A/N: Greetings, everyone! This is my first-ever attempt at a multi-chapter fic, and, well. Frankly, I'm terrified, but I'm gonna do it anyway! This story is set after 3x7, slight spoilers for that episode. This is intended as mystery/adventure but will probably contain generous doses of Hurt!Merlin and general whumpage because I can't help but beat the poor wizard up. No slash, Gwen/Arthur hinted at but not really explored. Reviews are most definitely welcome!
The guards straightened suddenly, looking suspiciously at the band of travelers who approached the gate. There were seven people in all, dressed in simple but bright garments that appeared to be an eclectic mix of bizarre articles and colors. From what the first guard could see, there were about an even mix of young males and females, all dressed the same way and most carrying small packs or cases.
The group of travelers approached the gate easily, laughing slightly amongst themselves about some joke that the guards had not been able to hear.
"State your business," the first guard said briskly, tightening his grip slightly on the lance he held.
Someone from the group stepped out, a man who was dressed in a bright green tunic with a red jerkin and faded brown pants. Everything was offset by his purple workman's hat which was tipped at a jaunty angle.
"Greetings!" he said merrily, sweeping his hat off his head in a low bow. "We should like to gain access to your wonderful kingdom, which we have heard so many tales about."
"What business do you have here?" the guard repeated. Normally, anyone who wanted to enter Camelot could do so as they pleased, but this group set the guard's teeth on edge and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He couldn't place the feeling, but something about the brightly-dressed, laughing people was wrong.
"We are but simple bards and troubadours, the lot," the man said easily, not offended. "We wish to have a tankard of your finest mead, to stay a few nights in your beds, to see the strength and beauty the mighty Camelot has to offer the world. Perhaps we will even find inspiration and compose something new," he said with a wide, white grin.
"Very well," the guard said reluctantly, unable to reasonably deny them entry.
"Thank you, kind sir," said one of the women in the group, younger than the rest with her brown curly hair tied tightly back with an orange scarf. The guard didn't smile back, and the girl stared openly at him, unabashed in her curiousness even when the guard looked pointedly back at her.
The leader of the band stepped back to join the rest of his comrades, then strode through the gates of Camelot confidently. The guard had to fight the impulse to turn around and stop the people as they brushed past the strong doors of the kingdom.
The other guard noticed his discomfort and clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder bracingly. "They're just bards," he said. "Poets and musicians, just simple folk with nothing better to do than travel around and sing foolish songs. They may look a little strange, but they're harmless, really."
The first guard shook his head seriously, his lips a thin line. "Something about them isn't right," he insisted. "I don't know what it is, but it's something. Mark my words, nothing good will come of their presence in Camelot."
The guard scoffed and laughed. "You've become too cautious, my friend. Soon you'll be jumping at shadows. They're just artists, and they've just as much right to be in Camelot as anyone else. Save the concern for things that could legitimately pose a threat to the kingdom," he finished, tone slightly admonishing.
The first guard scowled and readjusted his stance. He hadn't expected his friend to believe him, and suspected that the King would think even less of his story if he were to bring it to light. He would continue with his tasks, he would protect the kingdom from what were deemed "legitimate threats."
But he would keep his eyes open to what he saw. He would listen to his instincts.
He would not forget.
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The young prince strode briskly into the main council room, where his father sat regally on his throne. "Prince Arthur," the king said with thinly veiled impatience. He had been kept waiting for nearly fifteen minutes.
"Father," Arthur returned with a respectful bow. "Forgive my absence this morning, it couldn't be helped," he said in a tone that implied it wasn't quite his fault either. In truth, Merlin had been uncharacteristically ungainly as he struggled to complete his chores that morning.
Arthur's usually punctual manservant had arrived late and immediately started the morning by dropping the Prince's armor and scattering the newly polished pieces, overturning an inkwell onto his clean shirt and tripping while cleaning out the fireplace, spilling ash all over the floor.
It had taken Arthur twice as long to get ready than it normally did because Merlin had done the lacings on his shirt backwards and had tried to put his vest on inside out.
