Non-challenge - Loyalty (7/7)

[shanaqui]

Title: Loyalty
Chapter: 7/7
Characters/Pairing: Will, Bran, Barney, Simon, Jane, John, OC
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Six must be gathered again, to face an old threat wearing a new face.
All chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.


Jane felt as if she stood there forever, without breathing, without moving, just staring at Mordred with his awful voice ringing in her ears. She couldn't wrench her thoughts away from the sickening dread that suddenly enveloped her: Bran would come to rescue her, but it was a trap, a trap he couldn't escape without falling into the trap within the trap, and -- she took another step back from the throne, clenching her fists. "The Dark will lose. The Dark always loses."

"Have you ever heard of the Dark Ages?" Mordred asked, settling back into his throne. There was almost a bored note in his voice now. "Aptly named, don't you think?"

"I -- "

"The Dark isn't something you can banish," he said, disdainful. "It lives in every single human heart. Yours, Bran's, your brothers'... There is a price at which every heart can be bought, for any purpose at all. My brother would leave you here to rot slowly if I threatened to hurt Owen Davies. And so the Dark takes root."

Jane shook her head, but despair clutched at her again. She thought she should say something -- she remembered the flicker of movement coming closer, the figures on the horizon -- but she couldn't think of anything. She sank down to her knees and let Mordred's power sweep over her.

"Hey there, Jenny-oh," someone said, soft as a breath and right by her ear. "Didn't think you were the giving up kind."

Fingers brushed her shoulder and she found she was able to sit up straight again, able to look up. Bran walked past her, drawing his sword with a swish of steel. If it was too heavy for him, it didn't show now. Simon came up beside her, crouching down and putting his hand on her arm, but he didn't seem able to say anything. Will walked past them, his eyes darting from Bran to Mordred and back again: he didn't spare a glance for the two Drews, as if they had suddenly become unimportant, insignificant in comparison.

"You did come," Mordred said. His eyes were fixed on Bran then, a twisted smile on his face as he stood. He reached down beside his throne, picking up a sword in its sheath. He didn't draw it yet. "You have no idea how long I've been imagining this moment."

Bran rolled his eyes. "Spare me the clichéd speech, please. I just want to get this over with."

Mordred's eyes narrowed. "I'll spare you nothing, brother mine. After all, you and yours have been merciless with me."

"Nobody of the Light ever harmed you," Will said, softly. A calm seemed to surround him, a self-assurance that Jane was sure she'd never truly seen in him before. He was Will, and he was more. It was like he'd shed the boy in him, and stepped into another skin. "Nor ever would."

"You come here to vanquish me, do you not?"

"I suppose you got your flair for dramatics from your mother," Bran said, coldly. He stepped between Will and Mordred, raising Excalibur higher. Jane realised that he was claiming the fight for himself, pushing Will back out of it again. Horror welled up in her again and swept her under, but she found she still couldn't really speak. She caught sight of Mordred's smirk. It made her tremble with fury. Simon looked at her worriedly, but neither of them said anything -- she wondered if either of them could.

"It's a fair guess, since she was the only one who ever gave me anything," Mordred said. It was almost a snarl. "The Light didn't even give me my birthright."

"It was never yours!"

But Will spoke again. "You could have been the Pendragon, Mordred. You were the first son of Arthur. You could have been the answer to all our riddles, the embodiment of all our hopes. As much as Bran was."

A snarl again. "Then why wasn't I?"

Jane wondered if Will could see the expression on Bran's face as clearly as she could. There was betrayal in it, mingling with the anger. But he said nothing.

"Mordred. You served the Dark from the very moment you were conceived," Will said, flatly. "Your mother determined the course of your life. The Light could not have altered it. If we'd taken you, your mother's plan would still have come true, you would have resented us... You were the first son of Arthur, but you were a curse to us. Even if the time to choose had come and you'd chosen away from your mother, then it would have been too late. But Bran was born, at the right time... the true son of King Arthur, unshaped and ready. And Guinevere gave him freely."

"I was only a tool to be used?" Bran asked, softly. His eyes met Will's. Will shook his head, but Jane saw that he wasn't really saying no.

"I never thought of you like that, but you were a tool. You were our tool, but -- you were not just a tool to us. To me, at least. In a million lifetimes, a million different circumstances... I would always have chosen you, Bran."

