Chapter 2 - "Evasion"
Arthur entered Gaius's chambers with surprising calm, closing the door quietly behind him. Merlin had imagined barging and slamming and yelling, but the prince simply stood there a moment, eyes fixed on the floor as he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Perhaps he'd already had his fill of drama with his father. Or more likely he was simply fighting against fatigue. He looked every bit as weary and travel-worn as Merlin felt. He hadn't even bothered to remove any of his armor.
"Sire?" Gaius asked tentatively. "Are you well?"
Arthur looked up, a confused expression on his face, but it quickly cleared as he shook his head. "Well enough, considering the circumstances," he replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looked around distractedly, then walked across the room, pausing to grab the back of a stray chair and drag it along with him. He faced the chair towards Merlin and Gaius and sat down, slouching a bit, his hands resting with palms down on the tops of his thighs like an afterthought.
"How's the arm?" he asked with a quick glance and jerk of his head in Merlin's general direction.
Merlin wasn't sure to whom the question was addressed since Arthur wasn't looking directly at either of them, but it was Gaius who answered. "It should mend well enough, Sire," he said but didn't elaborate any further. Merlin supposed he didn't want to add any more magical fuel to the fire. Sleeping spells and undead knights and abduction by sorcery were quite enough.
"That's good," Arthur said absently, then leaned forwards and laced his fingers together. He was silent for a moment, his eyes cast downward. Merlin took the opportunity to shrug the blanket further up over his shoulders and pull his injured arm gingerly underneath it. He wondered if he should wait for Arthur to speak or take the initiative himself, but he had no idea what might be appropriate or where he should even begin. There was much to be said and even more that should be left unsaid. He decided it might be wise to let Arthur lead the conversation.
Just as Merlin was starting to shift uncomfortably, anticipation and doubt weighing upon him, Arthur looked up and spoke in an oddly subdued voice. "You lied to me about Gaius having found a cure, didn't you?" He fixed Merlin with an intense gaze, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if daring his servant to deny it.
Merlin frowned and leaned away from Arthur, his back pressing almost uncomfortably against the edge of the table behind him. He hadn't been expecting this particular question. He wasn't quite sure why he was being asked at all, really. He knew he'd done a particularly poor job of lying. Arthur had probably only accepted the explanation at the time due to lack of any other leads to pursue, or perhaps his judgment had been clouded by the urgency of the situation. He'd obviously had time to reevaluate since then. There was really no point in adding another falsehood on top of such a shaky foundation, so Merlin replied with a simple, "Yes."
He expected a reprimand at the very least for having deceived Arthur, but all the prince did was nod slightly before he asked, "Why?" His voice was bewilderingly matter-of-fact. Maybe he simply didn't have the energy for anger or accusation at the moment.
Merlin blinked a few times, still thoroughly confused as to why Arthur was pursuing this line of questioning before any other. It all seemed so strange and backwards and made him feel as though he'd been cast adrift into a world that made very little sense. Part of the muddled feeling was probably down to his own exhaustion. There was an insidiously creeping sense of lassitude in him, as if the sleeping spell were still trying to pull him under. Maybe it was his imagination, the weight of guilt pressing down on him, or perhaps the spell actually hadn't completely let go of him because he'd managed not to succumb to it. But then why wasn't Arthur being similarly affected? Or maybe he was, and was simply better at hiding it, or coping with it or... something...
"Merlin?" Arthur's voice sounded oddly concerned.
He flinched a bit at the sound of his name, then realized his eyes had drifted to the side without his having meant for them to do so. When he looked back, he had to blink a few times to bring Arthur's face back into focus. "Sorry," he mumbled, clearing his throat and working to pull his thoughts back to the previous question. Whatever it had been…
"Are you sure he's all right?" Arthur asked as he shifted his gaze to Gaius.
"I'm fine," Merlin snapped impatiently before Gaius even had a chance to reply. The response was automatic. He hated being talked about as if he weren't able to speak for himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a brief shake to try and clear the fog that seemed intent on insinuating itself into his brain.
"It might be the salve I put on the wound," Gaius commented. "It has a pain reliever in it that can have a soporific effect."
