Non-challenge - Loyalty (6/7)

[shanaqui]

Title: Loyalty
Chapter: 6/7
Characters/Pairing: Will, Bran, Barney, Simon, Jane, John, OC
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Six must be gathered again, to face an old threat wearing a new face.
All chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.


"Will!"

Barney's cry made all of them turn, but too late. Will was suddenly stopped as he turned, trapped; caught into a sudden and unnatural stillness. Bran said something in Welsh that made John wince a little, but Bran paid no attention. Barney thought he looked more like a prince than ever, suddenly more adult and somehow magical. For a moment, he was reminded of Gumerry by the fierce look on Bran's face.

"It's a spell," Bran said, with annoyed certainty. "I don't know how, though. I didn't think the Dark could do this to him. I don't even know how I know what I know about it..."

John's deep voice was still calm. "What do you know about it, bachgen?"

"Mordred can't be strong enough to catch him out of time or anything, or not from a distance, anyway," Bran said, stepping closer and pushing at Will's shoulder. Will didn't move an inch. "He's aware, but he can't do anything. How we're supposed to follow Mordred without Will, I don't know."

"Can't we do something to free Will?" Simon asked, tentatively. He frowned, looking at Will's face; there was something about that utter stillness that was disconcerting. Will couldn't even blink; his eyes were half closed in a blink already, the action halted along with everything else. "I mean... won't his blood and heart be stopped and everything, too?"

"I don't think that would trouble one of his kind," John said, thoughtfully. "I think we should try to free him, but I don't know what we can do."

"None of us have the right kind of magic," Barney said, frowning as he did when a painting wasn't coming out right. Simon relaxed a bit when he saw that: it was something normal, something real, and it somehow made the awful feeling that he was out of his depth go away. "I mean, I can see the future, and Bran's... well, Bran's himself, but that doesn't help."

"I'm sure if I only knew how, I could do something," Bran said, unhappily. He looked down at the ground, catching sight of the sword strapped to his waist and pausing. "I wonder if it's like a cage or something -- the spell, I mean."

"You could cut it!"

John smiled at Simon's sudden relief, though he didn't seem to relax himself. "It is worth a try, I think."

Slowly, Bran drew the sword. Barney bit his lip. "Is it heavy?"

"Not exactly. It's not very easy to hold up like this, but..." Bran lifted the sword, hesitating for a moment. The sun glanced off the blade, almost dazzling. "What if I hurt Will?"

"I'll help you keep it steady, if you like," Barney said, hesitantly. He stepped forward, looking up at Bran as if for permission. It was awkward, but the blade didn't tremble at all as, together, they lifted it. Bran was biting his lip, his expression intense.

"Careful," John said, though his tone was carefully casual.

Bran took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. The tip of the blade was close to Will's skin: close enough that a single wobble might actually have cut the skin and drawn blood. It looked as if Bran was praying, praying as hard as he could, but after only a few seconds he opened his eyes. "Ready?"

"Ready," Barney said. He looked as if he was gritting his teeth. "Three... two... one..."

The movement was awkward: Barney, smaller than Bran, didn't have quite the same reach, and so he almost lost hold as Bran lifted it a little. It sliced down through the air, cleanly, quickly, and instead of the simple hiss of the air parting before the blade they were all expecting, there was a sound of something snapping, and Will almost fell over. Barney let go of Excalibur to steady him, looking relieved. "Will!"

Will's hands caught at Barney's shoulders for support, gripping tightly, and for a moment his face turned a horrible white colour. He sucked in a breath of air, looking as if he were going to fall. Bran almost dropped Excalibur, but caught himself in time to shove it quickly into its sheath before he also grabbed Will, more pushing than helping him to sit down on the grass. His face, too, was paler that it should be, though you could hardly tell. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine in a minute," Will said, and even as they were watching John realised that his colour was already returning, his breathing already slowing and becoming natural again. "Thank you," he said, after a moment, smiling quickly at Barney, at Simon, at Bran. "I'm alright now. I'm glad you figured it out so quickly. That wouldn't have killed me, but, as you can see..."

Simon bit his lip. "If you're really alright, then..."

Will looked up at him, and nodded. "I haven't forgotten. Jane. But I have to confess, I'm not sure how to start."

Barney nodded. "It's my turn again, right?"

"If you can."

