Chapter Eleven: The Sage of Camelot
The evening was beginning to deepen as Junior Auror Queenscove made his way through a Magical Toronto shopping area that catered to lower income wizards. Though many of Toronto's pureblood families refused to patronize any shops not located in the most exclusive of shopping districts, Neal's family had never been so short-sighted. There were many shops that offered quality items just as good as products from those exclusive stores – and charged far less, to boot. From their youngest days, he and his brothers had been taught the art of sifting good shopkeeps from the bad, studying at the knee of the master – their mother.
A wistful smile stole across Neal's face at the memory of his older brothers – it always hurt to remember them, but it was getting easier to focus on the good times rather than their deaths. Shaking away the memories, he scanned the street for his destination, a small apothecary tucked deep in the heart of the district.
The proprietor, an old friend of Neal's father, had opened his apothecary after losing his position at St. Mungo's. From what the young Auror could remember, Healer Wilson had been fired after a high-class pureblood witch discovered the treatment he'd prescribed her was Muggle. The irony, buried deep in the gossip between Healers, was that the treatment had been cheaper and more effective than the potions typically recommended by the hospital.
Nevertheless, in the wake of the scandal and unable to find work as a Healer, Gaius Wilson purchased an old apothecary, named it Hunith's Place, and proceeded to make his living selling potions, potion ingredients, and Muggle remedies to the poorer residents of Magical Toronto. As many of those residents were half-bloods and tech-borns, none of them objected to Gaius's odd interests – they were far more concerned with stretching what little gold they had as far as possible than with protecting the 'purity' of the Wizarding World.
Among those poorer residents were many Healers who worked at St. Mungo's and trusted their former colleague to mix his potions without the shortcuts and 'tricks of the trade' common to larger, more prosperous apothecaries. Even Neal's own father patronized Gaius' shop and the elderly wizard was one of the few who knew how to brew Baird Queenscove's most exclusive potions – a coup his competitors envied fiercely, particularly since Gaius also held his clients' privacy in the strictest of confidences.
When Neal reached the apothecary, there were three witches already present as well as a wizard browsing through the potion ingredients for sale. One of the witches was attempting to haggle Gaius down to a lower price – for a potion that Neal knew for a fact cost twice as much in other apothecaries. The young wizard bristled, but the old man behind the apothecary counter never turned a hair as he smoothly diverted each one of her attempts to cut another few Knuts off his income.
One of the other witches finally stepped in, demanding that the first witch pay for her purchase or leave – judging by her tone, the haggling had gone on much too long. The blonde witch turned up her pert nose at the other witches, but huffed and slapped down her coins for the potion. The entire store seemed to breathe a sigh of relief once the woman left, singed ego drifting in her wake.
A serene Gaius shook his head and moved onto his next customers, greeting them warmly as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Neither witch tried to haggle and the elderly shopkeeper wrapped up their purchases in thick brown wrapping paper while the women laid out their Sickles and Knuts.
As the witches left, Gaius looked up at Neal, a white brow rising, but the Junior Auror shook his head, tilting his chin towards the wizard still browsing through the potion ingredients. Divining that his newest customer desired a private conference, the apothecary nodded and moved to his front door, flipping the sign from Open to Closed. Both men waited until the final occupant of the shop made his choices, purchased them, and departed before Neal approached the counter.
"Another order from your father?" Gaius inquired.
"Not tonight," Neal replied. "Actually, we need your consult on an old spell."
Both brows rose as the elderly wizard studied his customer. Neal fidgeted under that piercing blue gaze, but held his ground. At last, Gaius gave a harrumph and gestured for the young man to follow him.
Ducking under the section of counter that was actually a panel laid across a walkway, the brunet trailed his host into a back room filled to the brim with bookcases. Every single one of the bookcases was overflowing with tomes and notebooks documenting Gaius's many scientific endeavours. Esoteric instruments marched along the tops of tables crammed into the space – the presence of plates, silverware, and a drinking cup on one table was almost out of place, an afterthought of human necessity.
