Guardian of Avalon and the Sovereign of Camelot {1}
Title: Guardian of Avalon and the Sovereign of Camelot
Rating: PG-13 (may change, if it does, I will warn. The story will sometimes include character deaths, mostly minor characters.
Characters/Pairings (some major/some minor): Gwen, Arthur, Freya, Morgana, Elena, Gwaine, Emrys, Vivian, Mordred, William (Sir William in the OAFQ ep.), Elyan, Percival, Leon (and made up ones) Pairings will be shown later, but for now, just to let you know that Arthur/Gwen are endgame.
Spoilers: None, Note: AU Medieval so some familiar characters will be a bit different from the show
Disclaimer: I write this for fun. Merlin is the property of the BBC/Shine.
Sorry for the long wait. I needed to work out a few things with this story because it’s going to have a lot of characters and a lot of twists. But now that I’ve been able to work that out I’m really excited to be continuing this. Updates probably won’t be weekly, but I’ll try to keep them regular for now on. Thanks!
Summary: By day she is a simple servant, a once fond friend of past; by night she is a guardian of courage, daring to keep it all secret in a medieval world where warlocks and witches battle each other for Albion, one wanting to dispose of King Arthur, the other ready to protect him at great cost. But within, it is much more complicated as revelations will show.
*~
Guardian of Avalon and the Sovereign of Camelot
Chapter 1
Death So Unkind
*~
“This is not the end, this is not the beginning
Just a voice like a riot rocking every revision
But you listen through the tone and the violent rhythm and
Though the words sound steady, something empty's within 'em…”
*~
“Do away with him. Now.”
The words, delivered ominously by a figure in black, were directed to a strangely formed creature. It was part human, part beast.
They were going to kill the sovereign in kind to how they had ended his father’s life.
It made the cloaked woman grimace tightly from within the tall coniferous trees.
She should have been here sooner. It was strange, not hearing the signal, not feeling the warning. A second time it was now. The first resulted in great tragedy.
No time to dwell on that. The creature, what the Order called it for they had no real name, could be stopped only one way. Remaining hidden, she took out from her scarlet cloak what was needed. A crossbow crafted by her own hands. She directed it evenly at the creature’s middle. Pulling back, using a firm arm, she released the poisoned arrow. It flew through the late evening misty air ever so rapidly, just faintly whistling on the wind, before it pummeled its target, sunk into its flesh. She hoped her aim was precise. One miscalculation would mean the sovereign’s death.
She waited, heart beating so rapidly, mouth dry, breath tensed.
Soon enough it came. The horrible howl. After that the black burning pebble of light. She breathed a sigh of relief. She hit the creature squarely in the gut. It writhed hideously now, rapidly losing its life force. And then so fast it happened. The creature exploded. Just like that. Thick spheres of obsidian slime spread out, pieces of its body coursing in all directions. A most grotesque death that even the warlocks, most of them youthful, flinched at.
She felt their eyes come upon her, shocked, glaring. The price of being a protector.
“A Witch of Avalon.
GET her.”
Now that they had spotted her, she’d have to fight the hardest she ever fought.
She had been trained for this since childhood. And there was nothing novel to being outnumbered. The arrow incinerated with the dead creature, she slipped the crossbow back within her cloak.
From another deep pocket she brought out her scorpion. It was a weapon with a long wooden handle, its tip cupped in metal. From a loop at the end, flowed a foursome of vicious metal chains. At the cusp of each chain was a metal ring.
Against the wood, she whispered magical words. It was the way those of the Order fought, combined power and strength.
She surged forward, running at a blinding pace, the scorpion lifted high in her hand, the chains at the end of the loop swirling violently. With a thrust of her wrist, she sent it sailing high into the air. It flew with the strength of her throw and the power of her enchantment. As it came downward it made bone crushing contact with one of the warlocks. Blended force and magic, the ringed chains smashed the man’s skull. He barely had time to cry out before he slumped to the ground. Dead.
It took less than a minute for the scorpion to sail back into the witch’s grasp. She wasted no time on claiming victory, not yet done.
Taking cautious measure of the threats left to the sovereign she began to spin in a tight circle. Another spell combined with agility and intellect, it brought her close to another of the warlocks. Straightening her arm like a bird’s gliding wing, she slashed the warlock’s upper body with the scorpion’s deadly chains. It caught him right at the stomach, upsetting the vital organs. With a choked gasp he pounded to the ground. Also dead.
The spell, an awesomely effective one, was also quite dangerous for the one who cast it. Its lingering effect of dizziness could allow the enemy to plan an ambush.
Fortunately, at the moment, luck seemed on her side. Although she was a bit winded, she came out of it alright, no threat. The scorpion dutifully returned to her hand’s grip, magically cleaned of the blood.
The remaining warlocks started to back away now. She noticed they seemed a young bunch, especially one. Something oddly peculiar about him. Almost as if-
A hot burning pain slashed into her side. Bringing her eyes down with disbelief, she stared at it. A pickaxe’s blade, one quarter of it already cutting into her flesh. A darkened hand held it strongly. She lifted her eyes, saw the man’s steely grin under the hood of the black cloak.
“You didn’t sense my presence, did you Witch of Avalon?”
She wracked her brain though the advancing infliction. Where was he all this time? She could have sworn she saw all of them when she spotted the creature. But now, here he was. With a dark beard and onyx eyes. He was older than the rest.
The elder warlock, holding her tight in his bruising grasp, signaled to the rest boldly that he had her. They fled gratefully. He chuckled, speaking to the witch as if they were old friends, his punishing grip and the blade stuck into her side conveying the truth. They were not. “Kids. Really, you must know. So many of yours are young now too. I noticed it though. One of ours caught your eye. Peculiar to you for some reason, Witch, wasn’t he?”
Perhaps it was the memory of the young man, the blood her flesh was losing, or maybe the hard grip of his hands. Who knew? It happened. She lost her hold on the enchantment. The magical mask fell apart.
As the warlock holding her felt the change of air, the loss of magic he’d not even known before had been used, his eyes widened. “No…” He hissed.
The witch, realizing it had faded away, struggled to bring it back. But her power was weakening along with her body. She could do nothing to hide the truth.
She felt the warlock’s hand come to the hood of her cloak. With brutal force he ripped it away from her head and hair.
“YOU.” He sneered. “It can’t be. You’re supposed to be-
Now even more-so she couldn’t let this end yet. This went beyond her survival. It was about someone much more precious. If she allowed him to live, he’d take back what he now knew. Everything would be lost. All the years that she pretended, hid, it would be for nothing. They’d find her and once they did, they’d rip everything out of her.
“Oh how I wanted to kill you. But not yet. You’re coming back with me. When the Society finds out that it was all a lie they’ll bleed the truth out of you. Until we have h-
It was his folly, to spare her life. She had no alternative. No reason to care for her own life anymore. Now it was just about one person. She hoped she was ready. She hoped it hadn’t been a mistake to raise her as she had. It was the one way to survive, for the Order to continue. It was a duty of honor and nobility. It was rightful to protect the sovereign. If her daughter ever learned the truth, hopefully she would see that.
The witch inched the weapon out of her pocket and sunk it into the man’s gut.
And just as he felt her do so, he drove the pickaxe harder into her body.
But it was too late. His hand faltered. She scattered away before his deadbeat body could slam her into the ground.
