Chapter 50 #2
“Arthur came here a few months ago,” I said.
“Just before Lancelot and Guinevere were exposed in Camelot. It wasn’t easy, but we talked for a long time—about the past and our mistakes, what the future holds.
He apologized for Accolon’s death, the lies and distrust that tore us asunder, and admitted our bond has never really left us.
We spoke of the possibility of forgiveness. ”
She regarded me in astonishment, the image of her son glowing behind her, a glorious knight reduced to riding in a cart.
“He agreed to stay to talk further, and I ordered this room opened for him to sleep in,” I continued. “The paintings were covered with tapestries, but he saw what was beneath. He galloped out of here in the early hours and headed directly for Camelot.”
I sighed; confession was harder than I had imagined. “I cannot with certainty say that my intentions were completely innocent, but I did not want this to happen. That was the start of me knowing the war was coming.”
“Even so, it does not seem like enough,” Ninianne said. “How could King Arthur be sure of what he was seeing? He loved and trusted Lancelot, and anyone could have painted this wall. Why would he believe it?”
“Because he knew,” I said. “He saw the paintings and recognized what was already within him. Deep down, he has probably known for a long time.”
I watched my confession settle, weighty upon her fraying hopes.
Wearied anew, Ninianne leaned against the wall, resting her head beside one of Lancelot’s self-portraits.
“We have all been wrong. In trying to avoid the betrayal prophecy, I misjudged everything so badly. The Grail Quest worked for a while, but failure drove Lancelot back into Guinevere’s arms with more fervency than before. ”
“There was never anything you could have done to prevent that,” I said. “I tried to tell you. Camelot is Lancelot’s greatest love—he will always go back. It doesn’t mean you were wrong to try to protect him. Nor did you know what would happen.”
“But you did,” she said. “You knew it would go wrong, and I should have listened. I was only thinking of Lancelot, but my actions brought grief, jealousy and division to the court and sowed the seeds for this war. I am supposed to be trying to shift fate away from the prophecies, not accelerate Camelot’s downfall. ”
I went to her and took hold of her arm. “Listen to me,” I said. “There’s nothing to be done. It is all of our fault—everyone and everything, since the very beginning.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Who among us hasn’t contributed to this?
” I said. “I put Arthur in the room with Lancelot’s paintings.
Lancelot painted them because of his sins.
Arthur and Guinevere married in youth and haste, with the world’s eyes upon them and the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders.
Trouble was inevitable—not because of prophecy, but because it is life. ”
Ninianne straightened, pushing herself away from the wall. “I cannot disagree with that. But how can we account for the fact that many of Merlin’s predictions were correct? For all his faults, he loved King Arthur and did not lie to him.”
“No, he wasn’t a liar,” I agreed. “At least, never intentionally. Merlin was a brilliant reader of the stars, but his trouble came in interpretation. The prophecies have some merit, but they are too vague, too simplistic to contain such a complicated life as Arthur’s.
Consider it—my treasons since Accolon; Lancelot and Guinevere; King Lot reneging on the treaty, which ended in his death all those years ago; even Merlin keeping Arthur’s true lineage a secret until he was crowned—all can be interpreted as betrayals.
But everything he predicted was put through the lens of what he deemed most important, and Merlin was profoundly flawed at understanding the chaos of the human heart.
And due to his need for control, he never considered the prophecies beyond his own world view. ”
She said nothing, but looked doubtful, so I took up her hands.
“Do you see what it means, Ninianne? Nothing we did alone started this war, and there’s nothing we can do to hasten or prevent the future.
Arthur has faced a thousand challenges, and death is inevitable, but all of these things have happened and he has survived.
There is no reason to believe he won’t continue far beyond this. ”
I expected at least her relief, but my conclusion did not seem to bring her any respite. Instead, she relinquished my hands, her light dimming back to grey.
“Your logic is undeniable, Morgan,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter, because there is something important you do not know. There is another prophecy, one that no one has ever heard. A prophecy so certain, so specific, it terrified Merlin to his bones.”
“What’s another, in a book full of them?” I said, but the seriousness on her face was enough to silence me.
“It is not written there,” she said. “Merlin feared its meaning so much, he never put it down in ink. This augury appeared to him in the skies and every method of divination he used for months, requiring no interpretation. He confessed it to me only because it disturbed him so badly. That’s why I wanted the Book of Prophecies, and asked for your insight.
