"Janet."
She opened her eyes; it was almost entirely dark in her little room. The light of the half moon spilled in through the bedroom window. Nacio was sitting on the edge of her bed; his pale eyes glittered in the moonlight. She sat up fully awake.
"Nacio," she said pulling the thin coverlet over her bare body. "What are you doing here?" Fear began to churn in her stomach, while she waited for his answer....Chapter XXII, Wartime Tales, The Blighted Blossom
Elyan heard a clatter in the hall and childish shouts.
"We have to tell you about Sir Gwaine!"
In the next moments a Mercian knight entered with three children. Elyan recognized the eldest and the two youngsters looked as if they might be his siblings.
"The first refugees from Camelot-"
"Sir Elyan," the girl darted to him. "You have to help Sir Gwaine!"
"Sir Gwaine?"
"Sir Gwaine is back in the pass sir." The eldest boy said. "Morgana's patrol was following us he didn't want to bring them here." ...Chapter XXVII Fate's Reaction
"I'm not like those people. I don't do those kinds of horrible things. Those are the kinds of things that Morgana and Morguase do."
"Well then Merlin you've nothing to worry about." Lord Troy grinned at him with malicious delight as he said those words. "Of course you could push past the guilt just as healer or seer may push past the cost of abusing their magic. The guilt is actually the protective response from a soul that is worried about doing the right thing. The guilt chokes the magic and circumvents the reaction. Of course if you push past the guilt you will bring about a reaction that is equal to the weight of the magic you've used and the damage you've caused."
"Well I've nothing to feel guilty over, because I've done nothing wrong." Merlin lied even as panic rose in him. Allowing Gwen to be banished was wrong. And Morgana, she had turned against them long ago, was that the beginning of this so-called Fate's Reaction?
"Well I suppose that's settled then isn't it." Lord Troy grinned in such a way that told him they both knew that wasn't true...Chapter XXVII Fate's Reaction
The Exile, Part II
-Guinevere, Called Jenafere-
Chapter XXXI: I Swear
Sir Elyan
Gogwyn castle stood stark against the evening sky and Gwaine leant into his mount's neck, encouraging greater speed from the animal. He told himself to ignore the sting in his cuts and bruises as the horse's mane lashed his face. Elyan wanted them in Gogwyn before night fall. The trail up the mountainside was short, but steep and treacherous they could not negotiate in the dark.
When Morgana's soldiers had descended into the valley,though he was hopelessly outnumbered, Gwaine had fought them rather than surrender. A dangerous choice, but he had to cover Huwyl, Delwyn and Gronw's escape. He'd been taken of course. Ten against one meant he had no hope, but he'd managed to kill two of their number before being forced to surrender.
Elyan called a halt and everyone slowed their mounts to a stop.
"After this climb it is just a few yards to Castle Gogwyn!" Elyan's shout carried to all of their ears and Gwaine knew it was largely for his benefit.
"Good I'm ready to put my feet up and have a pint of mead," Gwaine replied and forced a tight smile
"No mead for you my friend, but you can put your feet up," Elyan said and returned his smile.
It had been nearly two full moons since Elyan had left Camelot. Gwaine had been surprised to see his friend and a party of Mercians knights riding to his rescue.
The line started forward and they went one-by-one, eyes trained on the path ahead of them. Gwaine concentrated, ignoring the pain of his injuries, he did not want to add a broken ankle to the list of his complaints. Thankfully the climb though steep was short and soon they were climbing again onto the backs of their mounts and thundering along the last bit of the path into the Castle Gogwyn's gates the setting sun painting the sky a last bloody red before plunging them into the dark of night.
One of the Mercians volunteered to take his mount as soon they were inside the castle courtyard and Elyan was at his side guiding him to sit in the firelight, bandages and salves somehow already in place.
"We do have a physician, but he will have to tend _ first and the Mercians-" Elyan shook his head. "Queen Annis has not required them to have any medical training."
"Elyan wait," Gwaine said even as he sat on the stool his friend had produced for him. "You need to know before Morgana invaded I received a letter from Gwen, she is alive."
Elyan stared at Gwaine, took in his cut, bruised face, the stone walls behind and around them, the dim light of the fire dancing over them.
"A-a- letter? From Gwen?" He kept staring. "She's alive?"
The corner of Elyan's lip twitched upward into a half formed smile, and tension the young knight forgotten he'd been carrying oozed out of him.
