Dark Prince of Camelot

You shake your head. "Do you really think that will work? Gemma's already run away once. She'll do it again if she gets overwhelmed."

Ginny sets her jaw. "I'll make sure she doesn't."

"How? By smothering her? Are you going to camp outside her room and walk to school every day?"

"You don't know anything about me," Ginny growls. "You don't know anything about me and Gemma."

"Maybe not, but I do know how people work. You can't just stop people from self-destructing. If it's going to happen it's going happen, and-"

"If it's going to happen, then it's going to happen without you!" Ginny shouts, loud enough for the others to hear. The two of you glance over to see them pointedly looking in other directions – Annabelle scrapes her toe against the ground, gingerly rubbing one ear. "God dammit!" Ginny whispers. "Maybe I can't help, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Maybe she's too far gone. But do you honestly think you can help her? Do you think your presence is going to be a positive factor in her life?"

"I…" If you push Gemma away, you'll hurt her. If you keep her close…you'll poison her, because at the end of the day you're poisonous, and the people who get too close suffer for it. "No."

Ginny opens her mouth, then closes it, her eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly. "Then what are you fighting me for?" She asks.

"Because it isn't about you! It's about Gemma. She has to make the choice to get better and I…I don't think she's going to. If she even can anymore. What are you going to do in the face of that?"

Ginny is quiet for a long, long time. Her hands curl into fists at her side, like she wants to punch something but can't find a fitting target. "I don't know," she says, her voice hoarse. "I don't know what to do, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

You rub the bridge of your nose. "Of course not."

"I just can't fight you and help Gemma," Ginny says, looking away. "I probably can't do either of those things separately, but I definitely can't do them both at the same time."

"We don't have to fight."

"Now he says we don't have to fight," Ginny mutters, throwing her hands up.
You jab a finger at her. "I surrendered to you. I let you into my head. I'm trying to cooperate, despite the hostility, and I'm tired of being treated like a-"

"Like a traitor?" Ginny interjects. "Like a liar? Like a bad guy?"

"I never claimed to be a good person," you say. "But I'm trying to do the right thing. I just want to do it the right way."

"Which is your way, of course," Ginny says, shaking her head. "It's always been your way, hasn't it? Mordred's got it all figured out, so fuck the alternatives-"

"That's bullshit."

Ginny continues on as if she didn't hear you. "Fuck the consequences, and fuck the people you hurt along the way. What else was Gala, right? Or any of the people you hurt? Acceptable losses?"

You grab her arm and she finally stops talking to meet your eyes, the tension between the two of you so thick it's practically tangible. "You don't get to talk about her like that," you say, as quietly as you can manage despite the fire in your chest. "You don't get to talk about any of them like that."

Ginny yanks her arm free of your grip. "Back in the Observatory, you said you never wanted this," she says. "You said you would undo everything that happened to us. But I think that's bullshit."

"I didn't lie to you."

"No," Ginny says, "but you didn't say you were wrong either." She shakes her head. "We're going to help Gemma. Her friends are going to help her. If you survive this, then…well, I guess I can't stop you from talking to her, so go ahead and get involved if you want. Maybe this time you won't fuck everything to hell and back. But…" she looks around, as if taking in the scenery. "I kind of doubt it."

You fall.

You sit in your command tent, not twenty-four hours after your greatest victory, and stare at the letter you have just received.

It had taken nearly a week of forced march in the bitter cold of winter, a march so brutal that there had been quite a few times when you were sure your men would mutiny rather than continue. But by some grace of God they had found the strength to hold on and keep moving – and when they emerged from the trees to find themselves staring down the skeleton army that held the Southern Farmlands, they had charged with a wild, renewed vigor.

You had led the charge, of course, and the vast majority of Lorelei's forces had died at your hand. Spearmen and bowman, knights and mages, seasoned soldiers and children with sharpened sticks all had fallen and died before you. Caledfwlch had carved a bloody path through each and every pocket of resistance until the dead littered the ground around you like broken dolls in the wake of a child's tantrum. They had been buried in mass graves not far from the battlefield, but their corpses would not linger there long. Not now.

