Chapter 4: Blackness

"You are dismissed," Arthur closed the meeting, still deep in his own ponderings. "Not you, Sir Mordred," he stopped the youngest knight just as he was turning towards the doors. Mordred shut his eyes briefly, gathering his resolve for the no doubt trying confrontation ahead. By the time he turned back to face the King and Queen he was once again the picture of collected calm. He locked eyes with Emrys, remaining still as a statue until the doors had shut behind the last of his retreating brothers-in-arms. Only once they were fully shut did he lower his gaze to the King's face.

"Your Majesty," the Druid prompted politely.

"You weren't surprised, were you," Arthur said solemnly, catching Mordred somewhat off-guard. He had not anticipated being confronted with this insight from the King, which was unusual.

"I am not sure that I understand your meaning, Sire," he tried.

"I am aware of the rumors that have begun to circulate through town since our return," Arthur began, pausing to choose his next words carefully.

"Since my arrival?" Mordred clarified, noticing and purposefully overlooking Arthur's dissatisfaction. "It seems that there are many within Camelot who disapprove of my presence in your court. I have wondered how word got out that I was a Druid, considering the discrete few I know to be aware of it."

"You don't even trust the other Knights not to judge you?" Arthur half inquired, half accused.

"Even good men have their faults. I do not expect them to be any more or less than they are. Many of Camelot's Knights hail from lands in which my people were banished, hunted, and villainized. Those things tend to leave their mark on a mind. I know that you and Queen Guinevere accept me as I am; I trust in you."

"You were expecting persecution," Gwen inferred, hoping to be corrected.

"Perhaps not in so dramatic a fashion, but as his Majesty has noted, I was not surprised. I suspect that Walker is playing on public unrest in hopes that it will incite a conflict between two local factions," Mordred theorized. Arthur nodded, eyeing him with a hint of pride in his eyes that Mordred wasn't entirely sure he had earned. He was a knight, not a politician.

"I am removing you from patrol for the time being," the King pronounced, throwing the novice for another loop and making him question his perception of approval. "When you aren't training you will assist in the command of guards within the citadel." Arthur held up a hand to silence Mordred's oncoming objection. "This is not a punishment, Sir Mordred. I agree, it seems that Walker is inciting a conflict between the Druids within Camelot and those still clinging to old prejudices, and you are the center of his focus. I cannot in good conscience expect you to risk your life in defense of those who hate you, especially given that they may intend to do you harm when the chance arises."

"I did not swear my oath to the small-minded dissenter in the street; I pledged my loyalty to you," Mordred countered smoothly, not quite masking the tension running through him as he looked from Arthur's face to Gwen's and back again. "I would gladly risk my life in service of the Crown."

"You can serve us within the citadel," Gwen responded gently, easily slipping back into her familiar role as a peacekeeper. "You know Walker better than any member of the Guard, and if Walker intends to breach the citadel again you will be better suited than anyone else to stop him."

"This man is doing the work of an enemy lord who wishes to claim my throne. He intends to provoke us, Sir Mordred," Arthur stated, sounding as if they were sitting around the table again, poring over an old text from the great library. "This ploy of his is meant to turn our people against each other. If you were in my position, how might you respond?"

Mordred studied his teacher for a moment, pausing to consider the different approaches that he would use to solve the problem, and gauge what answer would best please his King. He then replied in a thoughtful tone, "I would focus on defusing conflicts within the town, neither tolerating nor legitimizing dissent with a direct acknowledgement. The people's safety should be the focus. Apart from that, I would remain silent and observe while he makes his next move, keeping those I trust close..." He looked up to meet Arthur's wryly amused expression.

"Not a bad start, Mordred. You're learning quickly, as usual."

It was a little more than an hour later that Mordred got Merlin's view on the matter, regardless of whether he wanted it or not. He had just changed out of his armor and pulled a thin linen tunic on to hang loosely over his breaches and kicked off his boots when he heard the impatient single strike of knuckles to his chamber door.

"Good evening, Emrys," Mordred breathed out resignedly and flopped down to lie on his back across the foot of his bed as the warlock let himself in. Merlin stepped forward to stand over him, about to start in on a tirade or accusation in the next breath if his posture was anything to judge by. Mordred spoke again anyway, still keeping his vision directed primarily to the ceiling. "You know, you are the first person I've met who can manage to make their actions seem so vocal."