In the middle of the room, Gaius turned to face Neal again, folding his hands together in front of his chest. His scarlet red robe with its simple – but colorful – banding that ran up either side of the zipper and up around the robe's collar was accented by his open dark teal over robe which sported the same branding. The old man's impeccably groomed, wavy white hair descended to his collar, framing a face that sagged with age, but remained as resolute and studious as ever with Gaius's strong nose, stern expression, and raised eyebrow.
"Now then," Gaius began, "What sort of spell is this, young Neal? I know very well that you have access to much better resources than this old man."
Rather than reply, Neal held out a piece of paper, one that had the spell written in the Old Tongue, but not the modern translation. From what Constable Vlachos had said, if Gaius could read the writing, then there was a chance he could help.
Lifting a finger in silent request, Gaius turned to the nearest table, picking up a pair of spectacles. Square and banded with bronze rims, they settled on his nose and he peered over them as he accepted the paper, frowning thoughtfully as he inspected the contents. Then he stilled, blue widening in shock.
"Where did you get this?"
"Can you read it?" Neal countered.
"Nealan Queenscove, where did you get this?"
The young Auror blew out a breath, brushing his hanging fringe out of his face. "It was used on a member of the Auror Strategic Response Unit. We managed to get the spell from a Pensieve memory."
"The spell is still active?"
"Yes." Neal's emerald locked with Gaius's blue. "Can you read it?"
For a long moment, silence draped the tiny room. Gaius considered the paper in his hand as well as the earnest Junior Auror waiting for his answer. At last, he closed his eyes, removed his spectacles, and nodded. Without waiting for Neal to speak, he tucked the glasses away in his robe and moved to another table, picking up an old white canvas bag. Slipping its strap over one shoulder, the wizard hurried to a bookcase, pulling several tomes from two different shelves. A third stop allowed Gaius to collect a number of potions and ingredients tucked in glass vials.
Turning back to Neal, he said, "I cannot promise anything but the attempt. This is very powerful, very ancient magic."
Neal's face fell, but then he lifted his chin, meeting Gaius's gaze with every bit of the confidence he possessed. "We'll find a way, sir. Parker and his team don't know the meaning of the words, 'Give up'."
A faint smile curved the elderly wizard's jaw. "Well said, lad."
Due to the fragility of several reagents in his bag, Gaius Wilson and young Nealan Queenscove could not Apparate to the Auror Division's current headquarters. As the Muggle building had never been added to the Floo Network prior to the hostile takeover of the Canadian Ministry of Magic, the two wizards were therefore obliged to take the Knight Bus. Gaius was not best pleased by the idea, but could see no alternative.
Then, partway towards the gateway into the Muggle world, Nealan slipped up alongside him, an odd device in hand. "I called the barn, let 'em know we can't Apparate; they're sending Braddock to pick us up."
One eyebrow rose. "The barn…?"
Neal grinned at him. "That's what the techies call their headquarters."
The second brow joined the first, though Gaius did not speak immediately. "Techies. What is it short for?"
"Technologicals," the young man replied. He made to continue, only to stop as the elder wizard lifted a quelling hand.
Tilting his head, Gaius considered, a smile working its way across his face. "Quite appropriate. Technology versus magic, indeed." He cast a glance at Neal. "I take it Auror Braddock is a techie?"
"Squib-born. They've actually got a couple Squibs and Squib-borns in their unit."
Most intriguing. The wizard inclined his head and folded his hands together again, adopting the placid expression he'd perfected over the many decades of his life. Inside his mind, he reviewed the spell young Nealan had shown him. A spell written in a language he'd never thought to see again – outside of his collection of ancient tomes – for a system of magic long extinct.
For a moment, he allowed himself to think of the past. The many countless hours he had spent in service to Camelot, first under King Uther and then under King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. Gaius the Court Physician. Gaius the Sorcerer. Gaius the Traitor. Traitor to his own kind, for the countless lives he'd watched go to their deaths in the Great Purge as he stood safe and secure under his pardon from Uther. Not even his mentorship of Emrys could make up for his sins of omission. His failure to act, to stand against King Uther's vengeful genocide of his fellow sorcerers.
