Third Person's Point of View
Hunith's hands were occupied with an abundance of vegetables when she heard a shout from her front garden. She turned, setting the ingredients for dinner down on the table.
"Hello?" she called.
She peeked out the window to see one of her neighbors, an older man named Arnold, lifting Morgana into his arms from where she lay in the garden. She gasped, throwing the door open and ushering him in.
"Come, come, set her here. On the cot." she pulled away the blankets, slipping the shoes from Morgana's feet as he lay her down gently.
"I saw her fall." he mumbled as he backed away.
"Thank you Arnold." she murmured, pulling the quilt up the girl's shoulders.
He nodded, dismissing himself without another word. Hunith whispered a quick prayer, thanking the God's it was Arnold who had found her. He was a quiet man who kept to himself, and the last person to speculate on gossip. Having Morgana here was a blessing, but she worried her identity wouldn't stay secret for very long.
Ealdor was not a part of Camelot, and so the village did it's best to stay out of the neighboring kingdom's affairs. But the seizing of Camelot's throne by Uther's bastard daughter was, unfortunately, common knowledge.
Here she went by the name Mora, and called herself a distant relative, but it in no way ensured her protection. Hunith brushed a hair from Morgana's face, watching with concern as her eyes flickered behind her lids. A hopeful smile stretched her lips, recognizing the signs of dreaming.
She could only hope and pray Morgana would wake soon.
It's quiet when she wakes, deathly quiet. Everything around her is blurred, as if a film has been set in front of her eyes. She rubs them, struggling to sit up. Her limbs feel weighed down, and a dull roar fills her ears.
"Hunith?" she gets to her knees. Rocks cut into her skin through her dress and she gasps at the pain, stumbling to her feet. Things grow easier to see, and suddenly everything is clear. Darkness falls, and she stands in a sea of red cloaks and silver armor.
She stands among the dead. Camelot's dead warriors.
Her hand shakily covers her mouth, holding back her cries. Broken bodies litter the stony expanse and she moves forward dazedly, careful not to step on the backs of the fallen. This place is a wide circle of jagged rock, ringed by a forest so far away she can barely glimpse it. It seems as if there is no end to the devastation, no way out, no one left, and then she hears it.
The familiar clash of steel.
Morgana lifts her skirts and hurries in the direction of the sound, wincing as she nudges a boot with her leg.
Two figures come into view in the distance, and she stumbles to a stop. Arthur is the first figure, familiar in his chain mail and armor, graceful in his practiced movements. The second is no one she recognizes, a stranger with blue eyes and black hair.
They fight with vicious intent, the meeting of their swords the only sound left. The boy sneers with anger, yet Arthur is calm, determined.
She finds she can move no further, her feet stuck as if she's glued where she stands. Their weapons move with deadly intent, so fast and so fluid she cannot catch a glimpse of either one. And she can do nothing.
There is a grunt, and Arthur stands, suddenly still, with a sword thrust through his belly.
"No!" she screams and it echoes.
The boy smiles, watching with satisfaction as Arthur falls to one knee. A tear escapes, rolling to her chin. Arthur looks up, and thrusts his sword through Mordred's chest with the last of his strength. So quickly, it isn't registered until it's been done.
The realization that this boy is Mordred comes as abruptly as Arthur's destruction, but she knows it is true, in her bones she knows it. The little druid boy whom she'd pleaded with her brother to save, whom she'd nursed back to health with such single-minded determination has just felled her brother.
And Arthur has done the same.
Mordred's smile wavers, but never dies, and he drops to the ground with a thud. His eyes remain open even in death, his lips curved in a sorrowful grin.
Arthur looks down, and she knows, though Mordred was his enemy, he will grieve for him. She doesn't understand how this, she knows as well. In silence, Arthur falls to his side, rolling onto his back to stare up at the sky.
A sob escapes her and she rushes forward, her feet suddenly unstuck. "Arthur!" she calls, falling to her knees beside him. He smiles briefly, gazing up at the sky.