"She is alive? You're sure?" He asked these questions not quite daring to believe it yet. "Wh-wha- what did her letter say?"
The sister who had always been a part of his life, his world, even when she was merely banished lived, Elyan blinked at the start of relieved tears.
"I'm sorry my friend I did not have time to have it read, but I picked out her name, a few words, that she was safe. It is from her I am certain and she is alive." Gwaine smiled on the last words and somehow Elyan knew that it was true.
"Oh dear sweet Lord," he said, looking up to the heavens. "Vulcan and Minerva, my sister is alive!"
Elyan whooped and shouted then, shock passing as joy suffused him. He caught Gwaine up in a hug and danced around the castle room, tears of joy pouring freely from his eyes as his feet made a clatter on the stone floor. The Mercian knights looked to Gwaine for an explanation of this sudden and unexpected ecstasy.
The initial rush of joy ended where it had started it as questions, the need to more, the desire to see his sister, talk to her, apologize pierced the initial cloud of happiness.
"Is she well Gwaine?Where is she?How does she live? I saw no sign of her in Ealdor." He paused a moment. "That's right, you didn't read the letter. You don't have it with you by any chance?" He asked wondering how much more good news would come from his friend.
Gwaine shook his head.
"Of course you don't," he patted the other knights arm giving it a friendly squeeze as he started to smile. "You'd show it to me if you did. Its no bother though. Gwen is alive!" He grinned harder, almost stupid with happiness. "Thank you for bringing this news."
"You're welcome." Gwaine winced as he said it and a flood of embarrassment mingled itself with Elyan's happiness.
"I'm sorry. I am supposed to be taking care of your wounds." He shook his head and looked to the table where the soap, salve, and bandages awaited him. "This is fine repayment for your good news."
Arthur had insisted that they learn to tend each other's wounds and injuries, they could not always count on the availability of a physician.
With a little soap and water Elyan began cleaning the cuts on Gwaine' face. One just along the left cheekbone was particularly nasty.
"This cut on your cheek will have to be stitched."
"Just keep me pretty," Gwaine said with a wink.
Elyan chuckled and poured and out some brandy for his friend as another flush of joy swept him. Gwen was alive.
"Drink that while I clean up the rest of these, then I'll stitch up your cut."
While Elyan worked on Gwaine's face he asked the other man to tell him in detail how Morgana had come to take the city, what his encounters with Morgana's men had been like and most important if he had any reason to believe that Morgana knew of their presence at Gogwyn. By the time Gwaine had done reporting Elyan was ready to stitch up the gash just above Gwaine's cheek.
"Its time to start on your stitches," Elyan said.
"Yeah," Gwaine steeled himself and nodded.
The adrenaline from battle and the race back to Castle Gogwyn had abated and Elyan's hand was steady as he started the first of a series of small stitches.
Gwaine grunted, "Tell me about how it is you've come to be here."
"Right," Elyan said. He told Gwaine of Ealdor and his brief visit with Merlin's mother and then how he'd continued on toward Wyeledon thanks to Tilda's recommendation.
"Elyan if Gwen is in Wyeledon I know where she would be."
"Her letter?" His hand slowed just a bit.
"No I saw Gwen before she left, remember I have a sister,I sent her to my sister for help."
For just a moment he stared at Gwaine.
"Why- why didn't you mention any of this sooner?"
"I'd had no letter from my sister and I did not know if Gwen had reached Wyeledon safely. I did not wish to send on a fool's errand."
Elyan nodded not at all certain how he felt about this.
He finished his story, telling Gwaine about what he saw at Blacksmith Micah's home, and then of the meeting with Queen Annis that had ultimately led him here.
"So what is your next step?" Gwaine asked as Elyan finished stitching the cut on his cheek.
"Troops and supplies pour in daily. As much as I mislike the thought of any of Camelot's people under Morgana's rule we are too greatly outnumbered to make any move against her."
Gwaine nodded.
"Also if the king is missing that may make it more difficult to rally the lords against Morgana." Elyan shook his head.
"And Gwen?"
"I have family here too," Elyan shook his head as he said it.
Gwaine didn't say anything and Elyan began dabbing at the blood that had run as he sewn up Gwaine's cheek.
