[Fic] The Cupbearers - for swatkat24
Title: The Cupbearers
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: swatkat24
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Morgana, Morgause, Gwen, Elyan, Merlin, Arthur; Elena
Word Count: 4750
Summary: The story of the Grail Quest is an old one, and mostly wrong.
Warning(s): Spoilers through 3x07, and because I've been jossed big time, you could consider there to be spoilers through 3x12. Includes scenes that could be triggery for those with a fear of drowning.
Notes: Dearest Swatkat, I hope you enjoy this story, even though it's a mostly Gen version if your favorite pairings and does a real blender on your prompts. I added Elyan for extra sibling yumminess; hope this is okay. :) This story goes AU after 3x07 and takes most of its characterizations from S2 rather than S3. Beta'd at the last minute in a tearing hurry by an anonymous and wonderful person who has my undying love forever.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
"Geoffrey? Oh my heart, you scared me half to death, child!
"Sh, sh, no, it's alright. Bad dreams? Hush now, Auntie Elena will scare them away. Here, climb into my bed, luv. I'll sit with you. Would you like a story? I sing like a frog, but I can tell you any story you want to hear. Your great grandfather was a storyteller, did you know? Or, well, he liked books well enough to be one.
"Oh, I think you must have heard that from Bors. He tangles things up when he's in his cups. Would you like to hear the real story, or as much of it as I can remember? The fantastical cities of the Romans, the secrets of the Isle of the Blessed, swordfights and magic, storms and wild rides through barbarian lands?
"I thought so. See that tapestry on the wall, the one with the cup in the middle? All around the edges, those little pictures of people - I was blessed to call some of them my friends. They didn't tell me all the pieces, all the scenes there, but I know that one with the bare-headed woman leaning over into the well, scooping up a ribbon. That walled city with the domes - that's Constantinople. There's the wolf in the forest. The hooded woman. The rain of arrows. The door into winter. The storm-tossed boat. The single golden eye. Oh, and if you look right up at the left-hand corner, where two women sit behind a fire? I know that one, too."
***
Morgana poked the fire again, watching it blaze up suddenly and die back down. Tiny sparks spun into the air, drifted, and went dark. Behind her, a foot scuffed the ground lightly. She didn't turn.
"I burned the pigeon again," she informed the evening shadows.
One shadow laughed softly and slipped into the light. "I've had worse," said Morgause.
In her left arm she carried a bundle of firewood, rough and strange against the smooth red of her dress. She held her right arm awkwardly, even after all these weeks. The bone had knit, but the sinews still twisted in an awkward way. Whenever Morgana asked to help her heal it, Morgause waved her off. It will heal itself, she said each time. Save your energy for more important things.
Like burning the pigeon, Morgana thought.
***
"Why do I feel like we're going to regret this?" Elyan shifted in the saddle, sore and stiff. The horse was tired and slogging with Gwen and himself riding double, and he couldn't find a comfortable seat no matter how he squirmed.
Gwen didn't reply. She hadn't spoken much since she brought the note to him early this morning, the note in Lady Morgana's handwriting that said, "Don't follow me."
He'd bartered most of his worldly possessions for this horse and tack, and the rest were stuffed into the saddlebags awkwardly pressed between their legs. An old gelding, a worn saddle, and here they were, jostling down the rutted road, chasing their shadows as the sun set behind them.
The things a guy would do for his sister.
***
Morgana woke gasping, jerking to a sitting position and clutching her chest. For a moment, the moon and dark trees spun above her, dizzying. A hand landed on her arm, and everything snapped into place.
"Sister," Morgause whispered, "what is it?"
Words, words were alien. Existence was pictures, jumbled together, grinding like corn in the millstone. Only three parts stood out: Gwen, bent over a pool of water with her hands plunged inside, the graal of Nimueh resting cold and hard in Morgana's fist, and Morgause herself, red dress and hair fluttering as she fell backward, fell and fell forever, an arrow sticking up sharp and wrong from her belly.
Morgana shook her head, eyes burning. After a moment, Morgause sighed and simply gathered her up, tucking Morgana's head against her shoulder.
"Never mind," she soothed. "Just let it go, my little one."
On her wrist, Morgana felt the bracelet buzz softly like a gathering of bees, or like the loosened skin of a drum between one strike and the next.
***
"We've lost a day already," Arthur growled, and that was that as far as stopping was concerned. "We'll pause just long enough to water the horses and check the trail, and that's it."
Merlin sighed audibly behind him. Arthur pretended not to hear.
Beneath them, the hooves of their horses kicked up falling leaves, red and gold and deep purple. The colors of royalty, the colors of magic and blood. Arthur's gloved fists clenched on the reins and he drove his horse forward, faster, faster.
***
"Gwen, wait!"
Damn her, Elyan thought, irritated beyond belief. Here he was, dragging the horse behind him, and she was haring off the road and into the brush, straight through a thicket that somehow spared her but scratched at him fiercely.
"Gwen!"
Her red cloak flashed in the distance and disappeared over a ridge. Gathering himself, Elyan bent his knees and charged uphill, one arm lifted to protect his face from the slapping branches. He cursed, stumbling. His legs burned. The horse shied and pulled him backwards, nearly toppling him with the force.
Gwen cried out.
In a flash he dropped the reins and barreled over the hill, legs pumping, chest heaving for breath. His eyes sought red and fixed on it.
In a hollow below him, Gwen stood stock still, unmoving. Her cloak billowed out behind her in some strange, evening wind. On the opposite end of the hollow, she was perfectly mirrored by a woman in an identical cloak of forest green. The two women stood facing each other, unmoving but for the shimmer of fabric that hid their bodies.
Morgana, Gwen's lips moved silently. The Lady Morgana stared blankly back at her, face impassive.
Aw, hell, Elyan thought, and skidded down the hillside to stand by his sister.
***
They sat in silence around the campfire. Or rather, Morgana sat choking on any words she might have said, nauseated and angry. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Gwen sitting, eyes flickering to her, to Morgause, down to her own twisting hands. Gwen's brother hovered behind her, an unspoken threat in the set of his shoulders. Balancing him, Morgause shifted about the edges of the camp, never quite in the light, never quite still.
