The Voices Beneath: Chapter Eleven-- The Truth

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chapter eleven

the truth

When I woke, I was in the shade, lying on a small camp cot in a tent that had been set up on one side of the field for my own benefit. Gawain was standing over me as I opened my eyes, shaking his head in mock regret.

            “Well, Sir Mordred, that’s hardly the way to start off your knightly career; fainting like a girl.”

            I groaned and sat up, putting a hand to my head, pain pounding naggingly behind my eyes. “What happened?” I asked, the details fuzzy.

            “You finished your fight with Arthur, and what a fight, Mordred! I have never seen you do the like. And then he knighted you, and when everyone was cheering, you just dropped down, fainted clear away.” He put a hand to his brow dramatically. “The fame proved too much for you.”

            “I think it was the heat,” I said, closing my eyes as memory flooded back, hoping Gawain didn’t see my horror even though I feared it was plastered all over my face. “I haven’t fought in full armor, nor so vigorously before. I couldn’t get my breath. Maybe it was a bit overwhelming too,” I conceded, trying to smile to put Gawain at his ease.”

            He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up so you can attend your celebratory feast. Arthur was worried about you, just dropping like that, but I assured him you were likely all right, if not a little peely wally, if you get my meaning. Some food in your belly, meat and mead, will go a long way to fixing you up.”

            I nodded in agreement, though eating was the last thing I wished to do at that moment. I almost killed Arthur. The phrase kept running through my head. I almost killed Arthur and Merlin knew. He stopped me. Of that I was certain and I was grateful to him for it, though I was even more afraid of him. I knew we would have a confrontation and I would be forced to tell him everything. I was almost relieved with the thought of unburdening myself. Though the look he had given me had frightened me to the very depth of my soul.

            I washed hurriedly, and changed into a new tunic and hose of deep blue, my sword hung at my side. Gawain and I headed toward the hall where the feast was to take place, and I forced a smile onto my face again at the greeting I received. I was angry now. This was supposed to be a happy occasion, the happiest of my life. I was where I wanted to be, I had a place, I had a home, and I had family, even if they didn’t know they weren’t really related to me by blood. But because of Lady Morgan, this had turned into a painful experience for I had nearly killed the man I held most dear to me. I knelt before Arthur now and he took my shoulders and drew me up, his arm draped around my neck as he presented me to the gathering.

            “People of Camelot, I wish to present you once again, Sir Mordred, the newest member of your august company. Young, though he may be, he has proven himself worthy this position time and again, most of all with his continued protection of your queen, my own wife.” He beamed at me and I blushed as I also saw Guinevere smiling beautifully amid the crashing applause of the knights. “I feel that Sir Mordred will continue in his path of loyalty and true honor in his service as a knight, and I hope you will take him in as one of your family as a brother, as I have begun to view him as a son.” He smiled meaningfully at me and I found I shamefully had to turn my eyes down lest I lose my already frayed hold on my feelings. He squeezed my shoulder as if knowing what I was thinking. “Let us drink a toast to him.”

            Merlin stood up, holding a chalice in his long fingers. “Might I offer it, my lord?” he asked languidly and I felt a sudden coldness clench in my gut.

            “Of course,” Arthur said and reached for his own drink. Merlin’s eyes fell upon mine searchingly, and I was unable to look away.

            “May Sir Mordred serve his king and Camelot unendingly, and may he never fail in that duty, through thick or thin. May he always stay true to those he loves.”

            The hearty cheer that rose after the toast told me there was nothing unusual in the words, but I knew exactly what Merlin meant by them, and the feast that followed was uneasy for me. I could hardly enjoy it though I did my best, even trying to make jokes with the other fellows and laughing along when Percival kept stealing an item of food off of Gawain’s plate every time he turned to talk to someone until he finally noticed that half his food was missing.

            Still, it seemed the party went long into the night, so long, I began to honestly feel exhausted and wished for my bed. I was glad when the knights began to dwindle, most having drunk far too much to even stay upright. I figured some of them would probably end up spending the night under the table or on it. I had drunk more than usual too, and felt the heaviness of the mead in my head and belly. Finally, Arthur stood and announced he was taking his leave, breaking up the hangers on. Gawain was snoring beside me, his cheek resting on a loaf of bread. I smiled fondly and decided one last night of squirely duties couldn’t go amiss. I pulled his arm over my shoulder to help him to his bed before I sought mine when Arthur’s hand descended on my shoulder. I turned to look at him and saw him smiling.