I was seeking any sign of Merlin’s unwanted prediction, or if he had managed to find an answer to the question it posed. ”
“What did this prophecy say?”
“That King Arthur would have a son, who would bring about his death.”
The words shivered through me, despite my better judgment. “But Arthur has no sons, legitimate or bastards,” I pointed out. “In all my years seeking his missteps, I have never heard such a thing. Surely there would have been talk of… ”
The shiver became a chill of the familiar, then a cold echo: of careless words, spoken years in the past.
Morgause met the new King in Richmond. It’s said they came to a friendly accord.
The last Orkney babe—one not like the others, if you take my meaning.
Then, mere days ago:
She told me of my true father, though I suspect he considers me a grave mistake.
Epiphany fell like an executioner’s axe.
“Oh God, no—it cannot be.” I put my hands over my face, unable to fathom what I was about to say, everything it meant. “The son is Sir Mordred.”
How had I been so blind? Mordred’s keen grey eyes and pale-gold fairness were not only my mother’s likeness: they were Arthur’s.
Ninianne’s jaw dropped, her certainty instant, as strong as mine. “Of course,” she said. “It all fits. The army that came to my lake—they were clad in black bearing an old, abandoned standard: the Orkney eagle. King Arthur left Sir Mordred in charge… ”
“ …and with that power, he seeks to destroy him and take his crown,” I said. “Mordred separated Arthur from Lancelot, and now the kingdom will fall.”
The fifth and suspect Orkney son was not only the product of a mistaken union between my sister and her half-brother, but the product of a scandal so damning, so against God, that Merlin had fought to keep it secret.
What it had created was a shunned child, a man seething with rejection and rage, who had learned of the father he believed had forsaken him, and turned that knowledge into hatred.
“My sister,” I said. “Morgause and my—”
“Don’t think of it, Morgan,” Ninianne cut in. “By Sir Mordred’s age, it was before King Arthur’s marriage, or any of you were aware of your relation.”
“Maybe so, but it is still perturbing to contemplate.”
Such a connection perhaps accounted for the unease that crept under my skin when I was in my nephew’s presence.
But as I thought again of his snide, echoing face, the aversion I felt came from something beyond, a fear ingrained deep in my core so long ago that I had not recognized it.
Sir Mordred’s sneering arrogance, quick aggression and taste for cruelty was the perfect reflection of Uther Pendragon.
His lust for power, too, was the same as his grandfather’s—selfish, greedy, concerned with nothing but his own relentless needs.
“He wants one of us,” I said. “Mordred came to see me, lied about Arthur’s death, then asked me to lend him my magic to control the realm. I refused, then he made threats. No doubt his men are pursuing you for the same reason.”
“I don’t care,” Ninianne said. “I must go to Benoic and tell King Arthur of this, convince him and Lancelot to form a peace. They will reunite and save the kingdom.”
I shook my head. “It’s too late for that. I have already sent a bird to Arthur, telling him that Mordred intends to force Guinevere into marriage. He will be on his way back to rescue her by now.”
“By himself, with only half his fighting force? It won’t work—without Lancelot, the prophecy is too strong.
” Panic gripped her chest and she clutched at it, doubling over in breathlessness.
“How could I have missed this? I have been so distracted, by Lancelot, the dying magic, my mistakes, when the danger was closer than I imagined. Now, Mordred will take the Crown of All Britain, and at his hand, King Arthur will die.”
Her voice cracked and she slumped against me. I tried to keep her upright, but her form was elusive, as if I were trying to hold up a body of water, and she slid to the floor.
I put my hands to her heart, her neck and face, trying to sense any ailment. There was none. “Ninianne, tell me what’s wrong so I can heal you.”
“There is no cure for this,” she croaked. “The world is dying, and so am I.”
Frustration rose up that once again I was failing, my skills not fairy enough to restore one as ancient and powerful as she.
“No,” I insisted. “I’ve healed you before. We are not so different.”
Within the words, I felt the truth and the lie, then the soaring sensation that always came with solving a problem. We were similar and different, and therein lay the answer.
One as ancient and powerful as she.
I threw my arm under hers and asked the air to help me raise her to her feet.
“Don’t give in, Ninianne,” I said. “I’ll fix this, or the Devil take me.”