Episode 4: The Ascension of Mordred LeFay
"You know those nights, when you're sleeping, and it's totally dark, and absolutely silent, and there is only blackness, and this is the reason, it's because on those nights you've gone away. On those nights, you're in someone else's dream, you're busy in someone else's dream..."
-Laurie Anderson (Someone Else's Dream)
Chapter One: Night
Nuala walked towards the warm light of the kitchen. Someone had gone and lit the two candles set on the table. He nodded his head in greeting when she entered, a sly smile adorning his stolen face. Nuala sat in the chair across from him-or rather, them- giving the stolen man facing her an unimpressed perusal.
"It has been a long time," she remarked, folding her hands neatly on the table top. "Who are you this time?"
"Walker."
"Hmm."
"He broke into this house a week ago."
"I remember. I suppose you find that fitting." Nuala leaned back in her chair, making herself more comfortable.
"After a fashion. He was looking into a new, delectable young traveler. That one was here too, after the fact." 'Walker' grinned mischievously. "I think I gave him a bit of a scare. And isn't that promising! They don't usually notice my presence so quickly, but this new outfit of mine should take care of that now."
"I happen to be fond of Sir Mordred," Nuala dissented. "His people are mine by the Old Laws, you know that."
The being in Walker tsked, flashing Nuala a knowing look, "Now, now, that is up for interpretation. The boy's a stray. He's unsworn, and unclaimed no matter how much he pleases you."
"Not for long."
The being's amused smirk became more prominent. "I could tell! That's what I'm here for. I have an exchange for you."
"You want hunting rights? Here? Darling, I think you've been away too long," Nuala laughed out. "We aren't Gods anymore, not in this land. I would have thought this poor man's memories revealed that much before you came to me," she said, gesturing towards the stolen man across from her.
Another, less mischievous, smile from the being in Walker served to concede her point. However, the being herself didn't seem ready to give up. She slid a polished, wooden box across the table. "Which brings me to my proposal."
Nuala opened the box and eyed the finely hewn stone inside, then shut it carefully. Her expression was completely serious for the first time since her guest's arrival. "What did you have in mind?"
"Mordred," Arthur said pointedly, prompting the teenager in question to shift his gaze from the window. His innocent expression might have fooled Arthur if it hadn't appeared so abruptly.
"Yes, Sire?"
"You were letting your attention wander again. Look, I know how boring these lessons are, believe me - but you need to learn these things," Arthur related, remembering suffering through similar lectures from Lord Geoffrey in his own youth.
"Do I really?" Mordred inquired in exactly the same teasing tone that his mother used to employ on Arthur when she felt he was being particularly thick. As always, it instantly put him on the defensive, only amplified by the unwitting likeness.
"Yes, Sir Mordred, you do," Arthur replied in a warning tone. He nudged the parchment between them, adding, "Now, the House of Hoel: name the current head and his successors in order. Or must we start this all over again?"
"You're trying to trick me. The Duchess Elaine governs Tintagel by proxy through her ten-year-old son Gwalchmai. By the laws of Tintagel, a woman cannot be Head of the Royal Household."
"That's true, which is why 'the late Duke Gorlois II of Cornwall, succeeded by his son Gwalchmai would be the correct answer to my question," Arthur amended. "Pay attention."
Mordred scrunched up his face, seeming almost affronted by the new information. "That makes no sense! He's dead: he cannot lead anyone."
"That is their tradition. It is the way they've always governed."
"Only it isn't," Mordred muttered rebelliously. "It's physically impossible unless they are all shades."
"That is disrespectful, and I'll not have you speaking like that in front of company. This is precisely why you need to learn these things. You need to understand how to speak to these people," Arthur scolded, rubbing at his brow.
"Once again, Sire, I find myself wondering why," Mordred prodded in a carefully gentle tone. "I know that you can't have tutored Sir Gwaine in these matters. As a knight, would I not serve you better through battle, and tactical knowledge rather than-" He made a broad gesture, indicating the piles of parchment spread over the table. "political recall?"
"I am endlessly thankful for your dissimilarity to Gwaine," Arthur joked, then let out a small sigh when it did nothing to shift his nephew's penetrating stare. "There is more than one way to win a battle, Sir Mordred, and I believe that if you would just apply yourself, you could excel at methods used well beyond the battlefield."
