Summary

In a secret meeting requested by Elyan, he and Gwen confront each other over his anti-magic crusade.

Chapter 74 Blood and Belief

Elyan headed east through the deepening dusk with a knight's stealth, following the forest's overgrown path once used by Camelot soldiers – and a hundred years later – by two stubborn children repeatedly warned to avoid it by their father. Each step brought a fresh wave of memories – racing with Gwen up these same slopes, pretending to be legendary warriors as they chased each other through the trees. Now those innocent games felt like shards of broken glass in his mind, tearing through as he recalled how thoroughly he'd severed their bond.

His destination loomed ahead – the ruins of a relic from Camelot's distant past. The watchtower stood like a forgotten sentinel, its weathered stones holding memories of an era when their borders ended at this very spot. Once a vital part of Camelot's defenses, the tower had long since fallen into disrepair, its purpose diminishing as the kingdom expanded and new fortifications were built.

He'd arrived early, intending to position himself on the eastern side of the parapet where he could monitor the path from Camelot. As he approached, the circular structure rose from a base of moss-covered boulders, tree roots snaking between the stones like grasping fingers, though its walls remained thick and sturdy, unyielding to the cracks that webbed their surface. Narrow windows, little more than arrow slits, punctuated the tower at regular intervals, offering glimpses of the surrounding landscape. The door – oak reinforced with iron bands – sagged on corroded hinges, forcing Elyan to shoulder it open. He entered, the familiar mustiness of the tower's interior hitting him – cool stone sweating in the summer heat and the mineral tang of old mortar – so different from the clean, oiled-leather scent of the knights' quarters he'd left behind.

Reaching into the satchel strapped across his shoulder, Elyan retrieved flint and tinder. He struck sparks toward a rusted sconce he knew by memory, lighting the ancient torch still secured there. Flames leapt to life, forming shadows that splintered along the walls like reflections of his divided loyalties. As he turned, the torch illuminated the garrison chamber, sparse and hollow, the ghosts of men with purpose wisping amongst furnishings decayed by time and nature. Along the inner wall, the spiral staircase coiled upwards, its rusted ironworks beckoning in the light.

He moved about the rooms, forgotten contents long since removed or claimed by the elements. As he wandered, memories surfaced of hiding from Gwen in these very chambers, crouching behind disintegrated and dusty tapestries, stifling sneezes and giggles as she called his name, her voice echoing against stone walls that had witnessed their innocence. Now, part of him bristled at the subterfuge—of using this place—of the need to meet his own sister in secret. But he was a traitor. After all that had transpired between them, the angry words and broken trust, he knew an open reunion at the castle was impossible. At least for now.

Climbing the spiral steps, his torch revealed gouges and scratches where countless boots had passed before. At each turn, another memory surfaced – Gwen's triumphant laugh when she'd reach the top first, the way she'd help him up those last few steps – ever the protective sister. Arriving at the parapet entrance, he paused to light a rusted sconce fixed beside the doorway, ensuring a flame for his return.

The parapet still offered its commanding view: Camelot rising proud to the west, the Darkling Woods stretching beyond it. Villages scattered the landscape like fallen leaves, farmlands and cottages stitching together the kingdom's patchwork terrain. In the distance, newer watchtowers stood at attention along expanded borders, their solid silhouettes unmarred by time, their efficiency a silent reproach to this crumbling relic. He extinguished his torch, avoiding the chance of drawing their attention. But the sights no longer filled him with childish wonder. Instead, each familiar landmark stood as a boundary between the brother he'd been and the man he'd become.

The setting sun hung low, its dying light bathing the sky in amber as dusk approached. He navigated the debris as he moved toward the battlement overlooking the path from Camelot, his vision adjusting to the shifting light. A sudden chill careened up his spine.

Arthur's abduction had cracked his armor of righteousness, his yearning to see his sister driving him here, a brotherly instinct to offer what comfort he could. For all his bitter words about magic's corruption, the image of Gwen facing this crisis without him gnawed like the memory of abandoned vows.

He paced the parapet, scanning the paths below, eyes trained on the winding road that cut through the edge of the Forest of Escetir. Each shadow that lengthened across the treeline, the forest floor, parapet stones, drew his attention. As twilight deepened, he strained to see through the growing darkness. She would need a torch soon.

