Family Tree Part III
-oOo- Morgana -oOo-
The first night I willingly took the stronger sleeping remedy to ward off the impossible dreams that had developed the disturbing trend of playing out during my waking hours, Arthur was fourteen and I was a moon's turn shy of sixteen. It was also the first time I realized I might be different.
I swept into Arthur chambers as if I owned them because, well, I am the Lady of Camelot.
When I entered, Arthur twitched awake from a daydream. "What do you want?"
"To visit Lady Elsa," I announced.
"Elsa's locked up in a dungeon cell."
I stamped my foot. "I know that."
"Then you know father's forbidden it."
"I don't care about what he's forbidden," I replied.
"I do."
Just because the man is king does not make everything he does right and good and golden. My own father used to tell me that Uther was king, but he was also a fallible man. "Come on, Arthur, it will be fun," I cajoled.
"No," he replied. Turning away, Arthur propped his chin on his palm, resolutely ignoring me, and returned to his reading.
"No one will know. It will be just like the time we snuck into Gaius's storeroom and stole the dye and put in the-"
"I said no. I'm studying."
I huffed and snatched the quill off his desk. Arthur's glare said he was using that, but he did not voice an objection. I peered over Arthur's shoulder. He was reading a dreadfully boring book. I knew it was boring because the print was tiny and there were no pictures.
"What are you reading?" I asked, trying a different approach.
"A book."
"But you hate reading."
Arthur turned the page as a reply.
"What's it about?" I rumpled the barbs of the feather down the wrong way. Broken and frayed, the feather's bristles were scattered every which way.
"Battle tactics." He turned another page.
I smoothed the feather plume back together and it was like nothing had ever been broken. The very fact that it had been in disarray was a secret only it and I shared.
Arthur flipped the page for a third time. There was no way he could have read the text that fast. I reached out with the very tip of the feather and tickled Arthur underneath the chin.
Annoyed, he batted it away. "Don't you have needlework or flower arrangement or somethin' bloody well else that you can do away from my chambers?" Page four met page three.
"I have no studies because my teacher is in the dungeons. Do you think she deserves to die?"
"Father says-"
I snorted, most unladylike. "I know what Uther says. Have an independent thought for once in your life, Arthur."
He gaped at me like a stupid trout just off a line. "Bbbbut…"
"But, but, but, but what?" I mocked him.
"But she's a sorceress!"
"She's the closest thing we have to a mother."
"She used magic."
"Says some smelly, old potter. I don't believe it's true. You saw him at court when he made the accusation-all clay-stained cloak and half starved. He hadn't washed in months. Since when is the word of a commoner worth more than the word of a knight's wife?"
"You know the law."
"Won't you come with me and ask her if it true?"
I waited while Arthur pretended to read some more. Page five. Page six. Page seven.
I didn't fiddle with the feather. I didn't fidget. I just waited patiently. Arthur had the eighth page between his fingers ready to flip, when he looked at me instead. "Why do you really want to visit Elsa?"
"To prove she's innocent."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What else, Morgana?"
I hadn't counted on Arthur figuring that out. He's a boy and a fool most of the time, but he does suss secrets out occasionally. "If she's going to die, I want to at the very least say goodbye."
"You want to ask her about your mother, too?"
My treacherous eyes watered. I blinked the stupid tears away. It would not do for a Lady to bawl and cry. "You can ask about your mother as well," I said. "Wouldn't you like to know more?"
"No."
"Aren't you the least bit curious?"
"Not anymore."
How typical of Arthur to keep his head buried in the clouds instead of learning something useful.
"Arthur, please." I could beg if I wanted to. Though I made sure to stand; it was beneath me to beg on my knees. "We've known Lady Elsa all of our lives."
"Father will find out."
"No he won't."
I tickled the length of his arm with the feather.
"Cut it out!"
"Make me."
He lunged out of the chair and grabbed for the feather. I snatched it out of his reach. He charged towards me and I led him on a merry chase about the room-we dodged about the table, we wheeled around the candle stand, we avoided the pile of armor stacked in the corner.
I skidded to a stop in front of the window, lost a slipper, and then darted sharply right instead of smashing into the glass pane. Racing past the table again, I knocked two chairs down in my wake and tossed my second shoe at Arthur in the hopes of stalling his attack.
It didn't. Arthur bounded over the fallen chairs easily.
The bed was my undoing.
I leapt on it, but my feet sunk in the mattress instead of springing up like a trampoline. Balance deserted me and I landed on my stomach with an oomph.
Instead of following me Arthur scrambled around the other side of the bed and cut me off when I got to all fours. Escape was futile and Arthur plucked the feather right out of my hand.
Quill held high, there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Oh, no you don't."
"Turn about's fair play, Morgana." He crawled up the bed towards me.
"You better not."
"Make me." He threw my own words back at me.
I crab-walked towards the headboard, but my skirts and the sheets conspired against me. My feet were snared in the coverlet.
Arthur grabbed for one of my ankles, held it firm, and pushed the blanket aside.
I squirmed as the feather inched closer and closer to the naked arch of my foot. A split second before the first brush tickled, I yanked at the pillow over my head and tossed it right at Arthur.
It was a direct hit!
The pillow bounced off of his chest and landed in the space between us, I managed to snatch my foot away. Arthur sat on his haunches with a stunned expression for a moment and then very, very slowly lifted the pillow back up.
He looked at it, he looked and me, and then back at the pillow.
It was an all out war.
Arthur swatted me with his pillow. I grabbed another weapon and bashed him over the head. He retaliated with a blow to my side. I rolled over onto my stomach to avoid a jab at my shoulder.
