Arthur drew his sword and turned the hilt in his hands, running his fingers over the engraving. His chair was tilted back on two legs and his knee braced against the table in his chamber.
He had pulled this sword from a chunk of solid rock with Merlin's words echoing in his ears: You have to believe, Arthur. Have faith. He had lifted the sword into the air, sunlight flashing along the blade, transfixed by its beauty, by a tingle that ran up his arm, and he had known this sword was made for him. It had been in his hand when he took Camelot back from Morgana and her barbarian warlord, when he built Albion bit by bit, when he used the sword in battle and when he drove its point into the ground in a gesture of peace. He wondered which it should be this time.
Word had come from Brittany, a land bordered on three sides by the Narrow Sea and on the fourth by territory nominally Frankish. The Roman Emperor had abdicated in favour of his nephew, who had now demanded tribute of Brittany. Tribute no kingdom of Albion had paid to Rome for generations. Which Brittany did not wish to pay now. Nor did the Frankish King Hoel have any desire to pay Rome for protection from its own dead empire. Hoel had an army, but he had requested Arthur's aid, hinting that if Rome reasserted her influence on Brittany it was a short step across the sea to press Albion for tribute next.
Arthur ran his fingertips along the words etched into the blade. Take me up. Then he flipped it over in his palm. Cast me aside.
"Don't go."
Arthur's chair landed with a jolt and he nearly dropped the sword. Niniane stood inside his chamber door.
"Don't you ever knock?" he snapped, then flushed at his own rudeness. Niniane smiled and Arthur caught his breath at how much her smile resembled her father's. "Why shouldn't I go?"
"I have a feeling you shouldn't."
He stared at her. She had a funny feeling; how many times had Merlin's funny feelings turned out to be true?
She tipped her head to the side, still smiling Merlin's smile. "I know you never listened to him, either."
"I did," Arthur protested. "Sometimes."
A serious look replaced her smile. "You must do what you feel is right, Arthur."
"I agree," said the queen.
Guinevere entered the chamber behind Niniane. With a respectful bow the young woman left the royals, closing the heavy door behind her.
"You agree with who about what?" Arthur asked, laying his sword on the table.
Guinevere sighed and approached him where he sat. She seated herself on the arm of his chair and laid one hand on the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his golden hair. "I understand the threat posed by the Romans is real, and you're right to be concerned about them once again exerting their foreign influence on our land. And I understand your knights are restless, that they thirst for an opportunity to defend the kingdom, as do you."
His thumb, which had been stroking the engraving on the sword hilt, stilled.
"I don't want you to go so far away, to put your life at risk again, but I agree you must do what you feel is right."
"Even if I do take my army and cross the Narrow Sea, it might not come to battle. We may convince the Romans to give up their claim."
Guinevere smiled. "It is entirely possible your mere presence will dissuade them from any further demands. Given your reputation, they'll only meet you in battle if they outnumber you three to one."
Arthur felt his neck grow warm at both her praise and her trusting smile.
"All I ask is that you take care, Arthur, and come back to me."
Mordred stood quietly at the edge of the muddy training ground. The sky was solid grey with not even a glowing spot to mark the position of the sun overhead.
Sir Accolon had decided the mud was perfect for sword practice. He circled around Gareth, then the two came together with a ringing clang of metal on metal. Gareth slipped and landed on his back this time. He was thoroughly coated with muck and Mordred guessed the prince's clothes were soaked through.
"That's enough for today."
Morgana's voice came from the edge of the field closest to Rheged's castle. Mordred saw her eyes run down Accolon's trim frame as she approached and the blond young man gave her a coy look in response.
"Yes, my lady," he said with a bow.
The knight left to return to the armoury. Gareth scrambled to his feet and removed his helmet as he hesitantly lifted his eyes to his mother.
"You did fine, son, but you must keep aware of your surroundings including the ground beneath your feet. No matter your skill, your enemy can run you through as soon as you lose your footing."
"I'll work harder."
"I know you will." Morgana ruffled her son's hair, which he submitted to despite being nearly full grown. "Go and get changed and send your sword and armour for cleaning."
Morgana's gaze followed her son as he left. She was wearing a silver gown in Rheged's royal colour which hugged her breasts and hips and Mordred wondered if she had come to supervise her son's training or merely to catch the attention of her lover.
