Chapter 3: Deceptions
He hasn't told Arthur or the others how he's heard Morgaine's voice telling him that she has Rose. Nor has he told them about how she's planning on making demands. It doesn't take a genius – though, admittedly, he is one – to figure out what her plan is.
He's from the past, from before he becomes Merlin. Morgaine's going to try and stop him from becoming her archenemy in the only way she can imagine will work. It's almost stereotypical, really. Want to get him annoyed? Want to try to manipulate him? Target his companions.
What she doesn't know is that that's the best way to make him her enemy. If she's hurt Rose, well, she'll be rather sorry that she's encountered him and not one of his previous incarnations.
Merlin.
He almost falls off his horse in shock. What is it with this place? Two telepathic conferences in one day? Well, not really conferences. More like Morgaine telling him that she's got Rose and now, well, he supposes that it's time for the demands portion of the conversation. It's been a while since he's last used his telepathic abilities for a conversation, but he supposes that he remembers enough. This isn't a conversation that he desires to share with the others. At least, not yet.
Morgaine, he replies.
I will return Nimue to you, Merlin, in exchange for your vow.
He knows what's coming. It's blatantly obvious. A vow?
A vow that you will never return to this world or its domains. Leave me and mine alone for the rest of your long life so I can have what's rightfully mine.
There it is. A request to change his future to change her past. Even if he has the choice – which he doesn't – it's not something he can give. The web of time, even in this universe, relies upon it. Time doesn't work that way, Morgaine. You can't change your past without consequences.
You've always held your precious Time as something that can never be broken. But you've done it before, Merlin. I've seen in Nimue's mind. I've seen what you've done for her sake. You will do so again.
He all but growls at the implication. Oh, he knows exactly what she's implying. What she knows. Rose's father. How he saved her life with a kiss. There were consequences to each of those actions. In one, it almost destroyed the universe. In the other, the consequences were far too…
The Big Bad Wolf sleeps, Merlin. It'd take just a thought for it to awaken and consume her. She could burn.
"Don't you dare," he says, each word dripping with venom. He sees, but doesn't register, the expressions of those around him. The fear in their eyes. His vision is turned inwards, where he can almost see Morgaine. Same red hair, same haughty expression, same hatred in her eyes.
Oh, I dare, Merlin. I always dare. Promise me!
Visions of Rose, burning again in the grip of the Vortex – what if he hasn't pulled it all out of her, what if some remains? Visions of a world, this world, consumed by Reapers in the after effects of his never becoming Merlin. Visions of his universe demolished by the ripples of this one's destruction.
He knows the consequences. Knows what will happen no matter his choice. And no matter the choice, Rose loses. There are always choices, though. Always options. And one of his favourites has always been playing for time. You win, he replies, and his mental voice is barely a whisper.
What? Is that surprise in Morgaine's voice?
Didn't hear it the first time? Getting a little deaf in your old age, Morgaine? I said, you win. Release Rose.
He hears nothing for what seems to be an eternity. Come to my Keep, Merlin.
And Rose? he asks, mentally congratulating himself for managing to avoid giving a promise.
Nimue will be returned. The response is almost regretful, as if she's expected more of a fight out of him.
She has no idea.
A moment later, he feels Morgaine withdraw from his mind, leaving him once again alone with his thoughts. When he blinks to moisten his suddenly dry eyes, he realises that they've stopped and the others are staring at him.
"What?" he asks, wondering if during his communication with Morgaine he'd dribbled down his shirt. A swift glance downwards reassures him that he hasn't.
"You cried out, Merlin. Said 'don't you dare'. The look in your eyes…" Lancelot's voice trails off for a moment before he continues, "When last I witnessed such cold fury upon your visage, Morgaine had wronged you."
He barely restrains a grimace. Lack of control in telepathic conferences had never been an issue before. But it's only inevitable. Little practice means shoddy performances, especially when it came to the mental arts. "Sorry about that, was talking to myself. Have a bit of a tendency to do that, really. Been a bit of a failing for a couple of centuries at least. Must remind myself not to do that. Then again, that's never worked before." For a reason he wasn't even sure of himself, he didn't want them to know the truth.
Of the other eight men, most seemed appeased by his words. Only Lancelot and Arthur appear uneasy. Well, can't satisfy everyone.
"Now, can we get a move on?" he asks, suspecting that he's got off far too easily. Something has to give. It's inevitable, really. Story of his life – no, lives. Nothing's ever simple or easy.