"I told you not to follow me," Morgana said quietly.
Gwen's head jerked up, curls bouncing. "I thought you might be in danger." Her eyes drifted to Morgause, then flicked down again.
"I think I can decide that for myself."
Gwen's shoulders set, and for a moment Morgana thought she might actually argue, but then a soft sigh escaped her and she stood, hands limp by her sides. She moved away, and her brother followed.
Morgana felt an unhappy tug, watching Gwen's back as she moved away through the trees, in the direction of their horse. For a moment, she thought about calling out, taking it back, but what would that accomplish? Indecision squeezed her throat.
Gwen stopped.
Expecting her to turn, Morgana tightened her belly and blanked her face, but Gwen merely reached down and picked up a stick from the ground, then another, until she had an armful of wood.
Within a few minutes, there was a second campfire burning a stone's throw from their own. Gwen and her brother huddled together, talking quietly and cooking dinner for themselves. Morgana closed her eyes and sighed.
"This is dangerous," Morgause murmured, coming to sit by her.
Morgana leaned her head on her sister's shoulder. "I know."
***
Elyan lay curled in thin blankets, shivering on the ground. On the other side of the fire, he could hear Gwen do the same. Sound carried in the woods, echoing the whispers behind him. He knew the first voice, and it made his skin crawl with the memory. Her.
"We have to get rid of them."
A sigh. "Even if we get up now, Gwen will just follow us."
"Then we must do something more effective."
Silence.
"If you're still attached to the girl, we can simply disappear."
More silence, then a reply in a voice thin as faint wind through the trees, cold and aloof as the girl he remembered first arriving in Camelot in full panoply over a dozen years ago, her eyes haunted and her spine formed of pure iron. The voice that used to order his sister around in one breath and beg her opinion in the next.
"I dreamed her. With us."
The voices stilled and did not return, though he lay awake for hours more. Gwennie, what have we got ourselves into?
***
A scuff in the leaves here, a hoofprint further on, and branches bent forward up the ridge. They had definitely come this way. Arthur bent over, eyes nearly to the ground, then led his horse further up the slope. The torch in his hand sputtered and spat for a moment before steadying out once more. Beyond the smell of burning oil and cloth, he could catch a faint whiff of the sea.
"So," Merlin began behind him, voice trying for casual. Arthur closed his eyes in a silent plea for patience.
"So I was thinking, it looks like they might be taking the main road east." Merlin stumbled, his foot coming down firmly on a branch, cracking it with a sharp echo. All game within half a league startled and vanished. Arthur twitched.
Merlin continued, oblivious. "You know, the road? The one we could be riding on? And oh, do you think they might be considering stopping for the night? People do that sometimes, you know."
"Merlin, shut up," Arthur growled, reining in his temper with both hands and gritted teeth.
For once, Merlin did.
***
The next morning, Elyan and Gwen were sat in the prow of a small fishing boat, crossing the water on the strength of the Lady Morgause's gold and the quiet indifference of Lady Morgana, who still seemed not to care that they were tagging along, unwanted but apparently not worthy of argument. She sat like a lady of legend, bare-necked, the hood of her cloak pushed back so the tendrils of her escaping hair could spin out on the wind.
The boat itself was a little bit of nothing, one sail and four oars just in case. Elyan could've walked the length of it in ten strides if he dared leave his sister's side.
Gwen huddled miserably, forehead pressed to the gunwale as she slumped against the side. Every few minutes the wind would ease off and she would lurch up, curling her face over the side. Elyan held her hair with one hand and rubbed circles on her lower back with the other, grimacing.
"Hey, hey, you'll be okay," he murmured. "We'll be there soon."
Looking up, he caught the Lady Morgana's cool eye. He couldn't tell if her faint expression was disgust or sympathy - or neither. He glared back anyway, for Gwen's sake. The Lady Morgana smiled a little, just the tiniest curve of one lip.
He shivered and looked away.
***
Rocks shifted beneath Arthur's boots, unsteady ground that had him ill at ease.
"We could try the fishing village down there." Merlin suggested. "There's smoke - someone's still living there."
"These are not our lands. I must not let myself be known." They had passed through Cenred's kingdom undetected, mostly by skirting the southern edge, where the lands were poor and the patrols light. Three more kingdoms beyond, two in the hands of barbarians, and they had finally reached the eastern sea.
He'd had to leave the sale of the horses to Merlin to avoid the risk of being spotted and identified, even this far from home. Together, they'd made the last league or so on foot, veering off from the trail now that they knew for certain where it was headed. Arthur's true cloak lay rolled in the saddlebags slung over his shoulder, the brown one on his shoulders borrowed by Merlin from some friend or other. Probably someone with fleas.
Behind him, he felt a strange tremor, a whisper of not-air brushing over his skin. He kept deliberately still for another moment, until Merlin shouted, "There! A boat!"
Carefully, slowly, Arthur turned on his heel, watching with a deep sense of inevitability as a tiny rowboat that had not been there before rocked slowly to shore on soft waves.
***
The breeze off the water smelled sharp, sea salt with a lazy hint of lightning layered underneath. Morgana could feel her magic shift and dance in her belly, rising up sometimes to tickle at her skin from the inside. There was a storm coming.
Behind her, Gwen was sick again, her brother holding her hair solicitously and murmuring. Morgana felt almost embarrassed to have allowed someone so weak to follow them; she felt an urge to explain, to justify herself to her sister. Morgause's silent disapproval ate at her.
Yet, when she looked back, there was Gwen's brother, a gentleness in his hands and face that Morgana remembered from her own long nights of weakness, months ago. Morgause had touched her like that while the poison ran its course, had whispered to her and held her cold hand in between Morgause's warm ones, murmuring reassurance for hours.
Morgana sighed and reached up, pulling a ribbon from her hair. Her intricate braids softened and began to come apart, unraveling slowly but inevitably in the wind.
