Chapter 4: In Which Gaius Raises the Eyebrow

It was two weeks after the tournament that Merlyn found herself accompanying Gaius to the market in the lower town. It was a bright, brisk day which heralded the coming of winter and the last days of fall. Merlyn had even swapped out her normal blue cloak for a warmer, woolen one, which was dark green. Gaius, getting on in years as he was, had also donned a thicker set of robes than normal. Cold as it was, the sun was bright and the sky was clear, and the energy in the air made Merlyn's magic vibrate with the feeling of change, a small acknowledgement and tribute to the grand dance of the sun and moon and stars.

The reason for their trip to the market was more humble than such concepts. Gaius wanted her to see the various herbs he bought at the apothecary—the ones that were too rare or difficult to obtain in the forest surrounding the city. The herbs were often ridiculously expensive, so it was imperative she knew to how to buy quality items. It was a very necessary part of her education as a physician, and Merlyn enjoyed their trips to the apothecary. The place smelled incredible and she was often fascinated at the different qualities of the various plants and roots. In her excitement, she chattered happily, and was just regaling Gaius with a story of her mother and that time she tried to coax Will down from a tree after Merlyn accidentally set it on fire, when she saw it.

A man, lying face-down in the soil of the street.

Gaius spotted the prone peasant at the exact same moment she did, and had the exact opposite reaction.

The old man raced forward, suddenly spry, and knelt beside the fallen body. Merlyn hung back, and approached carefully, observing the unnaturally pale hands and skin, fighting the horrific memories of illness sweeping through Ealdor, felling people like flies, as they filled her mind.

"Aren't you afraid, Gaius?" She asked, "Shouldn't we take precautions?"

The old physician didn't even spare her a glance. "It's my job, Merlyn, and yours too." He reached blindly for his bag. "You may as well get used to it. Besides, most of the time there's nothing to be afraid of."

But then Gaius turned the body over and they saw the face of the deceased man for the first time. Skin like ice, with every vein starkly blue against it. An expression frozen in his last moments to horror and fear.

"You were saying?" She asked weakly, walking closer in spite of herself.

"Cover him up. People mustn't see this or there'll be panic."

When they finally got the man up into Gaius' chambers it was something of a relief. They ended up having to commandeer a guard to get the man up the stairs. Gaius was too old and she was too small to lift him up all those stairs, but they swore the man to secrecy before he left.

"Is it some sort of plague, Gaius?"

"If it is, then I've never seen anything like it," The old man spoke to the floor as he bent over the deceased. There was an odd tone in his voice as he observed the man.

"You think it's magic?" She wondered aloud. Gaius looked up at her resigned.

"The question is not 'is it magic,' Merlyn, but 'who cast the spell?' It's incredibly powerful, whoever it is."

And he was right. Her magic itched at her skin as she looked upon the dead man, fierce and wary. It felt...disquieting. Unnatural. Disgust crawled up her spine.

There was a knock at the door, distracting her from her thoughts. Gaius gave her an absentminded gesture that indicated she should take care of it.

When she opened it, Arthur appeared behind the door, looking like he was trying very hard to be bored. But there was a faint line of tension in his shoulders and his eyes that spoke of something amiss.

"My father wants to see Gaius in the throne room," He declared. "It's an emergency."

She blinked. "We'll be there right away."

Interest flickered in Arthur's eyes and he looked down at her. "Why do you wear that thing around your neck?" (1)

Unconsciously, her hand reached up to the knotted cloth, the tails of which draped over her shoulder. "Don't you ever get cold outside?"

He rolled his eyes and turned to leave. "Yes, and then I wear a jacket or a cloak, Merlyn. Honestly, for a physician you're certainly an idiot."

"Think of it as creative problem solving, sire." She quipped. Arthur just rolled his eyes and turned away.

Oswald, the ever-skittish servant, scampered after him, but not before his eyes flicked nervously to Merlyn.