"You might've warned me about that," Merlin muttered petulantly as he experimentally reopened his eyes and found his vision holding clear again. He was supremely frustrated by his thoughts being garbled just when he needed them to be as organized as possible. He needed to buy himself a bit of time to get a better hold on some semblance of mental clarity, so he resorted to one of his customary diversion tactics – taunting Arthur. "That means it makes you sleepy. Soporific," he said with a bit of a smirk, although he had to force the expression onto his face. He was so ridiculously tired that moving anything seemed to take an absurd amount of effort.
Arthur sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow. "I know what it means, Merlin, and even if I didn't, I think I would've been able to figure it out from looking at you. You're about to fall off the bench."
"That's very funny," he replied sarcastically, giving Arthur what he hoped was a caustic look. "I think I can manage to sit on a bench just fine, thank you."
"No, really," Arthur said with a trace of amusement. "You're falling off the bench."
"What?" Merlin asked, staring in bewilderment at Arthur, who only glanced down and back up again, then waited expectantly. Merlin followed suit and looked down, finding that he actually was perched rather precariously on the edge of the seat and was slowly sliding even further off. "Oh!" he gasped as he quickly pulled his feet in and used them to push himself into a more secure position. Then he glanced back up, chagrin niggling at him.
Arthur shook his head slowly back and forth, the expression on his face clearly stating "idiot" in a way that was all too familiar to Merlin. Unfortunately, that was exactly how he felt at the moment, stupidity brought on by exhaustion keeping a firm hold on him. He had no idea how he was going to get through this interrogation without ending up muttering incoherently and possibly falling asleep right where he sat.
"Merlin." That was Gaius's voice. He looked over blearily and saw that the physician was holding a vial in his hand. Where he'd produced it from, Merlin had no idea. It might've been on the table behind them or Gaius might've gotten up to retrieve it. Yet another example of the extent to which his thoughts and senses were jumbled. He hadn't even noticed what Gaius was doing, despite their being sat together on the same bench.
Gaius pulled the stopper from the vial and said, "Inhale the vapors through your nose, but don't breathe too deeply. It's very potent."
Merlin gave him a suspicious look – he just knew that whatever was in the vial was going to smell ten kinds of awful – but he nodded and took a small sniff as Gaius waved it under his nose. The effect was instant and shockingly intense. The odor was every bit as repugnant as he expected, sharp and acidic, somewhat like vinegar but really more akin to other things he didn't want to consider. Worse than the smell, though, was the fact that the fumes felt like they were burning the inside of his nose, searing all the way to the back of his throat and bringing tears to his eyes. He jerked his head away and coughed harshly, and his hand, still fisted in the blanket, went up automatically to cover the lower half of his face, defending him against further assault.
"What is that stuff?" he muttered between gasping breaths. Gaius had pulled the vial away and put the stopper back in, but Merlin kept his mouth and nose covered with the blanket in case any of the vapors were still lingering. His breathing had sped up considerably and he did not want to subject himself to any more of the disgusting concoction.
"Salt of hartshorn," Gaius replied as he turned slightly to put the vial on the table at the opposite end from Merlin. "It stimulates respiration and increases alertness. I tried using it to alleviate the symptoms of the sleeping sickness, but it hardly had any effect at all."
"Which brings us back to my question," Arthur interrupted. Merlin glanced over at him and winced at the grim intensity on his face. "That is, if you think you're coherent enough now to give me an answer that isn't utter nonsense." He didn't pause for a response, though, which didn't surprise Merlin in the slightest since he'd already identified the statement as pure sarcasm. "Why did you lie to me about Gaius having found a cure?"
Despite Arthur's obviously increasing impatience, Merlin still took a moment to tilt his head down and wipe his eyes on the blanket. The stinging caused by the hartshorn vapors had abated somewhat, as had the burning sensation in his nose and throat, but his breathing was still uncomfortably rapid, and his heart had likewise sped up. A small price to pay, he supposed, to be able to think clearly, which he now seemed to be able to do fairly well. He'd assumed, however, that he'd only be questioned on the facts of what had happened. He wasn't quite prepared to explain the motivations for his actions. He supposed it was simple enough in regards to the nonexistent cure. Morgana had been so upset and confused and frightened, and Arthur had been pressing her with repeated questions that she couldn't answer. The urge to defend her had been so great that the words had started tumbling out of his mouth before he'd had the slightest idea of what he was going to say. Ironic considering how the situation was ultimately resolved, with specific knowledge, deliberation and the antithesis of protection.