"Take this," she ordered quietly, offering the red ribbon to Elyan. He stared at it mutely, uncertain.
"Oh for the lady's sake," she muttered. Kneeling up, she reached forward and looped the ribbon around Gwen's hair herself, carefully tying it off so the strands were out of her face.
For a moment, as she leaned back, her eyes met Elyan's. His were wide and yet gave away very little. She retreated quickly, turning away again into the prow, looking forward at the gray shape of land they were aiming for.
Morgause's uninjured hand fluttered lightly against her arm, then slipped away.
***
Arthur watched the gray line of clouds advance, going from smooth and distant to roiling and far too close. He thought he could see flashes of lightning between thunderheads.
"Merlin," he said quietly.
Merlin merely grunted, heaving on the oars in a singularly ineffective fashion.
"Merlin," Arthur said a bit louder, "there's a storm coming."
"And what [pant] am I [pant] supposed to do about that [pant]?"
"Well, you could row faster, for one. I don't know how you plan to move this boat at all once there are five of us on board. Look, they're almost to landfall already!" He pointed at the horizon, where between the rising haze and chop they could still see the fishing boat that Arthur was absolutely certain carried Morgana and Gwen. He rose up off the bench, hoping for a better view.
"It's not [pant] as if [pant] we could board them on the high seas!" Merlin's face twisted up as his oar caught a wave on the backswing and twisted out of his hands, almost hitting him in the belly. He gasped and leaned forward, pressing down on both oars to keep them high out of the water while he caught his breath.
"You've never been on the sea before, have you?" Arthur asked, irritated with the delay but not quite willing to say so. "I should never have let us come out in this boat. It's ridiculous."
Merlin's face turned red, but he was still panting too hard to talk.
"I should have noticed she was missing sooner. Both of them. We lost so much time." He ground his teeth together in frustration.
Merlin looked up at him sadly, the sodden fringe of his hair drooping over his eyes in the way of a hound dog who has disappointed his master. "I think," he whispered, breath slowly evening out, "that the Lady Morgana won't want to come back with us."
Arthur whirled on him, all thoughts of loyalty gone. "She was kidnapped! She was tricked into leaving! First the Druids, and now-"
Merlin's eyes flashed. "The Druids never kidnapped her."
"That's not true!" That couldn't be true, or else Arthur had killed people for no good reason, people who had steadfastly refused to fight back. "I saw with my own eyes-"
"What did you see?" Merlin was hissing now, eyes reflecting the oncoming lightning. The oars jangled in the locks, forgotten. "What did you think you saw? Your sister, running away with a man who never raised a hand against you or her? Because that's what I saw."
"You weren't there!" Arthur shouted. Cold hit him, a sudden wave against the side that rocked the boat and shocked Arthur into grabbing for the gunwales. Merlin wasn't there.... Except now, suddenly, he wondered if that were true. The roll of fog that had prevented Arthur from chasing after Morgana at first - that couldn't have been natural. He'd assumed it was the work of the Druid man, but what if-?
"She's not my sister," he protested weakly, but the sound was swallowed up in the greater roar of the wind as the storm overtook them.
Turning away to squint at the shore again, Arthur just caught Merlin's murmured. "Yours and Morgause's both."
"What?" Arthur whirled back, caught a glimpse of Merlin's face frozen in a guilty grimace, and failed to process the emotion as he lost his footing on the slick bottom of the boat, slipped, cracked his knee against the side, and tipped out. His arms flailed as he went over. His hand managed to snag against the oarlock as he flipped head over heels, but a moment later the rough sea ripped that from his grasp and water closed over his head.
His armor, heavier than stone, yanked him down beneath the waves.
***
Morgana sat with her arms around her knees, curled into the shelter of the short trees where they all huddled. They kept mostly dry by a spell Morgause had cast quietly, out of sight of the three fishermen. The fishing boat itself was pulled up high on the beach, though waves still lapped at the stern.
Beyond the boat, out on the water itself, something caught her eye. Rising to her knees, she stared harder, trying to force the shape to resolve itself.
Morgause appeared beside her, face slightly pale from the energy required to cast even such a minor sheltering spell. Morgana ached for her, for the patience she embraced as she waited for her magic and her arm to recover.
"What is it?" Morgause asked.
Morgana pointed. "There, in the water."
Morgause peered closely, then gave a short, mirthless laugh. "He's still following us, even in death? He's more like his father than I thought."
"Who?" Morgana still couldn't see, rain and swells kicking up to obscure her vision. Who could be following them, besides Gwen? Who else cared that she was gone, except possibly Uther, who might see it as a challenge to his authority? But they had laid a spell on her trail that night, one that had taken most of Morgause's magical strength: that none could follow but those who loved her unselfishly. So who?
Morgause chewed her lip and didn't answer.
"Is he after the cup?" That was all Morgana could think, that this was someone tracking them for what they were carrying rather than who they were.
"They are, all of them, after the cup." Morgause's eyes turned hard, sparked. "That's the way of men. They see the power and potential, and have no sense of the sacrifice. Only women understand balance. It was Uther's own lack of understanding that robbed him of wife and sanity in the quest for a son. It was Cenred's greed that made him a useful tool for us." She snorted, face shadowing with memory. "All men are of their ilk. Offer them power, and they will crawl to you like a dog, then bite you at the first sign of weakness. Withhold power from them, and they will attempt to destroy you. Nimueh forgot this. She should never have bargained with a man."
"Do you know who killed her?" Morgana asked quietly. She had never dared voice those words before, while Morgause's loss was still so raw. Here on this foreign shore, under storm and leaf, she felt new things could be said, new questions asked and new ideas embraced.
"A pet sorcerer of the Pendragons, no doubt" Morgause whispered. "I came to you back then in hopes that you were not she, and I am grateful every day that you were not."
"There are no sorcerers in Camelot," Morgana said in reflex, cold stealing into her belly.
"Don't believe your own propaganda," Morgause cautioned, and then behind them Gwen cried out as the figures in the water were raised on a high wave and displayed clearly for a moment, a blond head lolling on the shoulder of a dark-haired boy.