"Accolon is half your age."
She turned to him with a smirk curling one corner of her pretty mouth. "And my husband is old enough to be my father, it all evens out. We don't all have a loving mate to go home to. How many children do you and Kara have now? Two? Three?" Morgana's smirk widened. "Is your happy home all that you dreamed of?"
"Since the day of the attack on our camp all I have wanted is to have a home, with Kara. I am happy."
A frown replaced the smirk on Morgana's face before her eyes narrowed. "Does Kara know that it was your hand that prevented me from killing Arthur the last time he was within my grasp? The man who led the attack on Aglain's camp? Who was responsible for the deaths of her family?"
Mordred was glad he had told Kara the truth long ago, it would not be to his benefit for Morgana to hold such a thing over him. "She knows, but she doesn't understand." Kara refused to acknowledge that Mordred's life would have been forfeit as a child if Arthur had not intervened. "I owed him a debt. It is paid."
"The time will come when I take back from Arthur what is rightfully mine. My son will kill him and return the throne of Camelot to me, and Gareth will rule after me."
"Gareth has all the qualities of a great leader," Mordred said truthfully. He made no attempt to argue with her ceaseless ravings about her son's destiny.
"My son has in him the blood of two kings," Morgana continued and Mordred heard the note of insanity creep into her raised voice. "What does Arthur have? A worthless servant for an advisor, common men for knights, my maidservant for a queen."
"He has the sword."
She ceased shouting and looked at him narrowly.
"The sword is proof Arthur is destined to rule these lands. They say he pulled the sword he calls Caliburn from a chunk of solid rock when no one else could budge it."
"We know whose work that was," Morgana said.
"Emrys." Mordred had heard the stories since childhood. Although he thought the presence of Emrys was further proof Arthur was the Once and Future King, he did not say so. "Destiny."
Morgana's look was thoughtful rather than enraged. She turned and left without speaking, but oddly he found her quiet exit more frightening than her usual shouting rage. He watched her walk slowly in the direction of the castle and a shiver crawled up his spine as if this moment were familiar, as if he had been in this exact spot before, watching Morgana walk away, wishing he could change … what?
Shaking his head to clear it, Mordred made his way into the citadel. It was midday and there was a good chance Kara would have a meal prepared. As he entered the corridor which led to his rooms, Gareth rushed up beside him. The prince was clean and wearing fresh clothes.
Mordred glanced sideways at the young man and lifted a brow. "Is there some princely duty you should be attending to?"
Gareth shrugged.
Mordred put an arm around his shoulders. "If we hurry there might be stew left."
Gareth grinned at him.
When they walked through the door, Kara looked up from where she sat at the table with a little brown-haired girl beside her on the bench and a toddler on her lap. She had been feeding the boy, but as soon as she saw the two of them arrive, she moved to fetch more trenchers.
"I'll get it," Mordred said. He dished up food for himself and Gareth while the prince sat down at their small table and immediately began tickling the girl.
She giggled and squirmed, spilling broth on Gareth's shirt in the process.
"Careful of the prince's clothes," Kara said. She shifted the toddler to ease the ever-present ache in her damaged leg.
"He started it," the girl said, frowning at her mother when Gareth ceased his tickling.
"Only because you have such a funny laugh." Gareth gave her a poke in her side and she giggled again. "You sound like a puppy barking."
"I do not," she protested.
Mordred set food before the prince and sat down across from them with his own bowl. Gareth wasted no time wolfing down everything in front of him. Mordred shook his head, knowing the boy would have been well fed in the morning as well as having meat, bread, cheese, and fruit waiting for him in his own chambers when he cleaned up after training. Better food than the stew he was currently devouring.
There was a small smile on Kara's face as she continued feeding morsels to the child on her lap while watching Gareth swallow his food without appearing to chew. The girl fell to her own food with renewed vigour, trying and failing to match Gareth bite for bite.
"How was training in the mud?" Kara asked.
Gareth shrugged again.
"The king must be pleased with your skill, I hear you're a fine swordsman."
Gareth's eyes were on his empty plate. "He never comes to watch me, he's too old."
Mordred exchanged a glance with Kara. "King Urien carries the responsibility for the kingdom, despite his son's assistance."
