Chapter 19

"Really? Wait—no shit—" Gwen half-laughed and paced away for a moment before coming back. "Please tell me you're not making this up."

"No, I assure you. You are finally right." He smiled. With a gesture of his hand, he summoned a glowing ball of light, then vanished it a second later. That wasn't elemental magic. That was magic-magic. "Here I am."

But something still felt off. There was a quality to his voice. Something very familiar. Something in his eyes too. She blinked. "Wait. Wait."

Merlin folded his arms across his chest and waited.

It was impossible. But Avalon was full of impossibilities. "Doc? Is that you?"

He smiled. Just enough to give her the answer. A dozen emotions hit her at once. Frustration that he had lied to her. Anger that he'd left her alone. Confusion over why he was now an old man, when he'd been gone only two weeks tops. Grief that Mordred was dying, or dead. Fear at her uncertain future.

The frustration and anger won. Stomping up to him, she shoved him. Not too hard, he was an old man, after all—somehow—but still. "You asshole!"

Merlin—Doc—took a step back with the shove, clearly having expected it, and laughed. "I deserve that."

"I—but—what—how—"She couldn't wrap her head around what she was seeing. "And—and you bastard, you told me you weren't Merlin!"

"At the time, that was not a lie." The smile on his face turned a little melancholic. "It's so good to see you after so long."

"So long? It's only been a few weeks." Which meant his rapid aging made no sense.

"For you." With a grunt, he hopped to sit on the edge of Arthur's tomb. She was tempted to scold him about being disrespectful, but she figured neither Arthur nor Merlin probably cared.

"What do you mean, for me?" She put her hands over her face. "Please, just explain how this is possible. And how this helps Mordred."

"I'm not here to help Mordred. I'm here, at the behest of our mutual benefactors, to aid you." Merlin shrugged. Doc. Whoever. Whatever. Gwen was sick of people changing their names. "He is just part of the bargain."

It definitely sounded like he'd "grown up." If that was possible. Taking a breath, she held it, and slowly let it out. "I'd ask you to explain from the top, but we don't have much time, if any at all. He's dying."

"Hm. Yes. He is. But he has an hour." He shrugged. "Maybe an hour and five minutes. Hard to tell with him. That is neither here nor there." He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, well. As for my grizzled appearance, it may have only been a few weeks for you since we last met, but it has been several thousand years for me."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I wanted to retire." He huffed, clearly indignant about the subject. "But no. Our dear overlords wouldn't hear of it. I figured that since you were here now, they would not mind terribly if I wandered off. But instead of flitting between worlds, I fear I passed through time as well." He sighed. "I did not even get a short reprieve from the nonsense."

"So…you went…back in time?" Time travel was real. Why not. Sure. That tracked.

"I went forwards, and backwards, and forwards, and sideways, and rightways, and back again." His smile was tired. "Then I found myself on the isle of Britain long, long before it had a name. After centuries passed, who did I find, but my good friend Arthur and his knights." He patted the top of the tomb. "I recognized Mordred and the rest, but they did not recognize me. I realized why I'd been sent there—to be Merlin. So, I donned the name, and the rest is history."

She let the gears turn in her head for a second. "Wait. That makes no sense. You knew about the name Merlin because of the myths about Merlin. So, you couldn't have gotten that from yourself. You knew the name in the future, so you used it in the past, which then gave it to you in the future again." She shook her head. "That's the ‘going back in time and killing your own grandfather' paradox."

"See, that's where humans get it all wrong, thinking about time travel. Everyone thinks the universe cares about paradoxes. That the physics of the universe will make it all make logical sense." He huffed a laugh. "The universe could not care less, trust me. It has no problems letting paradoxes exist. So. Yes. I got the name from myself."

"So, you weren't Merlin before. But you're Merlin now. Which is thousands of years in your future for you, and two weeks of time for me."

"Correct." He reached over and picked up the dusty golden crown from the top of the marble carving of the dead king. He started using the sleeve of his robe to clean and polish it. "Just don't think about it too hard, you are apt to give yourself a headache."

"Too late." She began to pace in front of him, trying to line everything up in her head. "The Ancients sent you with a bargain? To save Mordred?"

"Yes." He blew on the crown, trying to get some detritus out from where it was stuck next to a gem.

It was a beautiful crown, now that she really got a chance to take a look at it. It was clear that an elemental must have been part of making it—it was too delicate and intricate to have been made by human hands. It was a series of twisting, winding vines that grasped precious stones in a ring. It almost looked feminine.

"It used to belong to Zoe," he answered her unspoken thought. "She made it, long before the knights and Arthur arrived. She was once Queen of Avalon."

