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Chapter Text

His face was as red as his cloak. The man was asphyxiated. Blood was rushing to his head, gushing from where his left ear used to be. The witch released her choking charm and the knight gasped for air.

“This is all pointless you know,” said the witch. He long, dark hair trailed down her back. “As a follower of the Old Religion, I respect all life. I don’t enjoy doing this to you,” but her face lacked any trace of contrition. Indeed, her lips were pulled in a smirk and the knight could remember the glee on her face as her golden eyes robbed him of breath.

“I know your kind witch,” spat out the knight. “Your existence is drawn from the perversion of life. You may as well indulge yourself. Kill me and be done with it. I’d rather die than betray my king.”

“We both know that Arthur is no true king,” spat Morgana. “Your loyalty is to a legacy of evil.”

The knight said nothing in return and Morgana slapped him across the face. “Your ignorance will be the death of you and all that you stand for. Perhaps a night alone will help you reconsider your alliances.” With that, she stormed into a tent.

Sir Ranulf had been through enough battles to know when too much blood had been lost. The witch had cauterized his wounds, but the work was sloppy. Truth be told, she seemed less concerned with saving him and more interested in extending the time that she could torture him. The man fully expected to be dead by morning.

Two others, a boy and a girl— likely fellow sorcerers— were watching him with wide eyes. It was embarrassing to have been taken by this scruffy group of criminals. He was tied to a pole stuck into the ground. In any other situation the knight probably could have pulled himself free, but he was far to weak and deprived to do such a thing.

The king would look for him, he was sure of that. But there was little chance that they would find him here in time. As he sat waiting to die, he looked around the clearing where his last breath would be taken. The moon shone bright overhead, so he could barely make out where the trees began. The nightlife of the forest was in full swing, and Ranulf thought that he heard a wolf’s howl. He hoped that his remaining ear was tricking him. He really did not want to die of a wolf mauling.

As he looked around, he saw an owl perched on the tree closest to him. Normally such a sight would not faze him, but this owl looked different. Though Sir Ranulf could barely make out the animal itself, it was as dark as the night around it, the owl was immediately visible by its bright blue eyes. And it almost seemed to look at Sir Ranulf with pity. The man would have chuckled if he could, clearly the blood loss was affecting him if he thought that owls could pity.

The owl swooped down into the clearing and landed onto the boy’s head. Sir Ranulf could have sworn that its eyes turned orange, a more typical color for owls. But the bird’s eyes were blue again soon enough and both the boy and the girl collapsed to the floor. Sir Ranulf sneered at them. Of course the fools would fall asleep on watch.

The owl flew again, this time to Sir Ranulf. As it came closer, the knight saw that the bird truly was black as pitch. His little blue eyes peered up at the knight, and he couldn’t help but feel a wave of coolness and vague familiarity as the owl sat on his lap. Even through the blood and gore, Sir Ranulf couldn’t help but feel comforted by the animal in his lap in what was sure to be his last moments.

But something was happening, the owl’s eyes turned orange and Sir Ranulf felt his trappings fall to the ground. The owl flew to perch on top of Ranulf’s head, and the knight could have sworn that the unbearable pain where his ear and hand used to be immediately subside.

The owl flew to the ground and sat. “Hoot,” it said. If Sir Ranulf didn’t know any better, he would have said that the owl tweaked his head to the side. Clearly he had lost too much blood.

Sir Ranulf slowly rose to his feet. His body was still in a lot of pain, but an odd sort of energy seemed to have overtaken him. And there was a chance that he could at least escape this gruesome clearing and find somewhere peaceful. He began stumbling away, hoping to find a serene river, or perhaps a nice tree to lay beside. The owl had taken flight and begun zipping around in circles above Ranulf’s head. It then darted to a tree and almost seemed to beckon him to come along. Ranulf stumbled to the owl, which then darted to another tree. Ranulf stumbled to that tree too.

On and on they continued through the forest, the owl flying to different trees, and Ranulf following it. Ranulf couldn’t have told you why he was following the owl. He almost felt like he was in some sort of trance. But he could remember the peace that he felt when the owl was on his knees and thought that if he could catch it, maybe his death could be peaceful.

The owl continued to flit from tree to tree, when it let out a loud hoot. It flew to the ground and broke a twig. It actually looked like the root of a skinny tree to Sir Ranulf, but there was no way that an owl could be so strong.

The owl flew to Ranulf’s arms and he smiled in triumph. He had caught the owl. The feeling of cool peace flitted over him and he was content. This was a good way to die. He felt his eyelids droop and he stumbled back to the ground, the owl still in hand. As his eyes drew to a close, the last thing he saw was the owl’s eyes turn orange again.

Chapter Text

Merlin almost dropped his pitcher for the third time in half an hour. Arthur had no idea why his manservant was so tired. He had actually dismissed him early the previous night. But whatever Merlin had decided to do with his extra time, it wasn’t sleeping. If Arthur hadn’t been in the middle of a council meeting, he would have thrown something at him. The amount of times Merlin turned up to meetings late and exhausted was beyond him. Surely at some point he’d figure out that the thrill of the tavern wasn’t worth the hell that it brought the next day. Especially for a lightweight like Merlin. At least Gwaine could hold his liquor.

“We’ve received a missive from Queen Mithian in Nemeth,” announced Geoffrey. Arthur tore his eyes from Merlin and focused on Geoffrey.

“Yes, I hear that it has to do with a grain shortage?”

“Indeed sire. It seems that a good amount of their rations for the coming winter were destroyed by a freak storm. Destroyed an entire storehouse. They have reached out for aid, lest a lot of their population starve.”

“This is an excellent opportunity to extend some influence in Nemeth,” said Sir Hector. He had been appointed to the council by Arthur’s father, and he was one of what Merlin would call “Uther’s bootlickers.”

“Our terms for parting with the lands of Gedref were far too lenient. Perhaps we could be convinced to sell them some of our grain if they returned what is rightly ours.”

Arthur pursed his lips. Being able to marry Guinevere was worth more that all the land in Camelot. “We have had an abundant harvest this year and Camelot already dwarfs the size of Nemeth. We can extend a good price to our allies if it means that their people won’t starve.”

Sir Hector chuckled as if Arthur were a child excitingly presenting the court with a mudpie to eat at a banquet. “My Lord, we have a golden opportunity to seize our lands back and perhaps make a profit in the process. We should act on this.”

“Nemeth won’t agree to those terms immediately. And while we go back and forth, people will die,” insisted Arthur.

“Hence why we should seize this moment. We could regain what’s ours without any of Camelot’s blood spilled.

Arthur sighed. “Geoffrey, I would like a report on how much the Crown has stockpiled, and how much we can part with without putting ourselves in danger,” said Arthur. “Regardless what we decide, we need to know how much we can give them with—” BOOM.

The doors to the chambers burst open to reveal a distraught Percival. Sir Hector frowned and opened his mouth to speak, likely to chastise Percival for daring to interrupt a council meeting, but Arthur cut him off.

“Percival, what happened?” he said, rising to his feet.

“The southern patrol found Sir Ranulf last night,” said Percival.

Arthur’s face darkened. Sir Ranulf had been one of the knight to help train him as a boy. He had sparred with him as he first learned the sword, and drank with him when he managed to pass the trials to become a knight.

“What is his condition?” asked Arthur, fighting to keep the emotion from his voice.

“He’s alive sir but, he’s been tortured. Gaius is seeing to him now,” said Percival.

Arthur nodded, “We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he announced to the council. “I expect the final propositions for the wall to be drawn by then.” With that he strode out of the room despite the protests of the other councilmen.

Percival fell in step behind him. “Is he stable Percival?” asked Arthur, dreading the answer.

“Gaius says that he’s in better condition than expected considering what he thinks he experienced,” said Percival. Arthur sighed. Better than expected was not necessarily great news when discussing torture.

By this time they had arrived at the physicians quarters. Arthur burst in to see Gaius dabbing some horrific green substance onto Sir Ranulf’s ear. However on closer inspection Arthur’s stomach turned. It was more accurate to say where Sir Ranulf’s ear used to be.

“Merlin, I need you to stitch up the wounds on his torso,” barked Gaius.

Merlin, who Arthur just noticed had followed him from the council room, darted to a cabinet in the back and rustled around for something. He seemed more alert than he had in the council room, but Arthur was still unsure that a hungover Merlin was the best man for the job.

“How is he Gaius?” Arthur asked. “What happened?”

“He was tortured sire,” said Gaius. “Whoever was responsible found it necessary to amputate his left ear and his right arm. He’s been roughed up, but the wounds were already well cauterized by the time he got here, and he doesn’t appear to have lost as much blood as I initially thought.” Gaius’ eyes darted to Merlin for a second, who was busy stitching up Ranulf’s stomach. This relieved Arthur. At least Gaius was keeping an eye on his hungover manservant as he did the procedures.

“So he’ll be okay then?” said Arthur.

“I can’t say for sure, sire,” said Gaius. “Even if he survives, he’ll have serious disabilities that will affect him for the rest of his life. But the worst has passed and pending any unforeseen complications, he should make somewhat of a full recovery.

Arthur nodded. It seemed that Sir Ranulf’s career as an active knight was over, but perhaps he could have a good future looking after other young knights. Arthur would ensure that he was taken care of. He then turned to Percival.

“You lead the patrol last night, have we any idea who did this?” said Arthur.

Percival shook his head. “I didn’t have enough men to both search the area and return Sir Ranulf home in a timely fashion. We found him lying by a tree, completely passed out. But we did enough of an investigation to determine that he was not, er… affected in the spot where we found him. We found evidence of him walking southward to the tree before collapsing. He must have escaped.”

That was easily the most that Arthur had heard out of Percival at one time.

“Good work,” Arthur slapped Percival on the back. “Are you up to leading us back to where you found him?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Then round up some knights, we need to do a more thorough investigation,” with that, Arthur turned to head back to his chambers when Percival asked.

“Er… which knights sire?” In a way, this question was merely a formality. If Arthur was going out with a group of knights, it was almost certain which group that would be.

“Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, and yourself,” said Arthur.

“Elyan is supposed to handle training this afternoon,” said Percival.

“Aw, you’re right,” said Arthur. “Bring… Mordred along instead,” said Arthur.

From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin raise his eyebrow. He had always been slightly unsure around Mordred, though Arthur didn't know why. Thy boy had saved Arthur’s life, which was usually an easy way to get into Merlin’s good graces.

“Merlin, when your finished here I need you to prepare my armour.” Merlin nodded and Gaius said, “He’s almost finished with the stitches, my Lord.”

Arthur gave them a curt nod before heading back to his chambers.

Sure enough, Merlin joined Arthur after about twenty minutes, loudly lugging his set of armour along with him. Arthur chuckled, it was always amusing to see Merlin struggle with his equipment.

“After so many years one would expect that you would have grown stronger. I suppose that some people are just incapable of strength,” said Arthur.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Well your Highness, some men are born inclined to big muscles, and some of us make do with big brains,” he said.

“And some of us have neither,” said Arthur triumphantly.

“Say that again while I’m patching you up after you’ve lost a bout,” replied Merlin. “Now, off with your shirt.”

Arthur smirked, pulled his shirt off, and began the well practiced process of Merlin dressing Arthur in his armour. As Merlin laced up Arthur’s undershirt, he blurted out, “Are you really going to bully Nemeth into giving back Gedref?”

Arthur shrugged. “It seems that that’s what the Council is most in favor of.”

“But you aren’t in favor of it?”

“No. Not if I can avoid it.”

“Then you’re the King!” said Merlin, his bright, guileless eyes shining. “Sell them the grain for a fair price.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “It’s not that simple Merlin. These men are some of the most powerful Lords in Camelot. I need them on my side. And they were handpicked by my Father, I should heed their advice.”

Merlin gave Arthur a look, the one where he thought that Arthur was daft. “You’re a different King than your Father, Arthur. A better one!”—Arthur scoffed at that—“You need to pave your own way!”

Arthur sighed as Merlin finished with his undershirt. “I’ll do what I can, but more land means more taxes and more money for them, I don’t think they’ll budge.”

“More money they can skim more like it,” muttered Merlin. “When you were a prince you couldn’t do anything because of your Father, now you’re hamstrung by a bunch of old toads.”

“Respect, Merlin!”

“Very distinguished old toads then.”

Arthur chuckled as Merlin buffed his shoulder plate. He worked in silence for another minute before blurting out, “You’re taking Mordred with you?”

“Yes, is that so unbelievable?”

“No, it’s just that he’s a younger knight for such a mission,” said Merlin, his eyes focused on Arthur’s gamberson.

Arthur shrugged, which annoyed Merlin because he was trying to lace him up. “He’ll be surrounded by my best knights. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure he will, but you’re taking such an interest in him. He only became a knight a few months ago.”

“He’s progressing quickly,” said Arthur. Despite having only met Mordred a few months ago, Arthur felt drawn to him. When he had saved his life back at Ismere, Arthur knew that he had to knight him.

Merlin had had an interesting reaction to this news. Arthur had thought that he’d be happy that another peasant was being knighted, but he was strangely cool at the news of Mordred’s knighthood.

Arthur didn’t think that he looked upset per se, but he definitely had a different attitude towards Mordred than he did the other knights.

Oddly enough, Mordred seemed to regard Merlin differently as well. Again, it wasn’t that he didn’t like him. But he treated Merlin with a sort of distance and respect that Arthur found amusing.

Mordred was very eager to please, and Merlin usually was quite liberal in how he doled out compliments and jokes. It was how he had managed to win over most of the knights, even the ones who weren’t at the Round Table. Well, that and the fact that Merlin was often the person in charge of making the food on longer missions, and that he was usually the one to patch up everyone’s wounds before they saw Gaius. Good food and less pain endeared you to a man.

“He is,” Merlin said quickly. “You just seem quite excited by his progress.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Mordred is shaping up to be a fine knight. And he saved my life.”

“That he did,” said Merlin. “But—”

Merlin did not get to finish his sentence, because there was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” called Arthur, expecting to see Percival ready with the other knights.

The door opened to reveal a mousy haired girl that Arthur vaguely recognized from around the castle. Arthur gestured for her to speak.

“Gaius sent me to tell you that Sir Ranulf has awoken, sire. He thought that you might want to question him.”

“I do, thank you.” The girl bowed and scurried off.

“Hurry up Merlin, we need to get to Gaius’ rooms.”

Ranulf looked marginally better than when Gaius had last seen him. His wounds were now dressed, and his bloody clothes had been replaced with clean ones. Regardless, he still looked exhausted.

He was lying on the visitors cot that Gaius had in his chambers, and Arthur waved him down when he tried to sit up.

“There’s no need Ranulf,” said Arthur. “How are you feeling?”

“About as well as can be expected,” he said with a hoarse voice. Merlin flitted to the corner to fetch a pitcher of water, which he poured in a mug.

“I can help you drink sir,” he said.

Sir Ranulf stared into Merlin’s eyes. Arthur could actually see Merlin’s face growing hot, but Ranulf eventually shook his head and said, “That would be nice Merlin, thank you.”

Arthur let Ranulf take some gulps of water before continuing. “We are going to find those who did this to you, but it will be easier to find them if you could give us some information, if you are up to it.”

Sir Ranulf nodded, “Absolutely sire,” he cleared his throat before beginning. “I had delivered the message to Lord Andrew as you requested. I was riding back when I saw a lady crouched down on the side of the road. Of course I stopped to help you, thinking that she was hurt or something, but I was jumped by two other boys. I thought them to be ordinary bandits, but they were young and I didn’t want to hurt them too badly.” Sir Ranulf’s face contorted as he said his next words. “I should have slaughtered them when I had the chance. They were sorcerers.”

At this, Arthur’s skin crawled as well. Of course sorcerers were wrapped up in this. Who else would torture and disfigure a perfectly honorable knight for no apparent reason?

“They knocked me out and took me to their hideout. It was just a clearing in the woods. They wanted to know about you Arthur. I didn’t give them anything of course, and I got this in reward,” he said, gesturing to his left arm.

“How did you escape?”

At this Sir Ranulf’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. Indeed it looked as if he were confused. “I’m not completely sure sire, I think that the blood loss got to me. I remember the boys watching me falling asleep on their watch, and my bindings coming loose somehow.” He frowned, “And there was this weird owl,” he said.

Arthur raised eyebrows at that. “An owl?”

Ranulf turned pink, “Like I said, I think the blood loss got to me, my Lord.”

Arthur shrugged. “Can you remember your captors?”

“They all had dark hair, the girl seemed to be in charge and she her hair was wavy, and trailed down her back.”

At this, Arthur’s blood ran cold. “Could it have been Morgana?”

Ranulf looked unsure. “I didn’t get a good look at her before I was knocked out, and I’m not sure how well I trust my memories after that. She did say something about you not being the rightful king, so I suppose it could have been her. But it easily could be another witch.”

Arthur wasn’t sure which he preferred. Facing Morgana always came with a certain amount pain, but he also wasn’t particularly excited at the thought of there being another vengeful sorceress running around.

To Sir Ranulf he said, “You have done Camelot a great service. I will make sure that you are repaid for it as best as I can. We will begin by apprehending your captors.”

Ranulf bowed his head, “Thank you, my Lord.”

Arthur gestured to Merlin, “Come, we have sorcerers to catch.”

Chapter Text

Emrys was readying a horse for him.

Of course not just him specifically. He was readying horses for everyone, but it was still unreal that the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth was making sure that his stirrups were tight enough. And that wasn’t even the only shocking thing happening today.

The king and queen strode out into the courtyard where the King’s most trusted knights, Emrys, and for some reason, Mordred, were assembled.

“Well, if I can’t convince you to stay, at least be careful,” said Guinevere as she rose to give Arthur a kiss on the cheek.

“I always am,” said Arthur as he checked over his supplies. “Merlin! Did you remember to bring my cloak?”

“Of course sire,” said Emrys, his eyes not straying from his work.

“But Arthur please!” she grabbed the King by the arm. “This is Morgana that we’re talking about!”

Mordred froze. He looked over to Emrys, who would not meet his eyes.

“We don’t know for sure if it’s her.”

“But it might be! And even if it isn’t, there is still a witch out there. You know what that brings!” At her words, Mordred looked away. Emry’s eyes didn’t stray from his task and his face was totally neutral. Mordred wondered if he would become as good at hiding his emotions one day. Mordred wasn’t sure if hearing such words even hurt Emrys.

“And so I’ll be careful,” said the King. He swung onto his horse with a practiced grace, “Sir Ranulf was a dedicated knight for many years, it is my duty to find those who hurt him.”

“I know, I just worry about you,” said Guinevere. She reached out her hand and the King placed a kiss on it. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.” To everyone else he said, “Men, let’s go. And Merlin, stop lazing around and get on your horse.”

Emrys scurried to the horse standing beside the King’s. “I wasn’t lazing about,” he said as he mounted his steed, “I had to assemble your things become some of us can’t take care of ourselves.”

“Strong words for a man who cowers behind trees while others protect you,” his tone was light, but Mordred’s jaw dropped dramatically before he rearranged his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression. This banter seemed to be normal between the King and Emrys. Emrys didn’t even seem to be offended as he readily threw back another barb. But hearing the King, and occasionally the other knights, joke about Emrys’ weakness would never not be shocking to Mordred.

When they had traversed past the city limits, the King began to describe their mission in more detail. “Sir Ranulf was sent to deliver an important message to Lord Andrew. While he was returning to Camelot, he was ambushed by a group of sorcerers.”

The faces of the knights grew grim at this news, Mordred’s for different reasons than the others. This was the first time that he had been sent on a mission explicitly to hunt sorcerers. Though the King had no love for magic, he didn’t run the raids or extensive searches that his father had. So being a knight of Camelot didn’t feel like too much of a betrayal of his heritage. This was different.

Mordred looked to Emrys. He had quirked an eyebrow in mild interest, but his eyes darted around to everyone’s bags as if making sure that they were full. No anger or outrage, just a servant being dragged about at the whims of his master making sure that everyone was accommodated.

“Percival, can you describe his state to everyone when you found him?” said Arthur in a steely tone.

“He was passed out by a tree, covered with blood. He was missing an ear and a hand.” There was a chorus of hisses and swearing after this pronouncement.

“Sir Ranulf woke earlier today. He had three captors, two boys in their late teens, and a girl with long dark hair,” said Arthur.

“Was it Morgana?” growled Sir Gwaine. Sir Gwaine was especially hateful of Morgana. Those that had known her before she betrayed them always had a note of pity in their voices whenever she was brought up. But Sir Gwaine had no patience for her. It didn’t help that Sir Gwaine was particularly protective of those that he considered his brethren.

“We’re not sure,” said Arthur. “But we hopefully we can learn more by searching their hideout. Percival will lead us to where Sir Ranulf was found, and we can track his steps back to where he escaped from. Unfortunately, the sorcerers have probably fled by know, but we might be able to pick up a trail or at lest further identify them. But there is a chance that we may find them. These sorcerers are dangerous, try to take them in alive, butt don’t hesitate to use lethal force.” The knights nodded in unison, and Mordred found himself nodding along in order to not seem suspicious.

They rode hard for the next few hours. The sorcerers had attacked Sir Ranulf quite close to the southern border, so they had a ways to go. Usually Mordred would have enjoyed the ride, but his stomach was in knots. Would he have to fight another sorcerer today? Surely these were bad ones to have tortured Sir Ranulf so. Mordred liked the older knight, he had always been kind to Mordred and patient with him as he taught him. But Mordred knew that that wouldn’t have been the case had they met in other circumstances. Sir Ranulf had been a knight under Uther, and had they met when Mordred was still a Druid, Ranulf would probably have used the same skills that he was teaching Mordred to slaughter him.

Mordred looked to Emrys. What would he do? Would he allow the sorcerers to be killed? Mordred could tell that Emrys was incredibly dedicated to the King, and he had no patience for those who threatened Camelot. But Mordred also knew that Emrys was merciful and kindhearted. At least he was to people who weren’t Mordred. He never had figured out why Emrys tried to kill him as a child, but since he had saved him certain death in Amata, Mordred supposed that Emrys didn’t want him dead now.

These sorcerers had already attacked a knight, so Emrys probably wouldn’t show them much kindness. But would it hurt to see them taken down? Would Emrys help take them down?

Mordred’s head was swimming with all these questions when Arthur called for everyone to halt. They dismounted and Sir Percival said, “The tree where we found him should be up ahead.”

The tree in question had streaks of blood staining the bottom of the trunk. Mordred winced as he realized just how bad of shape Sir Ranulf must have been in.

The King crouched down to closely inspect the tree. Mordred had been told that Arthur was the best tracker that Camelot had to offer, but this was the first time that Mordred had seen him work in action. After spending a few minutes inspecting the area, Arthur announced, “He came from the east.”

He carefully started walking eastward and everyone else followed him slowly. The other knights also seemed to be focused on something, but Mordred wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to be doing. He wasn’t even sure where he was mean to be. The others seemed to have a predetermined order in which to follow. Emrys was always by Arthur’s side. Sir Leon followed closely behind. Sir Gwaine swaggered in the middle, and Sir Percival brought up the rear. Usually Sir Elyan would be in front of Sir Percival, but today Mordred was in the back. It was clear that Percival wasn’t used to not being in the back because occasionally he would turn to check the back position, only to see Mordred already there.

The King’s tracking skills were legitimate, because they soon came across a clearing. There was a pole stuck into the ground that was absolutely drenched in blood. So much blood in fact that Mordred wasn’t sure how Sir Ranulf had survived his encounter, much less walked to the tree where the patrol had found him.

Sir Gwaine whistled when he saw the sight, and the others faces grew even more serious.

The King walked to what seemed to be a fire pit and waved his hands over it. “It’s not completely cooled, they were here a few hours ago, but I think they split up. Two sets of tracks goes south and the other goes west. There were three people.” He then turned and told the group, “We’ll split as well. Merlin, Gwaine, stay here and check out the campsite. There may be something useful. Leon and

Percival can follow that trail going north. Mordred, you’re coming with me.” At this Mordred froze.

“We’ll meet back here in two hours,” everyone else nodded and began their work. Mordred scurried over to the King, trying his best not to look too out of place.

“Have you tracked before Mordred?” asked the King. Mordred had to physically keep himself from gulping. He’d been tracked plenty of times, even caught, but he had never been the one doing the tracking.

“No sir.”

The King laughed and slapped Mordred on the back. “There’s no need to be so nervous Mordred. And please call me Arthur.”

“Okay my Lord… I mean Arthur!” Mordred blushed and the King laughed, but not in an unkind way.

“It really is very simple,” said Arthur. He crouched down again and started looked at the undergrowth. “You need to think about the forest and how it works. The animals that traverse it, the plants that grow here, everything has a sort of rhythm. In tracking, we look for things that interrupt that rhythm.” Mordred nodded and crouched down as well, looked for evidence of men.

“Take this for example,” called the King—Arthur a few minutes later. “Does it really make sense that these leaves would have fallen here?” He reached and gently pulled the branch from the ground. Underneath, imprinted in the mud was a clear footprint.

“They tried to cover their tracks, but a skilled tracked can still pick up on clues,” said Arthur. Mordred nodded, but another thought was floating about his head. If this truly was Morgana, she would have erased her tracks with magic, she was powerful enough to do that. It seemed that Mordred would not need to encounter her after all. He couldn’t tell Arthur that of course, so he kept quiet.

“What about this?” he called out some time later. They had followed the trail for a few more miles, and Mordred had spied a snapped twig. Arthur walked over to inspect it. He frowned and inspected the area nearby. After a moment he hissed.

“Look at this Mordred,” Mordred carefully ambled over to another print, only this one was not human.

“It looks like a wolf print,” said Mordred. He got up and began to leave but Arthur signaled him to stay.

“Why would a wolf print be important?” asked Mordred. “I thought we were looking for things that don’t belong in the forest.”

“We are, but these prints look to be about the same age as the prints that we found earlier.” Arthur poked his fingers into the ground and brought the mud to his nose. “Smell that Mordred.”
Mordred obediently poked his fingers into the ground as well and took a sniff. He frowned. “It smells…metallic?”

Arthur clapped Mordred on the back again. “Good job Mordred! This mud is bloody, though it’s hard to tell just by looking at it.” Mordred flushed pink with pleasure.

“Perhaps our little sorcerer was attacked nearby,” surmised Arthur. “Look for signs of an attack.”

Arthur was right, after looking around for another few minutes, Mordred spotted a lump of cloth pushed into the ground. He called over Arthur again, who again clapped him on the back. Mordred couldn’t help but grin. He seemed to be making a good impression on the King.

Mordred’s smile grew dimmer though as Arthur pulled a cord out from the ground.

“This is an interesting rope,” he said, studying it intently. “Perhaps Gaius can lend some light on what exactly it is.” Mordred could have told him what it was. It was the strap for a Druid’s charm. He hadn’t seen one since his childhood. This meant that the sorceress was almost certainly a Druid. But why would a Druid be so violent? It threatened everything that they stood for. Mordred had too keep himself from scoffing aloud to himself. As if he could judge anyone for not adhering to Druidic customs.

“In the meantime, I think that we can definitely conclude that this person was attacked. Look at the blood on this.” Arthur pulled out a small sac and put the cord inside. “Come Mordred, and be careful. They may have made it far if they were injured.”

Arthur and Mordred soon came across a road. It was made of dirt and was clearly not heavily trafficked, but it still probably made it easier for the wounded sorcerer to escape. Their footprints were quite obvious in the dirt though, as were the blood splatters surrounding them. At this sight, Arthur became especially vigilant, his hand on his sword at all times. He motioned for Mordred to do the same.

Mordred’s heart was pounding. Would this be the first time that he faced a sorcerer as a knight of Camelot, and a Druid as well? He tried to remember the pool of blood that they found in the clearing.

Magical or not, someone capable of that deserved punishment, did they not?

They soon came across a small cottage off the side of the road. Arthur motioned for Mordred to be quiet, and they slowly snuck up to the front door. Arthur unsheathed his sword quietly. Mordred did the same, his heart in his throat.

Arthur nodded before bursting into the cottage, Mordred behind him. The cottage seemed empty initially, but then Mordred pointed to a struggling bunch of cloth in the corner. Arthur strode over and pulled the tarp.

There was an older man gagged and tied up in rope, struggling on the ground. Arthur pointed his sword to the man’s chest. “Un-gag him.”

Mordred quickly came over and cut off the man’s gag. He took a gasping breath and said, “Are you here about the witch? I swear I did nothing my Lord! She overpowered me!” Arthur’s stance remained solid, but Mordred could see his eyes softening,

“Search the rest of the cottage,” directed Arthur. It was quite an easy task as the place only had one room. He found more blood splatters on the floor, but nothing else looked out of the ordinary.

“There’s no one else here, and everything seems to be in order sire.” At the word sire, the man’s eyes opened wider.

“Untie him,” commanded Arthur. He lowered his sword and Mordred hurriedly started releasing the man.

“What happened here?” asked Arthur.

The man was struggling to sit up, so Mordred helped him situate himself comfortably. “I was sleeping in my cot this morning and then these girls burst in. The younger’s leg was dripping blood. I got up, was going to help her, but then the other girl used magic on me! Pushed me to the floor and tied me up. Then she stole all my money and took my donkey!”

