chapter twelve
inescapable
I tried to forget. I tried to stop myself from thinking,
dreaming of the scenario where Merlin hadn’t stopped my blade and I had plunged
it into Arthur’s heart. I began to take sleeping drafts just to get to sleep,
unable to do so for my worry, but sometimes even taking the drafts didn’t keep
the dreams away and they were so much worse than anything I could imagine in my
waking moments, that I almost wished to forgo sleeping all together until I
literally dropped with exhaustion.
And for a
few months, I thought I had escaped it. The dreams got fewer, I was able to
sleep, and because of that I felt better. Arthur was busy, I was busy with
keeping up my knightly training and hoping to work up to a place at the Round
Table. I began to look for opportunities to better myself, quests that needed
to be done, but nothing came up at the time, and I began to fall into the
doldrums again. My companions thought it because of my lack of occupation and
happily beat me in the lists and took me out onto the town at night, but they
couldn’t know what really plagued me, and I could not tell them. Merlin was
still the only one I could talk to on the matter, and he had been researching
for weeks, sometimes locked in his rooms for days with neither sleep or food as
he delved into ancient tomes and practiced magics that had been long lost to
the world for centuries. But still, he found nothing.
But before
long, I was able to push the things to the back of my mind a bit, though the
curse was still a dull ache of anguish plaguing me, it was no longer the gaping
sore it had been after my knighting ceremony. Until one day on the training
field where it was opened all over again.
Arthur had
been so busy with new treaties and such with other kingdoms for the past week
that he was going stir-crazy as he normally did when forced to work indoors for
long periods, and so one day he strode out onto the lists to challenge his
knights, thrashing them all soundly to work out his frustration. I tried to
keep up with my duel with Bedivere, but Arthur called me over almost instantly.
“Mordred,
you and I have not dueled since your ceremony. Let us see if I can best you
this time and win back some of my dignity.”
I grinned,
striding over to join him, but my heart was ice and my legs were jelly. I
glanced around for Merlin, hoping that he was somehow on the sidelines watching
as he usually was. But that day he was holed up in his rooms researching to
break the very curse that might jump upon me unaware any second. Please, I prayed silently. Let this not be the day I kill Arthur.
Please.
We took our positions and as
usual, Arthur wasted no time in attacking. I blocked quickly. I was using the
sword he had given me. It was my prized possession, for what boy does not love
a gift, especially one that signified manhood, from the man he loves and honors
most? Even if that man is not his father by blood. It had not left my side
since the night he had given it to me, and I vowed that I would never let
Arthur’s sword taste his own blood. I could not allow that to happen.
We traded
fierce, heavy blows. I was already wearied from my practice of the morning, and
I felt myself flagging early on in the fight. I was glad of it. I did not feel
the odd surge of adrenaline that I had during the last fight right before I
felt the sudden urge to stab Arthur.
I knew I
was nearly finished, and was preparing to yield, when my sword nearly took on a
life of it’s own. I felt a force driving at my arm, and it took all the
willpower I had to control it. It was determined to head toward Arthur’s chest.
I panicked, blocking the blow Arthur threw at me clumsily, and hauling back on
the sword with huge effort, to keep it from stabbing him. As Arthur swung
forward again, I did the only thing I could think of, foolish though it was,
and dropped my sword, having to nearly wrench my fingers from the hilt, but I
saw the blade fall, and felt one moment of relieved euphoria before I felt a
burn across my ribs, and suddenly Arthur was throwing his sword down as well,
stepping forward the two paces between us to grab me by the shoulders and I
threatened to fall to the ground.
“Mordred!
I’m so sorry, I did not realize you had lost the grip on your sword. I must
have gotten carried away with my blow. Are you well?”
I looked
dazedly as the bloody spot spreading across my left side, and the pain began to
register slowly. Arthur lowered me down into a sitting position as Gawain and
the others hurried over. The big, blond man crouched down next to me and
started to unbuckle my belt to see to my wound.
“After all
the training I gave you, Mordred,” Gawain said with mock disappointment. “You
go and drop your sword.”
“My hand
sweated on the hilt,” I said, wincing slightly as Gawain lifted my tunic to
reveal to cut across my ribs. It was painful, but not deep and he bound a
handkerchief in place to help stop the bleeding. “I should have worn my
gloves.”
“Yes, you
should have,” Arthur admonished as he bent over Gawain, looking as if he wanted
to take over the job himself, but probably decided it was best to keep his
distance.
“Come on,”
Gawain said, hauling me to my feet. “Let’s get you back. I don’t want to see
you on the lists for at least three days.”
I had no
problem with that, though I would miss the exercise, and the fact that it was
the one thing that helped to take my mind away from my troubles. Now the fear
had renewed, and I once again felt myself spiraling down into the depths of
despair.
When Gawain
had left me after making sure I was taken care of, Arthur sought me out, the
worry he had hid in front of the others clearly on his face.
“Are you
all right, Mordred?” he asked, putting a hand on my face, and making me wish to
sink into his arms and bury my face in his shoulder, though I feared what I
might do to him against my will in such close proximities. So I pulled away,
pretending to have the need to sit down, and it wasn’t a complete lie, because
the wound did smart.
