Chapter 8
For Elyan
Morgana smiled pleasantly at her audience, who stared back. Those seated closest to the head of the table, where the witch stood, tried to make themselves look as small as possible, watching her through their lashes. Only a few made a brave attempt to return her smile, but it only made them look even closer to hysterical tears.
It was hard to ignore the pile of bodies and the blood, and the buzzing of flies as they feasted on the carnage.
At last, the Court Sorceress spoke: "I am glad that all of you could make it here."
Several of the women shifted uneasily, eyes darting toward the decapitated noblemen, most of whom had been a husband to the converged ladies of the court. Shock and fear kept them subdued.
"There are several issues I wanted to bring to your attention," she continued when no one spoke. "The first being that, since Regent Bishop Gaius and Princess Guinevere are nowhere to be found, I shall be assuming command of the kingdom."
She received no response, only wide-eyed stares and a few shoulder-wracking tremors.
"As your new queen," Morgana said in the same light tone, "I have comprised a list of laws and amendments, which will hereafter go into effect." She gestured to an unrolled scroll in front of her, the furling corners of which were held by two gleaming daggers thrust point down into the tabletop.
"Firstly, and I am sure that all of you will more than pleased with this," she chuckled, "is that women shall be declared equal citizens, capable of carrying out the same jobs as men. In fact, I feel that women are much more qualified in politics than men. They just seem to…lose their heads over arbitrary issues."
One of the ladies toward the back let out a choked sob at the uncouth statement. Morgana's smirk slipped slightly, her eyes hardening as they moved in the direction of the sound. The women tensed with trepidation, but their new dictator merely returned her gaze to the paper before her.
"Where was I?" she asked aridly. "Ah, yes. Education will be made universal and low-cost. All children must attend a tutor, even the girls, since they are now first-class citizens of Camelot. Also, magic lessons shall be mandatory for all ages, especially for the nobles."
A shocked murmur arose among the women, who stirred.
Morgana waited patiently for them to quieten, smiling placidly all the while. "I understand change can be frightening, but it's for the best. Don't you agree?" Her tone turned icy toward the end, and everyone, remembering the men's fates, remained silent and did their bests to adopt obedient expressions.
"Now, most importantly, my dears," she went on, "is the issue of religion. I see from your jewelry that many of you believe in the so-called One God."
Several women, trembling renewed, reached up and covered their breasts with a hand, hiding the crosses that adorned them.
"I understand that you were raised to believe in that farcical nonsense," she said gently, "but now I am going to be sure that everyone learns the truth of the Old Religion and pays homage to our Goddess. For now, that will be taught by tutors as well, until parents know enough of it to teach their children as—"
Her voice was cut off by the sound of the double doors opening. She looked up, deeply offended at the interruption.
"How dare you!" she snapped.
The intruders stopped at once, surprised. Morgana, once she recognized them, adopted the same expression. After a moment, her features smoothed over into the same wooden expression she had been using to address the noble ladies seated before her.
"Lady Morgana," Gaius said, quickly adopting a neutral expression even as his gaze slid toward the beheaded noblemen. "Is this your doing?"
"Them?" she gestured toward the carnage. "No, but that was." Her hand moved toward the twisted corpse of Nimueh. "She made the other mess."
Guinevere covered her mouth and nose, horrified. The other ladies in the room appeared immensely relieved that their regent and princess had returned, obviously hoping that Morgana's madness would disappear in the face of defeat.
"Where have you been?" Morgana asked tightly. "We looked all over. I was just taking over affairs until you returned."
"Well," Gaius said slowly, "we have returned now. Shall we adjourn this meeting, whatever it was?"
"No," she said. "'Tis an important meeting. I'm afraid that we can't stop now."
"And why is that?" Gaius clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin challengingly.
Morgana's pleasant façade was quickly eroding in her desperation to keep the power she had only just procured. "Because I am the queen now, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!"
"I see," Gaius said.
"No," Guinevere said sharply, overriding him. Gaius looked startled, and the ladies visibly tensed. At Morgana's stare, Guinevere amended her tone. "No," she said more softly, attempting a smile. "You are not the queen—not yet."
The sorceress did not seem appeased. She narrowed her eyes in a silent gesture for the princess to continue.
"We need my official abdication," Gwen continued, wringing her hands. "Otherwise you'll be an usurper, and people may rebel. We have to do this right and proper, don't you agree?"