He was gone.
Her daughter was safe.
And now she…
The blood was already soaking her cloak as she pulled away the pickaxe from her flesh with a dull moan. There was much she had to do before she breathed her last. One more enchantment to hold to life long enough to make the dragon call. To save the sovereign.
The witch…
Would die.
*~
The dream and the reality ended there. What the young woman saw in her sleeping mind was yet to be determined as she sat up against the headboard, screaming. Fear cut her heart. She shuddered, breath not finding its way back easily. A moment like this she had been prepped for since early childhood, but that made it no easier when it was concerning someone you loved. Your one link to family.
Still,
panic being allowed to settle in would be disastrous. She had to get her senses back. Breathe.
In. Out. Calm. Peace.
Find it.
The young woman pushed away the covers from the bed, stood apart from it. Her eyes quickly began adjusting to the darkness, seeing patches of light from the breeze pulling at the window’s material shades. She found a curtained wall, one of four that divided the tiny one room house into various sections. Behind it hung a navy blue cloak, frayed around the edges, but warm still. She slipped it over the shoulders of her chemise, pulling the dark blue hood up over her head. It would hide her well, and she had one advantage of late.
The recent king was not very good at controlling the night patrol. The hours of watch were disorganized and foolishly planned.
Going to the stove she pulled out partway one of the burning kindles. Pressing a thin pole of non-burning wood against it, she made a crude flare. Keeping it carefully in hand, she stepped out of her house after slipping on a pair of boots. Moving down the stone road she kept her footing light to not cause much noise. Coming to the stables she slipped inside. At a stall with a silver gray mare she stopped.
“Hello there Thea. I know it’s late, but if you could take me quickly to my destination I would be ever so grateful.”
The mare whinnied softly, as if understanding.
The young woman smiled. “That’s a good girl.” As she saddled the medium sized horse it remained still for her. It was not hers, but one she regularly rode. She had a peculiar love for horses, animals really, and sometimes even took care of Camelot’s crop of them. Saddle securely on and bridle fixed in place, the young woman climbed up using the stirrup and pommel. Pulling out her cloak behind her, she walked the horse out of the stable, bending her head at the door. Reaching back, she closed it.
At a wary trot she rode out of Camelot’s gates, breathing a sigh of relief at not being discovered. Further away, she brought the gray silver mare to a quicker speed.
The mare’s nostrils flared from the action, eyes ahead, alert. She galloped steadily along the wood’s dirt path. Firmly in the saddle, the woman leaned forward just enough to echo the horse’s motion and maintain control.
This fast pace continued for some long moments before they came to their destination. It was a shallow ashen cave, surrounded by flowering brambles and twisting Oaks. Slowing the mare to a walk and bringing her to a steadied stop, the woman climbed down from the saddle. Rounding the mare’s front she held the nose of its angular head.
Looking past she was satisfied that they hadn’t been followed. Nothing moved in the wood. No traces of sound. Swallowing heavily, the young woman patted the mare’s mane.
“I know you understand. You’ve made this journey with me before a few times. I have to go in there alone Thea. You can’t come with me. The transference of place and time, it’s not safe for one without the ability. Not without preparation. So you just enjoy the river. Crystal clear. And the grass. It’s tall, the kind you love to graze upon. All I ask is that you wait for me. Can you do that sweet Thea?”
The horse whinnied, nudging her nose against the woman’s shoulder gently.
The woman let out a fragile smile. “You’re such a dear Thea. Let us both hope that I return soon.”
Taking a deep breath, the woman hugged the horse’s long neck. It quietly, caringly stayed still. The woman held like that for long moments and then dropping the torch to the depths of the river where it burned itself out, she entered the cave.
The horse watched for a moment. After it saw no sight of the woman anymore it moved to the gentlest side of the river, lapping the cold water steadily.
The woman moved through the cave without fear. First steps, she felt the pale light of the moon and stars. As she progressed more the light lessened steadily. It kept decreasing and soon enough she was deep in blackness. She breathed a little quicker, working to steady herself. The darkness wouldn’t last long.
Closing her eyes, the young woman began to hum, stepping without sight. Feeling the walls a few times for balance, her humming flowed like a trance. Aware as now everything changed, she opened her eyes. This was the transference, what she told the horse it would not be able to take, for the horse was not magical.
The darkness was now gone, replaced by shining cascades of falling light. The cave’s illuminated walls at its mouth, just a few steps away, turned to green tangles of moss. The young woman walked through it and underneath tall leaved trees to an altered nighttime setting.
Here the moon was peculiarly larger, touched with a tint of blue. Like flying jewels were the pointed stars. Through the grasses and flowers, was the cut of a path. It led to a shining lake with a rushing mini waterfall. At the waterfall’s edge, a middle aged woman sat upon a flat rock lined with moss.
Bringing down her blue hood, revealing tangles of curling dark hair, the young woman approached.
“Mistress?”
The middle aged woman, outfitted in a cloak of flaming red, said nothing. She simply pulled away her cloak’s hood, baring long flows of golden hair and a narrow, but expressive face.
“I had a dream. It was quite disturbing.” The younger woman stated, so tense, hands flexing and bending against the edge of her blue cloak.
“I had the same.” The elder woman replied. “Tell me. What happened in yours?”
The younger woman anxiously ran her hands through her hair, impatient with the mistress’s question, yet keeping her voice respectful. The elder woman was the Order’s latest leader. “It was blurry. And there was a strong buzzing sound through most of it. I could only hear, distinguish, a few words. What mattered most was what I saw. It was a man. One of them. And he had her. My mother. He stabbed her with a pickaxe. She seemed to be fighting back, but, that’s where it blurred intensely, the buzzing noise increased. I think…”
The younger woman was steadily shaking, her lips trembling. “I think he killed her.” She fearfully advanced forward, hoping what she saw was some mirage. “Please tell me I’m wrong.” She clasped the other woman’s hands tightly. “Please tell me it was just a silly false dream. That my mother is alright. Please, Mistress Morgause, tell me she’s alive.”
Tears rushed out of the younger woman’s eyes, making the elder, the one known as Morgause, the Mistress of the Order, sigh sadly. The dream was no false image. “I am sorry Gwen.”
“No-
A broken sob came from the younger woman’s lips. Sensibly she had known, but so desperately she had wished to be wrong.
Morgause continued to speak, her own heart breaking at the young woman’s pain. She had known her many years. Her mother was a vital part of the order. Now with her gone…
“I fear it’s true Gwen. I don’t feel her anymore. You don’t either, do you?”
Gwen shook her head miserably, tears hot acid on her cheeks. “Oh Lake of Avalon, let this not be so.”
As her peace faltered, and her body grew limp, Morgause hurriedly caught Gwen against her, arms steadily around the younger woman. “It’s alright Gwen.” She whispered softly against her brow. “You are not alone.” And she wasn’t. But her greatest protector without a doubt was gone. The Order would have to work extra hard now to keep her safe.
Gwen clung to the lining of Morgause’s cloak, it her only bolster at the moment. This couldn’t be happening. The night was too peaceful, the moon too round and illuminating in the sky. Her mother was all she had.
“No. That’s not true.” Morgause counseled, feeling enough guilt for intruding upon the woman’s young thoughts to end her mind probing there. Gwen was in a very vulnerable state, personal barriers weakened. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry upon your emotions, but you cannot believe that Gwen. Every one of us of the Order, we are your family. Your sisters. We will help you get through this.”
