Hi guys! Here's the first chapter of Fateless.

I don't think this fanfiction will have a lot of romance, to warn you, maybe a slightly implied ArthurxMerlin but that's it, unless I change my mind :).

Enjoy the chapter!

-Lauren

x.x.x

CHAPTER 1

x.x.x

The air of the night was thick with terror.

Isabel could hear people screaming, the sounds of swords being drawn and terrible shouts from within the castle. It was chaos – there was something very, very evil afoot.

Isabel knew she had to run, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to move.

Plus, she was lost. She was standing in the middle of a square she didn't know, surrounded by people fleeing, but in all different directions, with no sort of order at all. Where was she meant to go? What was she meant to do? And why was she rooted to the spot?

If she didn't move soon, the evil would find her. Isabel's heart was pounding and horror filled her. Why couldn't she move? What was wrong with her?

Now, streams of magic were darting across the square. Fireballs, jets of water, blue energy beams – they terrorised the people and flew around the square like stray toys thrown by a kid throwing a tantrum. Magic! This really was a disaster – magic was more potent than a thousand swords. It must have been an extremely powerful sorcerer's work – the magic was strong and had been persisting in attacking the people for a few minutes now – most sorcerers would be near death from the exhaustion such spells would cause! But not this one. This unseen sorcerer was… invincible.

By some miracle, Isabel found herself unharmed by all the magic. Still, she was too terrified to move. Any longer and surely a spell would hit her, and that would be the end.

Run! she screamed at herself.

You can't run.

Oh God, Isabel thought, it was that voice again. The voice that plagued all her nightmares, the voice that got inside her head like a tapeworm and spoke in that deathly soft, dangerous and taunting voice. She hated, despised, and deeply feared it – it was the one thing she was scared of. And now it was back.

I need to run! she screamed.

You can't run.

With a surge of willpower, she shook her head and, even though it was like wading through thick honey, willed her legs to move. She was trying as hard as she could – this was a matter of life or death. But still, her legs were rooted to the spot. There was nothing she could do.

I told you, you can't run.

It was the voice. The voice was evil, the voice was what was doing all these things. The unknown sorcerer had got inside her head, where there was no escape. Isabel tried to scream, but no noise came out. There was no one to help her – everyone around was running, they didn't look at her at all.

Why can't I run? Isabel asked herself desperately. But it was the voice that answered.

Because…Isabel found herself floating up above her place in the square – was she dead? Was her soul ascending to heaven? If the voice would just leave her, she wouldn't mind death…

Isabel now had a bird's eye view of the square, she was looking down upon the magic and fleeing people like God, the orchestrator of the world. When she gazed down, she was filled with horror to the very tips of her toes.

There she was, standing in the middle of the square. Isabel could see herself, still rooted to the spot, with her long black hair billowing in the wind behind her. Yet there was no terror on her face – in fact, Isabel saw that she was almost… smiling. Why would she be smiling?

Then she saw it. Out of her own hand, a jet of blue energy, that hit a commoner and sent him sprawling to the ground.

There was no unknown sorcerer, there was no great evil: it was Isabel herself.

You are the one doing this.

x.x.x

'Lady Isabel, your mother requests you wake up,' said her maid, Eleanor.

Isabel woke up with a start, called from the terrible dream by blissful reality. She was sweating and her eyes were bloodshot, her breathing fast and shallow.

It had all just been a dream… Relief flooded her. It wasn't real – there wasn't terror, and she was certainly not the one causing it.

Still, it shook her.

Ever since Isabel could remember, events that concerned her always seemed to happen in the oddest of manners. When she was about five years old, she had been angry at her mother one night. She returned to her room in a fury, all riled up, and the next thing she knew, all her things were flying about the room, creating a mini-tornado. When that hateful Lord Bert came around, he really annoyed Isabel. He was rude to her parents and even ruder to Isabel. Bad things started to happen to him – he spilled his soup all over his lap, he lost his sword, he had an accident with his horse that almost broke his neck, and when he rode away, a report came the next day that he had been killed by a group of muggers. And it wasn't just when she was angry. One time, when she was out playing in the woods with Zachary (or Prince Zachary as everyone else called him), they were climbing trees. It had been a beautiful sunny day, and Isabel was feeling particularly joyous. In seconds from when she was standing at the base of the tree, she mysteriously found herself at the very top of a 10m tall pine tree. When Zachary had almost fallen from his horse, Isabel found that she looked at the saddle and suddenly Zachary had righted himself, and was riding normally. King Tristan called it a miracle, Isabel suspected something else.