"I have to," he said, firmly. Everybody sat, or stood, in silence, as he tried to concentrate. First he closed his eyes, and then he opened them again, looking somewhere into the distance, his eyes strangely focused. There was a deadly hush over them, as if they were all holding their breaths. After a moment, though, Barney just shook his head, groaning in disappointment. "I don't think I can. It makes my head hurt, but that's it."

"Here," Will said, beckoning him closer, and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's try together."

"But -- "

"I'm not prescient myself, but I might be able to help you," he said, patiently. He squeezed Barney's shoulder, hard. "We need to do this."

Barney's eyes flickered to meet his. Then he nodded, settling again, looking into Will's eyes in the same way as he had into the water, through the oil... for a moment, he was almost scared of what he might see, looking into -- through -- Will in that way. But he fought it back, biting his lip hard as he forced himself through into it. He felt Will with him, seeing, even though to him it was all confusion: there was Jane's voice, frightened and yet not, and a man's voice, harsh with power as he spoke to her, quieting her. Barney kept his eyes open until they smarted, desperately trying, trying to capture something in case Will couldn't.

The power that threw him back out of it and into himself was like a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning all at once, and Barney cried out as he fell back out of the cold and dark onto warm grass in the sunshine, clapping his hands over his ears and closing his eyes tightly. Simon lunged towards him, kneeling at his side with a frightened but determined expression on his face, as if he thought he could do something.

Will, however, sat there as if unmoved, as if not touched at all by that spark of power. For a moment his eyes remained far away, and then he, too, snapped back to himself. It only showed in that he swayed a little, as if from an impact.

"Well?" Bran said, his impatience barely masked. Will nodded slightly.

"That worked, then?" Barney said, somewhat rhetorically. He was surprised at how weak he felt, how dizzy: his hands were even shaking, and his legs too.

"Are you alright there, bachgen?" John said, frowning. Simon touched his brother's forehead lightly.

"He's burning up."

"He'll be alright," Will said, getting to his feet. He didn't seem to be any the worse the wear for either the scrying or the spell that he'd been under before that. He took a deep breath. "He's just done too much in too short a time. We need to go, though. Simon -- "

"I'll stay with him," John said, quietly. "I don't think I want anything more to do with the world you're going into now."

Will nodded. Bran got up, too, and Simon did as well, giving Barney one last anxious look. "Where are we going?"

Bran rolled his eyes. "Are you coming, or not?"

"I... I will come with you, no matter what, but -- "

Bran cut him off, his tone teasing but edged with some of the former belligerence. "If you're planning on coming with us, it's better we don't tell you in advance. We don't have time for you to run back to the hotel for another pair of trousers, now, do we?"

"I'm not scared," Simon said, narrowing his eyes.

Will cleared his throat. For a moment he met Bran's eyes, and then Simon's: there was something in his eyes, something serious and weary and fundamentally calm, that dried up the argument before it really began. "We've got to get on. We've got to save Jane, remember? Being scared isn't a shameful thing, anyway. It reminds you to be careful." He shot another glance at Bran as he said that. "We can't underestimate Mordred, remember. There's no guarantee we'll come out of this unscathed."

"There's no guarantee you'll come out of this at all," Barney said, in a small voice. "Simon... Be careful."

"I trust Will," Simon said, after a heartbeat. He smiled at his little brother. "We'll be fine. We'll be back, with Jane, in no time. You'll see."

Barney smiled back. "Go on, then."

Will stepped apart from the little group. He frowned in thought, and then muttered something under his breath. Bran, standing closest, caught the words but couldn't make any sense of them. "He's probably calling the doors," he said, softly, to Simon.

"The doors?"

"It's one of the ways an Old One can travel through time. We've done it together before without needing the doors, but I have a feeling that's more tiring for him. And he's already tired."

"He doesn't look it," Simon said, watching Will for a moment.

Bran shrugged, his eyes on Will the whole time. "He took the brunt of that attack for your brother. If Barney'd faced the whole of my brother's power, I suspect he'd be little more than a gibbering wreck by now, and that permanently. Don't underestimate Will just because he looks ordinary." He grinned, briefly, his tone lighter. "We can't all be as gorgeous as me, after all."

Will looked over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Bran, come over here. Leave your ego behind, but bring Simon."

"Where are these... doors?" Simon asked, curiously. Will gave him a puzzled look.

"You can't see them?"