Mordred straightened, looking taken aback. After recovering from his surprise he remarked, "You flatter me, your Majesty."
"I am merely stating the truth," Arthur disagreed. A little voice at the back of his mind that sounded a lot like Merlin's chided, Well, it's only part of the truth. That's not really being honest, Arthur, and he did his best to silence it. He saw the secret Prince begin to eye the parchment interestedly and covered it with his hand splayed flat, feeling his mood lifting again. "And their allies?"
Mordred's brows pinched together ever so slightly as he tried to remember. "The House of Hoel is allied with Caerleon, Gorre… Oh, good evening. Has something important come up?" the young knight inquired hopefully, looking past Arthur to someone standing in the doorway.
"Yes, Merlin, what is it you had to barge in here for?" Arthur asked, turning to look at the servant-who-would-not-knock standing behind him.
"Gwen's hungry."
"What?"
"The Queen requests to know whether you're still planning on having dinner with her tonight," Merlin relayed, sounding more adequately formal despite the very Merlin air of sarcasm underlying his delivery.
Arthur looked at the melting candle on the shelf to his right and blew out a breath.
"I can study the parchments more in my free time, Sire. I really wouldn't want to keep you," Mordred offered.
Arthur nodded. "We'll go over it again tomorrow."
"Yes, Sire." Mordred agreed, with a barely noticeable pout as he bowed. He smiled at Merlin in thanks for holding the door for him on his way out. (Mordred rolls his eyes, and stuffs the scrolls under his arm. "As if I would ever need to rely on memory. If I want to know you, I do, from your favorite color to your mother's least favorite childhood neighbor. I have no interest in personal trivia. Unless a person is important to me it is meaningless clutter for the mind. What I'm interested to learn is why the King thinks that I should.")
"You really ought to study those," Merlin advised, falling into step with the Druid on his way towards the Knights' Quarter. "Arthur must have a good reason for teaching you all of that."
Mordred looked the older man over with a scrutinizing gaze. It wasn't exactly the norm for Emrys to take an interest in his personal choices unless they pertained to the King's well-being in some way.
"The King has taken it upon himself to teach you something. How often do you think that sort of thing happens?" Merlin pointed out.
"He leads the knights' trainings regularly," Mordred recalled, earning a flat look from Merlin. "I understand the point you're making. Although, I think the matter was settled when the King bid me to do it." Mordred studied Merlin's face through slightly narrowed eyes before inquiring mentally, Doyouknow why he is teaching me himself, Emrys?
"I think he has high hopes for you, Sir Mordred," Merlin answered aloud, picturing a blank wall rather forcefully at Mordred. It was confirmation that he probably knew something, at least.
"That still bothers you. Why?" Mordred asked, aloud this time.
"I don't know you, but I am sure that you will make a fine knight." The way Merlin's voice tightened slightly around those last words spoke of how little he still thought of the younger mage. A fact that was growing more and more tiresome.
"I hope that someday you will find it in your heart to consider me more than the sum of my past mistakes, Emrys," Mordred said calmly, "Until then, I can only try to do the best of which I am capable." He flashed a wry smile at the vaguely-disgruntled manservant as he turned the corner to head downstairs. "Good night, Emrys, and sleep well."
Arthur pulled the door shut behind himself and headed towards the Royal Chambers, still fretting over what he was going to do about his nephew. Merlin had been right; he couldn't keep the boy in the dark forever. On the other hand, Arthur couldn't imagine a way that telling him would go well in the current tense climate that had settled over Camelot of late. Quite a few members of the Royal Council-mostly those inducted under Uther's reign- had 'voiced concerns' at granting a slave a knighthood let alone a Druid. Arthur had hoped that his people would have the wisdom to see past the old prejudices of wartime, but he hadn't been terribly surprised to see that not all of them had. Shortly after, rumors had started that Mordred had witch's blood- which, Arthur mentally conceded was technically true- or that he was a spy with magic of his own, or some even more ridiculous monstrosity. Mordred had to have heard of them, not that one could tell with the stoic mask that the young man always wore. There were whispers of a new warlord gaining power in the North. Morgana and her Saxon horde were as busy as ever too, and although no one spoke of it in Court, it didn't take a Seer to note that sooner or later one of them would make a play for Arthur's throne… Because he didn't have an heir. There was no way this wouldn't look bad. He couldn't keep lying forever.