Arthur cursed under his breath. An old farmer’s donkey was probably no match for the prime steeds of Camelot, but their horses were far away from them, and Morgana and her accomplice had a hours-long head start. Sir Ranulf’s perpetrator seemed to have escaped for the moment, and Mordred felt an odd combination of relief and disappointment.

“Did you get a good look at them?” asked Arthur.

“They both had long, dark hair. Kind of wavy. The one with the bleeding eyes hard dark eyes, but the witch’s eyes were green.”

Arthur nodded. “I’m sorry to have startled you,” he said, completely sheathing his sword. “We couldn’t be sure whether you were a threat or not.”

“It’s no issue, sire,” said the man. He seemed quite nervous, staring at the floor and wringing his hands. Mordred couldn’t blame him. Arthur cut quite an imposing figure. “You never can tell with magic.”

Arthur reached into one of his pockets. “Let’s see if that manservant of mine packed properly,” he muttered under his breath. He retrieved a handful of coins and kneeled down. “Here,” he said. “I’m not sure how much she took from you but this is all that I have,” he said softly.

The man seemed to calm a bit, but perhaps it was out of shock that the King was kneeling down and offering him money. “Th-Thank you sire! This is more than enough. The tales of your mercy were not unfounded!”

“It is my duty to protect my people,” said Arthur, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your help, you have done Camelot a great service.” The man still looked quite stunned. To Mordred, Arthur said,

“Let’s go, we need to regroup with everyone else.”

Walking back to the clearing was a faster process than the journey from it. Arthur seemed to be deep in thought, probably meditating over how to track the sorceress from this point. But when they were entering the forest again, he spoke again.

“I’m proud of you Mordred. You’ve done well today.”

“Thank you si—Arthur,” he quickly corrected himself, but his flub still caused Arthur to chuckle which made Mordred blush.

“You did well tracking, and I’m especially pleased with how you dealt with the old man. As knights our objective is always to serve.”
Mordred nodded, “Thank you.”

“How are you adjusting to knighthood? I imagine that it’s quite the transition from your life before,” asked Arthur.

Going from the hunted to the hunter was indeed quite the transition. Regardless, Mordred grinned. “It’s been challenging. But the other men have been gracious in allowing me into their ranks, and it's an honor to serve you.”

Arthur laughed again, “You don’t need to flatter me Mordred, I’ve already let you in.”

“But I’m not just flattering you Arthur,” Mordred paused before continuing. “When I was growing up, swords and fighting were always ways of destruction. Tools of greed, anger, and survival. But as a knight, I feel like I can use these skills to protect. I think that your Camelot will be one of fairness.”

Arthur looked startled for a few seconds, but then he smiled and said, “Thank you for your loyalty.”

By the time that Arthur and Mordred arrived back at the clearing the rest of the men were already waiting for them.

“There you are! Where have you been?” called out Emrys.

“Having a ball Merlin, what else would we be doing?” shot back Arthur sarcastically.

Emrys rolled his eyes and made his way straight to Arthur. “What took you so long? Did you run into anything?” his eyed rolled over Arthur as he ensured that we was unharmed. When he determined him to be fine, he gave Mordred a quick glance as well. It felt nice to be included.

“It seems that it was Morgana,” began Arthur. Mordred saw everyone’s jaw set at those words, even that of Emrys.

“She’s gained a head start, unfortunately. Her accomplice was attacked by an animal, likely a wolf, before they stumbled their way to a farmer’s cottage. There, they robbed him and stole his donkey.

Gauging by the tracks they left, they went northward,” said Arthur. “What did you lot find.”

“Not much, but Ranulf must have had an angel watching over him cause I have no idea how he’s still walking around,” said Sir Gwaine.

Leon and Percival were more successful. They had followed the tracks of the two boys to a nearby stream, after which the trail dried up.

“We found cuttings of wood near the stream, we think that they made a makeshift raft and went downstream,” said Leon.

“In the same direction as the girl,” said Arthur thoughtfully. “They might hope to regroup somewhere North. There aren’t too many towns near here. When we return back to the citadel, I can send knights to scout them out. The sorceress will be hampered by her injury. We’ll take a quick lunch and then ride hard back to the castle.”

Nobody wanted to eat in the clearing. Regardless of its convenience, eating in a place so heavily stained with a colleague’s blood was not appetizing. So they hiked back to where they left their horses and made a quick camp there.

Making camp as a knight was quite different than when he was a Druid. In the Druid camp, everyone had a part to do. It was considered good to be helpful. But here, the other knights stated laughing at him when he asked Emrys if he needed help.

“Don’t worry about Merlin, Mordred,” said Arthur. “Don’t let his impertinence at it fool you, Merlin’s job is to serve.”

Emrys rolled his eyes, but dutifully started to dole out rations. When he reached Sir Percival, he frowned and said, “Did you ever see Gaius after you arrived this morning?” Sir Percival shook his head.
Emrys and reached into his satchel and muttered,

“You’ve had that injury since this morning I imagine,” said Emrys as he pulled strips of cloth.

“Which injury?” said Percival.

“The one that you think that I’m too dim to have noticed. Hold out your arm.”

Sir Percival reluctantly held out his left arm. Emrys pushed back his sleeve to reveal an awful looking cut. Emrys tutted and retrieved a green paste from his bag, muttering as he rubbed it into Percival’s arm.

“It’s just a cut.”

“You see a cut, I see a possible infection that could take your arm if not properly treated,” said Emrys. Percival at least had the good sense to look sheepish. “Now hold still, I’m going to have to sew you up.” Emrys retried a needle and thread from his bag and carefully began stitching Percival’s wound back together.

“You’re quite skilled with medicine, aren’t you,” said Mordred.

“I do what I can,” said Emrys, his eyes not leaving his work.

“You see Mordred, Merlin here is so clumsy that when he was a young child his mother got tired of patching him up and insisted that he do it himself. So he is quite good at handling flesh wounds,” said Arthur with a smirk. But Mordred knew better. While his own healing skills were far from exemplary, he had been around trained enough to tell the difference between someone truly skilled in the healing arts, magical or otherwise, and one with only a cursory knowledge of the human body. The only people that Mordred had ever encountered more skilled than Emrys were Iselidir and Gaius, and Emrys had been training under Gaius for years. It occurred to Mordred that Arthur had known Gaius since childhood, and probably had no idea what a truly mediocre physician looked like.

“Well sire, if my skills are so offensive to you. I’ll be sure to let you bleed out the next time you get bashed on the head. Meaning that I should be rid of you in the next day or so,” quipped Emrys. He rose from where he had been kneeling and addressed the rest of the group. “Anyone else hiding any potentially lethal wounds?”

Everyone laughed and shook their head. Even Mordred joined in for fear of sticking out, but internally he couldn’t help but marvel how Emrys could keep so calm. Most people with exceptional skill in a craft were very adamant about being respected for it. But Emrys just let Arthur insult his training without batting an eye, even in things entirely unrelated to magic.

Before Mordred could ponder this further, Arthur raised his hand to quit everyone. In the silence, Mordred could hear someone approaching their camp. He put his hand on his hilt.

Arthur rose and drew his sword and called, “Who goes there?”

There was no answer, but a man soon came into view. He was wearing long, tattered robes and a chain around his neck. As he grew closer, Mordred’s heart dropped into his stomach. His hope of not confronting a sorcerer today were dashed.

A large talisman hung from the chain around his neck bearing symbols that were so obviously of the old religion that even Arthur would be able to detect it. He had curly brown hair, and the solemn air of those deeply committed to the Triple Goddess’ cause.

Arthur and the others all drew their swords, undoubtedly taking the man to be a sorcerer. Mordred’s remained on his hilt. He prayed to the Goddess that he would not need to use, until he realized that she had probably abandoned him once he had donned the red cape.

“Draw you sword.”

Mordred jumped a little when he heard Emrys in his head. He hadn’t done such a thing since Mordred had arrived in Camelot. Mordred snuck a peek to Emrys, who was standing in the back. His face looked wary but he hadn’t shifted into a fighting stance. He did have one, contrary to popular (Arthur’s) belief.

“You won’t have to do anything to him, I promise. But draw your sword, now!”

Mordred obeyed. Slowly he drew his sword and assumed a fighting stance, hoping that nobody could tell that he was shaking.

Luckily, nobody’s eyes were on him. Arthur stared down the man. “What do you want, were you involved in the torture of my knight?” he shouted.

“You’ve been judged my Lord,” said the man, utterly ignoring Arthur.

Arthur strutted up to the man and held his sword to his throat. “You didn’t answer my question,” he growled.

The man looked completely unafraid. “Threaten my with death if you must, my king, but the Triple Goddess has called you for judgement. Even as Camelot flowers, the seeds of her destruction are being sown.” He turned and began to go, but Arthur grabbed him and pulled him closer, blade still to his throat.

“I asked what happened to my knight,” he said. His eyes were full of fury, and the other knights drew in to surround the two men. Mordred hesitantly followed.

“Why should I know?” said the man plainly.

“You’re a sorcerer,” snarled Arthur. “Your kind thrives from pain. And you all seem to know each other.”

Mordred swallowed slowly and tried to keep himself from appearing too distraught. He had never heard Arthur be so openly against magic before. Especially to a man that had done nothing.

The sorcerer’s eyes flashed gold and he quickly whispered some words of the Old Religion. Arthur quickly let him go and threw a punch to his jaw. The man fell to the ground, his jaw bleeding.

“No spells here,” said Arthur.

The man held a coin in his hand that had not been there before. He held it out to Arthur. “Kill me me if want to. My work is done.”

Arthur’s eyes were narrow. “Tie him up, we’re taking him back to Camelot.”

Mordred let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to hurt him, but his relief had come too soon. The sorcerer reached into his robes, and for a second his eyes seemed to glow gold. In all likelihood he was probably doing something harmless. He hadn’t the time or the power for a more complex spell. Considering that his other hand was still on his jaw, Mordred guessed that he was probably slowing the bleeding. But all Sir Leon saw was a flash of gold and a concealed hand. A dagger was buried in his skull within seconds.

Mordred gasped it happened so fast. Even Arthur turned to see what had happened.

“He was casting a spell sire, and reaching for something,” he said. The King nodded. That was the protocol for sorcerers wasn’t it? Attack first and ask questions later. People like Mordred never got the benefit of the doubt.

“Search him,” said Arthur. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the man’s death, but he did bend down to retrieve the coin that he gave him. He looked it over in his hands before putting it in his pocket. “Perhaps Gaius could shed some light on this,” he muttered.

Mordred darted over to the man, eager to be the one to search him. At least he would pay him corpse some respect. He surreptitiously closed the man’s eyes as he reached into the pocket that his hand had been going for. He pulled out a handkerchief. Mordred would have laughed had it not been so sad.

“He’s clean,” he said, careful to keep emotion out of his words. The other knights nodded, already readying their horses to ride back to Camelot. Mordred slowly made his way back to prepare a horse as well.

Emrys was taking much longer to pack everything up than it had taken him to set everything up.

“Hurry up Merlin, we need to get back,” called a cranky Arthur.

“Just go on,” said Emrys. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Arthur shook his head. “Merlin, you idiot, this place is crawling with sorcerers. I’m not leaving you alone.” Even in his melancholy, Mordred couldn’t help but suppress a smile at that.

Emrys shrugged, “I’ll only be a couple minutes, Mordred can stay with me.”

Mordred looked to Emrys in surprise before quickly saying, “I can stay with him! I’ll make sure that nothing happens.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well then, don’t be too long.” The rest of the knights rode off, leaving Mordred and Emrys alone.

The second that Emrys was confident that they were gone, his eyes flashed and everything that he had been working on was finished. He looked over to the sorcerer, who was still lying on the floor.

“Leon was too fast for me,” said Emrys. His voice was quiet. “We can’t bury him here, it’ll look too suspicious if Arthur comes back here and sees a memorial.”

They buried him a few yards over. Merlin floated him to a large tree, dug out a suitable hole, laid him in it, and covered him all within the span of a few minutes. Had Mordred been in a better mood, he would have relished the opportunity to see Emrys do so much magic. He didn’t seem to use it all that often.

They arranged stoned over his grave marking it, and Mordred said a short prayer. “I hope you find peace in the next life,” he said.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes, Mordred wondered if the man had any living family. Had he been the only one of his family to survive the Purge? Would anyone even know that he died?

“We will be free again one day,” said Emrys, interrupting Mordred’s thoughts. “And on that day we will celebrate the lives of all that were slaughtered and lie in unmarked graves.”
Mordred nodded, tears starting to gather in his eyes.

“We need to leave,” said Emrys. “I want to be in the room when Arthur asks Gaius what that coin is.”

Mordred nodded, and they started making their way back to the horses.

“How are you adjusting Mordred?” asked Emrys.

Mordred gave a small smile. “Both you and Arthur have asked me that today.”

Emrys seemed to see through Mordred’s cover. “I know that it is hard living here, but you must remember what we do all this for. Not only for our kind, but for everyone. There is a lot of pain out there. Uther couldn’t bear his own grief. So he spread it to everyone else,” Emrys looked at Mordred with piercing eyes. “Pain will come, but we can’t let it change us. We have to stop the cycle. Remember that.”

Chapter Text

After sending a squad of knights to investigate the villages that the sorcerer likely escaped to, Arthur looked at the coin that the sorcerer gave him. It was bronze and inscribed with a symbol that Arthur didn’t recognize. The man had seemed utterly unhinged, just standing there calmly as Arthur threatened him with a sword. But somehow Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about what he had told him.

“Even as Camelot flowers, the seeds of her destruction are being sown,” he had said. What did that even mean? What it a threat? Was the attack on Sir Ranulf the start of something bigger? Still looking at the coin, Arthur started to make his way over to the physician’s quarter’s for the third time that day. Hopefully Gaius could shed some light on what they were dealing with.

Merlin and Gaius were discussing something as Arthur walked in. “I didn’t know that you had gotten back,” commented Arthur.

Merlin turned to look at Arthur. “I just got in a few minutes ago. I didn’t know that you’d miss me so much or I would have come to find you.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, so Arthur scoffed and said, “Merlin, the time I spend apart from you is a blessing that I relish whenever it comes.”

“If you were capable of taking care of yourself then we both could have those moments more often. But you can’t and thus you have my loyal service.”

Arthur was going to insist that he could indeed take care of himself, the idiot basically got paid to wake him up and follow him around. But as he opened his mouth, Gaius cleared his throat.

“I assume that you wanted to talk to me sire,” he said. His words were inoffensive, but something in the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes made Arthur feel like a naughty child.

“Yes, I did. We ran into a sorcerer while we were out today.”

Gaius raised his eyebrow, “Was it the same sorcerer that injured Sir Ranulf?”

Arthur cocked his head. “I’m not sure. He claimed that he wasn’t but it’s peculiar that we ran into another sorcerer in the same area where Sir Ranulf was attacked. Anyway, that isn’t why I came to you.” Arthur pulled the coin out from his pocket. “He gave me this and said something about Camelot’s seeds of destruction being sewn, even as it prospers. What does this mean?” Arthur handed the coin to Gaius.

Gaius’ expression remained the same, but his face grew a touch paler. “This is a summons of the Disir,” he said, a hint of awe in his voice. “I didn’t though they still existed.”

“What is this ‘Disir’?” asked Arthur.

“Seers. Technically they are seers. The High Priestesses would select three girls with strong powers and train them in their abilities. They live secluded, in a seldom visited cave, but their duty was to be the voice of the will of the Triple Goddess. Being summoned to them is…significant.” Gaius looked up to meet Arthur in the eye.

“You must go to the Disir and be judged,” he said, handing the coin back to Arthur.

“Why? They have no standing to judge me.”

“They are the voice of the will of the Triple Goddess, who judges all.”

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t believe in all that superstition.” He he looked at the coin intently, turning it over in his hand. “It’s been a long day, I think that I’ll turn in early. Thank you as always, Gaius. Come on Merlin.” With that, Arthur left the room. Merlin scurrying on his tail.

No matter how hard Arthur tried to think about other things, he couldn’t help but fixate on the coin and those who sent it. Even Merlin quickly realized that Arthur was in no mood to chat, and quickly did his chores before bidding Arthur and Guinevere a good night.

Guinevere laid beside him, trying and failing to get him to talk. Eventually she got fed up.

“Arthur! What is the matter with you? You’ve barely said more than twelve words all night,” she said.

Arthur sighed and said, “I’m sorry Guinevere. I just can’t get when happened this afternoon out of my head.”

“Well then, if you can’t stop thinking about it, tell me what happened,” said Guinevere. She sat back on her pillows, ready to listen.

Arthur hesitated before recounting the afternoon and Guinevere quietly nodded along.

“And now Gaius says that I’ve been called by ‘the Disir’ and I have to stand judgement before them,” he finished.

“Who are these Disir?” asked Guinevere.

“Witches,” growled Arthur. “Seers to be exact. They claim to be the voice of the Triple Goddess.”

“Seers, huh,” Guinevere seemed distant so Arthur asked, “Are you okay, love?”

“Yes it’s just, I remember Morgana’s dreams.” Arthur froze at the mention of his sister. “She used to dream things that ended up happening in the future. Do you think that she’s a seer? Are these Disir women like her?” asked Guinevere.

Arthur shivered, but not from the cold. “I hope not. But you can never tell with magic.”

“Don’t pay them any mind Arthur, especially if they’re like Morgana. Her magic turned her mad.” She said confidently, burrowing into Arthur’s chest.

But something still stuck in Arthur’s mind. “I’ve tried so hard to be a good king. A king that my people deserve. So why do they judge me so?” wondered Arthur.

Guinevere laughed, but not unkindly. “They don’t know you Arthur. So how can they judge you? I love you, and so does everyone else that knows you, and knows your heart.” She leaned in and gave Arthur a long kiss that he returned. But even after she went to sleep his questions remained.

After a troubled night’s sleep, Arthur woke up to more news about Sir Ranulf’s attackers.

“We searched Hampton, Lingston, and Hellshire as you asked sire.” Bors was a good knight. A contemporary of Ranulf and a man with no patience for magic, Arthur had known that he’d take the job seriously when assigning him as captain of this group.

“And what did you find?” asked Arthur.

“We haven’t any luck with the boy, but we did track down Morgana and her girl. We’re pretty sure that she robbed a barn in Hellshire, but she had moved on by the time we got there. I alerted the town of her appearance, so if anyone sees her they’ll know to tun her in.”

Arthur nodded, “Good job, the other towns nearby should be alerted as well.”

“I already did sire, that entire region knows that there’s a witch on the loose. She can’t go into any towns without us hearing of it. And I left Sir Felton and Sir Erik to search the woods where we think she may have gone.”

Arthur clapped Bors on the back. “You’ve done well. I want you to send messengers throughout all of Camelot alerting people of this girl. And I want you to stay in the Southern outpost, if she’s still in the south, that’s where people will go if she’s spotted. We can’t leave her anywhere to hide.” Bors bowed and started to walk away, but Arthur added.

“And take Mordred with you. I think he’s ready for something like this.” Bors gave another curt nod before leaving the room.

Bors’ update was only the start of a very long day. He had to finish the council meeting that he had cut short the day before, where they again argued over just the (necessary) modifications to Camelot’s outer walls and infrastructure. He then went to oversee the training of the knights, a job that traditionally would have been handed to someone else by now, but Arthur enjoyed having a close relationship to his knights. And it was always one of his favorite parts of the day when he got to hang out with the people that he considered closest to him.

But even during practice Arthur was distracted. So distracted in fact that he didn’t even register that he was on the ground until Gwaine had pointed his sword at his chest.

“Ha!” the man nearly jumped up and down with joy. “I suppose that even princesses aren’t graceful.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “I’ll let you have this one Gwaine. You lose so often that sometimes I feel bad for you.” Gwaine snorted and held out his hand. Arthur gripped it and pulled himself to his feet.

“What time is it?” asked Arthur.

“It’s almost time for your lunch Arthur,” piped up Merlin who had scurried over to make sure that Arthur was unharmed.”

“Okay then, practice is over,” announced Arthur.

“Too afraid to get beaten in a rematch,” said Gwaine.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Some of us have more to do with our time than drink in excess.”

Gwaine shrugged, “Whatever you say princess.” Arthur sighed, but ultimately determined that he had better things to do than get into a bout with Gwaine. So he left the field, Merlin on his tail.

“I need to look at your shoulder,” he said once they had returned to Arthur’s rooms.

Arthur stood in place as Merlin started disassembling his armour. What would judgement from the Disir look like anyway? Would he be prescribed a sentence? Would he just be assigned a list of demands? The ways of the Old Religion confused him.

“ARTHUR!!!” yelled Merlin.

Arthur jumped at the noise. “What?! Would you shut up you twat! I’m right here.”

In typical Merlin fashion, Arthur’s insults rolled right off of him. “I need you to move your arm,” he said. “And I’ve been asking you to do that for like a minute, dollophead!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and reached out his arm. “You’ve been distracted all day. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Merlin.”

Merlin continued as if Arthur hadn’t even spoken. “You were in a totally different place in training today. Gwaine beat you!”

“As much as it pains me to say this, that’s not that uncommon,” said Arthur dully.

Merlin snorted, “Perhaps on a normal day but Gwaine was exhausted and a little hungover this morning— which you didn’t say anything about— and he still won. I don’t think that he was even trying his best.”

Arthur hadn’t even noticed Gwaine being off at all. “Oh.”

“You were barely cognizant of council, Gwen did half of the work. And you didn’t even complain about your breakfast this morning!”

Arthur blinked. “My breakfast?”

“The kitchens are out of sausage, so I brought you beans instead. You hate beans!”

Arthur opened his mouth to retaliate, but Merlin continued on.

“Something is clearly wrong, you may as well tell me.”

“Nothing is wrong Merlin.”

“Then why have you been playing with that coin all day?”

Arthur froze.

“What coin?” he asked, hoping that Merlin would let it go.

“The one in your right pocket that you’ve been touching all day. The coin that that sorcerer gave you yesterday, about the Disir.” How did Merlin always know these things!

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Merlin.

“No.”

“You really should.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin gave him a look that he had almost certainly learned from Gaius. The one that made him feel immature.

“You can’t keep going on like this Arthur. You’ve barely been present all day. Now tell me what’s going on.”

Arthur paused before finally relenting, Guinevere’s advice hadn’t been proven useful, perhaps Merlin could make him feel better.

“I’m a good king, aren’t I Merlin?” he asked.

“The very best,” said Merlin without hesitation.

“I don’t mean to be arrogant but—”

“It’s too late for that sire,” chimed in Merlin, a stupid grin back on his face.

Arthur glared at him. “Do you want me to talk about to or not?”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it. Carry on.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued. “I don’t mean to be arrogant, I know that I’ve made mistakes. But I’ve always tried to be the king that my people deserve. And my people are the best on Earth. And these Disir have the audacity to judge me like this? What gives them the right!” he said. By the time he finished he was panting in anger. He hadn’t realized just how much this had bothered him until this moment.

Contrastingly, Merlin was quite still. He let a few moments of silence hang in the air before saying, “Arthur, you are one of the greatest men that I have ever known,” he said this with a conviction that let Arthur know that he truly meant those words. “And you are the greatest king in this land. Most of your people are happy. They love you.” Arthur’s heart rate started to calm. Merlin was always good at picking up his spirits.

But Merlin wasn’t finished. He bit his lip and continued on. “The Disir aren’t most of your people Arthur,” he opened his mouth and closed it. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Remember that Druid boy that possessed Elyan?”

Arthur froze. “I thought that I told you never to bring that up again,” he growled.

Merlin looked unfazed and soldiered on. “Even you agreed that he didn’t deserve to die in the way that he did. And you haven’t hunted the Druids since.”

“You’re right Merlin. I haven’t hunted the Druids since. And I made peace with that boy! I never wanted all that to happen, but my father commanded me to! I didn’t decide to carry out the Purge!”

“I never said that you did Arthur,” Merlin’s calm was a contrast to Arthur’s rage. “But if you think about what your father did, can you understand why the Disir would be upset? Even if you don’t agree with them.”

“Sorcerers are dangerous Merlin!” said Arthur.

“They are,” Merlin agreed. “But again, think of that Druid boy. Or of that other one that we saved when you were a Prince.”

Arthur hadn’t thought of that Druid boy in years, but in a moment he could remember how terrified he was when Arthur had discovered him. It had unsettled him to his core. He had never wanted children to fear him.

Arthur took a deep breath. “Why do they blame me Merlin? Why are they calling me? My father’s the one who did all of those things! Why wasn’t he judged?”

“Judgement is wasted on a man that won’t listen,” said Merlin. “That’s part of why you’re so great Arthur. You do listen, and you do care.”

Suddenly Arthur felt exhausted. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “This conversation is over, Merlin.”

“Arthur—”

“I think that my stables need mucking, don’t you think?” Merlin glared at Arthur, but he looked disappointed more than anything else. He turned about left the room without another word.

Arthur collapsed into his chair. He probably shouldn’t have taken his anger out on Merlin. Merlin hated mucking out the stables, and it technically wasn’t even his job. He’d found this out when he asked George to do it when he was annoying him. It backfired as George had then found it necessary to give Arthur a thorough lecture on the exact duties of each servant in the castle. But how could Arthur not get mad when Merlin pressed Arthur like that? Merlin never seemed to mind anyway, he’d be snippy for a day or so before going back to normal.

Arthur settled down and started going over the tax sheets for that month, but he couldn’t help but keep thinking about what Merlin had said. Merlin wasn’t a fan of sorcerers, this Arthur knew. He always hid whenever they were near, and he was oddly still whenever they spoke of magic. But then again, his old friend had been a sorcerer hadn’t he. Arthur hadn’t thought of that in years. The boy had probably started magic after Merlin had left. Merlin had probably felt pity for him due to their old friendship. Arthur could definitely relate to how complicated it was when someone you thought was a friend turned out to be a sorcerer.

Oddly enough though, Merlin still seemed to have sympathy for sorcerers despite his fear of them. He had helped that Druid boy all those years ago. And he had looked shocked when he learned that it was Arthur who had conducted that raid on the Druid camp. Even just then he’d seemed to almost defend sorcerers. Or at least understand why they were upset.

Merlin’s feelings towards magic were clearly complicated, which Arthur could understand. He himself had swayed on what he thought of magic. Most of the magic that he had encountered was evil, relishing in the pain of others. Sir Ranulf was a very recent example of that. But Morgana, Morgause, and even Dragoon had proven this to be correct also. Arthur’s heart still hurt when he thought of the witty, kind woman that magic had stolen from him. Morgana had never wanted to hurt anyone before she began studying magic.

But then again, there were these glimpses of a side of magic was wasn’t destructive and foul. The Druids had never hurt anyone, preferring to stay to themselves in the forests. And even after Arthur completely stopped tracking them, there had been no grievous uptick in magical violence. Merlin’s friend from Ealdor had died protecting his home, which was something that Arthur could respect at least. And even that mad sorcerer who had given him the coin hadn’t physically tried to hurt any of them.

Arthur sighed and kneaded his forehead. These thoughts weren’t going to go away on their own. He pulled out the coin and stared at it before relenting. He was no coward. He would face these Disir and see what they had to say.

Chapter Text

Sir Bors had initially been quite cool around Mordred. Like many of the older knights who had served under Uther, the concept of commoners serving was quite novel to him. Mordred hadn’t though he had disliked him per se, he definitely respected the other “commoner knights,” but he could tell that Sir Bors was waiting on Mordred to prove himself. Mordred had worked very hard to attain his, and the other knight’s approval. Staying late to practice combinations, asking questions whenever necessary, and trying to be respectful. It seemed that these efforts had paid off because Sir Bors seemed to have taken a liking to Mordred. He was always happy to spar with him and seemed to approve of his seriousness towards being a knight.

“The King took you tracking before, yes?” asked Sir Bors. They were riding Southward.

“Yes sir,” said Mordred.

“How much do you know about the rouge sorceress?” at this Mordred grew anxious. He thought that he’d escaped having to deal with the sorceress.

“The King and I followed her trail to a farmer’s house where she stole a donkey and started riding northward,” said Merlin slowly.

“Good, since then we’ve narrowed her location down. Sir Felton and Sir Erik are already searching the woods where we think she may be hiding. Her leg hasn’t been doing her any favors. We’ll be joining them soon.” Mordred gave a brief nod, but he was pale. Unfortunately, Sir Bors picked up on this.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“A little bit yeah,” said Mordred.

Sir Bors gave a hearty chuckle. “No need to be. They’re all nervous the first time that they hunt sorcerers.”

Mordred nodded weakly, but Sir Bors continued on. “Look, I know that it can seem harsh to be chasing after sorcerers. We slay monsters and beasts all the time and we don’t think anything of it. But these sorcerers look human, so we want to treat ‘em that way.”

Sir Bors looked at Mordred intently, “You’ve got to remember that these sorcerers aren’t people. They’re just as much monsters as the other beasts that we slay. They respect nothing but catastrophe and destruction, and it’s our duty to protect the people of Camelot from that. Just think about what happened to Sir Ranulf, or how much destruction Morgana wrecked in the short time she was here.”

Mordred gave a feeble smile, but he almost wanted to cry. His sadness quickly morphed his sadness into rage.