Morgana's expression melted into something much more genuine even as the other women's faces fell deeper into despair.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, of course. You're right, my sweet, sweet Gwen." She stepped around the table and crossed the room, her arms held out for an embrace. Guinevere hesitantly wrapped her arms around Morgana in a perversion of the kindly hugs they had once shared, feeling disgust to her very core. This was her brother's murderer.
"Gaius," Gwen said, taking the excuse to escape Morgana's grasp. "You'll write up the document, won't you?"
"Yes, of course," he answered reflexively. "I can do it this very afternoon, if you like."
"Wonderful!" Morgana declared. She turned back to the noblewomen, all still seated and faint-looking. "And, if we organize it as quickly as possible, my coronation can take place tomorrow afternoon! And we shall feast to celebrate. Of course, it won't be quite formal until I've sent messages to all the other kingdoms, but that can come later. I know they will recognize me as queen. Well, I'll leave you ladies to it! Try and have it all done as quickly as you can. Use as many servants as you will need."
The ladies, if it were at all possible, looked all the more dismayed at their orders.
"Gaius, you'll go and write it up at once, won't you?" she asked, turning back like an overexcited child. "And Gwen, you'll help me get ready, won't you? I want everything to be perfect. I shall be wedding a kingdom, after all, and a woman needs to look nice."
"Of course," Guinevere smiled. It looked more like a grimace, but Morgana did not seem to notice.
"We can pick out my dress now," she said. "Off we go!"
With a swish of her skirts, Morgana swept out of the chamber, obviously expecting to be diligently followed by the ex-princess. The princess and the bishop shared a foreboding look.
"I shall inform the others," he said quietly.
She nodded, then hurried off. Morgana was walking very fast.
{Birthright}
Arthur gagged, clapping a hand over his mouth and nose to press the thick cloth tighter. "I can't do this," he said, voice muffled.
Gwaine rolled his eyes. "It's just a bit o' sewage, Princess," he said. "Percival isn't complainin'!" He patted the burly knight's arm.
"I think he's dead, actually," Arthur responded.
Gwaine took a closer look. "Nay, just holdin' his breath. Ye should give it a try."
With that they continued moving forward, feet sinking noisily in the mire. Arthur was extremely careful to not touch the slimy walls, for they were covered with the same rancid feces and urine.
"I still think we should have gone through the catacombs," he muttered, narrowly avoiding slipping and falling into the muck. "I'm going to be sick."
"We're almost there," Leon whispered, his voice echoing lazily back. "It's this way." He surreptitiously wiped his streaming eyes with a sleeve.
"Thank God," Percival said.
"I've been in worse," Gwaine announced. "Did I ever tell ye 'bout the time—"
"Not now, Gwaine," Arthur hissed.
"Yer missin' out, mate."
{Birthright}
Morgana immediately went to her dresser and leaned forward to peer into the looking glass. "Am I too flushed? I am, aren't I?" she babbled, pressing her cool fingers to her cheeks. "Well, maybe it'll have gone away by tomorrow, do you think?"
"I'm sure," Guinevere responded tightly. She shut the door quietly behind her, then stood for a moment to compose herself.
"What do you think I should wear?"
She opened her eyes and resisted the urge to run out, locking her ex-friend inside. The princess forced a smile onto her face and turned. "Well, let's see what you have, shall we?"
Morgana nodded, her raven curls bouncing. She waved toward the wardrobe, but did not leave her reflection. She concentrated intensely on her lip paints, which were all sorts of different shades. They would have to decide which looked best with whatever she wore.
Guinevere crossed to the wardrobe and flung it open, then absently began to shove dresses aside. She cast a glance down toward the shoes, and froze.
"Morgana?" she said.
"Yes?"
"What's this?" Gwen knelt and picked up a golden lamp that most certainly did not look as though it belonged amongst the neat rows of slippers.
The sorceress turned and tensed when she saw what the princess was holding. As quickly as the panic had appeared it was smoothed over by a sickeningly sweet smile. "A gift," she said, "from a dear, dear friend of mine." She crooked her finger, and the lamp leapt from Gwen's hands and flew the distance between them to land in Morgana's outstretched palm. Then she returned to her visage, setting the lamp on her dresser amongst her jewelry and makeups.