"There…has to be some mistake, your highness," Captain Andrea says, rising from her makeshift seat, a small mountain of crates stacked atop each other. Her voice is small, and hesitant, and when you turn the full force of your attention to her she cringes as if struck. Her arm is in a sling and her head is bandaged, but she had emerged from yesterday's battle with only minor injuries – a talent of hers, one that she has honed over the past two years of war. Andrea is here as one of your closest advisors – she possesses a keen military mind, and you haven't worked with an officer better at controlling her subordinates.

"There's no mistake." You're unbelievably tired. You haven't slept in nearly a week, and the exhaustion gnaws at the edge of your concentration like static in your brain, making it hard to think, to speak, to focus. You slam your fist down on the table in front of you, and the heavy wood splinters, threatens to crack. "There's no mistake. We have our orders."

"They can't be right!" Andrea shouts. Of the dozen officers assembled in your tent, only she dares to speak – but you can see the agreement on the faces of the others. "It can't possibly…we took the Southern Farmlands, all of them! Lorelei can't feed her armies, or her rebel peasants!"

"I'm aware."

"You've always said that this war is a shell game!" Andrea shouts, throwing her uninjured arm wide. "That the Heraldries are the key! But we've been back and forth for two years now, your highness! Every time we kill a Traitor Knight, she exalts another!"

"I know," you growl, crossing your arms. Under normal circumstances, even Andrea wouldn't dare to speak to you this way – but desperation has made her bold, and you cannot bring yourself to put her in her place. You can barely tear your eyes away from the letter, and the arcane glyphs inscribed upon it.

"We came here…we marched here because we believed in your plan!" Andrea says. At this the other officers nod, and some even grunt in agreement. "Capturing the Southern Farmlands forces Lorelei's hand. Either she comes here, to reclaim her breadbasket, or she marches on Camelot, to end the war before starvation catches up with her. It's a good plan, your highness!"

Mordred,
Congratulations on your victory…

"God dammit, I know!" You leap to your feet, and the officers take a rushed, simultaneous step backwards. Their backs are pressed hard against the canvas of the tent, pushing the elasticity for all its worth, desperate to create distance between themselves and you. "I know it's a good plan! But it won't work! We have no reinforcements!"

…rift storm across HaYam HaGadol that our Heraldries cannot brave…

"But we have you," Andrea said. "We have you, your highness, whom God exalted to her right hand as Prince and Savior!"

…Lorelei is approaching…

"I…" Even now, when you close your eyes you can hear her rapier whistling through the air towards your neck. It is the first thing you hear in the morning, and the last thing you hear before you fall asleep – a constant reminder of the limits of your ability. "That isn't an option. It was never an option."

Andrea falters, but only for a moment. "Then it's a trick!" she shouts, changing tactics. "It can't be the Queen's will! She wouldn't…she would never order this. She would know what it would mean! The Farmlands feed half the Queendom, people…I have loved you with an everlasting love, have drawn you with unfailing kindness!"

"I will fill your mountains with the dead," you whisper. "Your hills, your valleys and your streams will be filled with people slaughtered by the sword. I will make you desolate forever. Your cities will never be rebuilt. Then you will know that I am God." You turn to face Andrea, and you can see the fear in her eyes, the disbelief. See? You want to scream. I can quote the book too. I can speak scripture. There is no comfort to be found there.

…Hellfire…

"We…can't," Andrea whispers, her voice hushed. Tears carve ragged streaks through the dirt that cakes her cheeks and fall helplessly to the ground. "All those people…"
"Then what should I do?" You ask, taking a step towards her. Andrea shakes her head back and forth, back and forth. "What should I do, Captain!"

"I don't know!" Andrea wails. "But-"

"What should I do?!" You shout again, and the rage flares inside you, fire in your chest. You lash out and shove Andrea, harder than you had intended but still a mere fraction of your strength. The force of your blow picks her up off the ground and sends her flying into the stack of crates she had been sitting on just a few minutes ago, her head snapping back with a meaty crunch, then sliding forward again. She drops to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut.