Finally, Arthur had left his chambers before Merlin could do any more damage. He had hurriedly tucked in his shirt just as he was entering the Throne Room and knew that his hair was untidy. He flushed slightly, but put on a calm face that the rest of the people in the Throne Room would see. From the corner of his eye, he saw Morgana smirk slightly, eyes twinkling with mischief.
King Uther leaned back in his throne, acknowledging the apology. He beckoned for Arthur to join them, and Arthur sat down in his chair by the right of Uther's throne, throwing a glare in Morgana's direction.
Shortly, a gangly servant with a shock of raven hair and pale skin ran around the corner to the main doors and slid to a halt at the doorway. He was out of breath and looked flustered. Uther looked at his son's unkempt servant somewhat contemptuously. Merlin's hair was tousled, and his scarf hung askew around his neck. Blushing furiously, Merlin bowed deeply and scurried to the side of the room where he had spied Guinevere standing quietly. To her credit, Gwen did not laugh, but instead flashed him a sympathetic look mixed with obvious bemusement. Merlin shot her a pained grimace and took his place quietly next to her.
Uther raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head, suppressing a deep sigh. At that moment, a courier walked hurriedly into the hall, bowing his head towards the throne. "A message for the King," he announced in a weak, shaky voice.
"Yes?" Uther asked.
"There is a group of people outside the castle, my lord," said the courier carefully. "They wish to speak with you."
"Send them in," said the king, leaning back in his chair.
"My lord. With all due respect," the courier began, shifting from foot to foot.
"Get on with it!" snapped Uther, losing all patience for the flighty messenger.
"Well, it's just that…You see, sire, they're not exactly…..normal travelers," said the unfortunate courier, who looked like he would rather have been anywhere else at that moment.
"They are a traveling band of bards and troubadours, my lord. They are….very strange," he said reluctantly, unsure of how to describe the utterly bizarre appearance and mannerisms of the people who waited patiently outside the castle walls.
"Send them in," the king repeated slowly, as if the courier were too stupid to understand what he had said the first time.
The courier slumped miserably. "Yes, sire." The messenger fled from the room, his ears burning with embarrassment.
Arthur glanced at his father. Uther had closed his eyes and appeared to be summoning all the patience and forbearance he possessed. Arthur hurriedly leaned back in his chair, muscles aching with tension. He had the nagging suspicion that this wouldn't end well.
He looked up as the band of people entered the hall. Several members of the Royal Court were unable to hold back surprised intakes of air and began murmuring almost inaudibly to one another as soon as the group entered the room. There was nothing besides their clothing to suggest that the group was anything but ordinary, and yet they carried themselves with a certain air and brought the feeling that they were completely foreign.
The small assortment loped over the floor hall with the grace of long traveling through unchanging, often harsh lands. The ease with which they moved seemed completely alien inside a refined castle, something curiously fey and wild. The king covered his shock well, but stared at the odd assortment of people entering his beloved Throne Room.
The leader, the same young man who had approached the guard smoothly took the lead as his people gaped openly at the members of the court. Merlin found his eyes drawn inexplicably to the young lady with her curly hair tied tightly back with the orange scarf. She looked up into his gaze and stared back at him with piercing green eyes. He realized suddenly that she was very beautiful and hurriedly dropped his eyes. Even staring at the stone floor, he could feel her inquisitive eyes watching him.
"King Uther of Camelot," the leader said in a strong, clear voice. He approached the throne and sank into a low bow, sweeping the ridiculous purple hat off his head once again. His fellow travelers either curtseyed or bowed likewise.
"We have traveled to and fro, walking for many days to reach your fair kingdom. May I extend the greeting by saying that the rumors of Camelot's might and beauty fall immeasurably short."
The king nodded, brushing off the flattery. "What is your business here?"
"We are bards and poets, moving from one place to the next, always in search of the next muse and inspiration for our verses, our songs. We mean no harm and come in peace; all we ask is that we are given the freedom to explore the kingdom and its land, so that we may find something that inspires composition."
Arthur stole another sidelong glance at his father and was shocked to see that the normally grim-faced King was smiling slightly.
