The King’s mysterious condition continued. Writhing and tossing in the grip of waking nightmares, his attempts to walk down to the gardens were thwarted multiple times by Arthur, Gaius and Merlin physically hauling him back to bed. At last Gaius had been forced to administer a sleeping draught, which had the effect of drugging Uther’s body, although his eyes remained sleeplessly open, oozing tears as his mouth formed fragments of words.

Gwen listened gravely as Merlin recounted Uther’s state. They were seated in Gaius’ quarters, awaiting the physician’s return. Guinevere had taken an instant liking to the stately old man whose words implied a hidden respect for the Old Ways, even as he pretended otherwise to the court. Unlike many of the newer physicians who were eager to denounce the ancient healing arts - arts that Gwen had witnessed being handed down among women in her mother’s circle - Gaius appeared to harbour deep respect for them.

Gwen had an inkling about Merlin asking her opinion: not only was she one of the few who knew his secret, but she herself had knowledge of the manifestations of sorcery and enchantment.

“It has to be magic,” Merlin insisted, “Why else would Gaius’ tonics have no effect? The question is how…and who?”

Gaius walked in with concern heavy on his face. Guinevere poured him a cup of tea which he accepted gratefully.

“Is the King any better?” she asked as he sat down. She had little love for Uther, but she understood the consequences for Camelot if its enemies should learn of his deteriorating condition. Political insatiability amid already turbulent times was a sure recipe for war. Had she not witnessed that in Eirinn? Her heart clenched at the thought of Arthur riding off to battle, of the same endless rows of dying bodies laid out in Camelot as they were in Eirinn.

“No, and I fear we can’t hide this from the people any longer. We need to find out what’s causing this. At first I thought it was poison, but he has no physical indications of having ingested a toxic substance. The only other cause would be -,” he paused, brow furrowed.

“What is it Gaius?” Merlin pressed.

“Well, I thought it might be someone using mandrake root.”

Merlin looked puzzled, and Gwen quickly explained, “The mandrake plant has powerful properties, the High Priestesses used extracts for potions that would allow them to traverse the dream worlds and converse with the spirits. The harvesting of mandrake root was only allowed to a few select apprentices.”

Gaius looked impressed with her knowledge, “But like with all magic, the mandrake plant has the propensity for both light and dark. That is why the High Priestesses guarded its secrets so closely. In the wrong hands, the root could induce endless tormenting visions, trapping the soul between the past and the present, between nightmare and waking, driving it to madness…and death.”

He shook his head, “But the root must be kept close to the afflicted body, and I could find no such evidence in the King’s chambers. I even glanced under the bed. Whatever is causing Uther’s state, it’s powerful magic. And it comes from someone close to him.”

Gwen and Merlin caught each other’s eyes at the same moment, and she hated herself for thinking it.

Morgana

Of those closest to Uther, she had long since made her dislike known. Even before the mysterious events of her pregnancy, Guinevere remembered letter after letter seething with rage at Uther’s tyrannical rule.

But could she really have progressed from open dislike to active enmity? Enough to dabble in dark sorcery?

All three looked up, startled, as Sir Leon burst into the room,

“Gaius, Merlin” he acknowledged Guinevere with a quick bow and ‘milady’, before turning back to Gaius, “Prince Arthur requests your presence in the council room, immediately.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Merlin muttered as they hurried behind Leon.

***

“Milord if the rumours reach our enemies, Camelot is doomed!”

“Cendred has spies everywhere…”

“We cannot afford to appear weak…”

“Enough,” the contentious councilmen grew silent at the prince’s tone, and Arthur continued, “Let us hear from Gaius first.”

The old physician walked in, followed by Merlin and, to Arthur’s surprise, Gwen. She gave him the briefest of smiles, evanescent as sunlight in a dewdrop, before standing aside with downcast eyes when Melwas approached her.

“Milord,” Gaius addressed Arthur “May I ask why I was summoned?”

“Gaius, rumours are circulating about the court regarding the…the nature of my father’s condition. Naturally there is concern about these rumours travelling beyond Camelot, to our enemies. Tell me, do you have any idea yet what’s causing his illness?”