“I never
meant to hurt you,” Arthur added with a pained expression.
“It was an
accident, my lord,” I replied. “We’re always giving each other knocks.”
He seemed to
relax a bit but smiled sadly. “You know you may call me father when we’re
alone,” he said softly.
I nodded.
“If you wish, my lord.”
He looked
pained, but turned to leave, albeit a bit reluctantly. “I will leave you to
your rest. Next time I shall be more careful. As should you.”
“Yes, I
should,” I said, but not in reference to my wound.
***
I didn’t tell Merlin about this incident, I didn’t see him
again for three days, and that was only a fleeting glance as he crossed the
yards with some errand in town, likely to pick up something for one of his
spells. I was going to practice my jousting that day. My side still wasn’t
healed quite enough for the full body movements of swordplay, but I knew I
could handle a bit of tilting and Elith needed to keep his practice up as well
as I did. I saddled him up and rode out to the tiltyard, with my light armor
and shield in case one of the other knights wanted to practice against me.
The
challenge I received was not a welcome one, however.
I’ll admit
shamefully, that my heart sunk where it had once rose, to see Arthur among his
knights, training in a sort of impromptu melee. I tried to make my way over to
the tilt unnoticed, but Arthur caught sight of me and rode his horse over to me
with a greeting and a smile on his face.
“To the
tilt, Mordred?” he inquired needlessly.
“Yes, my
lord,” I replied politely, though I was frantically willing him mentally not to
suggest what I knew he was about to.
“How much
have you practiced against another live opponent?” he asked.
“Only a
bit,” I replied truthfully. I refused to lie any more than necessity called
for.
“How about
I help you then?” Arthur asked.
“It’s not
necessary, my lord,” I tried to protest, but he waved me aside.
“Nonsense,
I wish to help you in your training as much as possible. Come then, I will show
you some technique.”
I followed
reluctantly, vaguely hoping the curse only worked with swords, but highly
doubting it.
I donned my
helmet and Arthur did the same as a squire equipped us with lances. They were
practice ones, thankfully, made of wood that would bend and shatter before it
did too much damage to anyone. It would still break bones though, and I knew a
broken rib could kill easily enough if forced into a lung…
We were on
opposite sides of the tilt and Arthur’s horse was prancing in his spot, eager
for the sport. Elith was ready as well, his muscles tensing under me. A squire
standing by waved a handkerchief for us to go and our horses sped off so fast
we had to rein them in. For a moment, my having to manage Elith made my lance
drop a bit out of the way, and I was going to have to fight to bring it up in
time, when it seemed to do so of its own accord, and I realized a split second
soon enough what was happening. I loosed my grip on it, just as difficultly as
before, and twisted myself into another position in a desperate measure to make
sure it did not hit it’s mark. Arthur’s did, however and the lance slammed into
my shield that was thankfully raised and I was thrown from my saddle, flat on
my back, blacking out for a moment and losing all my breath.
When I came
to, gasping, Arthur was swinging off his stallion and striding toward me,
tearing his helmet off his head. I hauled myself into a sitting position, my
left arm hanging limp and numb as I fought to pull off my helmet with my right.
Arthur’s face was red with anger, this time, and it scared me, for I had never
seen him direct anger so fierce toward me. I almost shrunk back.
“What were
you thinking?” he shouted. “Were you letting me win? If you were not good
enough against an opponent, you should have let me know—I could have killed
you!”
I struggled
to my feet, but only made it to one knee. “I—I didn’t want to hurt you, my
lord.” I said.
He reached
down and drug me to my feet. I gritted my teeth to keep from gasping in pain.
Something was wrong with my left shoulder, but I was not about to show my hurts
to Arthur.
“No one, no
man among us, is afraid to lower his lance. You would not have hurt me,
Mordred. I made you a knight, now act like one. I don’t ever want to see you
give quarter again in practice, least of all to me. That is the greatest insult
one man can offer another. Do you not believe in my abilities? Do you think I
am a coward?”
I was still
young enough that his words caused my eyes to prick with tears and I turned
aside, ashamed, hoping they wouldn’t fall. My heart ached worse than my
shoulder. A hand grabbed my chin and hauled my face around so that I was
looking into the cold blue eyes that I had never seen flash like that.
“Do you
understand me, Mordred?” Arthur demanded.
“Y-yes, my
lord. I apologize. I meant no offense.” As I looked into his eyes, I saw what
hid under the anger: concern. So, it was not anger of the dishonor I had
apparently wrought upon him, but that bourn of fear…of what? Of what he might have done to me with my
guard down, I realized with a start and a new warmth for my surrogate
father spreading through my heart. It was true, if my shield had been only a
few inches lower, Arthur’s lance would have gone right over it and broken my
neck. But I could not let him see I understood. As respectfully as I could, I
pulled away from his grasp and bent to retrieve my helmet, taking up Elith’s
reins, as he stood at my shoulder, having come to me as soon as I had fallen.