"She gave it to Arthur."

"Mm-hm. At the instruction of the Ancients. We're all just…their little playthings, really. But I suppose that's the right of gods. I cannot say I would be any different." He laughed. "I would make a terrible god."

"The worst." She joined him with a chuckle.

"She had a vision of the new King of Avalon. But they lied and chose Mordred instead. That got everything off on the wrong foot, I fear."

"Why'd they lie?"

"Why do they do anything? Damned if I know." He kept polishing the crown. "And trust me, do not bother asking. The last time I did that, they showed me, for a split second, the whole of all creation. I could not stop vomiting for three days."

"Noted." She cringed. "But what do they want from me? I've already promised to stay on the island and never go home. I'm a witch now. I don't have anything left to give them."

"Not true." He held up the crown, inspecting it, before deciding his work was done well enough. "There is one more burden they wish you to bear. And if you choose to do so, they will save Mordred's life."

She watched him for a second, putting everything together. "They…no. No, that makes no sense. I'd be the worst queen."

"I beg to differ. You desire peace. You want everyone to live, but you know that isn't possible. You understand the cost of war. You understand loss and betrayal. And you want more than anything else to protect those who can't protect themselves." He held the crown out to her. "That sounds like a queen to me."

She hesitated. "But…no. No. I'm just a kid."

"You're as old as Arthur was when he set out on his quest. Older, even." Merlin—Doc—smiled at the memory.

Shaking her head, she hesitated. "Taking that doesn't just magically make me queen, does it? I'll have to fight for it."

"You really think it will be that easy? No, you are right. You'll need to convince Zoe to stand down or kill her."

"And the same with Mordred." She chewed her lip. Mordred wanted the throne. And if she took this, she'd rob him of that. It would probably feel like yet another betrayal. Yet another stab in the back. She shut her eyes.

Become the Queen of Avalon or lose Mordred.

And she'd done so much to get this far already.

With a heavy sigh, she hung her head. "He's going to hate me for this."

"He will be livid, yes. Perhaps, he might try to capture you or make you his enemy. But he cannot hate you. It is not possible." It was clear he was trying to sound reassuring. He wasn't.

"Thanks for the optimism."

"I am simply being realistic." Merlin shifted with a grunt. "I recommend against aging. It is quite painful."

"I'll do my best. I don't think this place will let me live that long." Gwen rolled her eyes. "It keeps trying its damndest to kill me."

"And yet you are stronger than ever. The island has been preparing you for what is to come. Training you." He grinned.

"So that's where Merlin learned his tutoring technique." She paced for a moment again, scratching the back of her neck. "If I take the crown. If I agree to fight to become queen. They save Mordred?"

"Kind of."

She stopped in her tracks. "What do you mean, kind of?"

With a dismissive sniff, he looked off into the shadows of the chamber. "You know how gods can be. Always have to have clauses and gotchas."

When he didn't say anything more than that, she glared at him. "Merlin."

"They have agreed to heal Mordred. But if you surrender your goal of taking the throne, or if you become queen and then relinquish it? Mordred will die."

A feeling like cold water ran down her spine. She stared at Merlin and searched his eyes for any hint that he was lying. Or, any hint that there might be something more, something else to the bargain. But he simply met her gaze and said nothing. Nothing at all.

If she didn't become queen, Mordred would die.

Either now or later.

If she ever gave up the crown, he would die.

But if she became queen, it was betraying Mordred and ensuring that she would be at odds with everyone on the island, possibly for eternity. She rubbed her hands over her face. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly.

She had to choose. And choose fast. Because Mordred didn't have much time.

Let Mordred die.

Save Mordred and make him her enemy. And declare war on all those who would seek to keep her from the throne.

Shutting her eyes again, she shook her head. "Fuck this place sometimes, seriously."

"You can say that again."

Galahad sat atop his golden steed as he watched his lady converse with a group of frightened elementals. They were from Thorn's pack and were terrified that the Gossamer Lady had come as an emissary of Mordred.

But such was not the case.

This was their third conversation like this. And he knew how it would go, for each time was the same. With Caliburn floating by her side, Zoe would smile and soothe their fears, telling those elementals who remembered her rule all those centuries ago that she would reclaim her throne. And telling those who had never known her as queen that she had once sacrificed her crown to Arthur, but now it was time to take it back.

That Mordred was dead.

That Gwendolyn was the real threat, and she must be stopped at all costs.

That Thorn's death was a tragedy, and she must be avenged.