Grimly, the former Court Physician set aside his ancient guilt and returned his attention to the spell. A Judgment spell, unless he was much mistaken. Altered, but clearly accepted by the Triple Goddess if young Neal's report was accurate. He could examine the target of the spell and document as many of the effects as possible, but it would take a great deal of time and research to discover how to end the spell if Judgment could not be completed.
Of greater interest – and concern – was the sudden reappearance of the Old Religion. To successfully use a Judgment spell would require a High Priest, High Priestess, or the chieftain of a druid clan. Throughout his long modern life, he had never encountered any – while that did not preclude the possibility that practitioners of the Old Religion had survived into the modern age, it was rather disconcerting that such had reappeared without prior warning. In an era where most magicals used Latin or the native magic of their home countries, the study of the Old Religion was largely restricted to historians and those interested in esoteric magic.
While he himself could still practice the Old Religion, Gaius knew that was due to his past as Camelot's Court Physician and pardoned Sorcerer. Modern magicals would have no such advantage – and much of the knowledge required for a Judgment spell had been lost over the ages. Primarily, Gaius had to admit, in King Uther's Great Purge. Why, by the time of his death, there had been no one left alive – save perhaps Merlin – who possessed enough influence with the Old Religion to pronounce Judgment, much less invoke the Triple Goddess's own Judgment.
Caught up in his musing, Gaius allowed young Neal to take the lead through the gateway, trailing the Junior Auror to the technological streets beyond. Long practice after years of wandering through the castle in Camelot whilst planning his next remedies, experiments, and even a few plots kept him firmly at Nealan's side, even when the young man halted right next to the road. Gaius looked up in time to see a large black vehicle rolling towards them, flashing blue and red lights to part the surrounding traffic.
How very interesting. Young Neal was working with police officers.
Gaius inspected his surroundings with great curiosity as he was led from the Strategic Response Unit's garage into the main building. As a very young man in his modern life, he had briefly considered a career in law enforcement before rediscovering his love of healing and scientific research. More, as a half-blood, he and his siblings had been raised alongside his father's nieces and nephews, learning the technological world just as well as the magical one – the state of the family finances mitigated against any misplaced arrogance on the part of his mother and father.
The old sorcerer was, therefore, keenly interested in the inner workings of the police building around him and yearned for the chance to explore and ask questions. Perhaps once the immediate issues were tackled, he might inquire about a tour at the very least. It would be fascinating to compare these modern day knights to their Camelotean predecessors, for Gaius was quite sure that membership in an elite unit such as this one would've required a knighthood – at the very least – in the days of King Uther.
His two guides rounded a corner, heading up a short ramp towards what appeared to be an atrium – Gaius wondered briefly if he would be asked to sign-in, to satisfy the ever-present bureaucrats. Then his eye fell upon a group of men already in the atrium, all of them dressed in black and gray uniforms akin to the one Auror Constable Braddock wore. One of the men, a tall fellow with curly brunet hair, was turned away from him, but snagged at Gaius with a sense of the familiar.
Then Braddock whistled, pulling all attention towards the three new arrivals – and Gaius's world came to an abrupt and sudden halt. Because that was Sir Leon facing him, bracketed by Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival. To Gwaine's left, Sir Lancelot – to Percival's right, Sir Elyan. The Court Physician was vaguely aware of his jaw dropping open as he stared at the impossible. The Knights of the Round Table, come back to life and united once more.
Another man joined the group, unfamiliar to Gaius, but wearing the same uniform as the knights, with a sergeant's chevron on his shoulder. Dark eyes regarded the elderly sorcerer with a mix of curiosity and wariness under sharp features and close cropped black hair. He glanced towards Leon, one brow rising. "Old friend of yours, I take it?"
The former First Knight of Camelot blinked twice, shedding his state of shock, then nodded. "Yes, Sarge." A smile broke through and he stepped forward, gesturing for Gaius to join him. Once the physician hastened to the knight's side, Leon made a half-turn and said, "Sergeant Troy Vio, may I introduce Gaius Wilson, Healer and apothecary."
