Chapter 6: This is allegory, this flesh

Mordred stepped toward the dais, feeling the eyes of the gathered public lingering on the golden triskelion that Guinevere had hand embroidered so proudly onto the back of his emerald green jacket. A well-meaning declaration of the Crown's acceptance of his Druid origins. It didn't stop the pressure of so many wary and suspicious minds from stifling him in his walk down the hushed aisle of the Royal Court. He could not help but envy the King standing on the dais ahead of him for his obliviousness. It was rare that Mordred found himself wondering what his life might've been had he not been born a Clairvoyant. He supposed he'd likely have been raised as his Uncle had, so perhaps that wasn't something to feel wistful about.

The soon-to-be Crowned Prince looked down at his brand new boots with their many silver buckles, so polished that they shone like stars against their black leather straps. His midnight leather leggings were so smooth and slick-looking that they reminded him of the dark waters of the nether realm from which his Uncle so recently reclaimed him. This was not the man Mordred was, although it seemed this was the man he must now become. He knelt just short of the top step and the King performed his part in the ceremony. His memorized words floated through Mordred's ears without any meaningful form as the Prince stole a glance at Emrys. The manservant shot him a warning look. Mordred rested his gaze on the gaudy gold and ruby fastening on the King's scarlet cloak... Then came his time to rise.

With the simple circle of metal - a crown set on his head - Mordred feels an utter fool. The public clap politely and although he understands that many of them are sincere in their aplause, he cannot help but feel amiss. This was never his life. Arthur has noticed his nephew's discomfort. He pulls him into a steadying hug, then whispers...

"Why?"

Mordred, confused, pulls away, "Why- what?!"

Arthur's lips are stained with blood.

"No..." Mordred steps back, in shock and looks down at his hands to see them coated in the King's blood.

"Why did you do it?" The blood burbles up out of Arthur's choking mouth as he pleads for an answer. Mordred stares at the sword hilt sticking out of his Uncle's chest and yanks his traitorous hand away.

"I didn't... I don't understand!" Mordred turns to stumble down the steps and Emrys catches him by the arms, holding him pinned under his fiery golden glare as the knights close in on their betrayer.

"No, this can't be-" Mordred's struggling is as futile as his attempt at righteousness.

It is your destiny. Emrys' judgment echoes through his head, wreaking havoc on his perception.

"NOOO!" Bright light overwhelmed Mordred's vision. The grabbing hands of the many knights and courtiers vanished as if they'd never been there. Mordred jolted upright in his bed and snapped his head away from the too-intense sunlight shining in through the parted curtains. They had never been. It was only another night terror.

"Good morning, your Highness," George said primly, setting out his courtly attire for him on the foot of the bed. Mordred stared at him for a moment while his grasp on reality reasserted itself. He had been crowned weeks ago. It had not exactly been uneventful, but no one had been harmed either. Mordred waved off George's attempts to hand him a sedative. Gaius had prescribed the 'calming elixer' to him as soon as the young Prince was out of the woods. Emrys' mind had readily informed Mordred of the true nature of his medicine. A concoction of valerian, chamomile, and lavender strong enough to keep him unerringly docile. The guardian had been so disapproving of his mentor's decision that he hadn't even minded Mordred's mental intrusion. Since then Mordred had been in an uphill battle both to combat his state of anxiety and to avoid being drugged.

"I don't need it," he said shortly, when rather than retreating, his temporary manservant poured out a dose straight into his goblet of morning juice.

"Is there anything else you require of me, Sire." The persistent wretch turned back around to face his Prince and Mordred forced a thin smile, moving to dress himself in his new self-imposed uniform.

"No, thank you, George. That will be all."

George bowed deeply to him before leaving. Mordred imediately crossed over and poured his tainted drink out the open window.