"Arthur!" Gwen screamed and tore past them out of the foliage and down to the beach, barefooted, with her brother at her heels.
***
For a moment, Elyan was strongly reminded of their childhood, of the way they would run through the streets of Camelot at full tilt, and how Gwen's shorter legs somehow didn't hamper her. She usually managed to outdistance him by a stride or two.
This time, she had a head start.
He had more at stake now, though, the fierce pounding of his heart driving him on as he managed to get a hand around her elbow while they were still only ankle-deep in the water.
"Gwen!" he shouted against the wind. "Stop, you can't-"
"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me!" She was struggling deeper, her dress already soaked to the knees. It would act like a deadweight on her, he knew.
"No." He insisted, mouth close to her ear now so he wouldn't have to shout. "No, listen to me. Trust Merlin. Trust him to get the prince here. Once he's come this far, he'll need our help. We'll get them both up on the beach, okay?"
Gwen was shaking against him, but slowly, slowly she nodded, no longer leaning forward like a horse at the joust. Waves battered against them, pounding the beach with a deep, uncanny roar.
Come on, Merlin, Elyan thought. She won't wait long.
***
Arthur dreamed.
He dreamed the world was green and brown and cold, bone-chilling cold. He dreamed movement, twisting and pulling. Then light, slowly breaking through the dim colors.
His dreams moved on, melted into memories. He saw Morgana, ten years old and staring at her shoes as she was presented to the court. Arthur remembered being annoyed that she was taller than he was. He remembered feeling a deep sense of unease when she wouldn't look at him.
He remembered the first time she smiled for him, when he fell on his arse while showing her a new trick of the sword that Sir Brunor had taught him. He remembered how she always smiled for Guinevere. He remembered his father, hand in her hair, kissing her brow, and he felt the viscious bite of jealousy once more.
In his dreams, he finally reached for her hand across the wide table, under his father's watchful eyes, and called her 'sister'.
***
Morgana watched as Gwen and Elyan dragged Arthur's limp body up beyond the edge of the water, an exhausted Merlin all but crawling up the rough sand behind them. Gwen was crying, red-eyed and biting her lip to stifle the sounds. It took Morgana a moment to realize that she was able to see this because she had unconciously moved out of the shelter of the trees and onto the sand itself, drifting forward despite the frozen state of her mind.
Arthur.
He lay there in the midst of them, unmoving, hair plastered to his forehead. Wearing his armor, of course. When wasn't he? On his limp, purplish hand, she could see the dull glint of his favorite ring.
You bastard.
Only she was the bastard, wasn't she? A woman born of adulterers. She hated how it sullied her, how it cut a line across the unwavering love she'd held for her father - her real father - all these years. How the shadow-memories of Gorlois faded further and faster every time she reached for them now. Uther had stolen that from her, and Arthur was so much like his father sometimes it stuck in her throat.
So much like, and yet. And yet. Arthur was the one who had fought with her, sword to sword, as if she mattered. Arthur had followed her. Damn him for being an arrogant prig, but every bit of triumph she wanted to feel in this moment was crammed into her belly, twisted and sour. She didn't want this hollow victory, this silent defeat by water. This heroic and useless death. She didn't want that for him. She wanted to be the one who bested him, face to face, his eyes acknowledging that he knew she was his sister, his equal, his family.
Damn him.
Her feet turned without her conscious command, and she was back among her things, rummaging in the pack until she came up with a rag-wrapped bundle.
"Sister," Morgause called, stilling her momentarily. "Sister, think. This will not change him. This will not change what he will become."
"I'm not like Merlin," she replied. "I can't let him die, even to save us all."
"Then go," Morgause whispered, "and Goddess help us."
Please. Morgana added her own prayer as she ran down the uneven sand, rain snapping fiercely into her face.
Falling to her knees beside Gwen, she ripped the sodden rags from the cup, holding it up to the sky, screaming the words she knew intimately from dreams. Rain fell into the cup, metal trembling as each drop struck the inside walls, echoing like a gong through her bones. Elemental magic, her birthright, far beyond the grasp of the waking mind. It sought the sleeper inside her, and with that touch, she felt awake, truly awake, for the first time in her life. The world shifted, came into sharp focus everywhere at once.
A sound beside her, within the warm, breathing bundle of emotions that was Gwen, that was always Gwen, even when Morgana could not see her as she now saw. Morgana turned and saw her own eyes reflected in Gwen's, gold flame swimming in the wide brown.
"Hurry," said a choked voice, but it was not Gwen's. Merlin. She turned and saw he had already lifted Arthur's head, bracing it in the crook of his elbow. "Hurry."
Calmly, Morgana laid her palm on Arthur's chilled face. He lives yet, the magic told her. This time, no life would be required for the balance, though a sacrifice would surely be drawn from one of them at some point in the future. But Arthur was like that; someone was always sacrificing something for him, and he would likely never even know. That didn't stop people from loving him enough to do it again.
Sighing, she tipped the cup and let the drops fall on Arthur's pale lips. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
***
"And that is how the cupbearers began their journey to the Holy City. Geoffrey? Oh."
Bors moves into the room, holding a candle high. "Is he asleep?"
"Finally, yes." Elena sweeps a curl back from the boy's face.
"I thought you were planning to talk all night."
"Would have, too, if he'd needed me. Story goes on just short of forever, though, and little boys don't have that kind of stamina."
Bors looks down at the boy's quiet features, deep lines marking his own face as older and more visited by troubles. "I wonder how much of it he'll remember?"
"Oh, I'm sure he'll twist it all up, the way children do."
Bors laughs. "Yes, no doubt he'll tell the other children he knows all about Camelot and King Arthur."
"No doubt." Elena's smile is sad, nostalgic. "I'll keep him here until morning."
"Until then, milady."
He leaves, and the candle goes with him, leaving the old woman and the child lying in darkness, broken only by the faint glimmer of moonlight through the window, striking against the gold of the tapestry and leaving the cup in the center glowing slightly, as if it were hovering in mid-air.