She felt a steady stream of discomfort and a little fear, but she closed the door before it could show on her face.

"Gaius," She called, "The king—"

"I heard," the old man interrupted. "Best get there quickly."

She nodded and helped drape the deadcloth over the fallen man.

"Gaius," she whispered, fear filling her. "Gaius, Oswald is still terrified of me."

The gnarled hands of the physician slowed. "You must give him time, Merlyn. He said he'd keep your secret."

She sighed and started collecting potions. "Yes, but for how long? He will not keep it a secret if he thinks I might harm Arthur."

Gaius shrugged, "Which you won't. Just make sure you never give him a reason to think you would do so."

Merlyn frowned. "How, Gaius? Arthur and I bicker all the time. As much as I might want to kill him sometimes, or at least turn him into a toad or something equally miserable, I don't wish him harm. What if Oswald mistakes that?" It would be all too easy, too. She and Arthur made threats against each other on a daily basis. Why that morning she'd threatened to poison his food after she tasted it if he didn't stop being such a prat about taking the muscle relaxant she and Gaius prescribed him for his strained shoulder. Idiot injured himself fighting Valiant and didn't tell her for three whole days, until she noticed him favoring it.

"Remember Merlyn, he discovered you when you saved Arthur's life. And he was smart enough not to panic about it and confronted you directly." Gaius rolled up a sheaf of examination tools and stuffed it in her pack as well. "I think young Oswald will keep your secret well. I sincerely doubt you have much to fear from him, and he will grow used to you in time."

She sighed, "I know, it's just…it's been two weeks. Arthur's even noticed how scared he is of me. And every time he flinches I just remember…" remember growing up so terribly afraid and alone, isolated because she was different than everyone else in one of the most fundamental and divisive ways possible. Her mother's words as she tried to convince her that no, Merlyn was not evil, and she was not afraid, but her hands had trembled as she said it.

Gaius continued to shuffle around, packing things for an unknown medical emergency—she even saw him pack a draft of Morgana's sleeping draught.

"Merlyn, Oswald knows you are kind. And he is a kind soul as well. He's honest too. If he says he will keep your secret, then he will."

Merlyn certainly hoped so. It wasn't like she had any choice in the matter

Arthur stood beside his father in a silent throne room. A disturbingly dead man lay prone on the floor before them all, evidence of his previous service still in hand. A goblet full of wine spilled on the floor beside him, and it looked too similar to blood to be comfortable.

Arthur made no eye contact with anyone, and did not respond to his fellow knight's attempts to get his attention. His father paced like a caged bear before him, on the steps of Uther's dais, and Arthur took a quiet breath in through his nose, trying to clear his mind amid the boiling chaos.

His father's court was convened, and that was half the problem at the moment. His fellow noblemen, most of them the leaders of rather comfortable lifestyles in terms of day-to-day danger, were on the verge of absolute panic. His father often criticized the working-class people of being slaves to mob mentality, but Arthur found a certain appreciation for the attitude most lower-class people in Camelot had. An if-there's-a-problem-fix-it-don't-cry-about-it sort of perspective he found admirable.

His fellow noblemen did not share the same perspective.

No one dared touch the dead man. His face was far too strange, with the blue veins and unnaturally white skin, his clothes too dirty, his hair unwashed for too long. There was fear in the room, and to distract himself Arthur turned his gaze slightly upward, toward the vaulted ceilings and the tall windows on the western wall.

Cold light flooded in, graying the concrete walls and revealing the dust motes' endless dance. It always elicited some awe from him, the way the sun could be both warm and cold, golden and white. It made Camelot look new every day, the changes.

Arthur had the passing thought that this really wasn't what he should be pondering at the moment when the doors swung open.

Gaius and Merlyn were probably trying to be unobtrusive. Any other day, they would have succeeded, because the conversation and movement inside the room would have covered the groaning of the oaken door.

Today, in the midst of the stony silence, they just managed to sound particularly noisy.