"Do you remember, when we would sneak out at night, just to see them?" he lifts a heavy hand, gesturing up at the sky.
She sniffles, holding his head in her lap, stroking his hair from his eyes. "Of course I remember." she whispers, a tear dropping from her eye to his cheek.
"My sister." he flashes her a ghost of the crooked grin she knows so well, and the light fades from his eyes.
"My brother." Her screams swallow the night, the gold of her eyes a beacon in the black of the night.
For a moment Merlin could only stare.
"Emrys." Mordred said his name aloud this time. Merlin shifted, his fingers twitching towards a fist.
"Mordred."
"Come." the boy turned away, beckoning him to follow. He looked in the direction Arthur walked, too caught up in his discussion with Albius to notice him. With a sigh he followed him up the slope, to an overlook above the campsite.
Mordred stood with his back to him. "Is Morgana alright?" he asked.
Merlin came to stand beside him. They looked down together at the druids bustling about their day, struggling to maintain composure in the wake of a King's arrival. "Why would you ask me that?" he said, suspicion tinging his voice.
Mordred looked up at him, unwilling to answer.
With a roll of his eyes Merlin gazed away, "She's safe. Far away from Camelot. Why do you ask me that?"
"I felt it, the balance of fate has shifted. It has something to do with her. With her fate." He sounded too wise for such a young age, yet Merlin understood the feelings he spoke of.
First when Morgause had died, and again when Uther passed. He hadn't been able to identify it at first, it had only been a fleeting feeling, a pang in his chest that hadn't lingered long enough to warrant a question. But when it had occurred more than once he'd come to realize the meaning.
Fate had changed. Morgana's involvement had changed it.
"Yes. The High Priestess Morgause has died, as well as King Uther."
"That man was never King." Mordred spat.
Merlin looked down on him, a part of him couldn't help but agree. "Even so." he murmured.
"I know of Morgana's schemes, and that she usurped the throne. Were you going to tell me?"
Merlin shrugged. "What reason would there have been to? She was under an enchantment, none of her actions were her own. I would not willingly paint her in a bad light."
"You speak more freely now. Why?"
Merlin wasn't sure himself. He'd always felt uneasy around Mordred, something he'd felt guilty about once upon a time. The Dragon's words had painted him as a villain, perhaps not of the present but the future. Yet now, with so much changing, he felt somehow more at ease around him.
"I don't know. Perhaps I no longer view you as a threat."
Mordred's stare was piercing. "You saw me as a threat?" he sounded hurt.
Merlin look down. "Yes."
"But why?"
"Would you understand if I said I couldn't explain?"
Mordred smiled, nodding. "I suppose. We all have our feelings, instincts. Though I promise, I never meant your loved ones harm."
"I understand. Thank you."
Mordred nodded again, yet another smile brightening his face. He'd never seen the boy look so happy, or young for that matter.
"You're welcome, Emrys."
Morgana woke gasping. Her body shot up in bed, a blanket falling from her shoulders. Her chest rose heavily with each breath, and her hands tremor.
"Morgana?" Hunith appeared at her side, wrapping her in a warm embrace. For a moment it was as if she was in Camelot, waking from a nightmare to find herself in Gwen's comforting arms.
But this was not Camelot, and her nightmares were not nightmares. Visions rather, of the future. And this one she would never allow to pass. Arthur would die an old man, surrounded by his loved ones.
Her gaze grew hard as she slowed her breathing, clutching Hunith will all her might. She had only just been given a second chance with her brother, she wouldn't by any means allow Mordred to spoil it.
Mordred, the small child she'd helped smuggle from Camelot, the boy with eyes like ice so akin to her own. She'd seen in him what she'd felt herself, a deep mistrust of the world and fear of the dangers it wrought.