Gwen said nothing, starting to push Morgause gently away now as she stood on her own. It was done. Now it was time to face her responsibilities, even if her heart had a pitiful hole in it. “I’m next in line.”
Morgause worked reassurance into her voice. “It’s alright. You will have time. No one will expect you to take your place so soon. You were next in line before your mother’s…passing. I’ll find a replacement.”
Gwen shook her head strongly. “Who? You can’t send Freya. Not so soon after losing her own mother. And Vivian? I doubt she’d know how to handle it without worrying about staining her dress or such.”
Morgause frowned strongly as Gwen stilled her lips.
As usual, too much said.
“I know you two are not the best of friends, that Freya is so dear to you, and that you are in a lot of pain right now, but some of your judgment is not accurate. You are right about Freya. It is too soon after her mother’s demise. But Vivian has been prepared as strongly as you have. She may sometimes seem to have her head in the clouds, but she’s more than a fashion monger.”
“So you’ll send her out?” Gwen asked tensely.
Morgause shook her head. The younger woman had a point. She was her last choice. “No. With what happened tonight I don’t think Vivian’s quite ready.”
“Elena?”
“Injured from the last encounter. And too physically far away at the moment. She wants to be involved again, but as she’s my younger sister she’ll just have to listen to me.”
Gwen was grateful for that. Elena was the one who taught her so well to ride a horse, a close friend. “Then you do need me.”
“No.” Morgause spoke firmly. “I’ll be going to the ancient wood.”
Gwen frowned at that. “Didn’t she say she wanted no more to do with this? How do you plan to encourage her?”
Morgause smiled softly, mysteriously, grasping Gwen’s hands gently. “Leave that to me. Now, why don’t you stay here for a few days? I’ll send word to Freya. She can make up a story for your absence. As I said, I’ll be traveling to the wood, but that’s no reason for you to not remain.” She gestured downward. “You can spend your days relaxing in the cool waters and falls. It will get you away from the pain.”
Gwen shook her head, pressing her hand strongly into her thick curls of hair. She felt a dull headache meshed into the numbing pain of loss. “I can’t do that. I’m one of the only servants who still has any influence with him, as weak as it may be. Since the former king’s demise, he is reckless.”
Once again, too much said as now Morgause’s eyes shockingly widened. Her mother had made it known that the relationship between the handmaiden and king was brittle since his father’s death, but this negative reaction was troubling. “You are not fond of him? Your friendship is severed?”
Gwen let out a long pained sigh. Losing your mother, your first instinct was to retreat away from the world. But when you were one of the Order, acting such was almost selfish and shameful. “It is weakened since his father’s death. His relationship with everyone is changed. He drinks heavily. He makes poor decisions. I have little doubt he wasn’t on another one of his drunken binges last night when he made the encounter with the warlocks. And yet I’m sure he’s fine. So fine as my mother is dead.”
Okay, the bitterness wasn’t even partially hidden then. Gwen bit back her tongue, but knew the damage was done as the mistress regarded her quietly. Silently.
Before she asked carefully,
“Do you question what we do Gwen?”
A loaded question indeed. A part of her wanted to scream yes, as the other fought for calm. A rash release of rage wasn’t going to help anything. “So much tragedy and pain has occurred in the past months Mistress. You can’t deny it. My mother. Freya’s. Even the former king’s death. It’s been one horrific incident after another. And where has it gotten us? The prophecy says that there will be one to make us strong again. But how much sacrifice must we endure before we reach that place Mistress? If you think I don’t understand that, you’re right. I don’t. He is not even a good king. He fails to do half of what his father did.”
“So you would rather he die?” Morgause asked sharply.
Gwen lowered her head, ashamed and pained. He was once her friend. Sometimes she still saw tiny glimpses of that part of him.
Foolishly.
He did it again this night. That was why her mother was out there. He drunkenly wandered out into the wood. Sentencing her mother to her death. As now he…lives.
“Of course I don’t. I don’t want anyone to die who is good hearted. And he is. I understand he’s in pain…” Gwen pushed her fist against her heart. “But I am in pain now too. And it won’t matter to him because he will never know the sacrifice my mother made for him. So he can live. Be the sovereign. Even if he fails to be an effective one.”
Morgause quietly nodded her head. “I see.” Her look was one of sadness and perhaps disappointment. “I appreciate your honesty and…enlightenment. I know now Gwen I have made the right decision to not send you out.
You are not ready.”
The way Morgause said that, Gwen’s shame grew. She didn’t mean for it to come to this. She held it back all these months because there was no reason to let it out, but now with her mother gone…
“It’s only temporary though, right? I’ll be taking my mother’s place soon.”
Morgause studied Gwen quietly, giving the slightest shake of her head. “I’m not so sure Gwen. I know it is what your mother wanted and believed you would be ready for, but mothers are always biased. You have spoken some hard beliefs tonight, ones that could contradict the Order’s purpose.”
“Mistress-
Gwen cut through, concerned she had spoilt much. “I didn’t mean-
“You meant everything you said Gwen.” Morgause held onto the younger woman’s hands. “You have been dealt a terrible blow. I understand. But I know too that you understand my duty is to protect the sovereign to preserve our world and that of every being on it. To neglect that duty, to send out the wrong person, could be catastrophic. I have faith in the prophecy. I hope you do also. But however your emotions are, I must follow all the leaders before me. I must not allow the Society to win. For if they did Gwen, it would not be a few tragedies. It would be…
Many.”
Gwen breathed hard, upset, tears falling down her face and anger strangely filling her heart. “Mistress-
Morgause squeezed her hands. “It’s alright. You need time and you will have it. Maybe then later, you will be prepared for this. Maybe not. Whatever happens, we are your sisters. Now go on. You say you must return to the castle. My offer still stands for you to get some respite here, but if you’d rather go back, then you probably should leave now. The hour is late.”
Gwen felt the dismissal as Morgause literally walked away from her, retreating to the mossy path that lead to her home on the hill.
Gwen was akin to curse herself for being so tempestuous.
So honest.
And curse him for leading her mother to her death.
“Oh Arthur, I used to have such faith in you.
Now…
I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stand the sight of you.”
She fell to the mossy ground, hot burning tears on her cheeks.
“And oh Mama…I miss you. Already. And I’ve failed you.
Already. Mama….”
She crumbled to the ground. In pain. In shame.
From a short distance away Morgause watched, troubled.
So very troubled.
Perhaps the original plan would have been better.
To keep them separate. Apart.
*~
Some great distance from the Lake of Avalon where the two witches mourned one of theirs, the surviving warlocks returned to their home. As some of the witches lived out in the open, most of the warlocks existed in concealment. It worked better since the creation of their ultimate weapon.
The warlocks who made the encounter with the now dead witch, came into a room of vast sparseness, where upon stood a man. The man was of medium height, yet his stark thinness made him appear taller. Age somewhere in the thirties, he had had mostly smooth skin that tightly pinched in precise spots, as if placed firmly with calculated intention. Eyes shone, vibrant green. His wear was similar to the men entering the long pointed hall. A black cloak descended to his feet. It had jagged sleeves that concealed most of his hands. On the upper arm was a small calligraphic S, the Society’s emblem, a Piast coiled around the solitary letter.