Once again he found himself doubting his mission. Choosing between Camelot and Gwen. When he was chasing a sliver of hope that he did not truly believe in, aiding the people of Camelot had seemed the only choice to make. Now though, knowing that Gwen was alive, where she might be living Elyan stir the urge to fly to her side.
Was it enough to carry the warning?
"What will you do when you enough men?" Gwaine asked.
"We are not yet certain, but most of us favor besieging Camelot."
Merlin
The summer sun sparkled in pools and puddles of water left behind by recent rains. The sweet perfume of damp earth hung in the air, and puffs of white with the likeness of softest lambswool adorned the sky. Merlin glared at the clouds,frowned at the sunshine, puddles, and muddy earth.
He had considered calling Kilgarrah, but found himself hesitant. That he could still summon the Great Dragon he had no doubt. Dragon summoning was not an ability born of magic. Long before knowing him as a dragon lord, Kilgarrah had known him as a sorcerer, or warlock. He did not want those to who knew him as a sorcerer to know him for what he was now, a cripple.
Once before he had covered the distance between Ealdor and Camelot on, he could do it again. Besides he was in no hurry. What would he do when he arrived? He mistakes could not be mended without magic. Without his magic how was he of any us at all.
The warmth of the sun grew hot on his skin. Merlin took the first step of a journey that felt as if it might be the longest of his life.
The food his mother had given him would last five, perhaps six days. If he rationed carefully it might even get him to the capital. There were fruits, and tubers to gather. He was no bad fisherman either; if he needed to he could set by besides a stream for a few hours or even days. He would have to forgo meat and fowl though. He had no weapons and no magic to bring, say a rabbit or make his aim with a stone true.
There was no marker or sign to indicate the difference from Ealdor or Camelot, but early on the third morning Merlin heard the sound of horse hooves on pavement. Knowing that Morgana would have patrols and scouts he ducked into the woods on either side of the road hiding himself in the bushes and grass to see what passed.
They were, all of them, mounted wearing an assortment of leather armor or over simple woolen garments. They bore also a badge he had never seen before a white dragon flying free on a gold background, a counter to Uther's penned dragon. Merlin counted five in the patrol. He must go with care from this moment forward, he did not know how Morgana's men were treating commoners, given how she'd treated the common folk last time she'd occupied Camelot Merlin did not want to find out.
As long as he could he would travel in the woods alongside the road.
On the fourth day he found nothing to supplement the food his mother had given him. After weighing his options Merlin decided to stop in the next village. If he remembered correctly that would be Bayberry. He'd stopped there over six years ago when he'd first made the journey to Camelot. Bayberry would host him again. Though he slept that night in the woods, tomorrow he would lay in safety and security beside a hearth.
On the fifth morning he woke to the acrid tang of smoke in the air.
Smoke in itself was no alarming thing. Something was always being burnt. Fire was needed for cooking, for seeing in the dark, for medicine, for warmth, something was always being burned. But when one was perhaps ten miles from the nearest village and the wind carried the heavy persistent smell of smoke, worry stirred.
Always dark, on this the fifth morning the woods held the dimness of a cloudy day and worry settled on Merlin's shoulders as he made his way back to the road. Dark skies, heavy smoke, had Bayberry or another nearby village been burned? The forest cover broke a bit when he came to road, but the sky remained dark, the road empty.
And then the woods around him were gone, cleared as they often were for villages and he saw clearly now the clouds of ash and gray and black smoke. Merlin swallowed and kept going forward, hands clenched around the straps of his pack. A great many things had been burnt recently and he hoped that it was not the homes of the villagers. The road dipped into a dale, the ground leveled, and Bayberry spread out before him. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief upon sighting a smattering of thatched roofs cottages still intact and began to walk faster.
He'd missed company since leaving Ealdor, and was looking forward to sleeping under a roof tonight.
As he came to the first of the little shacks, Merlin saw an older man and woman sitting on a blanket in the grass in front of their home.
"Morning," he said to them with a smile.
The woman looked up, saw him, but did not speak. The old man did not move at all, but continued staring at the ground. Merlin frowned and kept walking, another woman that had been standing in front of her home looked at him, her eyes went wide and then she ducked into her house. When Merlin saw another pair of old men, one staring at the ground with empty eyes, while another sat staring as he toyed listlessly with a wooden pipe, he started to worry.
