Memories?
“I was unstoppable, Lancelot. There’s nothing you could have done.”
Lancelot rubs his face. “I should have watched you better. Should have seen the signs. You were under my watch! You were supposed to become my knight!”
“Snap out of it,” I exclaim. “You’ve let Enid get to you. There’s nothing to be done anymore. It’s over.”
There’s a void in Lancelot’s eyes and I can tell my words are not reaching him. He sighs. “I’ve decided to resign my position as the High Knight.”
“What?” My mind reels and it takes a moment for me to regain my composure. “Lancelot, you can’t do that. Prince Arthur needs you more than ever.”
Lancelot shakes his head. “I can’t do it. I’m not worthy of the title.”
“Please reconsider,” I say. “Please.”
“I’m not going to get over this,” he says firmly.
We fall into silence as I realize he has already made up his mind.
“Do you know if…” I trail off and then begin again. “Do you know if Merlin will visit me?”
Lancelot inspects the drawing of the tree with Merlin inside of it. I’m sure that he can’t tell what my terrible art represents.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t really interact with him very often. I wouldn’t think that he would. The poor kid. So much pressure. He was your friend, I know. I don’t believe for a second that the insanity plea would have worked, but I can’t blame him for wishful thinking. I hope you don’t blame him for not visiting you tonight.”
I swallow. “Of course I understand why he wouldn’t visit someone he has to kill.”
“The amount of pain he’s in now… it’s unimaginable.”
“You’re not really cheering me up.”
Lancelot gives me an apologetic glance as he slumps his shoulders tiredly. “Damn, Morgan. I’m really sorry. I’m not sure what kind of cheer I could possibly offer you.”
“Of course. How’s Arthur?” I venture.
The mention of Arthur seems to bring more sadness into Lancelot’s eyes. “Arthur has become erratic. He’s temperamental. Not performing his duties or showing signs of magic. He’s disrespectful toward Merlin. I’ve seen King Uther lose his patience and strike Arthur several times. We hope Arthur will calm down in time.”
“All Arthur needs is more care,” I say. “He needs to feel that someone truly cares about him. He could use a friend. That friend could be you.”
Lancelot shakes his head. “I’m not going to risk letting him down again.”
If only I could speak with Arthur. But the only time I’ll see him is before my execution. I shudder at the thought.
“You should go,” I say. “Get some sleep.”
“I’m not leaving you alone. I can’t.”
He walks to me and puts his hands on my shoulders.
I tense. “Why, Lancelot? You shouldn’t have to feel that this is your problem.”
“It is, though. I’m one of the few authorities allowed to visit you. Who else is going to help you? I’ve watched you since the beginning. I saw myself in you. You’re as stubborn and fearless as I was. I’ve grown to respect you. With my position at Camelot, it was impossible to be your friend. Can you accept me as a friend now?”
My vision blurs. “Yes. I know you’ve always been there for me, even though you act like a jerk.”
He laughs a little before his eyes turn sad. He pulls me to his chest and embraces me tight. The touch is grounding, as if the prison cell is all just a dream and these hands around me are the only things that are real and concrete. Against my cheek, I feel the little golden buttons and embroideries of his uniform. I open my eyes. I haven’t seen anything so beautiful and detailed in a long time. I run my fingers over the intricate design of ivy and inhale the crisp scent of Lancelot’s aftershave.
“I don’t want to die,” I whisper.
Lancelot remains silent as he strokes my back. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.
I allow myself to cry into his uniform. Lancelot holds me tighter. We stay that way for several minutes. Him rocking me softly. I become conscious of the solidness of his chest and his steady touch. He’s not like a lot of people I know, the way he is so sturdy and sure of himself. I begin to crave to have him closer. Taking his hand, I inspect the burn scars where his palm has been disfigured and kiss the marks. Lancelot loosens his grip and steps back.
