The State of Man
written by A.N. Porter
A/N: Hello, all! I'm super excited for this story. I've published on here before (on another account), but this is my first time writing for the Merlin fandom. Feel free to leave a review. Tell me how it was: if a phrase was unclear, if I've overlooked errors, or even if you thought it sucked.
Setting: Post Season 4. The beginning takes place four months post Season 4; the rest of the story is five months after that.
The very first section of every chapter depicts the events leading to the big reveal. It ends shortly after their confrontation.
Summary: Camelot is lost - again. The two sides of a coin face constant obstacles that threaten their goal. Morgana is more vicious than ever. Interfering parties run their course. The personal issues between Arthur and Merlin prevent the cooperation needed to save the kingdom. Mordred is back for - what, exactly? Meanwhile, Arthur's closest confidants must fend for themselves in his absence.
Warning: Some language. There shouldn't be very much. Alternating perspectives - mostly narrated by Arthur. Parts of the plot will be confusing at times. But, rest assured - all should become clear in the end. If not, let me know in a review.
Disclaimer: I can confidently say that I own... nothing! Absolutely nothing. I disclaim.
Read on~
[ Chapter One ]
The Provisionally Idle
"The genius and the mortal instruments are then in council, and the state of man, like to a little kingdom, suffers then the nature of an insurrection."
- Julius Caesar (Act II Scene I)
"It just doesn't feel right," Arthur pressed.
Merlin glared unrepentantly at the extensive line of grimy boots before him, and then at their pacing owner.
"You're paranoid," Merlin told him.
"That creature was defeated far too easily," He persisted, "and we never located the sorcerer who conjured it."
"He's likely fled, hasn't he?" Merlin muttered.
"Perhaps… But I suspect we've missed something," Arthur tapped an impatient foot and then resumed his pacing, "Nothing felt off to you?"
"Nope, nothing," He shrugged.
"Yes, but you're an idiot," Arthur snorted.
"You might try being nice for once," Merlin suggested.
He scrubbed at a particularly sooty spot on Arthur's boot. He frowned at the resilience of the stain - it wouldn't come off. Much like Arthur. He refused to abandon the notion that their latest adventure at the border of Camelot was more than it appeared. Arthur was entirely correct in his assumption, but Merlin resolved to make him see otherwise. The sorcerer in question had called for Emrys, not Arthur. Merlin had come close to straying from their party, only to be summoned again by the king with a shout of,
[ "Merlin! What are you doing over there?" ]
He intended to return when they'd settled in Camelot. Though naturally, Arthur would demand that Merlin polish his boots and then follow him about, ranting.
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur retorted absently. "Maybe… Maybe I should go back. Should I?"
"No," Merlin said stoutly.
"You're right… I should," Arthur nodded.
"I live in a world where no means the opposite of yes. Has your hearing gone bad or are they a reverse for you?" He wondered aloud.
Merlin decided he would probably have to travel ahead of Arthur.
…And personally see to it that he was frequently delayed.
"You'll be joining me, won't you, Merlin?"
"I'd really rather -"
"Merlin," Arthur said lightly.
Merlin could still detect the underlying threat in his voice.
"I haven't got a choice, have I?"
"Well, that depends. How do you fancy the stocks?"
The curtains were drawn, and a golden veil of morning sunlight poured into the chambers. Arthur Pendragon stirred in his sleep, a grimace marring his features.
Irritation.
There was a faint rustling about his chambers. He bothered not with determining the identity of the person in question. The noise pattern (folding articles of clothing, gathering scattered silverware, sterilizing his desk) undoubtedly belonged to James. He would be tidying up his chambers. But Arthur had harbored a sneaking suspicion that he already knew he was awake.
It was a tad repetitive, in Arthur's humble opinion. He would awaken to sunlight intruding upon his sleep; James would fumble about his chamber, feigning naivety and cleaning; Arthur would spend a blissful moment overlooking James's presence. This continued until the two reached the simultaneous, unspoken conclusion that Arthur could not waste the day away in bed and James could not avoid him any longer.
Yes. He knew for a fact that James utterly loathed his company.
And Arthur?
Arthur shared his sentiments wholeheartedly.
"Your Majesty?" Called James from across the room.
He scowled into his pillow.
There were some footsteps, and his voice sounded closer when there was another call of,
"Sire?"
Arthur ground his teeth and sat up in bed to fix his manservant with a glare.
"For God's sake, James. I'm awake,"'
Sometimes, Arthur wondered if his heart pumped irritation instead of blood. It would certainly explain why he was so annoyed all the time. Particularly in the presence of James. There was just something incredibly exasperating about him. And God knew that Arthur had difficulty tolerating those whom he disliked. With this in mind, he quickly added a snide,
"But you already knew that, didn't you?"