"You have permission to move as you will," the king said authoritatively. "However, I must insist that in return for staying in my kingdom, you will perform your newly acquired songs and poems here in the Throne Room before you take your leave of Camelot."
The leader of the group smiled widely, and bowed once again. "But of course, my King. We would be honored to perform our humble songs in such a hall as this."
"What is your name?" Uther asked.
"I am called Keir," the odd man said, looking the king full in the face. Arthur noticed with a slight jolt that the man's eyes were two different colors. The left was a warm brown, but the right was a shockingly bright blue.
"Very well, Keir. You are the leader of this…group?" Uther inquired.
Keir looked confused for a moment, frowning slightly. "Forgive me, sire, but I do not understand. You speak of hierarchy and rank. My people and I—we have no need for such social devices. We have no "leader", not in our physical group. We are all servants to the Great Muse, and therefore are equal in pursuit of our goal, our one great purpose."
"I see," said the king, although it was clear he did not understand. "Whatever your organization, should I need to speak with anyone, I shall contact you, Keir," he said, locking eyes firmly with Keir.
The young man nodded seriously. "I understand, my lord. In this, you needn't worry. My people and I are rarely apart; we tend to stay together as a rule. You shall rarely see one without the others."
"Just see to it that your people stay out of trouble," the King ordered.
"Yes, sire," Keir agreed readily.
Merlin noticed that he did not bow as he said this.
"Welcome to Camelot," the King said, a slight smile curling at the edges of his mouth. "I hope that you enjoy your stay here, and find it conducive to the pursuance of your art."
"I am sure it will be most pleasant to see more of your glorious kingdom. We find that people can be quite…agreeable when bards and troubadours perform," Keir said softly, the certainty of his tone sending a prickle of unease up Merlin's spine. Uther failed to notice the hinted menace and waved a hand, dismissing them.
Keir turned on his heel and walked out the way he came. The rest of his group followed suit and turned to leave. Merlin looked them all over as they left and realized that he had once again been inadvertently staring at the young girl with the scarf. She looked back to flash him a quick smile as she walked out the door. He found himself smiling back reflexively.
Merlin felt an elbow nudge him in the side and saw Gwen, smirking slightly. "I think she likes you," she whispered, her eyes twinkling with quirky, impish humor. Merlin grinned back and looked over at his master. Arthur was staring at him incredulously, having seen the traveling girl's reaction to Merlin. The dark-haired man felt the grin slide off his face as Arthur's expression began changing from disbelief to humor.
"Very well, everyone is dismissed," Uther said, finally. Members of the Council began chattering amongst themselves, and Arthur walked over to his servant. "I expect that my room is restored from its state of disaster this morning?" he asked brusquely.
"Yes, sire," Merlin said absently, thinking about how Keir's tone had changed during his reassurances that his band of odd companions would not make any trouble.
"Good. Now that that's all sorted out, I think that you've got plenty of actual chores to be doing, don't you?" the young prince said, watching Guinevere carefully as she talked to Morgana near the throne.
"What? I didn't think there was much to do…" Merlin said, racking his memory for something he had forgotten.
"No? I could have sworn I told you start by taking my tack to the leather worker to be mended, along with the saddle to have the buckle redone by the blacksmith. In addition, my hunting gear needs to be cleaned and collected for the upcoming trip. I also said that the training dummies needed to be refilled with straw, they're looking a little thin," Arthur said, eyes still trained firmly on the beautiful serving girl across the hall, his love.
"You never said anything about that yesterday!" Merlin said hotly. "If you had, I would've done it yesterday!"
"Merlin," Arthur said pointedly.
Merlin looked up and finally saw where his master was staring. "Oh. Oh. Yes, there are plenty of chores to be done, plenty indeed. I think I'll go. You know, to start them. Right now," he said awkwardly, before leaving the room abruptly. Arthur rolled his eyes and walked over to Guinevere, who had just curtseyed to Morgana and was preparing to leave the room herself.
