Chapter 5: Family Reunion
Arthur knew that it was hopeless. He had grown up in this castle and was well aware of how heavily these doors had been reinforced. They were meant to hold back a siege if need be, protecting a king and his family from the invading threat. Arthur was not oblivious to the irony of his predicament. These doors were performing quite well at doing the exact reverse of their intended purpose. He hoped that Merlin was having better luck in his attempt to sneak around the back.
"Father!" Arthur shouted at the top of his lungs, hurling his full weight against the misbehaving portal two more times in a last ditch effort to break through. It was therefore understandable that he was surprised when it worked. He stumbled into the Throne Room just in time to see his father's specter let Mordred's frost-coated body slide limply to the floor. Uther had taken his throne.
"What have you done?!"
"A Druid, Arthur? I thought that I had raised you to be better than this, and yet here we are," Uther scolded over Arthur's breathless question. It was the same tone that he had used when his young son embarrassed him in front of a handful of visiting delegates.
"You murdered my knight!" Arthur took a bold step forward, angry and also itching to verify the truth for himself. He had to know for certain, because Mordred couldn't really be dead. It didn't bear thinking about. "He's barely more than a boy! He might even be-"
"I did not spend my entire life building this kingdom to see my own son destroy it," Uther interrupted before Arthur could say 'my nephew.' "I raised you all your life to be a worthy King, and yet you have learned nothing!"
"I have learned. I watched you rule. You were always isolated, alone," Arthur recalled. "You trusted no one, and that distrust is what bred your hatred. Nothing more. I would rather be an imperfect king, ruling with the help of the people whom I value and trust, than be powerful and alone."
"A true King must rule alone. He needs nothing more than his own morals and knowledge. I taught you everything that you needed to know in order to do that."
"Not everything," Arthur countered, his tone dropping to a dangerous note just shy of a growl. "You talk about morals! You betrayed your own family - how many times? You lied to us. You pitted us against each other, and kept us from the people we loved. How could you just... just discard your own grandson! Cast aside as if he were nothing!"
Uther looked down at the still form on the floor, then stood to face the current King. "Whatever you might think of me, Arthur, everything that I have done, I have done for the good of Camelot," he argued, closing in on his rebellious son. "I will not let you destroy all that I have built!"
"Then you'll have to kill me, because I'm not you, Father. I can't rule the way that you did," Arthur decided, with less regret than he would've expected mere days ago. "I won't."
There was a tense pause in which neither of them moved. Uther stood very still, staring at Arthur's stubborn face. They were both too transfixed to notice that they had regained an audience. The dead King finally seemed to realize that Arthur wasn't bluffing and straightened to his full height.
"Camelot must come before all else," Uther declared. A shield flew off the wall and struck Arthur in the head, knocking him unconscious. "Even you," the spectre concluded, striding purposefully toward his son-become-victim. He stepped over Mordred and was stopped short by a hand wrapping around his ankle. He tried to pull out of the Knight's faltering hold, but the stubborn teen held fast. Uther's lip curled upward in a soundless snarl and he kicked the young Druid in the neck. Mordred's hands went to his throat as he coughed and gagged, and his eyelashes fluttered in a hopeless battle to remain conscious. Uther towered over Arthur's prone form and reached out one ghostly hand to finish what he'd started.
"Step away from him, Uther!" Merlin warned, emerging from behind one of the pillars that lined each side of the room.
"You? You can do nothing to stop me. You're only a servant," Uther dismissed, looking Merlin over with disinterest, before turning back to his morbid task.
"I am much more than that," Merlin cautioned, continuing his approach. Uther sent a bench flying at Merlin. The warlock's eyes flashed gold, still locked on the dead King's face, and the bench was cast aside by a gust of wind.
Uther whirled back around to face his new opponent straight on. "You have magic!"
"I was born with it!" Merlin declared, with more than a hint of accusation. It felt good to finally be able to say it, but the deceased tyrant was far from the first person to whom he wanted to reveal his true nature.
"I made you my son's servant! All this time, you've been right here under my nose!" Uther exclaimed, stalking towards him. "I will not let your kind poison my kingdom!"