Clouds of smoke may have obscured the sun, but it couldn't be any later than noon. None of these people were too old to be in the fields working, or even occupied with some work here at the village. Idle moments were few and far between in a peasant farmer's life, but here now was a village of able bodied adults all sitting idle. A shiver passed over him.
One of the old men looked at him with something like mild curiosity in his dark eyes and Merlin stopped.
"Morning," he said. "Is Carle still headman of this village?"
"Carle," the old man shook his head. "Carle is dead, talk to his wife Headwoman Tilda."
"Thank you."
"Yeah," the man said his voice soft and tired sounding. The mild curiosity he had shown faded from his eyes and he stared down at the wood he'd been carving as if he'd never seen it.
And suddenly Merlin wanted to move on. He didn't know what had happened here, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. The pall on this village was pulling his shoulders down, slowing his steps, twisting his stomach….
-"Surround yourself with good people and mould your life on theirs."-
That was Lancelot and Guinevere, and they were dead, but if they were here, if they were with him Merlin knew what they would do. They would stop, they would talk to Tilda, and they would help in any way that they could great or small.
Merlin found the headwoman's little cottage, it was marked with a little red paint on the door. It looked very much as it had when he'd slept there two years ago. He hesitated just a moment before knocking.
Merlin winced when Tilda woman opened the door. Her face was hard, spare, pale and great bruise of blue, black, and green encircled one eye. But he remembered her, she'd been nursing a little boy and girl. She and her husband had argued about her sister when he'd been here before.
"Ma'am," he said his tone polite. "I'm traveling and I'd hoped I might sleep here a night or two, trade labor for food."
She smiled tightly and Merlin saw bitterness in it.
"What is your name young man?"
"Merlin."
"Like the king's manservant?"
He nodded.
"Well Merlin there is plenty of work to be done, but I am afraid your belly will remain empty." She shook her head. "There is no life here."
"What do you mean ma'am?"
"Come in and I shall tell you." Tilda pulled her door open and let Merlin into the house. "Please sit down."
Merlin did as she bid, sitting on the floor before the hearth as Tilda shut and latched the door.
She leant against the door a, her blue eyes studying him. For a moment he thought she was about to change her mind, against allowing him in or perhaps telling him the tale of her village. But all at once she seemed to make up her mind, pushing away from the support of the wall, and standing a moment as if she were uncertain what her body might do before starting toward him with a limp. Merlin pushed the stool, toward her, but she only smiled and waved it away with one hand
"Thank you, but I shall stand."
Tilda leant against the dull colored wall then giving her weight to her home.
Again she was silent as if gathering herself. She told him then of a messenger sent by Sir Elyan, to call all who could, to come to Castle Gogwyn. How her husband Carle, braver than she'd ever known him to be had hidden the messenger and helped him to carry his message safely from Bayberry, and then how Bayberry paid.
Carle run through, crops burnt, livestock run off or slaughtered, food stolen, and everyone more than seven years and less than forty taken, or slain if they resisted too much. In three short days, all future had been stolen from their village. Her voice was such as she spoke that Merlin felt the irresistible slip of tears from his eyes.
He understood now, what it was he had seen amongst the Bayberry villagers, Melancholy.
First came the sickness, chills, shallow breathing, confusion, sometimes the heart was affected. Next came the Melancholy. Merlin had seen this before. The first time, Morgana and Cenred had brought an army of undead into Camelot. Not in Arthur or the more experienced knights, but younger men who'd never experienced brutal, violent warfare.
It sat now upon the men and women of Bayberry. A sort of grieving where the mind seemed to drift into itself, and the spirit faltered into silent, acquiescence or inactivity, and disinterest in the day-to-day actions of life.
There was physical sickness here, but it was the wounded spirit of Bayberry, oppressed by all that the people had seen and suffered that would now challenge the survivors.
Merlin swallowed and mopped at his tears, they would do nothing for the people here. His mother had told him to make amends, but what could he, come late and without his magic hope to do?
"I have some little food," he said not knowing how else to respond.
"We did as the king bade us." Tilda paused, expression thoughtful. "Carle was always so careful, following every law to the letter," she sighed. "Also it is summer some of the livestock may yet wonder back. There is time to hunt, to fish, to gather…"
She fell silent and Merlin could all, but hear her thoughts.
'Famine will come to this village for winter and death will walk again.'
"You are welcome to sleep here. I do not expect that the soldiers will return." Again the bitter smile flared. "They liked none of us, so well." Her eyes took on the distant, haunted look that Merlin had seen on the other members of this village.