            “Mordred, I would speak with you in private a moment,” he said.

            “Of course,” I replied and stepped outside the hall with him.

            “I am so proud of your performance today,” he said. “Few have bested me like that—you made a bit of a stir.” He chuckled. “Guinevere even said there was a moment she thought you might kill me.” I tried not to physically flinch at his off-handed way of saying it, but my stomach flipped painfully. “I wish that I could acknowledge you as my son, but we both know that will not do.”

            “Of course not, my lord,” I said, relieved.

            “However,” Arthur continued, reaching behind him and unhooking a sword that swung from his belt. “I wish you to have this.” I made to object, but he pushed the sword into my hands. “It was my first blade. It is a bit worn, but goodly still. I did many feats with that blade and won many fights.” He smiled reminiscently. “May it serve you as well, Sir Mordred.”

            “Surely I can’t really take this,” I tried to protest but he grasped my hands and held them around the worn leather of the scabbard, leaning down to look me in the eye.

            “You are my son, Mordred, and one day I wish to proclaim that to the whole kingdom, but for now, take this small token of my love and pride in you.” He reached out a hand and placed it against my cheek, nearly causing tears to come to my eyes. “I am so proud of you, Mordred. Never think any different.”

            I nodded, too overcome to speak. He squeezed my shoulder one more time and then turned to leave. “You had best get some rest. There will be work for you tomorrow.”

            I nodded again, and turned away before I would sob within his hearing, forgetting all about Gawain sleeping on the loaf of bread as I hurried down the hall to get to my quarters in the barracks as quickly as possible, the sword still clutched in my hand.

            When I got to the door of my quarters, I had finally allowed the tears to flow and I pushed the door open, already pulling at the tie of my cloak to throw it off. But I was stopped by a figure standing in the shadows in one corner of the dark room. At first I thought it was Lady Morgan, then as the figure stepped forward, I realized it was Merlin. I opened my mouth to speak, but he gave no preamble before he leapt forward with inhuman speed and slammed me against the wall, his thin face pressed close to mine, his eyes flashing. I dropped the sword onto the ground with a clatter, the breath knocked out of me. 

            “What was that, Mordred?” he asked, his voice only above a whisper, cold and dangerous. I thought I had seen the dangerous side of Merlin before, but never like this. I was frozen in fear, expecting him to tear me apart should I even dare open my mouth to speak. “What did she do to you? If you do not tell me now, Mordred, I swear I will get it from you one way or another.”

            I gasped in a breath. “Let me go, I can’t breathe.”

            He seemed to realize he had a hand around my throat, and he let go with a somewhat guilty look. I collapsed to my knees, half gasping and half sobbing. I didn’t know what I felt. I was horrified, angry, hopeless, in utter agony. Merlin stood above me for a moment before he stooped and drew me up more gently by the shoulders and maneuvered me to the bed where he sat down next to me and handed me a tankard of wine.

            “Drink,” he commanded. I did, and found myself steadier for it, my breath coming back to me. He took the cup when I had drained it and set it on the side table. “I’m sorry for my outburst. I should have dealt more gently with you. I was not sure of your intentions fully, though I am now. I can see you are in great pain over this.”

            “She cursed me,” I whispered without preamble. Merlin went rigid and I turned my face upward to look at him, my countenance contorting in rage and disgust at Lady Morgan and myself. “She captured me in the woods and set some curse upon me, saying I would be forced to…to kill Arthur. When she realized I wouldn’t do it voluntarily, she decided to take matters into her own hands.” There, it was out. I felt much better for it, light. Merlin snatched my hand and traced his finger along the scar at the base of my thumb. It never seemed to have fully healed. It was still red, and stung frequently, even if it didn’t bleed.

            “I feared as much when I saw this after you came back from hunting Lancelot that day,” Merlin said grimly. “But I didn’t want to think the worse. I wish I had confronted you sooner; I can’t imagine the pain you have been going through.”

            “I’ve been in agony,” I said truthfully. “I’ve hardly slept, I can’t stop thinking about it, it is eating me, driving me insane.” I suddenly grabbed his wrist, looking up into his eyes. “Please help me!”