Merlin paused with his mouth open, ready to lay into the younger mage, then closed it instead and waited. He was curious to see where Mordred was going with this.

"Your knock, for instance," Mordred continued. "I can't help but wonder whether you've managed to make it actually sound obligatory on purpose, or if your feelings about certain things just sort of leak out into being..." Mordred did a vague and otherwise perplexing gesture with his hands that Merlin interpreted solely based on context.

"Strangeness isn't going to get you out of this talk, Sir Mordred. You lied to King Arthur."

"Even the King knocks when he visits -not that he often does- while you act almost as if the very concept itself is an irritant."

"We have a duty to keep Camelot safe. Aside from that, Walker - or whatever is inside him - came after you first. This isn't a real fox hunt, and we both know it," Merlin pursued, refusing to be diverted by the young man's obvious tactic.

"You expect me to knock on your door," Mordred continued, prompting Merlin to let out a loud, annoyed huff, and turned to look up at his displeased guest. "Does it really bother you that much that I lied about a hypothetical question?"

"I'm not so sure that it was entirely hypothetical," Merlin replied grimly.

"I am not a King, Emrys."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, somehow managing to look simultaneously like a disappointed parent, and reprimanded child.

"Is something else troubling you?" Mordred ventured, uncertain of what hidden truth he had glimpsed, but certain that it was there.

Merlin's expression went flat. "Nothing you need to know about, Sir Mordred. I can't keep trusting you if you won't let me know what you're thinking."

"If I can manage for you, surely you can do the same," Mordred replied, standing to face his mentor.

"Don't test me, Mordred. We are not nearly that close yet," Merlin instantly rebuked, his voice threatening to become a hiss.

("Ah," Mordred gives a conspiratorial glance. "There he is. I've often suspected that Emrys' humble, clumsy nature is nought but a shroud to cloak his formidable ego. Denial is a powerful motivator for men such as him, but all that one must do is find the right sore spots to poke at, and that thin veil will slip off as a snake molts old skin. I'm almost tempted to keep it up at times like this, but where this serpent is concerned, I believe that the veil is all that keeps us clear of the dragon's den.") To the Warlock himself, Mordred stated carefully, "The King asked me how I would respond to the threat posed, if I were he. I answered that hypothetical by relating vaguely what he would do. That is not a lie, that is me answering the question more literally than he intended. If I were King Arthur, I would do as King Arthur does."

"He is trying to teach you something," Merlin chastened.

"Am I not learning, Emrys?" Mordred countered, turning back to face his bemused mentor as he walked over to pour himself a drink.

"If you were King Mordred in this situation, how would you respond to the threat posed by Walker?" Merlin reiterated, making it sound almost as compulsory as his knock had earlier. His ego was apparently straining to assert itself.

"We both know this isn't about securing King Arthur's throne," Mordred pointed out, inadvertently mirroring Merlin's stance when he crossed his arms in subconscious defense. "There is a Fae wearing Walker's skin. For whatever reason, she is the one attempting to sow unrest between the Druid people and the larger population within Camelot. She is the one who left that mark, started a fire in the lower town, and who broke into this room that night. She also accessed only my memories of you that night. If the decision were up to me, I would seek her out alone and attempt to find my own answers before she comes after her true target."

"You're not my keeper, Mordred." Merlin noticed their similar positions and dropped his arms to his sides with a self-conscious air. "You will listen to the King's order, and remain within the citadel until I have dealt with this threat."

"And if I do not?"

Merlin's eye flashed with a fierce, golden flame. "You will do as I say."

Mordred smirked at him. "And there's the real reason Great Lord Emrys doesn't knock. You fancy yourself to be our keeper. After all, who knocks on the door every time they feed the dogs?"

Merlin blinked in surprise and straightened, perturbed by the no-longer-familiar coolness in the younger mage's ghostly stare. "I- I don't think- No, you misunderstood- just stop making this difficult," Merlin floundered, talking while he attempted to process what was going on. It was of course a mistake. Unfortunately, he only registered that after he'd already said it.

"I'm the dog," Mordred observed. Something about the calm, placid quality of the ex-slave's voice made his words all the more condemning.

"Wait. Listen-" Merlin tried.

Mordred's expression shuttered closed and he hissed, "Get out of my chamber!" sharply enough that the powerful warlock before him immediately relented. Merlin turned back, wincing guiltily as the door shut itself and locked without either man consciously intending it, although both assumed it was probably the furious Druid's doing.

