Out of Time

Chapter 37

Merlin knew things. He knew when danger would come, when a storm would surge, and often enough, he knew a person's mind, but the storm that was brewing now was not one he knew what to do with.

Danielle had been subdued since Mordred's attack, not herself, but she'd been coming out of her shell more and more while sparring with Lancelot. She talked with him, often enough asking about Arthur. Merlin kept tabs on her progress, sitting with Lancelot each evening to hear how the day had gone.

But recently, she had become more subdued in her training, hesitant, quieter. While he had been hoping that she would start to show improvement in the rest of her daily tasks, she had become worse. She'd also been avoiding him, which made him even more suspicious.

He wanted to call her out on her behavior, get to the root of it, get it behind them. Merlin had hated the rift between them after his interrogation of her, and he didn't want a repeat of that episode. With things almost peaceful in Camelot, he knew something would have to change.

Using his best moves and all of his stealth, he slipped into a chair beside Danielle at dinner. She nearly jumped out of her seat when he said, "Might I ask what's been bothering you?"

"Jesus, Merlin, do you have to scare me to death?" She glared at him for good measure.

"My apologies." He bowed overdramatically to her, nearly kissing his knees where he sat. "That was not my intention."

She gave him an unreadable look, then turned back to her food, seemingly intent on ignoring him.

Now that he had her at his side for more than a few seconds, he studied her long and hard, looking for that clue he suspected she didn't want him to see. "You're pregnant again."

She glared at him. "Keep your voice down."

"Shouldn't that be cause for celebration?"

She turned back to her food, not saying anything for a while, but also not eating. Danielle sat with a bit of cheese resting in her hand for the longest time, arm rested relaxed on the tabletop.

"The situation won't go away simply because you wish it to."

She flinched, and he knew immediately he'd said the wrong thing.

He remembered the miscarriage. Had she wished for the previous pregnancy to go away? Did she feel guilty for losing the child? "I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate."

She shrugged. "It's okay."

He doubted that. "Will you tell Arthur this time?"

Danielle looked at him then, and the vulnerability in those usually strong eyes ripped at his heart. Somehow, she had become as important to him as Arthur, and he just wanted to take all of her hurts away.

But he couldn't. No one could. And it wouldn't be right to do so. How could she appreciate the joys in life without the pains to balance them? And yet, it seemed that both Danielle and Arthur had seen more than their fair share of hurts. What would it hurt if he helped? "I'm sure things will turn out better this time." He had no way of knowing, had no idea how to ensure it, but he very desperately wanted it to be true.

Danielle shook her head. "You don't know that, Merlin. Didn't you say you couldn't see our future now? That I messed it up somehow? Don't give assurances you can't keep, Merlin. It doesn't help, and it only gives false hope."

Which meant she did need those assurances, desperately. He opened his mouth to say something more, but stopped himself. She didn't want empty promises, and until he could find a way to give those promises weight, he shouldn't say anything at all. He stood. "I'll find a way, Danielle. I promise."

That wasn't an empty promise. He might not know what he could do, but he wouldn't stop until he figured it out.

#

"Gawain," Lancelot said, his voice carrying over the distance as Gawain walked out of the stables. He jogged forward, eating up the distance between them. "It's good to have you back.

Gawain nodded. He didn't speak much, but Lancelot could tell he was a good man, deserving.

"How was your journey?"

"Good." He shrugged. Then he shuffled his feet slightly, uncertain of himself. "How are things with Lady Guinevere?"

Lancelot hid his shock. That was the most words he'd heard in the entire time they'd been at Camelot. And since they'd both been squired here since the age of 7, was quite a while. "Good. The queen has been pressing me to consider her for a wife, that I should talk to Arthur about it once he returns."

Gawain nodded. "You should. You deal well together."

Lancelot nodded back. "Thank you." He should leave it at that, but couldn't. "Has something changed? You're more talkative than usual."

Gawain smirked. "Am I?" He looked Lancelot deep in the eyes. "You're a good man."

Lancelot looked away, uncomfortable with the other man's regard. Men didn't talk of such things. They had been almost friends for years, but Gawain had always been so quiet, so it had always been Lancelot speaking, Lancelot leading.

"Why have we never been friends?"

Lancelot thought for a moment, weirded out by the way Gawain seemed to have read his mind. "It's never to late to start." He reached out his hand to the other man, the left side of his mouth quirked up at the corner.

Gawain grasped his forearm, and nodded, his facial expression matching Lancelot's.

"Good to have you back," Lancelot said again, the meaning different this time, more.

"It's good to be back."

#

Mordred stood in front of Sir Kay, a man of unparalleled arrogance and cruelty. He knew immediately he would fit right in. He bowed gently to King Arthur's foster brother, a man who Morgan told him had never gotten over the heights to which Arthur had risen. He knew that the jealousy, anger, and envy there could be manipulated to their purposes nicely.

"I hope you have been well," Mordred said as he continued to stand in the middle of the Great Hall.

Like in Camelot, the Great Hall swarmed with men and women, speaking of the wealth and power of the lord of the lands. It would take a powerful lord to stand up against a powerful king. Mordred's family had their own lands, their own army, but not enough to defeat Arthur's formidably trained forces.

"Speak your mind, fool. My time is valuable, and you are not."

Mordred's eyes twitched, and some of his ire at being a bastard came to the forefront, but he tamped it down ruthlessly. He would not let the other man get the better of him. He shrugged, as if none of this mattered to him in the least. "If you do not want to help in the fall of King Arthur, it is no problem of mine. I will simply go." He'd tossed in the title to make sure to irritate Sir Kay, who he knew would not take kindly to the reminder.

Sir Kay's face darkened, almost turning purple in his rage. "Speak carefully, bastard."

"Do you, or do you not, wish to see the fall of King Arthur?"

He leaned forward in his seat. "Of course I do, or you would not be here. What is it you have in mind?"