I wasn't quick enough spinning back and Arthur's next swing landed.
I shrieked when it did.
I pummeled Arthur over and over again. He did the same.
I only managed to avoid every third or fourth blow. One of the ones I successfully managed to dodge missed me and Arthur's pillow smashed against the bedpost. When it did small, white feathers broke through the pillow case and flew about us.
My own pillow broke two blows later-over Arthur's stubbornly hard head.
By the time both our pillows had gone flat, we lay side by side crosswise on the bed, panting at the curtained canopy of the four-poster. Both of us had to spit feathers out of our mouth.
We couldn't help but laugh.
"There's something…." Arthur trailed off.
I felt the bed shift and Arthur held up the quill for me to see. The feather's spine had bent and the top-half angled pathetically to one side.
"That was brand new," Arthur complained.
"You can always get a new one."
He chucked the quill over the side of the bed. I didn't hear it land. "You're right. At least my quill isn't the only causality."
"Huh?"
He pointed. "Your sleeve."
I craned my neck down to see. At some point during our fight, my right sleeve had separated from the shoulder of my dress at the seam.
"Now I'm going to have to fix it."
"Get some servant to mend it," Arthur replied flippantly. "That's what they're there for."
"Which explains why you can't keep a steady servant for more than six months."
"Justin's working out nicely."
"He left a fortnight ago."
"He did?"
"You didn't notice?"
He shook his head. "No."
Typical male arroga-no, typical Arthur arrogance. He deserved to be in a class by himself. I gave him a withering glare, or at least I hope it was. Tough to see my face since Arthur doesn’t bother to keep a mirror in the pigsty he calls his rooms. Come to think of it, my hair was probably also in complete disarray.
"Servants aren't friends, Morgana. They do what we bid. It's not my responsibility to keep track of them. Hang on, Justin brought me breakfast."
"That would have been Michael."
"Michael? Who's Michael?"
"Your new manservant." I rolled my eyes and sat up to examine the tear on my dress. As I fingered the fabric, it became obvious that it was more than just a rip. The silk had frayed in such a way that sewing it together was going to be nigh impossible.
"Uggg, Arthur, you prat. No maid is going to be able to fix it. You ruined my dress. You ruined it!"
"You can always get a new one."
Arthur reached up, grabbed my sleeve at the wrist, and pulled.
"Stop it!" I gasped.
He chuckled instead of stopping and the fabric ripped completely apart. The remains of my sleeve slithered down my arm like a snake.
"You said it was ruined. How could I ruin it even more?"
I whacked him with the remains of the sleeve. "You should buy me a new one."
"Me? Why me? You started it." He flung his empty pillow case at me.
"'Cause now you owe me."
"Fine," Arthur said, sighing. "I'll buy you a new dress."
"And what if I don't want a new dress?"
"What do you want?"
I bit my lip to keep giddy laughter from escaping. I'd won.
"A bet," I replied.
He narrowed his eyes. "What are the terms?"
"I wager you're too chicken to defy Uther."
"I'm not."
I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Then prove it. Distract the guards, so I can visit with Elsa. If you can't, then you will buy me a nice, new feast day dress."
"Those are the most expensive."
"Those are my terms."
"What do I get if I prove you wrong?"
"What do you want?"
He shoved himself to his feet and mulled the question over for several seconds. Coming to a decision, he pushed himself upright. "If I prove I'm not a coward, then you will agree that you've never bested me in a sword fight."
I arched a brow. "That's all?"
"You will never mention it again. It will be like it never happened."
"Deal."
Boys and their too easily wounded pride. I offered my hand to seal the pact. "Would you rather sit here and read about tactics, or actually use them?"
"Deal," he echoed and we shook on it.
In all the years that followed, much to Arthur's dismay and frustration, this was the only silk dress bet that I lost.
Personally, I considered it a victory.
-oOo-
"Ector?" Elsa called out as I snuck into the dungeon. "Is that you?"
"No, it's me," I said removing my hood and lowering the torch in front of me so Elsa could see my face in the gloom of room.
"Morgana, darling," Elsa said as she got up from the pile of straw and hobbled to the iron bars. Even in shackles she moved with a grace and a dignity I could never duplicate. "You shouldn't be here."
"I wanted to see you."
"It's late, you should be asleep."
"Don't worry." I gestured back towards the door. "Arthur's taken care of the guards. He'll let us know if anyone is coming."
"The Prince is involved in this little adventure?"
I nodded, settling the torch in the bracket.
"Heavens help me," she groaned. "If you're caught, I'd never forgive myself."
I put my hands on the bars and leaned as close as I could. "I had to come," I said, the words tumbling out like madness. "I wanted to tell you that I know it's a lie," I insisted. "I know about the feud between the potter's son and Kay. He's doing this to hurt you and I just can't stand it. So, I know it's a lie."
"Morgana."
"I know you didn't use magic like he said. I know you couldn't. Wouldn't. I'll go to the king and tell him otherwise. I can do it."
"Morgana," she caught my hands on the iron bars. "Calm down."
"I'm his ward, Uther will listen to me. I know he will."
"I can't ask you do that."
"Why not?"
"Because it would be a lie."
"You're… you're a…." I couldn't even say it aloud.
"I'm a witch."
"No!"
"It's not a slur, Morgana. I'm proud of who I am."
I banged my hands on the bars as I jerked away from her touch.
No. No. No. No. No. "You're not. Take it back." I couldn't believe that this was happening. I cradled my injured hand to my chest. My knuckles were bleeding.
"I'm the same Elsa you've always known."
"I know you are!"
That took Elsa aback. "You're not upset about the fact that I'm a witch?"