"I see," Guinevere said faintly. Then she shook herself. "I don't—I don't see anything here fit for coronation," she said, rifling fervently through the dresses without looking.
Morgana looked stricken. "Then what shall I wear? Is there enough time to commission a new dress now?!"
"No," Gwen negated, licking her lips nervously. "But…But I think I've got something in my rooms that's just perfect."
"Really?" the sorceress visibly relaxed.
"Yes," she nodded. "You wait here, and I'll run and fetch it!"
Guinevere immediately spun on her heel, mind and heart racing, and practically ran toward the door.
"Gwen!" Morgana said. The princess halted and reluctantly turned back. The sorceress smiled at her. "You should change, dear. And, when we've finished getting my things prepared, I'll help you with your hair."
"All right."
With a little more control to her steps, Guinevere turned and strode out the door, closing it behind her for Morgana's privacy. Then, when she was sure her steps were out of earshot, she hiked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could toward the steps that would lead into the main of the castle. If she hurried to meet Gaius in his chambers and told him that it was Morgana, not Nimueh, who had taken Merlin, there might be time to salvage the mission. The sorceress might not miss her very soon, but if she got back late she could claim difficulty in dressing herself, and that she had thought to find a servant until she had gotten herself undressed. Morgana, in her madness, would believe the best of Guinevere.
Under normal circumstances, the princess would have been gasping for breath, slowing down, but there was no time for the infirmity of womanhood.
"Gaius!" she uttered, catching sight of his back as he began to climb the stairs of his tower.
He turned, startled, and came to meet her. "Gwen, what is it?"
"It's Morgana," the princess wheezed, clutching the stitch in her side. "The lamp—Morgana—has it."
A perturbed eyebrow raised. "This changes everything," he said. "Then it is as I feared: Nimueh is dead. But perhaps Merlin is…Did you bring the lamp?"
"No, Morgana has it," Guinevere panted. "But she's…She's being protective of it, so that must mean…"
"Yes," Gaius said. "Merlin must not have been absorbed into Nimueh, thank God. We still have a chance. We will only have to try to enact our plan on Morgana instead."
"I have to get back to Morgana, I cannot stay long. Someone must tell the others."
"Well, of course I will," Gaius responded, as though it were obvious. "Morgana will not be able to tell whether I am working on the document of abdication as long as she is distracted. I will bring the others to her chambers. You must make sure she will not be alerted, and do try to leave the door ajar."
"I will," the princess promised, turning on her heel. She hiked up her skirts again, heart still pumping furiously and her legs aching with exertion, and ran back the way she had come. She could only hope that Morgana would not miss her soon, or wonder why she was so sweaty.
It took her much longer to run back up the stairs than it had taken her to descend them, and she found herself regretting every decision that had led her to this point. If she could go back in time somehow and stop her father from ever accepting the rule of Camelot, she would. Then none of this would ever have happened—at least not to her and her family.
But she persevered, and at last reached her own chambers. Her legs wobbled dangerously beneath her, and the princess lurched drunkenly toward her wardrobe. First she had to change, then find something that Morgana might like and take it to her. She'd already wasted so much time.
Guinevere tore at the lacings at the back of her dress and ripped the bodice off, casting it aside. As she dropped her skirts and kicked them away, she spotted a figure out of the corner of her eye.
Her throat closed up, the room spinning violently. Chest and eyes burning, the princess slowly turned toward it.
Elyan was still lying where she had abandoned him.
A strangled moan escaped her lips, and the princess pressed her hands against her pounding temples. A hot tear slipped down her cheek, and she used the last vestiges of her strength to look away from her brother. Sinking to her knees in front of her wardrobe, Gwen heaved for breath, fighting the urge to be sick. Even as her vision swam, she selected a pair of shoes to wear at random, then rifled through her vibrantly-colored skirts to find something that might match.
She tugged one free from its hanger and pulled it over her head.
The princess sat for a moment in the darkness of the heavy fabric, struggling to control her emotions. If she did not hurry, she would never avenge her family. And others, under Morgana's rule, would surely lose theirs. Guinevere had a duty to her people.
At once she began to work her arms through the sleeves, then her head through the neckline. It was her purple dress, the one she wore specially for happy occasions, such as her birthday. Perhaps it would bring her luck.