While Gaius discussed Uther’s state, Guinevere watched Arthur from under her lashes. He was every inch the prince, regal and forthright, commanding the room despite his youth. She knew his prowess on the battlefield, and his renowned courage, prevented the autocratic councilmen from disrespecting him openly. But she also knew that the complexities of court life bred treachery like a cesspool bred flies; it would take only the slightest show of uncertainty or weakness from Arthur for selfish alliances to shift and amass against him.

When Gaius concluded regretfully that he was nowhere near to curing Uther, she saw a flash of naked worry in Arthur’s eyes, and her heart ached, knowing what it took out of him to stand there, seemingly unmoved, faced with the prospect of losing his father amid the turmoil of a threatened kingdom. Gwen longed to speak with him alone, comfort his worries.

“Tell us Gaius,” Melwas drawled, “Do you think the King’s regretful condition caused by sorcery?”

At that the room erupted into furious buzzing, and Arthur had to call for silence twice, loudly, before Gaius could speak.

“I’m afraid it’s possible, sire,” Gaius looked regretfully at Arthur.

Arthur digested this information in silence, but Melwas spoke again, his voice dripping with careful obsequiousness “We cannot afford to let this cow us, milords.  His majesty the King has spent his life fighting the dark forces of the old religion, such that his name is known across the seas. We mustn’t let this impudent act against him go unpunished.”

“What would you suggest?” Gaius asked sombrely, clearly distrustful.

Melwas strode to the centre of the room, “Search the villages for anyone who might be harbouring sorcerers. Arrest the suspects, publicly execute the guilty. Show them that we who oppose the evils of magic can fight fire with fire. Our enemies will thus be warned.”

The councilmen murmured and nodded in agreement, and Arthur watched as they immediately began discussing which villages to search, which lists to consult. Something tugged at his memory, an image of a young boy with a sword-marred face, and a mother who tended him hopelessly, whose eyes grew blank with fear at the word Camelot.

Instinctively his gaze sought Guinevere’s, and before he could address the room she stepped forward, “Milords, please. If you would spare me a moment,” she was a breath of fresh air to Arthur in that cloistered room, soft and elegant in a lilac gown, her hair pulled back from the bare loveliness of her face, dark eyes glowing determined.

She rushed on before the council could silence her, “Searching the villages, arrests, executions, they would only incite fear in those whose loyalty you depend on: the people of Camelot.  Search for an answer if you must, but surely you can do so without needless persecution?”

“My dear,” Melwas intoned patronizingly, “You have the soft heart of a woman, ill-suited for matters of state.” He turned back to the councilmen, “Pay her no mind, milords. She is easily unsettled by such things.”

Maybe it was her mother’s blood in her veins, but Guinevere felt fury bubbling in her chest, and her own words surprised her, “I know that a kingdom is only as great as the love and loyalty of its subjects. Any state that squanders the goodwill of its citizens cannot exist for long.”

Silence pervaded the room, and Guinevere struggled to hold herself poised and upright against the glares cutting into her. Her eyes found Arthur’s, and for a moment it seemed they were the only ones in that room, that two years and too many crossed obligations did not lay between them.

“She is right.”

All heads turned to the prince, and Arthur continued, “There’s no need to alarm the people without sufficient evidence. Gaius, see to it that my father is not left alone. Only you, myself and select members of the council shall attend him. Exhaust every possible resource in finding what caused this.”

Gaius bowed.

The other councilmen swarmed Arthur, questioning, demanding, only to hear, “That is my decision. The council is dismissed.”

Guinevere couldn’t quite hold back the secret smile that blossomed on her face, but before she could meet Arthur’s eyes again amid the crowd Melwas grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the hallway.

“I would like a word, dear betrothed,” he snapped icily, propelling her away from the council chambers with a vice-like grip on her wrist.

“Let go of me!”

They rounded a corner and he shoved her against the wall, grasping both of her wrists so she was pinioned helplessly in his grip, “You will never defy me in public again, is that understood?” his breath drafted sourly on her face.

“You are neither King nor husband, yet, milord. I will speak my mind, while I still can,” she spat with bitter quietness.