Although the man had been heard darkly laughing from time to time, he was known to have little tolerance for humor. Betrayal brought on his rapid avengement. Not seen as terribly friendly, his loyalty to the Society was impassable. It had been handed down from his father and his preceding.
His name was…
Mordred.
His voice was quiet as he asked a row of questions, quiet, but poisonous to anyone who dissatisfied him.
“Why are there now only three of you? What happened? I sent out more, did I not?”
As no reaction came right away, instead a shuffling of steps and cloaks, Mordred grimaced tightly.
He was standing upon a ghostly marbled stone platform ascended by three wide steps. He stepped down them to the floor where the three men stood.
Around him, and the flock of men who had yet to answer his questions, were chiseled walls of stone. All that broke through them at orderly intervals, were windows of stained glass. There was no reason to hide the building. It could only be reached by those invited through the magical passage.
Overhead the ceiling jaggedly rose, so high in the middle, and yet so close to the marbled floor at the ends. The building, shrouded in simplistic exterior secrecy was not large, but adequate enough for those who resided in it. Those who were at its top ranks had the most comfortable of dwellings. Mordred was of highest rank most definitely and yet his quarters were not all that lavish, dark really, and mostly of practicality. He didn’t care much for luxuries, more for order and progress.
On the contrary, the man who remained sitting on the platform, did, covet luxuries. Extravagantly adorned in a flashing blue and black cloak that feathered at the neck, his Society residence was lavish. Older than Mordred, by less than fifteen years, he said nothing now. He simply sat in his high backed chair, elbow tipped upon the armrest, fingers cupped under his chin with silent interest. While Mordred’s expression was pinched, his was terribly relaxed.
“Did the witch snatch your tongues?” Mordred asked darkly. “Should I flesh them out for you?”
The man in the flashy cloak smiled amusedly. Always so dramatic.
It worked though. One of the three stepped up now.
“Lord Mordred, we believe she’s dead, the witch who stopped us from getting the king. Larnad stabbed her with an enchanted axe, but he never returned to us. So it’s possible she retaliated. I just don’t see how she could have lived. It seemed a deep cut.”
“Seemed?” The thin man’s downturned lips showed strict discontent. “That’s hardly effective. To mention no beast returned with you. Where is IT?”
There was more awkward shuffling. The man on the high backed chair started to actually sober. One of the returning warlocks finally relented, this one with sienna waves of hair and a muscular stature. “It’s gone Lord Mordred. The witch released one of those poisoned arrows. It was gone in an instant. We couldn’t do anything to stop it. She was so fast.”
Mordred exchanged a look with the flashy dressed man. Nothing said, both seemed to be contemplating on something. Mordred turned again to the waiting warlocks. “You do realize that this is not good, right? You’re going to have to be better prepared next time. It’s not satisfactory for you to be coming back here with less men and no beast. I’ve told you it’s not all that easy to conjure them. We’ll need-
“Another of them. But they hide from us.” The third warlock murmured quietly.
Mordred nodded his head. “Yes. And the witches hold alliance with them.” He let out a long sigh, before giving a sign of dismissal with his hand. “You are all dismissed. Think long and hard about what happened this night and do everything you can to make sure it doesn’t occur again.”
The second to speak flippantly called out now, foolishly realizing his mistake when it was too late. The words were already out of his mouth. “Eh, we got the witch, didn’t we?”
The flashy dressed man rolled his eyes. Stupid stupid kid.
Mordred smiled malevolently. “So should I reward you for that Bernard?”
The younger man smartly said nothing more. Maybe Mordred was not as tall as him, or as much of brawn as the sienna haired man, but his warlock ability was frightening.
No longer contested, Mordred lifted his hand in stark dismissal. The men shuffled out.
The elder man gave a low chuckle. “Ah, Mordred, what did you expect? They’re practically babes in their mother’s arms still. Where was Petrus anyway? He’d have been some help.”
Sitting down on the top step, Mordred shook his head. “No. He’s on a mission for me.”
The other man smiled. “To get one of them?”
“Yes. And it won’t be easy. They’re getting more defiant by the day.”
“And the lake?”
Mordred looked up now questioningly, “What?”
“It’s still tainted, isn’t it?”
Mordred shrugged with little importance. “Doesn’t matter. With time it’ll heal.”
“Are you sure about that Mordred?”
The younger man stood up angrily at the teasing question. The elder man was ripe with humor that never found its place. It grated strongly on Mordred’s nerves sometimes. Best he remember who was in charge here, who was the rightful heir. “Yes. I am sure.”
His voice was so gritty that the elder man smiled with amusement. Sometimes so easy to rile the all so knowing kid warlock.
“You hope.”
“Enough!” Mordred pushed his fingers through his dark hair, making the ends stand at odd angles. “We need something else. Another way. Those witches, they’re keeping something. That one tonight, she might be dead, but first she took out three of ours and ended the beast’s life. That means she was very good. That means…”
The elder man wasn’t smiling as intently. He didn’t always agree with Mordred, but the final outcome, that they shared.
“I thought most of their best were dead.”
“Right, I thought so too.”
“You’re sure that…she…is gone? Yes?”
Mordred nodded stubbornly. “Certain of it. There’s no way they could have survived that night. I stood there for hours. NOTHING came out.”
“So maybe it’s someone else?”
“Maybe.” Mordred said quietly. “We need to do more.”
“I might have an idea.” The elder man smiled now, fingering his pointed beard. He whispered something into Mordred’s ear, making the younger man smile.
“Yes. But who?”
At that moment one of the warlocks cautiously reentered the room. He smiled as the two men faced him pointedly. “Sorry. Forgot my satchel. Sorry Lord Mordred and-
Mordred cut him off angrily. “Just get it and go.”
“Yes Lord-
He stumbled on his words, awkwardly backing away before he gave a quick run.
Mordred rolled his eyes as the elder man smiled knowingly.
Getting it, Mordred exclaimed, “You can’t be serious!”
“He’s perfect.”
*~
Hours later the flashy dressed warlock entered his lavish quarters, smiling at what was sprawled across his bed wearing a crimson flaming gown.
“You know it’s a bit dangerous lying around like that. Never know who might see you.”
The woman smiled intently. “You say that like I wouldn’t know how to defend myself. You forget what I am.”
The elder man climbed upon the bed, feeling her small hands pull away his feathered cloak as their lips met greedily.
As they parted the woman whispered expectantly, “Well, did it take? Is she-
“Dead.” The bearded man smiled.
The woman, perhaps four years younger than him, grinned with contentment. “Good. Now it’s my part, right?”
He ran his hands down her back, to the curve of her rear as she ripped away his shirt, laughing at how he protested the lost decorated tunic. She’d make him another…of magic.
“Eh, that’s another one.”
“Hah.”
“But yes. We need another one of those creatures. And you need to tell me why you wanted her dead so explicitly.”
“Later.” She coaxed him down to the mattress with her, feeling him move between her thighs. “All that matters is now she’s gone. And the witches are much weaker without her. Trust me on that…
Sigan.”
*~
To be continued…
In the next part: Arthur
And…
A witch returns.
By the way, my preview last time for chapter one will most likely be in chapter two.
*~
The lyrics at the top are from Waiting for the End by Linkin Park.
Feedback is always so appreciated. Thank you for reading. I love Morgause, so to put her in this as an ally of Gwen’s just too wonderful for me to write.