Movement caught his eye – a lone torch weaving through the trees along the expected path. Gwen was always punctual – even as children – and right on time, she appeared. His chest tightened at this gesture of trust, her honoring his request to come alone. Yet concern for her safety followed immediately. Traveling these woods unescorted was reckless, especially for a woman, more so for a queen. His fault – he shouldn't have demanded this.

"Why didn't I bring a crossbow?" he muttered, cursing his oversight. From this height, he could have provided protection across the entire approach. He kept vigilant watch as she navigated the stretch of path, his hand never straying far from his useless sword. Only when the bobbing torchlight reached the clearing before the tower did he finally move from his concealed position.

He scooped up his torch, cold in his hand, and slipped through the crumbling archway. Lighting it from the sconce he'd ignited upon his arrival, he descended the stairs, shielding the flame with care. Then he caught it, a whisper of fabric from below, stopping him mid-stride as he neared the bottom. His hand rested on his sword hilt with old instinct, knowing that it couldn't possibly be Gwen already.

Two familiar figures emerged from the shadows below. Percival aimed his sword at him while Merlin's palms faced outward, ready, both men shifting to opposite sides of him.

"What is this?' The words scraped from Elyan's throat as he took those last steps to reach the solid ground, sweat breaking across his brow. His fingers tightened around his weapon still in its scabbard.

"The consequence of your actions." Gwen emerged from the shadows near the door. In the flickering torchlight, her silent judgment chilled the space between them, her stance that of a queen facing an enemy rather than a sister greeting her brother.

The knight in him recognized the tactic – the torch he'd spotted approaching had been a decoy. Gwen had been hiding all along, waiting for him, watching to see if he'd honor her request to come alone. The decoy gave them enough time to enter the building and secure their positions within. The thought pricked at his pride, yet he couldn't fault her caution. After all, hadn't Arthur trained her in the arts of strategy himself?

Gwen advanced, each step purposeful. "You've betrayed your king, your fellow knights, and your own blood. Did you truly expect no reckoning?" The queen in her face eclipsed any trace of sister. "Arrest him, Sir Percival."

"Wait. Listen." Elyan glanced at his once-friends, pulse quickening as he assessed forces, scrambled for leverage. His hand twitched on his sword, but he knew it was futile. He was outmatched and outmaneuvered, trapped like a fox in a snare. "If you arrest me, remove me from the city, my followers—"

"Your followers?" The words fell between them, laden with contempt, disbelief widening her eyes. "So you are responsible for spreading fear across the city."

"I am," he replied unflinchingly, reading every hard line in his sister's glare – they were both beyond the point of denial. "My friends will see this as provocation and rise up. The civil war you fear will become reality. Is that what you want?"

Gwen's jaw tightened. She glanced at Merlin, whose features hardened with hostility.

"He may be right," Percival said. "Between Arthur's disappearance and the anti-magic sentiment, the towns teeter on the edge, my queen."

My queen. Elyan bristled at Percival's tone, the honorific somehow grating despite the knight's consistent use of Gwen's title, even in private. He stepped forward, forcing Percival and Merlin to adjust their stance.

"My followers won't stop at words," he said, voice dropping, the torchlight in his hand revealing the growing tension in their faces. "They've targeted the druids, Gwen. I've held them back, but remove me, and you'll be responsible for what could follow."

"What?" Merlin surged forward, fury clear on his features, but Gwen raised a hand, restraining him.

"Why did you summon me here." Her words carried no warmth of kinship, only the measured tone of a monarch addressing a potential threat. "Speak."

Elyan fought to keep his voice steady under her scrutiny, unable to discern his big sister from the queen – both had a way of putting him in his place. "I had to see you—I heard about Arthur. I'm so sorry, Gwen. Is there any news?"

Given their estranged relations and his actions since his departure, he wondered if Gwen would reveal such diplomatic details to a traitor and instigator. She studied him with that same deliberate consideration he'd seen her use in court when citizens brought their disputes before her, balancing each party's claims before rendering a decision.

"Many search for him," she replied, the brevity itself a warning.

Yes, Elyan thought. There she was – the queen.

"But we both know you didn't risk meeting me in secret just to offer condolences."

"That's part of it," he admitted. "I am concerned." A step toward her, his grip tight on the torch. His eyes flicked to Percival's sword lifting slightly in response, and Merlin's fingers tensing, before returning to his sister's. "I know things between us are strained, but you're still my sister, and Arthur is family. I mean it –my love for you has never changed—you must know that."