James had the decency to look embarrassed.
Arthur opened his mouth to lash the servant with a scathing retort, when he was interrupted by a voice that belonged to neither himself nor James.
[ "Come on, that's enough. You've had your fun, my friend." ]
His reply died on his lips.
"Sire?" James hesitated.
Arthur let his eyes fall shut.
"You're dismissed,"
"But you've not dressed yet -"
"You're dismissed," This was said firmly, but not harshly.
Arthur put a hand to his face as James shut the door behind him.
It was far too early for this.
Arthur's immediate plans were to join Guinevere for breakfast. His wife was an early riser - very much unlike himself.
Guinevere beamed when he entered the dining room. She was sitting to the right of the chair placed at the head of the table - his chair. She smiled up at him as he approached her,
"Good morning, Arthur."
Arthur knelt and placed a light kiss upon her mouth.
"Guinevere," He murmured.
Her smile was soft and Arthur's ire lessened in the slightest of terms. He took his seat beside her.
"Did you sleep well?"
"I did. And yourself?"
Arthur nodded noncommittally. He ignored the look of concern that crossed his wife's face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Arthur quickly cut her off,
"I'll be training with the knights after breakfast. Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and I shall patrol the forest later while the others scour the borders."
"Why? Camelot has been rather peaceful these last five months," Guinevere frowned.
Arthur scowled,
"Too peaceful. Morgana's been suspiciously inactive."
"It is a bit strange," She admitted.
"What could she gain by allowing us our peace? The throne to Camelot has been her goal since my father's death," He held his chin in thought and glared hard at the table.
"Do you suppose something has happened to her?" She ventured, pouring her husband a glass of water.
"It's hard to believe. She seems to have grown stronger every time we meet," Arthur shifted so his hands folded beneath his chin.
"Morgana isn't invincible and you've proven that to her," Guinevere placed the pitcher back on the table and leveled Arthur with a stern look.
"Yes, but there's something more to this than meets the eye. I can feel it,"
Guinevere placed a sympathetic hand on Arthur's arm,
"There's no way of knowing with her, Arthur,"
"No, I suppose not," He shook his head.
"We can't dwell on this. All we can do is bide our time, take caution, and wait,"
Arthur stared into her eyes for a long moment and briefly reveled in the epiphany that this was why he fell in love with Guinevere. His gaze wandered to his lap.
Guinevere rose from her seat,
"Now then, I'll fetch our breakfast. It's sure to have chilled by now."
Arthur appraised each of his most trusted knights respectively. From left to right, was Elyan, lean, with a facial structure very much similar to his sister, Percival, burly, yet noble and kind in character, Sir Leon, a smidgen ragged, but a terribly loyal spirit, and then Gwaine, unkempt and every bit as formidable as a sour face would imply.
The four stood in a single line; their backs flawlessly vertical, faces solemn, and listening attentively.
"…Even in times of peace, as these past five months have been, we must be on guard. Morgana is indeed a powerful foe. Regardless of her abilities, she has proven herself to be both deceitful and clever. If there is a hole in our defenses, if we were to grow lazy and idle from peace, she will strike. We shall not grant her that opportunity. It is my duty as king and your duties as knights to protect Camelot and its people. Am I understood?"
The knights nodded gravely while Arthur looked on approvingly.
"Draw your swords and pair off," He said solidly. "Gwaine, you're with me."
Gwaine's eyes bore a hard edge,
"With you? Am I being punished for something?"
His reply was hardly surprising and Arthur had not expected anything less. There was a word for it Gwaine's general regard for him, an adjective that described his behavior perfectly…
[ "More… supercilious." ]
That voice manifested as a second conscience, he thought. Arthur suffered from a monotonous moodiness that appeared four and a half months ago and the voice reprimanded him when his treatment of others wasn't especially stellar. It happened more than he cared to admit. He was beginning to believe that although the voice had contaminated his conscience, it seemed to have wormed its way into his brain. Arthur had no idea how to go about fixing this. Worst case scenario said it couldn't be fixed.
Thus, Arthur very much wanted to hit something - hard.
The silence was oppressive and distinctly uncomfortable. Utterly, undeniably unreasonably uncomfortable. The knights were acutely aware that their king was in a dangerous mood.
Training was finished, and they were to prepare for an 'evaluation of the forest', as Arthur had said. There wasn't a single knight present who would keep him waiting whilst he was flying around on his metaphorical broomstick.
Well, except one, maybe.
Arthur was the first to finish. He stalked from the armory without a word. The four simultaneously sighed with relief.