Merlin stared at the door for a moment, feeling absolutely terrible, before trudging dejectedly back towards the Physicians' Chambers. He knew he wasn't likely to regain Mordred's willing attention until he'd had time to cool off no matter how entirely unintentional his condescension had been.

The next morning, Sir Elyan and Sir Patrick stepped cautiously into the burnt out husk of the peddler's cottage. The building's remains were already blackened and brittle, leaving a surreal impermanence to everything within the knights' reach.

"I'm not sure what exactly we're here for. This whole place is a ruin," Sir Elyan confessed, pulling open a charred kitchen cabinet only to watch it crumble.

Sir Patrick watched the soot-coated dishes inside fall through their dilapidated shelf. He half shrugged to the Queen's sibling in solidarity.

"The King suggested that this may have to do with Sir Mordred's people, but we must still find the evidence to prove it."

"I've heard about the threat to local Druids," Elyan clarified, put off somewhat by the other man's choice of words. Sir Patrick had almost made it sound as if this were somehow the Druids' own fault.

"Nevertheless, it is difficult not to question how there could be much of use left behind," Patrick remarked, stepping over the remains of a chair in order to inspect the tiny front window. It had been smashed in during or rather, just before the blaze. "Wait a moment!"

"Have you found something?" Elan made his way over to the novice's side.

"I think… maybe… here, what do you make of this?" Patrick held up the tattered and singed rag for his comrade's inspection. "This must've gotten caught on the edge of the sill." It was a torn off piece of linen. The stormy blue fabric marred by the shape of black-stained fingers. Elyan rubbed at one of the dark stains with his fingertip and sniffed it.

"Some kind of tar… maybe, pitch?" he considered.

"Well, it could lead us to our hunter. Lucky, that it didn't burn up," Sir Patrick observed, carefree. Sir Elyan eyed the new evidence suspiciously while the younger man wandered away to poke at what remained of the table settings.

"Yes. Very lucky."

Sir Patrick decided to take the initiative himself that afternoon while Elyan was still down in the armory. He presented the small amount of evidence they had gathered to the King, informing him 'regretfully' that he had matched the torn fabric to one of Sir Mordred's tunics.

Sir Gwaine became more and more visibly angered by the interruption, not moving from where he and Percival stood diagonally in front of the throne. Sir Percival, much like the King himself had gone into a deeply contemplative silence, appraising the novice.

"You realize the severity of these allegations," King Arthur verified, keeping his tone admirably level.

"I do, Sire. I also know how dear Sir Mordred is to you," Sir Patrick replied, causing Arthur to sit up straighter on his throne with a more discerning stare. The couriers around them took on an expectant hush.

"Oh, you noticed that, did you?" Sir Gwaine grumbled, turning away from Queen Guinevere to glower challengingly at the younger man.

"I'm sure that Sir Patrick did not mean to insinuate anything," Arthur said, keeping his eyes on Patrick's.

"Of course, your Majesty. Mordred earned his place among the knights when he saved your life. We all owe him respect for that," Sir Patrick elaborated, ignoring Gwaine's continued hostility. "That is why I chose to wait until I had some evidence to justify my suspicions before coming forward."

"Come on," Sir Gwaine sneered. Queen Guinevere held up a hand to silence him.

"I understand your concern, Sir Knight," she said, sounding sincere. "Clearly, it must take a great deal of suspicion to bring you to accuse a brother-in-arms. Especially, seeing as he was granted knighthood so close to the time of your own induction. Any more evidence you have of his actions will be of help to us in settling the matter."

"I don't…" Sir Patrick trailed off, puzzled, then recovered himself. "I don't have any such evidence at this time…"

"I see. Merely grounds for suspicion?" Gwen clarified, as if she didn't already know.

"I… Yes, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Sir Patrick, for bringing this to our attention," King Arthur stated formally. "Sir Mordred's already been taken off of patrol. He will, however, be remaining on duty for the time being. You are not to speak of these suspicions of yours to Sir Mordred or to anyone not currently in this room, and any further evidence regarding him will be brought straight to me or to the Queen, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Good, then you are both dismissed. Your father, Lord Rhidian will be arriving tonight and I want both you and Sir Gwaine at my side when the Queen and I receive him," Arthur concluded.

"Sire." Sir Patrick bowed respectfully and left.

