To ride through the gates of Camelot, not as conquerors but as refugees, felt like a betrayal to all Mairead knew.
She had to remind herself that this was all part of a greater plan, a plot that would hopefully see Camelot in flames just as Beladur had been.
Still, it didn't make the sight of Camelot, bustling and alive, any easier to swallow. While her people lived in tents, forced to exist in poverty and in a constant state of fear, Uther lived safely in luxury.
From the gates, Mairead could see the stone turrets and towers piercing the sky, a mighty monolith that sent a churning roil through her belly. No wonder no army could take the citadel; it was a fortress more than a castle.
Mairead fought the urge to give into fear; what good did it do?
In this place, away from the safety of her mother's garden and the overgrown walls of Beladur, fear meant death. Weakness would only be met with cruelty, a noose round her neck, or a fire at her feet. Should her secret be revealed, or even her relation to Nimueh, Mairead didn't doubt that Uther would execute her without a second thought. So, while she remained in Camelot, fomenting a plot to ride this land of evil, Mairead Rhyl would have to be no more.
It was in the waning candlelight of Beladur that Mairead Garridan was born, a daughter of Daobeth.
The identity her aunt created of a young refugee without money, means, or family was far too similar to Mairead's life, she found. But then again, aren't the best lies born from truth?
Mairead could play the role of a sniveling lady who knew no hardship until it was foisted upon her by the tragedies of life. She would do anything if it ended in Uther dead at her feet.
But it would not be Mairead in truth; though she was born of love, she was rebirthed in conflict.
A baptism of fire, she often thought, the sacking of Beladur burning away all that once might have been and giving way to a new path. But, it wasn't just her kingdom that burned that night, but the potential of a Mairead free from hate. Perhaps she would have genuinely been that young, soft princess, untouched by tragedy.
The part of Mairead that still believed in fate, that clung close to the belief that her life had a purpose greater than bearing the wounds of her family knew that before her lay destiny's chosen path.
Listening to Nimueh as she divulged the plan one late night, the hearth fire casting her aunt in shadow and leaving only a wolfish smile in its place had strengthened something Mairead once thought dead within herself. The belief in a greater power.
Surely all the pain and suffering must have some end in sight?
If not an end, then at least retribution. Mairead swore to cling to that belief when doubt hounded her; her mission was true and right; none could deny that.
One life for thousands, she repeated to herself as the Lower Town passed her by.
One life for thousands, through another gate and into the Upper Town.
One life for thousands, the world before her was red once again, and panic clawed at her throat.
One life for thousands, knights and guards milled about, keeping watch over the stands and makeshift market set up by Camelot's citizens.
One life for thousands, her horses' shoed hooves sang against the cobblestone, and a grand courtyard and set of stairs came into view.
One life for thousands, Mairead's senses returned to her; the world was no longer on fire, she was not in Beladur choking on smoke and ashes but in Camelot.
Osian was the first on the ground, his chainmail and armor looking odd on her brother's lithe figure. Mairead couldn't recall a time ever seeing him donning such clothing, the silvery steel and flowing cape surely reminding him of things Osian would much rather forget.
His eyes were hard, body stiff as he dismounted and approached Mairead, though, to anyone else, he just looked tired from travel. Mairead knew better, well versed in the body language of her brother, who so often closed himself off to everyone.
There was comfort in knowing she was not alone in her fear and anxiety. If it was as unbearable to Osian as it was for Mairead, she knew not. Still, they would be together, facing every fear and nightmare that had haunted them for the past twenty years.
Not much had changed then.
Two guards approached them, a golden dragon just visible under their chainmail collars, pointed helmets obscuring the tops of their heads.
"What business do you have here?" One of them asked, voice brutal and unflinching.
Mairead fought the urge to flinch, shrinking into herself just as she had at age two, but Osian's intervention saved her from having to interact with the two, "We demand an audience with the King."
Osian could be called many things, but subtle was not one of them.
At her brother's words, the guards began to laugh, a horrible mocking sound, "What makes you think you can demand anything?"
She could see Osian begin to lose his temper, his leather-gloved hands clenching fiercely at his side. Knowing her brother's temper was easily set off, Mairead stepped in. With one hand resting on Osian's shoulder, Mairead spoke up, "I apologize; we're simply overtired from our journey."
Her words worked like honey for a fly; the guards gaze softened as they stared at Mairead, "I'm afraid it takes a great deal to see the King, milady."