"There you are, Princess," Gwaine's voice drew the King out of his thoughts. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you about something."
"I'm just on my way to dinner." Arthur noted the discomfort in his knight's dark eyes. "Walk with me?"
"That'll do."
"What is it? You seem…" Arthur cast around for a fitting descriptor for Sir Gwaine's countenance. "Sober."
"I am, actually. I do plan to fix that soon enough, but first you should know, Sire," Gwaine paused to look around and make sure no one was listening. "I think that Walker might've had something to do with the break in."
"Walker?" Arthur echoed incredulously. "Mordred's wolf crippled him-"
"No," Gwaine muttered, with a shake of his head.
"-Queen Annis has him locked up in her dungeons for murder-"
"Not anymore."
"-if she hasn't already had him beheaded," Arthur soldiered on.
"She hasn't," Sir Gwaine informed him.
"And what makes you so certain of that?" Arthur said in a voice already laced with resignation.
"I spoke with him in the pub a few weeks back. He bought me a pint and made insinuations about Sir Mordred. I told him to piss off," Gwaine recounted. "I was considering taking him on myself after I saw him lingering near the training ground the next day, but then he seemed to have disappeared. I figured someone else had probably confronted him and that he was gone."
"I sense a 'but' coming." Arthur remarked.
"I thought I saw him out in the courtyard the night of our return from Nemeth. I couldn't be sure in the dark of night, but he was loitering by one of the servant's entrances and he ducked out of sight when he caught me looking."
"Why didn't you report it then?"
"I did. The Captain of the Guard took it for a drunken fantasy. To be fair to him, Sire, it didn't make much sense. I saw Walker disappear into a dead end. Literally. I looked all around for some hiding place or some way that he could've slipped past." Gwaine pushed his hair out of his face, scowling in frustration at the nonsensical memory. "He was just there one moment, and then he wasn't. I still can't explain it."
"If Walker had magic, Mordred and I would both have died in Caerleon."
"I know. I told you I can't explain it," Sir Gwaine affirmed. "It happened."
Arthur eyed the older man carefully for a moment before deciding. "Fine. I'm calling a meeting tomorrow morning, as you know. We'll discuss it then. Lord Rhidian will be visiting in a few days' time, and we cannot afford to have Walker ruining his visit. I don't want word of it passing outside the Round Table, understood?"
"Yes, Sire. My lips are sealed," Sir Gwaine assured him, then his serious expression relaxed. "Now if you don't mind, as you yourself noticed, I find that I am entirely too sober for this time of night."
"Have a good night, Sir Gwaine. Do try not to make a fool of yourself."
Gwaine did a little half-assed bow as he walked away, calling. "Do I ever?"
Arthur shook his head at the irony, and let himself into the quarters he shared with his Queen.
Mordred stripped down to his breeches and headed for bed, stopping short with a wry huff of breath when Bran jumped up onto the mattress before he could, taking up most of the space. Mordred prodded the animal's side.
"Budge over," he urged tiredly.
The wolf yawned at him.
"Move." Mordred pushed his lazy familiar off center of the already crowded single bed, bunching up the furs and blankets in the process. His brow crinkled in annoyance. "Now look at it." He flopped down on the mattress and tried to pull the piled coverings out from under Bran, only getting an unhelpful lick on the wrist for his troubles. Then his familiar finally moved, but only to rest his big, furry head and front paws on Mordred's bare chest. "No. I see the drool! Not on my… Damn," he sighed out the last word in defeat, too worn out to bother.
The wolf licked his chops and let out a bored-sounding whine.
"Yes, I get it. I will find a way to take you out again." Mordred would be meeting that peddler in the forest tomorrow afternoon to replace the protection that had been stolen from him. This would be the last night he would spend vulnerable, and that in itself was comforting. Bringing his wolf to ensure against a double-cross was probably the wise move anyway. Mordred ran his fingers through the soft fur on Bran's head and closed his eyes, gradually relaxing into sleep. Bran's breathing evened out and shifted into a softly whistling snore that made the tired Druid smile affectionately. Just when he was almost out for the night Mordred snapped fully awake. His mental defenses were all flying back into place too late. He realized that he couldn't move.