Their faces were tight as they entered, and Merlyn's eyes landed immediately on Arthur. She was wearing a dress, he noted, as she usually did when she wasn't working for him. Their gazes held for only a moment before Merlyn's eyes flicked to a point over his shoulder. Whatever she saw there made her immediately more stressed, and she turned her attention to Gaius. The elder physician had discerned the source of the disturbance, and made a beeline for the dead peasant.

Arthur watched as Gaius fearlessly dropped beside the fallen man. Merlyn followed with significantly more wariness but knelt on the dead man's opposite side.

He felt something clench inside him at the sight. Don't touch that, he wanted to tell her, it's not safe, but this was the work of a physician and sometimes it was a terribly dangerous job.

She and Gaius murmured to each other, saying things like "crystallized optical fluid," and "alternating patterns of skin discoloration." There was too much medical jargon to really know what they were talking about from this distance, and it was frustrating. He wanted to do, act, be involved.

He let them work without interruption.

The one phrase he did catch and fully grasp the consequences of was expressed in Merlyn's lighter tones. "Gaius, it's the same…"

The same.

This was not the first and only case.

"Gaius, tell me your findings," The king demanded. Arthur kept his eyes pinned to Merlyn's face. Her apprehensive brow betrayed infinitely more than Gaius' stern eyes.

The elder physician stood and clasped his hands behind his back, as he so often did when speaking in court.

"I am unsure about the cause, but this is the second case I've seen today. We could be dealing with the breakout of an unknown ailment." Merlyn stood now as well, keeping her eyes slightly averted from the body.

"Why didn't you report it?" the king snarled, "And what aren't you telling me? You know more than what you say."

Gaius hesitated ever so slightly before speaking. "Sire, I am afraid I do not yet know the exact cause of this man's death."

What careful wording. Arthur was pretty sure he himself could hazard a guess, and he was no physician. He caught the sharp turn of Merlyn's head—she saw what he did in Gaius' answer.

What could prompt Gaius to present a ruse? The man was loyal to Camelot, and one of his father's closest confidantes. His allegiance was not in question, which meant he was trying to protect Camelot somehow. But what—

"Is it sorcery?" Uther questioned, and he saw Merlyn stiffen with a flash of fear and another glance over Arthur's shoulder.

What was she looking at…?

Gaius, for his part, seemed unruffled by being called out. "The scientific process is a long one, Sire, but I struggle to think of an alternative causality."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest as his father fumed. A magically inflicted illness meant a great number of things, none of them good. There might not be a common factor to eliminate, like rotten grain, and quarantines would be useless if the spell was cast over the entire city.

Worst of all, the cure might not be…natural, in nature.

The king, he noticed, had taken on the air of someone truly incensed. But then he pulled Arthur aside, and he noticed fear in his father's eyes as well.

There were not very many things in this world that made Uther Pendragon cower in fright.

"You must find who did this," the king ordered. Arthur looked at the dead man, and felt the same rage he assumed his father had.

This man died because of the actions of one sorcerer. One person, who took it upon themselves to end life in an indefensible way. Whoever it didn't even give this servant the right to protect himself, to fight for his life honorably. He or she simply took it, for the sake of destruction.

It was inexcusable.

"I will, Father."

The king nodded, satisfied. "You know how to conduct a proper search. Make sure your physician helps Gaius instead of attending to you until this is over."

Arthur saw the logic but there was still a note of protest in him. "But Merlyn—"

"—Is the most qualified person in Camelot to defend against this evil after Gaius. He cannot have a random servant assist him, he needs someone with a certain level of competence."

Arthur forced his shoulders to relax. His father was right. He admitted to having grown…used to Merlyn's company over the last month and a half, but she was obviously needed elsewhere.

"We must give Gaius all the help we can, Arthur." Uther continued, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "This is the kind of magic that undermines our authority, challenges everything we've done. If we cannot control the plague, then people will turn to magic for a cure."