I wipe the tears from my face, mystified by my action. But is it so wrong to yearn to be held when loneliness tears at me like a storm that’s ripping every organ out of me? I cover my eyes. It’s happening—the all-consuming fear of death. In a few hours I will be riddled down to pure adrenaline, my whole body screaming to live. I want to hold on to myself so badly. But maybe it’s time to accept that I must let go. That as I die, I will not be sane. Maybe it’s okay to give into chaos of unbridled emotion just once before I die. No consequences. No apologies. No pride.
Hands engulf my shoulders again. “Morgan,” Lancelot whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“You shouldn’t have visited,” I sob.
He moves my hands away from my face and wipes away my tears. His hand is callused, but still soft. I tilt my head up, waiting to be kissed. He does, lightly.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Lancelot asks.
I open my eyes, not realizing my hands are tightly grasping his uniform.
“I’d ask you the same question,” I say as I back toward the bed.
He steps toward me, kissing me again as I sit down. He gently pushes me down onto the bed. Though the experience should be all new and exciting, I feel the chill of death in the air. The graffiti of the burning forest whirls. I want to believe that the warmth from Lancelot’s skin is shielding me from death. My sob cripples a kiss. His body absorbs all of my grief. He patiently holds me through my storm. Does he put up with me through pity or duty or guilt—I don’t know. We are two bodies, fighting the ticking time. If he sees Pendragon’s Blessing on my back, he doesn’t mention it.
“Are you all right?” Lancelot asks, pushing the bangs out of my face.
I sense another dark storm of grief brewing inside of me. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself. To let go of life and fear. I lose time.
“Hello?” he asks gently.
I take a breath with my eyes still closed. “I was just dreaming for a second.”
“Was it a good dream?”
I eye him briefly. He looks concerned. I close my eyes again. He says something again. Time seems to slow down and reality seems to stretch out, as if the space between us is getting farther apart.
“It was kind of blank,” I answer. “It was…”
I must have stalled for a long time because Lancelot kisses me on the lips. The sudden warmth startles me. A brief miracle happens where I feel fire in my heart sputter for a second and my veins flood back to life and alertness. We finally make love before my mind starts blanking again as I stare at the ceiling, unblinking. It’s as if I’m turning into stone.
Lancelot strokes my hair and gives me one more comforting kiss before he picks up his watch from the floor. “I’m sorry,” he says. “The guards will be here soon.”
“I know.”
He stands up and puts all his complicated layers of uniform back on. I also get back in my prison garb. We stand and face each other.
“You were always a knight to me, since the day I met you.” He gives me the knight salute with his fist over his heart. “I remember the day I first spoke with you about the fire in the lab. How you went toe-to-toe with me. You were as brave and righteous then as you are now. I’ll remember your honor.”
I mirror the salute. “Thank you for being my friend.” I can’t help but smile for a second. “We did become friends, after all.”
Lancelot’s gray eyes light up with emotions. “I knew we would be. I thought there was something between us since the day we met. I th
ought I was crazy. But here we are.”
“Here we are.”
Be brave.
Lancelot looked out for me in many ways. Not just through mercy, but by believing in my talent in Arthur’s Round. And he had the fearlessness to visit me before my death.
After one last good-bye, he walks away, closing the heavy metal door behind him. The sadness in his eyes lingers in my head. He said he’ll remember my honor, but I know I will be nothing but ever-painful shrapnel in his mind.
Chapter 18
I don’t sleep a wink. The only comfort is the smell of Lancelot’s aftershave that lingers on my pillow. I had never before explored the human side of myself since I never sought intimacy. I wonder what life would have been like if I tried to reach out for love earlier on in life. But of course, it wasn’t my path.
My cell is freezing when I awake. It’s as if they know I’ll be dead soon and decided to cut the furnace off early.
The knights storm into my cell and grab me by the shoulders, roughly yanking me off the bed. They begin to drag me out of my cell.
“I will walk,” I insist.