Elyan was the first to speak,
"I'll go mad if this continues on any longer,"
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," Percival said dryly. He folded an arm across his chest, gripping his elbow to hold it in place. The process was repeated thrice with a pained grimace.
"Alright, Percival?" Asked Leon.
"Arthur really did a number on you. Gwaine, you really should have just sparred with him. The two of you are closer in skill."
Percival shot his comrade a sharp glance.
"Oh. Er…no offense, Percival,"
"I'm a knight, not an anger management dummy," Gwaine said shortly.
"Gwaine," Leon chided.
"Do you disagree?"
Elyan shifted uncomfortably, he opened his mouth, but appeared to be struggling with his next words. Leon's mouth pursed into a hard, white line.
"Arthur is as he was when the Lady Guinevere was banished. Now it's Merlin, and he's going to sulk until he returns,"
"Gwaine, I can't imagine that Merlin will return," Elyan said carefully.
"He will," Gwaine insisted stubbornly, "he always does."
"Merlin is a sorcerer. Magic is forbidden in Camelot. He won't return, Gwaine," Leon's tone was mildly impatient.
"Merlin isn't dangerous. He's loyal. He'll come back to us eventually. To Arthur,"
"Merlin is a traitor," Percival said tonelessly. He backpedaled, upon seeing the anger ignite in Gwaine's eyes, "…at least that is how Arthur sees it."
"He forgave the Lady Guinevere,"
"My sister isn't a sorcerer!" Elyan exclaimed indignantly.
"I don't know if Merlin could be allowed in Camelot even if Arthur did manage to overlook his abilities. He feels betrayed. You must remember, next to our Queen, he was the one whom Arthur trusted most. And then to discover he's been lied to all these years…" Leon trailed off.
"I'm still not convinced Arthur made the right decision," Gwaine said hotly.
"Why?" Asked Percival.
"Because I suspect Arthur himself isn't sure of his judgment,"
"How do you figure?" Elyan raised an eyebrow.
"Arthur hasn't spoken to Gaius since he banished Merlin. Not if he could help it, anyway,"
The three stared at Gwaine. He smirked.
"That could mean a number of things," Elyan scowled.
"Yeah? Humor me," Gwaine's smirk widened.
"There hasn't been any conflict in Camelot these past few months. He's got no reason to visit a physician. Arthur's the king - he's busy with more trying matters,"
"Such as?" Gwaine demanded. "Other than training, border patrol, and the occasional speech, what's he got going for him? The most trouble we've had is with bandits. There's plenty of time in between."
The four men paused to glower at one another.
"Fine. Why not ask?"
"Ask?" Elyan echoed skeptically.
"Ask Arthur why he hasn't spoken with Gaius since Merlin's exile,"
"Gwaine, are you mad?" Elyan yelped, horrified.
"That would be murder," Percival deadpanned.
"Don't," Leon hissed.
"Why?"
"Because that idea is utter rubbish!" Leon thundered. "He'll be furious and have you in the dungeons in the blink of an eye!"
"Arthur wouldn't send me to the dungeons," Gwaine scoffed.
"Can you guarantee it? Personally, I'd not chance my freedom on his mood swings! Promise me - promise me you will not breathe a word of this to Arthur,"
He promptly snorted.
"Gwaine," He repeated, "promise me."
The stubborn knight appraised his comrade with something akin to distaste. He relented with a heavy sigh.
"Alright," He grumbled.
"Do I have your word?"
"Yes,"
Leon's tensed posture relaxed.
"Let's hurry," Gwaine growled, "we mustn't keep our drama queen waiting."
The forest was a nostalgic place. Arthur practically grew up roaming through the woods. Horse riding with his father, hunting, handling bandits - his life may have well been tied to the forest. Yet somehow, he never quite understood it. It still held a particular aura of mystery. He'd spent his youth there, but there were still creatures lurking about which were foreign to him.
Arthur hardly set foot in the forest nowadays. Nine months prior, he paid frequent visits. Whether it was pacifying a vengeful spirit, impressing a princess, or fleeing from Morgana and her henchmen, naturally, it had to take place in the forest. There were no faults in that aside from the fleeing part. Cowardice was unacceptable in the knight code.
[ "You were injured in an attack. You passed out. I had to get you out of there." ]
Arthur duly ignored the indignant voice.
But as it was, his only current purposes in the forest were hunting and the occasional bandit problem. Even five months ago, there had been more action. Arthur's gut told him his suspicions of malignant forces at work would soon be proved correct. And the voice of his gut was his own.