Mischief glinted in the knight's eyes, particularly when Gwaine muttered, just loud enough for the Sergeant to hear, "And Court Physician of Camelot."
One white brow rose, coupled with an unimpressed glare.
Gwaine blanched, hiding behind Percival's bulk. "He's still got the Eyebrow!"
Sergeant Vio snickered, a smile of his own appearing. "You think you could teach me that one? Might come in handy."
The second eyebrow joined the first. "You are not surprised?"
The other man shook his head. "Nope. That was a couple months back, when I first found out." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Soon as my guys recognized your name, I figured you'd be exactly who they thought." Skewering a glare in Gwaine's direction, he added, "Stop hiding; the kid Auror's already curious."
The roguish knight pouted, but didn't protest as Percival moved away, stretching out a brawny arm and clasping Gaius's in a warrior's grip. "Good to see you again," the quietest of Arthur's knights said.
The elderly man was forced to swallow down a lump, for he remembered, all too well, when Merlin had returned to Camelot with Leon and Percival's bodies, broken by the deaths of the last remaining Knights of the Round Table. The numbness in Merlin's voice as the young warlock disavowed the ancient prophecies, declaring that they'd brought him nothing but pain and anguish. Taken everyone he knew and loved in return for the worthless lie of Albion.
Clearing his throat and banishing any thought of the many losses that had marked his final days in Camelot, Gaius focused on the here and now, with the alive knight-constables of Toronto. "Perhaps you might explain more of the circumstance which has brought me here?"
All smiles vanished and Leon nodded, a grim expression emerging. He glanced towards his Sergeant, earning a nod before the other man shifted out of the way and fell back into the midst of his constables. Turning, the tall former knight started walking, waiting until Gaius fell in step beside him to speak.
"Lieutenant Gregory Parker, formerly the Sergeant for SRU Team One."
"Your team?"
Leon chuckled. "No. We're Team Four. Braddock's Team One, though." He sobered again. "Morgana's been crossing blades with Team One for at least a year."
Alarm shot through the old physician. "Morgana?"
To his further alarm, Leon met his gaze and nodded once. "She has yet to prevail, though; no matter what she throws at them, they've found a way to turn it right back on her."
"Not alone," the blond Braddock pointed out, having caught up on Gaius's other side.
"You haven't lost anyone, mate," Gwaine put in. "That's impressive."
Indeed it was; encounters with Morgana in Camelot had nearly always been marked with the bodies of her victims, peasant and knight alike.
Gaius allowed a thoughtful hum. "And this latest attempt?"
"She's involved, but…" Leon trailed off, gathering himself. "Gaius… This time, it's Morgause."
An icy feeling washed down the sorcerer's spine. "You are certain?"
"Yes."
The response came not from Leon, but from Lancelot. Gaius shifted his attention to the former knight, wary until he saw familiar hazel gazing back at him. Not the pitch-black of the Shade that had returned to Camelot after the Isle of the Blessed.
A wry smile briefly quirked the dark-haired man's jaw, as if he knew exactly what Gaius had been looking for. "We have a Pensieve memory of her casting the spell on Lieutenant Parker. Morgana was present, but did not participate beyond a few…pointed…taunts."
Gaius frowned. "That does not bode well; Morgause was raised from birth as a High Priestess and extensively trained in all the secrets of the Old Religion. She passed much of her knowledge onto Morgana, but not, I daresay, all of it."
"There simply wasn't time," Leon murmured. "She does not appear to have changed at all."
"Agreed," Lancelot put in. "Neither she nor Morgana ever seemed to realize that their attacks only hardened the general attitude against magic." He shook his head. "Truly, in the here and now, it is sheer insanity; Team One is the sole reason that 'Muggle' police officers can even work magic-side."
To Gaius's private shock, Leon didn't even twitch at the open reference to magic – or the implication that he was working alongside magic wielders. Instead, he nodded sober agreement with Lancelot's point. "We maintain the Statute of Secrecy," he explained, "but everyone in the know on our side knows that the Statute can't last much longer. Not with the way technology is advancing."