Respect catastrophe and destruction? His father had never hurt a soul, yet he was killed by Camelot’s knights. Few of his friends growing up had had both parents, and everyone had a story of someone they had lost to Uther’s awful reign. His tribe had never hurt anyone, yet they had lived lives of squalor and fear. How dare Bors say such a thing?

And here he was about to hunt down one of his own people. True, a Druid who had seemingly abandoned the Druids teaching of pacifism and kindness, but a Druid no less. One who’s life had likely been carved by violence and cruelty. Mordred tried to think back to the copious amounts of blood that they found at the clearing where Sir Ranulf had been tortured. He thought of Sir Ranulf’s missing hand and ear. He thought of the fact that the man’s career had been brutally ended, and he felt a little bit better. At least he felt as if he could justify his actions.

Whether Mordred was successful at keeping his true emotions from his face, or if Sir Bors had misinterpreted his anger to be towards the sorcerers instead of him, Mordred wasn’t sure. But either way he seemed content to continue riding along with Mordred. When they reached the Southern outpost, Bors began to explain more.

“Do you understand how outposts work?” he asked.

Mordred shook his head so Bors elaborated. “The King has his own knights based in Camelot, of course. But each of his liege lords have knights pledged to them as well. They are also pledged to the King, but they usually stay on their Lord’s lands and do his bidding unless the King calls for them.”

“Most knights are the sons of nobles,” said Mordred. “Why would a noble leave their father’s lands to serve as a knight for the King?”

Bors nodded, “The Knights of Camelot are the best in the land. Not everyone is allowed into our ranks. So some men must go back to their father’s lands after being rejected. And it’s always best to be as close with the King as possible, which is hard to do if you’re miles away in your own manor. Most of the lords on the council served with Uther in some capacity. Any way, I was explaining the outposts. While the Lord’s knights are under the supervision of the King, Arthur often prefers to use men he knows when investigating stuff from around the kingdom, and he likes for his knights to be visible to the common folk as well because they see us as an extension of him. So he established outposts all over the Camelot where his knights stay.”

Mordred nodded and Bors continued on. “We’re spreading news of the witch all over the kingdom, but we’re fairly positive that she’s in this region. If she’s spotted, someone will report to us at the outpost.” Bors face broke out into a grin. “She can’t hide from us anywhere.”

The outpost was interesting. It was essentially a tower house with Camelot’s flag waving atop of it. It was not as grand as the city of Camelot, but it was substantial and would prove to be defensible if necessary. It also provided a place for them to rest and recoup supplies.

Mordred’s head swayed back and forth. Sometimes he hoped that nobody would spot the girl, and at others he hoped that she would be captured. Mordred had seen how innocent sorcerers had been hunted by Camelot, and he knew that this wasn’t that situation. This girl had done something deeply wrong. Something that went against everything that magic stood for. Surely had Mordred to stand for her arrest and punishment? Wrong is wrong is it not? But then he thought of all the innocent sorcerers that had been consigned to the flames, and all of the evil non-magic users that had walked free with no repercussions, and he hoped that she had escaped.

Bors had elected to stay in the outpost, expecting that either Sir Felton and Sir Erik would return with news of the girl, or that a villager would report seeing her.

“Those men are well-trained,” he said. “They know to come to the outpost if they find something,”

Unfortunately, Sir Bors was right. The next day a fearful looking girl from the a close village came into the outpost. Mordred had seen Arthur take requests from the people in Camelot before, and the situation struck her as vaguely similar. But there wasn’t enough room for a throne room in the outpost, and no King to fill it anyway. So instead that girl was brought into a sort of office.

Her face was to the floor, and her hands were shivering slightly. Bors must have sensed this as he said, “Don’t fret, we’re not going to do anything to you. Just tell us why you came here.”

The girl bit her lip before saying, “I think that I saw one of the witches that’ve been going around.”

Bors nodded. “What did she look like?”

“She had dark hair, it was down her back and wavy. I saw her while I was picking berries in the forest. I think that she was trying to fish, but she walked with a limp.”

“Where was this stream that she was trying to fish at?” asked Bors.

“It’s just the Rolling River, sir. It’s not far from here. Between my village and Hetershire.”

Bors nodded and pulled out a pen. “Let me take your name, the King thanks you.”

“Diana, Diana of Lanshire. And it was nothing my lord.”

Bors nodded and gave the girl a smile. “You were right to come to us.” The girl nodded before scurrying away.

“Back in the day, we didn’t bother with this name-taking business,” he said chuckling. “The late King rewarded anyone with information about magic. Arthur likes to be more careful though he said.” Shaking his head, he looked to Mordred. “We ave a witch to hunt.”

There were three other knights currently stationed at the outpost. Bors left one behind so that there’d be someone there, and took the other two along with him and Mordred.

“What we’re going to do is net her,” said Bors. “Mordred, you go Hertershire and look for evidence coming north, Brad, start at the East bend, Lan, you can take the forest. We can meet at the river. Blow your horns if you see her.” Everyone nodded but Mordred gulped.

They separated after that, and Mordred made his way to Hertershire. It was a pretty small village, a rough collection of houses more than anything else. He passed by the village people in the fields, hard at work trying to produce a good harvest. He heard a mallet clang against metal and saw the local blacksmith making buckles. He saw the women chatting together as the sewed clothes and watched their children. All of them gave Mordred a bow as he walked past. Mordred gave them a cheerful smile. They all seemed like nice people, happy that the King cared to send knights out to deal with their troubles. But then Mordred wondered, had these people burned a sorcerer? Would the very same men who had given Mordred a respectful nod have built him a pire had they met in different circumstances? Would the blacksmith have forged a chain of cold iron to keep him from escaping the flames? Would the women who had looked so comforted by his presence have looked to him in terror, their hands clutching their children.

These thoughts plagued Mordred, even as he left the bounds of the village and entered the forest. He had been so out of it that it only just occurred to him that he would need to track the sorceress by himself. Apparently Arthur thought that he was ready for such a thing.

Thinking of Arthur caused another pang in Mordred’s heart. The King was a good man, of this Mordred had no doubt. He had never considered the Pendragons, or any other citizen of Camelot worthy of redemption really. They had been the monsters in his dreams as a child. But then Merlin had rescued him, only he was a sorcerer too so his sympathy was understandable. The same went for Morgana, who’s turbulent magic Mordred had felt even then, and even for Gaius, who had a physician’s duty to help him anyway. But then there was Guinevere. She had been kind to him, and covered for Merlin and Morgana. But she was ultimately bound to the desires of her mistress. Who knew what she would have done had she encountered Mordred on the street. But Arthur’s actions had been unexplainable. He was the Prince and the Head of the Knights. He had every duty to find the Mordred and turn him into his father, yet he hadn’t. Even with his hesitant stance towards magic, Arthur had decided that Mordred did not deserve to die. That was the moment that Mordred realized that things could change. Sure he like every other magic user had imagined a world where the Pendragons were brutally murdered and magic allowed free reign again. But even as a child he knew that that path was unlikely to work and fraught with bloodshed. But if the son of Uther Pendragon could recognize the humanity of a Druid child, there was hope after all.

Since then, Arthur had learned a lot of hard and cruel lessons about magic. Even Mordred could admit to that, even if he deeply understood the sorcerers who had attacked Camelot. But even then he had taken steps to mitigate senseless killing. The Druids weren’t hunted or tracked at all anymore. Mordred hadn’t seen a magical execution in all the time that he had been in Camelot, and Arthur demanded proof from people who claimed to have encountered sorcerers. Mordred felt a sense of pride and purpose coming back to him. Arthur was a great man, and Mordred should be honored to follow him, even if he had to hunt a sorcerer. This witch was no saint, and she deserved justice.

With renewed vigor, Mordred began inspecting the underground of the forest, looking for abnormalities as Arthur had taught him to. He found a snapped branch, but didn’t think anything of it until he realized that the indentation was far too wide to have been made by a most of the wildlife in that forest. A few feet later he found a speckle of dried blood on a shrub. She had been here.

Mordred carefully followed her path, picking up on little clues that showed that she had been there. Bent leaves off shrubbery, snapped twigs, and other tiny tricks that Arthur had taught him. As he went further, he saw more evidence of her being there. She was fatiguing.

Arthur would be proud.

Mordred finally hit an end, he could find no more clues. Had she become more efficient. Or was she here?

Mordred pulled his sword carefully from his scabbard. Where could she be? The girl who had tortured Ranulf and stolen and terrorized that poor old man. Mordred’s eyes rested on an odd hump in the ground, that seemed to have an indentation on the top. He approached it slowly, with a beating heart and a clenched sword. As he got closer, he realized that it was a little cave, similar to the one that he had hid in with Emrys and the fauns. He took a deep breath before bolting to the other side.

There was indeed a girl in there, cradling her injured leg. But as she looked up, her eyes full of fear, they both gasped.

It was Kara.

Chapter Text

Gaius couldn’t tell Arthur exactly where the Disir were located, but he did give a general approximation.

“I never visited the Disir,” he had said, “But I remember being to told that they were located in a cave in the Albany forest.”

Arthur wasn’t sure quite what to expect as he and the knights hiked through the forest. He had brought none but his most loyal men with him. Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival searched along with him by his side, even though Arthur had been vague about exactly what they were doing. Arthur himself wasn’t quite sure what they were doing. How would this “judging” go about anyway? Would he be handed a sentence? How does one judge a king in the first place?

Arthur was deep in his own thoughts when Merlin nudged him on the arm. “What is it Merlin?” said Arthur.

Merlin gestured to the other knights. “We’ve been searching for hours, the men need a break,” he said.

Arthur nodded, “Fine,” he called out louder to everyone, “We’ll break for lunch now.”

They found a small clearing where they could rest. There were even a few convenient logs for them to rest on. Merlin distributed hunks of bread and jerky to everyone that they munched as they sat around and joked.

Arthur enjoyed these times with his men, when they were outside of Camelot and the boundaries of propriety could be loosened. He felt less like a king and more like any other the other blokes. Unfortunately, there were downsides to these looser boundaries as well.

“So what exactly are we doing here, eh Princess?” asked Gwaine as he chewed his apple.

“Swallow, Gwaine,” said Elyan, rolling his eyes.

Gwaine shrugged, but did finish chewing. “So, like I said, why are we faffing about this forest? You told us basically nothing when we left, and your head’s been in the clouds for days.”

Arthur frowned. Apparently Merlin hadn’t been the only one to notice his absent-mindedness. The other men looked at Arthur intently as well. Arthur sighed before relenting.

“We’re searching for the Disir.”

That didn’t seem to ameliorate any confusion, so Arthur continued. “Remember the sorcerer that we found a few days ago?”

“The man one who gave you that coin?” asked Leon.

“Yes. I conferred with Gaius and he told me that the coin came from a group of sorcerers called the Disir.”

“Are we going to capture them?” asked Leon hesitantly.

Arthur shook his head, “I have no plans for that, but Gaius said that they need to judge me. We’re going to see what they want.”

Elyan frowned. “Judge you? You’re the king! And a great one at that, what does it matter what some old bunch of sorcerers say?” Everyone seemed to nod in agreement.

Arthur smiled in gratitude, but said, “Thank you. But something just keeps bugging me about these people. I need to see what they want.” Everyone nodded in understanding and went back to more jovial topics.

“They’re sorcerers, what does it matter what they want?” said Gwaine.

Arthur sighed, “I guess we’ll see when we get there.”

When they resumed their search, they soon found themselves in the deepest, darkest part of the forest. The undergrowth was dense with vines and shrubbery and the leaves overtop of them were so thick that they could barely tell that it was a sunny day. Something in Arthur stirred as he drove on, the Disir had to be nearby.

Finally they found the mouth of a cave. There were idols and glyphs cared into the top of the stone. Arthur pulled out his coin and help it up. The figure on the coin matched the figure atop the arch. They had arrived.

“We’re here,” he announced, “Let’s go.” The knights started walking into the cave, but Merlin call, “Wait!”

Everyone paused and turned to looked at him. Even in the dim light of the forest, Arthur could tell that Merlin looked off form his normal self. His eyes were especially wide as he looked around. “This is a sacred place, we shouldn’t bring weapons inside.”

Arthur scoffed. “Not bring weapons? Are you dense Merlin? Never mind, we established that you were dense years ago,” he shook his head and continued. “We’re headed into the belly of enemy territory and you would have us go in carrying nothing?”

Merlin looked worried. “Arthur, carrying weapons into a place like this is a sign of disrespect. You don’t want to piss them off before they’ve even spoken with you.”

“By all signs they’re already angry,” said Arthur. He turned and continued into the cave and the others followed. He could hear Merlin call from behind him, “At least don’t touch anything!” Arthur ignored him and ventured on. Merlin was always skittish about stuff like this. Arthur could understand, Merlin was a weakling surrounded by forces far stronger than him. But he wished that he’d leave the decision-making to the strong ones.

The cave had long tunnels, some of which branch out to other places, but Arthur had a gut feeling that the Disir would be at the end of the main tunnel. The place did not look like it was used very often. There were cobwebs everywhere and evidence of small animals making the place their home. There were also trinkets lying around, and more figures carved into the walls. Arthur saw an interesting necklace and picked it up. He could hear Merlin’s protest behind him, but he ignored him. There was a dragon on the pendant, the same as the dragon that adorned Camelot’ flag. Had this come from the citadel? After looking for a few seconds, Arthur shrugged and tossed the necklace on the floor.

Arthur was not the only one inspecting things in the hallways. The place had a dark, but fascinating air to it and all of the knights were drawn to it.

“Are we sure that this is the place?” said Elyan. “Because it doesn’t look like anyone has lived here in years.”

Arthur shrugged. “Gaius said that it was a cave, and the coin matched the symbol on top. It has to be here.”

“Well maybe the sorcerer was pranking you because this place looks abandoned,” said Gwaine. He picked up a peculiar looking spear from the ground and feigned using it to stab Arthur. “I wonder what the sorcerers used this for? They usually favor fireballs and such right?”

Elyan laughed and grabbed a rusted silver chalice from a dilapidated shelf. “Well, maybe they’re not so different from us if they go drinking as well, eh?” he mock sipped from the cup and everyone laughed. Well, almost everyone.

“You really shouldn’t be touching anything,” pleaded Merlin. He looked even more uncomfortable than he had outside of the cave.

“Oh does the spooky cave worry you Merlin,” teased Arthur. “You’re always free to wait outside.”

Merlin glared at him. “As if I’d leave you alone in here. You need me to tell you to not do asinine things, like disrespecting artifacts from a sacred place.”

Gwaine and Elyan shrugged, but put down their things. “What do you mean Merlin?” asked Leon.

Merlin looked to Leon as if he was somewhat dim (he really had been spending too much time with Gaius). “Gaius told me that the seers of the High Priestesses used to study here. If sorcerers consider the Island of the Blessed to be sacred, then this place should be so as well.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Sacred or not, we need to keep going. These Disir aren’t going to find themselves.” Everyone soldiered on, even Merlin despite his protestations.

Arthur’s gut feelings proved to be right. Soon they entered a slightly grander hall that had three chairs sat by the wall. Like the rest of the cave the room was dank and decrepit, full of old, vaguely magical things that did little but lend the room a spooky air. When he first entered, he thought that the room was entered, but almost jumped when he saw what was perched on the chairs.

Three very old women sat in each chair. Arthur hadn’t noticed them because their black, dusty garb blended in with the scenery around them. All three of them looked to Arthur with beady eyes.

“Are you the Disir?” called Arthur, looking them straight in the eye.

“We are indeed, Pendragon,” said the one in the middle. She looked the oldest of the three, though they were all ancient.

“Why have you called my here?” said Arthur. “My reign has been a peaceful and successful one, my people are happy, yet you think it necessary to judge me.”

“Your reign has indeed been better than your father’s.” The one on the left was talking now. Her voice was scratchy and piercing.

“In many ways Camelot is better than it has been in some time.”

“But all is not well in your kingdom,” chimed in the one on the right. “The Old Religion is still locked away and forbidden, and sorcerers still suffer under your father’s tyrannical laws.”

Arthur clenched his fists. “My father was a great king. He did all that he could to protect the people of Camelot from the evils of the Old Religion,” he spat.

“You dare come into our sacred place and disrespect us!” roared the middle woman. “You have no honor! Even now you and your men come in bearing swords, messing with sacred artifacts with no regard to propriety!”

“You say that this is your place, but it’s not. This place is in the domain of Camelot,” argued Arthur, but he was swiftly cut off.

“Your human laws and boundaries shift as the tides do, but the domain of the Triple Goddess is forever enshrined. She made this place for her children to come and receive her wisdom. You have no more claim to it as you do the air. As for the so-called happiness of your people, your people are dying! Languishing under unjust laws for branding them illegal and evil. The Triple Goddess is not happy with you Arthur. You must change your path, or she will enact vengeance upon you!” said the middle woman.

“As for your judgement. The Triple Goddess sees the good in your heart, but your arrogance continues to hinder it, as it always has. You fail to see what is plainly in front of you, and you cannot acknowledge what you know in your heart out of fear that it will hurt your ego. And your people suffer from it,” hissed the left woman.

Gwaine seemingly had had enough. “Now wait a minute,” he said, drawing his sword. “Arthur has given you far more consideration than you deserve. You should treat your King with respect!” he said.

The Drawing of the Sword seemed to outrage the Disir. “How dare you draw a sword in a sacred place!” screamed the one on the right. Her eyes glowed gold and she chanted a spell. Gwaine flew back and hit the wall. This caused all of the knights to draw their swords.

“How dare you attack my knight!” roared Arthur.

“Perhaps you are further gone than we though,” said the middle one. She raised her hand again and every orifice in the room started to burn with fore. The knights circled to protect Arthur, as they had been trained to do, but in the darkness and confusion, something awful happened.

Arthur heard a cry to his left. He turned only for his face to blanch in horror. A long spear was lodged into Merlin’s side. He fell to the ground, and blood began to spill out from him. Arthur roared in anger and ran to confront the Disir, but they had conjured a large wall of fire separating him from them.

“The Triple Goddess is one of mercy, but her judgement must be followed.” The wall of fire burned bigger and hotter before suddenly petering out. The three chairs were empty. The Disir were gone.

Chapter Text

Mordred quietly crept through the forest. He hadn’t had to sneak around like this since he'd become a knight, but today Mordred felt less like a knight and more like a Druid than he had in a long time. He wasn’t wearing his red cloak, and he had bread and bandages tucked away under his arm.

Mordred had told Kara to wait there for him, and he hoped that she'd listened. She had been shocked and confused, but Mordred prayed that she'd heeded him regardless.

Despite how well Mordred had planned this whole excursion, he was still nervous. It was his night off of patrolling, and knights had the right to do whatever they pleased when they were off duty. The others probably thought that Mordred was getting drunk in a tavern. But what if someone stumbled across him as he made his way to Kara? What if Kara moved and was caught by someone else? What if she moved and Mordred couldn’t find her again? There were too many unknowns to be accounted for in this situation. He desperately wished that Emrys was here. He would have been able to tell him what to do. Mordred still wasn’t even sure that he’d done the right thing by saving Kara.

He rounded up by the cave and his steps became slower and even more cautious. He was careful to make sure to not leave any footprints or broken branches behind. It would not do for him to lead them to her.

When he rounded around the corner and peeked into the cave, he saw her. She was clutching her leg, which was less bloody, but still looked quite painful. She looked to Mordred and her face was blank.

Mordred cleared his throat before saying, “I brought you some food.” He tossed her the sack of bread, and she picked it up gingerly. “I also have some bandages for your leg,” he said.

She was silent for a second but finally said, “Is it truly you?”

Mordred nodded and plastered a smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me.” He slowly walked over to her and pulled out the bandages. “I can help you with your leg.”

She looked at him suspiciously, but stuck her leg out for Mordred to bandage. They sat in silence for a bit as Mordred patched her up. Finally she blurted out, “Why were you wearing a red cloak?”

Mordred stilled. He wished that he could lie, but he knew that that wasn’t an option. “Because I am a knight of Camelot.”

She stared at Mordred. All the forest’s creatures seemed to go quiet at her brain tried to process a response. 

“Why? Why become one of them?” Mordred opened his mouth to speak but she continued. “Is it some sort of secret mission? Are you being forced to do this? Mordred, I don’t understand.”

Mordred looked down to the floor. “You remember how someone saved me in Camelot when I was a kid?” Kara nodded slowly.

“Well, the person who heard my cries that day was Emrys.” Mordred figured that he may have better luck if he began with Emrys. Every Druid was raised with a respect for him.

Sure enough, Kara’s eyebrows shot up. “Emrys? Really!”

Mordred nodded his head. “It was him. The presence of his magic was so strong, so full of life.”

“That’s amazing, but what does this have to do with you being a knight?”

“Well, one of the people that he worked with to free me was Prince Arthur.”

At this, Kara scoffed. “There’s no way! There must have been some mistake.” But Mordred shook his head emphatically.

“No! He really helped free me, solely because he thought that it was wrong, and I never forgot that. Years later, after I left the clan I found Arthur again. He’s one of the best men that I know, he’s the Once and Future King! And Emrys is in Camelot, working every day to free our kind. I want to be there Kara. I want to help in this!”

But Kara was highly skeptical. “Magic is still banned Mordred. Our people are still hunted. What has this Arthur done for us?”

“Druids aren’t hunted anymore Kara!” said Mordred excitingly. “Arthur put a stop to it, and he’s already put in many more measures to make life easier for us. Things will only get better from here.”

Kara scoffed. “I don’t believe you. I still see magical people harassed everywhere I go. We’ve gotten good at hiding, but why should we have to hide? We are just as worthy as anyone else, more even. The connection to the Earth is gone in today’s society. There is no respect for the Old Religion,” said Kara.

“Arthur will turn things for the better, I know that he will,” insisted Mordred.

“Your precious Arthur hunts me down as we speak,” snarled Kara.

“You tortured a knight Kara!” yelled Mordred. “You say that people have no respect for our way of life, but you dare to something so heinous, so contrary to everything that we were taught?” fired back Mordred.

At this Kara shrank back. “I didn’t torture him! That was Morgana.”

“And you helped her didn’t you?’ retorted Mordred.

Kara hesitated before looking to the ground. “I didn’t know what to do. I was only going to be with her for a short time, until I could find another tribe. She saved me from slavers. I owe her my life despite everything.” She bit her lip, “But that knight… he deserved little. But he didn’t deserve that,” she said slowly.

All of the defensive energy fled from Mordred. “You didn’t want to do any of that?”

“No! Why don’t you think that I’m not with Morgana now, I left her.” She wasn’t a torturer. Perhaps she had a chance after all.

“I’m glad to hear that. Sir Ranulf didn’t deserve what Morgana did to him.”

Kara scoffed. “It was wrong, but I’m not losing sleep over it. He’s a knight of Camelot! Do you know how many of our kind he has slaughtered?”

Mordred pursed his lips. Kara wasn’t wrong, in fact, one of the first hurdles that he had faced in knighthood was divorcing it from the horrors that he had seen in his childhood. He constantly had to remind himself that the knights were different under Arthur, and that they existed for the betterment of the people of Camelot. He tried to say as much to Kara.

“I told you, the knights haven’t done anything like that since Arthur has been king. He leaves Druids alone. We have no idea where any of the clans are right now,” said Mordred.

Kara snorted, “Even if this Arthur of yours was better than his father, most of his men have served the Pendragons for decades. I recognized that knight that I tortured. I recognized him from the raids that ruined our childhood!” Kara choked up at the end and Mordred fell silent. “He slaughtered out kind!” spat Kara.

Modred didn’t know what to say. He had always tried avoiding the reality that many of the knights that he served with had been complicit in the persecution of his kind. He had joined when Arthur was king, Arthur wasn’t the person that he served. But Uther’s influence remained strong, even in his mind.

Realizing that they would resolve nothing, Mordred sighed said, “They have your description all over the kingdom, and I don’t know if I can do anything if you’re caught. You need to get out of Camelot. I can tell you how to leave and minimize their chances of finding you.”

Kara shrugged, “What would I even escape to? Uther’s rage has spread throughout all the kingdoms. Even in places where magic is technically legal we are persecuted. What’s the difference in Camelot?”

“Kara listen to me,” said Mordred strongly, “If they catch you, they won’t be merciful, you know this!”

“I thought that your Arthur was a friend to our kind,” said Kara sarcastically.

Mordred paused and thought carefully about what to say next. “Arthur is an man who believes in honor and chivalry, even towards sorcerers. He believes that you tortured one of his knights Kara. A knight that has known for all of his life, and Arthur cares deeply for his men. You would be doomed even if you weren’t a sorcerer.”

“Oh he cares for his men does he,” lashed Kara, “Does he accept that you’re a Druid? Does he even know that you’re a Druid?”

Mordred’s silence gave her the answer.

“Your Arthur only cares about you because he thinks that you’re a normal boy. If he knew who you were, he would cast you out without a second glance. You may be happy to cover your tattoos, lap at the feet of the Pendragons, and delude yourself into thinking that that’s freedom, but it’s not Mordred! Freedom is living how you are! I can’t believe that this is what you’ve become.”

Mordred felt like shrinking into himself. “Kara, you need to leave. I can—”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Kara, I’m serious. Get the hell out of Camelot as soon as you can. You know that being here is dangerous even if the King wasn’t personally searching for you.” Her chin jutted out in defiance, but she gave a sigh and nodded.

“Get out.” Her tone was final and she refused to look him in the eye. Mordred sighed and began to leave. “Be careful,” he called before exiting the cave, but she still wouldn’t look to him.

Mordred was sent back to Camelot the next morning to update the citadel on the progress of the case. Mordred’s trip back to Camelot was slower that the one that he took out. Kara’s words cut through to his heart, exposing things that he had been struggling with for some time. Was he a traitor to his people by serving the Pendragons? Arthur was a good man. Mordred was sure of it. And he knew that he had the ability to break free of his father’s influence and overturn his father’s laws. But at the same time, Mordred was tired. The entire magical community was tired. They were tired of the persecution, they were tired of the fear, and they longed for a time when they could live as themselves without fear of violent attacks. Sometimes Mordred didn’t know if he had the patience to wait for Arthur to finally realize the deep flaws that cut to the heart of Camelot. And he knew that people would be hurt in the time that it took for Arthur to come to the correct conclusion.

But at the same time, Mordred had seen what violent campaigns like the ones of Morgana did to the reputation of magic to Camelot and to Arthur himself. Of course, anyone in the magical community could tell you that banning magic would discourage the good and entice the morally dubious. As a knight in a kingdom where magic was banned, Arthur would rarely see the good parts of magic, only the bad from people full of anger and greed. But Arthur didn’t see that. He only saw the hundreds of people that died in magical attacks.

But Camelot had conducted violent attacks of their own. Attacks that drove the ones that they had received in return. Arthur had essentially inherited a war with a community, but seemed confused as to why they were attacking him. Did Arthur even see the Purge as a bad thing? Sometimes Mordred didn’t know.

Mordred badly wished that he could speak with Emrys. He was the only person who could remotely understand what he was going through. When he finally arrived to the golden gates at the front of the castle, he made up his mind to visit the physician’s rooms in search of him. But first he needed to drop by the armory.

Chapter Text

Arthur had never pushed Hengroen so hard in his life. The horse was panting, sweat and foam running out of his mouth as he sprinted across the countryside. Had Merlin been conscious, he probably would have scolded Arthur for being too hard on the poor steed but the man was unconscious, carefully coddled in Arthur’s arms. Arthur didn't know how to treat Merlin’s wound. Merlin was the one with the medical knowledge. But he knew that so much blood wasn’t good. The rest of the knights pounded on behind him. The entire group was completely silent, all of their attention focused on driving their horses forward and trying to avoid thinking of what might be inevitable.

The Albany forest wasn’t too far from Camelot, it had only taken them a few hours to get there that morning. But it took a fraction of that time to get back, or at least it felt that way to Arthur. He sprinted through the lower town, people rushing to get out of his way. When he finally reached the castle courtyard, he leaped to the ground as quickly as he could without disturbing Merlin.

“You!” barked Arthur. A ginger girl who was carrying a basket of bread jumped and looked to Arthur. “Yes sire?”

“Go fetch Gaius! Tell him that he’s needed in his chambers,” yelled Arthur, already walking to the physician’s chambers.

“But—”

“Now!” Arthur glared at her and the girl scurried away, her basket forgotten.

Arthur ran as fast as he cold, caring little about the people that he ploughed through along the way. Again, Merlin’s voice popped into his head. “You inconsiderate prat! You can’t ram through everyone in the hallway!” Arthur’s heart clenched. He may never hear that voice again.

Arthur burst into the physicians chambers. “Gaius!” he called, hoping that the man was in. He cursed when nobody replied. The man was likely out on his rounds. Arthur carefully lowered Merlin into the patient’s cot. Merlin’s skin was usually pale, but now he was so pale that he was almost white. His breath was haggard and difficult and his forehead was dripping with sweat. Despite all of this, part of Arthur relaxed. Arthur had gotten him to Gaius alive. Gaius could fix it. Gaius always fixed it.