"Is there some work I could do?" He said, wanting to offer something.
Her eyes refocused as if she had forgotten he was there. The afternoon sun peaked through the simple circles that made her windows, round the cracks in the door, and still she did not speak. Merlin considered taking his pointless words back…
"There is some work you can do." She studied him a moment eyes appraising his fitness. "Yes there is some work for you here."
He went with Tilda and a few others to the hiding places for their extra stores. Being the only one uninjured Merlin took as much of their food and supplies as he could upon his own back. There was indeed, some benefit to all that slaving for Arthur. After several trips to their hiding places Merlin had retrieved much of the store food.
Together he and Tilda made up a pot of porridge and walnuts sweetened with gooseberry jelly. They took bowls of steaming porridge to every house in the village. Some looked at them with obvious interest, for others the sight and smell of hot food did not seem enough to pierce the emotional fog that blanketed them. Still every Bayberry villager got their first hot, filling meal in three days.
With supper served Merlin began cleaning up Tilda's home, sorting broken tools, furniture and pottery into repairable or beyond hope. There had been tools amongst the supplies, he would collect them tomorrow.
It proved a long tiring day, wearing in a manner he was unused to, but when it was over, Merlin slept his first night without nightmares since Elyan had returned to Camelot with Gwen's ring.
When he woke on the second morning perhaps it was his imagination, but the melancholy seemed a little less on some of the villagers. Cheered by this Merlin remained another day going again to retrieve the village's supplies. Not just food this time, but some tools. With tools in hand repairs could begin. On that second day he did a few for Tilda and then over the next few days he made the rounds to all the houses in the village. Repairing broken stools, or tables, patching holes in walls, reattaching doors that had been knocked off their hinges, or any of the other little chores that seemed beyond the Bayberry villagers now.
Merlin went round the village making repairs for three days. On the third day he advised one of the villagers to stew up a poultice for an aching back.
When he woke the next morning Tilda questioned him on how how she might treat an ache at her side. A quick examination showed that the ache stemmed from bruising to the ribs. Merlin went out to gather some bone-knit and they brewed a plaster for her side to help the bruises heal.
On the fifth day they began coming to him earnest telling him not about their broken things, but their broken bodies. When his knowledge of medicine proved true Merlin saw the first few smiles he'd seen since the day he came to Bayberry. They went to the woods again, this time to gather plants, roots, barks, any growing thing with a medicinal value. He spent the afternoon boiling salves, directing the preparation of medicines, and wishing for Gaius' medicine book.
He passed two weeks in Bayberry mending and helping where he could. Though Merlin knew he should move on when Tilda and the other villagers greeted him with cheer and hope, their injuries mending, he could not find it in himself to go. He was helping the villagers that much was true and why shouldn't he?
He thought about Arthur and Gwen, worried over Gaius, and wondered what had become of Lord Troy. Still there was nothing he could do for any of them, not without his magic, but the people in this village he could help them right now. He would stay a little longer.
Grigor, in occupied Camelot
It came down the street, a murmur that grew into a roar, and distilled itself into marching feet and angry shouts. It drew the people of Camelot out of their homes and into the streets.
Magistrate Grigor, his wife, children, and housekeeper were no exception. They saw Janet first, filthy, clothing torn, she stumbled into view. A soldier came up behind her not even a moment after forcing her to her feet, and shoving her to one of his fellows.
"We'll hang this bitch in the center of town."
A cheering shout went up amongst the men and Grigor swore and charged into the crowd. He'd turned his head to a lot in the past few weeks, but this he could not abide. He pushed soldiers aside, forcing himself to the center of the crowd, and snatched Janet from the man holding her. He shoved her behind himself and glared at the soldier.
Then Grigor drew upon all of his height and authority. The voice and manner that could, if he so willed intimidate kings on their thrones. These soldiers were a gathering of puny, weak-willed, nothings. He found the eyes of the soldier that had been shouting about hangings and let all his outrage pour into his gaze. The soldier swallowed, trembled and looked away. The mob grew silent and a hush fell over the dusty summer streets.
"There will be no hanging today!" Each word was a barked shout, a command.
"She killed Nacio!" Someone shouted and a roar came from the crowd. Grigor ignored the twisting in his stomach and forced himself to remain calm, show none of his concern.
"Hey dad," Gerry came up behind him.