She was 13 years old when she first found that she could control this mysterious force, the force she found out was called magic. Within the privacy of her chambers, she started to practice magic, and found that she was very good at it – gifted at this weird skill. All the spells were easy to her, and there seemed to be nothing she was incapable of doing.

Inconspicuously, she brought up questions about magic to her parents, but her parents didn't tell her much. Magic had been outlawed by King Tristan 20 years ago at the insistence of King Uther, the king of the neighbouring kingdom, when King Uther's wife had been killed by sorcery. Magic was a taboo subject. From what scarce information Isabel had collected, magic was used by sorcerers, who learnt spells from long books of spells and had to use incantations and study for many years.

However, Isabel didn't have to use incantations at all – it was as if magic was in her very blood, her very being. Of course, her parents told her that magic was very evil, so from then on she refrained from using it, but still, when she was alone, she got the itch to use her ability.

'Isabel?' said Eleanor, shaking Isabel out of her thoughts. Eleanor was really sweet, conscientiously did her work every day but also was a good friend of Isabel's. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm okay,' said Isabel dismissively. 'It was just a nightmare, nothing to worry about.' Isabel forced a smile, but Eleanor suspected that it was something to worry about, from Isabel's dishevelled hair and scared eyes.

'Are you sure?' said Eleanor. Most maids wouldn't dare question their mistress, but Eleanor and Isabel were past the normal maid/mistress relationship. Eleanor cared about Isabel, and whenever Isabel had these nightmares, Eleanor could tell that her mistress was always deeply shaken.

'I'm fine,' said Isabel, forcing another smile, this time wider and one that she hoped would put Eleanor at ease.

'Okay,' said Eleanor, knowing something was wrong but also knowing that Isabel wouldn't tell her until she was ready.

Isabel rose from the bed with the all the grace of a princess. Of course, Isabel wasn't quite a princess, but she was still a pretty fortunate girl.

She grew up at the top of the social ladder, frequently surrounded by nobility and even royalty. Her parents were nobles, that were good friends of King Tristan, and together they lived in the royal palace. Prince Zachary had been a close friend of Isabel's for years. Whatever Isabel wanted, she was almost certain to get.

Her parents had never told her that they were not her real parents; that they had really found her floating in the river, in a basket, without a note or explanation.

As far as Isabel knew, she was of noble blood, and her life was, quite frankly, perfect.

'What do I have to do today?' Isabel asked Eleanor.

'The King himself has requested you and your family's presence at breakfast,' replied Eleanor. 'I suspect it is something important.'

'The King? King Tristan?' asked Isabel.

'Yes, what other king?' said Eleanor, a little teasingly.

'What for?' asked Isabel. Usually, they had dinner with the king, occasionally lunch, but hardly ever breakfast.

'I don't know,' said Eleanor. 'Try and get ready quickly – I will go inform your mother that you are awake.'

Isabel nodded.

'Thanks Eleanor,' said Isabel.

'Try not to hurt yourself while I'm gone!' teased Eleanor. Isabel shook her head but grinned. Only Eleanor could get away with teasing Isabel. Isabel had a habit of being rather clumsy, and often found herself tripping, stumbling, falling, or knocking valuable, breakable items over.

'I won't,' said Isabel, grinning.

As Eleanor left, Isabel felt the smile on her face dissolve and her lips straightened into a hard line. She could still remember the nightmare – it was as vivid as real life, as if it had just happened last night. Usually dreams drifted away at morning light – but not her nightmares. Isabel could recount every single one of her nightmares to meticulous detail, and this one didn't seem like it was going to be leaving her anytime soon.

Okay, so Isabel could do magic. But that didn't make her a sorcerer, that didn't make her evil by default! Surely, she could use her powers for good. Like the time she had saved Zachary, or the time she had chased away that sorcerer that attacked the palace.

But if so, why did her dream portray her as evil? Was she evil? Did magic automatically make a person evil? Isabel didn't want to believe it, but that was what her parents and King Tristan had been telling her about magic all her life.

The cold water that hit her face interrupted her thoughts. Washing her face was always something that seemed to cleanse Isabel, in more ways than one. She shook the nightmare from her mind and got on with getting ready for breakfast. There was no point dwelling in dreams when real life beckoned.