From the moment Merlin had burst into her chambers seeking protection for him she'd felt a strange connection with Mordred, a kinship not unlike the one she shared with Arthur. But all the affection in the world wouldn't save him from her wrath should he dare move against her brother.
Arthur looked over Albius' few possessions as they entered his tent, noting the care with which he treated his things. His host gestured to a pair of cushions set around a small table, an ornate tea pot set in the center.
He thanked him and sat, graciously accepting the cup set in his hands, though he didn't intend to drink much of it. He'd never acquired the taste for it. He remembered long ago when he and Morgana had shared a nanny who'd insisted on a cup each day, and rapped their knuckles with her cane whenever she caught them dumping the steaming beverage into a nearby vase.
The druid leader sipped from his cup before clearing his throat. "I have to ask you, what caused this decision? I would imagine it is not taken lightly in your Kingdom. As far as I was aware you firmly agreed with your father's decisions up until his death."
Arthur winced, setting his cup down. "I've not always agreed with my father, and moving against a King is a dangerous thing. To understand, I should explain to you of my sister. I would have to assume you're familiar with her." At Albius' nod he continued. "I was only recently made aware of her magic, as well as her bloodline. She had a half-sister, Morgause, who placed her under a spell."
"Spell?"
"Yes. Morgause entranced her with some kind of root, taking from her her free will. When it took effect, she was bent on causing Camelot's downfall. When her sister was killed after attempting to usurp Camelot's throne, she was released."
He looked down at his fists in his lap. He hated thinking of that time, the cold calculating gaze as she was crowned, the fury in her eyes as she cradled her dying sister in her arms.
"As I was saying, when she woke from the spell, my knights and I had already recovered her. We brought her to my father, who decided she must be executed." Abius only grunted, seemingly not surprised at the King's willingness to execute his only daughter. "I had a plan to help her escape, but the timing of her death was moved forward. As the pyre was lit, Merlin revealed himself, and they vanished."
"He spirited her away." Albius' gaze was awash with wonder. "That is very advanced magic for such a young man."
"Yes. I would assume so."
"Well I must ask, is your sister alright?"
"She is. For the moment she is under the care of Merlin's mother, far from here."
"I see, and you?"
He frowned, "Me?"
"How are you faring? It must be difficult. Having been taught all your life to hate magic and those who wield it, and to find out in a small amount of time that both your best friend and your sister are so intertwined with it."
"Well," he stuttered. "I suppose. I don't feel sorry for myself if that's what you ask. My sister grew under the same lessons as I, and she herself had magic. She had to deal with the fear of having the very thing our father was so afraid of. To realize that one day he could have her executed for such a crime as being born the way she was, I can't imagine how terrified she must have been."
"I see. You still haven't answered my question though. How do you feel about it? About changing these laws? About Merlin and Morgana?"
"I feel it's what is right. My father was fearful of magic and it turned his mind to madness. He murdered innocent men, women, and children, and I could never do the same. My friend and my sister have magic, and I could never live with myself if I followed in our father's footsteps."
Albius nodded, as if he'd heard everything he hoped, and stood. "Well then, shall I see you off?"
He scrambled up as Albius slipped from the tent, caught off guard by his sudden departure. "Of course." he mumbled, straightening his cloak.
Merlin stood nearby, talking quietly with a young boy. A boy with bright blue eyes and black hair, a boy he struggled to recognize. "Merlin."
His friend looked up, smiling. "Arthur. Surely you remember Mordred?"
Yes, the child he'd smuggled from Camelot. He remembered him well. "Of course. Mordred. I trust you're doing well?" The boy nodded and smiled. He remembered he didn't speak much. "Yes. Well then, let's get on the road. I'm sure Guinevere will be wondering after me."
He smiled once more at the boy, waving as he mounted his horse. The druids smiled and waved in return, cheering for their gracious new King. Merlin watched with a grin.
The Once and Future King of Camelot had appeared.
hey there, hope this was okay. sorry it took so long, please review!