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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.
I look forward to the next installment!
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I'm posting it later tonight, thank you! =)
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