Summary

When Arthur's abduction creates an opportunity his followers are eager to exploit, Elyan must balance his goals against his remaining loyalty to family.

Chapter 57 A Traitor's Assembly

Elyan stood at the hayloft window of Gar's old storage barn, watching townspeople gathered below in anxious clusters. Though the bells had ceased their urgent warnings an hour past, worried groups at this intersection between mid and lower town still lingered, their speculations carrying in the waning afternoon. Behind him, the master bowyer leaned over William, reading the parchment his young apprentice scribbled upon at a makeshift table – an old door laid across wooden trestles in the center of the loft. A few tree stumps served as seats, their surfaces still rough from the newness of the cuts.

Above them, pigeons rustled in the rafters, disturbed by their presence in their usual roost, where he and Gar had cleverly strung old tools and equipment throughout the beams to maintain the illusion of storage. The spacious loft, running the length of the barn, provided perfect cover for the meetings with his new friends.

Master Gar left William's side to join him at the window. The bowyer's broad shoulders, shaped by years of bowcraft, rested on the sill as he lifted the worn shutter. "What do you think?" he asked, calloused fingers working through his thick grey beard.

Elyan shook his head, finding no words. The earlier bells had stirred memories he'd had rather forget – times when he'd race through the corridors alongside Percival and Gwaine, their synchronized footfalls echoing their shared purpose to answer the call and defend Camelot. Now he stood here, an outsider, while his former brothers-in-arms had likely already charged toward whatever crisis gripped the citadel.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched William at the table. Crumpled parchment littered the surface and floor – failed attempts at their second leaflet campaign. The apprentice's lean frame mirrored his master's height but none of his bulk, his quill moving with more enthusiasm than skill across the parchment. Whatever declaration the young man labored to craft, Elyan was certain it wouldn't match the raw power of his first missive.

In the six days since uniting these people in common cause, he had thrown himself into undermining the king's decree on magic. The noble purses funding their mission had seen to their needs – fresh parchment, good ink, everything required to spread their message, allowing the bold appeals against magic's insidious threat to flow easily from his hand. The first batch, distributed just yesterday, had already caused a stir in the city, and Elyan felt a vindictive thrill at the thought of his former friends scrambling to collect them all.

But today's bells had tolled of something else entirely, its urgent peals setting his nerves aflame. What crisis faced Arthur and Gwen now? He shook his head trying to dismiss the unbidden concern – Arthur's brotherly clasp and Gwen's warm smile pushing to the forefront of his mind – as his gaze drifted to the wooden bows hanging from the rafters. Why should he care what new problems they had? His own sister had chosen her side.

Footsteps scrabbled up the back ladder before the trapdoor flew open. The sound brought Elyan and Gar around fully, William's head shooting up from his work.

"News from the citadel!" Constans stumbled through, breathless and flushed, tugging his surcoat back into place. Even in their clandestine meetings, he always wore his uniform with obvious pride. His eyes found William first – a detail that pricked at Elyan's awareness – before addressing the group. The words that followed seemed to drain all air from the room. "The king's been taken!"

"What? How?" the master bowyer asked, voicing the questions strangling in Elyan's throat. They moved from the window together, meeting Constans halfway.

"Ambushed in King's Woods. Two soldiers killed."

"Gwen—" The name escaped him before he could cage it. "Was the queen with him?" His throat tightened at the thought of her in danger, concern betraying him. His sister's face flashed in his mind – not the queen he'd denounced, but Gwen who'd once bandaged his training wounds with gentle hands.

The wiry youth slumped onto a hay bale. "She was. Made the announcement herself from the balcony. Seemed unhurt though."

Elyan's chest tightened, his mind reeling. This was grave news for the kingdom. Another upheaval for the monarchy. And if what Constans said was true, the burden of responsibility would now fall upon Gwen –inexperienced, untested. For all her strength, all her pride, she'd never faced anything like this…. Sweet Mary, did she need him?

"Merlin and some knights rode out in force—" Constans wiped sweat from his brow, "—to begin the search. All of us are scheduled to join a party. I leave at first light with my team. The queen's calling for the aid of the townspeople too."

William abandoned his quill as he rose, his lean face alight with sudden possibility. "The king captured... this is our chance! Without him—"

"No," Elyan hissed. His mind splintered between his new mission and his old duty. Gwen would stand alone now, bearing a crown she never sought, while he hid in the shadows with his leaflets and spite.

"But why not?" William pressed, taking a step forward. "With the queen by herself, vulnerable—"

Elyan rounded on him, backing the younger man against stacked crates. "We will not use this misfortune for our gain. Not while my sister suffers and must deal with these crises herself."

"Sister?" William scoffed, youth making him bold. "I thought you no longer cared about the queen."