"He's an ordinary mortal," Bran said, with a shrug. "But there's nothing wrong with my eyes. Here, give me your hand." He grabbed Simon's hand before he'd even finished talking, pulling him along towards Will. "Just trust me, and it'll work fine. If you don't, we'll be down one man."

Simon hesitated. "What do you mean, down one man?"

"I mean you'll be left behind here! Look, do you want to save your sister or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then come on," Bran said, and pulled again at his hand. John couldn't see the doors, but he thought he saw a shimmer, like the air over a hot engine, as first Bran, then Simon, and finally Will passed through something he couldn't quite make out. It was truly as if they'd just walked through a door, though they faded as soon as they stepped through so that they were gone almost immediately.

"They'll be back," Barney said, quietly.

"I hope so," John said, turning back to Barney and sitting down at his side. He couldn't help another glance at the spot where the three had vanished. "Bran's... special to me."

"He's the son you never had," Barney said, almost dreamily. He shook his head, shaking something off. "I'm sorry, right now I can't help seeing things like that. Do you wish you had had a child, Mister Rowlands?"

"Just John," he reminded him. For a moment, he didn't answer, and then he smiled and shrugged. "I'm sure I could have done right by a son, but maybe I got the best parts of this deal. Owen raises him and shouts at him and takes care of him, puts food in his mouth and clothes on his back. I don't have to have any of the pain, but I still get my fair share of the joy and pride. As it is, I'm glad I never had a child with Blodwen. It... who knows what would have come of it? And if it was just a normal child, where would I be now? No, I think this way has been best."

Barney paused for a moment, then looked up at John. "I could scry, to see if they're coming home safely."

"And what good would that do? No," he said, gently, "I'd rather not know, if it's to be bad, and besides, I have faith in those boys, and especially in Bran. Besides, you're too tired."

"It's hard, not to reach out to see how they're doing, now I know how."

"I think you'd really best not." John frowned, briefly. "I'm not sure, but... it tires you out, and you can be attacked in some way while you're doing it. Perhaps the Dark is giving you this compulsion?"

"I never thought of that!" Barney said, a little stricken. "Let's talk about something else, so I won't think about it so much. Let's talk about, I don't know, music. Is it hard to learn how to play a harp? Could you teach me?"

---

As Will stepped through the doors, last, they vanished behind him. Simon flinched a little, wondering how he would ever get back if something happened to Bran and Will, but a moment later he was squaring his shoulders, determined to be as brave and unflinching as the other two. Still, he remembered with a sick sort of dread the way the Dark twisted things, the way that, at any moment, they might start doubting each other, or be overcome by a wave of terror enough to make them cower like scared children.

He shook the thought away, keeping his eyes on Will for a moment. It was like when they'd been with Gumerry, he thought, with a pang. As long as he stayed close to Will, he'd be fine.

"Should I be expecting an attack?" Bran asked, glancing at Will.

"No. Not exactly. I didn't bring us to the exact point in this place that Barney saw. I want to figure out where we are, before we try to fight here."

"You don't know where we are?" Simon's voice squeaked a little, and he flushed. It hadn't done that in years. At least, he thought, biting his lip, neither of them seemed to notice. They seemed to be in a world of their own as their eyes locked, speaking without words, planning something... For a moment, he felt rather alone. But Will raised his head to look at him, then, as if he suddenly remembered he'd spoken.

"I do know where we are, and what time we're in. But... I don't understand. I've been this far into the future before -- in a sense. It shouldn't be like this unless we've already failed."

"The time paradox will just hurt your head, Simon," Bran said, rolling his eyes. "Best not to ask."

"This is the future?"

"A potential future," Will said, absently. He turned to survey the land around them. "We haven't actually moved, in terms of our location on the earth's surface. Not by much, in any case. I'd say that we stand about where Tywyn used to stand."

Simon looked around, incredulously. He couldn't see anything that indicated there'd ever been anything there, let alone a town like Tywyn. It looked more like the beginning of the world than somewhere near the end -- or perhaps simply another planet altogether.

Bran looked even more shocked than he did. "Duw... This was Tywyn? But..."

"Just look at the shape of the land," Will said, softly. "This is the potential future of this place. Unless we change it, now. It's a place of power for the Dark. But that helps me, too. Magic belongs here as it doesn't in your time."

"Where do we go, then?"

For a moment, Will looked indecisive. Then he smiled a little, beckoning them both closer. "I'm going to have to move us all using my own power. There's no time to get there any other way. The final battlefield must be Camlann. I should have taken us there to start with, but... I'll take us to somewhere a little further away, so we can see what Mordred is doing before we charge in there. We mustn't forget that he has a hostage."

