The Passing of Uther

Chapter Five

If Sir Bors was aware of the temperature drop in the room, he did a good job of not showing it. The knights stared at him in mingled disbelief, disapproval and disappointment, the table still glowing despite its extensive use over the months that had followed. Arthur sat, elbow on armrest of his chair, chin in hand, listening intently to the report from Lyonesse but without much indication he was liking what he was hearing. "And so," concluded Sir Bors, "I think it's something we have to consider."

"Do you?" said Arthur, not moving, but voice indicating extreme doubt.

Slightly testily, Sir Bors said "Sire, King Meloynas has received his payments promptly and in full from Vortigern. I believe Vortigern is in good faith."

Arthur blinked, very slowly, still immobile. "You," he said, in a voice to freeze a summer sea, "you...believe...Vortigern...is in...good faith?" Had Arthur branded 'simpleton' on Sir Bors' forehead, he couldn't have made his point any clearer.

Sir Bors was bristling. "I do," he said, defiantly. "He has kept his part of the deal with King Meloynas, conscientiously."

Arthur stretched, with a sigh, and said casually, "And King Meloynas has kept his side of the bargain too, of course."

"Well, yes. As is honourable." Sir Bors delivered the final statement as though he believed it were the culmination of his entire argument. Sir Leon almost dropped his goblet, and Sir Kay's jaw nearly fell through the tabletop. All the knights' eyes swivelled to Arthur, who had finished stretching, and was now lying back in his chair, hands across his chest.

"Indeed," he said. "Honourable. Yes. Depends on your view of honour, of course." He rose from his chair and strolled towards one of the huge windows which flooded the hall with light. Merlin, from his seat, watched him move. Everyone around the table knew the explosion was coming. Only Sir Bors seemed entirely ignorant of it.

"You often talk of honour, sire," said Sir Bors. "I believe you can deal with King Meloynas and Vortigern while maintaining your honour." He rocked back on his heels, smugly looking around the table.

"Bors," said Arthur, turning around from the window, red hot anger on his cheeks. "Bors, I don't think you have the least notion of my honour. King Meloynas is in the pay of the Saxons. He is taking money from them in return for letting them raid his country at will, and attack everyone else's from Lyonesse territory. He allows them to bleed his population dry of both blood and money. He makes them fight against their own people. This is your idea of honour? It is not – " he was beginning to shout. Merlin glanced at him, and he took a deep breath. He spoke again, without shouting, but with extreme anger. "It is not my idea of honour. Astolat has asked me to defend them from the Saxons in Lyonesse, and I will defend them. And I will do so with honour. And if Sir Tristan was here, he would say the same thing – he sees his father's foolishness in this business, his honour is outraged by it. I am frankly appalled yours isn't."

"You asked me to visit Lyonesse and talk to Meloynas and Vortigern," said Sir Bors, steadily, "to reach a compromise. They offered me – you – a good deal, Sire. I consider my honour fulfilled. It will bring riches to Camelot."

"I didn't send you compromise my honour, Bors. I'm scandalised. You can go back immediately and tell them Camelot will not even entertain the idea of taking Saxon money, or Lyonesse money, and if they go near Astolat again they can expect to come against Camelot. Is that clear? Now get out of my sight." He sat back at the table and looked at the other knights. "Next?"

Sir Bors gathered his things, bright red under the stare of the knights and his king. He cleared his throat. "I am sorry for the offence, sire, I shall of course convey your reply. But...sire, the Saxon threat grows daily. Their numbers are huge. I did not think it dishonourable to consider other options."

Arthur raised his eyes to Sir Bors'. "Out."

After the door had shut behind him, there was a brief pause. Then Sir Leon said "Sire..."

"Leon?" he said sharply.

"Sire. Sir Bors is wrong about many things, but he isn't wrong about the growing Saxon threat. With or without a foothold in Lyonesse, the raids are getting worse. Mercia is struggling even with our help, and much of the coast of Northumbria barely recovers from one raid before experiencing another."

"It's true," chipped in Sir Lancelot, catching Leon's silent plea for support. "We do our best, but the people on the coast are suffering gravely. Their main dependency is fishing, and many of them are scared to leave the harbours now."

"I know." Arthur was looking down at a document. The knights looked at each other.

"Open battle is only a matter of time," said Leon, finally.

"I know."

Leon stared at the king's bent head for a moment. "Do you think we can win?" he asked.