"I…" I wasn't. Oddly enough. Not like Uther has schooled me and Arthur to be.
"What are you afraid of, Morgana?"
I bit my lip to keep from sobbing. "Everyone I love leaves me. My father died and I couldn't bare it if you did. I don't want you to die."
"I'm not going to die. You needn't be in distress. Will you believe me?"
"I will."
"Good," Elsa said. "Now, let me see your knuckles."
Gingerly, I held my hand out for her.
"Ic i gelácne," she intoned.
I felt the magic surge through me. It felt warm, tingly like a clean scrubbing in a hot bath. For that brief moment, I was light and powerful, instead of skulking in the dark. I wanted more.
"Can you teach me to do that?" I asked, in awe.
"There is some magic that can be taught and some that can't."
Disappointed that I would never feel magic again, I frowned. "So you can't teach me."
"There's so much I should have told you, child," Elsa continued and cupped my face with her hands. "I should have taught you. I so am sorry for that."
"Elsa, you have nothing to be sorry about."
Elsa rubbed my cheek with her thumb. "Oh, but I did so much wrong."
"No, you didn't."
"Morgana, hush, now's not the time to argue. I can't correct everything, but I can…. Gaius, forgive me." Elsa took her palm away from my face and folded her hands together. I missed the warmth. "Did you dream last night?"
"I didn't," I fibbed. I pulled away from Elsa and took two steps back.
"You know my private secret," she told me. "You can trust me with yours."
"It was a nightmare. I don't want to remember it."
"You must."
"It was dark. There was a cave and I held a burning torch. Fire swirled everywhere about me, another woman, and three men."
"Who were they?"
"Their faces were blurry." One might have been Arthur, but I wasn't going to admit that to anyone, not even to Elsa. I dream of Arthur too often. I hate dreaming of Arthur.
Arthur with a sword.
Arthur without a sword.
Arthur in a lake.
Arthur climbing a winding staircase.
Why don't I ever dream of me? I want to do heroic things too. "All I know is I hated them. I wanted the men dead."
"What else?"
"The other woman. She hated them more than I did."
"Was there anything else in this dream?"
"There was a tree. A big beautiful tree," I told her. That was the only part of the dream that hadn't left me unsettled. It reminded me of my father.
"Oh, Morgana, you are more like your mother than you could possibly know."
I was profoundly insulted. "My mother left my father for a common farmer." She ran away. I don't run from things.
"I know that's what we told you, but it's not true."
"It isn't?"
"None of it."
"She's alive?"
"Not anymore. A mother will do anything for a child, or for a sister. Die if need be. One day, you will understand. I need you to promise me something, Morgana."
Head spinning with this new revelation, I would have promised her that the moon and the stars shined brightest at midday. "Anything."
"Never tell anyone of this dream. Do you understand? It will be our last secret."
"I won't."
"You need to take Gaius's remedy and everything will be fine. You will be safe. Now promise."
"I promise."
Arthur bumbled into the room before I could ask anything more about my mother. "Quick, we have to leave. Someone's coming!"
"One more minute," I snapped at him.
"We don't have another minute." He clamped my wrist and begun to drag me away.
"Wait."
Out of long habit, we both obeyed Elsa.
"I have something that I'd like to give you." Elsa slid the ring off of her finger and wormed her hand out between the iron bars.
I came forward to take it, but Elsa shook her head. "It's not for you. It's for Arthur."
That stung.
Arthur inched forward and held his hand out under Elsa's. She dropped the ring into Arthur's open palm.
"This was once your mother's."
"My mother's?" Arthur's eyes went big and round.
"Ygraine wore it all the time," she told Arthur. "Vivienne, Morgana's mother," Elsa glanced at me, "made it so it would protect the wearer from all harm. I kept it to remind myself of my two best friends."
Ever so slowly Arthur clenched his fist around it.
"Wear it," Elsa told him. "And remember your mother loved you."
"Thank you," Arthur said, choking back tears. "I will."
"Do you believe in magic?" Elsa asked Arthur.
"No."
"One day you will." She smiled softly. "Now go."
The thud of approaching footfalls said we'd lingered too long in making our escape.
Then there were voices.
"Father, there are no guards."
"Damn thing's already opened-" a man said.
Arthur gallantly pushed me behind him and we huddled up against the wall, but there was nothing to hide behind. My pulse hammered in my chest as the door creaked open and two black shadows appeared in the doorway.
The shadows dissolved into Sir Ector and his son, Kay.
"Elsa, what are they doing here?" Sir Ector asked.
There was the ring of steel being drawn and both Arthur and Kay squared off against each other.
"It's all right, my love. Morgana wanted to say goodbye."
"My prince, my lady," Sir Ector greeted them gruffly. "You should be abed."
Realization dawned. "You're here to break her out," I said.
Sir Ector grunted in reply. "Sheath your swords, boys."
Kay did. Arthur didn't.
"Arthur, you best be putting that away," Sir Ector warned.
Arthur kept the weapon out.
Sir Ector pointedly ignored the sword point directed right at him and dug a ring of keys out of his jacket and tossed them to Kay.
"Unlock the door," he ordered his son.
"You can't do that," Arthur protested. His balance wobbled.
"Is that so? Seems to me I can."
"I'm…" Arthur's voice gave out momentarily. He gulped, but stubbornly continued on. "I'm going to stop you."
"No, you're not. You're not because I've taken strides over the years to teach you the difference between right and wrong. This." He pointed at Elsa. "Is wrong."
Arthur, finally, sheathed his sword.
"Good. We don't have all night, Kay."
