When I was seventeen, King Mark’s Nephew Tristan died. Years ago, the boy had tried to run off with his uncle’s wife, Isolde. The lovers were found, and Tristan was banished. He remarried, but when he knew he was dying he tried to summon Isolde, who not only came, but killed herself when she arrived too late.
When I heard their tragic story, one detail struck me as odd. When Mark caught them trying to elope, they both swore they were under the influence of a love potion. They were probably making it up. Usually I would assume they were just trying to get out of trouble and forget about it. But in this case it bothered me that I was living with a woman who could easily create such a potion, and I knew she had a vested interest in making Mark’s life miserable.
“Are you responsible for the Cornwall situation?” I asked her.
“Why should I be involved?” She deflected.
“King Mark just lost the two people he loved most in the world, even after they betrayed him. I know you hate him for taking Cornwall. You think it should be yours.”
“Cornwall is mine, and one day I’ll get it back," she assured me. "But I don’t need to punish my enemies. They usually manage to ruin their own lives.”
She wasn’t going to tell me the truth. She probably didn’t do it, but I wouldn't get an answer from her either way. This ambiguity was getting tedious.
“Don’t get angry with me, Mordred. If it weren’t for my intervention, Camelot would have fallen years ago.”
“I know that. I just don’t approve of your tactics.”
“Should I just let them destroy your birthright?”
“No, but they don’t think you’re helping. If you really want me to try and become king, my main benefactor can’t be an evil sorceress. They aren’t going to accept me just because I miraculously survived.”
“There was nothing miraculous about it. I saved you.”
This is the reason she likes to hoard knowledge. It makes good ammunition. Morgan could see I was getting worked up, and knew what would distract me. For the most part, it worked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you think it was an accident that I found you? Don’t be silly. I put my mark on you, the day you were born. Here.” She poked my chest.
She told me not to look for it, but of course I didn’t listen. It was almost involuntary. If someone told you they gave you an invisible tattoo with magical powers when you were a baby, wouldn’t you try and look?
“That mark will always tell me where you are and how you’re faring. It helped me find the boat. I must give you credit though; you’re survivor even without my magic. None of the others lasted long enough for me to come and fetch you.
“So you rescued me,” I said, touching the skin over my heart.
“Yes.”
“After the fact. And then you took me back to Lothian, simply to make it abundantly clear whose child I am. Thank you very much, Morgan.”
“Temper, my dear. I don’t appreciate your sarcasm."
I’m afraid my replay was somewhat inarticulate.
I was certain she’d done it on purpose. In case anyone had failed to guess that Arthur was my father, my triumphant return would back it obvious that I the child Merlin had foreseen. She’d stolen the anonymity I longed for every time someone whispered behind my back, or searched my face trying to find something wrong with me.
Things escalated from there. I don’t remember actually making the decision to leave, but no one could stop me once I had. I dimly recall Morgan trying, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I ignored her warnings that Camelot wasn’t prepared for my arrival, just as I wasn’t ready to go there.
It was always our intention for me to take my place at court, but not like this. Morgan was right though. It was too soon.
Gender:
Points: 2952
Reviews: 136