Men, Mairead wanted to scoff at the two idiots. They were blind the second a pretty face came into view.
During their exchange, Osian managed to quell his rage, shoulders relaxing under Mairead's hand, "Tell him he has visitors from Daobeth; he'll want to see us, I assure you of that."
The guards exchanged looks, silently debating what to do with the pretty lady and her ornery knight. The first man, the same one who had been so smitten with Mairead's act, once again looked to her instead of her brother. Shrinking into Osian's side and forcing tears to well up in her eyes, Mairead tried to sell the appearance of a tired and scared young woman.
It worked.
"Wait here," the second guard sighed, clearly outvoted by his partner.
"Thank you," Mairead smiled at them, surprised and slightly insulted at how easy things had been so far. Now all they had to do was wait, standing in the grand courtyard, praying Nimueh's lie would prove successful.
Daobeth, a once great kingdom allied with Camelot, had fallen a year prior. The empire was ravaged by civil war and battles at their border, leaving only its corpse behind.
Nimueh had managed to get her hands on a signet ring from House Garridan, a high-ranking noble family destroyed in the fray. The plan was simple, appeal to Uther as a refugee, scared and alone in the world, with the signet ring as proof of her identity.
Osian would be at her side, not as Mairead's brother, but as her sworn shield. They concocted such identities in hopes that they would gain access to different parts of Camelot. While Mairead would live amongst the courtiers, a snake hidden in the perfumed flowers, Osian could witness that which protected Camelot.
Though Uther was not renowned for his benevolence, Nimueh assured the siblings that at the sight of a helpless young noble, he would be enraptured with their story.
That was his greatest weakness, Nimueh shared; Uther was blind to the truth because of his belief in extremes. In the King's eyes, magic meant evil, and nobles were all that was good in the world. It would be his death, of that Mairead was certain.
Too trapped in their own minds, likely using every ounce of willpower to stop from losing control, the siblings did not speak.
Mairead couldn't find it in herself to say anything, her mind too wrapped in horrid memories and flashes of scarlet. Was she strong enough to do this? To face not only the men whose blades had been wet with the blood of her people but also the one man who had orchestrated it.
Despite her aunt's high position in Camelot all those years ago, Mairead had never stepped foot into the city before. She was far too young at the time, both her parents preferring to stay in the safety of Beladur, though it seemed no stronghold was safe from Uther Pendragon. This day would be the first time she looked upon Uther, a man responsible for all her pain. Mairead was unable to fight her mind from running wild with questions.
What would he look like?
Would he believe her story?
The questions continued even as the two guards returned, this time flanked by a small troop of knights. They surrounded Mairead and Osian in a well-practiced formation, announcing they had earned an audience with the King.
If she felt any relief at their plan going so well, it was smothered in a deep and powerful fear. They ventured into the lion's den, just two children of magic surrounded by men who vowed to see to their downfall.
Through the castle halls, they walked, following the trail of a blood-red cloak towards the man whose hands were soaked with the blood of her people.
Mairead kept her eyes forward, refusing to look anywhere but past the shoulder of the head knight. Beside her walked Osian, his head just as still; Mairead gave into her need for comfort and covertly reached for his hand.
It took only a second for her brother to reciprocate, his gloved hand gripping hers with renewed strength. The sensation grounded her, just as it often had in their childhood. Osian, the eldest, her older brother who faced the brunt of this conflict. But he was not only that; he was her protector, one of the two people Mairead could always trust to keep her from harm.
She wished for a moment that her brother had forgone the gloves often worn by knights just so that she might feel his skin on hers, sense his heartbeat and be certain that this was real. They were both alive; death had not created this nightmare to punish them; instead, it was an opportunity.
The walk towards the throne room passed alarmingly fast, Mairead dropping her brother's hand as the double doors were pushed open.
Before her, sat atop his throne of death, was Uther Pendragon.
A man who had been the subject of many nightmares, a man that struck fear into the hearts of those aged two to ninety.
Yet, as she took in the sight of the bloodied King, Mairead was struck by how human he looked. He was just a man, an evil one, yes, but a man nonetheless. Mairead could see the head of gray hair beneath his crown and deep wrinkles bisecting his forehead and chin. His blue eyes were hard with age and experience, scrutinizing Mairead and Osian, but they were not the eyes of a demon or some nightmarish figure. Hunched over his throne, Mairead didn't see much of a king at all.