We walk down a long stone corridor and up winding stairs to the execution room. The room is circular with drains on the floor. No windows. It’s lit with sickly fluorescent light and is cold as a winter’s day.
King Uther walks in with Kay, Agravain, and Mordred by his side, and someone else who looks familiar trails behind him. A handsome teen with a frightened face. His hair is the color of autumn leaves. His earthy gaze meets mine.
“Morgan!” he says, his voice smooth and husky—a bit deeper than it used to be.
“Arthur?” I blurt out, shocked.
I recall that it’s April—his birth month. Arthur must’ve had his fifteenth birthday. He appears to have grown a couple centimeters, at least.
Uther puts an arm in front of Arthur. “How dare you refer to your prince by his first name!”
I continue to stare at Arthur past Uther’s arm, baffled by his growth spurt during my absence. It’s strange to think that Arthur is my half brother—if I’m really a Pendragon. The only resemblance I see in us is our facial structure and expressions. He can put on a mean scowl, just like me.
Arthur tries to move away from his father’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. I tried to tell them that you were nice to me—”
“Arthur!” his father barks.
“I didn’t want to see this either, but they—”
“That’s enough!”
Uther whirls around and strikes Arthur across the face with a loud smack. Anger flares in my stomach and I unintentionally try to yank my arm free from the knights. They hold me tighter. The thought of Uther being my real father fills me with disgust.
“Violence is not necessary,” I shout. “This is a difficult time for—”
“Silence!” Uther barks at me, his eyes blazing.
A few tears trickle down Arthur’s cheeks, and he glares at his father in disdain as Kay puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to comfort him. Arthur shrugs his hand off. There’s a dark look in Arthur’s eyes, one that I don’t recognize. Perhaps what Lancelot said was true—that Arthur is in emotional turmoil ever since our journey.
“This isn’t fair!” Arthur snaps, his voice cracking.
“Restrain this witch,” Uther orders. “I want this over with. Arthur, you will watch her die and learn from this.”
Mordred observes as the knights push me toward the wall and cuff my arms. His expression is serious yet neutral—neither sad nor happy, but if I had to choose one or the other, I’d say it’s closer to sad, much to my surprise. Then they place a cloth bag over my head, obscuring my vision. I breathe hard, the cloth flapping at my mouth. The cuffs shake from my quivers. My animal instincts kick in, and I start screaming and thrashing.
“What are your last words?” Agravain shouts.
I try to calm down, to tell my survival instinct that Arthur is watching and I mustn’t freak him out. I take deep breaths, the cloth trying to suffocate me with each breath.
“To King Arthur,” I say with a shaking voice. “King Arthur, believe in yourself. I’ll always be there for you in spirit.”
Uther curses me in disdain as Arthur sobs.
“Merlin,” Uther calls.
My heart races even faster.
“Please take off Ms. Le Fay’s mask,” Merlin says.
Agravain hesitates. “But…”
“I can handle it,” Merlin says. “Please.”
The cloth pulls up and light floods back into my eyes. My vision adjusts again. Merlin is standing in front of me. He’s in his suit with the Maven badge. Though he appears properly dressed as usual, his eyes are empty. I shakily smile. I missed him so much.
“Merlin.”
He bows, not meeting my eyes. He stands back up, taking an interest in the cuff of his sleeves. “Do you remember when I told you about the water nightmares I used to have? When I was a child, a caretaker used to sing me a song at night because of it. It’s called The Sea Lullaby. I’m a horrible singer, but I wanted to sing it to you. I think it helps keep nightmares at bay and invites peaceful slumber.” His voice wavers at the last word.
He clears his throat and begins singing, his voice soft, echoing in the stone room. He lied—he is an excellent singer. For some reason, I see a vision of him rocking a cradle in a dark room, illuminated only by hallway light. He’ll be a good father one day.
Warm water trickles down my head, cascading down my neck. Soothing water magic. He keeps on singing.