Kay did as he was bid and a key-turn later the cell door squeaked open. The sound was so loud that I feared even the king, three stories above, could have heard. The sleeping guards should have heard that for sure, but no guards came rushing in.
Elsa stepped out of the cell a free woman.
"Kay, give the keys to Arthur. He can put them where they belong tomorrow morning. No one will be any wiser."
Arthur accepted the keys from his best friend. "How will you know I won't mention it was you?" Arthur asked Sir Ector.
"Same reason you put away your sword. Besides when we're all gone and when the sun comes up on a new day, the king'll know I'm no Gorlois."
"What did my father do?" I spoke up.
When Sir Ector declined to answer Elsa did. "Once upon a time, there-"
"We don't have time for a tale, Elsa." Sir Ector warned her.
"For this one we do," she told her husband. "Listen," Elsa addressed me.
And Arthur.
"Once upon a time there were two sisters and a brother. They were from a powerful family of nobles who were well loved by the people of their manor.
"The eldest girl caught the eye of a nearby lord and later she became his wife even though her passion for him wasn't as strong as it should be. She married out of duty.
"The middle sister came to court with her sister and the lord to meet the king. The young king was utterly enchanted with her. She married out of love.
"It was all too good to last because the queen failed to produce an heir. The elder sister sacrificed everything-children, love, and her life-to give her sister and the king the son they craved. Full of pride, she dreamed the future, chose her path, and when it was too late, she couldn't turn back. That was your mother, Morgana." Elsa told me. "Everything revolves around family. Never forget that."
"That's a true story?" Arthur asked.
"All the best stories are," she replied.
"That would make the middle daughter my mother, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, Arthur. Your mother was the queen."
"What does that have to do with my father, Gorlois?" I asked.
"He got caught in the crossfire between Vivienne and Uther. Don't make the same mistake, my lady."
Arthur and Kay bid each other goodbye, while Elsa kissed me on both cheeks. I hugged her tightly so she couldn't pull away quickly. "I'll miss you." I choked out.
"Miss you too, 'Gana."
"I don't want this to be goodbye."
"We'll see each other again," she assured me, patting my back. I was sure it was just a hollow, empty promise.
"It's time," Sir Ector interrupted so we had to pull apart.
The torchlight made the tears on Elsa's cheeks glisten. She gave me one more sad smile and then curtsied for Arthur. "I am your servant."
"Go before I change my mind."
And with that Ector and Kay ushered Elsa from the room.
As Arthur and I climbed the staircases back to our separate chambers, I could hear the keys jangle against Arthur's new ring in his pocket.
I uncorked the stronger of the two sleeping drafts Gaius regularly prepared for me, but even that couldn't keep clanging bells from waking me up at midnight. The castle went into pandemonium, and a guard was posted at my chamber door to keep me "safe".
The next morning Sir Ector, Elsa, and Kay were gone; their names never to be uttered in Uther's presence again. The morning after that, a blacksmith's daughter named Gwen was hired to be my maidservant. She wasn't Elsa, but she did grow to be my best friend.
The night after that, and for all of the nights to follow, I dreamt nightmares of blood, fire, death, and worst of all-magic.
I didn't sleep well again until Morgause gifted me with my mother's bracelet.
-oOo- Arthur -oOo-
When Arthur raps three times in quick succession on Gaius's door, there is no answer. He even goes so far as to jimmy the door handle, but locked, it does not budge.
"Come on, Gaius," Arthur mutters to himself, "you said you'd be here." Nothing seems to be going his way tonight.
He pounds on the door, much louder this time. There is no movement from inside and Arthur rests his head on the grain of the door. Just when he starts to believe that crawling into a whimpering ball on the floor to wait is his best option going forward, the bolt on the other side turns and Gaius beckons Arthur into the room.
"Sire, I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"I've come for the Tree of Life."
"Let me get it."
When Gaius heads up the small staircase towards the back room, Arthur is incredulous. "You're storing a priceless magical artifact that can destroy the kingdom in Merlin's bedroom?"
Gaius pauses on the second stair, turns, and calmly raises an eyebrow. "Would you think to look there?"
"No.
"Then there's no place safer."
"I've searched it once before. I've no desire to do so again."
"Quite." Gaius opens the door just wide enough to slip through and closes it behind him.
While he waits for Gaius to return, Arthur spies several heavy tomes on the workspace next to him. They have titles like The Past and Future History of the Druids, The Prophesy of Magic, Magic in Albion, and Magic's Return.
He knows his father grants Gaius special permission to review texts on magic to research against it, but Arthur had never seen one for himself.
After a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder at Merlin's closed bedroom door, Arthur flips opens the cover of the topmost banned book. It is the Return one that catches his eye because the gold-leaf calligraphy of the "M" is overly ornate, worthy of kings. There are sketches of a tree, a chalice, and a ring on the title page.
He thumbs randomly though the pages and when they flop open to a creased page near the middle, he cannot help but skim the text.
…ultimate power over the life and death… a scion of the royal house of… blah… blah… blah… herald the coming… golden age of Albion… blah… blah… blah-d-blah… blessed by the love found in the Ring of Life… their enemy pour water from the Cup of Life… plant the Tree of Life.... The branches… blah-blah… and ensure magic's reign.
It is clearly the mind numbingly dull treatise Gaius uncovered in preparation for that morning's council meeting. At least the passages are not poorly rhymed.
He flips to the next page and find lists and lists of phrases he cannot understand. Although they twist and trip his tongue, he sounds out some of the foreign words under his breath-lif, æsc, calic, and béag.
Bebeode thae áplante, forþgelæde, ond wite.
Æðeling forþframaþ.