You stare for a heartbeat, then two, then three. "Heal her." You look up at the nearest mage, a recently promoted officer whose name you haven't yet learned. "Heal her!"

The officer looks down at Andrea. "Your - your highness…"

From obsidian clutch I draw my blade. Caledfwlch, Caledfwlch, CALEDFWLCH.

Light and power flares around you, cloaking you within your armor. "Fine," you say, and your helmet gives your words an eerie, hollow ring. "There will be no more discussion. Alert the other armies. Take your places, know your parts." You stride towards exit, hands clenched at your sides. "We burn it all tonight."

You sit on the crest of a hill, not twenty-four hours after your greatest defeat.

As far as your eyes can see, Hellfire burns. It is not a natural blaze – there is no heat, no sound, no light, only a distortion, a crack in the very fabric of your universe that pulses with sickly rhythm. Hellfire does not burn, Merlin had told you once. It only consumes, and it consumes not the physical but the fundamental. Hellfire strips the very concept of life from whatever it touches – it leaves nothing but dust and ash in its wake, for eternity.

Now over nine million square kilometers of what was once verdant farmland burns, life reduced to grim nothingness. Millions will die – not just the people caught in the blaze itself, but the ones who depend on the Southern Farmland to feed them. Just yesterday it had been the breadbox of your Mother's Queendom, and now nothing green will ever grace it again.

"You actually did it," Lorelei says quietly. She stands behind you – you did not hear her approach, but neither do you turn to face to her. Instead you sit and watch your work.

"No more hiding," you tell her." No more running away. It's almost over."

Lorelei takes a seat next to you. She hugs her legs tightly against her chest and rests her chin on her knee, red hair blowing softly in the wind. "No," she says. "It is over."

"Are you surrendering?" You ask.

Lorelei shakes her head. "Darby," she says. "Catelyn. Sarah. Faith."

You recognize the names. "Your newest Traitor Knights."

"They're not traitors. They rebelled because I told them to, and they fought because I placed the weapons in their hands," Lorelei says, turning to look at you. Her eyes shine in the light of the setting sun. "They're good Knights. And girls. Tell your mother-"

"Tell her yourself." You clench your fists hard, ragged nails biting into the flesh of you palms. "I'm done being in the middle of you two."

Lorelei tilts her head so that her cheek is resting on her knee and studies you for a moment. Then she turns back to the Hellfire. "It will burn for some time," she says. "Fiercer, and fiercer, and fiercer, until there only dust and ash is left. And they sustain nothing."

This time, when you finish tumbling through nothingness, you land on your neck, the awkward angle sending you tumbling. You groan as you push yourself to your feet, unable to shake the fatigue from your bones, unable to meet the eyes of anyone else in the room.

"Minute," Gavin calls from where he lays, sprawled out on the ground several feet from you.

"Um, second," Annabelle says. She's sitting, legs stretched out in front of her, with her back to a tree. You both glance hurriedly away when you notice you're looking at each other.

Matthew is the first of the Breakfast Club to get to his feet, stretching his arms out over his head. "I think we're done," he says, looking around. "There's not much darkness left...this might be all we can get from Mordred's brain."

"That was my last memory of Lorelei," you say. Your voice is tender, hesitant, as if you lost it shouting and aren't sure if it's returned entirely. "I never saw her again after that, so…"

"Does that mean we're done?" Ginny asks.

"Not exactly," Matthew says. "We have to jump back to reality, make some adjustments, then come back to finish cracking the spell. We've shaken its foundations loose, but we need the other side of the association it's trying to hide. Memories of Lucy to tie to the memories of Lorelei." He glances over at you. "Do you feel any different?"

You feel…jumbled. Fragile. But there are no grand revelations sweeping through your consciousness. "I don't think so. But…Lucy?"

"Don't think about it too hard," Matthew says, waving his hand. "Are we ready to go?"