"But if Morgana and Morgause force Magic out into the open like they've been trying, we'll have a modern day Purge on our hands," Elyan interjected, speeding up enough for Gaius to see him over Lancelot's shoulder.
"Either that or open war," Percival rumbled, scowling.
Most disturbing; Gaius knew well that the magical community did not have the numbers to survive either eventuality. Returning to the matter at hand, he inquired, "So Morgause cast the spell on Lieutenant Parker in hopes of targeting this entire unit?"
"Parker hasn't been a lieutenant long enough for it to be our whole unit," Leon countered dryly. "Although we and Team Three work magic-side, we're not as well known as Team One." He shook his head. "And Morgause and Morgana locked Parker's former fiancé in with him before casting the spell. She's not magical at all."
Gaius inhaled sharply. "Is she still alive?" He was astounded when the officers all nodded, but before he could inquire further, the group reached their destination – an outside building that appeared to be some sort of training area. Inside, there was another group of people and several tables and chairs set up, but Gaius saw none of that as his gaze zeroed in on another familiar figure from the days of Camelot.
Sir Mordred.
Constable Mordred Vlachos was not looking forward to meeting Gaius again. Leon and Elyan had expressed their doubts after Junior Auror Queenscove left – surely there were other men named Gaius in the world – but Mordred had long since realized that the ancient prophecies were playing out once again in the World of Men.
The Once and Future King, accompanied by his Court, would once more do battle with the Old Religion and its followers. Morgana, Morgause…himself… The villains of Camelot were rising just as surely as the King and his Knights. For now, he stood at the King's side, but the young constable dreaded the day when Kara reappeared. Her appearance would herald his own downfall, his descent into hatred and vengeance as Camelot's history repeated itself. His friends – his teammates – they maintained hope. They believed that they could defy Fate and forestall Destiny. Mordred longed to be that sure. That naïve.
But he knew; his life had been marked by the Triple Goddess from the very start. Not even Wild Magic could defy Her Will – Parker's current state was proof enough of that. Once they figured out how to save the lieutenant – if they could – he had a very difficult decision to make. Would he let Fate and Destiny have their way with him once more? Or would he deny them King Arthur's prophesied killer with a single bullet?
Caught up in his misery, the young constable forgot to keep an eye on the training building's door. His only warning of Gaius's arrival was a sharp inhale and a shout of, "Oferswinge!"
The attack caught him from the side, picking him up and hurling him headfirst towards the nearest wall. A distant part of his brain pointed out that this solved all his problems neatly even as he closed his eyes, bracing for impact.
Only for something to slam into him in midair, sending him in a new direction right before his world flipped over and his rescuer landed hard, hissing outrage next to one ear. Mordred glimpsed feathers. A flash of brown fur. Spread wings. Gray widened in shock. Parker, no, Elias. But why? As far as Parker's gryphon side was concerned, he was just a member of the SRU. A Pride-Friend at best. Not someone to be protected as if he actually meant something. As if he was part of Elias's Pride.
"Mordred!"
"Mate!"
He was panting. Gasping with his knees collapsing underneath him. The gryphon-human hybrid eased him down on all fours, crouching next to him as he fought to regain a semblance of composure. Then an arm was around his shoulders, tugging him away from Parker even as the owner of that arm inspected him from head to toe.
"Sarge," he rasped.
Sarge yanked him close in a hug, startling him. Mordred knew Sarge cared about all of them, but he wasn't the touchy-feely type. More likely to express his affection with humor and sarcasm. Maybe a ruffle of hair or a light punch to the shoulder.
"Don't you dare scare me like that again, rookie," Sarge ordered. "I swear I lost a decade when you flew back like that!"
He sucked in another lungful of air, then joked, "Only a decade, Sarge? Thought I was at least worth two."
Gwaine laughed and reached over Sarge's shoulder to ruffle his hair. "That's my rookie; comes right back with a quip and a grin."
