had been dozing under a tree (his favorite activity) when he had been woken by muted swearing to see Mordred leaning against a tree probing his arm. Mordred had turned when Sian called his name and after a moment fled.

"Did he say anything about leaving?"

"No, milord. He said nothing."

Arthur held Sian's eyes for a moment, seeking the truth, then turned brusquely and left. The door to his study slammed loudly, surprising Sian. Arthur rarely grew angry, and he never, ever slammed doors. He felt a pang: Mordred hadn't said goodbye. They hadn't even spoken since Morgause's… what? Confession? Condemnation? Curse? That was six days ago. Sian still didn't know what to think, and god knew he had spent hours and sleepless nights wrestling with her words. If they were true, then Mordred had deceived him completely. If they were false, then he had done his friend wrong by not seeking him out. Sian ached inside, and he didn't know why. True, Mordred was his friend – his only friend at that – but if he had used him then there was no reason Sian should feel remorse. Especially not this much. Sian knew there was nothing he could do about the situation – but he still had to calm his own conscience. And if Mordred came back, what then? Possibly the worst part about the whole affair was that Sian had nobody to talk to. The one person he could have talked to about it was the basis of the whole affair, and was now gone. Perhaps it was Sian's fault – perhaps Mordred had left with Morgause because he thought Sian believed Morgause. Or perhaps he knew the game was up and he had to leave. Sian shook his head. He was getting nowhere with himself. Better to not think about it. He picked up his pen and bent back to his copying.