The man in question burst into the room a minute later. “I do hope that you have a good reason for terrorizing the castle and scaring poor Cass—” Gaius’s mouth hung open and his eyes opened wide when he saw his ward on the cot. He ran over and immediately and held a hand to his pulse. He then began grabbing various bottles.

“It was good of you not to pull out the spear, but it has to come out now,” said Gaius. “One of you come and help me." Arthur rushed forward, only to bump into Gwaine.

“Out of the way Gwaine,” growled Arthur.

“No, I need to help him. You’ve done enough,” Gwaine growled back, but Gaius had no time for either of them.

“It doesn’t matter who does it! One of you get over here, I don’t have time for this!” Gaius snapped.

Leon meekly made his way over. In his rush, Arthur had barely noticed that all the knights had followed behind him.

“Apply pressure as I pull this out,” said Gaius. Leon nodded, and Gaius pulled the spear out of Merlin, which caused him to jerk. “Don’t worry my boy,” said Gaius. “Everything will be okay,” but his normally even voice was shaking.

Guinevere burst into the room. “Arthur, what’s going on? The entire castle is in a frenzy.” She followed the direction of his eyes to Merlin, and then gasped in shock.

“Is he going to be okay?” she shrieked, rushing over to Gaius.

“I don’t know.” Gaius was rushing all over the room. “I can’t do this with you all distracting me, Go!” he said.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but again, Gwaine beat him to it. “We need to stay we have to be with him,” he insisted.

“I’ll let you know if a turn comes for the worst, but I need space,” barked Gaius.

Gwaine opened his mouth again but Leon spoke first.  “We won’t do any good by staying here,” he said quietly. “We have to leave.”

Gwaine’s mouth tightened, before he stormed out of the room. The other knights followed him, until only Guinevere and Arthur left.

“Are you sure that you won’t need any help?” said Guinevere. “I could assist you.”

“That’s no job for a queen,’ said Gaius.

“Merlin is my friend and a good man. If I can do anything…” Guinevere’s voice cracked and she began crying.

“Thank you for your offer Guinevere, but I’d need someone more experienced for this. I’d need…” his voice cracked as well. “Just go, I’ll send for you when I’m finished.”

Arthur went straight back to his chambers. He could tell that Guinevere was trying her best not to cry. They sat in their bed together, hand in hand, hoping that the worst wouldn’t come to pass. Any work he’d had to do that day was ignored. It seemed wrong to carry on as if everything was fine if Merlin was so hurt.

The time that had seemed to gallop by as Arthur had rushed Merlin home had now ground to a halt. Arthur had no clue how Gaius was doing with Merlin. Every minute he wondered if the man that he almost considered a brother was still alive. Perhaps he had already died, and Gaius was on his way this very second to give the news. He looked to the door in horrific anticipation, but Gaius never came.

Others did, and Arthur had his hopes crushed every time the door opened. He yelled at at least four servant who dared open his door. Sir Hector came in to try and convince him of… honestly Arthur couldn’t say. He couldn’t focus on anything but the memory of Merlin’s pale face. The man could have argued for his own execution and Arthur wouldn’t have known. George tried to convince Arthur to eat and do work, but Arthur could barely motivate himself to move at all. Eventually he ate lunch, or did he? Everything was such a blur. Despite time going by so slowly, Arthur could barely remember any of it.

The only time Arthur could remember feeling remotely this terrible was when his father had died. With a stab to the heart he remembered that that had happened due to Arthur’s meddling with magic as well. Arthur clenched his fist. Whenever he tried to give magic an ounce of it chance, it always stabbed him in the back.

The first bright emotion that Arthur remembered after his father’s death had come from Merlin. Arthur had spent the whole night alone in his rooms, shocked that his father was gone. Shocked that the man who had always seemed so strong had been rendered so weak and frail in his last days. But when he had first stepped out of his chambers, there Merlin was, idiot that he was, perched against his door.

“What are you doing here Merlin?” Arthur had asked.

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

His eyes that had always been so bright and mischievous were now devoid of that, instead filled with sorrow and understanding. Arthur was still wallowing in the pain that the man who had lead him his entire life was gone, but the first signs of had returned to his heart when he realized that Merlin at least would be on his side, and would always be by his side.

Now Arthur was haunted by the pain he had seen in Merlin’s eyes before he had fallen unconscious. His brain played over and over again how he had screamed in pain, unable to say anything else. Arthur couldn’t lose Merlin. He was his responsibility to keep safe. Arthur knew that the bloody idiot only felt safe coming with them on hunts and missions and quests because he believed in Arthur. He could see it in his eyes whenever he looked to him. He had trusted in Arthur to keep him safe, and Arthur had failed him.

Finally, as the sun started to set, there was a timid knock on the door. It was a maid with news. Gaius wanted to see them. Arthur and Guinevere rushed down to the physicians quarters, unable to wait any longer for a verdict.

They were not the only ones there. Gaius must have sent for all of the knight as Leon, Elyan, and Percival were there. Gwaine was missing. Arthur presumed him to be in the tavern, drowning his sorrows as he always did.

Arthur pushed past everyone to look down into the cot. Merlin still lied there, and he looked more stable than he had a few hours earlier. His skin looked sickly and gaunt and his breath was strained. His shirt was off and his wound had been neatly patched up. But he remained in a deep sleep.

“Is he okay?” Arthur demanded.

Gaius sighed. “The spear did a substantial amount of damage, but luckily it missed his major organs. He may have bled out if given enough time, but you got him to Camelot soon enough for me to barely staunch his bleeding,” said Gaius.

Arthur sighed in relief. He could have sung with happiness, but then he looked to Gaius’ face. The man did not look as overjoyed, in fact he still looked worried.

“What’s wrong, isn’t that good?’ asked Arthur.

“Yes, it is good. Merlin may not die of the spear, but he is not yet out of the woods,” said Gaius.

All of Arthur anxiety rushed back in again. “What do you mean?”

“Merlin should have woken by now,” said Gaius, his voice heavy. “But he hasn’t.”

“What does that mean?” asked Guinevere.

“I believe that Merlin is in a magically induced coma. A spell is preventing him from coming to,” said Gaius. He turned to Arthur and said, “I must ask you sire, what did you do to anger the Disir?”

Arthur froze. “We… had a disagreement about my father’s legacy.”

Arthur couldn’t read Gaius’ face. It appeared entirely neutral, devoid of any feeling. “Well then, I suggest that you consider whatever it is that they said, because I suspect that they are the only ones that can lift Merlin’s curse.”

Arthur’s face contorted in fury. “You have to do something!” He covered his face with his hands.”

“I’ve tried Arthur,” said Gaius.

“This isn’t fair. Merlin was innocent he didn’t deserve to be caught up in this,” said Arthur. He felt his immense sorrow start to recede. It wasn’t leaving him entirely, no it was simply being covered by something else. Rage.

Merlin’s injury had set a cloud of misery over his entire person. This bloody rage was better, enveloping his body and muffling all other feeling. Arthur was king, he had hordes of resources at his disposal. He could do something about this.

Arthur turned and stormed out of the physician’s chambers and made a beeline to the armory. It was evening, so most of the knights had completed their training. Arthur hastily tugged on a mail shirt and began reaching for various pieces of armour. Perhaps somewhere his heart ached that Merlin would usually be the one assembling his armour, but Arthur’s rage was all-encompassing. Merlin would be back soon. Arthur would make magic bring him back.

“Sire?” Arthur turned to a confused Mordred standing at the doorway. His gear looked dirty and worn, and the man himself looked tired.

“Where have you been?” snapped Arthur. Merlin’s voice popped up again in Arthur’s head, which almost made him want to cry. It really wasn’t fair for him to be so cruel to Mordred. The boy was green, eager to please, and not experienced enough with Arthur’s tempers to know when not to take him seriously.

Sure enough, Mordred’s eyes grew wide and he looked down to the floor. “I’m sorry sire. I…I was just at the Southern outpost where you sent me.”

Arthur sighed as he tried jamming his chest piece over his head. “I’m sorry Mordred, I shouldn’t be so short with you. But something… unfortunate has happened.” Acknowledging how bad of shape Merlin was in would only make it real.

Mordred cautiously looked Arthur up and down. “What happened sire?” he said.

Arthur exhaled before saying. “Merlin has been injured by the Disir.”

Mordred’s jaw dropped in awe.

“What! But, how?”

“He… he got in their way,” spat out Arthur.

Mordred’s mouth bobbed like a fish, and there looked to be tears in his eyes. Arthur hadn’t realized that Merlin and Mordred were so close.

“Is he okay?” the boy finally grit out.

Arthur tried to speak before shaking his head. Mordred’s eyes—if possible— grew even wider and he quickly darted off, presumably to see Merlin.

Arthur continued trying to dress himself in his armour, but had great trouble. He had long forgotten the exact order that he was supposed to assemble his gear in, and he kept picking pieces that were too small, or too big for him. He fruitlessly tried silencing the voice in his head that sounded like Merlin mocking him for being unable to dress himself.

As Arthur was trying to do the strings for ties around his back, Guinevere slowly came in. Arthur grinned. Guinevere was exactly who he needed.

“Guinevere, darling it’s perfect that you’ve come,” he tried to smile. He wasn’t sure how successful he was.

“I need help putting on my armour, and there’s no better assistant than a blacksmith’s daughter.” He laughed loudly.

Guinevere’s eyes were still red. She had clearly been crying, but her posture was dignified, if a little stiff, and her face had been wiped dry. “What are you doing Arthur?” her voice sounded tired.

“I’m going to go to the Disir, to make them heal Merlin,” Arthur declared confidently.

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. “Your breastplate is on backwards.”

Arthur looked down. It was indeed. He chuckled to himself. “This is why why I married you! Do you think that any of those noble ladies know how this stuff works?” he laughed again and determinedly did not think about the man who pushed him to start seeing Guinevere.

“And what are you going to do to the Disir when you get there,” asked Guinevere.

“Why I’m going to… I’m going to demand that they release Merlin from their spell. If they don’t they’ll catch the wrong side of my sword,” he finished confidently.

“Really? Because from what the knights said it seems that that’s what you tried doing this time and it didn’t work!” said Guinevere.

“It’ll work this time, I’ll show them no mercy!”

“Arthur this is ridiculous,” said Guinevere. “You can’t just go running out there with some half-cocked plan!”

Arthur recoiled, then retaliated in anger. “How dare you! Do you not trust me! I’m the King and I will go to save my subject!”

“Arthur, this is madness! You’re going to get yourself killed!” Guinevere’s face became wet again as tears streamed from her eyes.

“Do you not think that I’m strong enough?” barked Arthur. “I can protect Merlin! He’s going to be fine. He’ll be up with that stupid smile of his soon enough and everything will be fine.” His voice cracked at the end.

Guinevere paused and took a deep breath. “You’re plenty strong Arthur. The best that Camelot has to offer. But getting yourself killed out of guilt won’t help Merlin. It’ll only hurt the kingdom that he loved—loves— so much. If he was here he’d beg you not to do this.

Arthur paused for a long time before throwing the gauntlet that he was holding down. He collapsed down on a bench and began running his hands through his hair. He tried to stop it, but tears began to run down his cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do Guinevere?” he said.

Guinevere sat beside him and stroked his arm. “I don’t know Arthur. But running off like this will help no one. Merlin’s my friend too.”

Arthur didn’t say anything after that, but he grabbed Guinevere and clutched he close. They both sat in silence for awhile, Arthur trying in vain to compose himself.

His father burst into his mind of all things. Arthur couldn’t help but think of how much he’d disapprove of this scene. He with his commoner wife in his arms crying at the possible death of an insolent servant. No, father wouldn’t have approved at all. His father wouldn’t have approved of most of what he’d done today.

Arthur shook his head and wiped his face. Guinevere was right, running off half-cocked wouldn’t help Merlin, but neither would sitting around crying like a girl. Arthur needed a plan, and for that he needed information. He wouldn’t get that here.

“We need to see Gaius,” said Arthur, barely managing to keep his voice even.

“Why?”

“Because we need information. This isn’t the first curse that we’ve dealt with.” He began to gain more confidence. This wasn’t the first curse that they’d dealt with. Arthur could beat this, but first he needed more information from Gaius.

He rose to his feet, his eyes a steely blue. “Gaius will be able to tell us what kind of curse this is, and then we’ll be able to figure out what we need to beat it. But we need to start soon.”

Guinevere rose to her feet as well. “That’s the Arthur that I know.” A smile tugged at the edges of her lips, but her eyes were still wet with tears. “I guess we have work to do.”

Returning to Gaius’ chambers was not as nerve-wracking as it had been before. Arthur had a plan, or at least the beginnings of one. And it would work. He just needed to begin and Gauis was the first step.

Returning was not any less heartbreaking though, Arthur couldn’t help but clench his fist at Merlin’s body on the cot. Seeing him was not any easier. The old man himself was seated at his table, flipping through one of the many tomes that littered the workshop. Good, he had already begun.

“I thought that you had retired, Your Majesty,” said Gaius.

“There is no time for sleep at a time like this,” said Arthur. “Do you have any idea of the curse that they’ve used?”

Gaius sighed. “I told you, the Disir were the ones that placed the spell on him and I suspect—”

“That’s not enough!” barked Arthur. He earned himself a swat from Guinevere and a glare from Gaius. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that. But the Disir clearly aren’t going to lift the spell and demanding it from them would only antagonize them further. We need another option. We’ve lifted curses before, without killing the original sorcerer. We need a way of doing so again. I don’t care what it costs just… just find it.”

Gaius looked Arthur in the eye and nodded, “Whatever it takes sire.”

“Thank you.” Arthur turned to return to his chambers, but Gaius called from behind him.

“Wait.”

Arthur turned expectingly as Gaius walked to him with a small vial.

“It will help you sleep without dreaming.”

Arthur nodded in gratitude before retiring to his chambers, Guinevere followed closely behind him.

Mordred had never seen the king in such a state. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his hair was a mess, and he was wearing quite the ensemble of mismatched armour pieces. Even in his turbulent state of mind, Mordred immediately recognized that something was wrong.

“Sire?” he asked.

Arthur looked to Mordred with rage in his eyes. “Where have you been?” he snapped.

Mordred didn’t know what to say. He had thought that the king liked him. Had the man not been in such an obvious state of distress, Mordred may have begun questioning his devotion to him. Instead Mordred looked to the ground and said,

“I’m sorry sire. I…I was just at the Southern outpost where you sent me.”

For a second, Mordred was afraid that the King was going to burst in anger, but all that energy quickly deflated. He looked lost in a way that Mordred had never seen before. Arthur had always seemed so confident and sure of himself to Mordred. It was odd seeing the man so forlorn.

“I’m sorry Mordred, I shouldn’t be so short with you. But something… unfortunate has happened.” Mordred could tell by his tone that “unfortunate” was an understatement. Something very bad had happened. In fact, now that Mordred mulled it over, the entire castle had seemed off balance as he came to the armory. He just hadn’t noticed because of his own issues.

“What happened sire?”

Arthur was quiet for a few beats before taking in a deep breath and saying, “Merlin has been injured by the Disir.”

The bottom of Mordred’s stomach fell out. “What! But, how?”

Arthur’s eyes became beady and full of anger. The rage that Mordred had first observed in him was back, although this time Mordred understood it far more.

“He, he got in their way,” said Arthur grimly.

“What could the Disir want that Emrys wouldn’t?” wondered Mordred. The entire affair was shocking and baffling. Despite the two of them never having been particularly close, in many ways Emrys was his bedrock in Camelot more than Arthur was. If Mordred ever doubted his duty or the future, he looked to Emrys.

“Is he okay?” he finally asked. Arthur’s eyes gave him the answer to that question. He bolted out of the room, forgetting all sense of propriety and speeded to the physician's room.

The room wasn’t empty. Gaius was there of course, but his eyes were devoid of life. He looked older than Mordred had ever seen him. The Queen was there as well, her usual calm disposition utterly destroyed. Her face was red and puffy. Leon was comforting her, rubbing her back as she cried.

Mordred quietly pushed back all of them as he made his way to the patient’s cot. He gasped. Despite his humble clothes and job, Emrys had always seemed larger than life to Mordred. He had seemed powerful and striking because Mordred could feel his magic seeping through his skin. But now, Emrys seemed as fragile as the knights had always thought he was. His face was gaunt, his skin was white. If it wasn’t for the subtle movement of his chest Mordred would have thought he was dead.

Mordred turned to Leon. “How did this happen?”

Leon looked up. His eyes were dead as well. “The Disir were… unhappy. And Merlin bore the brunt of it.” Leon’s eyes were filled with tears as well.

“It doesn’t see right does it,” choked out the Queen. “Merlin is such a happy person. He was always so innocent.”

“He doesn’t deserve to die like this,” agreed Leon, rubbing her back.

Mordred took a deep breath in shock. “Is he really dying?” he asked. As awful as Emrys looked, it still seemed impossible to him that he could die.

“He’s under a magical coma,” said Gaius quietly. “I suspect that the Disir are the only ones who can bring him back.”

Mordred gulped before leaving the room. He couldn’t stand so much sadness. But it made no difference as the sorrow followed him back to his barracks. When he got there, he simply sat on his bed and stared at the wall.

What would he do now? He’d hoped that Emrys could help him with Kara. He remembered her defiant eyes, and how the anger had melted to shock as she realized who he was, and what he’d become. Letting her go had felt right in the moment, but was it? Should he have let her answer for her complicity? What would Emrys have done? Now there was no way to get that answer. There possibly would never be a way to get the answer.

Mordred pursed that thought from his mind. Emrys would be fine. Arthur would make sure of it. But what to do with Kara? He’d managed to be reassigned to Camelot, and thus pulled off the search for her, but should he have stayed and helped? Turned her in what he found her in the first place? Or was his not being directly involved with her capture enough. Perhaps she would escape and never hurt anyone again. Or maybe if she was caught she’d be killed on site. Another pang went through Mordred’s already sore heart, but Bors certainly had enough animosity towards sorcerers to do such a thing, regardless of if Arthur would approve. Thinking of Kara’s death was not easy for Mordred. She had been one of his closest friends in his childhood. But he wasn’t sure if he could bear watching her burn in Camelot. Could he stay back and let that happen?

Mordred took in a deep breath. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. For the first time in a long time, Mordred whispered a prayer to the Triple Goddess. He prayed that Kara would escape, or at least be killed away from Camelot.

Chapter Text

“My Lord, my Lady,” said a voice by his ears. Arthur groaned and blinked open his eyes to see a man with a blue scarf around his neck.

“Shut up Merlin,” whined Arthur. “It’s entirely too early to be woken up.” That wasn’t true. The light streaming through the windows told Arthur that it was a perfectly reasonable time to be up, but he refused to acknowledge that.

“Your Majesty, I must insist! I have prepared a lovely breakfast and you have training in an hour.” Since when had Merlin been so proper?

Arthur opened his eyes fully to scrutinize the man more closely. His eyesight snapped into focus as his heart fell and the previous day rushed back upon painful reflection. It wasn’t Merlin. It was George.

Suddenly wide awake, Arthur grunted and rose from bed, Guinevere stirring beside him.

George followed behind him like an eager puppy.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath sire? I assume that you didn’t have one yesterday due to your manservant’s… condition.” Arthur froze and turned to face George. The man didn’t look Arthur in the eye, his face bent slightly to the floor in the way that was technically proper. Arthur grabbed George’s jaw and roughly pulled it to meet his face.

George’s brown eyes were wide with shock, and little leads of sweat began to gather at his temples.

“Don’t mention him to me!” growled Arthur. “In fact, don’t talk at all unless I talk to you. Understand?”

George nodded sharply, “Yes sire.”

Arthur let go of George and sat down to a veritable feast. He grabbed a sausage and began chewing away, but it felt like chalk between his teeth.

Guinevere sat beside Arthur, glancing at him reproachfully.

“Thank you George,” she said. The servant didn’t look completely up and kept his mouth shut, rushing to stand stiffly in the corner, but he gave a small nod of appreciation.

“The King will have a bath today, we both will. You can go… begin drawing water.” George gave a deep bow before almost sprinting from the room. Once he was gone Guinevere turned to glare at Arthur.

“Arthur! Don’t be so rough like that!”

Arthur shrugged and muttered. “He deserved it.” Arthur pushed his food about his plate.

“I know that you’re hurting. Everyone is. But that doesn’t give you the right to mistreat people,” she said sternly.

Refusing to acknowledge her, Arthur shoved another piece of sausage in his mouth and chewed it angrily.

“If Merlin were here he’d call you a prat,” said Guinevere.

Something clenched in Arthur’s stomach and he turned his head to look at Guinevere’s face.

“That was cruel,” he said. He could not recall glaring at Guinevere like this ever before. “How dare you say that!”

“How could I not! You’re acting the way you when you and him first met!” retorted Guinevere. “Fine way of respecting his memory!”

“He’s not going to be a memory because he’s going to be fine!” yelled Arthur.

Guinevere flinched and Arthur’s anger levels fell slightly.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. But you shouldn’t have brought up Merlin.” Arthur tossed his fork to the table and slouched in his chair.

Guinevere slouched as well and said, “I’m sorry too. That was a low blow.”

They sat around the table in silence until a knock sounded at the door. It was George and some other servants carrying pails of hot water.

“Your Majesty's requested a bath?”

Arthur spent the morning and some of the afternoon trying and failing to keep Merlin from his mind. Not even the bath with Guinevere worked. Despite having been married for almost two years, Arthur hadn’t bathed with Guinevere since their wedding night, chiefly because having Merlin attending to both of them would be supremely awkward, which Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about, even with Guinevere’s nude body pressed against his. It didn’t help that neither of them were in the mood for anything. Arthur then attended a useless Council meeting that he cut very short because he couldn’t stop staring at the spot where Merlin would typically stand. He ultimately resorted to hacking a dummy in the training yard. Some of the squires and younger knights looked to him with pity, but he ignored them.

Arthur knew that Gaius needed time to research, which was the only thing that kept had Arthur from barging into his chambers and demanding answers earlier. But after suffering another awkward meal with Guinevere, Arthur found himself in Gaius’ chambers doing exactly that.

Merlin looked just as poor as he had before. Arthur tore his eyes from him and asked Gaius, “How is he.”

Gaius sighed and said, “It could be worse sire. He hasn’t gotten much worse, but he also is no better.”

“What have you found?” asked Arthur.

“Not too much. The Disir are powerful. It would take a lot of power to override their spell.”

“Then where is this power! How can I get it!” roared Arthur, losing his patience. “I don’t care what it is Gaius! I can’t… I can’t lose him.”

Gaius’ stoic face twitted for a second before he said, “Sire, believe me. I have no desire to see Merlin go. But the word of the Disir is strong.”

“Is there nothing stronger? Just tell me Gaius and I’ll do it.”

“Arthur, the Disir are very powerful. It’s not so easy to…” Gaius paused before shaking his head and muttering, “No.”

Arthur perked up, “What? What is it Gaius?”

Gaius sighed before saying, “It isn’t a guarantee.”

“I don’t care!” Arthur’s spirits were already rising. “What is it?”

Gaius paused for a second before relenting. “The Cup of Life. It may have the power to overcome the Disir’s influence.”

“The Cup of Life? The thing that we rescued from the Druids a few years ago?”

“Yes. You may recall that the druids used it to heal Leon from certain death. It’s one if the most powerful magical artifacts of the Old Religion. If anything could heal Merlin…” Gaius trailed off but Arthur got the message.

“Where is it?” asked Arthur. His nerves were settling as he shifted into battle mode. A quest. He could do that. “The Cup disappeared after the immortal army.” Gaius grimaced and Arthur sensed that there was something that he was missing. “Unless you know where it is?”

“I don’t sire, not exactly. But I may have heard that the Druids reacquired the Cup after Morgause’s assault.”

Arthur grinned. “Then I suppose that we have some tracking to do. I’m calling a meeting of the Round Table within the hour. I want you to do as much research as possible on this Cup between now and then.” With that, Arthur stalked out of the room with newfound purpose.

The Round Table had never assembled itself so immediately. Everyone dropped their current activities so quickly that Arthur suspected that he wasn’t the only one trying to bury his grief in busywork. The exception of course was Gwaine. While Arthur had found his other men knee-deep in various states of useless busy-work or strenuous training, Gwaine had been fast asleep in his rooms, having been deposited there by Percival after a long night—and morning— of drinking. His carefree, affable personality was nowhere to be found and his eyes were dark and moody, but he had come without complaint. Something that didn’t happen regularly.

Arthur cleared his throat before beginning. “Thank you for coming.”

Leon gave a weak smile, “Where else would we be?”

Everyone nodded in agreement save for Gwaine who’s face hadn’t budged since the start of the meeting.

“You wouldn’t have brought us here if something hadn’t happened,” continued Leon.

Arthur nodded, “Gaius has a way to heal Merlin.”

Everyone perked up at that, even Gwaine.

“What!” the man said, his eyes regaining a hit of their usual spark. “Where? How?”

“It’s not definite,” insisted Gaius. “The Disir are very powerful and it is entirely possible that —”

“What is it!” snapped Gwaine. “Why aren’t you telling us? Don’t you want Merlin to live?”

“Gwaine!” said Guinevere sternly. “Gaius is a trusted advisor that you will treat with respect.”

Gwaine said nothing in response, but his eyes were still fiery. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. Everyone pointedly ignored him as he began to drink.

“Thank you sire,” continued Gaius. “I believe that Mordred is the only one here who is not familiar with the Cup of Life.” At those words Leon perked up.

“The Cup of Life?” he said. “But we lost track of it after the battle.”

“Gaius believes that it is in the hands of the Druids,” said Arthur. “They were the ones who had before we acquired it.”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Elyan, “But are we talking about the thing that made that army of dead soldiers? Why would that do anything to help Merlin?”

“The Cup can be used for great healing along with great bloodshed,” explained Gaius. “Leon can attest to that.”

“I can indeed,” said Leon. “I was at the brink of death when the Druids found me. But they had me drink some potion from the Cup and I could literally feel my flesh knitting back together.”

“And you could use these… properties to heal Merlin?” Guinevere asked Gaius.

“Perhaps,” said Gaius. “The Cup is said to be able to cure any affliction. My research suggests that the Cup can be used by anyone, but only a powerful sorcerer can fully manipulate its power. We can only hope that my limited knowledge of it is enough.”

Arthur nodded, “Okay, then we must track this tribe down. We haven’t formally tracked the druids in some time but—”

“Wait, that’s it?” asked Elyan. “We’re just going to traipse off for this Cup like that?”

Arthur frowned, “We need to help Merlin. This could be our only chance!”

But Elyan didn’t look convinced. “Look, I love Merlin just as much as all of you. But I’m not sure that he’d want us to track down a dangerous magical artifact in order to bring him back. This is magic we’re talking about! When has it ever been a friend to us?”

As desperate as he was to do anything to help Merlin, Arthur couldn’t help but be somewhat swayed by Elyan’s words. Magic had indeed proven itself to be tricky and prone to chaos and evil. If anything, Merlin’s situation proved that.

Arthur turned to Gaius and asked, “Is there truly no normal way to help him?”

Gaius looked resigned when he said, “Sire, Merlin is like a son to me. If I knew a way to heal him I would have done so already. The Disir are a powerful magical force. They can only be defeated by another such force.”

Elyan grunted and said, “Meddling with magic is what got us here. Continuing to mess with it might only make the situation worse.”

“Worse? Merlin’s dying Elyan!” Everyone turned to look at Gwaine. His eyes were lit with a fire usually reserved for battle. “You would let him die? Without even trying to save him?”

“I don’t like it any more than you do!” retorted Elyan. “But we have to think of the greater threat. What has magical interference ever gotten us?”

Arthur couldn’t help but be drawn back to the painful memories of his father’s death. That old man had been so convincing in his words, but then again that’s what sorcerers did best. Lie. But even then Arthur couldn’t get the thought of Merlin’s corpse from his head.

“Magic can heal though.” Arthur turned to Leon, who looked hesitant despite having spoken. Arthur gestured for him to continue.

“I know that it can because of my own experience. And the druids that I met were nothing but kind to me, despite the fact that they had not reason to.”

“We have known for some time that the Druids are peaceful,” concurred Arthur.

“And since your reign sire, we’ve stopped tracking them intensely and we’ve ceased raids altogether. Surely that should build some good faith. And of course what the old man did— Dragoon was his name I recall— was horrific and cruel, but it was your father he was trying to heal Arthur.”

Arthur opened his mouth protest but Leon quickly amended his words.

“Of course I mean no disrespect for the late king! I served him with my life. But sorcerers loathed him. If I recall you yourself told me that Dragoon admitted to not liking King Uther. So asking the man to heal him went against his base instincts.”

“What does this have to do with Merlin,” asked Arthur, not wanting to relive his colossal failure with his father yet again.

“Well, Merlin’s just a servant. He has no influence on anything. Healing him shouldn’t offend the Druids, especially seeing that they healed me. A knight of Camelot. Perhaps we could appeal to their better nature with a servant who deserves none of what’s gotten to them.”

Leon’s words made sense to Arthur, but he looked around the table to see how the rest of his men felt. Gwaine and Gaius of course looked eager contact the Druids. Guinevere and Percival looked hesitant, but neither of them raised any further concerns. Elyan still looked a conflicted, but at the faces of everyone else in the room he sighed and said,

“If you think this is a good idea, I trust your judgement Arthur. But we’ll need to be careful.”

