Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

  “Merlin,” I shout, running up to the bars. He’s already turned the corner—gone. “Merlin! Don’t go!”

  Please, don’t go.

  After he leaves, I curl up in my uncomfortable, stiff bed. I imagine Merlin going back home where perhaps Vivian is waiting. Him, in the normal world. His life goes on. One day, he may never think of me again. The acid sting of loneliness begins to take hold. The next time will be the last time I see Merlin. It’s a very strange feeling to know that there’s an immediate expiration to seeing someone. It’s easy to take for granted that I’ll see someone again just as the sun will rise again. For the first time, whether I’ll speak to someone or not is completely outside of my control. Our relationship is completely on Merlin’s terms now. He decides when it ends.

  “Oh no,” I cry, covering my face with my hands. “I’m so stupid…”

  Why now? Was I blind all this time because I was so focused on my own motives? With no goal for me to pour energy into, I’m left to confront emotions.

  Being in prison, I only have myself to hold on to. Although it feels like I’m losing a grip on myself, it’s not really me that I’m losing. It’s the armor being stripped from me. I am forced to meet the real Morgan le Fay underneath.

  I love Merlin.

  How stupid. And meaningless. I sob into the pillow.

  I remember my own words to Arthur:

  The subconscious governs our minds.

  It’s not always clear what our intentions are until we are confronted.

  It’s another day at trial.

  I’m let out of the car again, and a huge wash of commotion hits me. More people are gathered in front of the court door than the last time I went on trial. They are screaming with more anger and waving around signs. Some throw cans and plastic bottles at me.

  I may have spent too long alone in the confines of one room. It’s as if my brain can no longer process what’s happening. People blur by me as the knights rush me past the raging crowd.

  “Slut!” someone from the crowd yells.

  Has Enid’s case gone public? I grimace at the thought. I can imagine the headlines: Morgan le Fay, the Seducing She-Demon. I don’t know if it’s the stress, but the thought makes me laugh, which makes the knights glance at me oddly. Slut. I’ve never even had sex before. And never will.

  Among the crowd, for a second, I glimpse someone familiar. Guinevere. She has tears running down her cheeks, her hands outstretched toward me as she tries to push past the crowd.

  “Gwen!” I call out.

  The knights shove me away from the throng of people and through the doorway. My heart hammers as I’m unable to get the image of Guinevere crying out of my mind. I wish I could explain to her my situation. Most of all, I wish to have one more ordinary day with her. Just chatting and joking like we used to. I recall sunny days, swinging our legs over the bridge above the pond by Apple Grove. We’d vent about things that stressed us out as we absently tossed pieces of lettuce from our sandwiches to the ducks.

  The court is as busy inside as outside with people bustling around. I catch sight of Merlin amidst the crowd. Again, he doesn’t see me. Perhaps I am slowly but surely becoming more invisible to him.

  I know the rules: I must remain silent unless I wish to testify to my own insanity.

  The trial is a dull muffle to me, though I am sure it is very dramatic and captivating to everyone else. Enid still insists that I am mentally ill while Bagdemagus maintains that I’m a psychopath with lucid intentions to harm. Either way, neither is really on my side.

  Enid explained that the court never allows people called to testify to attend the trial; however, since Merlin is Maven, he must be present during the trial pertaining to his apprentice—the Prince. Since Merlin knew me well and saw me before the kidnapping, the court decides to hear Merlin’s side of the story. He is probably the only person in history who both testifies and attends trial.

  Merlin takes the stand, nervously fixing his tie.

  Enid asks him a round of basic questions about how he got to know me and what our interactions were like.

  “Did you and the defendant have a romantic relationship during Arthur’s Round?” Enid asks. Bagdemagus objects and is overruled.

  “No. We were friends.”

  “But you had feelings for the defendant?”

  Objection. Overruled.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you aware of the defendant’s envy toward you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you make it clear to her that you had feelings for her?”