"Merlin," Arthur said with a sigh that held a mixture of frustration and weariness. "I know you're upset about what happened to Morgana. We all are. But I need you to answer my questions. I need to understand."
Merlin took a deep breath and lowered the blanket from his face, clutching it tightly to his chest once again. Then he nodded his head sharply, resolving to give Arthur the truth he wanted, at least to the extent he could offer without incriminating himself so deeply and utterly that he might as well confess to being a sorcerer as well as a murderer and thereby seal his fate. He told himself firmly that nothing would be solved by laying himself so bare to judgment, but there was a part of him that wanted to be held accountable and craved the shedding of secrets. Now was not the time, though. He wondered if that day would ever come and if he'd be alive afterwards to see the dawn of another.
"Morgana was frightened, and you wouldn't let her be," he said, a bit of anger seeping into his voice as he looked directly at Arthur. He knew he should probably try to stay as calm as possible, but he didn't think he could manage to entirely suppress his emotions at the moment. At least they were honest and helped to burn more of the haze away from his thoughts. "You kept insisting she must know the reason she wasn't affected by the sleeping sickness, but she was just as confused as we were. I had to say something or you would've gone on hounding her."
He thought he'd be rebuked now, for the tone of his voice and his harsh words at the very least, if not for the thinly veiled accusation that Arthur had been cruel towards Morgana. The prince merely tilted his head to the side, though, his eyebrows drawing together and a slight frown on his face. After a moment of consideration, he nodded, then said slowly and deliberately, "So you were lying to protect her." It wasn't a question but a conclusion, and he seemed to be satisfied with it.
"Yes, I was," Merlin replied softly. He supposed he should've realized he wouldn't be censured for defending Morgana, no matter the circumstances or method. Despite the frequently antagonistic relationship Arthur had with her, they obviously cared for one another. Arthur respected her and would often listen to her opinions and be spurred to action by her words, even against his father's will. And now all of that was gone, fractured by Merlin and swept away by Morgause.
At least he'd apparently settled whatever concern or doubt had driven Arthur to question an obvious lie before addressing any other issues. Now, though, the prince shifted his line of inquiry to where Merlin had expected it to be from the start. He'd almost certainly have to veer away from the truth now, and he had sincere doubts he'd be able to do so without the lies being blatant or the omissions glaring.
"I need to know what happened in the council chambers after I left," Arthur said as he once again leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands raised with fingers knitted together. "You were the only one there who was awake and hasn't since disappeared. You must have seen or heard something that would explain why Morgause broke the enchantments and took Morgana instead of the king."
Merlin bowed his head, wishing for a moment that he had disappeared, at least temporarily. It would've given him some time to figure out what he could, should and would tell Arthur. Too late for that. The only options that currently came to mind were giving a somewhat edited recounting, which was a risky tactic considering his abysmal skills at improvising explanations, or pleading ignorance, which was even less likely to succeed. Or was it? His breath caught as he realized there actually was a plausible excuse that would allow him to end this discussion now.
"But I wasn't awake. I fell asleep," he said, trying to put a bit of embarrassment into his voice. It was such a perfect and simple solution to his predicament that he felt a bit lightheaded at the intense relief it brought. Now maybe the questions would end. He wouldn't have to edge his way so dangerously and tentatively around the turbulent truth.