            Merlin gazed at me with pity for a few seconds before he took my hand again and mumbled something. I yelped in pain as the scar burned and gritted my teeth until it faded to a dull ache. Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.

            “That’s a powerful spell,” he said. “She’s bound you to her will with blood. I don’t know how to reverse it, save killing you—don’t worry, I won’t do that, not unless you try to kill Arthur again and I can’t stop you like I did today. I will have to look into it.”

            “Please help me,” I said again, hating the pleading in my voice, but unable to help it. “I don’t want to kill him. I could never stand it. It would kill me.”

            “Well, I certainly would,” Merlin said and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “In the meantime, keep up hope, and try not to put yourself into a position where you could possibly harm him. The spell seems to work on opportunity, though it might change more dramatically the more times you fail in the mission it requires of you. I don’t entirely know what it is capable of. I will have to read up on it, and I might require you for a few tests—nothing dangerous, mind, just for seeing if I can untangle the spell a little bit. But I will get you through this for I like you, Mordred, and I would hate to have to kill you myself.” He smiled but I felt little reassured. “Now try and get some sleep.”

            “How can I sleep?” I asked.

            Merlin put his hand on my forehead and muttered a few words. He smiled. “That will ward against dreams, so you will sleep peacefully, even if you are not so when you wake.” He stood. “Always feel free to come to me if you need to talk. And I would advise you not to tell anyone else about this.”

            “I know,” I said. “Thank you, for making me tell you. I feel much better now.”

            Merlin smirked. “Yours is hardly an unburdened mind, young Mordred. But I am glad to offer you a little relief. “Now sleep.”

            I felt drowsy the instant he closed the door behind him and barely undressed before I fell into my bed and closed my eyes to merciful dreamlessness.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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The Voices Beneath: Chapter Ten-- Knight

Here's the next chapter! And on a note, this isn't exactly how one was made a knight, but then, the Arthurian era was before the actual era of chivalry so it might have been less formal, and for the sake of the story, and it's length, this is just going to have to do it, otherwise it might risk dragging.

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chapter ten

knight

I tried to forget. I tried to immerse myself into my knightly training and forget the fact that I had been cursed, destined to kill Arthur in one way or another whether I wanted to or not, but it did not work. No matter what I did, it was always at the edge of my thoughts, and the darkness clouded over me at night, so that I hardly slept, afraid of the nightmares that would come should I let myself slip into slumber. I didn’t know what scared me the most about it: Killing Arthur against my will without being able to stop myself, or actually wanting to do so. I think I came to the conclusion that whatever circumstances could possibly have brought me to wish for his death scared me the most.

            Gawain got irritated with me. He could tell I was struggling with something, and I believe he thought it had to do with Lancelot escaping. On several occasions, I wished to tell him everything if only for someone to unburden myself on, but I didn’t know how he would take it. I had come to love Gawain as an older brother, and I thought he felt much the same about me, but there was also something about him that was so black and white, I didn’t want to force him into feeling like he should have to make a decision to pity me or serve Arthur so I kept my mouth shut.

            On the other hand, I was nearly positive that Merlin knew, or at least sensed something was wrong even if he weren’t sure of the particulars, but did I want to confide in him? I still wasn’t entirely sure about Merlin, and already knew that he would not hesitate to kill me should I look at Arthur the wrong way. I couldn’t blame him for that, but it scared me all the same.

            Finally, Gawain had had enough of me one day while we were in the lists, and he stabbed his sword down between the two of us.

            “Do you want this, Mordred? Do you want to be a knight? Because you’re going to have to work a lot harder if that’s what you want.”

            I was ashamed and vowed to indeed work harder. “I am sorry, Gawain, truly. I have not been sleeping well and I think it’s wearing on me.”

            He sighed and gripped my shoulders tightly. “I believe in you, Mordred, and what’s more, Arthur believes in you. He genuinely wants to see you become a knight worthy of his greatest. That’s why I’m mad at you. I just don’t feel you’re working hard enough. I want him to be proud of you too, and I couldn’t stand to see you disappointed in yourself either, as I know you will be if you don’t apply yourself and forget whatever is knocking around in that thick head of yours.”