In open court that same morning, the King himself was having some trouble adjusting to his nephew's ascension into nobility. Mordred sat motionless as a marble statue on his new throne to Arthur's right. The pale sapphires that were Prince Mordred's eyes glowed from within the doll-like mask of his ivory and rose complexion, highlighted intensely by the vivid royal blue of his tunic. The rough, semi-utilitarian cut of his charcoal grey leather coat and sleek black, oiled leather leggings contrasted starkly with the warm ruby reds, browns and gold preferred by most of Camelot's nobililty. It all combined into a haunting vision of stark, monocromatic, almost otherworldly perfection; Mordred was becoming a masculine echo of the beauty his mother had once been before Arthur had lost her to madness. The effect at times toyed with the King's mind, altering his awareness. For instance, it had taken far too long for him to notice what Sir Leon, and worse, a number of Royal Council members had been respectfully holding their tongue about for weeks. Unlike his opinionated, outspoken mother at his age, Prince Mordred hadn't uttered a single word, not in council chambers, not in open court, not in front of the public. He always watched those around him. On a few occasions he had responded with a gesture or a passing expression of acceptance or skepticism. Never a word. Arthur had been trying to pin down the source of his nephew's self-imposed muteness for the past couple of days and he was fairly certain that he could trace it back to Queen Guinevere's departure to visit her father's resting place. Before then, both she and Arthur been tutoring Mordred in private concerning the duties and comportment of a member of the Royal Family. Lord Geoffrey had been instructing him as well, just as he had Arthur himself, but the King had not yet found time to ask his old teacher about Mordred's progress.

Perhaps after this audience was over he might get the old man alone. Arthur felt it was high time that he dealt with the issue. The local elite had turned out in droves to air their grievances in the recent open court Arthur had been holding weekly since Prince Mordred's crowning. There were still a number of poorer citzens at each event as well, but so far they had proven a notable minority. Arthur looked from the successful merchant who continued to blather on about the sudden dip in consumer traffic of late, to his enragingly unresponsive heir.

"And what precisely is the problem that you wish to bring to our attention, Lendelle?" Arthur prompted at long last. "Doubtless, you know that I cannot simply decree that your patrons more frequently make use of your business."

"As it should be, your Majesty. No, I would not waste your time with such foolish fancy," the silks and spice merchant twittered like a timid songbird. "I percieve what my patrons need by far is more reassurance than comand. There is an atmosphere about the lower town which does not tend itself much towards indulgence, if it please your Majesty. There are too many who misdoubt whether the marketplace will continue secure. It is uncertain whether our shops can remain safe in our present circumstance." The merchant's gaze wandered curiously to the Prince, lingering briefly, Arthur's eyes followed suit. Mordred finally reacted, a mere shift of his focus from their subject to meet his Uncle's eye. It was a minute movement, yet very noticeable in contrast with his usual inscrutable stillness. His brows twitched slightly in wry expectation and his calm was infectious.

"There is nothing for you or any of your patrons to be concerned about," Arthur assured their audience, breaking the strange moment before it could stretch. "I understand that the troubling incidents that occured in the lower town and the threat of magical attack that followed were taxing on all the citizens of Camelot. But they are in the past. You can take heart in the fact that the Knights have reported no suspicious movement on our border for the past month. The lower town will remain perfectly secure."

The next two men to step forward had obnoxiously similar grievances to Lendelle the merchant's, and the brothel keeper looked easily as familiar as his complaints sounded. Arthur caught sight of Merlin shooting a rather expressive glance towards the stoic Prince from his stance leaning against the nearest pillar. There was no overt reaction, naturally, but amusement shimmered in his eyes for an instant. The King couldn't help feeling that his people were being misreprestented somehow. Open Court in Camelot was rarely like this in his experience. At long last an older woman limped forward who looked like she actually had problems worth complaining about. Arthur internally kicked himself for his own unspoken cattishness. Mordred's eyes flickered narrowly towards his King's face, almost as if he had overheard the unbecoming thought. Arthur buried the idea, it seemed he really was getting paranoid.

"My King," the old woman acknowledged deferentially, lowering her achy old bones to kneel before them. "Prince Mordred," she continued with her head bowed and Arthur realised that she was the first of his subjects to acknowledge directly the Crowned Prince. "It is an honour to have this chance to speak to you myself. I have come to you to plead for sanctuary. I may not have been born a citizen of Camelot, and I doubt how welcome I would have been in your Court in the recent past, yet I have spent the last seven years making this kingdom my home."