"Honestly, I still need a minute," Annabelle says. "And I'd rather have it here, where I can move, instead of out there, where I can just sort of tilt my head back and forth."

Matthew shrugs. "If you're sure."

You turn and stride away from the group, seeking isolation in the shelter of the makeshift woods that surrounds you. The in between place is brighter now than it's ever been, but it still carries a hazy, indistinct quality that nags on you. Whatever remains of the silk chains, you suppose. You'll be glad to be rid of them, even if you're not sure you're ready for whatever their destruction will reveal.

Footsteps behind you cause you to turn. You expect Matthew with a question, or maybe Ginny seeking to finish your previous argument, but it's Bailey you end up facing, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

Neither of you speaks for a few seconds, the silence weighing heavily on you. "So…" you say. "That whole…thing you did, before we came here. The typing, and the shouting."

Bailey looks away. "What about it?"

You shrug helplessly. "Just wondering what was going on. Is it some weird future thing I've missed?"

"No." Bailey rolls her eyes. "It's from a show I like."

"I see," you say, despite the fact that you really don't. "Why?"

"Why do I like the show? Or why do I do the thing?"

"…Both?" Honestly, you're just desperate for conversation. Even more honestly, you're desperate for a chance to be alone, but Bailey had approached you, and you get the since she isn't the type of person to do that on a whim. If she wants to talk, you'll give her an excuse to talk. Anything to avoid the silence.

Bailey rubs her arm with a free hand. "It's about a boy who does what he has to do, even when he's scared," she says after a moment.

"I see," you say, despite the fact that you really, really don't.

"I'm not good at small talk," Bailey says.

"I never would've guessed," you mutter under your breath.

Bailey glares at you. "I'm just trying to figure something out," she says. "When I read someone, I get all the context. But this is different. Have to figure things out on my own." She glances over at Annabelle. "You hated your mother."

Tactful. You run a hand through your hair. "I don't know. Maybe. I hated what she made me do."

"Hellfire." Even the word makes you flinch, and Bailey takes notice. "It was intense."

"It was a war crime," you say. "Hellfire was a last resort. Something we were only supposed to use against monsters. And she turned it against her own people."

"She won the war," Bailey says.

"She killed millions. A ruler has to care for their people."

"People die in war," Bailey says. "How many did ending it save? A ruler has to make sacrifices. They have to make hard decisions. That's what you did."

You exhale sharply from your nose. "I wouldn't call that much of a decision."

"I wasn't talking about the Hellfire," Bailey says. You meet her eyes, blue-violet on teal. "Even if you didn't hate your mother, you didn't think she was fit to lead," she continues. "You rose against her. You fought her. You killed God knows how many." She shrugs. "Okay. That's just what leaders do. Kings, Presidents, it doesn't matter what the structure is. The people at the top make choices, and the people at the bottom pray that they're the right ones."

You frown. "You're being awfully understanding for someone who wanted to cut my head off not that long ago."

"I still want to cut your head off," Bailey says. "But not because you killed people. Do you think any of our hands are clean?" She shakes her head. "Gavin's the worst about it. He still thinks we're doing the right thing. But we never were. We're just surviving. I want to kill you because I figure if we don't then you'll kill us. You're a threat. And yeah, maybe you can tell us things we don't know. About magic, or each other. Or maybe you can do whatever it is Annabelle wants you to do so bad. But even if you can, even if you will, I don't think it's worth the risk."

You want to say something, but you can't put your thoughts into words that make any sense. So you stay silent, and let her talk, her eyes staring off to some unfixed point in the distance.

"The others don't think like that," Bailey continues. "I get it. I don't agree, but I see where they're coming from." She taps her shoulder. "I'm good at seeing where people come from. But I can't figure you out. You and your mother, you made the same choice. You tried to save as many people as you could, even if it cost lives in the short term. I guess I thought you just figured you could do it better, but…then I saw you, and I don't think you do. I think you just…hated her for making a mistake, even as you repeated it."

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