Arthur nodded, “Of course.” Having settled that question, Arthur moved on and said, “We can’t do anything with the druids unless we find them, and as Leon said, we haven’t tracked them intensely in some years.” That had been Arthur’s decision. It had been an attempt to atone for his misdeeds against the druids and fulfill his promise to the druid ghost. Unfortunately that decision left them very much in the dark now.

“We could send out patrols to look for them,” suggested Guinevere. “Orders not to attack of course.”

“The knights are already stretched pretty thin,” protested Leon. “We are still actively searching for Morgana and her conspirators.”

“Well couldn’t they do both?” asked Guinevere. “Search for Morgana and the Druids?”

Leon shrugged, “Perhaps, but it will take time to spread those messages out. And we’re heavily concentrated in the South right now, the North would be barely searched at all.”

“All this of course assumes that the Cup is in Camelot,” said Elyan. “The Druids are nomadic, they could be anywhere.”

Arthur grit his teeth. He didn’t have time for this. Merlin didn’t have time for this. They couldn’t wait on patrols all over the kingdom.

“There must be a smarter way of doing this,” insisted Arthur. “We’re trying to cast too big a net, we have to narrow our scale.”

“But sire,” said Leon, “We’ve no idea where they are. We have to cast a big net.”

Arthur got up and started pacing. “Then we need to figure out ways to narrow it. What do we know about the Druids movement patterns?”

“The Druids don’t have consistent patterns,” insisted Leon.

“They did once,” said Gaius quietly.

Arthur frowned, “Once?”

“Before the Purge, the Druids would regularly meet near certain landmarks and settle in specific places year after year. Of course this ended with the Purge. There was a time when it was a common sight to see Druids out and about.” If Arthur didn’t know better, he’d have said that there was a touch of wistfulness in Gaius’ tone.

“Well how does that help us now?” said Elyan. “Clearly they don’t use those routes anymore.”

“No,” said Arthur slowly, but an idea was coming to them. “Gaius, were there any places if particular significance? That some tribe would commonly be stationed near?”

Gaius looked hesitant, so Arthur knew that he had hit on something. “We need to know this Gaius, for Merlin.” It was cruel to invoke the man’s ward like that, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment because it got Gaius to talk.

“Mount Bail was important to them. I’ve… I’ve heard talks—nothing substantial of course— of there being a small settlement that still guards it,” said Gaius.

Mount Bail, of course. The more Arthur thought of it, the more it made sense. The place was fairly remote within Camelot. It was full of dense forests and difficult terrain that discouraged most from living there, but he could see the appeal for Druids. A group that needed to stay out of the way and had a lot of experience surviving the elements.

Arthur looked over his men, his brother’s in arms. They all seemed restless. Ready for action. Arthur could feel the same need. The need to help their fallen comrade. So Arthur said, “I expect you all to be ready within the hour. We have quite the trip ahead of us.”

Chapter Text

A few weeks ago Mordred had never accompanied the Round Table on anything. Now he was saddling up for the third time in only a few days with them to seek out Druids of all people. Everyone on the journey was sullen and quiet. Despite only having ridden out with them twice before, Mordred could still sense the stark difference in this quest. The camaraderie and jovial atmosphere was gone. 

Of course Mordred was sullen and quit for different reasons. The state of Emrys was frightening of course. The idea that a being as powerful as Emrys could be so grievously wounded was disconcerting, but even that was drowned out by a deep dread and shame.

Taking up a sword and abandoning the Druid’s pacifistic teachings hadn’t been too difficult, though his sword still felt wrong in his arms sometimes. It was a tough world, and sometimes might was necessary to do right. Besides there were many who worshipped the Triple Goddess without the avowed pacifism of the Druids. He had joined the Knights of Camelot out of fealty to Arthur, the Once and Future King. By serving him, Mordred had reasoned that he was helping his people. Arthur was their prophesied savior, why should he not join him? Patrolling and protecting the citizens of Camelot through force was a necessary part of that job, and Mordred was proud to help the people. And the King had ceased tracking and hunting Druids, so Mordred had reasoned that he would never have to do what he was doing right now.

The King hadn’t mentioned any plans of pillaging or violence against the tribe, they only sought information. But in his mail with his red cape flowing behind his back, Mordred felt closer to the villains of his childhood than he ever had before.

‘This is all for Emrys,”

Mordred chanted in his head, hoping that his discomfort wasn’t obvious to the other men. Emrys was important. He was meant to guide the Once and Future King and all magical peoples to a better future. He needed to be alive to do that, and in order for that to happen, Mordred had to support the King. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. He would prove his loyalty to both him and Emrys.

They pushed their horses hard and spent a night camped in the woods before arriving in a village near the base of the mountains. Before they had set out, Leon had informed the group of a small village that was located near mountain.

“It would be wise to begin our search for the Druids there Arthur,” he had said. “They are likely to have seen or heard anything off.”   

Having finally arrived, Mordred took in just how small the place was. It was a collection of small farms and a tiny center with a smith and a tavern. Even in his travels throughout Albion, Mordred had rarely seen places so small.

It was morning time so most of the people were out in the fields when they arrived, but perhaps a dozen people were scattered around what qualified as the town center. They all continued staring at the knights with shocked eyes, having gathered into what almost qualified as a crowd.

Arthur cleared his throat. “I am Arthur Pendragon, your King.” Shocked gasps rippled throughout the crowd and the people’s eyes grew wider.

At that a man finally stepped forward warily. He had balding brown hair and narrowed eyes. Nonetheless, he bowed to the King before saying.

“Please excuse our welcome, Your Highness, we are simply unused to having knights in our part of Camelot.”

Arthur waved off his words. “There is no need for apology. We only seek information. There have been rumors of Druids lurking near these parts. We merely need to know their location, if they are here at all,” said the King. “Anyone who can provide valuable information will be rewarded.”

At these words the crowd seemed to quite and more still. Mordred’s heart beat loudly in his chest. They had to know something. It was obvious in the way that their eyes had strayed about the square once the King had asked the question. But as much as Mordred longed for Emrys’ recovery, he could only hope that he was doing a better job of hiding his own anxiousness. 

The man hesitated and said, “We have sent no missives to the capital requesting help. We are but a small hamlet, sire. There are no sorcerers lurking here.” His voice was firm, but  his hand shook.

The King nodded to the man and said, “Is there anywhere where my men and I could get some rest?”

The man nodded and said, “We have a small tavern right here,” he said gesturing to a small building behind him. “Er, we don’t have much sire. Certainly nothing to your standards but we will give you the best that we have.”

The King nodded, “Thank you for your hospitality, just mead should be fine.”

The tavern was indeed tiny. There was barely enough space for the King and the other knights to crowd around a single table. There was only one other man in the establishment who was clearly tripping over himself at the opportunity to serve royalty. Mordred wondered if he had acted similarly when first meeting Arthur again, and wondered when he had stopped.

Arthur dismissed the man once the mead arrived. He took a deep sip before addressing the others.

“So, what do you guys think?” asked Arthur.

“I think that that was the most awkward crowd that I’ve ever seen,” grunted Elyan. “They clearly know more than their letting on.”

“Usually villages are pretty eager to help with finding sorcerers,” said Leon thoughtfully. “Why do you think that these people aren’t being so forthcoming?”

“Perhaps they’ve been threatened?” suggested Gwaine. “These are sorcerers that we are talking about. It wouldn’t surprise me if the people have to keep their mouths shut or fear retaliation.”

Mordred stared into his cup. ‘He wouldn’t think the same if he knew about you or Emrys, he’s misguided,’ he repeated to himself.

“But Gaius said that Druids lived here,” said Leon, carrying along as if Mordred wasn’t pulling himself from a depressive meltdown beside him.  “I haven’t heard of Druids being so violent.”

“The Druids are generally a peaceful people,” agreed Arthur, “But there are exceptions to every rule, especially in the case of magic. Regardless, there are other ways that they could have a hold on these people. We need to break it. Quickly.”

“Are you suggesting that they’re under some kind of spell Arthur?” asked Elyan.

“We can’t rule it out,” the King said grimly.

‘You can indeed rule it out,’ thought a surly Mordred. Assuming that a tribe would even do such a thing, Mordred would have felt it the second he entered the village. Not that he could admit that of course.

“But hopefully not. First we must exhaust our more immediate options,” finished Arthur.

“Crowds provide a measure of protection, an ability to hide,” said Leon. “We saw more houses around here than there were people in the square. If we could corner someone in alone. They may be more inclined to speak to us.”

Arthur nodded, “We’ll split up into two groups. Leon; you, Gwaine, and Percival begin with houses to the West and work you way back to town. Mordred, Elyan, we’ll head East. Blow your horn if you find anything big, otherwise we’ll meet back here in five hours.”

It was still morning, but the sun had risen higher in the sky by the time that Mordred set out with Arthur and Elyan. The King paid the tavern owner a pretty penny to keep their horses indefinitely and they were on their way. The two other knights were quiet, seemingly wrapped up in their own thoughts as they headed to the first house. The King’s mouth was set in a thin line, the warmth commonly seen in his eyes gone. Mordred thought that Sir Elyan seemed neutral, but then his face would twitch in a way that gave away his disapproval.

“Mordred!”

Mordred snapped to attention, having been wrapped up in his own head. “Yes sire?”

The King’s mouth pulled into a smirk that didn’t match the rest of his face. “Off in the clouds are we?”

Mordred shrugged, blood rushing to his face, “I have a lot on my mind.”

Arthur chuckled, the sound seeming false coming from his sad, empty eyes. “I suppose we all do. But I need to brief you on how this is going to work.”

Mordred nodded slowly.

“We are going to interrogate these villagers. There is no need to be cruel or violent—not that I think that you’d do that— but we need to be firm. Elyan and I will handle most of the talking, but even as you stand there you must seem confident and and strong. Strong enough to intimidate them into giving us the information we need.”

Mordred nodded, “I understand sire.”

“And don’t hesitate to say something if you see anything suspicious,” threw in Sir Elyan.

Mordred nodded again, and at this point they had arrived at the first hovel.

Sir Elyan rapped on the door. Mordred could hear some shuffling from inside the house and soon enough a woman opened the door, her eyes growing wide at the sight of knights.

“I hope you don’t mind if we encroach on your time. The King has some questions,” said Sir Elyan.

The woman’s face paled a few shades at the realization that the King himself was at her door. She quickly opened the door and stammered, “Yes, of course milord.”

The walked into the woman’s home, there was only one room. One thin pallet laid in the corner, a thin blanket throw overtop, and there was a burning hearth in the back. The only other thing of note was a chair and a small table which Mordred supposed was used to prepare food.

“I don’t have much, but you could take the chair er… You Highness.” She had brown hair, the top bleached blond from the sun. She wasn’t young, but she didn’t seem particularly old either. Her shaking hands were lined and cracked, showing the sings of hard labor.

Arthur shook his head. “Thank you for your kindness, but we shouldn’t be here long. What is your name?”

“Agnes, milord.”

“Are you the only one that lives here?” Arthur continued.

“No, my husband is out in the fields.”

“Could you call him for us?” asked Arthur.

“Of course.” She turned and Mordred noticed that there was another exit from the home covered in a tarp. The woman poked her head out and called,“Matthias! Please come!” She turned back to them and looked to the floor saying, “He should be here presently milord.”

“Then we shall wait for his arrival,” said Arthur. The King seemed perfectly at ease in the situation, showing no signs of worry. Sir Elyan was similarly composed. It made for an interesting contrast with Agnes, who’s entire body was visibly shaking. Mordred’s nerves felt closer to Agatha than the other knights, but he tried to keep his face neutral and his body steady.

Agatha’s husband arrived within a few minutes. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to berate his wife for distracting him from his work, after seeing the knights in his living room his mouth and his eyes bulged.

“Matthias, it is nice of you to join us,” said Arthur.

The man gave a tight smile and surreptitiously moved in front of his wife.

“We only have a few questions and we will be finished. There have been reports of Druid sightings in this area. Do you know anything of this?”

The couple looked confused, but also slightly alarmed. “No sire. We mostly keep to ourselves. If there have been Druids nearby we have heard nothing of it,” insisted Agnes, kneading her hands. “We’ve had no contact with sorcerers, I swear it!”

The King nodded, his face giving nothing away of his true feelings. Sir Elyan was similarly stoic, but Mordred’s palms were dripping in sweat. It was all that he could do to keep from mirroring Agatha and kneading his own hands.

The couple seemed honest to Mordred. Having experience now of living as an undercover magic sympathizer, he could imagine the proper reaction of a long undisturbed sorcerer finally caught. There would be fear of course, and indeed there was fear on the couple’s faces, but the horror was missing. Mordred didn’t know whether to jump for joy, or sulk in disappointment.

“Have you noticed any abnormal movements?” The conversation had continued despite the turmoil in Mordred’s head, and now Sir Elyan was asking questions.

“Druids tend to like the woods. Have you ever noticed anything off during your time hunting? Rising smoke? Odd tracks?”

“I’m sorry Sir Knight, but I wouldn’t even know what to look for,” said Matthias, his face turned to the floor.

The King sighed and nodded to Mordred and Sir Elyan. It was time to go.

“Thank you for your help. The crown appreciates your time,” the King then pulled a gold coin from his pack. Utterly meaningless to him, but Mordred knew would be invaluable to a four farming couple like this one. He handed it to Agnes who looked stunned.

“I hope that this will compensate you for your troubles.”

Agnes nodded enthusiastically, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since they had arrived. “Thank you milord! You are very gracious!”

Arthur gave the first smile that he had all day, but even Mordred could tell that it didn’t meet his eyes. He gestured to the other two knights, and they left the small hovel.

“What do we do now?” asked Mordred once they left.

Arthur sighed, “We keep looking.”

Several hours later, they had yet to find anything concrete. Most of the villagers had similar reactions to Agnes and Mathias. Fear and confusion upon being potentially accused of sorcery, but no actual information. Sometimes the reactions were slightly different, though Mordred was sure that neither the King nor Sir Elyan could tell. Occasionally there was a glint of horror, a tint of dread, in the eyes of a villager before they denied having any knowledge. Mordred spent those interrogations biting his tongue, unsure of what to say. He doubted that any of the villagers that he had seen were Druids, they lacked the deportment. But then again many would say that Mordred himself lacked the air of a Druid. Nonetheless, Mordred couldn’t bear say anything aloud. Not with so little evidence.

The sun was not quite setting, but it was low in the sky as they approached one of the final houses. This one was just as small and run down as the others, but there was a small boy playing in front of this one.

The King approached the young boy and said, “Hello there son. Are your parents home by any chance?”

The boy looked up with big eyes and nodded. “My Mum’s inside.”

“Would you mind getting them for me?” The boy nodded again and rushed inside. Mordred couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Arthur had always been good with kids, as he himself had witnessed so long ago.

The young mother cracked open the door, and at this point Mordred was used to the look of shock and fear that danced across the villagers faces. They entered the place, as they had so many before and this one was no different. Small, few pallets to sleep on, a chair, a table and a hearth. At least it made for few places to search.

“We have heard reports of Druids in this area,” asked the King. “We are looking for information about their location.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide, and the requisite fear was apparent on her face. But this time it was different. The way her lips pursed, the way she exhaled, Mordred could see that she wasn’t surprised. She was resigned. And her eyes darted to a corner before quickly going back to the King.

“I have nothing to do with Druids,” she said firmly, her hands shaking a bit.

Mordred looked to the corner as Arthur asked her another question. His heart paused as he saw something irrefutably magical.

It was a moon clasp.

Mordred would have recognized such a thing anywhere. He had worn one during those three awful weeks in childhood when he had contracted sweating sickness. It was a trinket commonly used to boost the power of moon-based herbs. Mordred’s eyes flew about the room. He could see no mortar and pestle, a staple in any Druid household, nor any of the other small implements that had been commonplace in his culture. He felt somewhat confident that this woman wasn’t a Druid, but she had met with one.

Mordred’s hands, which had been sweaty all day, now began to clasp at each other. Was he really going to turn this lady in? He couldn’t, how could he? But then he thought of Emrys’ cold body…

Mordred cleared his throat and the King looked to him. “Do you have something to say Sir Mordred?” Mordred hadn’t said anything all day, so he could hear a note of surprise in Arthur’s voice.

Mordred said quietly, “What’s that?” pointing to the moon clasp.

The other two knights looked where he was referring to, but the draining blood from the woman’s face gave them all the evidence that they needed.

Elyan frowned and walked over to the corner, picking up the clasp. It was nondescript from afar if you had never seen one. But glinting in Elyan’s hand, the runes covering marked it as obviously magical. He handed it to Arthur, who inspected it , his eyes growing cold and his lip curling.

“You would lie to your King?” he said quietly.

“Milord! You must forgive me!” The woman fell to her knees. “My son was sick and there was nothing else we could do!”

“Consorting with sorcerers is against the law,” said Elyan sternly. “As is lying to the crown.”

The deep irony of these words was not lost on Mordred.

The woman had tears streaming down her face. Her entire body was shaking, not in the subtle way of the other villagers, but full on convulsions. “Milord, have mercy!” she cried, throwing herself prostrate at Arthur’s feet.

“It was my son! He was ill, there was nothing anyone could do to save him. You must understand sire! Take me if you must, but please have mercy on him! Don’t punish him for my crimes!”

The woman lied there weeping, and Arthur was as still as ever. Finally he said, “I will allow this transgression to slide.”

Mordred let out a sigh of relief and the woman looked up in surprise. “Thank you sire! You are as just as they say!”

Arthur gave a small smile, “I have no children, but I can understand the need to do anything, even consort with sorcerers, when someone you love is hurt. But I need something from you.”

The woman nodded, “Of course! Anything sire!”

“I need to know where you found these Druids?” asked Arthur.

The woman hesitated before letting out a large sigh. “There have always been rumors that a tribe lives up on the mountain. Occasionally someone will find a pot or an old blanket lying around in the forest, but otherwise they leave no trace. But when my boy was hurt, I ventured up the mountain looking for them.” She paused, frowning. “I don’t find them as much as they found me, but I remember their camp being by a river. I don’t know which.”

Arthur nodded, “Thank you for your service.” And to Mordred’s surprise, he pulled out the same gold coin that he had given to everyone else. “For your troubles, and keep an eye on that boy of yours” he said, handing it to the stunned woman.

He gestured to Mordred and Sir Elyan. It was time to leave. They passed the little boy on the way out, and Arthur nodded to him.

They had walked a fair bit away from the house before Arthur turned to address them.

“We have a lead, and we don’t have time to spare interrogating the other villagers. Elyan, blow the horn to call the others.” Sir Elyan nodded pulled out the horn.

“And Mordred,” Mordred looked up to Arthur. “Nice work in there.”

Chapter Text

“So we need to traipse about the forest to find these people?” asked Sir Gwaine.

It was late afternoon and the sun on the verge of setting. Everyone was seated, taking the opportunity to eat from their packs as they reported their progress. Leon, Gwaine, and Percival had not found anything of note, having mostly encountered similar responses to Mordred’s group.

“But then again, they didn’t have the benefit of a Druid traitor to inform them,” thought Mordred bitterly. 

“According to the woman they know how to make themselves scarce, but their camp is located by a river,” said Sir Elyan.

“Which is far more information than she likely thought it was,” said Arthur. “Leon, you brought a map of these mountains correct?”

“Yeah,” said Sir Leon. He bent over to ruffle through his bag. “I suspect that it isn’t as comprehensive as it could be. There hasn’t been much need for such a thing before,” he said as he handed it to Arthur.

“All we need is to know is where the big rivers are,” said Arthur, scanning the document. “Aha!”

He set the parchment down in the middle of the group and pointed to a river.

“If I was going to set up a secret Druid camp in these mountains, I would do it along this river. It’s fairly wide so there should be plenty of opportunity to fish, and it doesn’t flow through any villages so people are unlikely to happen upon them,” said the King. “If we follow this river up the mountain, hopefully we’ll find them. Or at least evidence of them that we can track.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and the King rose to his feet. “You lot can finish eating on the road. The elevation would be to steep for the horses so we’ll be going on foot. The river should be due East from here.”

Seeing as the Sun was going to set in an hour or so, Mordred didn’t see the point of setting out now, and by the look on Sir Leon’s face he suspected that he wasn’t the only one. But the King was determined so he too rose from the ground and followed him.

Their route was fairly scenic. The river that they were following was clear and let out a calming gurgle. The trees were a blanket of green and brown, and the sunset in the distance was a beautiful sight of reds and purples. Despite all of the conditioning he had received since becoming a knight, Mordred couldn’t help but huff and puff as they hiked up the slight incline by the lake. It was a testament to the strength of the Camelot knights that he seemed to be the one in the most distress. The other men merely hiked forward, their eyes scanning the scenery for any evidence of people, and their mouths tight in determination. They kept at it for hours, the King suffering no breaks, driving them forward with a single minded determination that he had never seen from him.

Emrys truly was invaluable to the group. None of the men that he had come to idolize were quite themselves without him. Sometimes, Arthur would turn to his side before pausing and looking forward again, his gait angrier than before. It was a crazy idea, and he was probably wrong, but Mordred wondered if he was looking for Emrys, only to be disappointed when he wasn’t there.

It was this that kept trudging up the mountain. With a red cape on his back and a sword by his side. He wondered if the attackers of his childhood had been so fatigued by the the time they had found his village. He had never considered this point of view before. Had there been a rookie among them as well? A young man like himself freshly knighted and eager to prove himself to his king. Perhaps he had lagged at the back of the group as they tracked the village only to redeem himself in the attack. Perhaps Sir Leon had been that boy, or even a young Prince Arthur. Perhaps the old King had patted them on the back with pride the same way that they did to Mordred when he did well.

These thoughts circles though Mordred’s head, no chatter from the knights to distract him and no signs of the King allowing them to stop and make camp. They trudged on until it was black as pitch and the moon was high in the sky. Mordred was starving by then, the rations they had eaten having long expended themselves.

“Sire.” Mordred jumped in surprise at the sound of a voice. It was Sir Leon.

“We’ve made good headway, but it’s useless continuing like this. We could miss too many clues in the dark.”

“The moon is full and bright tonight,” insisted the King. “Light isn’t an issue.”

“Perhaps but sire, our bodies are. We’re all exhausted. Mordred looks like he’s about to keel over. And even if we found the Druids we’d be in no state to confront them.”

“He’s right Princess,” said Sir Gwaine. “You know that I want to go on more than anyone, but this is folly. And the kid can’t take this kind of abuse. Frankly neither can I,” Usually Mordred would object to being made out as the baby of the group. But his aching thighs and hunger pangs made an exception.

Even so, when King Arthur looked to Mordred and asked, “Do you need to stop?” Mordred shook his head.

“I will be by your side as far as you need me sire.” But the glaring looks from everyone else seemed to convince the King otherwise.

“Fine, we’re all tired. Set up camp for the night.”

Setting up camp was an even more complicated affair than Mordred suspected that it usually was. For one thing, the darkness made it difficult to collect firewood and pitch their tents. For another, Emrys was usually the one assigned many of the tasks, so the other men were left to awkwardly fill his role, which only served as further reminder of the missing man.

As Mordred was stumbling through setting up his pack. Sir Leon approached him.

“Good evening sir, is there anything you need?” asked Mordred. Had he seen through his mask? Would he ask why he was acting weird? What would Mordred say? What could he say?

But Sir Leon only gave him a wry smile and said, “You’ve done well Mordred.”

Mordred smiled back faintly. “I guess I understand why you have us run those laps now.”

Sir Leon chuckled, “I expect that you’ll never take them for granted again.” But his face turned serious, “Listen Mordred. The King is pleased with you as well, we’re all impressed by your dedication. But Arthur’s a little… off without Merlin. I know that he seems like a mere servant, but he’s Arthur’s closet friend, even if he’d never admit it. So don’t take it to heart if he’s a little shorter than usual.”

Mordred nodded, “Thank you sir. E…Merlin is important to me as well. His safety is a great motivator for me also. I can only imagine what the King is feeling.”

Sir Leon gave Mordred a wry smile and patted him on the back. “Stay sharp, with any luck we’ll be out of this soon.”

Mordred gave him a small smile in return and and continued unpacking.

By the time that he was able to rest Mordred was so exhausted that sleep too him immediately. It was a dreamless rest that was rudely interrupted by someone shaking him awake. Mordred opened his bleary eyes to see Sir Elyan by his shoulder.

“It’s dawn, we’re leaving in five minutes.” Mordred nodded, a giant yawn stretching his face in two. He stumbled to his feet and began packing up his things, functioning on sheer instinct and duty more than energy. His entire body was aching. He had though that he was sore the day before, but if anything it was worse now. By the sight of the other men, Mordred was not the only one sore.

The King looked even more weary, but his eyes were sharp and focused. The rage and sorrow that had lured behind all his movements was freely on display, lack of sleep having stripped away the regales and diplomacy masking his true feelings. Mordred wondered if the man had gotten any sleep at all or if his body was running off of pure determination.

“Come on men,” he backed, “We don’t have all day. I want to find the Druids before this day ends.”

For anyone other leader at any other time, such a pronouncement could have engendered complaining and mutiny within the ranks, but from Arthur it only got nods of agreement. The man turned and continued trudging up the mountain, and everyone followed him without complaint.

Watching the sunrise was a small reward at least for their efforts. They were quite high in elevation at this point, and the deep oranges and purples were a beautiful treat. When he was a child the Elders said that a purple sunrise was a good omen. It made Mordred hopeful for the day, something inside him knew that Arthur would get his wish. They would find the tribe today, and at the very least this leg of the quest would be over.

They had all kept their eyes peeled for any signs of human life, and they had thus far found nothing. But finally, a few hours after sunrise, Percival called out and pointed to something buried in the river silt. Mordred squinted. Was that…

Percival waded into the water and fished the object out, rinsing it in the river before bringing it to the rest of the group. It was crude clay jar, large enough to hold a small pail of water. The river had eroded it, but not so much that the runes of the Old Religion weren’t visible. Mordred recognized it as a Spirit’s Urn. The head of each Druid household would fill it with oil as an offering to the Mother. But he knew that the others would see it as nothing more than an artifact of the Old Religion.

“We must be close,” said the King. The fire in his eyes that had dulled with the hiking was back with even more fervor. “The marking aren’t completely eroded, and was too close to the shore to have washed down from too far upstream. We’re on the right path.”

He looked all of them over intensely. “Keep sharp.”

Mordred gulped and nodded his head. Sir Leon saw gave him and encouraging smile, probably sensing Mordred’s nervousness. Mordred chuckled inside wondering what his reaction would be to knowing why he was truly nervous.

This was it. The moment that he had naively hoped would never come was fast approaching. The King was right. The Druids probably had camped here nearby, though unlike the knights the jar wasn’t Mordred’s only clue. As they continued up the mountains he saw short pegs littering the ground. The knights probably wrote them off as eroded twigs, but Mordred recognized them as stays for Druid tents. One patch that they came across had scraps of green cloth scattered about. This the other men picked up on and King Arthur’s resolve only deepened. But only Mordred knew that the cloths were evidence of a naming ceremony. In which a newborn child was dedicated to the Mother, the Druid’s patron God.

A part of him—perhaps the part that gripped the sword in his hand—wondered why he didn’t share any of this information with the knights. The obvious excuse of course was to protect his secret magical heritage. The King had never mentioned their childhood encounter and Mordred wasn’t keen to remind him. And the other men he was positive were ignorant of his origins. However if he had learned anything from Emrys and Master Gaius, it was how to communicate magical information without exposing ones own magical connections. He could have written the knowledge off as something he’d heard in a tavern, or even from Emrys of Gaius themselves. Mother knows that they would cover for him. But something stopped him. After all, they were on the trail anyway. They didn’t need any more help. Mordred scoffed at himself. He was the reason that they were on this hike in the first place. It was far too late to become righteous about this.

“Arthur!”

Sir Gwaine’s shout pulled Mordred from his thoughts.

The man was squatted over a patch of ground. The others hurried to crowd around to see what he was looking so intently at.

It was a set of footprints.

“Not very old from the looks of it,” said the King. “Less than a day old or so. We should find them very soon.”

“What should we do when we get there?” blurted Mordred. Their interrogations of the villagers hadn’t been all that bad in hindsight. Such a questioning of the Druids wouldn’t be too awful would it? Though Camelot did not have the best history of such peaceful encounters…

Mordred squeezed his hilt. Not for the first time he wished that Emrys was here. He would be able to deal with this.

Arthur looked to him. “You won’t have to do anything, I’ll handle the talking.”

The sun was almost directly overhead by the time that they finally found the tribe. The first person they saw was a mere boy. He was whistling Môdigian Friðian sê Sunucennicge, one of Mordred’s favorite lullabies, and collecting boysenberries. His eyes widened with terror at the sight of the red cloaks. His eyes glazed over Mordred as they did the other men. There was no pause of recognition or confusion. No heartbreak or despair at what he had become. The boy probably had no idea that he also was a Druid. To him he was merely a knight in a red cloak.

“Take us to your camp,” commanded Arthur.