Using the doorknob as leverage, Guinevere pulled herself back up to her feet and slipped them into the white slippers she had gotten. Determinedly not glancing in the direction of Elyan, she flung dress after dress to one side until she came to a royal blue one with gold trim and embroidery. It would have to do.
Guinevere slung it over her arm and hurried to the door.
She paused, then glanced over her shoulder, face aged through grief.
"Goodbye, Elyan."
Then she swept out of the room.
{Birthright}
"Hello-lo-lo-lo?" echoed a voice through the cold corridor.
The men froze, listening.
"Did you hear that?" Arthur whispered.
"Aye," Gwaine said ominously. "The shite monster's a-callin'."
"Sir Leon-on-on-on?"
"An' it's after Leon," Gwaine commented.
"Hold on," Leon frowned, turning back. "That sounds like Gaius, doesn't it?"
"Hello-lo-lo-lo!"
Leon squelched through the sewage, returning the way they had come. Arthur resisted the urge to cry. He desperately wanted out of the muck, not to spend even more time in it.
"Gaius?" Leon called back. His voice echoed forward and back along the length. He held the torch aloft, searching for the hunched figure that would be the bishop.
"Sir Leon-on-on?"
They were growing closer, Arthur knew, because there was less of an echo.
"Where are you, Gaius?" the senior knight asked, voice raised.
"I am in the latrine-ine," came the garbled reply.
"The latrine?" Arthur repeated, frowning in confusion.
But Leon appeared to understand, and moved dangerously close to the wall, holding the torch higher. "Can you see my light, Gaius?"
"I see it-it," came the echoed reply. "Thank God I found you-you!"
"What is it?" Leon asked.
Arthur stepped cautiously closer and peered upwards, but saw nothing but a dark hole. The wall beneath it was eroded and streaked with different shades and colors of the hideousness that Arthur knew to derive from bodily functions. He stepped back again, seeing no point in looking up if he could not see the person to whom they were speaking. Instead, he listened intently.
"Nimueh is dead-ead," Gaius informed them.
"Bloody hell, we did this for nothing!" Arthur spluttered, acutely aware of the waste soaked into his woolen socks. It had flooded his boots not too long ago, much to his disgust. He had almost left right then and given up the whole mission.
"Not for nothing-ing!" Gaius said. "For we still must rescue Merlin-in. He's been taken instead by-by Morgana-a-a."
"Who?" Gwaine grunted.
"The Court Sorceress-ess."
"What are we going to do?" Leon asked. "Has the plan changed?"
"It has-as," the bishop responded gravely. "Guinevere is distracting Morgana in her chambers-ers. We must meet her there-ere, in the west wing-ing."
"I know where it is," Leon said, nodding his curly head. "Shall we meet you at the west entrance? I think I can find the way to a servant's passage that should lead there."
"Yes-es," Gaius said. "I shall be there-ere. Come quickly-ly."
"Yes, sire!" Leon said, saluting even though he would have been invisible to the bishop. "Let us go, then."
They turned at once and headed toward the exit—or entrance, depending on the way one looked at things. At any rate, Arthur was glad to be leaving that horrid place, so he would not complain much of the waste of time.
{Birthright}
Gaius could smell them before they arrived.
He said nothing, merely looked at them and tried to suppress his amusement because of the direness of the situation. There would be time for laughter later, when Morgana had been defeated. At any rate, the men seemed to be self-conscious enough of their stench and state. Their faces were as foul as their boots.
Gaius was suddenly and vividly assailed with the memorable image of Merlin returning to their shared rooms after a mishap in the stables. He quickly shrugged it off. Time was of the essence.
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.
"More than," Arthur said, clenching his fist around the hilt of Excalibur to conceal the shaking of his hands.
"Sir Percival," Leon whispered. "You and Gwaine should circle around to the servant's entrance, in case she tries to escape. The rest of us will enter her main doors."
Percival nodded and began to slink his hunched bulk down the passage. Gwaine looked as though he would protest, but Arthur inclined his head toward the retreating knight, giving his friend a meaningful look. Gwaine let whatever he had been going to say turn into a soft exhale, and followed.
"Let us go," Gaius said, stepping forward. He stuck his head outside of the door and looked both ways. There were few servants left wandering the halls, particularly in the wings dedicated to the nobles' rooms. No one was coming.