  Another denied objection. Bagdemagus clearly doesn’t want any implication that the prestigious Maven had any relations with the mad girl, and for good reason. Since Merlin is very meticulous about having a clean image, I’m especially humbled by his willingness to look bad for my sake.

  Merlin hesitates and then nods. “It wasn’t direct, but yes, I think it was clear and we both knew how I felt.”

  Felt. I note the past tense.

  “And you sought to become close to her?

  “Yes.”

  “What made you think it was a good idea to become close to her if you knew she was envious of you?”

  “It wasn’t a good idea,” Merlin says. “I think it was wrong and selfish of me to try to be her friend while also hoping for something more. She was obviously suffering from something mental since the day she set foot in Camelot.”

  “What makes you think she was mentally suffering?”

  “Anyone could see it, really. She was irritable, angry, and kept her distance from others. Um, I noticed she had nervous tics. Her fists were always clenched and she’d rub her head a lot. There was always a nervous rash on her neck.”

  It’s strange to see myself from other people’s perspective. Was this true or is Merlin exaggerating? And if it’s true, what did he, Mr. Perfect, see in me?

  “It sounds like the defendant was unstable,” Enid says. “And you thought it was okay to make her worse?”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” Merlin says with a diplomatic smile, though irritation is clearly in his eyes. “I don’t have control over who I am attracted to. I could see that the defendant was a troubled young woman, but what did it matter to my heart? I’m sure everyone can relate to falling for the wrong person.” He says the last words heavily with regret.

  His words hit me like bricks. He thinks of me as “the wrong person.” I was just a mistake. He’s still on the pathway to find Ms. Right—if he hasn’t already found her in the form of Vivian. I thought failure was pretty bad to experience, but regret is worse. While failure can be outside of one’s control, regret means that one had a choice—some level of control. I regret my blindness for not seeing that I had met the right person who really cared for me until it was too late. Now I’ll die never knowing what it would have been like to romantically love and be loved. Merlin will be the reminder of my screwup, like a splinter in my side.

  “During the night of the alleged kidnapping, did you notice the defendant was not herself?”

  “Yes,” Merlin agrees. “There was emptiness in her eyes. She did things she would normally never do, such as initiating a dance with me. I should have known something was wrong.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ambrosius,” Enid says with a pleased smile. “Do you think you were a contributor in the defendant’s mental breakdown?”

  Merlin looks up with his clear eyes that have always captivated me and everyone else. “Yes—I’m sure of it.”

  I want to sink into my chair. He’s trying to save me, but this is humiliating. Enid explained to me earlier that Merlin’s testimony won’t be pivotal in my verdict, but it will help.

  Next, Lancelot is asked to take the stand. Dread hangs around me. I haven’t spoken to him since I first woke up in prison. His shoes clack across the floor. His back is as straight as ever, and eyes crystal, lucid. He should be nervous—yet he appears unfazed as if this is just anoth
er day at work.

  Enid stands in front of him and asks the same questions she asked Merlin. “Did you and the defendant have a romantic relationship?”

  Lancelot sighs. “No.”

  “Yet there were rumors that you flirted with the defendant. Did you have romantic feelings for her?”

  Lancelot glares up toward the ceiling. “Ms. Liconel, do you want to ask me about the kidnapping?”

  “I decide on the questions, Sir Lancelot!” Enid snaps.

  “No, I currently do not have ‘romantic’ feelings for the defendant or any other woman.”

  “It’s strange that you kept the defendant in Camelot and let her be alone with the Prince. Do you take responsibility for the kidnapping of Prince Arthur?”

  “First of all, let’s keep in mind that I work with a team,” Lancelot replies. “I’d like Camelot to take the blame for the kidnapping of Prince Arthur. I would like to say, yes, it was an error on our part. I don’t want the defendant to die—as a matter of fact, the very idea makes me sick. As the High Knight, however, I am not in the position to bring the entire security and decision-making crew down due to unforeseen circumstances. Yes, we saw signs of the defendant’s agitation and watched her closely. Stress and erratic behavior are a common symptom for any Round member.”