No wonder his father was so agitated. "I understand," even though there was something about the king's claims that didn't make sense, that Arthur had never picked up on before. "I'll find him."

King Uther turned away, and Arthur found himself walking toward his physician. She was helping Gaius to put a cloth underneath the diseased man, and Arthur noticed she was making a conscious effort not to touch his skin. He wondered if she was afraid or disgusted or both.

"You'll be helping Gaius until further notice," he told her.

Merlyn didn't argue with him, for once. Instead she just bowed her head looking over the dead in her charge, and gave a soft "Yes, Sire."

He wasn't sure what to make of it. His normally fiery personal physician was oddly subdued. This was not her first interaction with death, he knew. This was not the first time she'd tended to the dead. So why…?

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder once more, and her face paled, her shoulders growing tense beneath her linen tunic.

What did she keep looking at?

There was movement, at the corner of his eye. Green linen tunic with a leather vest.

His servant.

Arthur walked away then, not questioning her again, in public when she had spared him no answers in private and there were more important things to be done.

Arthur's manservant followed silently, and he sensed more than saw the boy tense as he passed Merlyn.

He gave instructions to the nearest captain of the guard. Double the patrols, double the guard, set an early curfew. Suggest setting up a temporary infirmary to the physicians. More control, more control more control, on and on and so forth.

Edwin—yes he did know the boy's name, thank you very much Merlyn—followed him silently. But his obvious terror was off-putting. It was making Arthur tense, raising his awareness so every footfall was an attacker and every shout a war cry.

If it was an isolated action, Arthur would have assumed it was just his fear of the disease. That would be logical, even, considering they had no idea what was causing it other than magic. But it was not isolated, and this was more than his normal skittishness. The boy had acted like this for weeks, and the only common factor as far as Arthur could tell, was Merlyn.

She acted normally toward Arthur. But she was awkward and careful around the boy, where once she'd been friendly and open. For his part, the manservant had basically become mute, and shook like a leaf whenever she was in the room. He'd fainted five times in the last week alone. The first time it happened, Arthur had been amused and cited it as proof that the kid's fainting spells were actually Merlyn's fault. Merlyn had given uncharacteristically weak responses, which was the first sign something was off.

Arthur had only known Merlyn for a short time, but he did know she was rather fond of getting the last word.

So he noticed that this was not just a normal progression of the two peasant's relationship. And after observing Merlyn, he'd almost say she was afraid of the boy. Odd, since previously she'd seemed to kind of mother hen him. And out of character, because Arthur knew from experience that Merlyn was extraordinarily brave. Stupidly brave, even. So what could possibly have happened to make her legitimately afraid of his rabbit-like servant?

Arthur had asked Merlyn, in a very roundabout way about it. She'd responded with deliberate obtuseness, and since then he hadn't confronted either of them, because that would indicate he had far too much interest in the lives and emotions of the people who served him. But, really—the atmosphere when the two of them were in his chambers at the same time was getting rather awkward. He knew something was wrong. They both knew he knew something was wrong. And they both continued to try and skirt around each other anyway.

The fact that they seemed afraid of each other just confused him more.

But Arthur had left it be. Mostly because Arthur was the prince and had no time or even inclination to get involved in the petty squabbles of servants and commoners. Besides, there was no reason for him to insert himself into their personal business. That would just be…messy. And all this emotional stuff made him…disquieted.

But now it was different. They'd probably need Mordecai to act as a liaison between himself and the physicians, in order to get accurate updates on the disease and possible preventative techniques or cures.

Which is why when Arthur reached his chambers he waited for the door to close behind him before spinning to face his manservant.

Edward was obviously startled by the sudden attention, and his knees locked like a startled colt's. His eyes started shifting back and forth and his respiration rate increased with such intensity that the boy had to take a great, gasping breath to steady himself.

"Look," Arthur started, already uncomfortable with this conversation, "It has not escaped my notice that you and Merlyn seem to have had some kind of…falling out."

The boy nearly seized and Arthur saw full-blown panic in his eyes.