Question is, when it all falls apart, who'll be the victim? Morgaine? Rose?
Or the universe?
The sun's starting to set by the time she next sees another person. She's become careful in her travels to avoid calling anyone else human. She's seen people that are blue, trees that walk and talk, living crystals, and smoke creatures. None of them are human, but they're all people.
Hunger has come and gone, leaving behind only a dull ache behind her eyes, when a young woman – not more than a girl, really – comes into her cell carrying a plate of food. "Your evening meal, mistress," the girl says softly, curtseying before her as if she's truly royalty and not her equal.
"Hello," she replies, just as softly. "My name's Rose, what's yours?"
The girl winces as she places the plate carefully upon the tiny table next to the door. "No-one, mistress. My lady wishes you to eat."
She's seen enough movies to know that the food's likely poisoned, or at least have something nasty in it. Something to keep her docile, at least. She won't have a bite. Better to go hungry than the alternative. "Thank you, but I would like to know your name."
"Mab, mistress. My name is Mab," she says and ducks her head, as if her name shames her. "I am sorry. I should not have spoken out of turn. My lady will punish me."
"For telling me your name?" she asks, astonished.
Mab bobs her head, apparently loath to speak further. The girl moves about the room swiftly, clearing what little mess there is and returning to the door. She tried while the girl's attention was elsewhere to escape, but the latch was still firmly closed. "Good evening, mistress," Mab comments as she turns toward the door.
"Wait," she calls. "Can't you let me out of here?"
An expression akin to pure terror crosses Mab's face. "No, mistress. I cannot."
She can't force herself to try and convince the girl. Instead, she lets her go, knowing in that one gesture more than she had before of Morgaine. She's a cruel woman, that much was obvious. To keep a girl in fear of sharing her own name… She can't even fathom that.
Returning to her seat by the fire, she finds her attention drawn to the food left for her. It's tempting, so tempting, to reach out and just take a small vegetable. Just one can't hurt, right? She forces herself not to look at the food, instead resuming her vigil on the door.
Morgaine's bound to return at some point to gloat. Isn't that in some sort of evil villain guidebook? Or is that monologue? She's certain the Doctor told her so once or twice. If anything, she's expecting someone to come to her. Let her know if she's free to go or a captive for life.
Something.
She doesn't even have a book to read to pass the time. The queen lied to her, really. She just has but the four walls around her and what bits and bobs she could find in the drawers and the wardrobe for some measure of entertainment. Which isn't much.
(The roast beef smells particularly good.)
There's always the possibility of another search around the room to see if a hidden passage has miraculously appeared in the interim between her last once-over. She dismisses that out of hand. It's pointless, really. It's either move around or sit.
Sitting sounds really good right about now.
(Or the carrots. Just one carrot can't hurt.)
It's automatic to reach for the cup at her side; just as it is to bring it to her lips. She's about to take a sip when she realises what she's just done and arrests the motion. She puts it to the side and decides that she must remove the temptation. The wine, at least she assumes it's wine, is easy. She just has to pour it into the basin and it'll get thrown away later.
The food's another issue. She assumes the queen or one of her lackeys will look to see how much she's eaten. Maybe she can just shove the food between the bars in the window? Make it seem as if she's eaten? Or something?
She's too busy pondering how best to shove the thick slab of roast beef through the bars without getting either them or her hands dirty that she doesn't hear the door open again. She does hear the sound of footsteps behind her and she turns, moving the plate behind herself and trying to avoid looking too guilty.
It's Morgaine.
"Merlin has something planned," the queen says without preamble. "The dishonourable knave doesn't intend to fulfil his bargain. I've known him long enough to know that he doesn't accede to anyone that easily. Therefore, child, you will help me."
"Why would I help you?" The words are out of her mouth before she has the chance to stop them.
"Oh, you don't have a choice. You might not have eaten the food, but there are other means of getting what I want," Morgaine tells her.
She wants to say something cocky in response; something that belittles what power the queen might think she has over her. However, she finds that she suddenly can't move. Can't speak. Can't do more than watch as Morgaine's lips stretch into a wicked smile.
"Such as this," the queen says and she finds that she can't look away from the other woman's eyes. Can't blink, can't do anything. She's caught. Oh, god, she's caught and she can't do anything and the Doctor...
The Doctor, Morgaine says in her mind, does not matter, child. He can't save you now.