"You've got it all wrong," Merlin corrected, stopping the angry spectre in his tracks. "Even during your rule, there was always magic at the heart of Camelot. Look around you, Uther! We're all still here!" He waited for his words to sink in before returning to the more immediate issue. "I won't let you harm Arthur." Merlin flung his hands out in a sweeping gesture and an even more potent gust of wind carried Uther out through the doors, ghost or not.
Merlin took a deep, calming breath and followed him out, searching the hall cautiously for any sign of the dead Tyrant. After finding no clue as to where he'd gone, Merlin settled for heading towards the nearby storage room. Uther crept out of the shadows on the other end of the hall and stalked silently after him.
Arthur jerked awake on the cold stone floor. Uther was gone and Merlin was still nowhere to be seen. Arthur shoved himself up into a seated position then groaned, pressing a palm against his throbbing temple. His head was killing him. There was something else that he was forgetting, something important. What was...
"Mordred!" Arthur scrambled over to the still body lying face down at the foot of his throne. He turned Mordred onto his back, telling himself that the blue tint to the Druid's lips was just a trick of the moonlight. "Don't be dead, don't be dead," Arthur whispered, leaning over to listen for breath. He let out the one he'd been holding. Mordred was alive. His breathing sounded strained, but he was still, miraculously, breathing. Arthur let his head fall forward against his nephew's frost-kissed shoulder, silently thanking whatever gracious gods were looking out for them for their mercy while he tried to steady his own racing heart. There was a startled shout from somewhere not too far away. Merlin. Typical. Arthur looked down at the prone knight, feeling torn. It probably wasn't the best idea to leave Mordred alone in his current state... "I'm sorry," Arthur apologized as if Mordred could hear him, and bolted off to rescue his manservant.
Merlin steadied the studded club that had been swaying loudly in its place on the rack, mildly relieved that Uther was nowhere to be seen within the confined space. He wasn't dumb enough to think that the ghost wasn't somewhere close by. He kept his senses on alert for any sign of movement. There was no sign. No warning. Merlin turned back towards the door only to find two spears flying at him. They pierced through the right shoulder and left arm of his jacket and pinned him back against the wooden target board behind him. Merlin slowly looked up at the dark figure marching towards him. Uther raised his sword to strike with a vicious glint in his lifeless eyes.
"I am going to enjoy killing you."
Merlin glared defiantly up at him, waiting for the monster to strike.
"Stop!" Arthur's voice commanded, causing Uther to falter in mid-movement. He turned back, revealing the furious, young King standing in the doorway, holding the Horn of Cathbad out in warning.
"Arthur..." Uther began, taking a step towards his son.
"No," Arthur denied. There were unshed tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "This has gone too far!"
"Listen to me-"
"You have had your turn, Father. Now it is my time to rule," Arthur declared, raising the horn to his lips.
"No! Arthur! The boy he h-" Uther's exclamation was cut short by Arthur blowing the horn, dispersing the dead king's ghost into a fading cloud of light. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut for a second, reminding himself to breathe. That had been far too close for comfort. If Arthur had waited another second, Merlin knew his secret would have been exposed. When he reopened them Arthur was in front of him, studying the spears pinning Merlin in order to release his trapped friend. He was trying very hard to keep his roiling emotions in check.
"Are you all right?" he asked roughly.
"I think so. My arm hurts, but I'm pretty sure it's just a scratch," Merlin assured him. "Ow!"
Arthur set the spear aside and moved to pull out the other. "Don't be such a girl," he muttered out of habit. There was no emotion behind it.
Merlin watched him sympathetically. "Are you all right?"
Arthur shot him a scathing look. That was more like him. "I had no choice but to leave Mordred in the Throne Room. He needs immediate attention."
Merlin nodded. "I'll take care of him."
"Merlin," Arthur called.
Merlin stopped in the doorway to look back at him.
"You were right. You warned me that using the horn would be dangerous," Arthur apologized. "I should have listened."