"Watch your tongue," Elyan growled, leaning in, the thought of him abandoning her before to face exile alone – his shame still burned at that memory. As his past and present collided, he wasn't certain he had the nerve to do it again. "Gwen is still my kin."

"Peace, both of you," Gar stepped between them, work-hardened hands spread wide. He turned to Elyan. "The lad speaks rashly. But you must see this is an opportunity."

"Yes. Why should we not press our advantage?" William demanded, straightening from the crates, his face flushed at his master's dismissive tone.

Elyan glanced away, divided between the fight he'd chosen and the sister he'd forsaken twice now. She might wear the queen's crown with grace, but he knew her heart – knew how the weight of the kingdom and the fear for Arthur would be crushing her, even if she'd never show it. "We've already pushed into dangerous territory with our first leaflet," he warned, meeting William's sullen eyes.

He moved through shafts of sunlight cutting through the barn's gaps. For all his anger and bitterness towards his family, the thought of wielding Gwen's pain as a weapon became incomprehensible. No matter how deeply their betrayal cut, some bonds, it seemed, refused to break entirely. "Sedition, treason – those are lines we've crossed. But this... using my sister's suffering...?" He shook his head, stuck between his path and his sister. "Find another way."

Gar studied him, then nodded slowly. "Very well. The king's absence may yet aid us, Sir Elyan, even if unintended."

Elyan released a tight breath. Gwen would never bend, would never show weakness. But he remembered how she'd cry in private when the burden grew too heavy – especially after she became known as Arthur's consort and how Lord Agravaine and other nobles had made their disdain so clear. "As you say. But no talk of his abduction. My aim is to open eyes to the evils of magic and sorcery, not overthrow the kingdom."

William prowled the floorboards, a protest on his lips, but a sharp glance from Gar silenced him. The master bowyer continued. "On that, we agree," Gar said. "Camelot's soul must be saved from the corruption of sorcery. That is the true fight."

William spun away, kicking at a loose hay bale. After a moment, he faced them again, his eyes narrowed beneath sweat-dampened hair. "I heard what you said, Master Gar – that the attackers are unknown. Constans, can you uncover any details of the assault?"

The young soldier straightened, eager for purpose. His eyes flicked to Elyan out of military habit, but it was William's nod that sparked his grin. "At once."

As Constans scrambled down the ladder with youthful energy, William's jaw feathered, his gaze floating to Elyan. "What if we say sorcerers attacked the king and queen? Show people how quickly they turned on him?"

"We don't know that," Elyan replied, but the words rang hollow even to his ears. The possibility coiled around his thoughts like a serpent – if sorcerers were responsible, wouldn't that vindicate their entire purpose? "I won't spread lies—"

"But if it turns out to be true—"

"I said no!" Elyan's sharp rebuke cracked off the rafters, sending roosting pigeons scattering through the gaps.

Gar moved to intercede, his presence a barrier between them once again. "We don't know if sorcerers are to blame or if our kind is responsible."

"An inference then." William's voice took on a calculating edge. "Say the king's own folly invited this disaster."

A scowl darkened Elyan's features. William had grown bolder, standing straighter, speaking louder, less the subservient apprentice and more the shrewd agitator. The young man's suggestion twisted in his mind however – a seed taking root despite his protests. It was a fine line; one he wasn't sure he was ready to cross. But if it could further their purpose without directly exploiting Gwen's pain...

"It's… something to consider," Elyan replied, each word a betrayal of everything he once stood for – honor, loyalty, family. He turned away from the group toward the window, pretending to watch the anxious crowds below through the shutters. If William and Gar pressed this hard, what would Brycen and Estrid demand? The thought settled in his gut like cold iron. "Let's see what proof Constans brings." He paused, almost adding "and try if you can to match my first declaration," but the words died in his throat. His sister mattered more than their rhetoric now.

Time stretched like a bowstring pulled taut. Shadows crept across the hayloft floor as more of Elyan's small band of like-minded followers gathered around the loft, their faces cast in amber by guttering candles against the growing dark. As they waited for Constans, their last to arrive, Lady Estrid and Lord Brycen sat apart from them among the rough-hewn beams and hay. At the makeshift table, William and Gar worked over their task, quills scratching across parchment while Sir James circled the edge, offering opinions but keeping his distance from the actual writing.

"The castle must be in chaos," William mused, his gaze settling on James. "Surely you could tell us something of use—"

"I cannot." Sir James straightened, his face hardening. Even in civilian dress, he carried himself with a knight's bearing.

"Then why are you here?" William challenged, rocking back on his stump. "Playing both sides—"

"You forget yourself," James said, each word precise and cold. "I stand against magic's corruption, but my oath to King Arthur remains sacred. There are boundaries even in rebellion."