Something was definitely amiss in the forest. There was a sinister feel to its air. The day was of generous weather, there was still a fair bit of sun out, and the breeze was gentle. Birds sang this time around and they might have spotted a few deer or so. The forest was dark though. A thick cloud of darkness enveloped the range. The stillness was utterly stifling, save for the horses, whinnying apprehensively. Horses in particular were known for sensing specifically hazardous creatures. Snakes, per say. There were no snakes though, so Arthur wondered what else was present in the vicinity aside from himself and the knights. Or who.
"I suspect magic is at work," Arthur's lip curled in distaste. "We may be facing a sorcerer. Possibly Morgana. We proceed cautiously. Should confrontation be inevitable, we will require a force larger than ourselves if we hope to even pose a challenge to her. One of us shall then return to the castle for reinforcements. Elyan - this task is yours."
"Yes, Sire," He acknowledged Arthur with a firm glance and slight inclination of the head.
The other knights nodded solemnly, though without sparing their king a glance. The circumstances felt too dangerous to look away from their surroundings. Arthur signaled the lot to keep low and creep forward.
They were already well into the forest. The miasma was steadily becoming more foul. Initially, Arthur had suspected Morgana, but he was beginning to reevaluate that theory. Sorcery was evil, but this was an entirely new level of it. This felt like very, very black magic.
A shadow fell as a shroud over the landscape. Arthur's brow furrowed. Very slowly, he lifted his head to see the sky. Black as pitch.
"What on earth -" A knight croaked.
An involuntary shudder touched Arthur's frame. Ragged breath escaped his lips in a frigid white mist. It quickly faded, absorbed into the black miasma sifting about the forest. The dark entity was thick and cloudy. It wafted through the trees and swirled in the clearing as a giant mass of contaminated magic.
Arthur glanced at the knights from his peripheral. The posture of the four suggested severe exhaustion. They leaned heavily on their swords and their respective free hands covered noses and mouths. He grimaced. The polluted atmosphere really was as harmful as it appeared. Anxiety, and concern for his knights flooded his system. This was a mistake. Coming here, with so little a force, scattering the rest of Camelot's knights throughout the kingdom - it had been a mistake. There was strength in numbers.
"Hello, Arthur,"
Her name sounded like a death sentence, even to him.
"Morgana."
She flipped the mane of long black curls over her shoulder. The dark, tight fit dress swayed about her as she approached him.
"This is your doing,"
Morgana smiled pleasantly,
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
"This is black magic,"
"Oh? I thought all magic was 'black',"
Arthur paused.
"If I recall, you claimed I shouldn't fault you for Uther's sins,"
"I don't hunt sorcerers,"
"Yes..." She trailed off and offered him a small smile, "But does my kind have a place in Camelot?"
"Sorcery is forbidden,"
"Of course," She sneered, "you are Uther's son, after all."
"And you are his daughter," Arthur replied calmly.
Morgana's face darkened.
"Gorlois is my father,"
"Be that as it may, it is his blood that runs through your veins,"
"Uther's blood is also my right to throne," Morgana's voice trembled.
Arthur observed his half-sister carefully. Her shuddering frame, her perspiring, colorless complexion, the borderline frenzied look about her.
…Oh.
Arthur cast a wary glance at his knights. They struggled with their posture, but their venomous expressions were careful reflections of their resolve. Elyan was hardly in the condition to send for assistance. He swore under his breath.
"What are you doing here, Morgana?" Arthur demanded.
Her face smoothed over. The caprice was unnerving in itself.
"I came to give you my greetings…" She smiled.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
"…And to inform you that we will be seeing each other again very soon."
There was a flash of gold and the world soared overhead. Arthur's head collided with an solid, bumpy surface. The impact rattled his skull. The muscles in his forehead pinched, thin and irritated. His teeth vibrated in his mouth, delegating a jolting buzz to the jaw. Blue eyes unfocused, then rolled to the back of his head. And then there was nothing.
Morgana Pendragon loomed over the body of her unconscious half-brother. She could have laughed. The inanimate figures of the knights had landed in a formation around Arthur Pendragon. It was ironic, so she could have laughed. But she didn't. She still understood loyalty, so Morgana didn't laugh.
She knelt beside him. It was a troubled sleep. The lines on his face told a story of their own. She might have thought it was the unseemly manner of flying into a tree, or her very presence, but Morgana knew better.
Morgana appraised the insensate knights shrewdly.
"Onslæp nu ǽr áwreccan,"
She studied the king closely. The knights had clearly suffered the effects of the miasma. Why hadn't Arthur? She closed her eyes and let the magic build up inside her. Brilliant gold eyes detected crumbling traces of a spell in Arthur's bloodstream. A charm of the sorts. The magical signature could only belong to one person.