Merlin sighed, searching his mind for the right thing to say to get that mournful look off of his best friend's face. "He was your father," he said simply, before leaving. It was all there was to say.
The next morning, Mordred hopped down from his perch on the end of the physician's table and Gaius held out a bottle of yellow-orange liquid.
"Take two spoonfuls, twice a day," Gaius instructed. "And I am afraid that you will not be doing any more training for the next few weeks, either." He added, "Physician's orders," as the door opened behind him, having noticed Mordred's calculating look.
Mordred plastered on an angelic smile to dispel the old man's suspicion.
"I shall be informing the King of my verdict as well."
His smile faltered.
"You are not the first stubborn child that I have had to reckon with," Gaius informed him, remembering similar tactics employed by the Druid's mother in her youth.
Mordred let out a huff. He was eighteen now, hardly a child anymore by his own reckoning. He heard the new arrival let out a familiar chuckle.
"Ah, Sir Percival. I hope that wound on your back isn't giving you trouble," Gaius said in lieu of a greeting.
"No. Thank you, Gaius. It's feeling better already. I was just hoping that you could give me a bit more of that tonic. The first bottle got knocked off the dresser this morning, and broke," Percival admitted ruefully.
"I believe that I have another in the cupboard," Gaius replied, already walking away to search for it. "Excuse me for a moment."
Mordred nodded, studying the larger man beside him uncomfortably. He still hadn't apologized for the way he'd been acting: avoiding Percival, judging the older knight more than he himself had been judged. Now he couldn't even speak and he could feel the blond staring at him.
"So... King Arthur said that you and the Queen were in some kind of accident in the kitchens..." Percival prompted, awkwardly.
Mordred gave a stiff nod, glancing up at his friend, then back down again.
"What happened?"
Mordred considered his response for a moment then gestured towards his throat and shrugged helplessly. He held out his hands in an apologetic gesture.
"You can't talk?"
"Here you are, Sir Percival," Gaius said, holding up the bottle of tonic. "It seems that Sir Mordred's throat was rather badly injured in the fire. It could easily be weeks before his voice returns," the physician lied. It wasn't the deception that bothered Mordred. He knew that the King wanted Uther's brief return kept secret. It was just how easily the old man had manipulated the truth, as if having frequently practiced deception.
Mordred pushed the discomfiting thought away and gave his concerned friend a reassuring pat on the arm with his good hand.
"Was there anything else that you needed?" Gaius verified.
"No, thank you Gaius," Percival said.
Mordred watched the old man turn back to the potions he was preparing, to make sure that the physician wasn't looking. Then he began cautiously gesturing while he followed Percival out, communicating as best he could that Percy should take him out to the Mill as they'd planned.
"I know what you are thinking, Young Man," Gaius corrected without looking up. Great. It seemed that both Gaius and Sir Gwaine were unfairly astute. "If you need something to do, perhaps you might deliver these prescriptions for me. If nothing else, it will keep you occupied for a time."
Mordred pouted.
Percy grinned at him in amusement. "Sorry, Mordred. I'd rather not cross Gaius. Maybe after your hand is better, eh?" He ruffled the teen's dark hair and headed back towards the courtyard. He had already forgiven Mordred, it seemed. It was a relief, even if everything wasn't quite settled between them yet. The young Druid still wanted to explain himself and apologize. This would have to be good enough until then.
"Something's still bothering you, isn't it?" Merlin observed while he helped the king don his armor.
"I didn't expect it would ever be like this, bringing him back," Arthur reflected as he picked up one of his leather gloves, but didn't put it on, instead frowning down at it.
"You were right," Merlin consoled him, having expected the young king to take a while to truly recover from the haunting. "Uther had his time on the throne. All of that time that he spent distrusting others, trying to maintain his rule, I think it changed him. Perhaps it became an obsession."
"No, not that. Although, you might have a point," Arthur admitted. "There was a moment in the throne room when I lost my temper… I thought he'd killed Sir Mordred-" Arthur shook his head with a wry smile. "After all of the lies, and everything I've discovered since his death... I hadn't wanted to confront it, but I realized that I need to understand."