Merlin and Mordred did not get much chance to talk after their latest disagreement, mainly because Mordred used his innate gifts at maneuvering people to make it so. Apparently, reconciliation with a passive-aggressive clairvoyant was a feat beyond even the most powerful warlock ever to live. Merlin still wasn't sure how the teenager managed to keep disappearing like that without the ability to teleport. He had, however, determined two things for certain. One, Mordred was in no way respecting the implied curfew that Arthur had set for his protection, and two, proving that fact to anyone else would be as endlessly frustrating as caring for the Druid's well-being was proving to be.

Finally, he caught a break just after giving up and joining Sir Gwaine and the knights for a pint. As soon as they entered the tavern, Merlin's magical sense picked up Mordred's presence tucked away in the far corner. He only waited the shortest amount of time he could manage without being rude to his friends before making his way over.

"Excuse me," Merlin muttered and cut through the mass of bustling patrons to intercept the hooded knight's retreat. He rested a hand on Mordred's arm, leaning close to speak quietly into his ear. "This needs to stop. I'm the Guardian here, not you."

"I have no interest in another argument." Mordred pulled out of his grip and moved to continue past. Merlin stepped in front of him.

"I want to trust you," he began, earning a cynical stare from his would-be adversary, "but if that's going to work... We are both in this together, Sir Mordred. I can't rely on you if you refuse to hear me out."

Mordred made a sweeping gesture towards the secluded table against the wall to his right. Merlin sat down across from him, noticing that Mordred seemed unknowingly to take after his uncle when miffed. "I'm listening, Emrys," he intoned with exactly the perfect amount of sarcasm in his soft voice to drive that point home.

"I understand why you're angry at me. I want to make it as clear as I can that I have no interest in any kind of ownership over you, Mordred. I never even considered it. That being said, as long as you live here-especially as a member of Arthur's court- you are my responsibility. The fact is, you have been my responsibility since I first smuggled you into the citadel on the day we met, and I haven't really done you justice ever since." He paused for a moment to see the implications of what he said sink in, and watched gravely as Mordred shifted his attention sharply away then pinned him with look that demanded he move on. "I know that you still think the Fae inside of Walker is targeting me and possibly Arthur, and that it's your chance to prove yourself," Merlin explained urgently. "It isn't, and you shouldn't."

"I suppose that it simply did not occur to you that I might be doing what is right based on its own merits," Mordred replied sarcastically, but there was no real bitterness behind it this time.

Merlin gave him a quelling look. "This is not your fight, and coddling Arthur was never your burden either. Whatever it is you're planning, I am asking you to let it go."

"Whether the Fae targets you or the King, it is unacceptable. I have been looking into this-"

"I know," Merlin affirmed tensely, but Mordred breezed right by his open disapproval.

"If she is using Walker's original plot as a template, I have an opportunity to use it to our advantage," he urged, leaning closer so that his soft voice could be heard clearly.

"If that is what she's doing, which you have no way of knowing until you've already played straight into her hands," Merlin argued. "That's insane!"

"I will be insane, sooner or later! You know that. You never trusted me until you did," Mordred persevered, standing stubbornly against the sudden urge to flinch away. He continued more quietly, placing his hands deliberately and leaning over the table to stare directly into the Guardian's gold-flecked eyes, "If am to survive dependent upon the depth of your pity, Emrys, I would rather take my chances with the Fae." Mordred studied Emrys more closely for another second, his expression inscrutable. "You know something that you aren't telling me."

"What?"

"You have become unusually preoccupied with my wellbeing of late."

Merlin pulled up every one of the mental defenses he'd been reading up on since Mordred's arrival. "W- Ah- After what you told me? Why wouldn't I be worried? That's all it is."

Mordred stood up straighter and wordlessly made his way to the exit.

"Wait! Mor-" Merlin cut himself off and chased Mordred out onto the dimly lit village street, rapidly cooling in the setting sun.

"You are a poor liar, considering your years of experience." Mordred didn't even glance back at the other mage as he turned into the alley. Merlin kept following, ignoring the jab. Halfway down the shadowy passage, Mordred whirled round to accuse his mentor. "You and Morgana are remarkably similar, so concerned for my wellbeing… once you've found a use for me. I suppose you'll give me your commands when it best suits you."

"That isn't fair," Merlin corrected, managing this time around to keep a level head in light of his companion's paranoia. He'd decided to categorize it as a symptom so long as the behavior continued to clash with his understanding of Mordred's typically reserved and understated demeanor.

"My thoughts exactly," Mordred countered using the warlock's own choice of words against him.