They snuck out of the corridor into the main of the castle's west wing, which branched off into several chambers along the walls. Many of the doors stood open, indicating the lack of inhabitation; others were shut tight, concealing their interiors from few. Only one stood ajar, and Arthur somehow knew that that was the room to which they were going.
Gaius tiptoed over to it, but was overtaken by Leon, whose stride was much wider. His knees were bent so that he could drop to the ground or break into a run at a moment's notice, as though he were hunting in the outdoors, and his sword were his bow. He crept to a halt at the crack in the door, positioning himself low to the ground and peering in, like a naughty child waiting for the right moment to steal sweets from the kitchen.
He turned back to them, stepping aside so a chanced glance would not spot his figure through the door. Leon spoke so lowly that he might have well as mouthed it, because Gaius could not hear him no matter how he strained his old ears. But he got the gist: the lamp was on the dresser, and Morgana and Guinevere were standing near it.
Gaius stepped forward to be the first one to enter; he'd need the most time to sneak past the girls and grab the receptacle. Leon would be next to go inside, ready to distract Morgana should she see them and attack. Arthur would go last, sword at the ready to stab the witch through the heart. It was not a pleasant job, but he reminded himself that it was for the good of everyone involved. He hoped that Percival and Gwaine were already in position, though realistically they would need a few more minutes to circle around.
The bishop ever so slowly pushed the door along its hinges, widening the gap. Arthur's muscles bunched painfully, screaming for him to move. But he mastered his instincts and stayed himself.
Arthur glanced over their shoulders and saw that Guinevere was ushering the other woman behind the changing screen, talking about propriety. She tossed the blue dress she had been carrying over her arm up onto the screen, were it hung. The princess waved them inside with a hand behind her back.
They went as quickly as they dared.
Gaius split off from the younger men, hurrying toward the dresser where Merlin's lamp sat. Arthur drew Excalibur from the borrowed sheath; the rasp was drowned out by Gwen's nonsensical chatter. She hardly stopped for breath, let alone to give Morgana a chance to respond.
Arthur moved closer to the side Morgana would come appear once she had finished dressing, and Leon cautiously took the other end to prevent her escape.
A pale hand reached up and tugged down the blue dress, and Guinevere stepped forward to help her make sense of the skirts and pull the garment on. She cast a glance over her shoulder, animatedly telling Morgana to turn around so she could keep the hem from being caught in the button of her shift. Arthur looked across the room and saw that Gaius was tiptoeing toward the lamp still. He bit back his impatience.
The bishop couldn't be rushed, or the plan could fall through.
A bead of sweat tickled the blond's temple. He did not move to wipe it away, afraid the rustling of his movement might alert the witch.
"Guinevere," Morgana raised her voice to be heard over the princess's story about how once she had embarrassingly fallen in that very dress. "Would you be a dear and fetch my powder from the dresser? I don't want to chafe in this."
"Oh, um," Gwen said uncertainly. She was hesitant to leave Morgana in a position to discover the treachery. "Well, yes, of course. One moment. Don't go anywhere!"
"Where would I go?" was the humored response.
The princess turned and met eyes with Gaius, who, hearing the conversation, began to back away out of sight. The lamp remained on the table. She rummaged through the perfume bottles and paints and small lidded boxes, frantically searching for the powder.
Morgana swept out from behind the partition, chin high and eyes snakelike. Before Leon or Arthur could react, she shoved them back with a lazy wave of her finger. They grunted, their swords clattering out of their grips. The men scrambled to retrieve them.
"Gwen, Gwen, Gwen," the sorceress sighed, shaking her head as she approached.
The princess, startled at the noise, whipped around. She stepped back, knocking into the dresser and rattling its contents.
"And here I thought we were friends," Morgana continued. "I was so hoping that you would see sense. And Gaius, I am simply quite upset with you, and I imagine your God is as well. Does He know you used to practice magic?"
Gaius' eyes flashed gold in an instant, and Morgana stumbled back a few steps with a surprised gasp. Her expression smoothed over into amusement.
"Ah, so you've not grown complacent in your old age," she smirked.
The bishop raised an eyebrow. "My old age? My dear, you are eleven years my senior."
Her smile faded at the reminder.
Then, with a snarl, she spun on her heel and grasped Arthur's wrist as he attempted to sneak up on her. "And what do you think you're doing?" she hissed, golden flecks appearing in her green irises.
The thief struggled against her vice-like grip, but it was too late.