"And what did he say?" Merlin asked, pausing with the shoulder piece in his hands, curious about where Arthur was going with this. He didn't recall witnessing any grand confessions.
"He didn't admit anything. It was in his eyes," Arthur recalled, remembering the subconscious movement with perfect clarity, his father's subtle tell when Arthur mentioned his nephew's abandonment. "He flinched. He didn't admit it aloud, but he knew that I'd found Morgana's son, and it horrified him."
Merlin met his gaze, "Mordred."
Arthur nodded, "I think it was harder for Uther to finish the deed once he had to look his grandson in the eye. He didn't want to face what he'd become, and I almost lost because I didn't either."
Merlin swallowed and went back to his task, his expression slightly too tense. "So aren't you going to tell Mordred the truth, then?"
"No. He isn't ready. Mordred is still getting accustomed to Camelot. He's got his seat at the round table, and besides, he's injured. When the time is right, he will take his place at my side, but not yet," Arthur paused, seeing Merlin's dissenting expression. "This is a matter of court, it has to be handled delicately. There are enemies vying to take my throne, Merlin. Mordred's appointment as heir will hardly serve to deter them if he appears to be an easy target. With or without a successor, Gwen and I can hold our own for a while longer."
Merlin stared at him, blindsided by Arthur's seemingly devious motivation. "You almost make it sound as if you're just using him."
"I am using him," Arthur admitted. "But no more than any other King would for the good of his kingdom. Mordred is the Prince of Camelot whether he knows it yet or not; royal blood carries responsibilities. I'm giving him back his birthright," Arthur justified. Although at least, he looked like he still felt guilty despite himself. "He will secure the Pendragon line of succession just as I did before him."
"I agreed to help you find him in order to keep him safe."
"And he will be safe, looked after by you and Gaius, trained and taught by myself and Guinevere, and guarded by the most skilled and loyal knights in the most stable Kingdom in Albion," Arthur's face scrunched up as he turned and snatched his other glove away from his skeptical manservant. "Sometimes I really can't understand you, Merlin. From the moment we found Mordred, you hated the boy. You even told me to kill him. Now I tell you he's Morgana's son, and suddenly you think that a Knighthood isn't good enough for him."
"That isn't what I meant, Arthur!"
"What would you have me do?" Arthur snapped.
Merlin locked gazes with the frustrated royal for a moment before looking away. His shoulders drooped as he admitted "I don't know."
"Of course you don't," Arthur concluded, grabbing his sword and heading out of the armory. He added in a calmer voice, "Bring that shield with you."
Merlin fetched the requested shield, still silently fretting about this new development while he followed Arthur out. He still didn't really know how to deal with the conundrum that was Mordred, but he was fairly certain that lying was not it. That had backfired terribly enough with Morgana that Merlin would never dare repeat that mistake. The last thing that he needed was to provide Mordred with a motive to betray them. Especially one that Merlin couldn't entirely discount. The hidden prince had already been marginalized and used throughout his entire life. If Arthur-
Merlin stilled just short of passing the King his shield and all his ponderings ground to an abrupt halt; there was a familiar scruffy, strawberry blond man chatting with Sir Patrick at the other side of the training field. He seemed to be posing as the young Knight's servant.
"Merlin," Arthur prompted, again.
"Oh. Sorry, Sire," Merlin said distractedly, passing the item over. Arthur's eyes narrowed watching his friend retreat to the nearby bench. Then Arthur followed his previous line of sight to an unfamiliar servant gathering Sir Patrick's unneeded weaponry to return to the armory. The man's back was turned, but there was something familiar about the faintly limping man. Arthur decided to keep a silent watch on that one until he was certain, and went ahead with the training.
Mordred set down the bottle of medicine that Gaius had given him to drop off in the royal quarters and turned to leave. He had wanted an excuse to see for himself how Queen Guinevere was recovering, but now that he was here, he was too nervous to look.
"Hello?" Gwen called out, sounding raspier than usual. Apparently, the Queen was already awake. "Is someone else there?"
Mordred paused halfway to the exit, uncertain of what he should do.