There was a figure silhouetted by moonlight at the foot of Mordred's bed. It looked like a man, but the potent, almost smothering waves of magic rolling off of the figure gave its true nature away. Mordred's head was beginning to hurt as the raw power seeped in through his aura, bleeding through the points of flickering haze. The figure tilted its head to one side reflectively and the torrent lessened. The safeguard he'd tucked away was gone. There was only one other chance…
Mordred reached out for his only viable source of aid as the figure walked around the bed towards him, and by the Goddess that face was too familiar! "Emr-" Mordred's call was stopped short when the being in Walker's body grabbed Mordred's forehead. Everything went black.
A woman's voice whispered into Mordred's consciousness. "Shhhh. Be still." The instruction wasn't stated with an overt force; she didn't need to use force. It would be foolish to disobey one of her kind. "Now, who is Emrys?" she giggled, amused by his surprise. "I know. Who is he to you?" The knowledge flowed out of Mordred unbidden. "Hmmm. Interesting."
Bran was growling. Mordred got the feeling that he'd been doing that for a while. At least he wasn't being hurt.
"Oh, Silly. Why would I want to harm you now? You'd be no fun anymore."
That was not remotely encouraging. The darkness overtook Mordred again, then he jerked awake in bed. His heart pounded like a war drum as he scrambled back against the headboard with a breathless yell. The intruder was gone. Bran was standing guard at his bedside, staring fixedly at the open window. Oh.
Mordred jumped up out of bed and pulled the shutters closed with a clack. She knows everything that I do about Emrys. Fuck. He leaned his forehead against the window, steadying his breathing. A sharp knock rattled his door and Mordred nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Mordred?" Merlin's voice questioned quietly.
"Y-yes," the young knight acknowledged, just a second before the older mage went ahead and let himself in.
"What just happened?" Merlin scrutinized the shaken-looking teen. "I felt something… wrong. Are you alright?"
"Not really," Mordred answered, walking around to sit on the foot of his bed with his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Emys. One of the 'Folk was here. She extracted all my knowledge of you. I could do nothing to stop it."
"Wait, what 'Folk? She did what?" Emrys knelt down in front of the dejected Clairvoyant, looking confused and worried. Mordred wasn't even going to try to guess at why.
"The 'Folk. The Fair Folk," Mordred looked up to see no sign of comprehension on the Guardian's face. "Gentian? Lost Gods? You know, the Fae?"
"Right," Emrys acknowledged, not seeming to take the news with the gravity that it warranted, even if he no longer seemed confused. "Why you?"
Mordred gave him a flat look. "I didn't think to ask. She's gone now in any case, but I doubt that I could hold any true interest for such a being. You should be wary."
"Do you think she might be after Arthur?"
"I think she's likely after you," Mordred spelled it out for him, tugging a blanket off his bed to cover his own bare torso.
"Oh, really?"
"You are the most powerful warlock alive, Emrys. If anyone here is even close to matching the power of the Fae it would be you." Mordred rubbed a shaky hand through his locks, trying to mask his lingering fear with irritation.
"Are you hurt?"
"I don't- Not physically," Mordred replied shortly. "And not in any way that would threaten the King."
"That isn't why I asked, Mordred," Emrys shot back, with an insulted frown.
Mordred stared at him for a moment, beginning to feel a little guilty. He hadn't expected that. "I'm sorry."
Merlin watched him patiently.
"The barriers around my mind have been weakened, but there is little that you can do about that," Mordred carefully admitted. He had almost thought he could just tell Emrys about the magical ailment he'd gotten from Morgana, but he'd caught himself just in time. The older sorcerer might care for him more than he'd previously let on, but that did not make them friends. They were only allies on a good day.
"I could at least try to ease the pain," Merlin offered, reaching up to place a simple spell over Mordred's nerves. The Druid flinched away, catching his wrist in a vise-grip before it could reach his temple.
"No!" Mordred cleared his throat self-consciously and lowered his voice from its inappropriate volume. "That isn't necessary."