The boy began shaking madly, more than any of the villagers had. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“We’ll find it regardless, so stop wasting our time,” said the King aggressively.

This brought no comfort to the boy. Mordred could imagine the horrors flying through his mind.

Sir Leon stepped forward, “We have no intentions of hurting you or your family,” he said earnestly. “We have a friend who needs help, and your people are the only ones who can lend him aid.” He pulled his sword and sheath from his side and laid them on the ground. “We mean no harm.”

Mordred felt enticed to speak out to the child. To tell him that it was no mere man, but Emrys who’s life was at stake. But something kept him quiet. Instead, he followed Sir Leon’s lead and laid his sword and sheath on the ground. The other men seemed to be thinking along the same lines and also disarmed themselves. The King finally acquiesced as well, though his movements were unsure.

This action seemed to pacify the boy somewhat. At least he wasn’t shaking madly anymore. But he remained silent, his face unsure of what to do next. Leading a group knights back to camp, even seemingly peaceful ones felt like the ultimate betrayal. Mordred knew that far too well. He could remember the sinking feeling that had accompanied him as Arthur had escorted him home all those years ago. Even knowing that it was the Once and Future King by his side had not been enough to completely squash an underlying feeling of wrongness.

Luckily for the child, he didn’t have to make a decision. A voice called from the brush.

“Aiden!”

The group turned to the direction of the voice, the boy with a look of dread. A man pushed through a thick patch of vines. His face dropped when he took in the full scene before him. The boy rushed behind the man.

Again Sir Leon stepped forward. “We mean no harm to your people. But a close friend of ours is ill and your people are the only ones who can help.” He turned to Arthur expectingly.

“As King I can vouch that your people will not be harmed,” grunted Arthur.

The man the looked to their discarded weapons. “Will you leave your swords behind before entering our village?” he asked slowly.

Arthur looked hesitant. “You cannot expect us to have no means of defending ourselves.”

“With all do respect sire, when have our people ever been the aggressors in our interactions?” His eyes were narrowed, but Mordred could see the tension in his hands.

The King snorted. “My manservant is in lying in a coma thanks to the peaceful acts of your people. A man who never did anything to you.” It was shocking to see Arthur acting this way. To the child and now to the little boy. Mordred had always been in awe of the the grace that usually permeated Arthur’s being, but now all that he saw was anger and restlessness.

“They truly are two sides of a coin , ” thought Mordred. But the Druid man in front of him surely didn’t know that. His eyes narrowed further and Mordred could see that they were losing ground. Mordred gritted his teeth. Emrys had to be saved. So he reached down into his heart and tapped into the bravery that he didn’t know he had left and called out to the man with his mind.

“The man who they seek aid for is Emrys,” he blurted out.

The men’s eyes widened with surprise. He turned his head, looking for someone responsible for the voice. When he settled on Mordred, his face took on a look of utter shock and confusion.

“This man is the Once and Future King. He’s not usually this…aggressive, but he hasn’t been the same without his other half. You must understand.”

The man looked Arthur up and down again, but anger and fear in his face was mostly replaced with curiosity.

“Is he so out of his element that he would attack our kind?” asked the man warily.

“No! He’s given us orders not to engage you. But Emrys made that sword for him, he’s very attached  to it.”

The man looked to the ground and took another look at Excalibur, his eyes widening as he noticed its markings. The man looked to Mordred again and asked, “Is Emrys all that we prayed for?”

Mordred gave a subtle nod, “He is the most selfless man I’ve ever met. His entire being bleeds magic. He is truly touched by the Mother.”

The man nodded and sighed. “Ok sire, you can keep your sword. But the rest of your men must remain unarmed.” He gave Mordred a final look that he couldn’t quite read before turning and heading north.

The King looked utterly confused. Mordred realized that their interaction would look nonsensical from his point of view. Indeed the other knights looked confused as well, but they nodded and left their weapons behind and began to follow the man to his camp.

The man didn’t speak to Mordred again as they traipsed the rest of the way to camp. Mordred didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved. He had barely spoken to other sorcerers since leaving his tribe and part of him asked to make that connection again, but then again how could he explain all that had happened? He had left the Druids because the all the judgement foisted upon him. It had all started in his teens. Slowly the elders had started giving him looks. Some of pity, some of disappointment, but mostly they were wary. He hadn’t paid it any mind at first, but their attitudes eventually influenced the whole tribe. Soon nobody would spend more time with Mordred than necessary and he began hearing whispers of a “bad omen” at camp. He still remembered the night he left. It had not been planned. He had grown tired and withdrawn due to all of the mistrust and isolation. He had taken to hunting and gathering in the woods all day just to get away. He had returned one evening to learn that the Elders were having a meeting. He hadn’t known what it was about, and in all honestly they probably hadn’t been talking about him. But he wondered if they were. He always did whenever they had a meeting. He had lived with constant fear that he would be cornered and expunged the next morning. So on a whim he grabbed his pack and left.

This tribe was not the same one that he had grown up in, but seeing the tents still made Mordred want to halt. He equally felt like running in with open arms and slinking back into the forest.

“Come on Mordred.”

Mordred blinked. He hadn’t realized that he actually had frozen in place. Leon was looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. Mordred gave him a weak smile and placed on foot in front of the other, passing into the camp with the others.

All of the Druids had stopped their work. They looked at the red-cloaked knights with shock and fear. More than a few people shot the man who had escorted them confused and angry looks. The man ignored than and rushed into a tent. Mordred could tell by the braided cords hanging from the front that he had gone to the Elders’ tent.

When the man left the tent he was followed by an old woman. Though her cloudy eyes suggested blindness she looked at the King with a sharp gaze. The looks of deference that the others in the camp seemed made it clear that this was the camp’s elder.

“You seek our help Pendragon,” she said, her voice firm and commanding.

Arthur nodded before thinking better of it and saying aloud, “I do.”

“And why should we help you?” she said.

Arthur took a breath before saying, “It is not I whose life is at stake. If you turn us away you condemn an innocent man to death.” Even Mordred could here the King’s voice waver at the end of his statement.

The woman chuckled quietly, “And that it where you are wrong, young King, your life is at stake.”

Arthur gritted his teeth, his hand drifting to his sword. “Is that a threat?”

“No it is the truth. But you face no peril from us, my Lord.”

The King relaxed slightly, though his face was still confused.

“Let us not discuss such matters out in the open.” She nodded to someone, who scurried away. “The King is in our presence, we must welcome him properly.”

“Thank you for your kindness, madam,” said Arthur through gritted teeth, “but my friend is in peril. I have no need for any welcome, I just need help.”

“Your friend’s fate will not be sealed either way if you sit with me for tea. Besides, your men look worn out.”

The King looked like he was going to protest again, but the woman abruptly turned back into her tent, the flap closing behind her.

“That was Mother Agatha. She is a healer and a seer. If anyone can help your… friend it would be her,” said the man who had brought them there. “You would be better off listening to her.”

The King’s eyes narrowed, but he walked into the tent, and the others followed along with him.

The tent itself was fairly spacious. Blankets with illustrations of Druidic gods adorned the floors. Mordred could remember many of them from his childhood. He wondered if the other knights realized what they were as they sat down.

A small fire roared in the middle, above it a ceramic kettle held tea. The woman slowly poured each of the knights a small cut of rose tea, which Mordred hadn’t had since he was a child. He immediately took a sip, relishing the feelings of nostalgia that overtook his body. The other knights looked highly uncomfortable, eyeing their offered cups with suspicion, as if there was some sinister potion in the cups instead of tea. Arthur looked as if he was barely holding his tongue.

“The spirits are in a tizzy. It’s not everyday that one of their own is in such pain. The Triple Goddess watches her children closely,” said Mother Agatha finally. “His fate is in her hands as well as yours.” Mordred was only minimally surprised that the woman knew that Emrys was sick. He remembered Martha, a seer in his own tribe. When Mordred was young she would wink at him and give him advice for situations that hadn’t happened yet. It had always sounded like rubbish until the moment when it didn’t anymore.

Unsurprisingly, the Kind clearly had no idea what Agatha was talking about. He nodded vaguely and said, “My manservant, Merlin, he was caught in the crossfire during my talk with the Disir. He lies in a troubled coma now.” The King looked down before saying, “My physician tells me that the Cup of Life is the only thing that can save him. I need to know where it is.”

“And why should you be entrusted with such a sacred artifact? You lost it to the hands of evil before, and terrible crimes were committed.”

“I did not understand the power of the Cup before, but I do now. It will not fall into enemy hands again,” said Arthur firmly.

Agatha looked at Arthur intently, her grey eyes perhaps seeing things that sighted ones could not. Finally she shrugged. “We will give you the Cup of Life.”

Mordred’s shocked gasp was echoed around the room. He had not expected them to give up the Cup so easily. “You have it… here?” asked Arthur incredulously.

“Yes, we do. And it will surely help your… friend. But if it will restore him to full health, I do not know. All I know is that the Goddess is watching you closely Pendragon, and she is noting your every action.”

Those ominous words filled the tent. Arthur and the other knights looked wary and even Mordred was confused.

Mother Agatha seemed oblivious to their state calling out to a girl standing near the entrance of the tent. “Bring us the Cup my dear.”

The girl’s wide eyes told Mordred that she was just as shocked as the others, but she nodded and darted away from the entrance.

The room was quiet for a few minutes after that. The King seemed unsure of what to say to a Druid seer and the other knights sat in uncomfortable silence. On the contrary, Mother Agatha seemed perfectly at ease. During herself another cup of tea and humming along to herself. She looked to Arthur and said,

“Would you like another cup of tea, Your Majesty?”

Arthur, who hadn’t so much as touched his original cup, said, “No thank you.”

“Afraid that I’ll bewitch you?” asked Agatha.

The King sputtered, “Of course not! I am very grateful that you have agreed to help me. I mean no offense.”

Agatha chuckled and said, “Of course you don’t. But that’s your bane isn’t it?”

Arthur blinked, his eyebrows squinted in confusion.

“Let me give you some advice Young Pendragon. You have great men, it would do well of you to keep them.”

Arthur nodded slowly, his face cordial, though Mordred could see the confusion in his eyes. A whoosh came from the right so Mordred turned. The girl had returned, a red bag in hand.

The girl walked over to Mother Agatha and gave her the bag. Agatha nodded before carefully opening it and reaching inside. Mordred couldn’t help but gasp as he retrieved a golden cup. It truly was here.

I owe you my gratitude, my lady,” said the King. He held his hand out expectingly.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “I expected that you’d want to know how to use the Cup before you took it?”

Arthur blushed, “Ah yes, of course.”

Agatha chuckled, “You and your father. Always taking things with no understanding of what they are.” She set the Cup between them. It glistened as the flames bounced off of it.

“This Cup contains power over life and death. It is said to have been fashioned by the Mother herself. Whoever has it in its grasp can commit acts of great destruction, as you surely saw when that black priestess filled it with blood.” The room collectively shivered as they remembered the horrid acts of Morgause. Mordred hadn’t even been in Camelot then, and even he had felt the consequences of her wrath.

“But such evil is not all that the Cup is capable of. It can commit miracles as well.” She steeled her eyes at Arthur and grasped the Cup again, swirling it so that the flames bounced off of the jewels adorning it. “Fill this cup with water as Morgause filled it with blood, and say a prayer of forgiveness to the Triple Goddess, and perhaps you will be granted a miracle.” She handed the Cup to Arthur, who took it gingerly.

“Now run along Sir King, I expect that you have more important things to do than hear me chatter.”

Arthur stood up and gave her a small bow. “I will not forget this.”

Mother Agatha smiled and said, “I hope not.”

Arthur nodded to the others and Mordred knew that it was time to go. He rose and began filing out of the tent along with the other knights.

“And what role will you play?”

Mordred almost jumped at the voice. He turned to see Mother Agatha staring at him intently.

Mordred opened his mouth to say something, but he shut it and turned to leave the tent.

Chapter Text

Arthur could barely feel the confused looks of passerby as he and the Knight sprinted back into the castle. This was the second time in a matter of days that their King had torn through the Lower Town like a man possessed. In a way Arthur was possessed. Thoughts of Merlin’s sickly body had not left his head since that spear had pierced his side. He could focus on nothing else.

Arthur rode into the courtyard and jumped off his horse, not even bothering to take it to the stables. He grabbed the pack containing the Cup and ran to the infirmary, the other knights on his tail.

He burst in the door to see Gaius sat by Merlin’s cot. His servant had not shown any improvement since he had left. If anything he looked even more gaunt. Merlin had always been pale, but his skin had always had a flush-y, pink undertone. He had been so full of life. Now Merlin looked grey, so close to death’s door that Arthur ran to his side and lay a hand on his chest. There was movement, if only slight.

“He doesn’t have much time left,” croaked Gaius. “He deteriorated much faster than I thought that he would. My Lord I… I don’t know.”

“He’s going to be fine!” said Arthur. His confidence was more will than true belief. He pulled the Cup from its bag and set it on the table. “The Druids said that if he drinks water from this he will be fine.”

Gaius’ eyes widened in a way that Arthur would have found comical in nearly any other situation. “They had it? And they gave it to you?”

Arthur nodded, but began scanning the room for a water pitcher. They had no time for such chatter. “Yes, they did. Do you have water in here?”

Gaius nodded and grabbed one from the table near his bed. He took the Cup from Arthur’s hands and toiled the water into it. “Prop Merlin up for me.”

Arthur complied immediately. He could hardly dare to believe it. Soon, he would have his goofy, sweet servant bag and all of this could fade into a bad dream.

Gaius cupped Merlin’s chin and opened his mouth, tipping the water from the Cup into it. Everyone in the  room waited with bated breath.

But Merlin seemed no better. His skin was still grey, his eyes were still closed, and he was still so… still. It wasn’t right. Merlin wasn’t meant to be so still.

Arthur’s hands tightened into fists. “He’s no better! They lied to us! They played us for fools!” He could feel the blood pumping through his temples. He was ready to head right back to his horse and go back to the Druids, demanding answers when a small voice sounded from the back.

“Mother Agatha said that we need to say a prayer of forgiveness to the Triple Goddess,” said Mordred.

Had she said that? The woman spoke in so many riddles that Arthur had barely comprehended her. But Gaius nodded his head.

“Yes! Of course an artifact of the Old Religion would require such a thing,” He gave Mordred an odd look before turning to Arthur and saying, “When I studied with the High Priestesses long ago, I learned some prayers that I think would work. May I have your permission to recite them?”

Arthur had the strong suspicion that Gaius would recite them regardless of whether he gave his permission or not. But even if the “magical-ness” of the whole endeavor bothered him, Merlin could not die. He would not allow it. Hell, he would even let the crazy old man who had killed his father try to heal Merlin if he could find a way to force his compliance. So he nodded, and Gaius began to chant.

Arthur was unsure of whether what he was doing was real magic, because Gaius’ eyes remained pale blue throughout the whole thing. But the water in the Cup changed. It glowed gold for a second, before settling back into regular-looking water. Gaius immediately tipped the Cup into Merlin’s mouth. Again they all waited with bated breath.

Arthur was struck with how similar he felt as to when his father died. That time his father had rapidly died as a result of his messing with magic. That couldn’t happen again, could it?

For a few moments Merlin seemed unchanged, but Arthur noticed his skin begin to change. He looked warmer, less grey. And his cheekbones looked less gaunt. Arthur sighed in relief, a sentiment echoed by those around him. Merlin was visibly improving. 

Gaius gingerly felt the area where Merlin had been stabbed and gasped. He lifted his short and unwrapped his bandages. Everyone’s jaw dropped in shock.

Merlin’s side, which had been gushing out blood mere days ago now looked completely untouched, his milky skin showing no evidence of trauma. Arthur began to grin. Merlin would come back to him.

Gaius looked relieved, the weight that had dragged him down seemed to have lifted. “Sire, his wounds have been healed. Alas, now it seems that he is merely sleeping. We must only wait for him to wake up.”

There were cheers across the room, echoing Arthur’s mood. He was exuberant. Merlin would be okay. With that breakthrough, Arthur realized how exhausted he was. The adrenaline that had powered him abruptly dropped off. His bones ached and his mind was dizzy. He had barely slept since the incident. But he could rest now. His mission was complete.

Gaius seemed to realize this too. “Now go off! Get some sleep, and take a bath!” he shouted to him and the other knights. They all laughed and filtered out the door.

Arthur and Guinevere celebrated that night. Guinevere gave Arthur the biggest hug and kiss when he gave her the news. They drank good wine and quickly fell asleep in good spirits. The next day at training was joyful and spirited, everyone happy in anticipation of Merlin’s return. The next day was happy as well. But then another came, and another, and Merlin had yet to wake. His body remained flawless, lying in his bed without a care in the world. But he still had yet to wake. Gaius couldn’t explain it. “His body is healed, he should up by now,” he said, just as confused as Arthur. But as the days drew on, Arthur felt his happiness be replaced again with anger and restlessness. How foolish he had been for believing that magic could be be so good and straightforward. Sorcerers loved there tricks, and what better trick than to heal a man from his injuries only to let him sleep forever.

It did not help that those days were easily among the most stressful that he had had as king. He had tried to get by without a manservant for a few days, but he was soon forced to realize that he was as useless without help as Merlin had always said that he was. So George was Arthur’s manservant for the time being, and Arthur hated every second of it.

Everything George did was wrong in Arthur’s eyes, no matter how right he may have technically been. The way he organized Arthur’s room was wrong, the clothes he picked were wrong, the way he woke Arthur up in the morning was wrong, the man’s entire being was wrong to Arthur. And whenever Arthur snapped and yelled at him about these things he actually looked hurt and upset, which only made Arthur feel worse. He began looking forward to Merlin waking up not only because he was his best friend and practically a brother, but also because he desperately wanted to snap at someone who wouldn’t take it personally.

Arthur knew that he wasn’t the only one who was feeling Merlin’s loss. Perhaps it was the depression of his own mind was tainting the world around him, but Camelot seemed less bright without Merlin. The man’s condition had spread throughout the castle by now, though Arthur had asked Gaius to keep the exact details of his condition quiet. Leon had become quiet and terse, Percival was more aggressive, Elyan was jumpy and uneasy, but Gwaine was the worst.

Gwaine had always been known to frequent the tavern, even occasionally showing up to practice slightly hungover, or tired, or perhaps a little late. But he used to always be present while he was there. This Gwaine was different. If he showed up to training at all he was drunk. Not hungover, drunk. His normally aggressive but controlled fighting style had become sloppy and wild. He spent all of his time in the tavern until someone dragged him back to his rooms. His playful, flirty persona had become angry and irascible. Having become slightly angry and irascible himself, Arthur didn’t know what to do.

Seeing as he’d spent multiple days away from the castle, Arthur had an incredible amount of work to do. He let Leon take care of training as he slogged through various reports and proposals. His heart hurt when he saw that Merlin had already arranged some of them in the order of most important, but at least he hadn’t had time to write little notes on the pages as he was wont to do. Arthur didn’t think that he could have borne that.

He there himself into his work, welcoming the distraction from the daunting task ahead of him. After having worked for three hours, he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” called Arthur.

In walked Sir Bors. He was as upright as he always was, but his eyes looked a little sad. “Good evening sire, I have an update about the sorceress that we’ve been tracking.”

“Yes of course,” said Arthur, putting down his pen.

“We searched the Southern region for her, even got a tip, but she’s managed to slip out of our grasp. But your orders have been followed sire. Everyone in this country knows the girl’s description. It’s only a matter of time until she’s found.”

Arthur nodded and said, “Good.”

Then Sir Bors paused before saying, “May I make a suggestion my Lord.”

Arthur raised his eyebrow, his knights generally called him my lord only in either formal situations, or if they wanted something that they thought he wouldn’t like. “Of course,” he said.

“When your father was king, it very easy to turn in sorcerers. Anyone with information was rewarded, and we had a wealth of tips. If you would consider reinstating that program, it could greatly help in our search.”

Arthur pursed his lips. He had stopped offering rewards for magical information for a reason. While they did get a wealth of tips, a good amount of them were faulty at best and vindictive at worst. Unlike his father, Arthur didn’t consider random instances of luck like a spontaneous rain, big vegetables, or the occasional dead animal to be evidence of magic. Without an incentive, he found that his people were less likely to waste time with nonsense claims and more likely to only report things that genuinely worried them. Even for a search like this, Arthur wasn’t convinced that such a thing was necessary.

“No,” Arthur said. “We will continue with our current strategy. The whole land knows her description, someone will come forward if they see her.”

Bors ground his teeth. “My lord, may I speak freely?” Arthur gestured with his hands for him to continue. “Sir Ranulf was tortured by this monster. He will never fight for you as a knight ever agin. His hearing will be constrained for the rest of his life. I don’t understand why you are not mobilizing all the resources at your disposal to find him. If your father was alive, he would have been tearing houses apart looking for this girl, yet you sit there and allow her to roam freely around Camelot and look for her next target!” He became quite passionate at the end, but seemed to realize that he had overstepped his bounds immediately. “I apologize sire. I should not have spoken to you like that.”

Arthur waved his hands, “I understand that you’re upset Bors, you and Ranulf have served together for many years have you not?”

“Yes sire.”

“I understand your feelings. I myself have been very dismayed about Ranulf’s condition. But conducting a search, handing out rewards for finding her, these things will only hurt the lives of the other citizens of Camelot, and leave us with way too many ridiculous leads. I will make sure that Sir Ranulf will have the most comfortable life possible. His sacrifice for Camelot will not go unnoticed. But in the meantime, we must stay our course.”

Bors did not seem entirely won over by Arthur’s argument, but he bowed and said, “Thank you my lord,” before exiting.

Loathe she was to admit it, Mordred’s supplies and advice had been invaluable. Kara was certain that she wouldn’t have survived without the bandages and medicines he’d given her. The map he had tucked away with the supplies was also highly useful. Even with all of her years of evading Camelot patrols, it was still easy to stumble across a new route.

The moon was high in the sky and Kara had decided to camp out near a small river. The sight was almost nostalgic. Kara could picture her childhood tribe all sitting about the lake, the children chasing butterflies and the adults enjoying the reflection of the moon. She didn’t know where any of them were now.

As Kara reminisced, she suddenly felt the presence of someone behind her. She turned around hoping that it wasn’t a knight, only to see something even scarier.

“My lady!” she stuttered out. “You’ve found me. Thank goodness!” But her blood had run cold. Even in the limited time that she had spent with Morgana, Kara could tell that she had no love for traitors.

“Happy that I’m here, aren’t you?” she said quietly.

“Yes! Of course I am,” said Kara.

“Really? Because I recall you disappearing without a trace one night. I was ever so worried about you,” she said.

Kara opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but Morgana continued, “It’s okay dear. Since you’re so loyal to our cause, I have a special plan for you. You can redeem yourself for allowing the knight to get away.”

Kara knew that there was no turning back. “Yes, my lady?”

Morgana smiled for the first time since she had arrived, the bare trees rattling behind her and the moonlight glinting on her skin, “You’ll need a new dress.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry my lord, but this is preposterous!” cried Lord Hector.

Council was easily Arthur’s least favorite thing about being king. It wasn’t that he didn’t like being challenged on his ideas, but being in council often felt like being lectured by his father without the familial love that had made that bearable. It didn’t help that it kept him inside. Arthur was an outdoorsy man at heart.

Council these days was even more unbearable today. Arthur was itching to go out and do something about Merlin. It had been five days since they had returned from the Druids and Merlin still hadn’t woken up. Arthur was restless. He desperately wanted to ride out to do something. Granted, he had no idea what that something would be, Gaius had found nothing useful in his research.

“There is no reason for us to spend so much money on useless infrastructure! I cannot in good conscious give this proposal my blessing,” declared Sir Hector.

Arthur sighed.  “We never truly completed rebuilding after Morgana’s attack. You can at least admit that.”

“The castle is in pristine condition my Lord. Even more glorious than it was before,” insisted Sir Hector. “And the outer defenses are perfectly solid.”

“Yes, but many of the buildings in the Lower Town were only partially rebuilt, if at all. Surely you can see how this will benefit the people,” argued Arthur.

“If by benefit you mean make us a laughingstock I might agree with you sire,” replied Lord Hector.

Arthur resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. Getting these men to accept any change was like pulling teeth. He wondered if his father had these problems. Everyone seemed to just follow his father, or was it just that Father refused to listen to anyone but himself? Either way, thinking of Uther gave Arthur some inspiration.

“You forget your place Lord Hector,” Arthur said sternly. “You should count yourself lucky that I don’t excuse you from this council just for that outburst.” Lord Hector pursed his lips, but remained quiet. Internally Arthur clapped himself on the back. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad at being a king after all.

Before Arthur could fully celebrate, a distraught Percival burst through the doors.

“I hope that this doesn’t become a pattern Percival,” said Arthur. But he stood in anticipation. “What’s the problem?”

“We’ve been attacked sire,” he said breathlessly.

“What!” said Leon. He jumped to his feet as well. “By whom?”

“Not an army. There was an explosion in the square, we suspect that it may be magic,” said Percival.

“We can finish this later,” said Arthur quickly. He quickly made his way out of the rooms. Nobody objected this time.

“Do we know if anyone’s been hurt?” said Arthur. His sword was by his side as always, but he wished that he had the time to don armour. “Which building was it?”

“It may have been a tavern,” said Percival. “There were definitely people in there, but we don’t know if there have been any fatalities.”

“Where was it?” asked Arthur.

“In the upper town sire,” said Percival. “I told my men to to assemble there and then I ran to get you. I’m not sure which tavern it was exactly.”

Arthur cursed and the group continued sprinting to the scene. They burst into the courtyard, and if Arthur had not been trained since birth to mask his emotions, he would have gasped in horror. The entire square surrounding the castle was in chaos. Knights were running about trying to calm people, servants were scurrying around in fear, unsure of what to do, and everyone was confused as to what had happened.

Unlike everyone else who was running away from the commotion, Arthur, Percival, and Leon ran straight into it. The source was indeed in the upper town, Arthur could see the smoke billowing out, as well as the flames that were growing higher and higher.

“You didn’t tell me that the place was on fire Percival!” yelled Arthur over the noise.

“It must have grown since I left!” yelled Percival in return.

“You couldn’t have been gone for more than five minutes!” yelled Leon. “How did it get to tall so quickly?” As if to emphasize his point, the fire burst up by another third of its size.

A sinking feeling grew in Arthur’s gut. “Magic."

His knights were running around any which way with no coordination and they needed to evacuate the entire area. Only some of his men had already seen him and started coming over. He needed to delegate. Quickly. 

“Percival! Go to the bell-tower and have them sound the alarm! We need more men. Leon! Take them and start getting any water that you can find. We need to calm this down. And you lot! Start getting people away from here! And keep an eye out for who may be responsible, we suspect that it may be a sorcerer! They’ll probably have to be nearby to be controlling the fire like this.” Arthur wasn’t entirely sure if that was true, but in his experience sorcerers were generally close at hand when they began enacting mayhem.

Everyone darted to go accomplish their jobs and Arthur turned and looked to the fire. It was big and hot. It was actually quite lucky that Arthur wasn’t wearing his armour because he would have been scalding had he had it on. Looking more closely at the burning building, he realized that it was indeed a tavern and one of the more popular ones. It was frequented by nobles due to its proximity to the castle, though Arthur himself preferred a different one. Regardless, it was a shame to see the exquisite woodwork and lavish fabrics burn.

Arthur looked around and saw a coughing woman slowly drag herself away from the fire. Arthur ran up to her and cringed as he got closer. Her legs were covered in severe burns, and her dress had been destroyed in a way that would have made Arthur blush had her skin not been so mangled. Arthur knelt down and picked her up, being careful to avoid particularly painful looking parts of her legs.

“What happened?” asked Arthur.

The woman coughed again before wheezing out, “There was just fire. I don’t know where it came from.”

“Were you inside?” asked Arthur.

The woman nodded. “I work as a serving girl. We were having our usual lunch session.”

“Is there anyone else left in there?” asked Arthur.

The girl paused before saying, “Perhaps. Most of the dining room got out pretty quickly after the fire started, but the serving staff nearer to the back had more trouble because of how fast it grew. I was at the back of the dining room and I barely escaped.”

As Arthur nodded, he heard the bells starting to sound. Good, I’ll have more support soon. In the meantime…

Arthur saw Mordred staring at the commotion in shock and made a beeline to him. “Take this woman to the infirmary,” commanded Arthur handing the girl over.

Mordred accepted the woman and asked with wide eyes, “What happened here sire?”

At those words the girl’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as she looked at Arthur a second time.

“There was a fire in the Lord’s tavern,” said Arthur quickly. “When she’s taken care of, come back and help evacuate others.”

Mordred nodded, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see if there’s anyone else trapped in there,” Mordred’s eyes grew wider still, but Arthur turned and began running to the building before he could say anything. Some of his people could still be trapped in there, and they didn’t have much time…

The front was blazing at the front entrance, so Arthur ran around to the back, covering his mouth with his shirt, which was also burning. But it was closer to the people that Arthur was trying to save. And if the girl’s story was true, had probably caught fire later. He pulled out his sword expecting it to be hot in his hands, but it was oddly cool even in the face of all of this fire. Arthur took a split second to be grateful that his hands hadn’t been burned (yet) and hacked away at the back wall.