  Enid purses her lips with anger. “It is most suspicious that the defendant wasn’t kicked out of Camelot, and there is evidence you spoke out for her and insisted on keeping her in Camelot. I see a lot of leniency toward the defendant. I ask you again, do you admit to being attracted to the defendant?”

  Lancelot shakes his head tiredly. “Whether or not I or any of the other decision makers were attracted to the defendant is completely irrelevant to her being kept in Camelot.”

  “The court decides what’s relevant, Sir Lancelot,” Enid shouts, losing her patience. “The defendant is extraordinarily beautiful. What other reason did you have for keeping an unstable girl in Arthur’s Round and later selecting her to be a Black Knight?”

  Lancelot narrows his eyes. “You highlighted the defendant’s beauty, but if you were to look at the defendant in her entirety, her physical appearance is the least interesting part of her. The defendant did seduce Camelot, however it was not with her appearance, but with her talent. The defendant has scored higher in magical power than anyone in her age group in the history of the UK. This fact rings loud for us and it should ring loud for the court as well. Yes, we were aware of her temperamental tendencies, but ultimately, the positive outweighed the negative. She was extraordinary. A genius destined for a prestigious career in Camelot. To kick the defendant out of Arthur’s Round would have been absolute insanity and a disservice to the military.”

  The crowd goes silent, even Enid. I have to admit that I admire his unshakeable confidence while he’s in a tight spot, but I resent him too. If Lancelot thought I was “extraordinary” and a “genius,” why didn’t he tell me before while I was struggling to get noticed? The more testimonies I hear, the more I feel like others simply watched me drown from a distance.

  “Perhaps she was talented,” Enid says with aggression. “But that makes her all the more dangerous. You saw for yourself that she singlehandedly took down your knights in Fortunate Forest. You didn’t foresee that she could be a threat?”

  Lancelot continues. “You make it seem like it was obvious that the defendant was ‘insane.’ Let’s keep in mind that troubled and insane are two separate realms. None of us could have anticipated the defendant’s kidnapping of Prince Arthur. You can hold up all the instances of the defendant’s outbursts, but none of them paint a picture of a future kidnapper and criminal, let alone a psychopath.”

  “Objection!” Enid shouts.

  “Sustained,” the judge says and turns to Lancelot. “You are not an expert psychotherapist, Sir Lancelot. Your statement regarding the defendant’s mental health will be disregarded. Please refrain from stating further medical speculations.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Lancelot replies. “I will rephrase my answer.” He returns his gaze to Enid. “Ms. Liconel, if we took every emotional teenager in our organization as a potential threat, we’d have nobody left in Camelot. Yes, the defendant may have had emotional issues, but—according to my personal opinion—she is lucid and high functioning, far more high functioning than the average teenager. Personally speaking, she is the smartest and most ambitious person I’ve ever met. Mr. Ambrosius describes the defendant as if she were some nervous girl that shrank in the corner, but I find his description inaccurate and I think anyone that knows her will agree with me. In every interaction I had with her, she was polite, articulate, and held her head high with confidence.”

  Lancelot’s eyes meet mine briefly. I want to believe what he says about me, yet I know that he is just backing his case that Camelot cannot be blamed for the kidnapping. In court, people just turn me around to show a facet of my being, but they don’t look at me in my entirety. I can’t invest in either Lancelot or Merlin’s view. I’m the only person who can hold on to my own truth about who I am.

  Enid flushes with anger as she scowls and points at him with a sharply manicured finger. “However, you left her alone with Prince Arthur. There was low security the night of the Ceremony. How do you explain that?”