"Good night," Elena whispers to the faces in the borders, which she can no longer see.
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: swatkat24
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Morgana, Morgause, Gwen, Elyan, Merlin, Arthur; Elena
Word Count: 4750
Summary: The story of the Grail Quest is an old one, and mostly wrong.
Warning(s): Spoilers through 3x07, and because I've been jossed big time, you could consider there to be spoilers through 3x12. Includes scenes that could be triggery for those with a fear of drowning.
Notes: Dearest Swatkat, I hope you enjoy this story, even though it's a mostly Gen version if your favorite pairings and does a real blender on your prompts. I added Elyan for extra sibling yumminess; hope this is okay. :) This story goes AU after 3x07 and takes most of its characterizations from S2 rather than S3. Beta'd at the last minute in a tearing hurry by an anonymous and wonderful person who has my undying love forever.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
"Geoffrey? Oh my heart, you scared me half to death, child!
"Sh, sh, no, it's alright. Bad dreams? Hush now, Auntie Elena will scare them away. Here, climb into my bed, luv. I'll sit with you. Would you like a story? I sing like a frog, but I can tell you any story you want to hear. Your great grandfather was a storyteller, did you know? Or, well, he liked books well enough to be one.
"Oh, I think you must have heard that from Bors. He tangles things up when he's in his cups. Would you like to hear the real story, or as much of it as I can remember? The fantastical cities of the Romans, the secrets of the Isle of the Blessed, swordfights and magic, storms and wild rides through barbarian lands?
"I thought so. See that tapestry on the wall, the one with the cup in the middle? All around the edges, those little pictures of people - I was blessed to call some of them my friends. They didn't tell me all the pieces, all the scenes there, but I know that one with the bare-headed woman leaning over into the well, scooping up a ribbon. That walled city with the domes - that's Constantinople. There's the wolf in the forest. The hooded woman. The rain of arrows. The door into winter. The storm-tossed boat. The single golden eye. Oh, and if you look right up at the left-hand corner, where two women sit behind a fire? I know that one, too."
***
Morgana poked the fire again, watching it blaze up suddenly and die back down. Tiny sparks spun into the air, drifted, and went dark. Behind her, a foot scuffed the ground lightly. She didn't turn.
"I burned the pigeon again," she informed the evening shadows.
One shadow laughed softly and slipped into the light. "I've had worse," said Morgause.
In her left arm she carried a bundle of firewood, rough and strange against the smooth red of her dress. She held her right arm awkwardly, even after all these weeks. The bone had knit, but the sinews still twisted in an awkward way. Whenever Morgana asked to help her heal it, Morgause waved her off. It will heal itself, she said each time. Save your energy for more important things.
Like burning the pigeon, Morgana thought.
***
"Why do I feel like we're going to regret this?" Elyan shifted in the saddle, sore and stiff. The horse was tired and slogging with Gwen and himself riding double, and he couldn't find a comfortable seat no matter how he squirmed.
Gwen didn't reply. She hadn't spoken much since she brought the note to him early this morning, the note in Lady Morgana's handwriting that said, "Don't follow me."
He'd bartered most of his worldly possessions for this horse and tack, and the rest were stuffed into the saddlebags awkwardly pressed between their legs. An old gelding, a worn saddle, and here they were, jostling down the rutted road, chasing their shadows as the sun set behind them.
The things a guy would do for his sister.
***
Morgana woke gasping, jerking to a sitting position and clutching her chest. For a moment, the moon and dark trees spun above her, dizzying. A hand landed on her arm, and everything snapped into place.
"Sister," Morgause whispered, "what is it?"
Words, words were alien. Existence was pictures, jumbled together, grinding like corn in the millstone. Only three parts stood out: Gwen, bent over a pool of water with her hands plunged inside, the graal of Nimueh resting cold and hard in Morgana's fist, and Morgause herself, red dress and hair fluttering as she fell backward, fell and fell forever, an arrow sticking up sharp and wrong from her belly.
Morgana shook her head, eyes burning. After a moment, Morgause sighed and simply gathered her up, tucking Morgana's head against her shoulder.
"Never mind," she soothed. "Just let it go, my little one."
On her wrist, Morgana felt the bracelet buzz softly like a gathering of bees, or like the loosened skin of a drum between one strike and the next.
***
"We've lost a day already," Arthur growled, and that was that as far as stopping was concerned. "We'll pause just long enough to water the horses and check the trail, and that's it."
Merlin sighed audibly behind him. Arthur pretended not to hear.
Beneath them, the hooves of their horses kicked up falling leaves, red and gold and deep purple. The colors of royalty, the colors of magic and blood. Arthur's gloved fists clenched on the reins and he drove his horse forward, faster, faster.
***
"Gwen, wait!"
Damn her, Elyan thought, irritated beyond belief. Here he was, dragging the horse behind him, and she was haring off the road and into the brush, straight through a thicket that somehow spared her but scratched at him fiercely.
"Gwen!"
Her red cloak flashed in the distance and disappeared over a ridge. Gathering himself, Elyan bent his knees and charged uphill, one arm lifted to protect his face from the slapping branches. He cursed, stumbling. His legs burned. The horse shied and pulled him backwards, nearly toppling him with the force.
Gwen cried out.
In a flash he dropped the reins and barreled over the hill, legs pumping, chest heaving for breath. His eyes sought red and fixed on it.
In a hollow below him, Gwen stood stock still, unmoving. Her cloak billowed out behind her in some strange, evening wind. On the opposite end of the hollow, she was perfectly mirrored by a woman in an identical cloak of forest green. The two women stood facing each other, unmoving but for the shimmer of fabric that hid their bodies.
Morgana, Gwen's lips moved silently. The Lady Morgana stared blankly back at her, face impassive.
Aw, hell, Elyan thought, and skidded down the hillside to stand by his sister.
***
They sat in silence around the campfire. Or rather, Morgana sat choking on any words she might have said, nauseated and angry. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Gwen sitting, eyes flickering to her, to Morgause, down to her own twisting hands. Gwen's brother hovered behind her, an unspoken threat in the set of his shoulders. Balancing him, Morgause shifted about the edges of the camp, never quite in the light, never quite still.