“If you will excuse me, my lord.” I turned before he could force me to stay. I
half expected him to come after me, reprimanding, for I was, after all, turning
my back to my king, and in his mind, my father, but I cared not. I had to get
away, and I went in a stumbling run, dropping Elith at the stables under the
care of one of the boys there before I rushed into the castle, still in my
armor to see the one person I hoped could help me.
I had never
been to Merlin’s chambers before, but I knew where they were. He occupied the
east tower, and I headed there, ignoring the strange looks I got from the maids
and servants I passed. When I reached the tower door, I knocked, my shoulder
aching, too close to tears for my liking. I feared for a moment that Merlin might
still be in town, but he answered the door in a minute or two, a glower on his
face before he saw me. I must have looked a fright, for within the matter of
only a few seconds, he had me inside, sitting on a small couch and started to
take off my armor. I said nothing as he did so, my throat ached too much to say
anything without it turning into a sob. He piled my armor to one side then put
a hand on my left shoulder. I cried out despite myself.
“Your
shoulder’s dislocated,” he said. I opened my mouth to reply, but he gave me no
time, wrenching it back into place suddenly and I screamed without really
realizing I had done so. He pressed me back on the couch and left for a moment,
coming back with a steaming cup of something.
“Drink,” he
said. I did so, realizing it was mulled wine with some herbs put in. It helped
the pain and steadied my nerves a bit, but I was in too bad of a place mentally
for it to help everything.
“I’m
leaving,” I told him honestly. “I can’t stay here any more. Arthur will not let
me avoid him, and it would kill me to do so. I have already been horribly
disrespectful to him, and I can’t stand to be so again even if it were to save
his life. It would be best for me just to go.”
“Don’t talk
that way, Mordred,” Merlin said sternly, going to a table where he worked with
grinding up herbs. I noticed the whole room was hung with herbs and plants with
bubbling pots and an earthy smell permeating the atmosphere. It was rather
pleasant and oddly calmed my nerves a bit. Perhaps that was his intention.
“If you
leave, you will have given up,” he said.
“I have
given up,” I replied. “If I stay, my only option is to kill myself or kill
Arthur, for there is no other way out of it. I fear my willpower will only go
so far to stopping the curse. It seems to get stronger each time. Eventually I
will kill him, it’s inevitable. Unless you can find a way to stop it I have to
leave.”
“I have
tried to find an antidote, a reversal,” Merlin said, sounding tired, exhausted,
and for the first time, I realized that he truly looked it. When was the last
time he had slept? I could see his tower from my rooms and a light always
seemed to be on through the night. He didn’t look like he had eaten much
either, for he had lost weight, starting to look stretched very thin, where
before he had been lithe. His dark hair was uncombed, and his chin sported
several days worth of beard where before he had always gone clean shaven. “I
only have one solution, and that is you yourself, Mordred. You are the only one
who can undo the curse.”
“By doing
it,” I replied grimly.
“No,”
Merlin said, shaking his head. “The curse was put upon you because of your will
to refuse. You must use that will to break the curse. Remember when I told you
that love and hate are the two most powerful things in this world? You must
combine your love for Arthur and your hate for Morgan la Fay to break the
curse.”
“I have
tried,” I said. “I have resisted it, but it has not gone away.” I buried my
face in my hands, feeling the tears come. I was so exhausted, and I hurt both
of mind and body. Merlin came over and sat beside me, putting a hand kindly on
my knee.
“You are
stronger than you think, Mordred,” he said. “I know you can do this. Perhaps it
is just not the time for the curse to break. But I have no doubt you will have
the will and the power to do so when the time comes and it is most important.
You have not yet seen your darkest hour, Mordred. We never know what we will be
capable of when faced with that.” There was a faraway look in his face, and I
knew Merlin had seen many dark hours, and even himself, world-weary as he was,
wondered how much worse things could get.
“I have
seen so much darkness already,” I whispered. “How much more can I really take?”
He turned
sad eyes onto me. “I wish that I could look into the future with any clarity to
tell you what may come to pass. But your destiny is tangled so in a web that
had been woven by everyone but yourself that it is impossible to distinguish
one possible future from another. But I do know that it is tangled with
Arthur’s and Morgan’s so tightly there is no doubt you will all play a part in
the end of things. Whether you are to kill Arthur or save his life, it is not
yet to be seen, but I believe that you will do what is right, and triumph over
evil in the end.”
He was
trying to reassure me, but I was not feeling reassured. He had not been the one
to stand over Arthur with a sword ready to plunge into his chest, knowing what
was about to happen, and yet unable to stop it. If he truly loved Arthur as a
blood brother as he said he did, then surely he must understand in part why I
wished to run. Whether it would fix things in the end, it would give me time to
think. Time to decide something else. Maybe I would find Lady Morgan and force
her to release me from the curse. Either that or she would kill me. But I knew
I could not stay in Camelot another day, of that I was certain.
Merlin
perhaps saw something desperate in my eyes, for he gave me a long look as if to
tell me not to try anything stupid, but I knew what I was going to do, and it
turned out to be stupid and childish indeed, but I did it anyway, determined I
knew that I was doing the right thing. And so that night, under cover of
darkness, when I knew everyone was asleep, I slipped out of the stable with
Elith and we rode away into the darkness.
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