Shit!
Arthur slams the book shut, realizing what he is pronouncing.
These are spells!
What if he just cast a horrible demon into existence, cursed all of Camelot, accidentally killed his father, or hexed his balls off.
Calm down, he tells himself, you have no magic. It is absurd to think you could cast a spell even if you wanted. Yet he still surreptitiously adjusts himself. Just to be sure. He breathes a sigh of relief when everything is present and accounted for and-ahem-in perfect working order.
Yeah, okay, he needs to distract himself, preferably with something that would bore him into a stupor.
He settles on taking an inventory of Gaius's main work bench. It is littered with paraphernalia-bowls, mortars, pestles, measuring spoons, lit candles, pitchers, beakers, decanters, dozens and dozens of vials. One of the larger vials is directly underneath a candle and a bright blue substance bubbles in the heat. There are also big jars, little jars, jars made of clay, jars of glass, empty jars, jars filled with suspicious looking liquids, jars filled with dried herbs and berries-foxglove, feverfew, comfrey, jimson, juniper, rosehip-and vases filled with flowers- purple heather, lilac, and pennyroyal; crimson clover; yellow tansy and marigold; white rowan and…
Hold on, what is this?
Arthur picks up a perfect chamomile flower. Gwen weaves these into her hair. How they stay there all day remains a feminine mystery to him. Does Gaius provide Gwen with her flowers?
She loves me. She loves me not.
He counts the petals, rather than plucking them.
She loves me. She loves me not.
She loves me. She loves me not.
She loves m….
He is twisting the flower idly between his fingers watching the petals spiral when he hears the hurried whisper of voices. Someone is in there with Gaius, and it certainly cannot be Merlin. When the door opens behind him a moment later, Arthur hastily slips the flower into the pocket of his cloak.
Gaius emerges and descends the stairs a few seconds later with a sheet and the Tree of Life.
"Were you talking with someone?" Arthur asks.
"Merlin's packing some last minute items," Gaius replies.
Arthur opens his mouth to call out the lie as Gaius carefully wraps the Tree of Life in the spare sheet for travel.
"Something wrong?" Gaius asks, handing Arthur the bundle of cloth and wood.
"No. I'll just be…." Arthur hooks his thumb at the door. "Going."
"Good luck, sire."
When he goes to let himself out there is a mud-stained leather jacket hanging on the door peg. It is far too large to fit Gaius, and Merlin cannot afford anything so expensive.
"Sire?" Gaius asks when he stalls.
"Tell Merlin to hurry."
"Certainly."
If Gaius nearly slams the door to get rid of him, Arthur is too disgruntled to notice.
Arthur proceeds to scowl at every kitchen scullion and castle guard from the physician's quarters to the front gate as to not invite conversation. As he passes out of the castle, he throws the hood of his cloak over his head and tucks his hair safely away. It obscures his side vision, but it is worth it since no one should recognize him. Confident none of his blond fringe shows, he makes his way towards the lower town.
The gate guard waves him through with nary a glance. He will have to have a word or two with them about vigilance when he gets back from Caerleon, but for now he is grateful. He is not as worried about people sneaking out of castle as he is them coming in.
When he enters the lower town the tang of smoke, acrid and heavy, still hangs in the air from Cenred's sack. The scent would probably linger until the next rainstorm.
It cannot come fast enough in Arthur's opinion.
He has not had the chance to survey much of the damage outside the castle properly yet, and just lit with moonlight and shadow Arthur can see that Cenred's army had been brutal during their brief occupation. Roughly a third of the buildings have severe damage-broken windows, burned roofs and cracked walls. These homes are dark and empty. Another third are damaged but inhabitable and already the people had begun to clean and rebuild. The final third, luckily, seem to have been spared the worst of the damage and candle light flickers merrily through those windows.
As he is about to pass the Rising Sun, a group of drunk men exit the tavern in front of him.
"Did'ya hear? The Prince is leaving," the oldest of the men says. Arthur stops in his tracks and pulls his hood even tighter around his face.
"For wha?"
"Food. Fear of magic. Same difference ta me. But his father's turned him into a clack-dish."
Clack-dish?
They chortle like it is the funniest thing in the world.
What is a clack-dish?
"No, it's worsssse," the third man slurs. "He tinks he's bettar dan us."
The second man spits. "No different than his father."
"We didn't need no savin' twenty years 'go," the first man say. "Don't need no savin' now."
"Don't need no…"
They turn the corner and head down an alleyway before Arthur can hear what else they do not need. He waits a good ten seconds before hurrying through the rest of the town towards Tom's now cold forge. When he arrives ten minutes later, a combination of relief and nerves flood when he sees light flickering in the cottage window next to the abandoned forge.
Gwen is home.
He shifts the bundled Tree of Life from one hand to the other and knocks on her door. As he waits he peeks around the corner for loiters or nosey neighbors. There are not any.
Gwen answers the door a few seconds later.
"May I help you?" she asks, not immediately recognizing him under deep shadows of the hood.
"Hello, Genevieve," he greets her smoothly.
Her eyes bug when she hears his voice. "M… my lord?"
"Not so loud," he hushes her. "And it's Arthur."
"I wasn't expecting you," she says.
"I wasn't expecting to need to come."
She is just as lovely this evening as she was this morning, though he is delighted she has already taken her hair down. It is a beautiful natural look and all the more tempting because he could run his hands freely through it. Her lips are redder than usual, but that could just be his imagination.
He pulls out the chamomile flower from his pocket and holds it out for her.
"I brought you a flower. For your hair," he elaborates when she makes no move to take it. Most of the petals got crinkled when he hastily stuffed it into his pocket. The head also droops a bit sadly towards the ground now. "You know, when you put it up tomorrow."