"All Owain does is agree with Father and relay his orders to everyone else," Gareth said.
"Which shows how much pressure remains on the king," Kara said. "You know he's proud of you. Both your parents love you dearly."
"I know Mother loves me," Gareth said. "But sometimes she …"
His face reddened and Mordred wondered if the prince had been entirely sheltered from the rumours of his mother's madness.
"She's scary," the little girl beside Gareth said loudly.
"Hedda." Kara frowned at the child and glanced at the door.
They all jumped when there was a loud knock and the chamber door opened to admit one of the royal guards.
"My lord." The guard bowed in Gareth's direction. "Message from the queen." He delivered a scrap of parchment to the prince before departing.
Gareth unrolled the message. He looked at Mordred. "You are to escort me to the Northern Forest at sundown."
The grey, overcast day was fading to a dark night as Mordred and Gareth made their way out of Rheged's citadel toward the Northern Forest. The torch Mordred carried in his right hand lit the damp ground and sent weaving shadows of trees away in all directions. The slight breeze was chill in the damp air.
Mordred shivered. "Did the note say what your mother intends?"
"It has something to do with my destiny to kill Arthur."
Mordred stretched out his left hand to halt the boy. The prince stopped and looked at him questioningly.
"Gareth, I owe you everything I have and you know I would protect you with the last breath in my body. But do you really believe you could face King Arthur in combat and defeat him?"
"It's the reason I was born, to kill the traitor and return Mother's birthright to her. And Father says Arthur is an upstart who doesn't deserve to be High King." Gareth's eyes searched his. "Do you believe in destiny?"
"Yes, I do." Mordred looked into Gareth's earnest face for a long moment, watching the torchlight flicker on his young face. "My people put much faith in destiny, but that is not the same as fate."
Gareth looked puzzled.
"Fate you cannot avoid. Destiny is brought about through hard work. The gods enjoy making us sweat to accomplish their purposes, and you are young; it's unfair to saddle you with such responsibility."
Gareth's brow was still furrowed. Mordred sighed and began walking again and the prince fell into step beside him.
When the tree roots and fallen leaves beneath their feet gave way to the grassy area of a clearing, the light from Mordred's torch fell on Morgana. She stood next to a creature her height but ten times as large. Its horned head had a jaw big enough to swallow a wild boar whole and its skin was scaly and glowed faintly in the light. Mordred gasped and his hand went to the hilt of his sword, but Morgana gestured at him to put away the blade and come closer.
The creature's head swung towards the newcomers and Mordred saw two pale, shining eyes. Gareth started forward at his mother's gesture and Mordred hastened to stay at his side, keeping one eye on the boy and one on the monster.
As he got closer, Gareth's steps slowed and he looked from his mother to the dragon. When Mordred stopped and waited for Morgana to speak, Gareth stopped beside him.
"This is Aithusa. She's going to help us. Gareth, hand me your sword."
Wide-eyed, Gareth glanced at Mordred and then withdrew the sword his father had given him on his seventeenth birthday. He passed it to his mother hilt-first.
She took the weapon in her black gloved hands, then stretched it out in front of her, blade pointed at the dark sky. She nodded at the dragon and Mordred saw the creature open its massive jaw and spew flame.
Although the dragon's fiery breath was aimed away from them, Mordred could not help but recoil and throw a protective hand in front of Gareth, but the dragon flame touched only the blade of the sword. Morgana stood without flinching, holding the weapon high, a soft smile on her lips.
Mordred could feel the heat of the flame, but the metal blade did not turn red or soften. In fact, it seemed to shine faintly in the dragon's breath.
When the creature finished, Mordred's torch was once again the only light they had except for a faint luminescence clinging to the sword. Reverently, Morgana laid the flat of the blade across her hand, holding the sword out to her son. His eyes were fixed on the shining weapon as he stepped closer and reached out to take it from her gloved hands.
"Your blade," she said. "Forged in a dragon's breath; nothing can survive its touch." Morgana smiled. "A weapon worthy of my proudest warrior."
"I will call it Clarent. And I shall wield it in victory, and with honour."
Mordred felt a thrill of excitement hearing Gareth's solemn vow and seeing the boy holding the shining weapon. Perhaps destiny truly had touched them that night.