"I told you not to follow me," Morgana said quietly.
Gwen's head jerked up, curls bouncing. "I thought you might be in danger." Her eyes drifted to Morgause, then flicked down again.
"I think I can decide that for myself."
Gwen's shoulders set, and for a moment Morgana thought she might actually argue, but then a soft sigh escaped her and she stood, hands limp by her sides. She moved away, and her brother followed.
Morgana felt an unhappy tug, watching Gwen's back as she moved away through the trees, in the direction of their horse. For a moment, she thought about calling out, taking it back, but what would that accomplish? Indecision squeezed her throat.
Gwen stopped.
Expecting her to turn, Morgana tightened her belly and blanked her face, but Gwen merely reached down and picked up a stick from the ground, then another, until she had an armful of wood.
Within a few minutes, there was a second campfire burning a stone's throw from their own. Gwen and her brother huddled together, talking quietly and cooking dinner for themselves. Morgana closed her eyes and sighed.
"This is dangerous," Morgause murmured, coming to sit by her.
Morgana leaned her head on her sister's shoulder. "I know."
***
Elyan lay curled in thin blankets, shivering on the ground. On the other side of the fire, he could hear Gwen do the same. Sound carried in the woods, echoing the whispers behind him. He knew the first voice, and it made his skin crawl with the memory. Her.
"We have to get rid of them."
A sigh. "Even if we get up now, Gwen will just follow us."
"Then we must do something more effective."
Silence.
"If you're still attached to the girl, we can simply disappear."
More silence, then a reply in a voice thin as faint wind through the trees, cold and aloof as the girl he remembered first arriving in Camelot in full panoply over a dozen years ago, her eyes haunted and her spine formed of pure iron. The voice that used to order his sister around in one breath and beg her opinion in the next.
"I dreamed her. With us."
The voices stilled and did not return, though he lay awake for hours more. Gwennie, what have we got ourselves into?
***
A scuff in the leaves here, a hoofprint further on, and branches bent forward up the ridge. They had definitely come this way. Arthur bent over, eyes nearly to the ground, then led his horse further up the slope. The torch in his hand sputtered and spat for a moment before steadying out once more. Beyond the smell of burning oil and cloth, he could catch a faint whiff of the sea.
"So," Merlin began behind him, voice trying for casual. Arthur closed his eyes in a silent plea for patience.
"So I was thinking, it looks like they might be taking the main road east." Merlin stumbled, his foot coming down firmly on a branch, cracking it with a sharp echo. All game within half a league startled and vanished. Arthur twitched.
Merlin continued, oblivious. "You know, the road? The one we could be riding on? And oh, do you think they might be considering stopping for the night? People do that sometimes, you know."
"Merlin, shut up," Arthur growled, reining in his temper with both hands and gritted teeth.
For once, Merlin did.
***
The next morning, Elyan and Gwen were sat in the prow of a small fishing boat, crossing the water on the strength of the Lady Morgause's gold and the quiet indifference of Lady Morgana, who still seemed not to care that they were tagging along, unwanted but apparently not worthy of argument. She sat like a lady of legend, bare-necked, the hood of her cloak pushed back so the tendrils of her escaping hair could spin out on the wind.
The boat itself was a little bit of nothing, one sail and four oars just in case. Elyan could've walked the length of it in ten strides if he dared leave his sister's side.
Gwen huddled miserably, forehead pressed to the gunwale as she slumped against the side. Every few minutes the wind would ease off and she would lurch up, curling her face over the side. Elyan held her hair with one hand and rubbed circles on her lower back with the other, grimacing.
"Hey, hey, you'll be okay," he murmured. "We'll be there soon."
Looking up, he caught the Lady Morgana's cool eye. He couldn't tell if her faint expression was disgust or sympathy - or neither. He glared back anyway, for Gwen's sake. The Lady Morgana smiled a little, just the tiniest curve of one lip.
He shivered and looked away.
***
Rocks shifted beneath Arthur's boots, unsteady ground that had him ill at ease.
"We could try the fishing village down there." Merlin suggested. "There's smoke - someone's still living there."
"These are not our lands. I must not let myself be known." They had passed through Cenred's kingdom undetected, mostly by skirting the southern edge, where the lands were poor and the patrols light. Three more kingdoms beyond, two in the hands of barbarians, and they had finally reached the eastern sea.
He'd had to leave the sale of the horses to Merlin to avoid the risk of being spotted and identified, even this far from home. Together, they'd made the last league or so on foot, veering off from the trail now that they knew for certain where it was headed. Arthur's true cloak lay rolled in the saddlebags slung over his shoulder, the brown one on his shoulders borrowed by Merlin from some friend or other. Probably someone with fleas.
Behind him, he felt a strange tremor, a whisper of not-air brushing over his skin. He kept deliberately still for another moment, until Merlin shouted, "There! A boat!"
Carefully, slowly, Arthur turned on his heel, watching with a deep sense of inevitability as a tiny rowboat that had not been there before rocked slowly to shore on soft waves.
***
The breeze off the water smelled sharp, sea salt with a lazy hint of lightning layered underneath. Morgana could feel her magic shift and dance in her belly, rising up sometimes to tickle at her skin from the inside. There was a storm coming.
Behind her, Gwen was sick again, her brother holding her hair solicitously and murmuring. Morgana felt almost embarrassed to have allowed someone so weak to follow them; she felt an urge to explain, to justify herself to her sister. Morgause's silent disapproval ate at her.
Yet, when she looked back, there was Gwen's brother, a gentleness in his hands and face that Morgana remembered from her own long nights of weakness, months ago. Morgause had touched her like that while the poison ran its course, had whispered to her and held her cold hand in between Morgause's warm ones, murmuring reassurance for hours.
Morgana sighed and reached up, pulling a ribbon from her hair. Her intricate braids softened and began to come apart, unraveling slowly but inevitably in the wind.
"Take this," she ordered quietly, offering the red ribbon to Elyan. He stared at it mutely, uncertain.