"Merlin!" There was the rebuke, finally, close to a shout and brimming with exasperation. It was clear and clean, quick and precise, like the slice of a blade. It was exactly what Merlin needed, a sort of perverse benediction.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it," he said quietly, an unexpected rasp in his voice. He truly was sorry, for so many reasons, regretful and pitiful both. He shrugged with one shoulder, the one that didn't hurt, but didn't dare look up for fear that Arthur would be alert enough even in the midst of his frustration to detect such a bald lie. He felt he should probably provide a bit more detail to solidify the claim, so he added in a subdued voice, "After I barred the door behind you, Morgana started to shred the blanket so I could make some rope. The next thing I remember is waking up and finding Morgause there, holding Morgana in her arms. I stood up, and you came running into the room right after that."
Arthur sighed heavily, and Merlin hazarded a glance upwards. The prince was now slumped in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. "She must've finally succumbed to the sleeping sickness," he muttered, then he looked at Merlin with a frown. "You were trying to stop Morgause, weren't you?"
"Why would you say that?" Merlin asked, slightly panicked that his excuse wasn't going to hold up under further scrutiny, but also a bit confused at how Arthur would have come to such a conclusion. He hadn't been trying to stop Morgause at all. He'd actually been wanting her to leave as quickly as possible, before the poison finished its work, before there was no hope left to salvage, before anyone awoke to bear witness to what he'd done.
"You had your hand held out towards her," Arthur said slowly, as if he were explaining the obvious to an exceptionally simple person.
"Oh." Merlin glanced down. So Arthur had seen that. He wasn't quite sure how to explain or if he should even try. Maybe he should just say he didn't know what he was doing. Arthur would certainly believe that.
Arthur had apparently come to a similar conclusion on his own, though. "Honestly, Merlin, you truly are an idiot, and a reckless one at that," he said, his tone mostly scolding, but there was a hint of fondness there, maybe even reluctant approval. "What you expected to do against a sorceress with nothing but your bare hands, I have no idea. I couldn't even best her with a sword, and against magic… It was foolish of you even to try."
Merlin looked up, not bothering to hide all the pain and regret he was feeling, and not caring how Arthur chose to interpret whatever he saw. Despite what others might think, he knew he wasn't a fool, nor did he lack intelligence. He should have found another way. "I just wish there was something else I could have done," he said quietly. "I wanted to save her, but I couldn't." That was horribly, piercingly true, the kind of honesty that burned in its intensity.
"Well, at least you weren't cowering in the corner being useless," Arthur said with a lopsided grin. "There might be hope for you yet." Either he hadn't noticed how deeply troubled Merlin was, or he'd dismissed it as irrelevant or too uncomfortable to acknowledge. Probably the latter. Emotions were foes that Arthur rarely chose to engage.
"Yes, Sire," Merlin mumbled, then ducked his head, feigning deference. At any other time he probably would have come up with a sarcastic retort, but right now, it seemed wise to let the opportunity pass. He was feeling rather discombobulated, awash in a confusing mixture of guilt and relief, and didn't trust himself to say anything sensible.
He heard the sound of something scraping against stone and looked up to find that Arthur had pushed back his chair and stood up. "My father's ordered a search of the castle," he said with the commanding inflection that went with the role of Crown Prince of Camelot, then it altered to the subtly gentler and more human voice of Arthur Pendragon. "I don't think it's likely we'll find any sign of Morgana or Morgause, but we have to try. And then there are the bodies of the Knights of Medhir to secure, as well as their weapons." His face relaxed a bit more and now a hint of teasing sparked in his eyes. This was plain and simple Arthur, friend and sometime prat. "You can be excused from that, Merlin. Although I normally wouldn't hesitate to give you extra work to keep you out of trouble and build your character, you look like hell, and it would be very tiresome to have to deal with you keeling over in the middle of the castle."
Merlin blinked in surprise. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to crawl into bed and escape from the world and everything in it for just a little while, but he hadn't been expecting to be granted his wish without even asking for it. "Thank you, Sire," he said, then added with a faint smile, grasping at the tatters of normalcy, "For excusing me from the search, that is. Not for telling me I look like hell."
"Just being honest, Merlin," Arthur replied. Merlin felt a stab of guilt at the comment – he certainly hadn't been honest with the prince – but Arthur had more or less dismissed him by turning towards Gaius. "The swords, Gaius. Obviously the knights themselves were enchanted, but what about their swords?"