Melwas’ grasp tightened on her wrists until she winced and feared he would snap them backwards, and he pushed his body against hers, “ I always did enjoy your spirit, Guinevere” he released one wrist to run his hand down the side of her body, “And I will enjoy breaking it. How painful or pleasurable the breaking remains for you to decide.”

“The only reason I am betrothed to you is to spare the people of Eirinn more bloodshed. Do not deceive yourself in thinking otherwise.”

His fingers grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze still, and a thumb ran over her lower lip, “And if you wish me to honour that part of our bargain, your pretty little mouth would do well to stay silent on matters beyond your understanding. Defy me again, and the peasants you so self-righteously love will die cursing the very air they breathe. Is that understood?”

Melwas released her abruptly, and she rubbed her sore wrists, fighting the angry tears in her throat, determined not to humble herself before him.

“If you would excuse me, milord,” she bit out flatly before sweeping past him.

***

Guinevere drew her shawl close to her, the night air having cooled off more than she anticipated.  Feeling cloistered and restless in her chambers, she had decided a walk in the gardens might help clear her head. The moon was full, its silver light dripping between the branches of trees like incandescent tears from quiet eyelids. She thought of how this same light would dance like silver flames on the seas of Eirinn, how the celestial orbs remained ever true to their ancient paths, and how they would remain so long after the wars and trials of humankind were ashes and dust.

She slipped off her light shoes to feel the dewy grass beneath her feet, cool and soft and tender. Her steps led her deeper into the gardens, until she came upon a fenced enclosure. Guinevere felt slow fear coil in her veins at the sight of a silhouette amid the dead leaves and broken branches, but before she could think again the figure turned and stepped forward, clearly outlined in the moonlight.

Arthur.

She sighed with relief, “You startled me.”

 A slight smile flickered in his eyes, “Guinevere. What are you doing here this time of night?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied with a smile as he pushed the small gate open for her to step inside. 

“How is your father?”

Arthur frowned, “No change. He doesn’t even know his surroundings. I’m worried, Gwen.”

“I have faith in Gaius that he will find a solution. He is an excellent physician, and he has a fine apprentice in Merlin.”

At that Arthur gave a short laugh, “Ah yes, an apprentice that can’t even find his own feet half the time. Camelot is surely doomed.”

She laughed too, admitting Merlin’s clumsiness. Arthur’s face grew serious then, “Thank you for speaking up at the council today. It was brave of you.”

Guinevere beamed, and Arthur felt his heart flip oddly like a fish out of water, “I didn’t mean any disrespect to your council. I hope my words weren’t too impudent.”

“Not at all. Half my Knights are afraid to so much as squeak out of turn before the council. Someone else needed to speak up, and I’m glad you did.”

She looked around at the strangely haunting nook, it’s broken stems and desolate leaves like moon-silvered relics. But no, not completely desolate after all, because right by Arthur’s foot she could discern two blossomed roses and three buds, ruby-dark and perfect.

“What is this place?”

“It used to be my mother’s.  She grew roses here, hundreds of them apparently. They…died shortly after she did.”

Gwen thought of the rose he’d sent her, now tucked preciously in her tapestry box.

“Your token was much appreciated. And now that I know its origin, I am honoured.”

He shuffled his feet and looked up at her, “I wasn’t sure if -,” he cleared his throat, “I’m glad you liked it. You said nothing so I wandered if I caused further offence.”

This was a side of him she hadn’t seen, the vulnerability beneath the confident warrior who strode as though the world were his to command. The night air was forgotten on her newly warm skin.

“I wanted to, but the situation is delicate and…,” she bit her lip, drawing Arthur’s gaze to her the perfect outline of her mouth, then rushed ahead “It’s not always easy to reveal what’s in one’s heart.”

He stepped closer to her almost involuntarily, staggered as always by her loveliness. Arthur had thought she couldn’t look more painfully beautiful than she had the night of the feast, decked in jewels and a gown red as desire. But here in the soft shadowy moonlight, her hair come loose from its knot and a shawl carelessly draped over her nearly bare shoulders, she made his gut tighten with longing.

“Your heart has been closed to me since you arrived here,” he murmured, those star-sapphire eyes going through her like an arrow, “Why, Guinevere? I thought I had your trust.”