"Thank you," she says, accepting the bedraggled flower.
"You like flowers." He is babbling he knows, but cannot stop. "They suit you. I like your flowers."
"You came in the middle of the night to bring me a flower?"
"No." That is a splash of frigid water.
"Then for what?"
He sighs heavily. "To ask a favor."
"Anything I can do to help, you know I'll do it," she replies.
"May I enter?"
"Of course," she says, opening the door wider and inviting him inside her home.
Her cottage, clean and rustic, is much the same as it was the last time he had visited and the time before that when he had hid for the jousting tournament. "I'm glad your home escaped most of the damage."
"I'm lucky I live on the edge of the town."
It is warm and cozy inside as she has lit a fire to ward off the night's chill. Once he is safely inside, he slides the hood all the way off as she shuts the door. Moonbeams stream in through the window, but their weak light drowns in the fire and candles. There is also an empty vase on the table next to her half eaten supper-a loaf of wheat bread and a bowl of berries.
He has clearly interrupted a late supper.
When he opens his mouth to apologize for intruding on her evening, Gwen has both hands covering her mouth, stifling laughter.
"What is it that is so funny?" he asks.
"It's nothing." She drops her hands and sobers as best she can, yet does not completely manage it.
"You're still laughing, so it's certainly something."
"Sire, it's just that-"
"Arthur," he corrects her again. "Please, there's no need for that tonight."
"I'm not going to let us forget my station, or you yours."
"Can we compromise at least?"
"How?"
"When we're out of the castle and there's no one else around just don't call me 'sire' or 'your highness'. And don't even think about 'my lording' me."
The smirk twitching on her lips softens to a smile. He nods, satisfied, when she does not object further. And then she goes and blows his hopes with a small curtsy and a "Certainly, Prince Arthur."
Argh!
"That's not any better, Guinevere, and you know it."
Her eyes are sparkling and he is not sure if her mirth is at the expense of his anguish, or her earlier private joke which she neglected to share.
"No 'princing' either. Will you agree?"
"Yes," Gwen says, still gazing at a point just over his head.
Curious, he spins around to figure out what it is that she is looking at. There is no picture frame or anything hanging on the wall. Below there is a broom, a mop, and a bucket. Since they are not in Merlin's hands they are not exactly hilarious.
He scratches his head in bewilderment, but that only makes her laugh harder.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No," she insists, yet giggles even more.
"You are!"
He huffs and brushes past her to sit backwards on her table's bench. He settles the Bane of his Life securely on his lap.
"I'm sorry. It's not you," she assures him.
"Then what?"
She sits next to him on the bench. Her fingers twitch out towards him, but she snatches them back before she reaches his cheek.
"It's just that when you took off your hood, you looked like a porcupine in a fright." She finally gives in and combs her fingers gently through his hair.
"That wild?"
"Quite ridiculous," she teases.
She continues to thread her fingers through his hair and he enjoys the moment. It is better than any warm bath and for the first time all day long, he feels his sore shoulder relax.
Then Gwen tucks the flower behind his ear.
It tickles.
"How foolish do I look?" he asks.
"You don't." She trails her hand over his chin and then to his chest to tangle in the strings of his cape and his shirt.
"I think it would look better on you."
"Would it?"
Arthur sweeps the flower from his ear and slips the stem into the bodice of her dress. He does not remove his hand and she takes a deep breath. That only makes the flower-and her breasts-rise higher. Intrigued, he runs his finger along the scoop of her neckline pressing the delicate lace of her dress against her skin.
Mouth suddenly very dry, he licks his lips.
Her eyes track the movement.
"Guinevere," he whispers as the moment stretches.
"Arthur."
Her kisses taste of sweet raspberries.
She is intoxicating.
The kiss he steals leaves his mind spinning. He cannot stop touching her-her soft skin, the curve of her shoulder, the arc of her neck. He pushes the homespun fabric of her dress off one side of her collarbone, nibbles up her neck, and noses into the curls of her hair. He inhales the lingering scent of the wildflowers she wore pinned in her hair all day long. The smell is light and sweet and innocent.
Her hands tangle in his hair.
Arthur kisses her harder this time and then twisting, tugs her firmly into his lap. She moves, but when she does the Tree of Life crashes to the floor.
The mood snaps.
Arthur stands in order to put some much needed distance between himself and Gwen.
"You, umm," Gwen says, rescuing their dignity and the smooched flower, "mentioned a favor earlier?"
He clears his throat as she puts the flower on the table. "I came to give you that." He points at the floor.
"What is it?"
He gently kicks it with the tip of his boot and the sheet unrolls to reveal the staff.
She gasps. "Is that what I think it is?"
"It's the Tree of Life."
"Why did you bring it here?" Gwen asks. "Are you supposed to be tak-"
"Taking it to Caerleon, yes, that's what I want everyone to believe."
He picks the Tree of Life up and feels the disturbing thrum of power he should not. "I need you to hide it," he tells her. He half expects it to shoot sparks, explode, or something infinitely worse, but it does not.
"Me? Why me?"
Which brings him neatly to the reason he sought her out tonight. "Because you're the one person I trust the most."
"Where do you want me to hide it?"
"That's up to you. Just-" He hands the Tree of Life over to Gwen. "Just keep it safe for me until I figure out what to do with it. "Sometimes it does things," he cautions. Full of too much energy, he paces back and forth to burn off the jitters.
"What things?"
"I was holding it yesterday and it starting glowing."
Gwen delicately places it on the table. Well out of reach.