            “I will work harder, Gawain. I promise.” And I did. I fought and fought every day with Gawain and the other knights until I was too exhausted to dream when I fell into bed. I forced the thoughts away, the only thing permeating my mind the coming knighting, and Arthur’s approval.

***

The day came so soon, I was hardly ready for it, but I stood looking at the shining new suit of armor that Gawain and I had picked up from the blacksmith the day before with apprehension as it stood in one corner of my room. Gawain, dressed in his best for the occasion, came in to help me ready myself, acting as my squire today. He gripped my shoulders and shook me slightly, grinning.

            “Don’t look so worried,” he said with a fond tug of my hair. “You have prepared and practiced so much I don’t think there’s any way Arthur will not knight you today.”

            “I know,” I told him, forcing a smile. I clapped a hand to his forearm. “I just want to thank you, Gawain, for all you have done for me since I arrived. You’ve been a brother to me where I never had one, and I will never forget your friendship to a frightened boy who hardly knew his way around a sword.”

            Gawain laughed and mussed my hair fondly. “Well, that’s my job. Now come on, let’s get you into your metal or we’ll be late.”

            I stood awkwardly as he cinched the armor into place, decided it was almost more complicating to figure out how to hold your arms while someone else was putting armor on you than it was to figure out how it went on someone else. I supposed I would have to get used to it when I had my own squire. Despite what I had led Gawain to believe, I was not worried about the tests I would have to perform in front of all the knights as well as Arthur and Guinevere that day; I had indeed practiced enough to be confident that I could pass them all without much trouble. What worried me was the last test in which I would fight Arthur himself. Ever since Lady Morgan had cursed me, I had tried to avoid sparring with Arthur as much as possible; at least with anything more dangerous than staves. I had no idea how the curse would manifest itself; whether it would simply move me against my will and kill Arthur—and slaying the king in front of everyone on the day of my knighting wasn’t a very good place to start my knighthood. I only hoped that if anything happened I would somehow be able to find a way around the curse and keep from killing Arthur.

            Gawain finally finished and handed me my helmet. I sighed as I tucked it into the crook of my arm. “Well, I guess this is it.”

            “Come on,” Gawain said, giving me a slight shove in the direction of the door and we headed together to the field on horseback. The tilting would be first, which was good because it would be against a weighted target, and Elith and I had been practicing that way since we started and both of us had become masters.

            I felt a bit lonely as Gawain parted to go sit with the other knights. We were at the tourney field where the public entertainment was held, and I rode Elith up to the box where Arthur and Guinevere sat side by side, Merlin lounging close to Arthur’s chair, his watchful eyes on me. I bowed respectfully.

            “My lord,” I said. “May I fight well this day that you might consider me for a knighthood.”

            Arthur nodded. “Very good, Mordred. Begin when you are ready.”

            I turned and trotted Elith to one side of the tilt where a squire was waiting to hand me lances. I accepted one and took the starting position. I felt Elith ready under me, his muscles tensing as he chewed the bit. I took a deep breath and squeezed my knees and Elith was off in a flash, charging at the target. I smashed it dead center with the lance and we sped out of the way before the weight swung back around to knock me off Elith’s back. We made a turn at the other end of the field and charged back, hitting the target again. There was one last turn to go, and this time when I hit the target, the lance shattered and I grinned despite myself. That had been the first time I had ever shattered a lance on the practice tilt. The knights were shouting encouragement and I slowed Elith, who was rather proud of himself as well, and took off my helmet as I nodded to the knights and to the king and queen.

            I continued with several more tests, fighting with mace and shield against Bedivere and then with staves against Percival. After showing my prowess in both of those, it was finally time for the moment I had been dreading. Arthur rose from his seat as I stood on the field, ready for him. He was dressed in his own armor, shining not quite as brightly as mine for it held several battle scars as did the king who wore it.

            “You do well fighting against the other knights, Mordred; those who will be your shield brothers,” he said, issuing the challenge formally as he accepted his sword from Guinevere who held it ceremoniously across her hands. “Let us see if you can do the same against your king.”

            I stood waiting on the field as Arthur put on his helmet, my sword ready in my hand. We would not fight with shields this time; this was a test of sword on sword, and it would be brutal and merciless. Arthur would ask for no less. I licked my dry lips, glad to be wearing the helmet so that no one could read my expression.