"Boundaries? While sorcerers roam free in the castle—" William scoffed, but James stepped forward, already speaking over him.

"I'll not have my honor questioned by an apprentice who's never sworn a true oath—"

"Sir James." Elyan's quiet intervention drew their attention. "I beg to differ. Has William not sworn an oath to us? William, James walks a harder path – fighting what's wrong while honoring what's right. Can we not respect both ways of serving our cause?"

James inclined his head slightly, while William shifted on his stump with a grudging nod. A tense silence settled over the table, broken only by the scratch of Gar's quill resuming across parchment. Elyan felt a flicker of satisfaction at having managed that conflict, but the murmured debate from the corner drew his attention, made his shoulders tighten.

He edged closer to where Sir Brycen and Lady Estrid had claimed a space near the hay bales. She'd arranged herself on a bale with remarkable poise, as if it were a court chair, her voice carrying unmistakable purpose in the close air.

"...must be firm, unyielding," Lord Brycen was saying, the candlelight catching the scar on his face. As always, his fingers drifted unconsciously to the mark of the dragon's fury. "The people need to see the danger clearly."

"Indeed," Lady Estrid said, arranging her practical riding skirts with the same care she might give silk gowns. "We cannot soften our stance while these... practitioners infiltrate the court itself." Her fine dress and gentle movements wrapped her contempt in nobility's polish. "They've already stolen our king's ear. Now see how quickly order crumbles?"

"I see no evidence of this," Elyan found himself arguing. "Take care with assumptions, Lady Estrid. We'll lose the people's trust if we shroud our words in speculation, not proof."

"The people's trust?" Estrid's laugh held no warmth. "What I trust is that power belongs in proper hands. Look how quickly chaos follows when natural order is disrupted." She straightened on her hay bale, somehow making the rustic perch seem like a throne. "The old families remember when everyone knew their place. When Camelot was truly civilized. These sorcerers and their dark crafts must be stopped. We return to the wisdom of King Uther."

He locked gazes with her—a true believer, and far more dangerous than William's youthful passion. There was something arresting about her, not in beauty but in bearing, in the absolute certainty that privilege was her birthright—that sorcery was an evil to eradicate. He'd seen her kind before in the Uther Pendragons and Badawi Zahirs of the world. This one, he knew, would need close watching.

Before he could respond, the trapdoor creaked open again and Constans pulled himself up. This time his triumphant look went straight to William. "Sorcerers took the king alright. The queen was badly wounded too, but Merlin healed her. Word from inside the castle – Sir Percival confirmed it."

The loft stilled, Elyan's chest constricting while Sir James' jaw dropped before cinching it and Gar's quill stilled on the parchment. "Arthur..." Elyan whispered, the name heavy with memory. He could picture Gwen on that balcony, her hands steady only through sheer will – she'd always faced her fears that way, hiding her trembling fingers in the folds of her dress.

Then, something cracked, the news shattering the tension as voices rose like startled birds.

"There it is!" William straightened, vindication bright in his eyes, beckoning Constans to join their circle. "Just as we warned in our first leaflet—"

"Indeed," Lady Estrid's voice cut across them all, sharp with satisfaction. "How quickly they show their true nature."

Gar shook his head grimly. "The kingdom will be in chaos."

"A king who trusted sorcerers too far," James said quietly, his knight's composure cracking. "And now taken by them."

"The very moment King Arthur gives them freedom," Lord Brycen added, "they strike at the crown itself."

As they advocated violence as retaliation, doubts gnawed at Elyan like rats in the walls now. Gwen, wounded in an attack – how badly? Arthur, taken. He'd served this man, fought beside him, called him brother. And his sister alone now, shepherding a kingdom that had already lost its way. His hand dragged across his forehead, shielding eyes that burned with unwanted concern. The urge to go to her side clawed at him like an old wound reopened.

But the very thought of facing her... After everything he'd thrown in her face, every vow he'd trampled, every trust he'd shattered. The castle guards would have orders to seize him on sight. The shame of it all rose like poison in his throat.

Yet beneath that shame burned a certainty – magic was a scourge, a danger to everything Camelot held dear. If only he could make Gwen see that truth, especially now that Arthur... He flinched at the thought – wasn't he considering the same exploitation of her vulnerability that he'd just condemned in William? But wouldn't a brother use any means to protect his sister from danger?

"Sir Elyan?" Gar's voice broke into his thoughts. That was when he realized the arguing had stopped, that they were watching him. "What do you think of this?"

Elyan blinked at the parchment thrust before him, its accusations stark against cream-colored vellum. Each word condemned sorcery as a creeping darkness, ready to devour them all if magic users weren't stopped immediately, if the kingdom didn't rise against this corruption before it was too late.