"May I walk with you, milady?" Arthur asked gallantly, stepping in smoothly beside Arthur and offering his arm. Guinevere smiled and accepted his arm, walking strongly by his side.
Uther saw them walking together and frowned. Arthur should know better. His musing on what to do was interrupted by another courier telling him about the overdue trade shipment of buckles and candles with the kingdom of Telluris. The thoughts were swept into the back of his mind by the habitual, everyday responsibilities of the kingdom.
However, the concerns were not forgotten.
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Keir and his band of people walked through the streets with their odd, easy gait amid uneasy or curious stares from the citizens of Camelot. Every now and again, they would stop to look closely at something: a building or facet of the castle, to admire the fallen leaves dancing in the autumn wind across the courtyard, the view of the surrounding forest.
After a time, they stopped in a corner of the central market and sat against the wall of a farrier's shop. They looked completely at ease with one another, leaning on each other's shoulders and gesturing towards points of interest that they saw.
They relaxed comfortably into each other's company and watched the passerby with an interested gaze, occasionally laughing at the stunned looks they received.
Two of the bards, a young man with dark, intelligent eyes and a stunningly beautiful young woman with silvery-blond hair opened the battered cases they carried on their backs and pulled out musical instruments. The woman ran her delicate fingers along the neck of the wooden harp lovingly, caressing the frame with such tenderness that one could hardly be mistaken about its possession.
The young man pulled out a plain, worn lyre and struck a sudden chord, the notes ringing out clear and true amid the bustle of the marketplace. The woman plucked an answering arpeggio almost immediately, turning the major chord into something stranger, something that sounded wholly untamed and wild.
The young man shook his head and laughed easily. "Ariadne, my sweet, you mistake my invitation. I wish only to mix my sounds with yours, to create something more beautiful, something more than I myself can give. I do not wish to duel with you over the nature of art when we are both of the same spirit, the same kin."
The beautiful woman smiled gently at him. "There is nothing in this world that is more worthy of conflict than the expression of truth and freedom that comes from sharing music as it is with the world. Surely you, Devar, as an artist of the Lore, know this."
"You always had the gift for finding the truth," the young man called Devar said, smiling back at her, unoffended. It was obvious that they cared for each other very much.
He struck the chord again, smiling as the musical cadence spiraled out into the air, mingled with her strange, somehow melancholy counter-melody. They played that way, with the rest of the group listening intently and leaning closer to hear the music being created.
Several people in the market slowed their pace or stopped entirely to listen, and stayed, transfixed by the clear, ringing notes of the duet. As Keir stared idly around, he caught sight of the youth he had seen in the Throne room, with the raven hair and their earnest expression.
The young man appeared to be struggling to undo a knot in a worn piece of horse bridle, but looked up and stared once he heard the music. Keir looked back to his group, playing happily and oblivious to the not entirely friendly stares of everyone around them. Yes, he thought to himself. The boy would do nicely for their purposes.
He appeared to have forgotten all about his task, the piece of tack hung limply by his side as he stared in awe of the group.
Keir suddenly noticed that the young man's eyes were getting a distant, glassy look. His gaze was frighteningly blank as he slowly began stepping closer to the musicians.
"Ariadne." Keir said quietly, voice ringing with soft authority. Ariadne and Devar stopped playing immediately, followed by a questioning glance from the rest of the group. He subtly tilted his head towards the young man.
The dark-haired youth seemed to remember where he was, and shook his head slightly, stepping back from the side of the farrier's building where the bards were seated. His eyes regained focus and he set off in the direction of the castle, once again engaged in his epic struggle with the leather working.
"He will prove useful to us," Keir said lowly, so that the rest of the group could hear him over the bustle of the marketplace. "Already, he is susceptible to our music. We must be more careful with its charms, Ariadne. Devar," he said.
The two bards acknowledged their fault by lowering their heads slightly.
"In fact, I suspect he will prove to be most indispensable to us, once we have begun the movements of the plan," he murmured.
"The wheel of destiny turns into eternity. And who will be crushed, I wonder?" one of the bards asked rhetorically.
The rest stayed silent, watching Merlin's retreating back with careful eyes.