Rating: PG-13 (may change, if it does, I will warn. The story will sometimes include character deaths, mostly minor characters.
Characters/Pairings (some major/some minor): Gwen, Arthur, Freya, Morgana, Elena, Gwaine, Emrys, Vivian, Mordred, William (Sir William in the OAFQ ep.), Elyan, Percival, Leon (and made up ones) Pairings will be shown later, but for now, just to let you know that Arthur/Gwen are endgame.
Spoilers: None, Note: AU Medieval so some familiar characters will be a bit different from the show
Disclaimer: I write this for fun. Merlin is the property of the BBC/Shine.
Sorry for the long wait. I needed to work out a few things with this story because it’s going to have a lot of characters and a lot of twists. But now that I’ve been able to work that out I’m really excited to be continuing this. Updates probably won’t be weekly, but I’ll try to keep them regular for now on. Thanks!
Summary: By day she is a simple servant, a once fond friend of past; by night she is a guardian of courage, daring to keep it all secret in a medieval world where warlocks and witches battle each other for Albion, one wanting to dispose of King Arthur, the other ready to protect him at great cost. But within, it is much more complicated as revelations will show.
*~
Guardian of Avalon and the Sovereign of Camelot
Chapter 1
Death So Unkind
*~
“This is not the end, this is not the beginning
Just a voice like a riot rocking every revision
But you listen through the tone and the violent rhythm and
Though the words sound steady, something empty's within 'em…”
*~
“Do away with him. Now.”
The words, delivered ominously by a figure in black, were directed to a strangely formed creature. It was part human, part beast.
They were going to kill the sovereign in kind to how they had ended his father’s life.
It made the cloaked woman grimace tightly from within the tall coniferous trees.
She should have been here sooner. It was strange, not hearing the signal, not feeling the warning. A second time it was now. The first resulted in great tragedy.
No time to dwell on that. The creature, what the Order called it for they had no real name, could be stopped only one way. Remaining hidden, she took out from her scarlet cloak what was needed. A crossbow crafted by her own hands. She directed it evenly at the creature’s middle. Pulling back, using a firm arm, she released the poisoned arrow. It flew through the late evening misty air ever so rapidly, just faintly whistling on the wind, before it pummeled its target, sunk into its flesh. She hoped her aim was precise. One miscalculation would mean the sovereign’s death.
She waited, heart beating so rapidly, mouth dry, breath tensed.
Soon enough it came. The horrible howl. After that the black burning pebble of light. She breathed a sigh of relief. She hit the creature squarely in the gut. It writhed hideously now, rapidly losing its life force. And then so fast it happened. The creature exploded. Just like that. Thick spheres of obsidian slime spread out, pieces of its body coursing in all directions. A most grotesque death that even the warlocks, most of them youthful, flinched at.
She felt their eyes come upon her, shocked, glaring. The price of being a protector.
“A Witch of Avalon.
GET her.”
Now that they had spotted her, she’d have to fight the hardest she ever fought.
She had been trained for this since childhood. And there was nothing novel to being outnumbered. The arrow incinerated with the dead creature, she slipped the crossbow back within her cloak.
From another deep pocket she brought out her scorpion. It was a weapon with a long wooden handle, its tip cupped in metal. From a loop at the end, flowed a foursome of vicious metal chains. At the cusp of each chain was a metal ring.
Against the wood, she whispered magical words. It was the way those of the Order fought, combined power and strength.
She surged forward, running at a blinding pace, the scorpion lifted high in her hand, the chains at the end of the loop swirling violently. With a thrust of her wrist, she sent it sailing high into the air. It flew with the strength of her throw and the power of her enchantment. As it came downward it made bone crushing contact with one of the warlocks. Blended force and magic, the ringed chains smashed the man’s skull. He barely had time to cry out before he slumped to the ground. Dead.
It took less than a minute for the scorpion to sail back into the witch’s grasp. She wasted no time on claiming victory, not yet done.
Taking cautious measure of the threats left to the sovereign she began to spin in a tight circle. Another spell combined with agility and intellect, it brought her close to another of the warlocks. Straightening her arm like a bird’s gliding wing, she slashed the warlock’s upper body with the scorpion’s deadly chains. It caught him right at the stomach, upsetting the vital organs. With a choked gasp he pounded to the ground. Also dead.
The spell, an awesomely effective one, was also quite dangerous for the one who cast it. Its lingering effect of dizziness could allow the enemy to plan an ambush.
Fortunately, at the moment, luck seemed on her side. Although she was a bit winded, she came out of it alright, no threat. The scorpion dutifully returned to her hand’s grip, magically cleaned of the blood.
The remaining warlocks started to back away now. She noticed they seemed a young bunch, especially one. Something oddly peculiar about him. Almost as if-
A hot burning pain slashed into her side. Bringing her eyes down with disbelief, she stared at it. A pickaxe’s blade, one quarter of it already cutting into her flesh. A darkened hand held it strongly. She lifted her eyes, saw the man’s steely grin under the hood of the black cloak.
“You didn’t sense my presence, did you Witch of Avalon?”
She wracked her brain though the advancing infliction. Where was he all this time? She could have sworn she saw all of them when she spotted the creature. But now, here he was. With a dark beard and onyx eyes. He was older than the rest.
The elder warlock, holding her tight in his bruising grasp, signaled to the rest boldly that he had her. They fled gratefully. He chuckled, speaking to the witch as if they were old friends, his punishing grip and the blade stuck into her side conveying the truth. They were not. “Kids. Really, you must know. So many of yours are young now too. I noticed it though. One of ours caught your eye. Peculiar to you for some reason, Witch, wasn’t he?”
Perhaps it was the memory of the young man, the blood her flesh was losing, or maybe the hard grip of his hands. Who knew? It happened. She lost her hold on the enchantment. The magical mask fell apart.
As the warlock holding her felt the change of air, the loss of magic he’d not even known before had been used, his eyes widened. “No…” He hissed.
The witch, realizing it had faded away, struggled to bring it back. But her power was weakening along with her body. She could do nothing to hide the truth.
She felt the warlock’s hand come to the hood of her cloak. With brutal force he ripped it away from her head and hair.
“YOU.” He sneered. “It can’t be. You’re supposed to be-
Now even more-so she couldn’t let this end yet. This went beyond her survival. It was about someone much more precious. If she allowed him to live, he’d take back what he now knew. Everything would be lost. All the years that she pretended, hid, it would be for nothing. They’d find her and once they did, they’d rip everything out of her.
“Oh how I wanted to kill you. But not yet. You’re coming back with me. When the Society finds out that it was all a lie they’ll bleed the truth out of you. Until we have h-
It was his folly, to spare her life. She had no alternative. No reason to care for her own life anymore. Now it was just about one person. She hoped she was ready. She hoped it hadn’t been a mistake to raise her as she had. It was the one way to survive, for the Order to continue. It was a duty of honor and nobility. It was rightful to protect the sovereign. If her daughter ever learned the truth, hopefully she would see that.
The witch inched the weapon out of her pocket and sunk it into the man’s gut.
And just as he felt her do so, he drove the pickaxe harder into her body.
But it was too late. His hand faltered. She scattered away before his deadbeat body could slam her into the ground.
He was gone.
Her daughter was safe.