One of Arthur's oldest advisors took a stern step forward. "Sire!"

Arthur held up a hand to still him. "What is your name?"

"I am Derryth, your Majesty."

"Derryth, you have lived in this kingdom for seven years without incident?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

Arthur gave the protesting Councilor a qwelling look and watched him retreat to the safety of the crowd. Then the king sat forward slightly to address his subject. "Why are you in need of sanctuary now?"

"I am a member of a ravaged Druid clan, many of my people were killed during the Purge. The rest of us scattered to the whims of fate, until recently..." Derryth looked down at her shaking hands, gathering her resolve. "I have found a new home here. I made peace with the loss I've suffered, yet recently I have heard whispers of others who could not. Many of my kin joined with the Saxon Horde, more of them than I would ever have liked to believe. I have chosen to remain under your rule, regardless, and so they have judged me a traitor."

Arthur could feel his nephew tensing up and placed a hand on his forearm in case he let his instinct to flee get the better of him.

"Two nights ago, I woke to find a man in my house! I tried to make him leave, but he was too strong. He will not let me be. His fellows follow me when I leave, and when I return home he punishes me!" The Druid woman pushed up the sleeves of her tunic to show her skin was marred with dark bruises. She pushed her hair away from her neck to show the flat, squared brand that had warped her Druid mark. "He brings his friends into my home and they lay waste to all that I own as if it is nothing. They say that I am nothing. I am not the first Druid-born on the edge of town to be tormented by these people! Others were chased away weeks ago, but I chose this kingdom as my home. There is no other place for me to run to. Please Sire, I am begging for your mercy!"

"Of course we will help you," Arthur turned to address his manservant and saw that Merlin was already moving to help the old woman to her feet. "Merlin, take her to Gaius and make sure that her injuries are seen to. She will remain within the safety of the palace until this matter is resolved."

"Yes, Sire."

"Lord Geoffrey?" Arthur half inquired, half prompted.

"If it would please your Majesty, I believe that Patrick and Lord Willem could stand to wait until tomorrow."

"An excellent idea, Geoffrey. You are dismissed," Arthur instructed, standing and starting forward. The Prince did not immediately follow suit, his attention lingering in Merlin's wake. "Mordred, Sir Leon, accompany me." Arthur prompted.

His nephew stood and padded soundlessly after his King and their First Knight, ignoring the watchful eyes of Councilors.

George, the Prince's temporary servant shut the door to the Royal Quarters in their wake with himself on the other side. Arthur strode over to the head of his table then turned on the other two noblemen.

"Why is this the first that I am hearing of this?"

"I do not know, Sire. This is the first I have heard of it as well," Sir Leon replied, his brow crinkling in consternation while Mordred calmly settled into the chair opposite Arthur. "I would have thought that at least a witness would have spoken out about such behavior by now. Even on the edge of town, knights are usually alerted to any such threats."

"To citizens, perhaps," Mordred amended softly. Both older men turned to face him. "These men attack Druids," he clarified.

"That makes no difference. Druids are welcome in Camelot. I rescinded my father's ban," Arthur pointed out. "You're my heir and you're a Druid."

Mordred looked at him flatly for an extended interval before continuing unfettered. "Druids are allowed free passage through Camelot according to the law. That simply means that our presence must be tolerated, not apreciated. Were I in Derryth's position, I doubt that I would have spoken out."

"If you'll forgive my presumption, Sire," Leon prefaced, continuing smoothly in response to Mordred's expectant look. "You rarely speak as things are."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Then Arthur ventured to ask the unspoken question.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with your Druid origin...?"

"Very little, your Majesty," Mordred tactfully minimized, resting his folded hands on the table in front on of him. "I believe that we are digressing from the relevant issue. If there is a band of criminals targeting Druids in Camelot, it could re-ignite the tensions instigated by Lord Rhidian and his co-conspirators, especially taking into account that you have recently placed a Druid in line to inherit the throne."