  “As for leaving the defendant with Prince Arthur,” Lancelot replies, “there is nothing extraordinary about the occurrence. When the Prince’s bodyguard needs a break, a knight—junior or senior—will step in. The point is that knights are constantly working different shifts to ensure twenty-four-hour security for Prince Arthur throughout his day. Depending on the security level dictated by me, as many as twenty knights or sometimes as few as one knight surround him. I judge the risk level. The night of the Maven Ceremony, I considered it a low-risk environment. There were fifty knights in the building, and what the court must understand is that the defendant was assigned the role of a Black Knight. I considered her one of us. I had no reason to think she would kidnap Prince Arthur just as I wouldn’t expect my fellow knights to.” Lancelot takes a breath. “That said, I admit to my own personal weaknesses. There were in fact emotions that caused me to make an unwise decision.”

  The crowd murmurs and I blush. Merlin looks at Lancelot with a questioning gaze.

  “The error I made was in pressing her too much. I was far too eager for the defendant to become a Black Knight. I felt strongly that she would be the best knight in our military. Because of my unreasonably high expectations, I did not take into consideration the extent of the defendant’s mental condition after she was not given the role of Maven as she wanted. I was angry enough to show up at her house, but I shouldn’t have expected her to attend the Maven Ceremony while she was vulnerable and suffering. I take full responsibility for this error, but I object to the idea that Camelot as an entity didn’t do its job. Despite what happened, I can still honestly look back and say that it was the right choice to enlist her talent on our side and I’ll say the same thing for anyone with exceptional skill. I also ask the court to practice mercy. The defendant is young—very young—and she was pushed far too hard. I took part in pushing her, and for that, I am forever sorry.”

  With the last sentence, remorse swims in Lancelot’s eyes.

  “Are you finished with your cross examination, Ms. Liconel?” the judge asks.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Enid replies.

  As Lancelot is guided out of the courtroom, my heart feels like it’s being pulled in all directions. What tears me apart the most is that Merlin and Lancelot seem to feel at fault, when in fact my actions had nothing to do with them. I look over to Lancelot before he exits, somehow hoping to connect with him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I wish I could have seen that he had my back all along—that out of everyone, perhaps he was the one who saw the most potential in me. Lancelot doesn’t look my way.

  Finally, the judge sounds his gavel and clears his throat. “The defendant has not presented sufficient
evidence to sustain a defense to the charges by reason of insanity. Unless and until the defendant testifies to her mental state the night of the alleged kidnapping, a defense by reason of insanity shall not be considered by the court. Until we reach a consensus next session, the plans for her execution are in place. The cabinet has agreed on her executioner.”

  I hold in a breath, closing my eyes. To face Mordred before I die…

  “It was deemed most appropriate,” the judge continues, “that the executioner should be no one other than Prince Arthur’s Maven, Mr. Ambrosius.”

  I gasp.

  No. Not him.

  “Should the defendant be declared guilty, Mr. Ambrosius will administer the death penalty to the defendant for the kidnapping of his future king.” The judge smacks the gavel. “Adjourned.”

  Merlin loses color as panic rapidly crosses his face.

  “Wait,” he says to nobody in particular.

  I start when the knights grab me by the arms to take me back. I feel frozen as they roughly force me to stand. I whirl my head around to keep my eyes on Merlin.

  Merlin is facing the cabinet members seated behind him.

  “I was not asked!” Merlin yells at them.

  As the knights take me away, Merlin cuts out from my view. My heart thunders as the fact sinks in.

  I will see Merlin one more time, for the last time.

  Chapter 16

  Did I kidnap Arthur to save him? Did I kidnap him out of insanity? Did I kidnap him to realize my own truth? It gets confusing with everyone telling me the reasons why I acted the way that I did. In this prison, what’s real and what’s not are hard to discern as they warp into each other. I can’t lose myself. I must hold on.

  Perhaps the government makes this a long and excruciating process because they know that time itself is the worst torture. The more the clock ticks, the more we prisoners lose bits and pieces of ourselves.