And now she…
The blood was already soaking her cloak as she pulled away the pickaxe from her flesh with a dull moan. There was much she had to do before she breathed her last. One more enchantment to hold to life long enough to make the dragon call. To save the sovereign.
The witch…
Would die.
*~
The dream and the reality ended there. What the young woman saw in her sleeping mind was yet to be determined as she sat up against the headboard, screaming. Fear cut her heart. She shuddered, breath not finding its way back easily. A moment like this she had been prepped for since early childhood, but that made it no easier when it was concerning someone you loved. Your one link to family.
Still,
panic being allowed to settle in would be disastrous. She had to get her senses back. Breathe.
In. Out. Calm. Peace.
Find it.
The young woman pushed away the covers from the bed, stood apart from it. Her eyes quickly began adjusting to the darkness, seeing patches of light from the breeze pulling at the window’s material shades. She found a curtained wall, one of four that divided the tiny one room house into various sections. Behind it hung a navy blue cloak, frayed around the edges, but warm still. She slipped it over the shoulders of her chemise, pulling the dark blue hood up over her head. It would hide her well, and she had one advantage of late.
The recent king was not very good at controlling the night patrol. The hours of watch were disorganized and foolishly planned.
Going to the stove she pulled out partway one of the burning kindles. Pressing a thin pole of non-burning wood against it, she made a crude flare. Keeping it carefully in hand, she stepped out of her house after slipping on a pair of boots. Moving down the stone road she kept her footing light to not cause much noise. Coming to the stables she slipped inside. At a stall with a silver gray mare she stopped.
“Hello there Thea. I know it’s late, but if you could take me quickly to my destination I would be ever so grateful.”
The mare whinnied softly, as if understanding.
The young woman smiled. “That’s a good girl.” As she saddled the medium sized horse it remained still for her. It was not hers, but one she regularly rode. She had a peculiar love for horses, animals really, and sometimes even took care of Camelot’s crop of them. Saddle securely on and bridle fixed in place, the young woman climbed up using the stirrup and pommel. Pulling out her cloak behind her, she walked the horse out of the stable, bending her head at the door. Reaching back, she closed it.
At a wary trot she rode out of Camelot’s gates, breathing a sigh of relief at not being discovered. Further away, she brought the gray silver mare to a quicker speed.
The mare’s nostrils flared from the action, eyes ahead, alert. She galloped steadily along the wood’s dirt path. Firmly in the saddle, the woman leaned forward just enough to echo the horse’s motion and maintain control.
This fast pace continued for some long moments before they came to their destination. It was a shallow ashen cave, surrounded by flowering brambles and twisting Oaks. Slowing the mare to a walk and bringing her to a steadied stop, the woman climbed down from the saddle. Rounding the mare’s front she held the nose of its angular head.
Looking past she was satisfied that they hadn’t been followed. Nothing moved in the wood. No traces of sound. Swallowing heavily, the young woman patted the mare’s mane.
“I know you understand. You’ve made this journey with me before a few times. I have to go in there alone Thea. You can’t come with me. The transference of place and time, it’s not safe for one without the ability. Not without preparation. So you just enjoy the river. Crystal clear. And the grass. It’s tall, the kind you love to graze upon. All I ask is that you wait for me. Can you do that sweet Thea?”
The horse whinnied, nudging her nose against the woman’s shoulder gently.
The woman let out a fragile smile. “You’re such a dear Thea. Let us both hope that I return soon.”
Taking a deep breath, the woman hugged the horse’s long neck. It quietly, caringly stayed still. The woman held like that for long moments and then dropping the torch to the depths of the river where it burned itself out, she entered the cave.
The horse watched for a moment. After it saw no sight of the woman anymore it moved to the gentlest side of the river, lapping the cold water steadily.
The woman moved through the cave without fear. First steps, she felt the pale light of the moon and stars. As she progressed more the light lessened steadily. It kept decreasing and soon enough she was deep in blackness. She breathed a little quicker, working to steady herself. The darkness wouldn’t last long.
Closing her eyes, the young woman began to hum, stepping without sight. Feeling the walls a few times for balance, her humming flowed like a trance. Aware as now everything changed, she opened her eyes. This was the transference, what she told the horse it would not be able to take, for the horse was not magical.
The darkness was now gone, replaced by shining cascades of falling light. The cave’s illuminated walls at its mouth, just a few steps away, turned to green tangles of moss. The young woman walked through it and underneath tall leaved trees to an altered nighttime setting.
Here the moon was peculiarly larger, touched with a tint of blue. Like flying jewels were the pointed stars. Through the grasses and flowers, was the cut of a path. It led to a shining lake with a rushing mini waterfall. At the waterfall’s edge, a middle aged woman sat upon a flat rock lined with moss.
Bringing down her blue hood, revealing tangles of curling dark hair, the young woman approached.
“Mistress?”
The middle aged woman, outfitted in a cloak of flaming red, said nothing. She simply pulled away her cloak’s hood, baring long flows of golden hair and a narrow, but expressive face.
“I had a dream. It was quite disturbing.” The younger woman stated, so tense, hands flexing and bending against the edge of her blue cloak.
“I had the same.” The elder woman replied. “Tell me. What happened in yours?”
The younger woman anxiously ran her hands through her hair, impatient with the mistress’s question, yet keeping her voice respectful. The elder woman was the Order’s latest leader. “It was blurry. And there was a strong buzzing sound through most of it. I could only hear, distinguish, a few words. What mattered most was what I saw. It was a man. One of them. And he had her. My mother. He stabbed her with a pickaxe. She seemed to be fighting back, but, that’s where it blurred intensely, the buzzing noise increased. I think…”
The younger woman was steadily shaking, her lips trembling. “I think he killed her.” She fearfully advanced forward, hoping what she saw was some mirage. “Please tell me I’m wrong.” She clasped the other woman’s hands tightly. “Please tell me it was just a silly false dream. That my mother is alright. Please, Mistress Morgause, tell me she’s alive.”
Tears rushed out of the younger woman’s eyes, making the elder, the one known as Morgause, the Mistress of the Order, sigh sadly. The dream was no false image. “I am sorry Gwen.”
“No-
A broken sob came from the younger woman’s lips. Sensibly she had known, but so desperately she had wished to be wrong.
Morgause continued to speak, her own heart breaking at the young woman’s pain. She had known her many years. Her mother was a vital part of the order. Now with her gone…
“I fear it’s true Gwen. I don’t feel her anymore. You don’t either, do you?”
Gwen shook her head miserably, tears hot acid on her cheeks. “Oh Lake of Avalon, let this not be so.”
As her peace faltered, and her body grew limp, Morgause hurriedly caught Gwen against her, arms steadily around the younger woman. “It’s alright Gwen.” She whispered softly against her brow. “You are not alone.” And she wasn’t. But her greatest protector without a doubt was gone. The Order would have to work extra hard now to keep her safe.
Gwen clung to the lining of Morgause’s cloak, it her only bolster at the moment. This couldn’t be happening. The night was too peaceful, the moon too round and illuminating in the sky. Her mother was all she had.
“No. That’s not true.” Morgause counseled, feeling enough guilt for intruding upon the woman’s young thoughts to end her mind probing there. Gwen was in a very vulnerable state, personal barriers weakened. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry upon your emotions, but you cannot believe that Gwen. Every one of us of the Order, we are your family. Your sisters. We will help you get through this.”