“What is this?” Uther snaps. “You are supposed to execute her. Drown her! Throw an icicle through her head!”
Merlin ignores him.
“Merlin,” I say.
I want to confess my love. But I hold back. It’d be selfish of me to tell him my true feelings now that I’ll be dead.
“I love this song,” I whisper instead.
Slowly, I feel my vision blurring, and I find it harder to keep a thought. My heart beats slower and slower.
Something is strange. My body is shaking, my teeth chattering, though I’m not cold. My skin is white as snow.
Then I realize it. He’s either freezing my brain or heart, slowly so that I won’t feel pain.
Well played, Merlin. A genius to the end.
My body feels no pain, but it spasms, registering that something is awry. Though my consciousness is fading, I try to meet his eyes. They’re brimming with tears. All I want is to wipe his tears away.
Such a trivial thought in my dying moment.
I forget all about Camelot, the King, and magic.
All I want is to see him smile—to see him happy.
In my dying moment, I see the truth. The depth of my love for him.
The blackness begins to seize me.
I’m okay, I tell Father in my mind. I’m okay dying like this. The greatest gift is to love and I’m lucky to have felt it.
Don’t cry.
But I hear a sob. A terrible anguished sob.
The singing stops. The room becomes light again as my vision restores. I lift my head to look at Merlin. He buckles over, his hand over his mouth. He gags and vomit spills out between his fingers.
“Merlin!” Uther roars. “What’s the matter?”
Merlin stands up shakily, his face white down to his lips. His forehead is slick with sweat. His eyes wide and lost, as if he doesn’t know where he is. He laces his dirtied hands through his hair. “I can’t.”
His words plunk down in the room, as if they were stone.
A moment of silence as Uther and Mordred narrow their eyes at him.
“It is your duty,” Mordred says. “As future Maven to…”
“I CAN’T,” Merlin cries with hysteria. “I can’t do it.”
Even in my numbed state, guilt pierces me sharply that Merlin had to go through this terror because of me.
Uther spits. “Are you saying you can’t be
Maven?”
Merlin suddenly rips the badge off his suit and throws it across the room with force. The badge hits the wall with a thwonk. Everyone gasps, paling.
“I resign my position!” Merlin shouts. “You can punish me. Lock me up. Kill me. But I will not comply with anyone’s wishes anymore! I am not killing Morgan le Fay!”
Uther strides to him and slaps him across the face, nearly felling Merlin.
“Have you gone insane?” Uther demands.
“Leave him, Your Highness,” Mordred says. “He’s having a nervous breakdown. We’ll have to reschedule…”
“No,” Uther snaps. “The execution must go on. I will not have her live another day.” Uther turns to me, fury in his eyes. “I will burn Morgan le Fay to death!”
Before the horror fully registers, Uther turns to me, palms pointed.
My prison gown ignites in an instant, fiery roar. My body jumps—scorching from all directions. It’s as if all of my skin is being ripped off.
I break into a bloody scream.
“Father! No!” Arthur cries, his face contorted with anguish. “Please. Please stop! Please don’t kill her!”
“Stop!” Merlin shouts.
Merlin points his palm toward me. Agravain reacts at lightning speed, slamming Merlin on the back of his head with the butt of a gun. Merlin crumples to the floor, unconscious.
“STOP!” Arthur roars louder than my scream and anyone else’s, his voice echoing against the stone walls.
In an instant, Uther is flung across the room. His back slams into the stone wall with an echoing crack.
The fire burning me cuts out as if by a switch.
I shake uncontrollably, my breathing loud and labored, the restraints rattling on and on as they shudder with my body.
Uther slides down onto the floor, his eyes rolled back, his mouth frothing with blood. Arthur puts down shaky palms.
“Oh, Father,” Arthur cries, trembling. “Father… Father! What happened?”
Kay loses color and rushes to Uther, checking his pulse, then attempting to move him.
“He’s dead,” Kay announces. “Broken spine.”
Everyone gapes.
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