Eleanor returned just in time to help Isabel into her dress. Isabel planted a smile on her face as soon as she heard the door creaking open.

'Which one should I wear today?' Isabel asked, consulting Eleanor. She valued Eleanor's opinion like almost none of the other women in court valued their maids' opinions. Eleanor always had good advice, and was the sensibility to match Isabel's farfetched imagination.

'I suspect it is quite an important occasion, the King has asked for you specifically,' advised Eleanor. 'Maybe the yellow gown?'

Isabel thought. Eleanor had impeccable taste. She studied the yellow gown that Eleanor had retrieved from her wardrobe. It was a bright, cheery yellow, perfect for daytime wear, not too formal, but yet not too casual.

'Okay,' said Isabel. Eleanor and Isabel spent the next few minutes trying to get Isabel into the dress. Dresses were beautiful, flattering and befitting for any female, but incredibly hard to get into!

Isabel was quite tired by the time she had finished putting on the dress. She studied her appearance in the mirror.

Isabel was a naturally attractive girl. Her nose was straight, completely centred and quite demure and her rosebud shaped-lips could smile or pout equally well. She was blessed with creamy, clear skin and pronounced cheekbones. Yet it was her eyes that stood out, blue, like the blue of the tumultuous ocean, striking and oddly piercing, captivating and enchanting. She had a slim figure, with long limbs and slender fingers, curves only where she needed them. Her hair was raven black and shiny, cascading down her back like a waterfall of the night.

She smiled, and in the vivid yellow dress, looked like the human version of happiness and sunshine.

'It looks great,' Eleanor told her. That was the final thing she needed – Eleanor's approval was essential.

'Thank you,' said Isabel. 'Now, to breakfast.'

She moved towards the door, but her feet managed to find an uneven stone, and it sent her sprawling to the floor in a most unladylike fashion.

Groaning, Isabel got up and checked her dress. Luckily, it hadn't been ripped. However, she felt a bruise forming on her knee and when she looked at her hand, it was red from the impact.

Eleanor rushed to help her up.

'Some things never change,' said Eleanor, and they both burst into laughter.

x.x.x

'Lady Isabel, you look beautiful,' said King Tristan, as she entered the dining hall in a swoosh of yellow silk. Luckily, there were no falls as she glided in.

'Thank you, your highness,' replied Isabel, curtsying deeply. She caught Zachary's eye and grinned.

She fluidly sat down at the table, her posture perfect and a pleasant smile planted on her face. The servants brought in the food when everyone was seated – at the table was King Tristan, Queen May, Prince Zachary and little Princess Dana, Isabel, her mother, Leah, and her father, Phillip.

'I have a favour to ask of you and your family,' blurted out King Tristan, not bothering with small talk. King Tristan had always been one for the blunt approach.

'Anything for you, my lord,' said Leah obligingly.

'I'm sorry for the short notice,' said King Tristan.

'Please, don't apologise,' said Phillip amiably. Isabel's parents were friends with the king, but they were still his subjects.

'My son, Prince Zachary, is riding to Camelot tomorrow to visit King Uther on my behalf. He was meant to go with Samson, but last night Samson fell ill. He needs a partner to ride with, even though he is an excellent warrior, two people are better than one. I could not employ a knight, they are all needed at the moment. I ask if Isabel would be willing to accompany Zachary to Camelot. He will be staying a few weeks, but King Uther will provide everything – he is a good friend of mine.'

'Of course!' Isabel said quickly. She was eager to please the king, but even more eager to go to Camelot. Isabel loved adventure, and to travel to Camelot sounded very exciting. Isabel had never been to Camelot before.

'Daddy, why can't I go?' little Princess Dana complained. She was seven years old, and very cute with golden blonde hair and freckles dotting her nose.

'When you're older, you can go to Camelot,' promised King Tristan. 'Leah, Phillip, will you allow your daughter to accompany Zachary?' Isabel awaited her parents' reply with bated breath. She was an adult – 20 years old, but she still lived with them and it was basic courtesy to ask the permission of the parents.

'If she wants to, she can go,' said Phillip, smiling at her daughter.

'Thank you!' said Isabel, giving her father a hug.

'Thank you,' said King Tristan. 'Zachary leaves tomorrow morning – Isabel, you should start packing right away!'

'Right!' said Isabel. Packing for a few weeks in one day? Isabel was in for a very, very long day.