Merlin eyed him suspiciously.
"I would rather retain what remaining control over my mind I have left," Mordred explained, hoping the sympathy card would work with the distrustful warlock. It did. Merlin retracted his hand with a guilty expression.
"I understand." Merlin cast his gaze around the darkened room uncertainly, and after a moment of consideration Mordred reached past him.
"Forbærne." Mordred's eyes flashed with magic and a fire crackled to life in the small fireplace. "You won't tell on me for that, will you?"
"Be careful."
"I'm not going to be able to sleep now. There's nowhere she won't be able to reach me if she wants to, once you've gone back to your rooms," Mordred pointed out, getting up and grabbing a shirt at random.
"I don't know very much about the Fae," Merlin admitted thoughtfully. "I didn't really know any other magic users until I came here. If you want me to stay with you, maybe you could teach me some of the basics?"
"How little do you know?"
"I had to stop a Sidhe from eloping with Arthur once, if that helps." Merlin offered. "They're related aren't they?"
Mordred turned slowly to face him, looking the older man over before stating grimly, "This is going to take a while."
She stepped through the cracked and moldy door to Walker's little hidden shack. Her host's hideout was literally at the edge of town. It wasn't certain whether this was due to his inborn paranoia, or his disinterest in human contact. It was probably a bit of both. She walked to the back of the shack to scavenge the cupboard for a bite of something to tide him over. As psychopathic as the man clearly was, he felt ambivalent about her preferred source of sustenance, so his would have to do for the time being. They were lying low, after all. A tentative knock sounded at the door and she turned to regard the portal with an arched brow.
"Speaking of local fare..." Walker's possessor remarked with a smirk. She went and answered the door, sizing up the young, shivering messenger boy standing stiffly in the rain. "Too stringy," she concluded grabbing the leather-wrapped parcel out of his arms and shutting the door in his face.
"Er…" the poor, nervous boy's voice squeaked uncertainly. "Excuse me, Mi'lad-"
The door opened again and a sack of silver pieces bounced off the lad's rain-soaked chest into his reflexively grasping hands.
"Shoo!" The door was slammed in his face again and this time he hastily fled back down the dirt path leading to the village proper.
On the other side of the door, the being unwrapped Walker's parcel. There was a no doubt highly expensive bejeweled, gilded silver gauntlet. She threw it away over her shoulder and pulled out the accompanying roll of fine parchment. "Ah- ha. Standing orders. Well, this looks fun! Why not play along for a while? Sir Mordred of Camelot, I just knew that you'd be interesting."
5 Days Later
"It's like you're driving an overloaded wagon. You've gone for leagues and leagues, fleeing until you can no longer measure how far you've driven or where there is left to go. You've lost the sense of your destination, and you know that you cannot flee any further. Suddenly you realize you must stop. You tighten the reigns and all that piled cargo, all your hidden works and precious treasures fly forward. Your past over takes you."
The memory of Mordred's voice followed Merlin into consciousness to meet the cold patter of rain falling on his chilled skin. He was lying on dirty cobblestones and his body carried an overall dull ache. When he attempted to prop himself up on an elbow and blearily survey his surroundings a cracked rib made its presence known. Merlin's nose and lip were both bloody, and when he reached up to wipe his split lip he noticed his scraped and bruised knuckles. It all came flooding back.
The argument… chasing one all-too-understandably-obstinate-novice out into the alley behind the tavern, only to find that apologizing didn't matter so much, because large men in cloaks were trying to kidnap said obstinate knight. Then they were fighting and Merlin wasn't a good physical fighter. He couldn't find an opening to use his magic without making things worse. He shouldn't have worried...
"You bastard," Emrys surged to his feet despite his protesting ribs and ran out into the dawn lit mouth of the alley. "Mordred!" If that calculating little shit got himself killed, Merlin was going to drag him right back into this world and murder him himself. "Mordred! Where are you?" He thought as loudly as he could in his semi-disoriented state.
"Do not search for me, Emrys." The reply was troublingly faint.
A/N: I know this is short. The next one will be longer. I hope that you enjoyed this much at least, regardless, thanks for reading. Special thanks to Agana of the Night and catherine10 for their reviews.