Already weakened by the fire, it wasn’t too hard to cut through the wood. The biggest issue was breathing and burning. It was hard to take deep breath through all the smoke and soot, and the fire had begun licking his arms. Nonetheless, Arthur persevered until he made a decent sized hole in the back of the building. He took a deep breath before bursting in.

He tried not to move quickly and avoid particularly hot spots of flame. He could barely see the framework of what had been the kitchen. He scanned the room looking for people, and fortunately (or unfortunately) he quickly found some. There were two women lying on the floor, passed out from the smoke, and another who seemed to be awake but was fading quickly. Arthur rushed to the two women and patted the flames from their clothing before hoisting them over his back. He could now barely breath even through his shirt, but he pushed himself to the final woman who was struggling to move.

“Do you think you can lean on me and walk out Can you walk?” He sputtered at her.

The girl nodded and Arthur bent down and grabbed her arm. He wished that he could have been more gentle with her, but this was not the time. He practically dragged her along as he fought his way back to the entrance that he had created.

Arthur took in a huge breath once he was back outside, as did the poor woman who was still awake. He pulled them all away as fast as he could and began making his way to the infirmary.

“Thank you,” croaked the girl who was awake.

“It’s no issue,” said Arthur who was starting to feel the burns that he had incurred.

“Is anyone else going in there?” asked the girl.

“The rest of the tavern should have escaped by now, you were the last ones in the kitchen. It began in the dining room, correct?”

The girl weakly nodded, “It did.”

“Then I think that everyone should be out,” said Arthur, who breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m not sure,” said the girl. “How about the girls in the basement?”

Arthur paused, “What basement?”

The girl paused, her face looking anxious. But after a second she blurted out, “The girls that Lord Austin keeps in the basement. Usually they stay there unless one of the patrons… requests them,” said the girl. Arthur was shocked, but his shock quickly turned to boiling anger. Requests them? For what?

Arthur suspected that he knew the answer, but he asked, “How many of them are there?”

“Maybe three or four,” said the girl. “The entrance is under a trapdoor in the kitchen, it’d hard for them to escape unless someone opens it. I was trying when you saved me.”

Arthur nodded slowly and grit his teeth. They were a few yards from the fire at this point, and he saw Leon with the rest of the knights and buckets of water.

“Leon,” he called. The man darted over to him and Arthur quickly handed over the girls he was carrying. “Take them to the infirmary and try to contain the fire.” Arthur then turned and ran back to the building over the yelled confusion of Leon.

Somehow the smoke and heat was even more scalding than it had been the first time. Arthur began coughing immediately, but when he brought his shirt up to his mouth, he found it full of soot and difficult to use. His burns inflamed even more as the heat reignited them. None of this deterred Arthur.

He found his hole again and ran back into what had been the kitchen. The room was even hotter than it had been before, and Arthur had to shield his eyes from the sweltering flames. He began searching the ground for an opening and he saw a black knob overtop a square panel. This had to be the entrance.

Guessing that the knob itself was probably scalding hot, Arthur drew his sword, which was still cool despite being solid metal, and hacked away. The wood easily flew away and Arthur peeked down inside.

There were three girls in there, their eyes wide and terrified. Considering everything, they were relatively unharmed. Being in the cellar had saved them for the moment, but they would have been lost once the building came down.

Speaking of the building collapsing, Arthur was increasingly worried that that would happen soon. Some of the support beams were already crumbling under the intense heat. Arthur’s body was covered in serious burns at this point, and he could barely breathe. Regardless, he lowered his hand down to the girls in the cellar.

The first one grabbed his forearm, and it was only through years of strength training that Arthur hoisted her up. How he got the second and third girl up was anyone’s guess he did not know.

Arthur turned around. It was a fiery hell. The air was thick with smoke, the heat was unbearable, and Arthur wanted nothing more but to escape, but he couldn’t see how. Even the entrance that he had created was difficult to see now. They were trapped.

The lack of oxygen was getting to Arthur now. The entire room was waving and shifting, and even if he had been able to see the exit, he probably wouldn’t have been able to navigate to it. Arthur had been in more battles than he could count and he had felt the despair of knowing that one’s survival was futile, but it had never been as palpable as it was now. He felt as if he were baking alive, his skin burning and peeling from the heat. He thought of his father. Uther wouldn’t have let him run in here, but what could he do? People were in danger, Arthur couldn’t just leave them.

Thinking of people in trouble brought him back to Merlin. Would he wake up tomorrow to learn that Arthur died? Or would they both die and see each other again? Wherever they ended up. If a heaven existed, Merlin would go to heaven it Arthur decided firmly. If such a place existed there was no one on this Earth that deserved it more than him. Maybe he would be able to annoy whatever god who arbited such things into letting Arthur in as well.

The room started cooling down. Perhaps this was the first stage of burning to death, Arthur thought. You feel colder before you finished burning. His arms felt less scorching and painful as well, which was good for Arthur. If he was going to die, he may as well do so painlessly.  He felt like he was living in a dreary haze, nothing was distinct and everything was in flux. It occurred to him that his spirit must have left his body. That would explain the cooler room and lack of pain! Would he simply drift away to wherever he was going? That would be nice, Arthur thought. He was exhausted and even walking was painful.

Luck wasn’t on his side though. The room became washed with blue. A glowing blue orb appeared by the ceiling. How long had that been there? Arthur wasn’t sure. But something beckoned him to it. He had to go to the orb. So as hard as it was he walked towards it. It was cooling and comforting. He was oddly reminded of Merlin again. Arthur had been as comfortable or trusting with anyone but Merlin. He truly was a brother to him. It would make sense that the gateway to heaven would feel like him.

Arthur followed the blue light, resigned to his fate and entranced by its power. He kept walking and soon left the fiery hell and entered a bright place. Was this heaven? Arthur wasn’t sure. He kept walking, for how long Arthur wasn’t sure, but the blue light abruptly disappeared. This panicked Arthur. Where was it? Why did it leave? Where had it left him?

These questions swirled through his head even as he blacked out.

Chapter Text

Someone was holding his hand. He was lying somewhere, somewhere warm. Was he in his bed? He couldn’t be sure. He tried to move his hand, but that action triggered pain amount of pain all over his body. Arthur groaned and opened his eyes. He was indeed in his bed, and Guinevere was the one holding is hand.

“Oh thank goodness!” exclaimed Guinevere. She reached over and pulled Arthur into a hug, which made him wince with pain.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes still wet with tears. But then her face grew more angry. “Actually I’m not, It serves you right! What were you thinking Arthur?”

“Thinking about what?” asked Arthur.

Guinevere looked at him and sighed. She walked to the door and knocked on it. “Fetch Gaius, Anna. He’s awake,” she said before turning back to him.

“What were you thinking running into that fire?” asked Guinevere again. “You could have died!”

Fire? Arthur was initially confused, but soon the memories started coming back. “Oh that fire,” he exclaimed, before meekly looking to Guinevere, “There were people in there.” At this revelation he sat straight up, his skin screaming with pain, and said, “Those girls! Are they okay?”

“The girls you brought back in your second trip are as well as can be expected. But the first girl you got, the one you left with Mordred, Mary,” Guinevere paused, a pained look on her face, “She didn’t make it. Her burns were too extensive.” Arthur’s heart sank at that news.

“Are there any other casualties?” asked Arthur quietly.

Guinevere nodded, “At least five people died, there were many more wounded.”

Arthur grit his teeth and they sat in silence until Gaius came in.

“Arthur? Good, you are awake,” bustled over and started feeling Arthur’s bandages. “How do you feel?” asked Gaius.

“Very burned, particularly my arms,” said Arthur as he rose his bandaged limbs. Gaius seemed to have anticipated this as he pulled out a vial of green paste, which he applied to Arthur’s wounds after he he removed the bandages.

“How is Merlin?” asked Arthur as Gaius worked.

Gaius gave a wry smile. “He’s in the same state that he was before. Sleeping away. But as incredible as it may sound sire, you should probably be more nervous about yourself at the moment. What having run into a burning building. ” Gaius shook his head but Arthur had no regrets. The girls had lived whereas they would have died. He was content. He said as much to Gaius, who nodded.

“And for that you should be applauded sire. But I must beg you not to make a habit of such behavior. I have no idea how you got out of the tavern, nor do I have a clue how all of you survived with relatively superficial wounds. Your arms were the only place that sustained any serious damage, and the burns are only on the first layer of your skin.” Gaius shook his head before saying, “What happened in there?”

Arthur tried to think back. “I honestly don’t remember. I remember running into the fire, I remember smoke and flames but… after that there’s nothing.”

Gaius shrugged, “Well then sire. You should count yourself lucky to have escaped. This event could have permanently disabled you.” Arthur nodded before saying, “What do we know about the fire? How did it start?”

“Leon has been running the case since you’ve been out. The entire city has been under lockdown since the fire. Nobody’s been in or out. Leon suspects that it was magic, but you should talk to him directly.”

Arthur nodded in response, “Then someone go fetch him.”

It didn’t take long for Leon to arrive in Arthur’s chambers, and by then Arthur had propped himself up on his pillows in an attempt to look somewhat regal. Leon looked as polished as always, but the dark circles under his eyes gave away just how stressful the past few days had been for him.

“Leon!” Arthur greeted, “I hear that you’ve done a good job overlooking everything in my absence.”

Leon blushed, “You flatter me Arthur. I’ll be happy to continue taking some work from your plate until you’re well.” Technically Leon was obliged to do that because of his position as First Knight, but Arthur could hear the genuineness in his voice and appreciated it regardless.

“Thank you. So what have you discovered thus far about the fire?”

Leon cleared his throat, “We’ve conducted interviews of all the survivors. They all attest to it being a normal day, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But then there was a giant bang and suddenly a fire in the dining room. The fire grew exponentially large within the course of a few minutes, and we were unable to gain control of it. Although we did manage to prevent it from spreading to other buildings.” Leon became more somber, “The final count of the casualties is twelve.”

Gwen gasped, “Twelve! I thought that it was only five.”

“Unfortunately Your Highness we found seven other bodies buried in the rubble.” Arthur felt cold at that. He may not remember much from his rescue, but he did remember enough to know that burning to death was a horrible way to die.

“Thirty people were wounded in some way, and those wounds range from being somewhat superficial to quite serious. Gaius has been busy for the past day.”

Arthur tried not to gape at that. Had he really been out for a day? It seemed ludicrous.

“Do we have any idea of how this happened?” he asked,

Leon paused before saying, “A few of the serving staff noticed a girl who they had never seen before. She seemed less, refined than the other patrons they said. But they thought nothing of it at the time.”

Arthur had a sinking feeling in his chest, “And what did she look like?”

Leon sighed, “She had long dark hair and dark eyes.”

“So she matches the description of Morgana's accomplice who helped torture Sir Ranulf,” Arthur said bitterly. How could he have let this happen? He had knew that this girl was a threat to his people, and his failure to see her captured had lead to many deaths. “How did she enter the citadel?” growled Arthur.

“There’s no evidence that she didn’t come in through the official channels. Chances are that she just slipped through. After all, our description of her is quite vague, there are a lot of young girls with long dark hair. This girl may not even be the same sorceress,” said Leon. But something in Arthur’s gut knew that it was her. Only a specifically depraved mind would derive pleasure from the burning of innocent people. And the two attacks were close enough to make it feasible.

“So you’ve closed the gates?” asked Arthur.

“Yes, nobody without explicit permission has entered or left the city since the fire. I maintained the lockdown of the code red and doubled the guards. It is impossible to leave Camelot right now.”

Arthur nodded. “Good. We have to dedicate all of our resources to finding this woman.”

“And how should we do that?” asked Leon. He paused before saying, “Are you going to call a witch hunt?”

At this Arthur balked. Camelot hadn’t had a witch hunt since he had been king. Arthur generally saw them as destructive and often ineffective. Though he would never say it aloud, he had often thought that they were more a scare tactic than an effective tool in the past. But they needed to find this sorcerer, and Arthur could think of no other way of

Reluctant to call a hunt, but also determined to catch the sorcerer, Arthur said, “We need to fetch the rest of the Round Table. We must discus how to find the girl.”

Leon nodded firmly before turning to leave the room.

As he left, Gwen turned to Arthur and asked, “What are you thinking Arthur?” He relayed to her his concerns about calling a hunt. She sighed.

“I do remember how awful those hunts were,” she said. “Everyone was terrified that something found would be misconstrued into something that it wasn’t, and it was expensive as well.” At this, Arthur frowned.

“Expensive? What do you mean.”

Guinevere gave him the look that she always made when Arthur said something tone deaf, but she couldn’t quite be angry with him because he didn’t mean it. “It costs money to replace all the stuff that the knights break Arthur.” Arthur had never thought of that, but that was why people like Guinevere and Merlin (his heart still jolted at his name) were important to him.

“And considering how long Morgana survived here,” continued Guinevere, “I’m not convinced that they actually work either.”

Arthur sighed and slumped back into his bed. “Hopefully we can avoid it.”

It didn’t take Leon long to assemble the rest of the knights. Soon Percival, Gwaine and Elyan had joined them in Arthur’s room. Arthur was happy to see that none of them seemed to have sustained as extensive injuries as himself, though they all shared Leon’s bleary eyes.

“Nice of you to wake up from your beauty sleep, eh Princess?” said Gwaine. He was smiling, but there was still a darkness in his eyes. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was because of Merlin or because of the fire.

“Not all of us can skim by on roguish charm Gwaine,” said Arthur mild. But he was smiling.

“Does he really skim by though?” asked Elyan. “Because from my point of view he strikes out a lot, and Arthur’s married to the best girl in the world.”

Gwaine swatted Elyan while everyone else roared with laughter. Even Gaius was hiding a smile.

“Ha, ha,” said Gwaine. “If we’re done picking on me, I assume that we have actual work to do.” Everyone sobered down a bit, and Arthur invited everyone to sit down.

Arthur had never held such a dire meeting in such an informal way. He was propped up on his pillows again and Guinevere was sitting beside him over the covers. Gaius was sitting on a stool by Arthur’s bed and Leon had pulled a chair from somewhere and was seated at the foot of the bed. Unfortunately, there were not too many cars lying around in Arthur’s chambers, so Gwaine was perched against the wall, Elyan was sitting on Arthur’s bed, and Percival was on the floor. Regardless, all of their faces were serious.

“I assume that Leon has caught you all up,” said Arthur. Everyone nodded so Arthur continued on. “There is a good chance that the culprit is in Camelot as we speak, we just need to catch her.”

“In a sea of thousands of people, that should be fun,” drawled Gwaine.

“Usually in these situations the King would call a witch hunt, but we’re hesitant to do that this time,” said Leon.

“Why,” asked Gwaine. “Wouldn’t that be the best way to find the bitch?”

Guinevere shook her head, “Morgana hid here for years through multiple witch hunts, and magical attacks haven’t increased since Arthur stopped doing hunts. It seems that competent sorcerers have learned how to survive them,” said Guinevere.

Elyan nodded, “Besides, even if we found the girl, the hunts just create a lot of panic and destruction and the people are already scared.”

Gwaine nodded, seemingly accepting of the explanation. “No hunt then. But what does that leave us with?”

Everyone sat in silence for a few minutes. Father had never really considered many other options besides searches, so it was all that Arthur could really do.

“If only we knew more about this woman,” said Elyan. “Then maybe we could do something more tailored. But she could be anywhere in the city.”

“If she is the same sorcerer that attacked Ranulf, then she has that injury to her leg,” pointed out Leon.

Arthur nodded, “You’re right.”

“How exactly did she injure her leg,” asked Elyan. “I wasn’t there when you guys tracked her.”

“She was attacked by an animal of some kind,” said Arthur. “We suspected that it may have been a wolf. We found its tracks nearby.”

“Hm,” said Gaius. “If that’s true then she would need specific treatments to make sure that her leg didn’t get infected. Wolf bites can be very dangerous if not properly cared for. When was this lady bitten?”

“Around a week and a half ago,” supplied Arthur.

Gaius nodded, “Even if she’s had consistent care and a lot of rest, which is unlikely, she would still be struggling with the leg. Did any of the witnesses mention that the girl they saw walked with a limp.”

Leon pulled out a stack of papers from his bag, “It’s possible, let me look this over… Yes! Two of the five  serving girls said that she was walking oddly. One said that she ordered a rather stiff drink for a lady.”

Gwaine chuckled darkly, “Using alcohol to dull pain. Classic.”

“So what do we do with this?” asked Guinevere. “Can we really search the whole city for a girl with a hurt leg?”

Arthur kneaded his forehead, “Maybe, but it would take way too long to do so. But we have something on her.”

Gwaine looked to Gaius, “You said that she’d need treatments for her leg. What kind of treatments?”

“The biggest concern would be an infection,” said Gaius. “She’d need things to reduce inflammation and keep the wound clean. But apart from that, she’d at least need it to be cleaned, bandaged up, perhaps even stitches depending on the wounds.”

“How quickly would the wound go bad if it wasn’t treated?” asked Gwaine.

“Infection can set in over the course of a few days. And without adequate care, the wounds on her leg would only get worse if she used them,” said Gaius.

“Like she’s been doing thus far,” muttered Gwaine. To the rest of them he said, “Think about it, this girl’s been on the run for over a week. The entire kingdom’s on the look out for her. She can’t have been giving her leg the proper attention.”

“That’s probably true, but if she was able to travel so extensively, that suggests that she must have treated it somewhat,” said Gaius. “Someone with the proper training could create the appropriate treatments using herbs found in the woods. The druids especially are well known for their healing skills.”

“Would a Druid do this though?” asked Leon. “They’ve not been known to be so violent.”

Gaius hesitated before saying, “That’s true, but it’s always a possibility. There are bad Druids just as there are bad knights.”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” declared Arthur. “We have more ways to identify her, but not enough to catch her.”

“I think that we may.” Everyone turned to look at Percival, who had been silent throughout the discussion thus far.”

“How do you mean?” asked Arthur.

“Well, we know that she has an injured leg that needs continued attention. Either she has the ability to treat it herself, or she’ll have to get someone to help her. If she treats it herself, she’ll either need to buy the herbs necessary or gather them herself. There are only so many herb sellers currently in Camelot and we can keep an eye on them. If she gets them herself, the city’s under lockdown, so she’ll have to sneak out which we could catch. If she goes to someone else for help, it’s the same story. There are only so many who could treat her wounds in Camelot, and we could keep an eye on them as well.”

Everyone looked to Percival for a few seconds until Arthur’s face broke out into a grin. “Nice job Percival, I think that you’re right. Gaius, could you draw up a list of all the herbalists in Camelot?”

“Certainly sire.”

“Good, we can send knights to keep an eye on their customers. And who are the other physicians in Camelot?”

“I am the only qualified physician in Camelot sire,” said Gaius. It occurred to Arthur that he had never heard of any physician other than Gaius, but he had always supposed that there had to be more than one.

“Really! How is it possible that you see everyone in the city?” exclaimed Arthur.

“I don’t, or rather I can’t. There are few left who have the skills and training that I have, and I am primarily employed by the crown, so I focus on the Royal Household’s issues and only venture down to the lower town for more serious problems.” Gaius frowned before continuing, “At this point Merlin could probably call himself a physician, but he’s not available of course. Apart from us, there are a few herbalists with basic healing skills who may be able to help the girl.”

Arthur nodded, “We’ll need to have them watched as well. In the meantime, we’ll maintain the lockdown until she is caught.”

“If I may Arthur,” said Leon, “The lockdown is quite hard on the people, and it encourages the witch to find a novel way to escape the city. If we semi-lifted the lockdown, but closely screened everyone that we allow to leave, we could encourage her to take one of those exits instead of trying to sneak out.”

“Better yet,” exclaimed Gwaine with a glint in his eye. “What if we laid a proper trap?”

“And how would we do that?” asked Arthur.

Gwaine turned to Gaius, “What ingredients would she need to create this paste?”

Gaius shrugged, “A variety of things can be used, but one think that she’d almost certainly need is licorice root, which can be picked nearby if you know where to find it.”

“Then we tell the healers and herbalists to lock up all their licorice root and say that if she wants it,  she’ll have to go out and pick it herself. Then when she goes out, we stop her at the gate.”

“Better yet,” pitched in Arthur, “we let the herbalists tell her exactly where to go so that we can surround her when she’s isolated in the forest. We can even spread a false rumor of who we think the culprit is to drop her guard.” Arthur gave Gwaine a proud nod. “I like this plan.” The other knights were nodding in agreement as well.

“This will work best if we keep the plan to ourselves, just the people in this room,” said Elyan. “I trust all of our men, but the more people know, the more likely that this will leak out. All it takes is a rumor that the king is looking for licorice root to alert her that something’s up.”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “You’re right Elyan.” He turned to Gaius and said, “Why don’t you go to all of these herbalists yourself and buy up all of their licorice root. It would be less suspicious if you did it.”

“As Merlin is… indisposed sire,” said Gaius. Arthur had always marveled how Gaius could keep a straight face in the most dire of situations, but even he seemed sad at the mention of his ward. “I’ve been having to make more trips to the lower town to buy supplies anyway. It won’t be suspicious at all.”

Arthur nodded and added, “Take Elyan with you, I don’t want you walking around alone. And he’ll keep the guards off of you. You can have access to the Royal Treasury.” Gaius nodded in return.

Next Arthur turned to Leon, “You should inform the knight of the changes to the lockdown immediately. Everyone’s purpose in leaving must be recorded, song with their name and general appearance. And the curfew remains in place after 5pm. And send a squadron to start searching for a tall, blonde middle-aged woman as a suspect. You know who will make the most noise.” Leon bowed and said, “Of course Arthur.”

To everyone Arthur said, “We can meet tomorrow to discuss any changes in the situation. In the meantime, you know what to do.” Everyone nodded with serious looks on their faces and began to file out of Arthur’s room.

Arthur collapsed back on his pillows. “Well that’s that taken care of,” he said to Guinevere, who had stayed with him. “I need to rest,” he said.

Gwen bit her lip which gave Arthur pause. “What’s wrong?” he said.

“Well, you can’t rest quite yet,” said Gwen slowly.

Arthur frowned, “Why?”

“The council has been at my heels, they want to meet with you.”

Chapter Text

By some miracle of fate, Arthur’s face had managed to remain mostly unscathed, and the rest of his injuries were easily covered with clothing. Arthur was quite happy about this, but the one downside was that he couldn’t use illness as an excuse to avoid council meetings.

“We are happy to see that you are well, my lord,” drawled Lord Hector.

Arthur gave the man a smile, “Believe me sir, no one is more happy than I.” The lords in the room chuckled at his awful joke and Arthur felt stab of affection for his indisposed manservant. His life had been full of insincere laughter before he had come.

“We must discuss this most recent attack by magic,” said Lord Alexius. The man was positively ancient, but his eyes were sharp. “When will the search begin?”

Arthur kept his face neutral as he said, “We will not be calling a hunt, the knights and I are exploring alternative ways of tracking down the sorceress.”

This did not go down well, as Arthur had expected. Sir Alexius looked appalled. “Alternative ways? Whatever other ways are there of finding a sorcerer other than a hunt? Truth be told, I think that we should summon a witchfinder. We have grown too lax on magic in recent years, and now we are paying for it!” he said. Arthur knew that by we, he meant him.

“Agreed,” said Lord Hector, who shot Arthur a dirty look. “Did we not have this conversation when we decided to stop tracking the Druids? Did I not say that we would pay for it? Now people are dead because of our incompetence!”

“You go too far Lord Hector,” growled Arthur. “There is no evidence that the Druids were responsible for this, and we had plenty of magical attacks when my father was still alive.” But the lord scoffed back at him.

“No evidence! This was clearly a magical attack. No fire grows so high, so fast,” said Lord Alexius.

“That doesn’t mean that it was the Druids who did this,” argued Arthur.

“The Druids practice magic! This fire was caused by magic, I implore you to use your head, sire!” retorted Lord Hector.

Arthur glared at the man and opened his mouth to respond when Guinevere but in. “Have respect for your King, Hector, and the matter has already been resolved. Your ranting will do nothing,” said Guinevere sternly.

Sir Hector looked mutinous at having been chastised by a forcer serving girl, but Arthur cut in before he could say anything.

“My lovely wife is correct, the purpose of this meeting to inform you of what I have decided to do,” said Arthur. “There is a plan underway to catch the sorceress— we have already partially identified her— and you will be informed when she is caught.” The room fell into an awkward silence. Nobody was happy, but the others seemed hesitant to challenge Arthur again.

“What about the lockdown my lord,” asked Sir Geoffrey. “Nobody has been allowed to leave the city for days.”

“I am afraid that the lockdown will be not be entirely lifted,” said Arthur, which caused everyone to groan.

“Why?” asked Sir Alexius. “Some of us have lands to supervise.”

“And you should be able to get to them,” said Arthur. “Everyone entering or leaving the city will be recorded upon their departure and the curfew will remain until five.” This seemed to placate everyone. Alexius nodded, but his mouth was still set in a thin line.

“How long will this continue?” asked Lord Andrew.

“As long as I deem it necessary,” said Arthur.

“You know the point of this council if for you to share things with your advisors,” said a surly Lord Hector. “We cannot advise you if we don’t know what’s going on!”

Privately Arthur thought that that was rather the point, but he allowed Sir Hector to go on.

“It is our right to know how this kingdom is run!” he said hotly.

“I mean no offense in leaving you out of some decisions,” said Arthur. “The council plays an important role in the running of this kingdom. Unless I imagined all the fighting that takes place in this very room. But there are some decisions that are best handled by others.”

“Of course,” sneered Lord Hector, “you mean that rag-tag group of peasants that you’re so fond of.”

“I do hope that you did not just refer to a group of men who have saved your life many times over, a group that includes Sir Leon and my own brother, a rag-tag group of peasants,” cut in Guinevere.

“Of course not, I meant no offense,” said Lord Hector, backing down yet again. But Guinevere wasn’t finished.

“You should count yourself lucky that Sir Leon himself wasn’t here to hear your words. And you should hope that no one sees it fit to repeat them to him.” The threat of alienating one of the most influential houses in Camelot seemed to have finally chastised Lord Hector enough. His mouth was pinched, but he said nothing more.

“This council, while important, is far less secure than a small group of knights. It is far too easy for us to be overheard and this situation requires secrecy,” said Arthur. “You have my word that you will be informed when the girl is caught. In the meantime, this meeting is over.”

Surprised at the abrupt end to the meeting, the many councilors began making their way out. Arthur strode out with Guinevere by his side, hoping to not give away the pain that he was in. When they arrived back at his chambers, Arthur collapsed on his bed.

“Shall I get a servant to fetch us supper?” asked Guinevere. Arthur weakly nodded and she disappeared behind the door.

“Well that was interesting,” she said as she came back to the room. Arthur snorted, though not unkindly, “Interesting? That was a disaster, they have no confidence in me at all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Arthur, the people love you. You should hear what they’re saying about you in the town right now. And your men revere you.”

“The people maybe, and perhaps the knights, but the council has no respect for me. Father never would have had a meeting like that.”

“You’re not your father Arthur,” said Guinevere.

Arthur chuckled, “I know. Believe me I know.”

Guinevere sighed and fingered his hair as Arthur sat in silence. If he had learned anything from the past week it was that he was definitely not his father. Uther would have handled everything so much differently. What if he had called a hunt back when Sir Ranulf had first been attacked, could that have caught the girl? Would it have been worth the cost to his citizens? In this, Arthur wasn’t sure. Even if the search had been ineffective, at least the council wouldn’t have been upset with him. But he couldn’t forget the issues that the searches had.

“What are you thinking about Arthur?” Guinevere asked softly. Arthur sighed before relenting.

“Should we have lead a search when Ranulf had first been tortured?” he asked her.

Guinevere shrank back in surprise. “I thought we discussed all the problems with searches.”

“Sure, but the council would be happy at least,” said Arthur.

“They’ll be happier when you catch the girl without throwing the city into a panic,” said Guinevere confidently.

Arthur hoped that she was right. He knew in his gut that this was the best way to do things, but there was still that little voice in his head that whispered that he wasn’t good enough, that he was being too lax, too merciful. In this moment Arthur began missing his manservant even more than before. Merlin always knew what to say to help him. Speaking of which, Arthur bolted upright and said, “I haven’t seen Merlin since I woke up!”

Guinevere tried to push him back down into his pillows. “If anything went wrong with Merlin, Gaius would tell us, you need rest.”

“I need to make sure that he’s fine,” said Arthur, trying to get out of bed.

“Arthur, no! If Merlin as here he’d be scolding you and telling you to rest.” Arthur fought tears from building in his eyes as he thought of how fussy Merlin would have been had he been up. But he sat back down in his pillows because Guinevere was right. He could clearly see the look on Merlin’s face if he had been awake for this.

“I will go down to see Gaius and check up on Merlin,” said Guinevere softly. “In the meantime, don’t get up.” She kissed him on the forehead and left the room.

Chapter Text

Between Kara, Sir Ranulf’s torture, and the whole issue with Emrys, Mordred had suffered the worst week that he had had thus far as a knight. But little had he known that it could get worse.

