Where was that damned manservant of his?
Arthur had checked all the usual places-the first being the tavern, as Merlin always seemed to be there-but he still remained at large. Storming into the Court Physician's and, seeing that there was no one there, Arthur made his way into Merlin's small bedroom.
"Merlin!" he shouted-for the nth time that day-in a tone that he hoped would strike fear, or at least startle the idiot to attention.
Throwing the door wide open and finding the room empty, Arthur became even more annoyed, atop the festering annoyance that had been growing all day.
Arthur stomped his foot down, hard.
Unfortunately, for him (and Merlin, when he would mention this to him), the loose floorboard broke under pressure, causing it, and Arthur, to collapse.
Ready to unleash hell on the splintered piece of wood, Arthur's attention was directed towards the hidden object below.
"What on Earth…?" muttered Arthur; wondering how said object came to be there. He reached down and picked it up.
"No. No…"
It was a book on sorcery.
The world seemed out of focus, objects changing perspective and losing definition. Arthur slumped against Merlin's bed, eyes furrowed in confusion.
He stared at the object now in his hands.
Merlin had a book of magic.
Sorcerers owned magic books.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
As these simple, compressed thoughts filled his mind, a multitude of emotions were swirling in the peripheral, but eventually they set in.
First, the betrayal.
Had he only stayed his servant to get close to him, to learn the secrets of the court, to pass these on to those willing to kill him? Did he want to kill him? Had their-daresay-friendship been an entire lie?
Doubt started to creep in, picking apart at these accusations.
He would have killed Arthur by now, wouldn't he? Even he could remember many a time when he was completely defenceless, with only Merlin by his side. How about that loyalty-the extremes Merlin had gone to to keep hime safe, to keep him alive. More than once, almost at the expense of his own.
Then, anger set in, consuming his mind, his thoughts, his control.
Merlin was playing with him. Toying with him, duping him into absolute faith and then... then he would strike. Magic was evil. Those who wielded it, more evil still. Merlin was a sorcerer, no different from the others.
Arthur threw the magic book forcefully on the ground.
He had to die.
Arthur inhaled deeply.
He needed to calm down.
Arthur glanced at the object that had instigated his rage, now sprawled out across the floor, surrounded by loose pieces of paper.
He reached for it with resignation, an idea forming in his mind.
"Know thy enemy," he sighed.