Arthur glanced up from the parchment he had been examining, and looked around the table. "We have to," he answered. "And because of that, we will. Right, Ywain –please tell me that ridiculous land dispute in the lower town has been sorted out? And does anyone know where Tristan actually is? Hasn't he been in Brittany for about eighty years?"

Ywain began talking about the lower town.

****

It was after the Round Table meeting that Merlin heard it, as they walked back to the king's chambers. "Emrys." He stopped dead in his tracks, Arthur nearly crashing into him.

"Do you want to watch out?" he said, giving him an irritable shove. Council meetings always made him tired and moody. They were always very bleak, and King Arthur had never really got the hang of bureaucracy.

Merlin looked around wildly. It was a man's voice, not Mordred or the Dragon, the two people that called him that. He hadn't been called since the Dragon had left. "Emrys," it said again.

"Merlin," Arthur eyed him suspiciously. "What's going on? You are standing right in my way. You can you take one step either way so I can get on? Are you drunk?"

Merlin stepped one way, absently.

"Are you all right?"

"Completely fine," Merlin reassured him, too quickly. Arthur looked at him even more suspiciously, but left him to it.

"Emrys, please come to the lake."

"Who are you?" he thought, trying to project. He wasn't completely sure how to do it.

"A friend," said the voice, "come after nightfall" and then Merlin knew it was gone.

****

Sneaking out of the castle was something Merlin hadn't done for years, and he felt strangely nostalgic about it, creeping down the corridors, watching for guards' shadows, holding his breath. He was less nostalgic about the tramping through wet undergrowth in cold autumn night air, but he felt vaguely young and energised again as he arrived by the lakeshore. The water glistened in the moonlight, reflecting the clouds as they moved quickly across the dark sky. There were two figures waiting for him, sitting on a log, a man and a woman. Druids.

Merlin walked towards them, tentatively. They looked completely unsurprised by his arrival.

"Hello, Emrys," said the man. "It is an honour to meet you. Will you sit?"

Merlin looked at the log the man was offering, and looked back. "Who are you?"

"Friends," said the man again, with another congenial wave towards the log.

"How do I know that?"

The man smiled, a friendly if slightly exasperated smile. "You know that for the same reason you came. Because there is no way the Lady of the Lake would allow us to meet here if we weren't your friends, would she?"

No, she wouldn't. Merlin looked back across the lake. "I thought she would be here," he said, unable to hide the disappointment from his voice.

"She isn't coming," admitted the man, "but it is she who sent me to you, as much as she brought you to me. "Won't you sit, Emrys?"

Merlin sat. "Don't call me that. My name is Merlin."

"Well, mine is Blaise. And this is Ganieda." Blaise sat, too, and for a moment the three of them just looked at each other.

"You know, you can come to Camelot now. Magic is legal again."

"Yes, I know," said Blaise, rubbing his hands together. "But it is a beautiful evening, don't you think? To sit by a lake?" He stopped smiling. "We can't come to Camelot, Merlin. It's full of Mordred's spies."

Merlin looked at the kind man, and the slightly nervous younger woman. "You're hiding from Mordred?"

"Goodness, no," said Blaise. "Well, not generally. We work with Mordred. We are part of his camp."

Merlin got up so fast he practically fell over his log.

"Blaise!" The girl got up, and held up a hand. "Blaise, you've scared him with your dramatics. Please sit. He's being dramatic. We don't support Mordred, but it is true we are part of his camp. Please sit. The Lady of the Lake sent us to his camp. The Old Religion is worried."

Merlin sat, gingerly. "Everyone's worried."

"Yes. When the Isle of the Blessed is worried about Camelot, it must be dark days indeed," agreed Blaise, thoughtfully. "The fact is, Mordred is massively dangerous. It isn't exactly his power that's the problem. It's the way he uses it. He's causing great disruption to the natural balance of things. They sent us to work with him, to try and bring him down from the inside. We are attempting to persuade his druid followers of the extent of the problem."

"But he sent us to Morgana and Morgause," concluded Ganieda. "They're camped not far from here, at Val sans Retour. He felt they needed our back-up more than he did. He's right," she added, slightly disdainfully.

"You know Morgana?"

"We do," said Blaise, sadly. "It's a terrible tragedy, her story, Merlin. She is in well over her head with Mordred and Morgause. She thought she was enacting a petty vengeance against Uther for his persecution of sorcerers. Instead she's found herself bringing destruction and anarchy on Albion for the personal advancement of a crazed boy. There are many like her in Mordred's movement. People thought Mordred would save the Old Religion. Instead he's destroying it along with everything else. Chaos is coming, Merlin. I think you knew that already."