            There was no warning when Arthur struck, he just shouted out, and leapt forward with grace and speed I had rarely seen him exhibit. I only barely blocked his sword in time, feeling like a beginner. But his sudden attack had gotten my blood pumping, and I knew what to expect for the next time. He was on offense for the first few blows, but then I delivered one that put him on defense, and we danced a deadly dance of flashing blades as I fought with every ounce of my training to not let Arthur kill me. The fight was so fierce that I had no time at all to worry about what I might do to Arthur; surely, I would never get a blow past his guard even if I wished to. But eventually, the tide began to turn. I felt a new surge of adrenaline run through me, almost unheard of after I had already fought two previous duels that were certainly no training fights. I felt giddy with the newfound energy, and swung harder and harder, realizing that I was pushing Arthur back. I heard the shouts from the crowd and Gawain crying out encouragement, on his feet, and out of the corner of my eye, I also saw Merlin, gripping the edge of the royal box, intent, I thought then, on the fight, but was soon to realize differently.

            I had almost pushed Arthur off the field and I was determined to end the fight, so I made one last desperate push, and Arthur fell backwards into the dust of the field, my sword, in its momentum, plunged downward toward his chest and a sudden panic rose hot and painful inside me as I realized I wasn’t going to stop it!

            Then it halted inches above Arthur’s chest. I gasped for breath, my whole body ridged, unmoving. The crowd was cheering me, but I felt no elation. I was sweating with fear, trying to figure out why I couldn’t move. Then my arm was wrenched to one side and my fingers forced to release the sword. As it fell with a dull thump in the dust, my body was released from whatever had held me, and I almost fell to my knees, but turned the weakness into a crouch as I reached for Arthur’s hand. He came up, pulling the helmet from his head, revealing a grin in a flushed and sweaty face. He pulled my own helmet off and gripped my shoulder.

            “You did well, Mordred, very well,” he said. “Come. We must finish the ceremony.”

            He led me over to the middle of the field again and motioned for me to kneel, which I did, though I was still dismayed and not entirely sure what had occurred. I felt the blade touching my shoulders and suddenly Arthur was telling me to rise.

            “Rise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot.”

            I got shakily to my feet and the knights cheered me again. Arthur’s hand was on my shoulder, Queen Guinevere was smiling proudly at me, Gawain was grinning and slapping all the other knights on the back, celebrating my victory. But one person was not rejoicing. Merlin was watching me with a calculating stare that filled me with dread. I suddenly realized that what had happened had been no accident and that had it not been for Merlin, I might very well have killed Arthur. I couldn’t breathe. I gasped to get air into my lungs, but they wouldn’t work. I was hyperventilating, blackness crowding my vision, and suddenly I felt myself falling, unable to stop myself.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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The Voices Beneath: Chapter Nine-- Cursed

Well, folks, this is where we really start to get into the meat of the angst in this story. Hope you enjoy!

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chapter nine

 cursed

I was on the stallion again before Gawain could even get over his astonishment. But before I spurred into action again, he found his voice.

            “Mordred, what are you doing? Stop!” he commanded.

            “I let him get away from me once,” I said, pausing only a moment. “I won’t let it happen again.” And I was away before he could offer any more protests, with only his screaming my name behind me. I knew I was alone now, for Gawain would take Guinevere back first before he would come after his foolhardy squire with the other knights. There was a moment of fear as I realized that I was now alone, for better or worse, but it was soon replaced by anger as I remembered Arthur’s still form lying on the tourney grounds and his blood that still stained my hands.

            I galloped after Lancelot, and saw him look back several times, gaging how close I was. Once again, I was gaining on him, my mount far superior, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I would catch him, and then what? I would have to fight him, and hopefully I would be victorious again.

            I never got the chance to test that though, for I was suddenly yanked backwards from my saddle by an invisible force and blacked out for a second. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, gasping for air and trying to sit up. My sword was gone, having been lost in the fall and I frantically looked around for Lancelot.

            I saw him then, picking my blade up from the ground with a grin. He strode toward me, pressing the blade into my chest to keep me on my back.

            “Not so brave now, are you, little whelp?”

            “That’s enough, Lancelot.”