"Don't tell anyone you have it," he adds. "Not anybody." It takes an entirety of eight short steps to cross the length of her cottage home. "Not any of the knights. Not any of the other servants. Not my father."
"I wouldn't," she assures him. "Morgana seemed to have some ide-"
"No." He rounds on his heel and turns the other way. "You can't tell Morgana either."
"Why?"
"Do you think…" he mulls how to phrase this best. "You've spent the most time with her since the rescue, how does she seem?"
"She's been a little distant, but that's to be expected."
"Did she give you any details? About what happened?"
"It isn't my place to press."
Arthur halts directly in front of the mop and bucket. He fights the urge to kick that bucket. Hard. "She wouldn't tell me any specifics either," he admits.
"When she's ready she will."
He settles for snatching up the broom. It is a poor substitute for a sword, but at least he has something in hands.
"Sometimes people," she continues, "have to help themselves first. All you can do is let them go and hope they'll return to you."
He turns to face Gwen.
"Has Morgana said anything about Merlin to you?"
"No, why?"
"Just… curious."
"Does Merlin know you're here?" Gwen asks picking up the abandoned sheet. She makes efficient work of refolding the wad into a neat square.
Arthur shakes his head.
"You trust Merlin with everything."
"Not with this."
"Won't he be expecting you to take it with you tomorrow when you leave?"
She is right.
Since Merlin will be in charge of their belongings, he would normally be expected to manage it and his servant would be meddlesome enough to remark on its absence. "I hadn't thought that far ahead," Arthur admits, twisting the broom angrily in opposite directions with his fists.
Gwen approaches and plucks the broom from his hands.
"What was that for?"
Instead of replying she scoots her plate, bowl, and candles to one side of the table and lays the broom right next to the staff.
"Think this'll work?" she asks.
They are roughly the same size. The broom handle is longer and the head is too long and too flat, but wrapped in a sheet you would not know the difference.
"That's brilliant."
Relieved, he slumps back down on the bench.
"Can I ask you something?" he asks.
"Anything." She again sits next to him. Too temptingly close.
"You don't always tell me what I want to hear, but you do tell me what I need to hear."
She does not say anything in reply and just waits him out.
"Why do you like me, Guinevere?"
She is startled by the question. "What do you mean?"
"You are gorgeous and lovely and kind. I've heard it said,"-he is sure his expression is a storm cloud-"that I am arrogant and blind and easily led."
"Who said that?"
"Just something I overheard," he sidesteps the question. "What kind of king do you think I'll become?"
"What kind of king do you want to be?" she returns, most unhelpfully.
He sighs, considering the hypnotic flickering of the candle flame on the table. "When I was growing up all I wanted was to be just like my father." He digs his fingernail in the soft tallow of the candle creating an opening. "I looked up to him. He's the best role model I have to pattern myself after." The pooled hot wax dribbles over the side and hardens in a drippy run. "And yet, he's made choices that I don't always agree with, but I do have to admire him for the fact that he makes the hard life and death decisions that affect the entire kingdom. He stands by them."
"You admire him for that."
"I do, but I can't be my father."
"What do you want?"
"The ruler of Camelot isn't allowed to want."
"No. What is it you-" she pokes him solidly on the breastbone-"you, not the Lord, or the Sire, or the Prince want? What does Arthur want?"
"You!" he blurts before he can stop himself. "I shouldn't have said that."
"It was, at least, honest," says Gwen, chewing her lip.
He blows out a breath. "Yeah, it was."
"It's difficult to accept that," she says not meeting his eyes.
"You won't accept it here." Arthur points a finger to her temple. Then he rests his hand over her heart. "But you do here."
"Always will." When she speaks he can feel the vibration of her words against his hand, the rise and fall of her chest, as well as the beating of her heart.
"I don't want to leave," he confesses.
"You've been gone longer from Camelot before," she says, purposefully misunderstanding.
"No," he corrects. "I don't want to leave you and go back to the castle."
"Then stay."
When she finally raises her head to meet his eyes, he sees her want.
-oOo-
Arthur awakens to the first cracks of dawn breaking through the windows. It is the most rested he has felt in days. Hard on the heels of that realization is the fact that Gwen is pressed warm and close against his chest, tangled in his arms.
They are both fully clothed, but he would give most anything to not have to be.
The last time he slept in her bed, she slept on the flour sacks. This was an infinitely better arrangement. If only they could stay here forever. Guinevere's home had become a sanctuary of sorts.
However, duty makes him rise and face the world. Careful not to wake her, he gingerly untangles himself from Gwen and slips out of the bed.
A stray lock of hair has fallen in her eyes. Kneeling, he gently moves it to the side. Then he brushes his lips whisper-soft on Gwen's forehead. She sleeps through his kiss. Torn, he wonders why knighthood always seems to pit honor and love against each other.
Arthur retrieves his cloak and looks at her sleeping form. It is early and he does not want to wake her, but at the same time it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye. He fiddles with his ring trying to figure out what to leave as a token. He slides the ring off past the first knuckle.
There is no paper or quill so he cannot leave her a note.
He slides the ring back on.
Besides what would he even say in a note?
Off. On.
He briefly considers the wilted flower he brought her, but even he does not need Merlin to tell him that it would not be romantic.
Off. On.
He scans the cottage looking for something. Anything….
Off. On. Off. On.
Then again Gwen would probably only find it rude if he gave her a gift that was already hers. It needed to be something personal, something that was his to give.
He slides the ring all the way off his finger.
Perfect!
He lays it next to Gwen's pillow. It will be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes.