"Oh for the lady's sake," she muttered. Kneeling up, she reached forward and looped the ribbon around Gwen's hair herself, carefully tying it off so the strands were out of her face.
For a moment, as she leaned back, her eyes met Elyan's. His were wide and yet gave away very little. She retreated quickly, turning away again into the prow, looking forward at the gray shape of land they were aiming for.
Morgause's uninjured hand fluttered lightly against her arm, then slipped away.
***
Arthur watched the gray line of clouds advance, going from smooth and distant to roiling and far too close. He thought he could see flashes of lightning between thunderheads.
"Merlin," he said quietly.
Merlin merely grunted, heaving on the oars in a singularly ineffective fashion.
"Merlin," Arthur said a bit louder, "there's a storm coming."
"And what [pant] am I [pant] supposed to do about that [pant]?"
"Well, you could row faster, for one. I don't know how you plan to move this boat at all once there are five of us on board. Look, they're almost to landfall already!" He pointed at the horizon, where between the rising haze and chop they could still see the fishing boat that Arthur was absolutely certain carried Morgana and Gwen. He rose up off the bench, hoping for a better view.
"It's not [pant] as if [pant] we could board them on the high seas!" Merlin's face twisted up as his oar caught a wave on the backswing and twisted out of his hands, almost hitting him in the belly. He gasped and leaned forward, pressing down on both oars to keep them high out of the water while he caught his breath.
"You've never been on the sea before, have you?" Arthur asked, irritated with the delay but not quite willing to say so. "I should never have let us come out in this boat. It's ridiculous."
Merlin's face turned red, but he was still panting too hard to talk.
"I should have noticed she was missing sooner. Both of them. We lost so much time." He ground his teeth together in frustration.
Merlin looked up at him sadly, the sodden fringe of his hair drooping over his eyes in the way of a hound dog who has disappointed his master. "I think," he whispered, breath slowly evening out, "that the Lady Morgana won't want to come back with us."
Arthur whirled on him, all thoughts of loyalty gone. "She was kidnapped! She was tricked into leaving! First the Druids, and now-"
Merlin's eyes flashed. "The Druids never kidnapped her."
"That's not true!" That couldn't be true, or else Arthur had killed people for no good reason, people who had steadfastly refused to fight back. "I saw with my own eyes-"
"What did you see?" Merlin was hissing now, eyes reflecting the oncoming lightning. The oars jangled in the locks, forgotten. "What did you think you saw? Your sister, running away with a man who never raised a hand against you or her? Because that's what I saw."
"You weren't there!" Arthur shouted. Cold hit him, a sudden wave against the side that rocked the boat and shocked Arthur into grabbing for the gunwales. Merlin wasn't there.... Except now, suddenly, he wondered if that were true. The roll of fog that had prevented Arthur from chasing after Morgana at first - that couldn't have been natural. He'd assumed it was the work of the Druid man, but what if-?
"She's not my sister," he protested weakly, but the sound was swallowed up in the greater roar of the wind as the storm overtook them.
Turning away to squint at the shore again, Arthur just caught Merlin's murmured. "Yours and Morgause's both."
"What?" Arthur whirled back, caught a glimpse of Merlin's face frozen in a guilty grimace, and failed to process the emotion as he lost his footing on the slick bottom of the boat, slipped, cracked his knee against the side, and tipped out. His arms flailed as he went over. His hand managed to snag against the oarlock as he flipped head over heels, but a moment later the rough sea ripped that from his grasp and water closed over his head.
His armor, heavier than stone, yanked him down beneath the waves.
***
Morgana sat with her arms around her knees, curled into the shelter of the short trees where they all huddled. They kept mostly dry by a spell Morgause had cast quietly, out of sight of the three fishermen. The fishing boat itself was pulled up high on the beach, though waves still lapped at the stern.
Beyond the boat, out on the water itself, something caught her eye. Rising to her knees, she stared harder, trying to force the shape to resolve itself.
Morgause appeared beside her, face slightly pale from the energy required to cast even such a minor sheltering spell. Morgana ached for her, for the patience she embraced as she waited for her magic and her arm to recover.
"What is it?" Morgause asked.
Morgana pointed. "There, in the water."
Morgause peered closely, then gave a short, mirthless laugh. "He's still following us, even in death? He's more like his father than I thought."
"Who?" Morgana still couldn't see, rain and swells kicking up to obscure her vision. Who could be following them, besides Gwen? Who else cared that she was gone, except possibly Uther, who might see it as a challenge to his authority? But they had laid a spell on her trail that night, one that had taken most of Morgause's magical strength: that none could follow but those who loved her unselfishly. So who?
Morgause chewed her lip and didn't answer.
"Is he after the cup?" That was all Morgana could think, that this was someone tracking them for what they were carrying rather than who they were.
"They are, all of them, after the cup." Morgause's eyes turned hard, sparked. "That's the way of men. They see the power and potential, and have no sense of the sacrifice. Only women understand balance. It was Uther's own lack of understanding that robbed him of wife and sanity in the quest for a son. It was Cenred's greed that made him a useful tool for us." She snorted, face shadowing with memory. "All men are of their ilk. Offer them power, and they will crawl to you like a dog, then bite you at the first sign of weakness. Withhold power from them, and they will attempt to destroy you. Nimueh forgot this. She should never have bargained with a man."
"Do you know who killed her?" Morgana asked quietly. She had never dared voice those words before, while Morgause's loss was still so raw. Here on this foreign shore, under storm and leaf, she felt new things could be said, new questions asked and new ideas embraced.
"A pet sorcerer of the Pendragons, no doubt" Morgause whispered. "I came to you back then in hopes that you were not she, and I am grateful every day that you were not."
"There are no sorcerers in Camelot," Morgana said in reflex, cold stealing into her belly.
"Don't believe your own propaganda," Morgause cautioned, and then behind them Gwen cried out as the figures in the water were raised on a high wave and displayed clearly for a moment, a blond head lolling on the shoulder of a dark-haired boy.