"Merlin, is that you?"
Mordred sighed and walked up to peek around the carved, wooden screen that divided the sleeping area from the rest of the room. He smiled wanly at her and held up a hand.
"Mordred," Gwen greeted. "We must stop meeting like this. I would have thought that you would be out on the training field with Arthur."
Mordred shook his head. It was a bit awkward for him to interact with anyone other than Emrys with his windpipe damaged as it was. Arthur had already put word out to the other knights by now, enforcing Gaius' ruling that he shouldn't try to talk or train for at least a few weeks. Apparently, the Queen hadn't heard yet.
"What's wrong? You can't talk?" Gwen inquired, confirming his suspicions.
Mordred nodded again, worrying at the neckerchief that hid his bruised throat with his uninjured hand. He nodded uncomfortably towards the door.
"Wait," Gwen disagreed and gestured for him to come closer. "Let me have look at you." When he still hesitated, she added, "I don't fancy waiting here all alone until training ends."
Mordred gestured towards the door again, thinking that he could go fetch a servant or someone else who'd be better suited to look after her.
"I'm not going to get you into any trouble for keeping me company," Gwen persisted, pushing herself up into a seated position against the headboard in preparation to face him.
Mordred relented and pulled up a chair beside her. The Queen leaned over and carefully pulled his scarf down to survey the damage. She winced at the deep purple bruising underneath.
"How did this happen?"
Mordred gestured to a tapestry hanging on the wall and mimed a noose.
"What?" Gwen placed a hand over her mouth, suitably baffled. "When?"
Mordred paused for a beat, uncertain about how to answer without words, then pointed to her, closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side.
"Me… You mean when I was knocked out?"
He nodded.
"Then how..." Gwen trailed off, undoubtedly realizing how pointless this conversation was since he couldn't talk. "Sorry. I was going to ask how we got out, but... I suppose I'm only causing you more trouble."
Mordred smirked and indicated his neckerchief. Gwen frowned questioningly, then mirrored his amused smile.
"Merlin."
Mordred nodded, then furrowed his brow when the Queen's expression shifted again. She was regarding him with a deeply-thoughtful look.
Gwen looked away in response to his unuttered question. "I remember when you were a child..."
Mordred tensed. He really hoped that she wasn't remembering what he thought she was remembering.
"Merlin brought you to us to hide you from King Uther, but you caught a fever. Do you remember?" Gwen glanced over, finding confirmation in Mordred's utter stillness and intense stare. "You had magic then. The mirror broke when you screamed, and Morgana swore to me that she could hear you talking even though your lips never moved. That wasn't her magic, was it? It was you."
Mordred shook his head, opening his mouth only to close it when he realized that he couldn't speak aloud well enough to give her an excuse. Then he gave a frustrated wave of his arm, communicating the unfairness of this, if nothing else.
"I just want to know... If you can speak to me without-"
Mordred stood up, ready to flee, but Gwen grabbed the sleeve of his worn out, blue shirt.
"Mordred! I'm not trying to trick you." She leaned forward to catch his eye. "Listen, I know that you are loyal to us. You haven't done any harm."
Mordred stood there for a moment, feeling torn. He couldn't help but trust Gwen. In his childhood there had been very few people who truly cared for him as a child rather than a powerful Clairvoyant. Gwen had been one of those few. On the other hand, this could be where his future would begin to unravel, pushing a Queen to defy her husband's rule no matter how slightly. In contrast, she might have changed just as Morgana had. This could be a trap. Mordred slowly sat back down.
"I didn't mean to accuse you," Gwen assured him. "You were only a child."
Mordred scrutinized her face for any hint of deception, more for show than anything. He had already felt no trace of a lie from her consciousness. The Druid pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal his clan marking.
"I know: you're a Druid..." Gwen trailed off, her eyes lingering on his triskele as though she was truly seeing him for the first time. "You." She shook her head, casting the thought aside for later. "Do all of you have magic? You really did- mind-speak to Morgana? You can do that?"
Mordred pointed to the Pendragon banner flapping in the wind outside the window.