“You do, Arthur. But things are not as simple as you or I would like.” She told him of the carnage in Eirinn, of what Melwas’ militias meant to Eirinn’s survival as a kingdom intact.

He ran a frustrated hand through his blond-silk hair, making Gwen’s fingers long to do the same, “So it’s a political alliance. You’re a pawn to broker the safety of your kingdom.”

“Surely you know what such responsibility entails,” she reminded him quietly, ‘Do you not do the same every time you ride out to battle the foes of Camelot? Will you not -,” her voice softened with sorrow, “Will you not do the same someday when the time comes for you marry?”

His eyes flashed up at her, blue fire like lightning, “Do you think such things are simple? Do you think I can just snuff out my feelings for you like an inconvenient candle?” he was even closer to her now, and she felt her heart thudding a steady drumbeat against her ribs, “I’ve thought of you every day since I left Eirinn, wondering if you thought of me, hoping you were safe. Each time I faced death on the battlefield, your face was the one that flashed before my eyes. The memory of you dancing is branded in my mind like fire, you enchant me without any magic,” his voice grew low and deep, rich as dark velvet “Tell me, Guinevere, how do I forget I am utterly in love with you?”

Her lips parted at his admission. She was light-headed with his words, her skin humming like the face of a drum grown warm and taut with pounding as they faced each other, both already short of breath as though they’d been making love instead of talking. She remembered some of her dreams, and heat flushed her head to toe, and she saw Arthur’s eyes darken, and knew his thoughts ran down similar roads.

His hand came up to where her shawl had slipped off one shoulder, and he replaced the cloth slowly, his fingers lingering on her skin, “Arthur I-,” but her words faded when his eyes fell to her wrists, the faint circled bruising visible in the clear moonlight. He took her hands in his, “Who did this to you?” and she could see the anger flare in his eyes, “Was it Melwas?”

She said nothing, but her silence was answer enough.

 “That cowardly son of a bitch,” Arthur swore softly,  “If I could get my hands on him -,”

“Arthur please,” she protested, “Promise me you won’t seek him out. He maybe a coward but he’s dangerous. If anything happened to you I-,” she whispered, “I couldn’t bear it.”

Cobalt eyes searched her face, “Do you expect me to stand by while he-,” his words were cut off and they both looked up startled at the sudden clamour of movement in the courtyard. The night guards leaving their posts could only mean one thing. An intruder had been spotted in the castle.

Arthur turned back to Gwen urgently, “I must go. Return to your chambers and stay there. Don’t step outside until we’ve finished searching the castle.”

She nodded, and he pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles, the tender gesture spiralling through her. “Be careful, Arthur. For me.”

Before she could think he kissed her, and she could taste the urgency on his mouth, a sweet and stolen rush.  Then they were both hurrying back through the gardens, and he held her hand in his until they had to part ways at the courtyard. With one last worried glance in his direction Guinevere hurried back into the castle, struggling to find her way in the winding torch-lit hallways.  She retraced her steps twice, anxious now and remembering suddenly the golden witch whose face had slipped mysteriously through the shadows in Eirinn.

Finally she found herself in a familiar corridor, and was about to stride forward when she saw two hunched figures half-hidden by the pillars. Ducking behind a large statue, she squinted and recognized Morgana’s bright-red cloak. She was talking to someone. But who? Her voice was hushed and urgent. The other figure stepped away from Morgana and Gwen stifled a gasp.

A child, about ten years old, with wide and strangely knowing eyes in a pale countenance. Could it be..?

As she watched the child handed Morgana a small bundle, and even before she unwrapped it Gwen guessed its contents: a mandrake root, dripping black. Morgana raised the root to her mouth and devoured it, quickly and with practice, and Gwen pressed a fist to her lips against a wave of nausea. Then she and the child both hurried away into the darkness, and Gwen stood there frozen with the weight of new knowledge.

Someone close to the King.

There was another way to work the mandrake magic, she remembered. Those who shared half your blood could consume the deadly root, and affect you through the shared blood for as long as they could endure. It was subtle and powerful sorcery, such as only the High Priestesses could practice.

Gaius and Merlin knew Morgana was close to Uther. Little had they guessed how close she truly was.