"I'd say it's very likely the swords are magical in nature," he replied with his usual calm demeanor. Merlin was a bit taken aback at the way he phrased his response. He'd seemed certain beyond a doubt that the swords were enchanted when he'd been treating Merlin's wound. Then again, Gaius frequently tended to couch his explanations of magical matters in terms of supposition. Probably a long-standing defense mechanism. "I would recommend they be handled with care."
"Of course," Arthur replied with a nod, flicking a concerned glance in Merlin's direction. Merlin wasn't sure what the odd look meant at first, then he realized Arthur must be thinking of the wound on his arm. The attention, however brief, irked him.
"It's just a scratch, Arthur," he said brusquely. "I'm hardly going to die from it."
Arthur looked a bit startled. Evidently he hadn't expected his servant to be so perceptive. His expression quickly altered, though, becoming shrewd and ever so slightly mocking, a blend that was all too familiar to Merlin. "Oh, if there was a way to die from a scratch, I'm sure you'd find it, Merlin," he drawled. Merlin glared at him, but he'd already returned his attention to Gaius. "My father has ordered the swords to be melted down if it can be managed."
Merlin bit the inside of his lower lip. It was a good thing he'd already snagged one of the swords or he'd have a very angry dragon to deal with. He didn't want to find out what might happen if he wasn't able to keep his promise. Actually, he was more concerned about what would happen when he released the dragon, but that was a worry for another day. The effect of the salt of hartshorn seemed to be wearing off, and weariness was creeping over him once again. If he tried to sneak down to the cavern below the citadel before he'd gotten some sleep, he'd probably stumble and fall down the stairway. There were a lot of stairs. He'd probably end up breaking something. Maybe several somethings.
"Magical weapons are notoriously difficult to destroy, Sire," Gaius commented, a hint of caution in his voice.
"The attempt must still be made," Arthur replied firmly, crown prince again. "The king was adamant. He wants the bodies of the knights burned as well."
"I believe that may be wise," Gaius said quietly but earnestly. "They were raised from the dead once. It might be possible to do so again. I think it's time they were set free."
Arthur gave him a vaguely puzzled look, as if it hadn't occurred to him to consider the knights to be anything but enemies. "I'll see to it myself," he said slowly, his eyebrows drawn together, then his expression quickly cleared. Decision made, no need to deliberate on reasons or motives any further. Merlin almost snorted at how easy it had become for him to read the prince's thought processes, but in this case, the subject matter didn't deserve to be taken at all lightly. He sobered quickly.
Arthur gave a brief, final nod to both Gaius and Merlin, then turned to leave, but Merlin called after him, "Will you need me to attend you later, Sire?" He sincerely hoped the answer was no – his exhaustion and the effects of Gaius's pain-relieving ointment were reasserting themselves with a vengeance now – but he felt he had to ask anyway. He'd rather know ahead of time and not have to deal with Arthur slamming back in here later and demanding to know why a bath hadn't been drawn for him and where the hell his dinner was.
Arthur turned back and shook his head. "No, Merlin. Not interested in dealing with you keeling over, remember?"
"Oh. Right." Merlin nodded, then frowned and stared, feeling like there was something else he was supposed to say or do but completely unable to grasp what it might be. His relief at being excused from his duties for the evening had apparently translated into permission for the addling fog to lower over his thoughts once again.
Arthur rolled his eyes and let out a long, gusting breath. "Get some rest, Merlin. I'll expect you to be over any urges to abruptly make your acquaintance with the floor by tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Sire," Merlin muttered, barely stifling the yawn that tried to interject itself. "Although I should point out that I'm already well acquainted with the floor from having to scrub it."
Arthur huffed and gave a wry grin before turning to leave. He'd gone only a few steps, though, when he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Did you have a chance to check on Gwen?" he asked, his voice gentle in a way that it only was when speaking of her.
Merlin suppressed a groan. He should have forced himself to go to her. She deserved to be told about Morgana's fate by a friend and not discover the truth through servant's gossip. "No, Sire. I'm sorry. I can go now if you like." It was only a half-hearted offer, but he felt he had to make it.