A weightless sensation appeared as a wind spontaneously roared to life. The bedspread and canopy fluttered; papers took flight; a bottle smashed against the floor. A veritable tornado had appeared, much like the one Merlin had summoned to whisk them out of Kilgharrah's lair.
"Arthur!" Guinevere cried.
He gasped as his knees painfully struck stone. Morgana released him, and he stopped his face from striking the same gray surface by skinning the heels of his hands against it. A hard gust of chilly wind tousled his hair. Looking up, he spotted the tall figure of Morgana glaring down at him, a backdrop of stormy clouds swirling behind her.
They were on the turrets of the castle.
The sorceress smirked at him. "Did you really believe you could stop me? You're nothing but a common thief."
Arthur blindly reached out for his sword, and grasped the hilt. He did not stop to wonder how he had known it was there. He scrambled to his feet, pointing the blade at her chest with the most ferocious scowl he could muster.
She only laughed at him. Mockingly. Cruelly.
Morgana cocked her head to one side. "I have nothing against you. Why do you resist my rule? I can be kind. In fact, side with me, and I shall grant you amnesty, and perhaps a plot of land."
A part of Arthur wholeheartedly urged him to take the deal, but then he remembered Freya's prophecy: "I name thee son of the dragon, of night and the slaughter. Take thy sword, wrought by a king for the hand of the chosen, and answer the calling thee cannot deny. Go thee to Camelot, unifier of Albion, and take back that which is thine!" He thought now he knew what she had meant.
He had to answer his calling.
"No," he said firmly.
"Then die," Morgana said simply. She flung her hand one way, knocking the sword from Arthur's grip and sending it out of his reach. Then she brought her hand back, and Arthur found the solid stone beneath his feet gone—she held him suspended over the edge of the wall of the tower.
He flailed, but could grasp at nothing but air.
Morgana stepped closer, her fist raised and eyes a molten gold, grinning victoriously. "Goodbye, thief."
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight of the cobblestones rushing up to meet him. But he did not feel the ripping winds of a long fall—rather, he struck the sharp edge of the wall and instinctively held tight, digging his nails into a crevice and scraping the leather soles of his boots along the wall, searching for purchase.
Morgana, green eyes wide, was gaping at him.
He stared back, bewildered.
The witch convulsed, making a gulping sound as blood began to dribble over her lower lip. Her face contorted in confusion, and she glanced down at her chest. Arthur followed her gaze, and saw the point of his sword, stained pink, protruding from her heart.
Princess Guinevere appeared, putting her face close to Morgana's ear. "For Elyan!" she said fiercely. She gave a final jerk, pushing the blade another inch further, and Morgana's eyes rolled back as she gurgled.
Then she collapsed, sliding off Excalibur and leaving the blade painted crimson. Arthur could only stare at Guinevere, who glared down at the witch contemptuously as she struggled for breath, her lifeblood pumping out of her. Finally, Arthur had the presence of mind to heave himself up to safety. He slithered over the wall and fell, rolling onto his back to catch his breath.
"H—How?" he asked her, brow pinched and sweaty.
"I grabbed on at the last second," the princess replied. She stepped backward, repulsed, as Morgana's clawed hand reached out. As Arthur watched, the pale smooth skin began to shrivel like a grape in the sun.
A sudden thought seized Arthur. "The lamp!" he gasped. "Merlin!"
Guinevere jolted with a gasp. She'd forgotten! "Here, I have it," she said, running over to the other side of the turret, where the lamp lay on its side. She rushed it back to Arthur, who scrambled to point it at Morgana. He furiously rubbed the cold golden side, all too aware that Morgana was fading fast, and worried that he might have been too late.
Blue wisps of light appeared, streaming out of the hole in Morgana's chest. They converged upon themselves, creating a small, spinning orb. It did not glow as brightly as before, severely weakened. The light was sucked back into the lamp, which heated up slightly.
Arthur held the lamp closer to him, feeling the life force within it. He hoped it was Merlin. He thought it was, but he found that he couldn't be sure, as he could not read it as he had when Merlin had been at full strength in the cave.
The pair shared a glance, then looked at Morgana. She had been reduced to a dead, shriveled husk.
"Arthur," Guinevere said suddenly. "Look!"