"Always the Light uses the tools that come to hand," Mordred said, scornfully. The look that passed between Bran and Will seemed to anger him. "Look at those two!"

Jane felt his eyes on her almost as a physical blow. Simon put his arms around her as if to shield her.

"The Light will leave you to die," Mordred said, softly. "The Light doesn't care what happens to you and your brother, little Jane. Soon you'll know the hard cruelty at the core of the Light, when this one flees the world, leaving you mortals to die and the Dark to rise."

"I won't flee," Will said, at the same moment as Simon's head rose and he somehow found his voice.

"I trust Will," he said, somehow without wavering, though Jane felt that he was trembling. "I put my trust in the Light. Will is going to keep us safe, keep the Dark from rising, and take us all home."

The look Will gave Simon was incredibly warm with gratitude and tinged with surprise, and Jane realised she'd never seen him like that before. There'd been the calm assurance that came with power, yes, but it was like Simon had given something new to him, suddenly given him a true belief in himself. His shoulders squared, his stance firmed, and when he turned to look at Mordred again his voice rang with unexpected power. "You think to bring the Dark down upon our heads, to consume the world, even after the Light's hands cut the silver from the tree? You are one man alone. You could reconsider, you know. This choice is one you can still make. Turn aside from the Dark, and let go of the hatred that burns inside your heart. We do not deserve it."

"Arthur betrayed my mother," Mordred said, fiercely, and he finally did draw his sword. It looked much like Excalibur, but where Bran's sword appeared to be tipped with light, the steel of Calent was dark, with a sinister gleam. He grinned at Bran. "We have something in common, you know. Arthur betrayed your mother, too."

"No," Bran said, raising his sword again. Something in him knew how to fight, Jane realised. Perhaps only in that place, that time, with that sword in his hand. But he was ready. "My father was twice betrayed. And twice he forgave. And my mother never betrayed me as Morgan betrayed you."

"My mother betrayed no one!" Mordred said, his voice higher, somehow like the whine of an angry child, though terrible with the promise of the Dark. He flung himself forward and upon Bran. The two blades crashed with a sickening sound, and Jane found herself clutching at Simon's shirt, wanting and yet unable to look away.

"You're wrong, Mordred," Bran said, grimly. Somehow he pushed Mordred's blade aside, leaping backwards. "See things through your own eyes, not your mother's!"

"See through your own eyes, not the Light's!" Mordred countered. Jane glanced away from them and towards Will. The look on his face was somehow completely alien -- he looked nothing like the boy whose appearance always seemed so ordinary, so reassuring. She realised that she saw the other side to him, the side that had become a Lord of the Light.

She wondered if he knew that in that moment he had more power than the rest of the Circle combined. She didn't know what he was doing, but she felt the power as it swept over her, cleansing her of something, so that she slumped in Simon's arms, suddenly too tired to look. Mordred's magic was coming apart, she thought, and just as she thought that she heard Simon gasp.

"The sky," he whispered, and she opened her eyes wearily to see that the darkness of the place was falling away.

"What is he doing?"

"Evening the playing field, I think," Simon said, but softly. Beneath their feet, where there had been hard cold earth before, she realised that grass was beginning to grow -- not the straggling, yellowed grass that had been there before, but real, thick grass. "I think he's trying to make the future be as the Light saw it. As it's meant to be."

"All that power for nothing," Mordred sneered at Will as he dodged a slash of Bran's sword, but Jane realised that he was breathless, and that he was moving back before Bran's onslaught. She guessed that breaking his spells weakened him somehow. It was strange to watch Bran fighting: the way he moved, like a real warrior, the way he handled the sword, though she knew he'd never really learnt how. She moved a little closer to Simon, and he tightened his arms around her protectively.

It happened almost too quickly to see: they clashed again, sparks flying as the two swords struck each other and glanced off. Somehow Mordred recovered faster than Bran -- perhaps it was because he'd truly earned the skills for himself, truly knew how to fight. Maybe it was the benefit of experience. But he lunged forward as Bran wavered, slashing, and Bran cried out in pain or anger as the blade slashed his shoulder. His shirt was cut, and blood welled from a cut beneath. Jane hid her face in Simon's shoulder and he held her tighter, letting her hide, muttering what might have been reassurances, stroking her hair like she was a kid just woken from a nightmare.

"Do something, Will!" Simon called to him.

There was frustration naked in Will's tone. "I can't! It's Bran's fight!"