"Love?" Her voice turned brittle. "You speak of love after what you've done? Your leaflets are spreading fear throughout our city, besmirching our king and his purpose." She drew herself up, shaking her head. "But the venom you hurl is also aimed at me. Why? Why this?"

All he'd seen was the crown when he started this crusade, and at the time, both she and Arthur were in his sights. As much as it pained him, it was too late to separate them now. "People need to see the dangers of sorcery, Gwen."

"They know, Elyan—we all know." The first words of gentleness since their confrontation. "Who in this kingdom hasn't been touched by magic?" She pressed a hand against her belly as she seemed to wrestle with herself before making a decision. "Despite everything, you're still my blood. Still Arthur's family."

"Gwen, don't," Merlin interjected. "We can't trust him."

Gwen considered Merlin's warning, taking a moment to search the eyes of her men. "He's my brother and has a right to know." She looked at Elyan. "I'll share what little we've learned about Arthur in the strictest confidence. Do I have your word that what I'm about to say will remain in this room? That some fragment of honor remains in you?"

Elyan hesitated, conflict churning, his duty to his cause struggling against what remained of fraternal loyalty. A word given to Gwen had once been unbreakable between them—before magic had carved this chasm. This information would be invaluable to his followers, a weapon for their mission. A silent breath caught as he gave the slightest movement of his head, the gesture so minimal it could be interpreted however she wished.

Gwen lifted her chin. "We know rumors are spreading about sorcerers' involvement in Arthur's abduction, though our efforts to contain them seemed to have failed. But it's true. Mordred and a sorcerer named Dodd have taken him. There's been no ransom, no leads, and only God knows what they may be doing to him… if he still lives."

Incredulity flashed across Elyan's face, followed swiftly by anger.

"Dodd was a follower of Morgana," Gwen continued, her voice dropping as she revealed the sensitive intelligence. "And Mordred had attempted to free her during her execution. We believe he sees this as retribution for dethroning and attempting to exact justice upon her. If Arthur's capture is the beginning of something larger, we don't know."

"Don't you see?" he exclaimed, feeling vindicated. "This proves everything I've warned against. The people will rise up—"

"You gave your word," Gwen cut in, closing the distance between them until she stood in front of him.

"I made no promises," he responded, knowing his non-committal nod had left him open to options.

He expected her to strike him—it wouldn't be the first time—for his dishonor quite deserved her retaliation. Instead, Gwen's breathing quickened, her mouth clamped in a thin line. "You mustn't reveal this information. It could spark revolution. Is that what you want?"

He turned from that penetrating stare – the same look she'd used since childhood, now sharpened by a queen's authority and more painful that a blow across the cheek. His hand dragged across his brow as he faced the tower wall.

"Elyan." Her voice softened but lost none of its authority. He turned to her, feeling all the more the younger brother about to be schooled on his own folly. "My husband – your king – is in danger. We don't need reminders of evil's existence. Your words sow discord and fear, not truth or justice. Do not think me blind to magic's dangers, to how the corrupted twists its power for harm."

Wisdom he wasn't ready to hear nor errors that needn't be laid bare. Elyan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Gwen. The people deserve to know of this real threat to Arthur. I won't—"

"What of the sorcerers who've defended Camelot?" she asked. "The ones who do so now?"

"I only champion truth, sister. Someone must stand against this madness before—"

"Before what? Before peace has a chance? Before understanding can grow?"

Elyan paced a tight circle, torch held low, its flame painting erratic patterns against the tower's weathered stones. "You don't see it, Gwen. You're too close to Arthur, to Merlin—to all of it. The throne has wrapped you in its politics until you can't see the danger anymore." A flicker of regret crossed his face as Gwen's regal composure faltered for the first time, pain briefly surfacing above her royal mask.

He glanced away, moistening his lips, knowing that he hadn't truly answered her question—that he'd never apologized for his actions. "How far away is peace for any of us, Gwen? Growth requires pain—yours from Arthur's absence, mine from the nathair's bite. Some lessons can only be learned through suffering – I stand by my beliefs." He moved to her, his shadow falling over her. "But I've realized that I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment. Causing you pain was never my intent."