"No, it's all right," Arthur said quietly. "I'll speak to her."
Merlin felt a ridiculous amount of gratitude at being pardoned from that particular task. He'd probably end up standing there awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say or blurting out things that weren't at all comforting, maybe even the truth. "Thank you, Sire."
Arthur gave a jerky nod and finally left, closing the door slowly behind him, the latch clicking quietly.
Merlin kept his eyes on the door, not wanting to look at Gaius for fear of inciting another round of questions. They'd probably be much more insightful and pointed given Gaius's knowledge of his magic and disturbing ability to detect falsehood. Merlin simply didn't have enough energy left in him to explain or defend or dissemble any further, and his composure was so broadly fissured that it just might shatter if subjected to more pressure.
Gaius did have one question, but fortunately, it was a mundane and practical request. "Are you hungry at all?"
Merlin swallowed and shook his head. Even if his stomach were several days empty and gnawing holes into itself he didn't think he could bring himself to eat anything right now.
"Off you go to bed, then," Gaius said as he put his hand flat on Merlin's shoulder blade and gave him a nudge.
Merlin nodded absently but didn't move immediately. He needed a moment to collect what few reserves of strength he had left. His eyes drifted over to the window and he absently muttered, "The sun's not even down yet." He wasn't sure why he was making the comment. He felt as if he could fall asleep in the middle of a busy marketplace at midday.
"That's what shutters are for," Gaius replied with a hint of humor, then he added in a quieter voice, "You can take the blanket if you like. It's a spare."
"No. It's all right. I don't need it." The chill he'd felt earlier was gone, replaced by the deep warmth of approaching sleep. He got up slowly and let the blanket fall back down onto the bench, then quickly shifted his right hand to his injured arm, pulling the limb securely against his chest. He took a couple of steps but then stopped as his attention was caught by his damaged spell book, still lying on the floor amidst the other books and papers he had thrown across the room earlier. He should probably pick it up and put it away, but he was strangely loath to even touch the thing at the moment. Magic had not been his ally today.
"I'll take care of that," Gaius said gently. He might've been referring to cleaning up the mess of books and papers, hiding the spell book, mending the broken binding, or something else altogether. Merlin wasn't quite sure, and he found he didn't particularly care. None of it seemed especially important at the moment. Even the dragon seemed like a faraway concern and hopefully would remain silent for a while. Merlin didn't think he'd be able to keep himself from screaming if there were any more whispers in his mind just now.
He turned away without another word and shuffled towards his room. His body felt slow and heavy and clumsy as he walked, and he staggered a bit going up the stairs, but managed to catch his balance before he fell. Once in his room he closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a handful of seconds, then walked over to the bed, tugged the blanket aside and sat down. He carefully shifted his injured arm to the side so he could lean over to pull his boots off, then tossed them over towards the wall so he wouldn't trip over them later. He'd managed to tangle himself up in various things he'd left on the floor by his bed more times that he cared to recall, and even had a scar just inside the hairline over his forehead from the time he'd cracked his head against the corner of his desk on the way down.
He thought about putting his sleep shirt on but decided he didn't want to expend the energy to get up and walk back to the door to retrieve it from its peg. He supposed he could summon it to him with magic, but he'd still have to put it on by conventional means and didn't feel like making the effort, especially with one of his arms hindered by fresh stitches and bandages. The window, though... He stared at it intently for a moment and felt the tingle and warmth of magic in his eyes as the shutter quickly swung away from the wall and around to block the light.
A bit of nausea and dizziness swept through him and left a dull headache behind. That was nearly always the result when he used his magic when he was exhausted, especially if it was the instinctive sort that he'd always had. He might not need an actual spell for it, but it required concentration to be properly controlled, and a weary mind forced to focus would inevitably protest.
He rubbed at his temple as he laid down, but the pain in his head was a minor distraction, quickly dismissed. He tucked his feet under the blanket and pulled it up over his bare chest, then settled his injured arm at his side, slightly bent at the elbow with the hand resting against his thigh. There was still a prickling sensation in the wound itself, but it was a vague and distant sort of thing. He closed his eyes and was almost instantly asleep.