Gwen said nothing, starting to push Morgause gently away now as she stood on her own. It was done. Now it was time to face her responsibilities, even if her heart had a pitiful hole in it. “I’m next in line.”
Morgause worked reassurance into her voice. “It’s alright. You will have time. No one will expect you to take your place so soon. You were next in line before your mother’s…passing. I’ll find a replacement.”
Gwen shook her head strongly. “Who? You can’t send Freya. Not so soon after losing her own mother. And Vivian? I doubt she’d know how to handle it without worrying about staining her dress or such.”
Morgause frowned strongly as Gwen stilled her lips.
As usual, too much said.
“I know you two are not the best of friends, that Freya is so dear to you, and that you are in a lot of pain right now, but some of your judgment is not accurate. You are right about Freya. It is too soon after her mother’s demise. But Vivian has been prepared as strongly as you have. She may sometimes seem to have her head in the clouds, but she’s more than a fashion monger.”
“So you’ll send her out?” Gwen asked tensely.
Morgause shook her head. The younger woman had a point. She was her last choice. “No. With what happened tonight I don’t think Vivian’s quite ready.”
“Elena?”
“Injured from the last encounter. And too physically far away at the moment. She wants to be involved again, but as she’s my younger sister she’ll just have to listen to me.”
Gwen was grateful for that. Elena was the one who taught her so well to ride a horse, a close friend. “Then you do need me.”
“No.” Morgause spoke firmly. “I’ll be going to the ancient wood.”
Gwen frowned at that. “Didn’t she say she wanted no more to do with this? How do you plan to encourage her?”
Morgause smiled softly, mysteriously, grasping Gwen’s hands gently. “Leave that to me. Now, why don’t you stay here for a few days? I’ll send word to Freya. She can make up a story for your absence. As I said, I’ll be traveling to the wood, but that’s no reason for you to not remain.” She gestured downward. “You can spend your days relaxing in the cool waters and falls. It will get you away from the pain.”
Gwen shook her head, pressing her hand strongly into her thick curls of hair. She felt a dull headache meshed into the numbing pain of loss. “I can’t do that. I’m one of the only servants who still has any influence with him, as weak as it may be. Since the former king’s demise, he is reckless.”
Once again, too much said as now Morgause’s eyes shockingly widened. Her mother had made it known that the relationship between the handmaiden and king was brittle since his father’s death, but this negative reaction was troubling. “You are not fond of him? Your friendship is severed?”
Gwen let out a long pained sigh. Losing your mother, your first instinct was to retreat away from the world. But when you were one of the Order, acting such was almost selfish and shameful. “It is weakened since his father’s death. His relationship with everyone is changed. He drinks heavily. He makes poor decisions. I have little doubt he wasn’t on another one of his drunken binges last night when he made the encounter with the warlocks. And yet I’m sure he’s fine. So fine as my mother is dead.”
Okay, the bitterness wasn’t even partially hidden then. Gwen bit back her tongue, but knew the damage was done as the mistress regarded her quietly. Silently.
Before she asked carefully,
“Do you question what we do Gwen?”
A loaded question indeed. A part of her wanted to scream yes, as the other fought for calm. A rash release of rage wasn’t going to help anything. “So much tragedy and pain has occurred in the past months Mistress. You can’t deny it. My mother. Freya’s. Even the former king’s death. It’s been one horrific incident after another. And where has it gotten us? The prophecy says that there will be one to make us strong again. But how much sacrifice must we endure before we reach that place Mistress? If you think I don’t understand that, you’re right. I don’t. He is not even a good king. He fails to do half of what his father did.”
“So you would rather he die?” Morgause asked sharply.
Gwen lowered her head, ashamed and pained. He was once her friend. Sometimes she still saw tiny glimpses of that part of him.
Foolishly.
He did it again this night. That was why her mother was out there. He drunkenly wandered out into the wood. Sentencing her mother to her death. As now he…lives.
“Of course I don’t. I don’t want anyone to die who is good hearted. And he is. I understand he’s in pain…” Gwen pushed her fist against her heart. “But I am in pain now too. And it won’t matter to him because he will never know the sacrifice my mother made for him. So he can live. Be the sovereign. Even if he fails to be an effective one.”
Morgause quietly nodded her head. “I see.” Her look was one of sadness and perhaps disappointment. “I appreciate your honesty and…enlightenment. I know now Gwen I have made the right decision to not send you out.
You are not ready.”
The way Morgause said that, Gwen’s shame grew. She didn’t mean for it to come to this. She held it back all these months because there was no reason to let it out, but now with her mother gone…
“It’s only temporary though, right? I’ll be taking my mother’s place soon.”
Morgause studied Gwen quietly, giving the slightest shake of her head. “I’m not so sure Gwen. I know it is what your mother wanted and believed you would be ready for, but mothers are always biased. You have spoken some hard beliefs tonight, ones that could contradict the Order’s purpose.”
“Mistress-
Gwen cut through, concerned she had spoilt much. “I didn’t mean-
“You meant everything you said Gwen.” Morgause held onto the younger woman’s hands. “You have been dealt a terrible blow. I understand. But I know too that you understand my duty is to protect the sovereign to preserve our world and that of every being on it. To neglect that duty, to send out the wrong person, could be catastrophic. I have faith in the prophecy. I hope you do also. But however your emotions are, I must follow all the leaders before me. I must not allow the Society to win. For if they did Gwen, it would not be a few tragedies. It would be…
Many.”
Gwen breathed hard, upset, tears falling down her face and anger strangely filling her heart. “Mistress-
Morgause squeezed her hands. “It’s alright. You need time and you will have it. Maybe then later, you will be prepared for this. Maybe not. Whatever happens, we are your sisters. Now go on. You say you must return to the castle. My offer still stands for you to get some respite here, but if you’d rather go back, then you probably should leave now. The hour is late.”
Gwen felt the dismissal as Morgause literally walked away from her, retreating to the mossy path that lead to her home on the hill.
Gwen was akin to curse herself for being so tempestuous.
So honest.
And curse him for leading her mother to her death.
“Oh Arthur, I used to have such faith in you.
Now…
I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stand the sight of you.”
She fell to the mossy ground, hot burning tears on her cheeks.
“And oh Mama…I miss you. Already. And I’ve failed you.
Already. Mama….”
She crumbled to the ground. In pain. In shame.
From a short distance away Morgause watched, troubled.
So very troubled.
Perhaps the original plan would have been better.
To keep them separate. Apart.
*~
Some great distance from the Lake of Avalon where the two witches mourned one of theirs, the surviving warlocks returned to their home. As some of the witches lived out in the open, most of the warlocks existed in concealment. It worked better since the creation of their ultimate weapon.
The warlocks who made the encounter with the now dead witch, came into a room of vast sparseness, where upon stood a man. The man was of medium height, yet his stark thinness made him appear taller. Age somewhere in the thirties, he had had mostly smooth skin that tightly pinched in precise spots, as if placed firmly with calculated intention. Eyes shone, vibrant green. His wear was similar to the men entering the long pointed hall. A black cloak descended to his feet. It had jagged sleeves that concealed most of his hands. On the upper arm was a small calligraphic S, the Society’s emblem, a Piast coiled around the solitary letter.