Jane forced herself to look up again. Mordred and Bran were a few paces apart, then, both panting for breath. Their eyes were still locked, and Jane could hardly recognise Bran, as a kind of hatred twisted his face. "Bran!"

For a moment, Mordred's eyes flickered over to her, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. But Bran saw his opening and made his own lunge. Excalibur's blade sank deeply into Mordred's body.

She had been expecting something spectacular, somehow, when the final blow was struck. But Mordred didn't even cry out. He just fell to his knees as Bran tugged the blade out of him again, blood spattering everywhere. For a moment all anyone could hear was the ragged breathing of the two combatants.

"Finish it," Mordred said, at last, looking up at Bran. One of his hands covered the wound at his side, but Jane saw the blood all over his hands, soaking through his clothes. It made her feel sick to realise he was actually dying. Beside her, Simon stirred as if he thought he should do something. She clutched at him and he stopped, giving her a concerned look. She didn't bother to look back at him, but kept her eyes on Mordred's expression, now twisted with pain. "Brother, please."

Bran's voice was cold and hard. "Would you have given me mercy?"

And Jane remembered. She scrambled to her feet. "Bran! Don't kill him!"

"Shut up," Mordred said, quickly, but there was no power left in his voice. Jane pushed Simon aside and hurried to Bran's side, pulling him back from Mordred's side.

"If you kill him now, you'll let the Dark in," she said, breathlessly. Will's eyes widened.

"Of course," he said, looking down at Mordred almost pityingly. "You can't kill him, Bran. He'll have to die by his own hand, or keep on suffering. If you kill him, you open the door for the Dark. Fratricide is one of the uglier things a man can do. Whichever of you won, he thought he could bring the Dark back. It won't be the case if you step back, now -- this is a thing he could survive."

Mordred had gone paler than ever. "Please," he whispered, wetting his lips with difficulty. Will moved quickly, retrieving Calent and carrying it back to him, putting it by his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said. Mordred glared up at him, not moving to take the sword, but he just shrugged and turned away. "Have it your own way, Mordred. I... for my part, I'm sorry. Maybe there was something the Light could have done to save you from your mother, save you from this end..."

His voice was suddenly softer. "My mother... She meant me to die."

"Yes." Will ran his fingers through his hair, not looking back at him. "She knew you'd have to die, that you couldn't defeat the Light's champion with the Dark gone. I don't know quite how she knew so much about the future, but I suspect she was a seer. She didn't want to give anything up to serve the Light, and so she lost everything. She seduced Bran's father and conceived you, to try and throw the prophecies awry. When that didn't work, she sent you here, hoping to ensure her own return by doing so."

"How do you know so much?"

"The pieces only just fell into place for me, too." Will shook his head, looking up at Bran, flicking a glance at Simon and Jane. He dismissed Mordred and his plight with that. "Shall we go?"

Bran stood looking down at his brother for a long moment, and then turned away as well, nodding. "Yeah. Take us home, Will."

----

"They'll be back soon."

John frowned slightly, carefully setting Barney down. "I hope you're right. Why did you want to come here instead?"

"I want to see them right away," Barney said, with a shrug. "This will be where they come back through. Did you pick up the first aid kit, too?"

"I've got it here." John sat down on the grass beside Barney, moving a little stiffly. "It's a little disconcerting, the way you know all this. Are you sure Bran's hurt?"

"I'm not... I can't be sure. It's like... either I see what is happening, simultaneously with it happening, or I see a potential future. But... I bet you can never really predict the future, not properly. Someone does one tiny thing, and everything changes." Barney bit his lip. "If I wanted to, I think I could do that on purpose. But it feels sort of wrong. Like it'd be something the Dark'd do, not me."

"I think if you're uncomfortable with it, then you shouldn't do it."

"Right." Barney smiled, stretching a bit. "You know, you needn't have carried me all the way up here. I think I'm okay, now."

"I wouldn't want to chance it. I'm not so old that carrying you such a little way would trouble me, you know."

"You're not old at all," Barney said, with another of his smiles. He closed his eyes, lifting his head a little as if to feel the breeze. "Here they come."

Just as he spoke, something seemed to shimmer before them. Bran stepped out of it first, pulling Jane by the hand, and then just behind him came Will, guiding Simon. John took them all in at a glance, realising with a kind of twist in his stomach that Barney had been right. Bright blood stained Bran's clothes -- soaking his shirt and spattering his jeans -- and he was paler than he should have been. "Bran!"