"The people of Camelot are not all as hateful as my Father," Arthur defended, then leaned forward with his hands planted on either side of his end of the table. "Although, you are right: we do need to deal with this problem as swiftly as possible." He headed around the table gesturing for his heir to join him, on his way out of the Royal Chambers. "We are still returning this kingdom to a stable standing. Sir Leon, you should take a couple of knights to investigate the area."

"Yes, Sire." Leon took his leave without furthur prompting.

"Shall I accompany him?" Mordred suggested, walking in step with Arthur.

"Not yet. I'd like to keep you close at hand until Guinevere has returned. You may need to take the lead in my stead once she has," Arthur responded, briskly making his way towards the Physicians' Chambers. The King took a moment to size up his obstinate heir. "There is something else that's been troubling you."

Mordred stood up straighter, falling just short of standing at attention despite being casually close. Instead he swung the door open, pausing to allow Arthur in past him before he shut it a tad too firmly in their wake.

Merlin looked up from his silent conversation with his patient, then ventured out of his room to join them. "She needs to rest a while before any further questioning," he reported, carrying a cup and a few medicine bottles back out with him.

"How long will that be?" Arthur asked.

"At least a few hours," Merlin clarified. "Gaius is going to monitor her condition." He shuffled the bottles and instruments strewn over the table. "Excuse me, I just need to put some of these away..."

The two Royals turned their attention back to one another.

"You know that you can talk to me." Arthur ignored the stubborn glint in Mordred's luminous blue eyes, explaining, "Gaius told me that you've been having trouble sleeping, and Sir Leon was right; you have been quiet."

Mordred studied him for a long moment, then finally deigned to speak. "I have no intention of being subjected to more treatments, well-intentioned as they may be."

"I was not aware that you were receiving any medicine."

Merlin popped back into sight from behind a cupboard to chime in. "Yes, Gaius mixed a sedative for him." He didn't sound very happy about it.

"A sedative?" Arthur's brow furrowed while he reassessed his nephews' subdued countenance.

"Enough to dull his senses," Merlin called back from the other side of a distant pillar.

"George insists upon administering it daily," Mordred added, perhaps it was just the psychological suggestion that caused him to slur 'administering' in a vaguely intoxicated manner. He genuinely hadn't intended to.

"I see," Arthur said thoughtfully.

"I want him gone," Mordred concluded.

"I understand the sentiment, truly, I do. However, we still haven't found another manservant to replace him with," Arthur explained, genuinely apologetic. "You'll need him until we do." He really wished that there was someone better suited to attend to Mordred's needs while he adjusted to his new responsibilities. The last thing that he needed was to have his nephew driven out of his kingdom through the same ill-handled treatment that had sent his mother into madness. Anxiety for someone in Mordred's situation was to be expected, not treated like an illness. "I'll talk to George."

Merlin stepped towards them preparing to speak, with a pensive look on his face. Whatever he was about to say, however, was superseded by a loud commotion from the corridor outside. "What in the world..."

"So, did I hear Lord Geoffrey correctly? Is Patrick getting an audience with the King?" Sir Wallace inquired.

"He's been trying. The traitor wasn't banished outright in light of his willingness to cooperate, choosing his Kingdom over his father and all that," Sir Leon replied as they descended the front steps of the palace to mount their horses. "Honestly, I think that when King Arthur told him that he could stay on as a stableboy he was expecting that the Lord's coddled son would cut his losses."

"Is that what the traitor wants to discuss?"

"Who cares?" Sir Mortimer chimed in from behind them.

"He betrayed the trust of his fellows, aided his treasonous father," Leon said as he prepared to mount his chestnut brown mare. "He's not going to have the King's ear again, nor should he."

Their conversation was chased from their minds by a shout from a group of nearing guards. The patrol had come back carrying three unconscious knights draped over the backs of their horses. All of them had gone as pale as the dead. Leon ran over to intercept them.

"What happened?!"

"I don't know, My Lord. We found them lying in a clearing just a few miles short of the border. It looks like they've been bitten by snakes, but I saw no sign of the creatures themselves."

"And the Queen? Where is she?"

The Guard gravely shook his head.