"Arthur!" Gwen screamed and tore past them out of the foliage and down to the beach, barefooted, with her brother at her heels.
***
For a moment, Elyan was strongly reminded of their childhood, of the way they would run through the streets of Camelot at full tilt, and how Gwen's shorter legs somehow didn't hamper her. She usually managed to outdistance him by a stride or two.
This time, she had a head start.
He had more at stake now, though, the fierce pounding of his heart driving him on as he managed to get a hand around her elbow while they were still only ankle-deep in the water.
"Gwen!" he shouted against the wind. "Stop, you can't-"
"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me!" She was struggling deeper, her dress already soaked to the knees. It would act like a deadweight on her, he knew.
"No." He insisted, mouth close to her ear now so he wouldn't have to shout. "No, listen to me. Trust Merlin. Trust him to get the prince here. Once he's come this far, he'll need our help. We'll get them both up on the beach, okay?"
Gwen was shaking against him, but slowly, slowly she nodded, no longer leaning forward like a horse at the joust. Waves battered against them, pounding the beach with a deep, uncanny roar.
Come on, Merlin, Elyan thought. She won't wait long.
***
Arthur dreamed.
He dreamed the world was green and brown and cold, bone-chilling cold. He dreamed movement, twisting and pulling. Then light, slowly breaking through the dim colors.
His dreams moved on, melted into memories. He saw Morgana, ten years old and staring at her shoes as she was presented to the court. Arthur remembered being annoyed that she was taller than he was. He remembered feeling a deep sense of unease when she wouldn't look at him.
He remembered the first time she smiled for him, when he fell on his arse while showing her a new trick of the sword that Sir Brunor had taught him. He remembered how she always smiled for Guinevere. He remembered his father, hand in her hair, kissing her brow, and he felt the viscious bite of jealousy once more.
In his dreams, he finally reached for her hand across the wide table, under his father's watchful eyes, and called her 'sister'.
***
Morgana watched as Gwen and Elyan dragged Arthur's limp body up beyond the edge of the water, an exhausted Merlin all but crawling up the rough sand behind them. Gwen was crying, red-eyed and biting her lip to stifle the sounds. It took Morgana a moment to realize that she was able to see this because she had unconciously moved out of the shelter of the trees and onto the sand itself, drifting forward despite the frozen state of her mind.
Arthur.
He lay there in the midst of them, unmoving, hair plastered to his forehead. Wearing his armor, of course. When wasn't he? On his limp, purplish hand, she could see the dull glint of his favorite ring.
You bastard.
Only she was the bastard, wasn't she? A woman born of adulterers. She hated how it sullied her, how it cut a line across the unwavering love she'd held for her father - her real father - all these years. How the shadow-memories of Gorlois faded further and faster every time she reached for them now. Uther had stolen that from her, and Arthur was so much like his father sometimes it stuck in her throat.
So much like, and yet. And yet. Arthur was the one who had fought with her, sword to sword, as if she mattered. Arthur had followed her. Damn him for being an arrogant prig, but every bit of triumph she wanted to feel in this moment was crammed into her belly, twisted and sour. She didn't want this hollow victory, this silent defeat by water. This heroic and useless death. She didn't want that for him. She wanted to be the one who bested him, face to face, his eyes acknowledging that he knew she was his sister, his equal, his family.
Damn him.
Her feet turned without her conscious command, and she was back among her things, rummaging in the pack until she came up with a rag-wrapped bundle.
"Sister," Morgause called, stilling her momentarily. "Sister, think. This will not change him. This will not change what he will become."
"I'm not like Merlin," she replied. "I can't let him die, even to save us all."
"Then go," Morgause whispered, "and Goddess help us."
Please. Morgana added her own prayer as she ran down the uneven sand, rain snapping fiercely into her face.
Falling to her knees beside Gwen, she ripped the sodden rags from the cup, holding it up to the sky, screaming the words she knew intimately from dreams. Rain fell into the cup, metal trembling as each drop struck the inside walls, echoing like a gong through her bones. Elemental magic, her birthright, far beyond the grasp of the waking mind. It sought the sleeper inside her, and with that touch, she felt awake, truly awake, for the first time in her life. The world shifted, came into sharp focus everywhere at once.
A sound beside her, within the warm, breathing bundle of emotions that was Gwen, that was always Gwen, even when Morgana could not see her as she now saw. Morgana turned and saw her own eyes reflected in Gwen's, gold flame swimming in the wide brown.
"Hurry," said a choked voice, but it was not Gwen's. Merlin. She turned and saw he had already lifted Arthur's head, bracing it in the crook of his elbow. "Hurry."
Calmly, Morgana laid her palm on Arthur's chilled face. He lives yet, the magic told her. This time, no life would be required for the balance, though a sacrifice would surely be drawn from one of them at some point in the future. But Arthur was like that; someone was always sacrificing something for him, and he would likely never even know. That didn't stop people from loving him enough to do it again.
Sighing, she tipped the cup and let the drops fall on Arthur's pale lips. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
***
"And that is how the cupbearers began their journey to the Holy City. Geoffrey? Oh."
Bors moves into the room, holding a candle high. "Is he asleep?"
"Finally, yes." Elena sweeps a curl back from the boy's face.
"I thought you were planning to talk all night."
"Would have, too, if he'd needed me. Story goes on just short of forever, though, and little boys don't have that kind of stamina."
Bors looks down at the boy's quiet features, deep lines marking his own face as older and more visited by troubles. "I wonder how much of it he'll remember?"
"Oh, I'm sure he'll twist it all up, the way children do."
Bors laughs. "Yes, no doubt he'll tell the other children he knows all about Camelot and King Arthur."
"No doubt." Elena's smile is sad, nostalgic. "I'll keep him here until morning."
"Until then, milady."
He leaves, and the candle goes with him, leaving the old woman and the child lying in darkness, broken only by the faint glimmer of moonlight through the window, striking against the gold of the tapestry and leaving the cup in the center glowing slightly, as if it were hovering in mid-air.
"Good night," Elena whispers to the faces in the borders, which she can no longer see.