"I've got you Janet."
Grigor dared a glance over his shoulder and saw Haf at Janet's side.
"Go back into the house Haf," Grigor said even as he returned his attention to the crowd.
"I'm at your side father like any good son would be."
"She murdered Nacio, murdered him in cold blood."
Grigor tried to think he could not control the mob for long.
"Quiet!" He commanded it with every fiber of his being and the crowd went still and silent. He turned on Janet.
"Is this true?"
"He was raping me every night. I had to make it stop."
Grigor felt his eyes go wide. He should have realized, a household of an old widow and young maid alone, that's what Janet had come to him about. Grigor faced the crowd again. Those words made a difference to him, but they would make no difference to this crowd. This crowd probably felt that they had been cheated of their right pillage Camelot, kill it's men, rape it's women, enslave the people, and rob them of everything. He had one tactic that he could think of.
"Rule of law still prevails in Camelot!" He shouted in clear, commanding tones, playing on their being subject to their own commanders. "Queen Morgana, has not changed my role as magistrate. I am still, the law, in Camelot, and this woman shall stand trial for murder just as anyone who kills another does!"
Grigor kept his stare on the crowd meeting the eyes of the ringleaders one-by-one, until they looked away.
Then he turned the four of them toward the house.
"Keep your wits about you," he said it for their ears.
They'd only gone a few steps when he heard the sound of running feet on the dusty earth, but by the time he turned Gerry had already sprung into action. Locking up with the challenger and felling him with two solid blows. Grigor felt the start of a smile and suppressed it.
"Anybody else?"
No one came forward and they turned and headed back into the house.
"Oh, thank you Holy Father," Haf leaned against the door as it shut behind her. Grigor rounded on her rebuke on the tip of his tongue. But she slid down to the floor and he could see her trembling in every limb.
He looked at her long, thin, frame, still childish, eyes as big and dark as his own, but lacking in guile or cunning, lit instead with childish innocence and wide with shock. A moment later Gerry sank down beside her.
"Janet child come along," Efan put a gentle arm around Janet's shoulders and started her toward the parlor.
"Wait my gran!" Janet looked up at them gray eyes wide and beseeching.
"Of course," he sighed trying to think.
"Dad, I'll go check on her!" Gerry volunteered. "I'll take the back way."
He glanced at his wife, who nodded her agreement.
"Fine, be quick."
Gerry got to his feet and started toward the back of the house, but Grigor stopped him.
"You were very brave son," he pulled the boy close then and kissed his forehead. "You're a good boy Gerault, be careful."
"Thanks dad, I will."
Grigor held him long and hard before releasing him. Gerry left out the back and Efan took Janet to the parlor.
He faced Haf.
"Are you angry with me?" She stared up him expression solemn.
"Stand-up," he extended a hand to her and pulled her to her feet.
"It was a brave thing you did."
Haf smiled and Grigor frowned.
"But you're my daughter, not my son."
"-but dad-"
"No buts about it. You're my daughter, not my son. You're not being punished for being courageous and helping your family, but female prisoners will always be treated differently than male prisoners. They are afforded no honor, and perhaps by dressing you like this I have put you in greater danger still," he sighed and squeezed her shoulders. How could he make her understand? "There will be those who will want to put you in what they deem to be your proper place if they discover this ruse."
"Oh," she said voice soft. "Mom told me."
"In a situation like that darling I won't be able to protect you."
"I understand dad, but- but I wanted to protect you, and Gerry, and Janet."
He smiled.
"I know, baby, I know, but promise me you won't take that kind of risk in the future."
For a long time Haf was silent and then she took a step backwards, pulling the warmth of her hands from his.
"I won't promise that," she said, "because it would be a lie."
She took another step backwards then turned, and ran up the stairs. He would have gone after her, but the door slammed open.
"The woman, Janet, bring her out!" The Captian stood in the doorway fire in his eyes, face flushed red with outrage. "I'm turning her over to my men!"
Grigor took a deep breath and let the wheels in his mind spin. Janet could not be turned over to the crowd outside
"She's under arrest and will be tried by the laws of Camelot."
"Not good enough, she murdered one of my men."
"In defense of herself, a woman has a right to defend herself against a rapist."
"Your lucky this city hasn't been pillaged and every last single one of its women raped out our pleasure."