It twisted a knot in Galahad's stomach to hear Zoe pretend that Thorn was an ally and a friend. The truth was, they were headed to the former elemental warlord's camp to do the same as Mordred had done—kill the upstart and remove another player from the board.

But Zoe no longer had any problem bending the truth, it seemed. And the frightened elementals drank it up, their nervousness disappearing with remarkable speed. They believed her. They wanted to follow her. They would pledge their loyalty to the Gossamer Lady.

And so, little by little, conversation by conversation, their army grew.

And little by little, Galahad's dread increased.

At the Gossamer Lady's request, he even approached his former knights. Bors, Gawain, and Tristan told him they were uninterested in fighting Mordred and wished to enjoy their lives of freedom and quiet. He did not press the matter, and neither did Zoe.

No small part of him had been relieved. He did not wish to put his brothers through more pain. But there was one to whom they had yet to speak. And one whose conversation he was dreading.

And it was him that they were seeking out next.

Conversation with the elementals concluded, Zoe opened a portal for them to travel through. And what greeted him on the other side was a modest home, tucked deep in the woods. He saw no other structure within sight in all directions. Whoever lived here wished to be left alone.

Galahad could not say he blamed him.

Dismounting his steed, he approached the door. Lifting his fist, he went to knock, only to have the door swing open before he could bring his knuckles down upon it.

It took everything in Galahad's being not to flinch when he looked upon the scarred and mutilated face of his former brother-in-arms. Mordred had not taken Percival's betrayal lightly, and had made sure that the act of removing his iron magic from the copper knight's chest had gone as painfully as possible.

"I heard your heavy boots, you walking beanpole." Percival grunted. "Why are you here? If Mordred wants something, he can suck off a goat."

Galahad frowned. "I am not here at the behest of our former prince. Though I am here because of him, I suppose." He did not want to do this, he realized. He did not want to rally these forces and contend for the throne. He did not want to hurt Gwendolyn.

But the die had been cast. His choice had been made. And there was no turning back.

Percival narrowed his eyes—well, one eye. The other seemed frozen by scar tissue. "Spit it out."

"Mordred is dead. Fatally wounded by the Gossamer Lady." He stepped aside, gesturing to Zoe. "She has rebuilt Caliburn and seeks the throne. We ask for your assistance. To join us, in seeking the death of Gwendolyn and to stand against any who might oppose the Gossamer Lady's ascendance to the throne."

Percival paused. Then he burst out in laughter so hard that he had to lean against the doorjamb. "You—you—have slain Mordred?"

"He could not withstand the power of Caliburn." Zoe lifted her chin in defiance.

"You attacked him from behind. You must have fought cheaply, there is no way you could have bested him in combat." Percival continued to chuckle before slowly calming his laughter. "But if you think I am deriding your choice, you are wrong. I would have done precisely the same thing. Congratulations to you, and good riddance to that rusted bastard."

Zoe's smile was tender. "Will you join us, then?"

Percival thought about it for a moment. "Yes. Perhaps I will be given the gift of an honorable death in battle." A thin, cruel smile twisted up the side of his lips that still moved properly. "And I always hated that girl."

That broke his heart. But Galahad understood. Nodding once, he turned from the conversation without another word. He could not stomach it.

"We will rally at the keep within the week. Please attend if you are able." Zoe's voice was unwaveringly pleasant and sweet. "I expect Gwendolyn will pose little threat to us, but I would like to be overly cautious."

"A shame we elementals leave nothing but dust behind when we die." Percival's tone was cold. "I would have loved to have spat on his corpse. But I guess watching Gwendolyn die will be good enough. I will be there, Gossamer Lady. Knight in Gold."

Percival shut the door. Galahad was glad to be done with him.

"What is wrong, my love?" Zoe frowned at him. "It troubles you to see your old companion. And what has become of him."

"Yes," he admitted. It was easy to see, and while she may not have understood the depths and reasoning behind his distaste, it was still a fact.

"I know you were friends with Gwendolyn. But she chose her side, and you chose yours. There is no going back now." Zoe hugged him, her small, thin arms circling his waist. He held her back, kissing the top of her head.

"Let us go home, my love." Zoe held his hand, her fingers winding between his much coarser ones. "It has been a long day."

"Aye." Relief welled in him at the idea of home. What a simple yet powerful concept—home. Home, with her. He loved her. That was the unavoidable truth of it all. His Gossamer Lady was his life. His light. Without her, he would have nothing—no reason to be. He would follow her to the end, even if he disagreed with her choices.

He was her knight. He would protect her to the very end.

It was his sacred duty. No matter what may come.

No matter the cost.

For that was honor.

Was it not?