Merlin nodded, numbly. "We have to stop him."

"Yes," agreed Blaise. "That's what we are working on. Arthur is a fine soldier, Merlin, and he can deal with every aspect of this situation apart from the problem of magic. We wanted to meet you. Do we have a friend in Camelot?" he eyed Merlin. "Will you come to our camps when we ask you to? Will you talk to the people? They will trust you. And you mustn't tell Arthur yet. He won't trust the druids, and nor should he, at the moment. Not until we have done our work. I don't mean speaking to Morgana or Morgause," he added, quickly. "Mordred wants to meet you and Arthur together in battle with the Saxons. He can't destroy you independently. He has to do it together, if he can. You are two –"

"Sides of the same coin, yes." He rubbed his forehead. "You have a friend in Camelot. I have to protect Arthur from him."

"Thank you." Blaise looked across the water, and seemed to have an internal conversation with himself, before continuing. "You know, Merlin. It isn't your responsibility to save Arthur. Your fate is to help him create Albion. But it isn't your fate to save him every time. I want you to remember that, one day. It is Arthur's destiny to create a good and powerful realm. It isn't his destiny to live forever. Or even necessarily to live to enjoy it for long."

Merlin was looking at the shingle shore, the stones pale in the moonlight. He didn't look at either Ganieda or Blaise. "The time to cast away Excalibur..." he said, swallowing, "is far off, though."

"Oh yes, yes, far off," Blaise said, blowing on his fingers. "It was just a point of information."

Merlin held his gaze steady. "How far off?" he asked, hating the vulnerability in his tone.

They both stood, and Blaise rested a hand on his shoulder. "Far enough. But Mordred is clever. He wants to weaken the king before he meets him in battle. Look to the Queen, Merlin. Arthur has two weaknesses – you and her. Mordred cannot get to you without taking on him too. But he can get to her. We must go before we are missed. But we'll speak again."

"Goodbye," said Ganieda, with a kind, shy smile, and the two began walking away.

Merlin stared contemplatively into the lake for a few minutes, waiting, and then, when she didn't come, he got up to leave.

*****

There was no nostalgia about the sneaking back into the castle. His trepidation mounted as every familiar landmark indicated his approach there. He checked the great hall – Arthur was still there, talking to Sir Geraint about the Cornish marches. Arthur barely seemed to sleep these days. His responsibilities stretched across miles as people asked for help, advice, any sort of moral support, from the Round Table. He had to think about everything from the politics of Orkney to the food supply in Gwynedd, as well as Camelot's economy and the problems with draining bogs in Northumbria. He looked up as Merlin opened the door. "Merlin? Why aren't you in bed?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Merlin, looking around the room. Sir Geraint, Leon, Gawain, Ywain, Agravayne, Kay. That was all. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and left, the words ringing in his head, which suddenly seemed cavernous. He climbed the stairs, barely feeling the wall under his touch, and walked down the corridor, he felt impelled by a force external to himself, dragging him almost against his will. The dread he felt was so overpowering he could concentrate only on the final aim, everything else was lost in his periphery vision. How far off? His skin crawled. Surely it hadn't even really begun yet. Arthur wasn't forming a realm yet; he was trying to hold other people's realms together with both hands. Surely this wasn't Albion. He hadn't even begun. How far off?

He opened Arthur's door, hand shaking, and found the rooms empty, as he knew he would. Arthur would have told her to sleep in her private chambers, so he wouldn't wake her if and when he came to bed so late. He could practically hear the conversation. He carried on walking, still feeling as though moving on air under some magical volition, and knocked on the Queen's chambers. No answer. He knocked louder. He tried the door. It was locked. He wanted to scream, he thought his chest would burst from the pressure. He knocked again. "Gwen," he said, loudly, deliberately. "Gwen."

Finally she opened the door, pulling a gown over her nightdress, she was scared, and as he pushed the door, he saw, as he always knew he would, Lancelot, standing in the corner, getting ready to defend himself.

This was how it would end, he thought, dully, as Gwen slammed the door behind him and began gabbering, and Lancelot rushed forwards, talking, and they both dragged him to a chair. This was how it would end. Not decided in battle, or for noble causes, but for this. Whatever happened now, on battlefields or around Round Tables, and whatever would be recorded in histories and told by diplomats in royal courts across the world, however the coming events occurred, almost didn't matter. Whatever happened now, Mordred would have won, and Arthur would have lost, and all over this.