"Listen! I have a responsibility!" he exclaimed, catching up to Mordred at the middle of the darkening passageway. "Not only to Arthur, but to you, to Gaius, to everyone in Camelot!"

"Oh, would you stop!" Mordred interjected, his voice still appallingly muted, as he swatted away the argument. "The enemy in our midst has revealed her interest in you, Emrys, if not our King. Your destiny has always been worth much more than the cost of my fleeting life!"

"We all have destinies," Merlin countered seriously, drawing Mordred's narrowed eyes to lock onto his. "Just because no one claims to have written any great fables in your honor does not make your future any less important."

"Why shouldn't this be my destiny? I pledged that I would give my life in service of Camelot. I also promised to aid in ensuring your destiny, now my people are being used as pawns in a bid to entrap you," Mordred intoned, taking a couple steps closer to underline the implied challenge. "Why should I retreat?"

"Because you're sick! Your shields are faltering; I can feel it, and if I can, I'll wager the Fae can too. We don't even know if I'm strong enough to defeat her, and let's be honest, Mordred, I can outmatch ten of you," Merlin left out the 'at present, I think' that his mind helpfully added in contradiction. "Besides, I'm still not convinced that you aren't the true target! You wanted to earn my trust - congratulations! You are well on your way! Now, if you want to help me, do as I tell you and stay out of..."

A thump sounded on the darkened end of the alleyway, drawing the magic users' attention. It seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the silence that surrounded them. The calm solitude of sunset became isolated and threatening in an instant.

"What was that?" Merlin inquired.

"A sellsword hopping down from his perch," Mordred supplied helpfully.

"And you neglected to mention him until now, why?"

"I am not all-knowing, Emrys," Mordred defended, drawing his sword. "He's got a partner with him…"

Three sword-wielding brutes rushed up behind them and the young knight immediately engaged the closest two in battle.

"And these!" he added. At the same time, Merlin ducked the third enemy's sword and shoved a nearby stack of barrels over to impede the other two men's approach. Merlin was momentarily intrigued by the lightning-quick, deadly dance Mordred was doing to fight two older, experienced fighters at their own art. He'd obviously been holding back during training. Then Merlin was grabbed from behind, engaging in a far more graceless wrestling match with the two larger men who hadn't been knocked out by falling barrels. With a hasty flash of his eyes, Emrys tripped the mercenary that he was facing. The brute stumbled toward Mordred's end of the alley, wide-eyed, and the deadly teen spun in place slitting the man's throat on his way to block the next downward strike from the opponent on his right. The movement was so swift and efficient, it made the death almost seem like an afterthought.

"He saw you, Emrys. I had little choice."

The attacker still holding Merlin threw him headfirst into the wall. He tried to push himself up off the ground, but froze at the sound of a blade falling to the cobblestones and a breathy grunt of pain. Merlin hated that he was experienced enough to recognize accurately the sound of a person being stabbed in the side. He'd distracted Mordred. He refused to be the cause of his demise.

Merlin's head snapped up to check on the younger man, and take stock. The mercenary who'd thrown Merlin into the wall pressed a dagger to his throat.

"Go on," his compatriot encouraged. "We don't need that one."

"No." Mordred forced himself upright, staring down the thug. The stab wound was just above his hip, and shallow, judging by his range of movement. Not immediately life-threatening.

The mercenary holding a blood tipped sword scoffed.

"No, leave him. Take me. I will go willingly so long as he is harmed no further."

"You what?!"

"If you kill him you'll have to kill me, because I will kill you, painfully and without a semblance of mercy." Mordred continued, ignoring Merlin's irate squawk.

"Leaving a witness would be unprofessional," the sell-sword noted, uncertain.

"You know me. I keep my word." Mordred's eyes had gone cold and ghostly again. There was no longer any illusion of innocence. The mercenaries exchanged dark looks over their victims' heads.

"Mordred-" The dagger-wielding thug knocked Merlin out before he could finish his sentence.

A/N: And there's the first part of that... If anyone was still curious. Was it anything like you were expecting? Still wondering what the heck Mordred is playing at? I hope so. I know this chapter took waay too long to finish, but it is really important and I wanted to get it right. A lot of plot is either ending or being seeded in this installment, so, yeah, that takes extra time. Oh, well. Special Thanks to Isis Ma'at, Agana of the Knight, and catherine10 for the encouraging reviews; I hope that this was worth your wait!