"I thought you couldn't do something like that," Simon said, biting his lip. "Transport us like that without the doors, I mean."

"The power of all the Old Ones rests in me, now," Will said, with a slight smile. "Awaiting a time of need. I'd call this a time of need, wouldn't you?"

And so he took their hands, holding them tightly, as if he was afraid something dreadful would happen if he let go. Slowly, Simon returned the pressure and, glancing sideways, grasped Bran's hand.

"Ready," he said, and was surprised that his voice didn't tremble. He closed his eyes.

"Ready," Bran said, squeezing Will's hand. And then the world spun around them.

---

"Do you believe my brother will come for you?"

Jane didn't say anything for a moment. She just crouched beside the throne Mordred sat on, miserably aware of how she'd been taken in... and yet her mind was clouded, too, so that thoughts couldn't quite form themselves. She hugged her knees. Her brother? Simon, or Barney? No -- his brother. His brother, Bran. Would he come? "Yes," she said, aloud, and Mordred shifted in his chair, reaching down to pat her head.

"There's a good girl," he said, mockingly. She wanted to hit him. Irrationally, all she could suddenly think about was that, yes, Bran was coming, and she didn't want him to see her like this. Struggling greatly against his power, as he looked afar -- looked for Bran -- she got to her feet. It felt as if she were lifting the sky, like the legend of the Titan Atlas, bearing the weight of the sky on his shoulders...

"Michael," she said, to prove she still could.

"Be quiet," he said, absently, his eyes still focused on a point somewhere in the distance. Jane took a deep breath and then carefully moved two steps away from the throne. She felt better immediately: her thoughts were her own, and she was only moving through custard rather than through treacle. She took another step away, lifting her head and doing her best to squash the flutter of fear in her stomach.

"Michael," she said, again. This time, he looked at her, turning fast like a striking snake.

"Mordred," he hissed, and then, alarm sneaking into his voice: "How are you doing that?"

"You look quite like Bran, sometimes," she said, her voice shaking a little. "Not right now. You look like Hastings -- the Rider -- now, a bit. But I thought you and Bran were alike. You really are Arthur's son, aren't you? You could do so much better than this, you know. You could help the Light. Even now, you could... if you set me free, and spoke to Will and Bran instead of fighting them... "

"Help?" He gave her a contemptuous look. "I am older than my brother. It should have been me. I should have been the Pendragon. The Old Ones will give me nothing. And my brother stole my birthright."

"But you're Morgan Le Fay's son, aren't you? The son of a witch? Maybe -- "

"The son of a lady, though they'd never respect that," he spat. "They always said she was evil and worked bad magic, but they were just scared. She had power, power like they'd never seen except from the Lords of the Dark. But no matter who my mother was, I was Arthur's oldest son. I should have been the Pendragon."

"Maybe it did matter who your mother was," Jane said, biting her lip hard. She felt uncomfortable, standing where she was, but her legs were trembling and she didn't think she could take a step back without betraying to him how weak she was. "Bran's Guinevere's child, isn't he? So maybe he just had a better claim."

"I'm older than him," Mordred said, persistant as a sulky child. His hands were in fists at his sides.

Jane looked at him, and said nothing. There seemed to be nothing to say, and she was rapidly losing her strength just in standing where she was without sinking down again. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that. She looked, then, to the horizon, wondering if perhaps she saw moving figures there. Quickly she turned her head back to him, wondering if she could help somehow -- buy them time to do something while he didn't see them, distract Mordred somehow... She found the strength, somewhere, to take another step backwards. She felt a little better again almost immediately.

"So... after they rejected me, my mother raised me to be the Pendragon for the Dark," Mordred said, calmer again, a cruel smile twisting his face. She looked at him and wondered why she'd ever thought him handsome, and why she'd ever thought he looked like Bran. Carefully, she took another tiny step back, and another. He didn't seem to notice. "It's the stuff legends are made of, isn't it? Brother against brother. Like Cain and Abel. The ultimate evil, a brother-slaying -- something like that will bring the Dark back, and my mother with it. Even if he wins, he will open that door and the Dark will return, and I'll win in the end."

"No!"

Mordred's eyes glinted, a little. He grinned, showing his teeth. "Yes, little Jane. Yes. There's nothing anyone can do now. The Dark's coming back."