Grigor looked down and took a deep breath, marking this threat as one to be recalled at a later time, when things we different, and sooner or later they would be different, they always were.
"Be that as it may captain. You should consider something. Every man, woman, and child of Camelot is in the street right now."
"So."
"So, they're waiting to see what passes next, waiting to learn the limit of their pride. If your men take Janet, and put a noose around her neck they will learn and I promise you will have a riot in these streets."
The captain scoffed at these words, but looked away.
"Your soldiers will quell it, but some will be injured, some killed."
"More of your people than mine."
"I don't doubt it." Grigor said firmly."But it won't matter. The people will have seen the blood of Morgana's soldiers. It will have run red over their own pale, palms, and they will want to see more. The city will be that much harder to hold, and that's the sticking point right there isn't it Captain? Queen Morgana doesn't want to sack the city, she wants to hold it, rule it. Holding the city requires a certain agreement, a certain expectation that there will be some rule of law. Do you want to test that for one soldier?"
The captain stared at him calmer now.
"Already they say Arthur still lives, already they say the northeastern lords are in revolt. What do you think a riot in this city will do when the people see Morgana's soldiers bleed red at their own hand? What will it mean for you and your ambition Captain?"
The captain took a breath.
"Very well the arrest will stand, but the queen will determine her fate. It is her army after all."
Grigor nodded, better than he had hoped.
"Now magistrate you have a meeting with the queen."
"What?" He stared; for once Grigor was caught off guard.
The captain smiled.
"The queen wants a word with you."
"Very well," Grigor turned and walked to the back of the house looking for his wife.
"Efan, I have an audience with Morgana," he said entering the kitchen. Grigor faced Janet who sat at the table eating the food Efan had given her. "Your arrest stands, but the captain wants you taken to the palace to be tried by the queen's court."
"Oh," she replied gray eyes wide.
"I'm sorry," Grigor looked away as he said it, unable to meet her eyes.
"That's all right," she wiped her small dark hands on a napkin and pushed to her feet. "I arranged my hanging the moment I stabbed him."
"Janet," Efan cried horror plain in her voice!
"At least I shan't be hung in the streets by that awful mob," she choked on the last words and started to sob.
"Oh Janet!" Efan went to the other woman and threw her arms around her.
The two women held each other for what seemed an eternity, both of them weeping, while he tried to think. Yeoman Grigor, Magistrate of Camelot, was unused to things not going his way, and he'd heard the sound of his wife's tears, of his friends tears all too often of late.
"Go and wait in the parlor Janet. I am going to pack you up some supper and give you a few coins for the guard."
Janet sniffed, her tears momentarily stopped.
"Thank you Efan," she said voice still hoarse, and then she turned and left.
"Morgana isn't going to show her any mercy," Efan said her voice a bare whisper.
Grigor looked at his wife then, saw her for just a moment not through the rose tinted lenses of love and adoration, but as she was. Face and eyes red from crying, hair threaded with more gray than it had been a scant month ago, arms wrapped tight about herself as if it would ward off all the pain of living as they did now. She was thinner than she'd been when all of this started looking less like the plump, happy wife of a successful man and more like a hardened woman too used to suffering.
"Efan, darling," he called her his own voice a choked whisper.
She looked at him, and gasped, distressed at what must have been written in his expression. And then her arms were around him, pressing him close, rocking him as if he were not her husband, but her child.
So hey guys, I'm feeling pretty confident about being back. Like I managed three updates, and I have been able to consistently publish every three weeks. :D
A quick note I called this chapter I Swear, because duty is a theme for all of the characters in this chapter.
Last summer I talked a bit about troubles I was having, some folks here, really stepped in and helped out, thank you. :D Things are a lot better right now that is part of why I am able to start publishing again. I have a job among other things. But money is still pretty tight. My best friend who is also my roommate has become disabled. Her parents are paying her half of the rent, but I'm handling everything else while she waits for disability. I also had to get a car, and while that was a yah! moment. Its also a boo!, because I now have car insurance, car note, etc...Unfortunately you can't really survive in this state without one. Anywho an online friend offered to be an angel in my life and asked me to put together a Christmas wish list. It's linked in my profile. If you've ever said you'd buy a book of The Exile here's a sort of indirect way for you to do so.
I've also been thinking of doing short fics for donations. Basically you send me a prompt, I agree to write a short for you, and you do a donation. Let me knowif you'd be interested in something like that. :D