            I felt my whole body go numb, and it took me a moment to realize I actually couldn’t move, and it wasn’t just my reaction to her voice that had frozen me. Morgan la Fay strode out of the woods, lowering the hood she wore over her head. She was keeping me still with a spell. I couldn’t move a muscle. “You can have him once he has done what I need him to do,” she told Lancelot who had stepped away from me with a sneer. “But he won’t be able to do anything if you’ve beaten him to the point of death.”

            “Where’s my compensation, then?” Lancelot asked, and Lady Morgan reached into her robes and tossed him a small bag that clinked like gold.

            “Now leave. I have many things to discuss with young Mordred,” she said and turned to me with a wicked smile that made her eyes roil like a stormy sea. She released me from the hold of her magic and I sagged before I hauled myself to my feet, facing her warily, waiting any moment for the pain I knew was coming.

            “Again, Mordred, a month passes and you do not send me a single letter,” she said with a sigh, a pout on her lips. “I am disappointed. After all I did for you; the years of caring for your miserable hide, and this is all the thanks I get?” She was circling me now, tracing something into the ground with the end of a stick. “I gave you one small task and you can’t even complete that.”

            I tried to move out of the circle she was drawing, knowing it wouldn’t bode well, but she gripped my heart with invisible fingers and I was forced to my knees in pain. When she released me, she was kneeling in front of me, a knife in her hand.

            “And Merlin isn’t here to protect you this time,” she said with satisfaction. “He will be concentrating on Arthur right now. As you see, even Lancelot did a better job than you and he wasn’t even destined to kill Arthur.”

            “What do you mean?” I asked, wary, and trying to fight the dread that hammered in my chest.

            “The prophecies speak of an orphan boy named Mordred who would kill Arthur Pendragon.” I blanched and locked eyes with her, horrified. Had Merlin known? Is that what he had eluded to when he said there were things I didn’t understand about the situation?

            “But even prophesies sometimes need a little push, for fate is not always what it seems,” Lady Morgan said, and I barely noticed the flash of her knife as she cut the base of her thumb, then grabbed my hand and did the same. I cringed as she pressed the wounds together, mixing our blood and then pressed her bloody hand over my heart, speaking one word in an ancient language.

            The circle she had drawn began to glow, and I felt a lurch of power go through me, her hand burning on my chest so hot, I gasped, and looked down to see if it was burning a hole through me. She spoke more words of magic, dark, black magic that, though I didn’t know the meaning of the words, chilled me to my bones. And then suddenly she snapped her head up and locked my eyes with hers and I was physically unable to look away.

            “Mordred, you are bound to me by blood now to complete the mission I have given you. You shall kill Arthur Pendragon, against your will if so be it, and he shall die by your hand.”

            “No!” I screamed past the pain in my chest that kept me rooted to the ground.

            “It shall be done,” she said finally. “His blood will be on your hands.” And then she yanked her hand away and I fell onto my side, curling into a ball and waiting for the buzzing in my head to subside, but it only seemed to get worse. I felt her boot in my ribs as she turned me onto my back and I gazed blearily up at her smirking face, hating her even more now if it were indeed possible.

            “No there’s nothing you can do about it, Mordred,” she said sweetly. “I’m afraid his doom is on your head.”

            “No,” I whispered, not having the strength for more. “Please…”

            “It’s too late for leniency,” she told me, and walked away. “I hope to see you again soon with better news, Mordred.”

            I wanted to go after her, but I had no strength left; the buzzing in my head was overcoming all my senses, and I simply slipped away without the strength to fight anymore.

***

“Mordred! Mordred, are you all right?”

            I forced my eyes open, waiting for them to focus before I recognized Gawain and Percival standing over me in the dimming light. I sat up quickly, and instantly regretted it as my head swam. Gawain put an arm around my shoulders.

            “Easy there, lad, it looks like you took a knock to the head. What happened?”

            “I—I, I think Lancelot spooked my horse and made him rear and I fell off and hit my head. He—He got away again.”

            “No matter now, Mordred,” Gawain said kindly and helped me to my feet. “Right now let’s just get you back to the castle. I was worried sick about you when you didn’t return, and Arthur demanded I go out and find you. Merlin was quite insistent as well. I haven’t seen him so unsettled before.”

            “How is he?” I asked anxiously.

            “His wound was not as bad as we thought,” Gawain said, relief obvious in his voice. “Nor do I think yours is. A good night’s rest and a warm supper will fix you right up.”