He glanced up, and saw, to his immense relief, that the storm was finally subsiding. The clouds lightened and dispersed as though they had never been there. The sun streamed down, shining brightly against the whitewash of the castle.
They laughed happily. The princess jumped up and down for joy, tears streaming. Arthur stood, closing his eyes and letting his face bask in the sunlight. He started in shock when he felt warm hands grasp the sides of his head and pull him down, then a pair of soft, full lips on his own. He stood stock-still, eyes very wide. He saw the moment the princess realized her actions and became mortified at them. She quickly released him and stepped away, ducking her head. Arthur averted his gaze as well. They both blushed heavily.
"We should find the others," Guinevere said.
"Yes," Arthur cleared his throat. "And we've got to get Merlin back to his body, where he belongs."
"Oh, er," she said, "your sword."
"Thank you."
The two shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he sheathed Excalibur, then set out, Merlin tucked securely under Arthur's arm.
Neither looked back.
{Birthright}
"An' then Arthur 'ere," Gwaine said animatedly, "threw 'imself t' one side, avoidin' the blast o' fire Morgana sent 'is way!" He might have demonstrated it had he not been riding a very tall horse. He took a swig from his waterskin, which he had filled with the strongest liquor he could find in the castle's cellar. "She summoned up another one, an' 'e rolled away jus' in time, 'e did!"
"That most certainly did not happen," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "You weren't even there, Gwaine."
"Tha' where this part comes in," Gwaine continued as though he hadn't heard. "Arthur tried t' jump out o' th' way o' another one, but th' poor lad struck 'is 'ead, an' tha's why 'e cannae remember it all."
"Oh, come off it!" Arthur said, exasperated. But he joined in the laughter.
He had come to learn, after Morgana had effectively kidnapped him and Gwen, that the others had panicked. Gwaine and Percival had arrived at the servant's entrance too late to help, and likely would not have been able to do anything if they had been there, anyway. They had run to the throne room, hoping that that was where they had been taken, but no luck.
It was not until Arthur and Guinevere found their way back to Morgana's room that they ran into each other, much to the others' joy. They had, after assuring the ladies of the court that all was well, set out to the Lake of Avalon to restore Merlin. Horses, food and wine, and clean garments for the men had been provided. They had taken quick baths, too, but the sewer odor was particularly strong. Guinevere and Gaius pretended not to notice.
"Here we are," Gaius said contentedly. Merlin's lamp had been placed lovingly in Gaius' horse's saddlebag for safety. The warlock had yet to appear, but the bishop thought that was because he was much drained after having been used for his powers.
The horses stalked through the trees and entered the secret clearing, revealing the glittering lake. The sight was far more breathtaking in daylight than it was under a stormy sky.
"I could just live here," Guinevere sighed wistfully. But then she remembered that she had effectively lived lakeside for about a day, after fleeing Morgana's madness and her brother's death. Before they had left, she had ordered that Elyan's body be prepared for a funeral. It would take place the very next morning. But until then, she refused to allow her grief to rule her. Restoring Merlin was to be a happy occasion.
They all dismounted. Guinevere blushed as Arthur offered her his hand, but she accepted it with a shy smile. He returned it.
Their cheeks turned even redder as they turned and spotted Gwaine waggling his eyebrows provocatively at them.
Sir Percival assisted Gaius in stepping down from his horse. The old man retrieved Merlin's lamp from the bag and set off toward the lake's edge.
"All right," he muttered under his breath. "Freya?" he called, holding up the lamp.
"Give me the lamp," spoke her voice from the watery depths, but she did not appear.
The others watched in shock as Gaius suddenly reared back and pitched the lamp into the lake. It arced high in the air, sunlight glinting off its sleek golden form as it spun gracefully, then fell toward the water. A pale, slender arm rose from the water and caught it, holding it aloft. Arthur relaxed; he hadn't realized that he had tensed.
The lamp slowly descended under the still surface and disappeared from view.
"But what of Merlin?" Leon asked, evidently stumped.
"He will come," Gaius responded calmly.
As though that were the cue, the water bulged not far from the shore, and the same boat from before rose and turned over. Without waiting for any passengers to board, it glided toward the center of the lake. Arthur belatedly realized that Merlin would need a ride back.
His anticipation rose monumentally as the boat neared the middle of the water. Arthur could feel the others tensing beside him, and was glad to know that he was not the only one.
The boat stopped.
Arthur held his breath.