A bubble of laughter fought its way from deep inside her, this was the man so feared among her people, yet he looked like any other man.
Uther Pendragon was just a man, and that meant he could be killed.
That fact reassured Mairead, strengthening her belief in their plan and her own ability. What was this man to her power? A sword and shield were no match for magic.
"My guards tell me you're from Daobeth," the King spoke, authoritative yet surprisingly calm, "I didn't think there were any survivors."
With a look at her brother, Mairead realized she would have to do all the talking. Osian's face was a sickly white, a sheen of sweat making its home on his scarred skin. She couldn't blame him; Uther's voice left Mairead's stomach churning. The sensation of nausea was overpowering; his voice had sentenced thousands to die. How easily could his mood shift to something deadly?
"We are, Your Majesty," commanding tears to swell in her brown eyes, Mairead laid out her trap, "I managed to escape, though my family was not so lucky."
The tears fell freely, dripping down her face and plopping noisily onto the ground, earning a soft gasp of sympathy from those gathered.
Surprisingly, Uther did not seem to be without sympathy of his own, "And what family is that?"
"My name is Mairead Garridan, Your Majesty."
Approaching the King, slowly to make it clear she was no threat, Mairead offered Uther the signet ring of her false family. The impulse to spit in his face, wiping off that eternally smug expression, had Mairead digging her nails into the palm of her hands. Small crescent indents marked the pale expanse of her skin; she was shocked they didn't start to bleed.
Uther took the ring from her, rolling it around in his hand and looking deeply at the sigil. His brow scrunched in thought, observing the young woman again, "Your father was Edmund Garridan?"
"Yes," Mairead dropped her head, her tears swelling, "it is only because of my father's sacrifice that I managed to survive. He ordered Osian to protect me at all costs."
She gestured to her brother, who offered a stiff bow to Uther, "I brought her here in search of refuge, Your Majesty."
"And you shall find it in Camelot," he answered after a moment of thought, rising from his throne to take Mairead's hand in his own, "any child of Edmund is welcome in my kingdom."
His touch burned, but instead of ripping her hands from his as she wished to, Mairead cried out a sob and sunk to the floor at his feet. Such a pitiful sight would have sent her aunt into a fit of laughter, but it proved successful in tricking those present.
Two men rushed to her side, Osian and one unknown.
At her left was the stranger; through her false tears, Mairead could make out a tall figure with a head of golden hair. With one hand under her arm and the other supporting her back, the young man helped her rise. Striking blue eyes bored into her own, sympathetic and worried, Mairead nearly recoiled in shock when she realized who it was at her side.
Arthur Pendragon.
The man whose conception was the start of this ordeal, and he was helping her. If only he knew what I plan on doing, Mairead thought with a sickening sense of irony.
Held up between the Prince and her brother, Uther waved forward two more men, "You're safe now, Lady Mairead; all I ask is that you rest and recover your strength."
"I will forever be in your debt, Your Majesty," the sentiment nearly made her sick, "I swear I'll find some way to repay you."
The only repayment would be revenge.
"Arthur, have your manservant escort Lady Mairead and Osian to suitable chambers."
The young Prince nodded, calling forward a pale and lanky young man with a head full of black hair. Mairead noticed he was one of the men Uther had gestured to.
"If it is acceptable with you," Uther began, "I shall send my physician to ensure you're in good health."
That must have been the older man. He looked vaguely familiar to Mairead, his gray hair and long, brown robes reminiscent of someone from long ago in her childhood. She would have to ask Nimueh about him, this physician.
"That would be much appreciated," Osian answered, Uther nodding at him in response.
As the young man, Merlin, escorted the siblings out of the throne room and away from Uther, Mairead could no longer fight a smirk from tugging at her lips.
In what he thought was a kindness, Uther Pendragon had unknowingly ensured his death, and he wouldn't even see it coming.
AUTHORS NOTE
A little shorter than my other chapters, but we're slowly getting into the main plot of the show. One more chapter of set up and then we will officially be in season 1. The first episode we'll be seeing is The Poisoned Chalice (one of my favorite episodes).
Mairead Garridan was officially born, also Garridan is a name that means "The one who keeps secrets within himself". Sound like anyone we know?
We also got the first meeting of our one and only couple <3. Though Mairead is not a fan I must admit, she doesn't much like anyone in Camelot.
Thank you so much for reading!!