            The ride back to the castle seemed to take forever and it was nearly dark when we reached it. Percival went off to inform the others that I had been found and that Lancelot hadn’t, and Gawain took me to the castle to see Arthur.

            “He wanted to see you when you came back,” Gawain told me. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you’re tired and your head probably hurts.”

            “I’m fine,” I insisted. There was no way I was going to rest until I had seen Arthur in person.

            Arthur was resting on the couch in his solar, Merlin hovering at his side, but they both looked up as I came in with Gawain and Arthur’s tired face broke out into a relieved smile.

            “Mordred! You are safe!” He held his hand out to me and I had to force myself not to run to him. I was torn between wanting to throw myself into his arms and wanting to run away and never see him again lest I do him harm. But I settled for kneeling at his side and taking the hand he reached out to me. His head was bandaged and I could see the lumps of more under his thin shirt, binding his shoulder.

            “I am glad to see you well, my lord.”

            I felt Merlin’s eyes on me, and realized with a start that they were focused on the cut on my hand Morgan had made. I self-consciously curled the hand into a fist, and tried to smile back at my king.

            “How is the queen?” I asked.

            “She is resting; Merlin gave her a sleeping draft to calm her,” Arthur said. “You were very foolish, Mordred, but brave. I have seen the like in you several times now. It is a quality I look for in my knights.”

            “I’m sorry I let Lancelot escape again,” I told him.

            “No, he slipped through all of us, even Merlin,” he smirked up at his friend and the sorcerer snorted. “It matters not, Mordred. I find you very brave, and Guinevere thinks so as well. Everyone will after what you did today. I think it’s time you start your knightly training in earnest. You must practice for your tests, because if you can pass them, I wish to knight you early, Mordred.”

            I couldn’t believe what he was saying. All my emotions were fighting within me, and I couldn’t process the words he was speaking to me. I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t find what. “My—my lord…I…” I began, but then tears streamed down my cheeks and I rapidly brushed them away, shamed that Arthur was watching me crumble. I just couldn’t take another thing that day after all that had already happened. Thankfully Arthur saw that.

            “Gawain, he’s had enough for one day, I think it best you take him back to his room to sleep.” Gawain nodded in what I took to be relief for my sake and gently drew me up.

            “I hope you feel better, my lord,” I sniffed and Arthur smiled kindly at me.

            “As do I to you, Mordred. Sleep well, and have Gawain give you tomorrow off.”

            I couldn’t say anything else without the risk of losing my self-control and simply bowed my head and allowed Gawain to lead me out of the room. I felt Merlin’s eyes follow me until Arthur asked him something and the door closed behind us.

            Gawain helped me undress that night, much to my protests that I should be doing that for him, but he grinned and continued, patting my cheek kindly, if not gently.

            “It’s just for one night, lad. Take it easy.” He washed the dirt and blood from my face and hands and I was too tired to argue anymore, allowing him to tuck the blankets around me. I was nearly asleep by then and he blew my candle out before going to his own room.

            I woke later, screaming. The dream had been so real. I had been facing off against Arthur and before I could stop myself, my sword plunged into his chest. But it wasn’t that that hurt the most. It was the look of sadness and utter betrayal on his face that tore my heart to pieces. I knelt and tried to keep his blood from flowing out, but it was too late.

            I couldn’t seem to stop screaming and in a moment, Gawain was at my bedside, lighting a candle and gripping my shoulder tightly.

            “Mordred, lad, what’s wrong, are you all right?”

            I shook my head, starting to shake, and then the screams turned into sobs as I curled into a ball, my face in my hands.

            I felt Gawain sit on the side of my cot and his big arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his warm embrace. I collapsed against him and continued to sob, unable to stop myself. He held me tightly and stroked my hair, trying to soothe me.

            “It’s all right, little brother, everything will be all right,” he murmured. “Just a nightmare induced from your knock on the head. Nothing more. I’ve got you.”

            I wanted to believe him, but I knew that wasn’t true. The scar on my palm burned and I clenched my fist tightly, as if afraid the world would know about it and see if for what it was as I knew Merlin had. What I had seen in my dream was the future, and I didn’t know what I was going to do about it, only that I could not let it happen. I would not.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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