Gwen was silent, haunting like shadows caught in the razor's edge between memory and forgetting. The tower's ancient stones seemed to exhale with her, her fingers tracing an absent pattern against her stomach—a gesture he wasn't used to seeing her do. Indeed, she'd press her hand there occasionally when contemplating, but now it seemed to mean something more – somehow protective.

"Despite our differences," she said, her voice worn smooth as river stone, "I never thought I'd see the day when my own brother would turn against me so viciously, discarding everything we hold dear. How could you, Elyan? How could you betray me like this?"

Shame scraped raw inside him, a wound reopened by her words. The fury that had once blazed between them now smoldered to embers, leaving only the ashen taste of regret. "I felt betrayed from the moment we learned of Merlin's and Arthur's magic, and you became the target of my... rage at that unfortunate moment. I wasn't ready to hear your side then. But now I am. Help me understand, Gwen. Why do you trust magic when we were raised to fear it?"

His sister waited, taking more time to reflect as she watched him, her hands once again pressing against her stomach. A soft sigh, then quietly, she began. As she recounted magic saving Arthur's life, Elyan glanced at Merlin, whose usually cheerful face remained grave, his eyes never leaving Elyan's. When she spoke of sorcerers proving themselves allies, Percival's solemn nod confirmed the truth of her words.

She continued with her own encounters—times when magic had also protected rather than threatened, healed rather than harmed, each reminder hitting its mark. He'd known about most of her trials but had chosen to forget, letting bitterness blind him. Now, witnessing the conviction in his sister's bearing and the silent affirmation from men he'd once called brothers, doubt crept in like rising floodwater. Had he been wrong? Was there more complexity to this than his anger had allowed him to see?

"Think about what I've shared with you," Gwen said, her voice gentler. "Question if there's another way. Your silence could save Arthur's life. Your rhetoric could end it."

Elyan bowed his head, her solemn declaration dawning on him slowly, confusing him now, forcing him to examine his own decisions and beliefs. "I must go," he said hoarsely, unable to truly look at any of them. "I must think. But I promise you, Gwen, I will do my best to understand your viewpoint, even if I may not ultimately agree with it. I love Camelot—I don't want to see it suffer. Or Arthur, if that means anything to you."

The ancient door creaked open and Fredrick entered, sword in one hand, torch in the other. The decoy, Elyan recalled with a bitter scoff. The torch he'd spotted from the parapet—the bait that had kept him upstairs while they positioned themselves here to corner him. Fredrick moved to Gwen's side, his weathered face impassive as he lowered his torch to a sconce.

"Your orders, Gwen?" Percival's voice carried years of authority despite his recent appointment. "We can't just let him go and keep poisoning minds against us."

The condemnation in Percival's tone struck deep, Elyan clearly hearing "traitor" in his former comrade's words. He remembered that same judgment earned when he'd abandoned Gwen to face exile alone after the Lancelot affair. Percival, with his bedrock faith in family bonds, had eventually forgiven that betrayal. Now here they stood again, with Elyan turning from his sister in another crisis.

He pushed down the taste of "enemy" on his tongue and met Percival's stare. "You have no choice," he said, voice taut. "Unless you plan to raid every home in the towns to find my friends and stop their push forward – and I know you won't do that, Gwen."

Her glare sent him rocking back on his heels. Again, he faced the queen of Camelot, not his gentle, older sister. This was a sovereign who had maintained her authority throughout their encounter, revealing information not from weakness but from calculated strategy that he'd thwarted. He knew challenging her further was futile. He lifted his palms in a submissive gesture, the torch clattering to the ground, his glance shifting between the men who surrounded him.

"I can offer something. I won't stop—" He steadied himself. "I may not stop the flow of our pen, but I can ease its bite."

"Your half-measures are not enough to undo this damage," she snapped. "I expect more from you, Elyan."

"That's all I have." His words landed like stones. "The best I can do."

Gwen turned away, his rejection conveyed in the set of her shoulders.

"There are many who believe as I do," he continued, determination hardening his expression. "I can't fail them now."

Merlin stepped forward, his voice cold and severe. "Spreading fear and threatening innocent people isn't noble, Elyan. It's destruction. What you're doing is wrong."

Elyan's jaw clenched. "The danger is real, Merlin. Magic has destroyed as much as it's built. My methods may seem harsh, but someone must stand vigilant."

"You speak of danger," Percival said, his voice filling the chamber. "I've seen both sides of this coin. We both have."

Elyan turned to face his former brother-in-arms, their shared history wrapped around them both like a serpent awakened.