Task happily completed, he turns to the table and finds the Tree of Life and the broomstick right where they left them the night before. He moves the Tree of Life off to the side and he is grateful when there is no disturbing thrum of power when he handles the staff this time.
Arthur shakes out the folded sheet and makes quick work of rolling the broom up in the fabric of Merlin's bed linen.
There are pale yellow streaks and cloudy ribbons of pink highlighting the sky when he sneaks out Gwen's door. The hustle and bustle of the day is starting when he steps out into the street with the broom, pulls his cloak securely over his head, and walks briskly to the castle.
The day will be beautiful and a good for travel. Arthur refuses to feel guilty as he creeps into the castle, slinks up the stairs, and rushes into his chambers.
The first thing he sees is that Merlin did indeed return the prior evening and finish the packing as evidenced by the rucksack and two neat sack bundles prepared for their journey. The second thing he notices is that his bed is still perfectly made. Without a second thought Arthur places the sheet-blanketed broomstick on the table and musses the sheets and down-comforter on the royal bed as if he has slept there all night long. He and Gwen would have had ample room had they slept here. He finishes by pounding his fists into his favorite pillow to form the indentation of a head.
Next he goes behind the folding screen to find his traveling clothing. He strips to his small clothes and dresses himself in the Merlin approved black shirt, leather jacket, and a fresh pair of trousers waiting for him.
Arthur is pulling on his travel boots when his chamber door opens.
"You're up," Merlin says, entering.
"I am."
"I couldn't find you last night," Merlin states. The wonderful smell of sausage drifts over the folding screen.
"I was out."
"When did you get back?" Merlin asks.
Sure enough when he comes around the corner he can see a breakfast tray on the table laden with sausage, fruit, and bread. "Late," Arthur replies slipping his dragon etched vambraces on.
Face to face, neither apologizes for the fight last night.
Instead, Arthur eats sausages and fruit with his fingers while Merlin remakes the bed. Arthur looks for any signs of remorse, or some indication that the Merlin before him is different, or is lying. He does not find any. It is the same old Merlin.
"Is that the Tree of Life?" Merlin asks pointing to the broom-sheet bundle.
"What else would it be?"
"Can I s-"
"No."
"Where are you going to hide it?"
"You'll find out when we get there."
"The horses are saddled and waiting in the courtyard," Merlin tells him once Arthur pushes the empty plate away.
"Ready to leave?" Arthur asks.
In response Merlin grabs the two bundles of clothing and supplies. Arthur takes the rucksack, chest of gold, and the broom himself.
A groom is waiting with the horses when they arrive in the courtyard.
Arthur secures the fake Tree of Life to his horse while the groom and Merlin secure the rest of their supplies. When all is done, they mount the horses. With no fanfare, other than the huge yawn Merlin cannot hide behind a fist, they depart through the gates of Camelot.
On their way out they pass though a blackened and burned field of wheat. This time of year the crops should be plump and golden yellow. The brittle stalks crunch under the clip-clop of the horses hooves.
Neither he nor Merlin converse as they traverse the field.
When they reach the other side, Arthur takes a long look back the way they came. This is worse than after he hunted and killed the unicorn. At least he was directly responsible for that, this he was not. He did not have the power to grow crops to full bloom in the late summer. Alas, he may not be responsible for the ruined crops, but it was his responsibility.
"Which way are we going?" Merlin asks.
"Do you not know which way is west, Merlin?"
"I was hoping we were going to see the druid first. It's only a few hours out of the way."
"We are going to Caerleon," Arthur insists.
Merlin chews his bottom lip, but does not object or question Arthur's decision further.
Merlin dozes in the saddle most of the morning and Arthur lets him, still not sure quite how to broach the subject of what he overheard. There are a couple of times Merlin jerks awake when his chin falls too far forward.
Each time it happens, Arthur tries not to laugh.
Too loudly.
It is mid to late morning, when Arthur is squinting into the sun and sweating buckets in his black shirt that Merlin wakes up enough to ask, "What did you and Morgana talk about after you threw me out of the room?"
"You."
"And?"
Arthur urges his horse forward enough to cut Merlin off. Arthur reins his horse in next to Merlin's and both horses stand still. "Morgana told me you felt responsible for her kidnapping."
Merlin is agog. "She said that?" His voice squeaks out half an octave higher than normal.
"Don't fall out of your saddle."
"I won't," Merlin replies and then looks away at the passing elm trees. "I have plenty to feel guilty about, but Morgana's choices aren't part of my regrets." Merlin digs his heals in, and urges his mare around Arthur's and into a fast trot and then a gallop.
If Arthur is walking away from his responsibilities and obligations, then Merlin is running.
Gritting his teeth, Arthur follows the dust in Merlin's wake. When Arthur catches up, Merlin lets him pass without a word. About an hour later, Arthur realizes he is alone and Merlin is no longer faithfully following.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouts into the distance.
There is no answer and so Arthur turns his horse around and returns the way he has just come.
Ten minutes later, Arthur finds Merlin's horse tied to a tree and nibbling on tall stalks of grass. Of Merlin himself there is no immediate sign. Images of bandits and mercenaries dance through his head as he unsheathes his sword.
Arthur is swinging over the saddle to dismount when Merlin bumbles through the brush on the left.
"Sorry," Merlin apologizes.
"I don't want you wandering off again. You'll get lost." Merlin has turned him into a nervous fishwife.
"I would not get lost," Merlin protests.
"Which way is west?" Arthur asks.
Merlin points.
"Then why were you wandering east?"
"I was just, you know…" Merlin gestures to his crotch.
Arthur really has no need to continue this conversation further.
Part IV
AO3 * LJ Master Post * Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV * Part V * Part VI