"Shut up, Gwaine," Mordred dared, though inside he quailed. It was the first time since…
But Gwaine just smirked at him with that familiar 'make me, rookie' glimmer in his eyes. Then he glanced over at Elias, still hovering and shooting nasty glares in the direction of the door. "No touching Gaius, Parker. Leon forgot to warn him about Mordred being on Team Four with us." The roguish knight-constable sobered. "Far as Gaius knows, Mordred's a subject."
Elias growled, low and angry, a pair of fangs flashing. "Not subject. Team Four. Mine."
Sarge jerked in surprise and Mordred felt his own eyes bug out. "Did you just adopt the whole SRU?" he blurted.
Amused scarlet landed on him, inspecting him for any damage before the gryphon-human replied. "Am lieutenant. Like my human. SRU mine."
"Like to see you pull that with Team Two," Gwaine muttered.
Parker frowned, then rumbled and shook his head, though Mordred couldn't be sure if Elias remembered Team Two or not. Reaching out, he rested a hand on the bomb tech's shoulder. "Stay. Troy protect."
He wanted to obey. Wanted to stay with his Sarge – the man who only knew Camelot as history and not reality – but he was the one who knew the Old Religion. The one who'd identified the spell and studied under a druid chieftain, one of the few left in the modern world. He couldn't just hide behind his Sergeant and his teammates and risk Gaius missing any of the nuances. Not before and especially not now that he owed Parker his life.
So he shook his head and forced himself to pull out of Sarge's hold. It took another few seconds to straighten up enough that he could lock his knees and stop most of the trembling. Looking Elias in the eye, he said, "Thanks, Boss, but I got to see this through."
Wings and furry, feathery lion ears flexed in consideration. Then Parker nodded acceptance and approval. Glancing to either side of the constable, he ordered, "Troy. Gwaine. Protect."
"Copy," Sarge acknowledged.
"You got it, Boss," Gwaine drawled, offering only a lazy salute.
Mordred rolled his eyes. "You're not fooling him, Gwaine." Or me, either.
The team joker grinned, showing off his best devil-may-care nonchalance. "What's to fool, rookie? I just don't wanna have to break in a new bomb tech."
"Right… So that's why you're over here instead of cheering on Gaius."
Gwaine straightened, shedding the humor like the act it had been. "Mordred. Maybe I would've a couple months ago. But not now. I trust you and so does Elyan."
His jaw dropped open, shock engulfing him even more than it had when Parker had called him bright. Untainted. "You're not worried?" His voice was small. Fearful.
Completely serious now, the other knight-constable grabbed his shoulders. "Sure I am. I hate losing friends, 'specially to that Witch. Which is why I'm not. Losing any friends, that is." He shook Mordred lightly. "You are staying right where you belong this time, no matter how hard we have to fight for you." A hand rose, gently cuffing the back of curly locks. "We lost you once, mate. Lost two for the price of one. It's not happening this time or my name's not Sir Gwaine."
"It's not," Sarge put in, straight-faced. "Last I checked, you haven't been knighted."
Gwaine smirked. "If the princess is the Once and Future King, that's gotta be worth somethin', Sarge." He winked. "Kinda makes us the Once and Future Knights."
Mordred laughed, but inside, dread curled. The Once and Future Knights, huh. That made him the Once and Future Traitor. And all of a sudden, he wished Parker had missed.
Author note: As ever, I hope all my readers enjoyed today's chapter. I also hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas to one and all! Yes, Advent 2023 is now here, although I have a feeling many of us feel more like Bob Cratchit rather than Ebenezer Scrooge when it comes to our finances this Christmas. May we be like Tiny Tim, celebrating the Lord's Blessings and His Great Gift to us rather than getting caught up in the woes of financial hardship.
No big earth-shattering Real Life news to share this week, although, for some reason, the doctors who were all so hot to trot with getting a pacemaker into my Mom are now stalling her and, well, not nearly so eager. I'm not sure what's going on there, but I pray that the Lord will reveal His Purpose soon.
Keep the Peace and God Bless Us, Everyone!