"My faith—our faith—teaches caution, yes," Percival continued, lowering his sword slightly. Elyan scowled at the presumption, but he didn't interrupt. "I spoke truthfully concerning a woman of magic just hours ago, tempting her man to anger. I wasn't judging her as he'd thought—I was merely voicing the conflict that her choices presented. Elyan… it isn't my place to condemn sorcerers." His demeanor softened. "Just as it's not my place to judge Merlin."

Though Percival protected the identity of this woman and man well, Elyan knew he spoke of Gwaine and Lady Yaminah Zahir, the noble he'd fallen in love with. Fresh rumors about her had already reached him – that she, too, was sorcerer coming into her power.

"How can a man of principle stand beside sorcery?" Elyan challenged, fearing more of their kind would be revealed in the coming days, months ahead, poisoning Camelot's legacy with their magics, no matter their social position or religious faith.

"I stand with a man whose deeds I've witnessed firsthand." Percival took a step closer, this time lowering his weapon. "You've been friends with him longer than I. Has he ever given you reason to doubt his character?"

Elyan's gaze found Merlin, their experiences as friends running through his mind. His words about magic not being evil – that it's the heart of the man who wields, rang clear, being true yet also justified his means.

"I know that magic doesn't corrupt them all," he said finally, though this conviction made his voice waver. He looked at his sister. "But these exceptions blind you to the real threat. For every Merlin, how many others plot in shadow? You're being misled—allowing the corrupt ones to freely spin their magic in the darkness. I fear for what they've already done to Arthur."

The moments stretched, the shadow of grief in her expression. "What of Arthur?" she asked. "What will you do with what I've told you?"

He stared at her – knew his word meant nothing to her now. "I can't guarantee silence… I'm sorry."

Gwen's glower was sharp and unforgiving, as if she were trying to cut through the stranger she saw before her and find the brother she once knew. Her eyes weighed his words, his character, his very place in her world before she nodded. "I see. You may go. But know this – when this crisis has passed, you'll have the full weight of the crown upon you. Do you understand?"

Elyan swallowed the dread creeping up his throat, his voice barely above a whisper as he replied, "I understand."

With a final, warning glare, Gwen turned and strode out of the tower, Fredrick's heavy tread following close behind. Percival and Merlin lingered, raking him over with cold scrutiny.

Percival came closer, looming like a mountain, his massive frame blocking any retreat. "Don't make us regret this," he cautioned, his blue eyes a storm of disapproval.

Merlin didn't move, yet his quiet voice carried unmistakable power. "From the moment you found out about my magic, you've made it clear how you felt about me. I don't care about that, Elyan. But if you or your followers hurt Gwen, you'll have to deal with me."

A cold sweat broke out on Elyan's brow as he looked at Merlin, whose intensity seemed to burn straight through him. Then they too, were gone, leaving him alone in the shadows.

The stillness engulfed him, pressing against his ears until he could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing. Elyan slid down the wall, his legs no longer willing to support him. Relief at his escape pierced with a hollowness where family should be, a familiar ache of isolation settling in his chest. Whatever remained of his bond with Gwen departed with her, her condemnation, and the men loyal to her.

He'd begun this campaign against magic with such certainty. But now, with his sister's anguish laid bare and his former brothers' intimidations ringing through the empty tower, doubt crept in like the roots undermining this outpost's walls. Abandoned again—first by his father's execution, now by his own choices. Why had he allowed terror and rage to guide his hand when reason and family should have instead?

The nathair's bite flared at his neck—that pain still real, still justifying everything he'd done… Yet Gwen's own experiences kept returning: she too had suffered at magic's hand and hadn't surrendered to fear. Was he a weak coward?

Elyan realized he was shivering, though whether from the tower's damp chill or the aftermath of confrontation, he couldn't tell. His mouth had gone dry, thoughts scattered like leaves in a windstorm as he tried to focus. He dragged a trembling hand across his face, feeling the cold sweat that had gathered there.

Only after several deep breaths did he banish these doubts. To falter now would betray not only those who followed him, but the truth he couldn't deny. He'd felt magic's corruption firsthand—it had nearly destroyed him and now threatened Camelot like a gathering tempest, whether his sister could see it or not. With this conviction renewed, he pushed himself to his feet, scooping up his fallen torch in the rise. Whatever the cost, he would continue.