The fire had been devastating to the morale of Camelot. Several shops and taverns had been damaged, the tavern where the fire had started from had burned to the ground, and multiple people had died. Whispers of magic ran rampant throughout the town and hysteria was at an extreme. People were looking at their neighbors with nervousness and fear. How had it been that the cobbler’s son managed to be out that day? Why had the tailor decided to liquidate some supplies just at the right time? How convenient was it that the herbalist did not have enough of the ointment in stock? All of these minor things would have been overlooked at any other time, but now everyone was on edge.

Unfortunately, Mordred knew that one thing was true. Magic had clearly been responsible for the fire. No natural fire could have grown so big so quickly. And Mordred knew what public magical behavior meant in Camelot: a search. Mordred had spent the past two days on edge. He had been the target of one of the hunts before. He could still remember the knights storming through the castle looking through every nook and cranny for evidence of him. The idea that he himself would be the perpetrator had thrown his body into a constant state of hysteria. He hadn’t eaten more than a few bits at a time in days. He had supposed that the only reason why the hunt hadn’t been called was due to Arthur’s state, but once he got the news that the King was awake, Mordred became even more nervous.

Hoping to be able to panic in peace, Mordred retreated to his chambers and began pacing. How would he conduct himself in this search? Would he actually look for stuff or just pretend? What if he found magical things? He couldn’t report that! Not if they were benign. But how would Mordred know that the person he was searching wasn’t the person responsible.

While he was mulling over all these questions, a knock sounded at his door. It was Sir Elyan.

“Sir Leon is conducting a meeting, you should get to it,” he said sternly. Mordred tried to smile. He wasn’t sure if he was successful, but Elyan seemed too preoccupied to notice anything off.

It wasn’t too often that all of the knights met outside of training. The room was quite full and everyone was very serious. Sir Leon himself looked stern as well and everyone’s attention was firmly on him.

“First, I’m sure that you all will be happy to know that the King has woken up and is in no imminent danger,” he said.

Despite all that was going on, hearing of Arthur’s condition still cheered Mordred. Arthur was a good man, and he deserved all the health in the world after such a daring feat.

But Leon wasn’t finished yet. “He has issued new orders about the situation. First, the lockdown will continue, though there will be some changes.” Everyone was silent out of respect for Leon, but Mordred couldn’t help but imagine all of the groans of disappointment. Lockdown spent less time buying drinks in the tavern and more time patrolling the city.

Oblivious, or more likely indifferent, to the men’s issues Leon said, “the curfew will remain at 5, but we will allow people to enter and leave Camelot. But everyone must be recorded, and only the Southern gate will be open.” Mordred nodded in response. So far everything was fine.

“Next,” said Leon. “I will be sending a small group of you alongside Gwaine to look for a girl that we believe is responsible. She’s middle-aged and light-haired.” Mordred’s heart dropped here. Was that an nice way of saying a witch hunt. Apparently Mordred wasn’t the only one who was a little confused.

“Wait, aren’t we doing a magical search?” asked Sir Bors. “We should have done one immediately after the fire, but it isn’t too late.”

“No Sir Bors, we will not be conducting a search.” At this Mordred’s head snapped up. They weren’t doing a search? Mordred felt a sea of nerves flow from his fingertips, but this seemed to be the opposite reaction to everyone else.

The other knights looked shocked, and Sir Bors looked mortified. “If we aren’t conducting a search then how will we find the sorcerer?” he asked. “This sorcerer killed people, we have a responsibility to protect the populace.”

“We will be,” said Leon firmly. “But the King is exploring different avenues than doing a search.”

“Different avenues?” the man scoffed. “What madness is this? We already know what to do, and we’ve done it dozens of times. We need to conduct a search!”

“No Bors, we do not. And your attitude comes quite close to disrespect,” said Leon carefully, glaring at Sir Bors. “The King welcomes viewpoints from all his knights. If you wish to criticize how he is handling this, you can ask him yourself.”

Bors looked far from pacified. Mordred could tell that the man was furious, but apparently he decided that fighting with Sir Leon would not achieve anything. So he kept quit, but the look on his face was mutinous.

“Does anyone else have any questions?” Leon asked the quiet room. Nobody said anything, so Leon said, “Perfect. Sir Gwaine will be in contact with some of you. The rest of you know where you need to be.” With that, Leon strode out of the room.

Mordred felt somewhat dizzy after the meeting. It seemed that he wouldn’t have to do a search after all, and another weight had lifted from his chest as well. Part of him had wondered if Kara hadn’t taken his advice and had come into Camelot to do some damage. The knights probably didn’t realize this, but creating a big fire is a rather simple, if draining spell that Kara probably could have done even in her weakened state. Mordred had had issues protecting Kara before, and at that point she had only “tortured” a man and maimed him for life. If she had been responsible for the fire, then Kara would have been responsible for the deaths of multiple people, and the injury of many more. An as far as Mordred knew, the people who had died in the fire had not done anything specifically hateful to her, so he could not even partially justify her actions to them in the same way that he had Sir Ranulf.

Even though Mordred knew that Kara would be a very bad person had she been responsible for the fire, it still would have been difficult for him to help catch her. He still remembered the Kara of his childhood. The girl who was strong-willed, mischievous, and so very sweet. He had trouble connecting those two people together. How could she have become so bitter?

Mordred was deep in his thoughts working through all of this when Sir Bors came up to him.

“Preoccupied I see,” he said.

Mordred snapped to attention and gave what he hoped was a nervous grin. “Yeah, a lot has happened recently.”

Bors laughed, but the sound was bitter. “You can say that. We never got to celebrate finishing our mission together. Come, let’s have a drink at one of the places that’s still standing.” Mordred considered accepting, but then he remembered how difficult the ride to the Southern outpost had been for him. He really couldn’t stand such prejudice at the moment, so he said, “Thank you, really. But I’m feeling quite tired so I think that I’ll head back to my rooms.”

Bors nodded solemnly, “Of course, it’s always important to be well rested. We need to have all our strength with us to catch this bitch, assuming that we catch her.” He seemed uneasy so Mordred said, “Are you okay.”

Bors gave Mordred a weak smile, “You wouldn’t understand, you’re too young, but I just get a bad feeling about Arthur with this stuff sometimes. I’m not saying he sympathizes with it! Not saying that at all! But he’s so idealistic, and that’s fine, but he lets his idealism get in the way of recognizing the evil scourge that magic is on this kingdom. Magic is a front that needs to be beat back continuously! It will never die, but it can be managed. These sorcerers aren’t people, they sell their souls for that power you know. And Uther knew that. He pursued them relentlessly, but Arthur’s just been… softer.”

Mordred’s fists were clenched with fury, but he tried his best to keep his anger from his face.

“Attacks like this just prove that they can’t help themselves. They need to cause chaos to survive. Why else would they do this?” he said, shaking his head. “What have we ever done to them?”

At this point, had Mordred not been carefully managing his anger, he would have struck Sir Bors in the face. Instead, he said through gritted teeth, “I trust the King, he must know what he’s doing.”

Sir Bors shrugged, seemingly not noticing Mordred’s fury. “I hope that you’re right. Catch that sleep like you said. You’ll need it.” Bors turned to walk away and Mordred couldn’t help but glare at the back of his head, blood pumping in his ears. There were no people of magic in all the land that had not been scarred in one way or the other by Uther’s war, in that Mordred was confident. He strode out of the room and walked outside, hoping to calm himself in the outside air.

Instead all that he saw was the burned tavern in the square. And he couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction at the ashes.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since Arthur had awoken and his wounds were healing nicely. He was still forbidden by Gaius from doing any heavy training so he was spending his days on more administrative tasks, and there were plenty of those. The reversed lockdown had created a lot of work for Arthur. He and Leon had to supervise all of the knights and monitor the progress of the investigation. Besides the knights, a cleanup of what had been the tavern was still underway, and Arthur was making it a point to visit with the owners of the tavern, the survivors from the fire, and the families of those who did not. 

The visits with the survivors of the fire went quite well. They seemed grateful for his help and attention. Arthur had no issues promising them funding until they could recover from their injuries and return to their jobs. Speaking to those who had lost people was more difficult, but Arthur thought that he’d struck the right balance between sincerity and strength.

Arthur still made sure to visit Merlin everyday, usually once but often more. He’d rush to see him in the morning in the hopes that he would be awake, and then when he wasn’t he’d complain to him about all that he had to do that day. Sometimes Arthur found himself asking Merlin’s corpse questions. He dearly hoped that the man wouldn’t remember anything when he woke up.

The nobles had been especially upset as of late. Arthur could even feel resentment from his knights over how the issue was being resolved. Truth be told, part of him wondered why he didn’t just acquiesce and handle things in the way that his father would have. Sure, Arthur had reasons for why he was acting the way that he was, but the whispered accusations that he heard of him being “soft on magic” still bothered him. Magic was a dangerous force, of this Arthur was confident. But he didn’t see why bystanders had to suffer in its eradication. And Arthur was nothing if not stubborn, he would stick to this choice of action until it proved wrong. 

That afternoon, as Arthur was in the middle of an argument with Lord James, Sir Gwaine burst into his chambers and cut them off.

“I’m sorry my Lord, but I need to talk to the King urgently,” he said and made to pull Arthur from the conversation.

“Sir Gwaine, this is entirely inappropriate! Sire, I must ask that—”

“We can finish this later James,” said Arthur. Gwaine’s eyes were firm and serious, a rarity for him. Arthur could tell that whatever he needed to tell him, it was important. “It seems that this situation requires immediate attention.”

Sir James looked affronted, but he left the room. Arthur kneaded his temples. He was going to pay for that one later. He turned to Gwaine.

“This had better be worth it,” said Arthur.

“Believe me it is, the girl just left the gates to pick herbs,” he said.

Arthur gaped at him. Had it really worked? “Then what are you doing here!” he roared.

“Elyan is with a squad of knights going to her as we speak.”

Arthur started to make his way out of the room, vaguely planning on donning armour, but Gwaine grabbed him by the arm to stop him. In the process he hit one of Arthur’s still healing burns and he hissed with pain.

“Gwaine!” he shouted, snatching his arm from his grasp.

The man chuckled, “For that reason specifically you can’t come along Arthur.”

Arthur opened his mouth to protest,  but Gwaine held firm. “I came to tell you so that when Elyan gets back you’d be ready to see her, not so that you could run off cock-headed!”

Arthur groaned knowing that Gwaine was right. “She’ll be taken to the dungeons when she gets back,” he thought aloud. “Ready a cell. I’ll go and fetch Sir Ranulf, we can get him to identify her.”

Gwaine nodded and sprinted away while Arthur made a beeline to where Ranulf was staying. 

As he got closer to the man’s quarters, he began to feel a little guilty for not having visited him more often since his accident. Everything had gotten so crazy that Arthur had unintentionally pushed the man to the side. With this visit, and the girls capture, Arthur hoped to put this right.

When he arrived in Sir Ranulf’s chambers, he found that Sir Bors was there as well.

“Bors, it is good to see you,” Arthur said politely. Leon had told him that Bors had been a bit hesitant about the his strategy. Hopefully those concerns would be alleviated in the next few hours. The man did seem less enthusiastic to see him as he usually did.

“King Arthur,” he said with a tight smile. “What a lovely surprise.”

Arthur forced out a chuckle. “I feel as if it has been far too long since I’ve been at training.”

“Yes it does,” Bors said, “But the city had been in quite a bit of upheaval as of late. Have your injuries been healing well.”

Arthur gingerly patted his arm, “Better than expected, Gaius says that I can be back out on the field within the week. It had been nice talking with you, but I have something of confidence to discuss with Ranulf.” Bors gave another tight smile and said, “Of course,” before leaving the room.

“How have you been feeling?” asked Arthur. “I’m sorry that I have not been able to visit with you as much, the city has been very demanding as of late.”

Ranulf laughed, “I understand Arthur, you don’t have to coddle me.” His arm was neatly stitched up, and his missing eye was covered with a patch. Overall, the man seemed better than he had before.

“Thank you for understanding,” said Arthur. “I expect that you would like to know how the search for your assailant has been going.” With those words the man’s calm and easy-going persona became stifled.

He pursed his lips before saying, “I hope that she is found, but I confess that I am worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“Worried that she’ll escape! Bors tells me that you haven’t even been conducting searches!” he seemed to catch himself and lowered his energy levels as he continued. “I am simply worried that this girl will escape, alongside the perpetrator of this arson.”

“You can rest assured then Ranulf,” said Arthur. “I have a team of knights surrounding your assailant as we speak”

Ranulf’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“I have been conducting a very targeted operation to find the person responsible for assault,” said Arthur. “We believe her to be the same person responsible for the recent arson. We managed to put specific traps in place and are apprehending her right now. We just need you to confirm that the woman we caught is her.”

Ranulf’s mouth bobbed up and down before settling in a mean line. “It will be my pleasure sire.”

There was a specific cell that was used for sorcerer interrogations in Camelot. It was small and devoid of windows. The only light came from the torches on the walls, but even when they were lit it seemed to do little good. The darkness had penetrated the very walls. It was a terrible place and Arthur had refrained from using it very often in his reign. But there was a reason why he was using it today. The thick bars that separated the prisoner from his keepers were inscribed with strange markings that were ineligible to Arthur. He could remember when his father first took him down to this and he had asked what they were.

“Symbols of the Old Religion,” he had said gravely. “They keep the sorcerers from practicing their evil craft.” Arthur had wondered how the markings had gotten there in the first place but had known better than to ask his father.

Arthur pondered this question again as he waited with Gwaine and Ranulf for the prisoner to be brought in. They were waiting in the office by the dungeons because nobody could bear be in the actual cells for ay longer than they had to. He had confidence in his men, but he was still anxious about the sorcerer’s capture. If the girl was lost, then it would only amount to more ammunition for those who believed that he was incompetently dealing with the situation. He tried to keep the apprehension from his face, depicting a cool, confident aura.

Gwaine was far less relaxed, the same mania that had possessed him since Merlin’s injury apparent now. Ranulf was the most on edge, he was hunched over and kneading his hands in anticipation.

After waiting for almost an hour, Sir Elyan came into the office. He was roughed up a bit, but did not seem to have any actual injuries. “Did you catch her?” Arthur asked.

Elyan responded with a satisfied grin that calmed Arthur down. “Yeah, we did. The men are bringing her in right now.”

“Did anyone see her being brought in?” asked Arthur.

“We tried to keep it quiet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if half of the city knew that a suspect had been arrested by this time tomorrow.” Arthur sighed, but it was no big matter. Her execution would be public anyway.

“Is the cell ready?” asked Arthur.

“It should be by now.”

“Perfect, let’s go.

The four men walked down to the cells, Arthur in the lead and Sir Ranulf following eagerly behind him. The cell was as dark as it ever was and Arthur gestured for Gwaine to light the torches. Once light swarmed into the room Sir Ranulf gasped.

“That’s her sire. That’s the girl! She was with Morgana!” he looked at her with a smirk on his face. “You thought that you could defy us witch! We found you and what we do to you will make your crimes towards me seem like a mercy!” Arthur generally did not approve of taunting already detained prisoners, but he allowed it in this instance. Ranulf had been through too much.

The girl sneered back to him. She had long, dark hair and angry little eyes. She laughed at Sir Ranulf’s taunts. “Burning me won’t bring your limbs back, or your eye. You won’t be able to use them to murder anyone else. So I can die in peace,” she said.

“And what of the people who died in that tavern fire?” asked Arthur. “You clearly admit to your crimes against Sir Ranulf, but what did those in the tavern ever do to you?”

Arthur had expected the girl to snap back defiantly, but instead she bowed her head and said nothing.

“Too many demons like yourself,” continued Sir Ranulf. “You can’t murder something without a soul,” he sneered.

“Then I suppose that you cannot accuse me of murder for trying to kill you!” spit the girl.

“Enough of this!” roared Arthur. “I will be asking the questions from here. What’s your name girl?”

She scoffed again. “King Arthur of Camelot deigns to know my name. Perhaps you are better than your father. He killed babes without names.”

Arthur gritted his teeth, “Answer the question, or you’ll lose an eye too.”

The girl narrowed her eyes but responded, “Kara.”

“Why did you target Sir Ranulf?” he asked.

The girl shrugged, picking at the floor.

“But why?” asked Arthur. “He did nothing to you.”

“And I did nothing to him! He’s done plenty to me though. He’s murdered hundreds of my brothers and sisters!” she screamed.

Ranulf laughed darkly, “Of course! I should have known Druid scum when I saw it!” The way that the girl froze told Arthur that it was true. But why would a druid be so violent?

“Scum!” she cried before spitting at their speak. “I never murdered babes!”

“Enough!” roared Arthur. He looked to the girl and said. “You clearly have no remorse for what you’ve done. Your execution will happen soon. Goodbye.” With that, Arthur turned and left the cell, but he could hear her yell, “The great Once and Future King doesn’t even hold trials! You’re just like your father!” as the doors closed.

After they had exited the dreary cold of the dungeons, Sir Ranulf turned to Arthur with a look of relief on his face. “Thank you sire,” he said. “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” said Arthur, still dizzy from the girls ranting. “I promised you that she would be captured. I take the well-being of knights very seriously.”

“Yes, my lord. I admit that I doubted you for a bit when I heard about what was going on. But I never should have. You have done all that you should have.” Sir Ranulf clapped Arthur on the back before hobbling back to his chambers.

Organizing an execution was not something that Arthur had had to do very much in his time as King so far. Despite his time on the battlefield, at heart he had never enjoyed watching people die. But it was unavoidable in this case. The girl was evil and had no desire to do anything other than hurt his people. So for the first time in years, a pire was being built in Camelot. He could hear the cheering and excitement from the streets. They knew what the building of a pire meant.

That evening was less tense for Arthur and Guinevere than it had been for a few weeks. With the capture of Sir Ranulf’s perpetrator and the arson of the tavern. Arthur felt more accomplished than he had in quite a while. His less extreme approach had worked. He had managed to capture a dangerous criminal without terrorizing the people of Camelot. So he and Guinevere elected to celebrate the occasion. He had George bring up wine, better that what they usually drunk, and they tried their best to have a nice evening.

“I propose a toast,” said Guinevere, her eyes smiling.

“A toast to what?” said Arthur.

“A toast for your sticking with your guns. You did exactly what you thought that you needed to do, and we caught the girl with no searches needed.”

Arthur shrugged, but rose his glass up as well. “Here’s to one challenge accomplished.” They clinked their glasses together and both took a sip before resting in an uneasy silence. Arthur couldn’t help but be a bit on edge. The small intimate environment in his room had reminded him of who wasn’t there. He hadn’t visited Merlin since that morning, and he had a feeling that he needed to go and see him. He said this much to Guinevere.

She sighed. “I don’t know how you can bear to see him so often. Going into his room makes me so sad. I can’t bear to see him lying there.”

“I just can’t stomach something happening to him in that room without me knowing,” said Arthur. Gwen opened her mouth to protest but Arthur quickly said, “I know that Gaius says that he’s fine but I still worry about him. At any random moment something awful could happen and… I just have to be there. I wouldn’t leave his side if I could,” Arthur confessed.

“You can go check on him Arthur,” said Guinevere. “Let… let me know how he is.” Arthur smiled grimly and kissed his wife in the lips. “I will be back soon.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time, Arthur sprinted to the physician’s rooms desperate to see his friend. Gaius wasn’t there, likely out doing his rounds. So Arthur hopped up the stairs to Merlin’s room and opened the door. To his surprise, someone was by his side. It was Mordred.

Chapter Text

Mordred had never been assigned to a mission like this one before. The increased security meant that there were extra teams guarding places that normally would be left alone. Mordred’s team was responsible for watching the citizens exiting Camelot from a distance. There position was well picked. Far enough from the road that they were not immediately visible, and on high enough ground to have a good vantage point of everyone leaving. Mordred absentmindedly thought that this would be a great vantage point for thieves, but what the knights were doing here was beyond him. Surely the guards that were always perched atop Camelot could see all that they could and more. 

Regardless, Mordred was happy with the bit of boredom. Being outside the walls of Camelot in the beauty of nature did a lot for his anxiety. His father had always said that the spirits of nature would protect you if you let them, though Mordred was unsure if they’d have anything to do with him now.

Mordred wasn’t alone in his feelings. The other knights were quite carefree as well, happily enjoying the afternoon sun. Only Gwaine and Elyan seemed on edge, frequently quieting them when they were too loud, keeping a close eye on the front gate, and regularly glancing at the top of the walls. Mordred didn’t think anything of it. They were part of Arthur’s inner circle, it was their job to be the good ones.

Mordred was absentmindedly making a flower wreath when Gwaine and Elyan gasped and hurriedly quieted everyone. At first Mordred couldn’t see what they were so excited about, but then he noticed that the Camelot flag, which usually was at the top of its pole, had been lowered to half mast. Mordred wasn’t sure what this meant, but apparently it was important.

Gwaine and Elyan had begun swiftly talking amongst each other, their faces even more grave than they had been before. Gwaine set off. Where he was going, Mordred did not know, but his attention was taken by Elyan.

“Men, see that black-haired girl walking with a limp.” Mordred looked down and easily spotted her. Her hair trailed down her back and she was indeed limping quite badly.

“We are quite sure that she is the one responsible for setting fire to the tavern.”

Mordred’s jaw dropped. He was shocked. “But, but I thought that the arsonist was a blonde women? Middle-aged?”

“I don’t have time to explain the full picture right now, but the public was told that in order to throw off the true criminal. But believe me, this woman was the culprit of both this and the torture of Sir Ranulf.”

Gasps sounded across the air. No. It couldn’t be.

“We suspect that she will be going to a specific grove to pick an herb. We will follow her quietly, and apprehend her once she’s alone and out of reach of Camelot. The King wants her alive. Let’s go.”

The serious expressions that had been on Elyan and Gwaine’s faces had now traveled to everyone’s. But Mordred’s hands were shaking with fright. This could not be happening.

Mordred haplessly followed the other knights along, though he was so faint that he felt as if he could keel over at any minute. A myriad of thoughts were flitting through his heads like fish in a lake. Kara had been the one to burn the tavern. That made her a bad person. He was going to help the villains of his childhood capture one of his childhood friend’s. That made him a bad person. Kara had tortured a man and maimed him for life. She deserved death. He was in service to a family that had orchestrated the deaths of hundreds of his brothers and sisters. Who was he to judge anyone?

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he almost missed Elyan signaling for the group to split up. He was using hand signals that Modred should have known, but his brain simply was not functioning. Unfortunately, Sir Evan simply pulled Mordred along with him. Apparently he was in his group. In the back of his head, Mordred realized what they were doing. They were surrounding her. She would be attacked on all sides. Alone. The subject would have no chance.

Somehow Evan knew exactly where to stop and pull Mordred down. He used more of the hand signals that Mordred stored in a part of his brain that he couldn’t seem to access. Should he jump up and warn her? He’d be killed. But then again she’d probably be killed as well. There were too many of them But at least he could die knowing that he wasn’t a traitor. But wasn’t Kara a traitor? Didn’t she deserve death anyway for her crimes?

Mordred crouched down in his hidden position. They were behind a bush. Perfect way to avoid detection. The others were hidden as well. Elyan would give the signal. And then Mordred would have no idea what to do.

A twig snapped. Mordred jumped and may have given them all away had Sir Evan held him down. He gave Mordred a confused look that would have embarrassed Mordred had not been so preoccupied with what was in front of his eyes.

It was Kara. There was no way that Mordred could deny that it was her anymore. She winced with every step that she took, and he could see the bandages that he’d brought her wrapped around her leg. She was very wounded, but her face was determined.

Sir Evan’s face smirked as he looked her over and he clenched his sword. The nightmare was closing in around Mordred. The announcement would come any second.

“Kara!” Mordred desperately called.

Kara looked around in confusion before tripping on a rock. Her cry rang out through the empty woods. She hobbled over to a nearby log and sat down. Perhaps she was going to apply something to her leg, but Mordred never found out.

A whistle rang out through the air and all of the knights jumped from their hiding places. Within seconds Kara was surrounded by knights with their swords drawn. Mordred couldn’t bring himself to look at her face. He hid behind the formidable Sir Lockly and listened to what was going on.

“We know what you’ve done,” said Sir Elyan. His voice was low and hard. “We have you surrounded. You can come quietly and no more harm will come to you.”

Kara chuckled mirthlessly, but said nothing. Mordred could hear something empty in her tone.

“You harmed one of our own and set fire to a tavern,” said Sir Elyan. “Do you even care that you harmed so many people?”

Another voice in the crowd scoffed. “She doesn’t care, she’s a witch,” said Sir Thomas.

This comment apparently was enough to set Kara off. Mordred heard her lunge forward. Unfortunately it meant little. He heard her cry out and pain and then saw her be thrown to the ground.

Her face was in even more pain than Mordred had seen it in earlier, but it grew even more hurt when she rose her head and saw Mordred. She was surprised briefly, but then her eyes grew dark and closed off.

Sir Thomas kicked Kara’s stomach, causing her to cry out. He slammed his foot down on her hurt leg and she screamed. Mordred felt like he was going to cry. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?

“Enough!” roared Elyan, pulling Thomas away from Kara.

“Why?” said Sir Thomas, “She’s a witch. A witch that tortured Ranulf and killed people.”

“And the King will dispense her justice, not your foot,” said Elyan sternly. Sir Thomas snarled at Kara, but stopped attacking her. Physically at least.

“You won’t get away with all that you’ve done bitch. Will your dark goddess give a shit about you when we burn you from the stake?” The other knights laughed and jeered, too caught up with their victory to see the tear dripping down Mordred’s face.

“Tie her up,” said Sir Elyan, “This is over.”

Kara said nothing as a knight bound her hand and feet. She didn’t even look at Mordred. She kept her eyes to the ground as she was dragged back to Camelot. She always had been stubborn. Mordred could remember when they had been children and she'd stumbled around cut foot until one of the elders held her down to wrap it. Was she really so far away from that child? She could change couldn’t she? Why did she have to die? But then he would think of the people who had died because of her and his resolve would falter.

As she was walked through the streets of Camelot, the people could tell that something was wrong. Being escorted to the castle bound and surrounded by knights was never a good look. It didn’t help that Kara bared her teeth at everyone who dared to look her in the eye.

The castle itself wasn’t all that different. The servants looked at her with caution and fear, Mordred knew that people would put the pieces together too. And then the whole city would be calling for her head.

Eventually Kara was passed over to the prison guards who escorted her down to the dungeons. Mordred could still remember the dungeons from when he had stayed in them so long ago. He could still remember how dark it was, and how draining and weak the very stones made you feel. Kara would suffer down their, especially with her leg. Mordred had at least gotten some medical assistance. Apparently Kara was not deemed worthy of that.

The other men wanted to go down to a tavern. They invited Mordred along and somehow he ended up there too. But Mordred couldn’t eat. The pit of his stomach was churning and far too badly. So he skipped the food and went straight to the ale.

He had to find a solution, doing nothing was out of the picture. For all that Kara had done, he couldn’t let her burn. Not while those who had burned their village walked freely. He needed help…

Emrys! He could ask Emrys. Where was he? He’d forgotten. The physician’s chambers!

Mordred left the tavern and began walking to the physician’s quarters. It had become dark, and he had a bit of trouble navigating around the city. He tripped at least three times, and managed to run straight into walls four others. But somehow he found himself in the castle. Now where were the physician’s quarters? Mordred pulled his way through the hallways looking for it. He had been there before, why couldn’t he find it now.

Finally he managed to stumble into the infirmary. The physician was out, but Mordred remembered that Emrys was in the room on top of the stairs.

Mordred tripped another few times on his way up the stairs. When had walking become so difficult? But when he finally reached the top pushed opened the door he saw that Emrys was asleep on his bed.

Oh yeah, Emrys couldn’t help him.

There were chairs by Emrys’ bed. Why they were there, Mordred couldn’t remember, but he plopped himself down in one and stared at Emrys.

It was not a particularly interesting sight. The man appeared to be simply asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. Even so, Mordred could feel the bright aura of the man leeching from him. Mordred had always been sensitive to auras. Everyone had one, magic or not. Kara’s had been spunky and temperamental as a child, but never malicious.

He could feel malice in her now.

But how could she not? How could anyone not feel malice to the men responsible for destroying their culture? For uprooting their lives? For turning upstanding, moral men and women into criminals for no reason being their birth!

Mordred chuckled to himself. The exception was seated right in front of him. Emrys was truly that only sorcerer that Mordred had never felt any malice from. Not towards Uther, or Morgana, or even him. Even as he foiled Morgana’s plots or narrowed his eyes at Mordred from afar he never felt malice. Only a deep sense of duty, and a vague sense of regret.

But Mordred was not as good as Emrys. He had felt malice in his heart. There had been times when he had desired the Pendragons dead, Camelot destroyed, and the ruination of all who had watched as his people suffered. He had tried to follow Emrys’ example and find compassion and love for those who had oppressed them, but now he shook with rage. Mordred could strangle those who had helped bring in Kara. Those who judged her for burning a tavern but praised the knights for burning Druid villages. But then he would have to strangle himself.

Mordred was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely heard the creaking of the door.

“Mordred? I didn’t expect you to be here.”

It was the King.