She wants to cry out, but she can't. She wants to do something to fight back, but she's helpless. She flails against the other woman's mind, but she can't stop her. And she feels Morgaine read her mind, her memories, her thoughts and she wants to cry at the violation.
Tell me of your world, Nimue, she's ordered and she can't help herself.
Images of Earth flood her mind.
Night is beginning to fall by the time they reach Morgaine's castle. The dying rays of the sun lend the Keep an almost foreboding air. Then again, he supposes that any castle would seem threatening if something evil lurked within it. Well, anything would, really. Even a cottage in the middle of Kent.
The drawbridge is down and the portcullis raised in open invitation to proceed, but Arthur holds up his hand to stop their progress. "This is too easy," the king says.
"Oh, wouldn't say that," he replies, gesturing toward the brushes that line the side of the path. "We've got company."
The knights draw their swords before he can do more than hold up his hands. "No, no. Hold on a minute. They're harmless. Well, I say harmless…yet they could've killed us miles back, but they let us approach. We're in a truce at the moment, at least until you lot return to Camelot. Then, anything goes."
"How do you know that?" Lancelot asks suspiciously.
"Oh, could say it's my mystical, magical powers but you'd know better. That's what they usually do in these sorts of confrontations. It's part of the pirate code! Though the code isn't law, really. More like guidelines. No, wait. That's Pirates of the Caribbean. Sorry about that."
"I do not care for this," Arthur says and he can't say he blames him. He doesn't really care for it either. But it's either this or Rose's death. He knows what he prefers.
"Doctor!"
He blinks. He's almost got used to hearing people call him 'Merlin' after the last few hours. "Wha-?" he begins, but his words are cut off again.
"Doctor!"
He knows that voice. He half-turns in his saddle and looks in the direction of the voice, and there she is. Rose.
"Rose!" he replies. And he's unable to stop himself from scrambling off his horse and rushing towards her. He barely even registers his companions' protests. It's Rose. She's alive and safe, and oh, he's been so worried, and finally, finally, she's in his arms.
For a moment, she seems almost hesitant in returning his embrace, but that instant is transient. "Doctor," she mumbles into his chest and he's suddenly conscious that he's holding her a bit too tightly.
"Are you all right?" he asks, searching her eyes for an indication of how she's doing.
"Oh, 'm fine. Morgaine jus' let me go. Told me that I've done what I was supposed to an' I found myself out here."
He doesn't like her answer. It seems almost rehearsed, but he lets it slide. She's just had a traumatic experience. That's enough to make anyone out of sorts.
"Good. C'mon, then, Rose and meet the locals," he says and releases her, trailing one hand down her arm to entwine their fingers. It's the same, but different and he's not sure why.
He's imagining things, he tells himself.
"Locals?" she asks.
"Yeah. But, before we meet them, there's something you should know." This is the part he hasn't been looking forward to.
"What?"
He's tried running this scenario through his mind before. There's always been the possibility of seeing Jack again. Either him during his conman days or even during his time with the Time Agency. He's had to think of ways to break it to her. To make her realise that, while it was Jack, it wasn't itheir/i Jack.
"One of the knights looks like Jack," he says, not really looking at her as he tries to find the right words. "But it's not him," he continues quickly, not giving her a chance to shout or make any sort of noise. "It just looks like him. And you can't say anything to him about…well, you know."
"What's his name, then?" Rose asks after what seems to be an eternity. "If I can't call him Jack?"
"Oh, yes. It's Lancelot." He waits until he's certain she's understood him before leading her back to the others.
Most of the others have dismounted and are keeping their eyes on the guards that lurk in the brush to the side of the road. Arthur and Lancelot remain closest to the centre – and most protected – area, and it is to them that he brings her. With a smile and a slight bow, he says, "King Arthur, may I present to you Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates?"
The King grasps her hand and presses a gentle kiss against it. "Milady Rose, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Merlin speaks of little else."
"Thank you, your majesty," she replies with a small curtsey.
Lancelot repeats the King's gesture, but the other man seems to find the act almost distasteful. Surely not...
He shakes his head, dismissing his worries as nothing. "I think we've taken up enough of Morgaine's time. Let's get out of here before the other sock drops. No, wait. Wrong phrase. The other shoe drops."
He just wishes he could dismiss the nagging feeling that he's missing something…
In the highest tower of the castle, someone screams…
But no-one can hear.
To be continued...