Although the man had been heard darkly laughing from time to time, he was known to have little tolerance for humor. Betrayal brought on his rapid avengement. Not seen as terribly friendly, his loyalty to the Society was impassable. It had been handed down from his father and his preceding.
His name was…
Mordred.
His voice was quiet as he asked a row of questions, quiet, but poisonous to anyone who dissatisfied him.
“Why are there now only three of you? What happened? I sent out more, did I not?”
As no reaction came right away, instead a shuffling of steps and cloaks, Mordred grimaced tightly.
He was standing upon a ghostly marbled stone platform ascended by three wide steps. He stepped down them to the floor where the three men stood.
Around him, and the flock of men who had yet to answer his questions, were chiseled walls of stone. All that broke through them at orderly intervals, were windows of stained glass. There was no reason to hide the building. It could only be reached by those invited through the magical passage.
Overhead the ceiling jaggedly rose, so high in the middle, and yet so close to the marbled floor at the ends. The building, shrouded in simplistic exterior secrecy was not large, but adequate enough for those who resided in it. Those who were at its top ranks had the most comfortable of dwellings. Mordred was of highest rank most definitely and yet his quarters were not all that lavish, dark really, and mostly of practicality. He didn’t care much for luxuries, more for order and progress.
On the contrary, the man who remained sitting on the platform, did, covet luxuries. Extravagantly adorned in a flashing blue and black cloak that feathered at the neck, his Society residence was lavish. Older than Mordred, by less than fifteen years, he said nothing now. He simply sat in his high backed chair, elbow tipped upon the armrest, fingers cupped under his chin with silent interest. While Mordred’s expression was pinched, his was terribly relaxed.
“Did the witch snatch your tongues?” Mordred asked darkly. “Should I flesh them out for you?”
The man in the flashy cloak smiled amusedly. Always so dramatic.
It worked though. One of the three stepped up now.
“Lord Mordred, we believe she’s dead, the witch who stopped us from getting the king. Larnad stabbed her with an enchanted axe, but he never returned to us. So it’s possible she retaliated. I just don’t see how she could have lived. It seemed a deep cut.”
“Seemed?” The thin man’s downturned lips showed strict discontent. “That’s hardly effective. To mention no beast returned with you. Where is IT?”
There was more awkward shuffling. The man on the high backed chair started to actually sober. One of the returning warlocks finally relented, this one with sienna waves of hair and a muscular stature. “It’s gone Lord Mordred. The witch released one of those poisoned arrows. It was gone in an instant. We couldn’t do anything to stop it. She was so fast.”
Mordred exchanged a look with the flashy dressed man. Nothing said, both seemed to be contemplating on something. Mordred turned again to the waiting warlocks. “You do realize that this is not good, right? You’re going to have to be better prepared next time. It’s not satisfactory for you to be coming back here with less men and no beast. I’ve told you it’s not all that easy to conjure them. We’ll need-
“Another of them. But they hide from us.” The third warlock murmured quietly.
Mordred nodded his head. “Yes. And the witches hold alliance with them.” He let out a long sigh, before giving a sign of dismissal with his hand. “You are all dismissed. Think long and hard about what happened this night and do everything you can to make sure it doesn’t occur again.”
The second to speak flippantly called out now, foolishly realizing his mistake when it was too late. The words were already out of his mouth. “Eh, we got the witch, didn’t we?”
The flashy dressed man rolled his eyes. Stupid stupid kid.
Mordred smiled malevolently. “So should I reward you for that Bernard?”
The younger man smartly said nothing more. Maybe Mordred was not as tall as him, or as much of brawn as the sienna haired man, but his warlock ability was frightening.
No longer contested, Mordred lifted his hand in stark dismissal. The men shuffled out.
The elder man gave a low chuckle. “Ah, Mordred, what did you expect? They’re practically babes in their mother’s arms still. Where was Petrus anyway? He’d have been some help.”
Sitting down on the top step, Mordred shook his head. “No. He’s on a mission for me.”
The other man smiled. “To get one of them?”
“Yes. And it won’t be easy. They’re getting more defiant by the day.”
“And the lake?”
Mordred looked up now questioningly, “What?”
“It’s still tainted, isn’t it?”
Mordred shrugged with little importance. “Doesn’t matter. With time it’ll heal.”
“Are you sure about that Mordred?”
The younger man stood up angrily at the teasing question. The elder man was ripe with humor that never found its place. It grated strongly on Mordred’s nerves sometimes. Best he remember who was in charge here, who was the rightful heir. “Yes. I am sure.”
His voice was so gritty that the elder man smiled with amusement. Sometimes so easy to rile the all so knowing kid warlock.
“You hope.”
“Enough!” Mordred pushed his fingers through his dark hair, making the ends stand at odd angles. “We need something else. Another way. Those witches, they’re keeping something. That one tonight, she might be dead, but first she took out three of ours and ended the beast’s life. That means she was very good. That means…”
The elder man wasn’t smiling as intently. He didn’t always agree with Mordred, but the final outcome, that they shared.
“I thought most of their best were dead.”
“Right, I thought so too.”
“You’re sure that…she…is gone? Yes?”
Mordred nodded stubbornly. “Certain of it. There’s no way they could have survived that night. I stood there for hours. NOTHING came out.”
“So maybe it’s someone else?”
“Maybe.” Mordred said quietly. “We need to do more.”
“I might have an idea.” The elder man smiled now, fingering his pointed beard. He whispered something into Mordred’s ear, making the younger man smile.
“Yes. But who?”
At that moment one of the warlocks cautiously reentered the room. He smiled as the two men faced him pointedly. “Sorry. Forgot my satchel. Sorry Lord Mordred and-
Mordred cut him off angrily. “Just get it and go.”
“Yes Lord-
He stumbled on his words, awkwardly backing away before he gave a quick run.
Mordred rolled his eyes as the elder man smiled knowingly.
Getting it, Mordred exclaimed, “You can’t be serious!”
“He’s perfect.”
*~
Hours later the flashy dressed warlock entered his lavish quarters, smiling at what was sprawled across his bed wearing a crimson flaming gown.
“You know it’s a bit dangerous lying around like that. Never know who might see you.”
The woman smiled intently. “You say that like I wouldn’t know how to defend myself. You forget what I am.”
The elder man climbed upon the bed, feeling her small hands pull away his feathered cloak as their lips met greedily.
As they parted the woman whispered expectantly, “Well, did it take? Is she-
“Dead.” The bearded man smiled.
The woman, perhaps four years younger than him, grinned with contentment. “Good. Now it’s my part, right?”
He ran his hands down her back, to the curve of her rear as she ripped away his shirt, laughing at how he protested the lost decorated tunic. She’d make him another…of magic.
“Eh, that’s another one.”
“Hah.”
“But yes. We need another one of those creatures. And you need to tell me why you wanted her dead so explicitly.”
“Later.” She coaxed him down to the mattress with her, feeling him move between her thighs. “All that matters is now she’s gone. And the witches are much weaker without her. Trust me on that…
Sigan.”
*~
To be continued…
In the next part: Arthur
And…
A witch returns.
By the way, my preview last time for chapter one will most likely be in chapter two.
*~
The lyrics at the top are from Waiting for the End by Linkin Park.
Feedback is always so appreciated. Thank you for reading. I love Morgause, so to put her in this as an ally of Gwen’s just too wonderful for me to write.