"I know that it's against the law, but surely-" Gwen stopped short, seeing him shake his head.
Mordred pointed to the flag again, then pressed his hand over his mouth, locking eyes with the Queen.
"Not anymore," Gwen interpreted, correctly.
Mordred leaned back in his chair. Gwen had to believe that it was true. For both their safety, and perhaps Arthur's as well, the Queen needed to think that his magic was buried for good.
"I understand," Gwen finally said, and Mordred thought he must be imagining the hint of regret in her voice. "I want you to know, your secret is safe with me. I will never tell a soul."
Walker carried a mace, club and a very dented shield into the armory dropping the mace and shield on the first shelf he passed. He strolled into the changing area that Arthur's newest recruit and his lot frequented, idly twirling the bat, mentally counting the cupboards that he passed. The mercenary stopped to face the one that Sir Patrick had identified as Mordred's. He inspected the lock briefly, miming a strike once, playfully, before he went ahead and smashed the housing. Walker carelessly tossed the bat away to roll under the bench and began searching through Mordred's things.
"Borin', useluhss, dir'y and to'n," he judged Mordred's belongs as he dropped a bundle of dried flowers, an empty pot of muscle salve and a shirt onto the ground. "Jus' to'n, dis one...Eh, not ya color, Mate. Whot's dis?" he leaned in to grab a polished wooden box tucked into the back of the cupboard. It was heavier than he'd expected and he inadvertently knocked Mordred's crystal hourglass over as he shifted to gain leverage. Walker scrambled to catch the moderately valuable item, but it rolled off the edge and shattered before he could get a good grasp. "Bollocks. Coulda' sold dat," he lamented under his breath. Turning back, he caught sight of movement reflected in the surface of a hanging sword and whirled round. No one else was there. He frowned and moved a bit closer to the rack, taking a careful look. He froze, catching the reflection in an over-polished battle axe - not just his own reflection. There was a woman standing directly behind him. Her white dress hugged a seductively-feminine form and her ringlets, red as poppies, framed her gorgeous, doll-like face perfectly.
Once again Walker spun to face no one at all. He slowly turned back to the battle axe, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck. The woman in the reflection smiled and waved cheekily at him, her laughter playing in his ears like music.
"What are you?" He gasped, staring at her blood-red, pupil-less eyes. The woman tilted her head, looking him up and down appraisingly.
"You'll do," she concluded.
"Wha-" Suddenly, the mercenary couldn't move, other than to breathe, not even to blink, stuck to the spot as if his limbs had turned to stone.
"I'm going to borrow your body. You may not get it back," the reflected woman informed him matter-of-factly before stepping into his reflection. No, stepping into him! She spun on the spot and he tried to scream while he felt her soul overlaying his own. She promptly shut his mouth before he could make a peep. She turned back towards the over-polished axe and surveyed her new body. "Don't be so melodramatic," the creature chided her host with his own stolen voice. "We have a task to perform. You can have yourself back when we're finished."
A/N: Sleep soundly, my Lovelies! Just kidding. Thanks for reading this, I hope you like it. I must add an apology to Agana of the night; I tried having a Uther POV scene but had to scrap it for the sake of the flow/chapter length. He's not really an introspective personality and it just wouldn't sit right no matter how much I wanted it to. Anyway, special thanks for the feedback, Agana of the night, and to Linorien, catherine10, and JarvisAI for reviewing.
Since nobody seems to actually object to my strange little soundtrack/accompaniment idea, I'm making it a regular episode-ender.
His Majesty's Secret Playlist
One Brick(feat. Illogic)- Aesop Rock (A strange choice, granted, but I sneeked references&allusions to it throughout this episode, even the opening quote is an excerpt from the lyrics)
One of these Mornings- Moby (Arthur returns to the world of the living, haunted by Uther's words/Mordred remembers Morgana)
God's Gonna Cut You Down-Detroit Social Club (Arthur and Merlin believe the threat is vanquished for now, until Merlin notices Walker amongst the younger knights/Walker is possessed by a mysterious supernatural being)