With an almighty splash, Merlin appeared, grabbing onto the boat like a lifeline. He clung to the portside, practically shrieking. "Oh, gods!" he gasped. His voice carried over the water to them, and the panic in his voice was evident.
"What?" Gaius shouted back. "Merlin, what is it?!"
"Oh, gods!" Merlin screamed again, unmoving. "I'm freezing!"
"Oh." Gaius rolled his eyes fondly.
Arthur grinned. "Well, get into the boat, you idiot!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "I'll build you a fire."
Merlin twisted around and saw them, shivering violently. A grin lit up his face, and he waved excitedly at them. "Don't bother!" he said. "I wouldn't want you to burn yourself, like you did me when you dropped my lamp, you bloody prat!" But there was no heat in his voice.
Arthur shook his head and watched in amusement as the scrawny warlock tried to pull himself up into the watercraft. He at last managed it, flopping into it like a hooked fish.
He sat up a moment later and leaned over the edge of the boat, peering into the depths. Merlin smiled as Freya emerged. She reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand, and shared a chaste kiss with him.
The boat began to move.
The lovers ran their fingertips along the length of the other's outstretched arm, prolonging the touch for as long as possible before separation. Once Merlin was too far, Freya dissolved like smoke, and the warlock was left alone on the lake.
"So," Merlin grinned as he neared. He shivered in his wet clothes, but the sun had warmed him considerably already. He stepped out of the boat before it had even come to a stop, and sent it back immediately with a flick of his fingers. "When is the coronation?"
"Well," Gaius chuckled, "I'm afraid there isn't one. Guinevere cannot assume the throne without a husband, as per the will of her late father, who had meant for Elyan to succeed him. And—that's been impossible for quite some time. Unfortunately, Guinevere's suitor Lancelot was killed during a hunt. I shall have to remain Regent until such time that the princess marries." He shook his head.
Merlin blinked at him, then glanced at Guinevere, then at Arthur, then back to his old friend. "I meant Arthur's coronation."
Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Gwaine made some sort of noise. Gaius arched an eyebrow even as Guinevere's brow scrunched in confusion.
"Sorry?" the bishop said.
"You know," Merlin said, edging around them and moving toward the ashes of the fire that Gaius had built the previous day. "Arthur is the rightful heir to the throne of Camelot."
Gaius took a closer look at the blond, who shuffled uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "Well," he said after a moment, "it does all add up: the resemblance to Constantine, the sword pulling, and Freya's prophecy."
"Uh-huh," Merlin said. His blue eyes flashed gold, and the fire rebuilt itself, igniting at once. The warlock held his arms over the flames, drying his shirt sleeves.
"Did you know of this?" Guinevere asked Arthur.
"No," he said. Then he amended, "Well, I did pull the sword from the stone. But all I know of my family is that my mother died during childbirth, so I never knew her, and my father disappeared when I was young—went on an important errand and never came back. His name was Uther."
"I dub thee Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot," Merlin announced from his lounging position. He had shifted so that he could hold his legs over the fire, leaning back on his elbows with his head tipped back to look at the group standing by.
Guinevere blinked at him, then looked back at Arthur. "Well," she said. "It's only right, then, isn't it?"
"But," Arthur said abruptly, "I don't want to take away your birthright or anything. Marry me, Gwen."
Her chocolate eyes widened in surprise. "What, now?" she blurted.
He blushed. "No, not now! I mean, well, if you want, but—I mean…"
She let out a huff of laughter. "I would love to marry you, Arthur Pendragon," she smiled.
"Thank God," Arthur grinned goofily.
"Huzzah!" Gwaine cheered drunkenly. "We needs more wines."
Everyone chuckled, and graciously accepted the drinks Merlin obligingly magicked into existence.
"All hail King Arthur!" Leon toasted, raising his glass.
"All hail!"
Gaius raised his own glass. "And to Queen Guinevere."
"Queen Guinevere!"
Merlin grinned. "To Camelot!"
"To Camelot!"
Guinevere raised hers: "To victory!"
"Victory!"
Arthur joined in with "To the Lady of the Lake!"
"To the Lady of the Lake!" was interspersed with "To Freya!"
Percival raised his glass. "To long life."
"Long life!" they cheered.
"To drink!"
No one toasted along with Gwaine's, but they drank anyway, and that was enough for him.