Her lip curled.
Morgana stood and thrust an abrupt hand over Arthur's body,
"Áfyrsian,"
Satisfied, she retreated from the cluster of unconscious bodies,
"Forbærne yfel,"
Nothing.
Morgana's chest contracted, quivering with rage. A bitter, disbelieving laughter touched her thin figure, yet never quite made it past her lips. Her chest heaved again as a result of the suppression. The tree that Arthur had collided with shattered into chips of bark. Morgana and the surrounding bodies were sprinkled with debris. Beside herself with fury, she snarled but a single word, saturated with malice:
"Merlin."
"I don't need to see Gaius," Arthur said firmly.
"Arthur," Guinevere frowned.
She caressed the large lump matted under his thick dark blonde hair. Arthur winced at the contact.
"I don't," He insisted.
"You hit your head," Guinevere said severely, "Injuries of that sort aren't to be taken lightly."
"I don't need to see Gaius, Guinevere," Arthur repeated, "My head is fine."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I once knew a man who was kicked in the head by a horse. I believe his wife told me he also claimed to be alright before he fell asleep that night and never woke again,"
"That was a horse. I knocked my head on a tree. There's a difference,"
"Let's not risk it," Guinevere glared at him.
"This is ridiculous,"
"You're being unreasonable. Why won't you at least allow him to look you over?"
"Because it's unnecessary!"
Guinevere paused. Her husband stole surreptitious ganders at the door of the throne room. She eyed him perspicuously.
"What? What is it?" Arthur grimaced.
"Arthur…" She said slowly, "this isn't about…Merlin, is it?"
Guinevere peered at him to gauge his reaction, but Arthur abruptly stood and turned away.
"I won't discuss this, Guinevere," The king asserted coldly.
"Arthur - "
"I made the right decision!" He said hotly.
She froze, stunned. She hadn't mentioned that even once, but…really? Was that - Had this been -
"Arthur…" She said softly.
His ears were red. Though his back was turned, the small portion of his face touched by the twilight was creeping with a shamed flush.
"He betrayed me. I made the right decision," Arthur murmured.
Guinevere lie a comforting hand on her husband's back, her eyes sad.
"…Didn't I?"
She wrapped her arms around Arthur from behind. He stroked her hands as they clutched the material of his shirt.
"I don't know, Arthur…"
Gwen buried her face into his back.
"I just don't know,"
Arthur retreated to his quarters. His encounter with Guinevere had left him emotionally drained and exhausted. Despite all objections though, the lump was swelling and it hurt.
"Sire?"
Arthur started at the sound of James's voice. How long had he been following?
"I'm alright," He said briskly.
"…No, it's just that - well, we've, er, passed your chambers already,"
Arthur ground his teeth, frustrated. His vision was unsteady, and the world bypassed him as though on horseback.
"Excuse me, Sire,"
There was a slight pressure on his bicep in which Arthur discerned that James had taken to directing him to his chambers. He bristled.
[ "…There is just no pleasing you sometimes." ]
Arthur sighed, but held his tongue. Black spots sailed through the castle settings like post-war soot. Assistance was necessary.
The door closed behind James. He idly thought the hinges looked rather like they were flapping as a curtain might.
"Your nighttime clothing, sire?"
"Dis…missed," Arthur slurred. Somehow the syllables sounded wrong in his head. Then he remembered that his head wasn't exactly the most reliable of sources at the moment. His eyes were consecutively blinking. He wanted them open, but his eyes seemed to desire a change of scenery. Namely, the inside of his eyelids. Arthur felt himself being lowered onto his bed.
He was gone when his head touched the pillow.
The rustling was faint, but definitely there. Arthur's mind was muddled with sleep, which was decidedly weird. Ordinarily, he was nearly awake when James arrived. Arthur unsuccessfully attempted to blink the grogginess from his eyes. His first observation told him it was still nighttime. Darkness, to Arthur, told him he should still be asleep. The second observation came to him when he rolled over onto dry leaves. Arthur propped his upper body on his right forearm. He inspected the whole of his bed and reached an alarming conclusion.
There was a trail of dry leaves aligned along the shape of his body. Maple leaves - upon closer scrutiny.
Arthur lifted an arm in a gesture of shock.
"What the -"
The sound of more rustling, followed by footsteps deterred him. He could just barely perceive a figure bumbling about his table from the shadows. Moonlight touched the lower half of his body as he approached. It was a man - lanky, clad in dark clothing, with his eyes trained on a thick, musty book. A bit of light touched his face, and Arthur immediately sat up to level the intruder with wide, incredulous eyes.
"Merlin?"