"I'm alright," Bran said, with a rueful smile. "It's a scratch."

"A scratch!" Jane sounded indignant. "Stop trying to be a hero, Bran. It's not impressing anyone."

"Barney knew you'd be hurt. I've got the first aid kit with me."

Bran huffed softly, but his tone was teasing. "No faith in us, huh? Had to keep watching?"

Barney smiled up at him. "I was worried. I knew you'd come through, but... it was hard, being left behind. I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help, so when I saw you were wounded and that you'd come up out here... We found a spare shirt for you, too. So your Da doesn't have to see that you got hurt. Though... I didn't foresee the mess you'd make of your trousers."

It was Jane that pushed Bran to sit down where John could reach him. She crouched down next to him, a hand on his shoulder and her eyes fixed worriedly on his face. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I always blunder into things like that... first Mr Hastings, when we were little, and then with... Mordred. I didn't even have the excuse of being little this time."

"It's alright," Will said, softly. "The Dark can be charming, when there's something it wants. Even I nearly fell to its temptation once, and only the fact that the Lady was there saved me."

Jane shook her head, but she said nothing. She watched as John Rowlands carefully bandaged Bran's shoulder. "Does it hurt a lot?"

Bran flexed his arm a little once John tied the bandage off. He shook his head. "It's fine. I barely noticed it when it happened, to be honest. All I really thought about was that it gave me an opening."

"I'm sorry," Jane whispered, and then suddenly flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and nearly knocking him over. Simon's mouth dropped open in surprise while Barney grinned and Bran awkwardly returned the hug -- giving John a look as if he was begging for help.

"There now," he said, awkwardly, pushing her away as soon as seemed polite. She pulled back, flushing a little.

"Sorry," she said again. She bit her lip, looking around to avoid having to look at Bran, and then frowned. "Where did Will go?"

Bran almost jumped to his feet, pushing past her. "Will?"

"Wait," Barney said, to Simon and Jane and John. "Just wait. It'll be easier."

Bran caught up with Will, catching him by the arm and making him turn and face him. "Why're you slinking off now? Aren't we your friends?"

"You are, but -- "

"I could understand doing this before, but... we know you now, don't we? We know who you really are?"

"I'm not so sure about that," Will said, but he smiled a little. Bran put his hands on his shoulders firmly, looking into his eyes.

"You're not going to take our memories away again, are you?"

"I... No." Will shook his head. He smiled a bit again. "There seems no point. You've all dealt with the loss of the Light, you're all adult now -- more or less -- and can understand... and I don't want to have to keep returning your memories every time I get into trouble. You'd probably get angry with me if I did pull something like that."

Bran's grip on Will's shoulders tightened a little. "You've got that right. I... Now that I remember, will I be able to go to the Light? In the end? To be with my parents?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know. You made the choice so young, it seems wrong to bind you to it... But it's not my decision, Bran. I don't know what will happen, but it's not in my hands. I can't help but think, though... Merriman said you only had one choice. One chance."

"But he didn't foresee this..."

"Nobody did." A brief grin. "I thought my watch would be boring. And lonely."

"I'll go with you, you know. Anywhere that you go. We're... We're like my father and Merriman, aren't we? You're my dewin, but I'm your champion. Your sword."

"If I ever need a sword again, you'll be the first man I come to," Will said.

"Man...?" Bran said, thoughtfully, and then he sighed. "I suppose I have grown up. Will... be truthful. Are we ever going to see you again?"

"I hope so," Will said, with another quick grin. He stepped forward, hugging Bran, and Bran accepted that embrace, closing his eyes and returning it: holding Will tightly, fiercely. When they drew apart, their eyes met for a moment, like the sealing of a promise. "But I have to go now. For now. I have to see that all's well in all the world."

"Won't your aunt wonder where you've gone?"

Will shrugged. "I have ways of dealing with these things. Farewell, Bran."

"Hwyl fawr am nawr, Will."

Will turned away, then, and the air shimmered before him, like a gate even Bran couldn't quite see now. He stood his ground as he watched Will disappear through it, though a part of him longed to follow. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned with a smile for Jane.

"He's gone."

She looked sad. "Will he ever come back?"

"He promised," Bran said, and he gave Jane a quick hug -- natural, now, easier than before. He spoke, then, to the air behind her where, maybe, a door had stood. "Make it soon, Will."