"It's... powerful," he said carefully, wondering if they believed Gar's delivery of their leaflet would sway him over any of the others, "but we're not rabble-rousers. We're sentinels, warning of real danger. Let's make them hear truth, not fear."

Gar frowned as he took back the parchment. Around the loft, shoulders tensed and jaws tightened – even Sir James shifted uneasily on his stump. Elyan could sense their collective disquiet, his retreat from his first leaflet's fury highly noticeable. Above them, pigeons stirred restlessly as he studied his fellow conspirators, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.

Slowly pacing the wooden floor, he could see torches lit in the streets below through gaps in the barn's walls as clearly as he could see their apprehension. Their arguments had been endless, circling like dogs chasing their tails. Every word, every phrase was dissected, argued over, reworked. It was maddening. Not like the first one that he'd drafted without the approval of any of them – when the words had poured from his quill like venom from a wound.

"We need the voice of legitimacy," he said, the words feeling strange after his earlier vitriol. "Push too hard, and we lose the people's trust. Wouldn't you agree, Sir James?"

"You have the right of it," the knight replied, unease threading through his words. Even in rebellion, he clung to a knight's principles, seeming unsure of this softer approach from the man who'd penned such burning condemnation.

Lady Estrid's quiet scoff carried across the loft. "Legitimacy? While magic users sit at the king's table, and now they do so in his absence?"

"We've seen what 'legitimacy' has brought us," Lord Brycen added, his scar stark in the candlelight. "A king who embraces sorcery, and now lies captured by it."

"Perhaps," William muttered to Constans, his words barely a whisper yet sharp with intent, "we should show the druids what happens when they strike against our king."

Gar's silence even felt heavy with disappointment.

"Enough." Elyan's voice cut through their dissent, quiet but carrying the authority of a king's knight. "I started this. I wrote those first words. But I say we proceed with care." He met each gaze in turn – William's frustration, Estrid's contempt, Brycen's barely contained anger. "You followed me because I know both sides of this fight. I've seen magic's corruption firsthand, and I know the path to victory isn't through blind rage, but through showing the people what we've all witnessed – the true face of sorcery. Trust in that truth."

The hayloft fell silent save for the comforting coos of the birds. William looked away first, then the others as they settled back where they sat. Estrid's gaze lingered, cutting into him with the cool disdain of old nobility, the kind of look her class reserved for servants who'd forgotten their place.

But the voices still grated. The hayloft suddenly felt too confined with unspoken accusations of weakness. His own words from that first leaflet haunted him now – 'No quarter for sorcerers! No mercy for their defenders!' – How easily rage had spilled then, before violence had truly touched his own blood.

"If you'll excuse me," he announced suddenly, his voice steady despite his churning thoughts. Once he descended the ladder into the cooler darkness of the stable below, the weight of both his abandonments to Gwen pressed in on him.

The night air kissed his fevered skin as he slipped through the back door, away from the conspiratorial whispers above. His feet led him through the darkened streets, past shuttered windows where families huddled, discussing the day's dire news.

The narrow streets of lower town welcomed him like an old friend, offering the anonymity he'd grown to cherish while his thoughts strayed down more treacherous paths with each step. He'd called for justice in those poisoned pages, had he not? But what justice could be found in exploiting his sister's pain? The same sister he'd accused of betrayal for showing mercy…

He pulled Arthur's missive from his pocket along with a copy of his icy rebuttal. His brother-in-law's heartfelt plea for unity, for healing old wounds, perhaps deserved better than the venom he'd spat back. He couldn't blame Gwen, not truly – her love for Arthur, her trust in Merlin had led her down this path. But beneath his bitter words about betrayal and corruption lay a simpler truth: she was still his sister. Perhaps he could make her understand his fears. Could offer comfort, even now, after everything he'd written, every accusation he'd hurled...

Pain lanced through his neck, sudden and sharp. The nathair's memory, burning bright as ever. Would this agony ever cease?

He pressed against the rough stone of an alley wall, letting shadows cloak him as he studied the castle spires rising above the lower town's crooked rooftops. Old habits whispered of hidden paths, of ways to slip past guards who once called him brother. Yes... perhaps...

His mind raced with possibilities – the servants' entrance near the kitchens, the old passage behind the armory, the forgotten grate in the north wall where the patrols always thinned at watch change. He knew every weakness in their patterns, every guard's habits. Yet beneath it all lay deeper questions: could he face her? Should he? And if he did, with all that's happened, could he finally make her see the truth about magic's corruption, or would the need to comfort his sister make him forget why he stood against her in the first place?

Swiping his chin, he glared at those distant towers, their windows gleaming like accusing eyes in the moonlight. The answer crystallized like frost: he must try to reach her. Alone.