Leon set his jaw and turned back to the younger knights. "Get word to Gaius," he ordered Sir Wallace, who nodded and dashed away. "Come on, let's get them inside," he told the others, carefully pulling Elyan's prone form down and balancing him across his shoulders.

It took half an hour before Merlin and Gaius pulled out of their quiet deliberation over the three prone Knights of the Round Table. Merlin was the one to address the King's questions.

"What can you tell us?" Arthur demanded the moment that Merlin stepped up to face him, but he was still watching Gaius treat his fallen friends.

"Eric was right. It does appear that they were set upon by snakes. They've sustained some nasty bumps and bruises as well, likely from being thrown from their mounts, but we're confident that we can treat it. It is possible that the Queen managed to regain control of her horse and flee."

Arthur drew in an attempt at a steadying breath, and his hand brushed over his mouth in a subconscious show of worry.

"Snakes in the Northern Wood?" Mordred considered skeptically.

"There is strong evidence that the attack was magical in origin," Merlin confirmed.

"Mother," Mordred bit out, turning away to pace.

"She's nothing to do with you," Arthur headed off his ward's misplaced guilt, staring hard into the distance. "Morgana has taken Gwen."

"Now that we've identified the toxin, the knights should only take a few hours to recover." Merlin straightened determinedly, already knowing what his friend was thinking.

Arthur nodded and strode purposefully out, calling back. "Get word to the stables. We ride at first light."

Mordred turned back to exchange a hasty, wordless disagreement with the Guardian, then chased after Arthur.

"Sire, it would be my honour to lead this quest."

"Absolutely not. I need you to remain here and rule as Regent in my absence," Arthur insisted, not even slowing his pace in the slightest.

"With all due respect-" Mordred began, but Arthur interrupted.

"Morgana is your Mother."

"Yes. It may suit our needs to have someone present who knows her mind. She might even hesitate to strike down her own kin."

"Except you forget, Mordred: I am her brother and you, yourself witnessed her attempt to end me."

"That is all the more reason for you to remain and delegate this task to someone of a less vital position, King Arthur." Mordred firmly intoned, more tempted than ever to reach into the ruler's mind and push.

Arthur stopped at the door to his chambers and turned stiffly to face his willful nephew. His jaw clenched and unclenched at the sight of Mordred's too familiar stubborn expression. Arthur's self-restraint impressed even him as he managed a strictly modulated response. "I know that this is difficult for you as it has been difficult for me, too." His tone hardened, shifting from parental authority to the judgment of a Ruler. "But as your King, I have made my decision. You will respect it. You will remain, and I am certain that you will make me proud when the Queen and I return."

"I know how to weather the Priestess' wrath better than I know the hearts of your subjects," Mordred replied, his voice already sounding resigned to the fate of Regent.

"That may be true," Arthur accepted. "But it is not your burden to bear. I have no doubt that you can woo them." Mordred watched his Uncle enter his chambers, and closed his eyes when the door slammed in his face.

"That is my fear."

A/N: Hey guys, so this chapter's sort of a border chappie. It is the end of this episode, yet it also ended up kinda bleeding into the next one a little, too. Also, for anyone who bothers with the songlist, I can't stress enough how perfectly the Runner by Zack Hemsey suits my Mordred, and also if you haven't heard Forced Vision by Saltillo before it's a perfect match for this story they are both definitely worth listening to, youtube ought to have them. I used the ending phrase of the Saltillo song as the title for this chapter. Thanks for reading, and special thanks to Agana of the Night, SisterOfAnElvenWanabe, and Linorien for their reviews.

His Majesty's Secret Songlist:

1. The Runner-Zack Hemsey(Chapter one-Mordred on the roof/Mordred flees the fae/Walker isn't dead)

2. Brotsjor-Òlafur Arnalds (Emrys descends under the ancient tree/frees Mordred from the unreality of our present)

3. WhyNot-Woodju (Arthur says goodbye to Mordred and asks for forgiveness before offering his own life in trade to Nemain)

4. Forced Vision-Saltillo* (Mordred's coronation is a nightmare & the source of the name of this chapter)