Holy hell, what had happened between them?

"Calm down, I'd rather we didn't have to go through this twice," Arthur held up a hand, trying to be as normal as possible. They really did have to get the boy out of the habit of fainting so often. "I'm bringing it up now because I'm going to need you to have some rather direct contact with her in the upcoming days while she works with Gaius to find a cure, and we can't have your personal business getting in the way. The safety of Camelot is at stake."

The boy calmed a little at his words, and his hair seemed to stand on end a little less. "Do you understand?" Arthur prompted.

The manservant nodded, but didn't respond verbally. Arthur sighed. Honestly, this was like talking someone off a building. "Good." Arthur turned to look around the room for his things. He'd need to wear some more appropriate clothing while conducting the searches—less princely and more knightly, as Merlyn might put it.

The tension in the room lessened slightly when he looked away from the servant, and the boy relaxed. Arthur sensed an opportunity and his curiosity got the better of him. "What happened with you two anyway? She used to be rather overprotective of you. Still is, really, she's just not as obvious about it." He tried to make it sound nonchalant, a passing curiosity.

The servant didn't answer right away, and Arthur was about to ask again when he said, very quietly, as if afraid someone other than the walls could hear. "I…told her something."

Arthur blinked, and there was a moment of hesitation as he pulled his gloves on, deliberately not looking at the boy so he might speak. "Really?" Casual, casual, he wasn't really interested, "What was it?"

Another long period of silence. Arthur pointlessly fiddled with his belt while the servant approached with his jacket.

"I…I'd rather not say, Sire. If—if you don't mind."

This did give Arthur pause, because never in his recollection had this boy denied him anything, and so he finally turned to look the servant in the eye.

He was paler than Arthur had ever seen—so pale Arthur was surprised the boy hadn't passed out from the obvious strain. And his brown eyes were blown wide with panic and fear and guardedness that Arthur could not for the life of him divine the origin of. He himself was not that intimidating. He was quite sure of it.

But there was a certain subtle determination there as well—a sense of dignity he'd never seen in his servant before. And Arthur knew better than to trample on someone's dignity, whether they be a man, woman or child, prince or beggar.

"Of course," he responded, "People are allowed their secrets."

The boy's shoulders slumped in relief. "Th—thank you, Sire."

Arthur nodded, trying to dispel the discomfort. "Just don't let it affect your work, whatever it is."

The servant shook his head vehemently, and Arthur saw the return of…apprehension?...in his eyes.

"Now go get my sword—make sure it's sharpened and polished—and bring it to me. I'm off to meet with the Guard Captains and a few knights, you'll have to find me at the stationhouse."

"Yes, milord, right away."

And the boy scurried off, his relief a nearly tangible thing. After a moment, Arthur turned to leave as well, his mind spinning.

He should not have asked, he realized, because now he would wonder. Curiosity had always been a hard thing to ignore, for Arthur, and he felt it keenly now. What could the boy have had to tell Merlyn that made them afraid of each other? And what response could she possibly have had for either of them to react like this?

Perhaps he's in love, his mind supplied wryly, and then his hand froze on the door handle.

No…surely not? They…they wouldn't be a good fit. And Arthur got the sense Merlyn regarded the servant as more of a little brother than a possible suitor, if she considered him to be a man at all.

But…he remembered the looks of awe the servant directed at Merlyn sometimes. Completely gob-smacked, as if he could not believe Merlyn existed or behaved the way she did. Arthur remembered feeling equally astounded, at first, before growing used to her insolence and mannerisms. Perhaps those feelings evolved into something else, for the young serving boy?

Arthur walked slowly out of his chambers, trying to shake his thoughts, order his feelings. Focused, he had to stay focused. Camelot was counting on him. He could not be distracted by the dramas of his staff.

Besides, he remembered, it had most certainly not gone over well if that was the case. Merlyn must have rejected the boy if he made such feelings known to her. The thought lightened him, and the whole affair suddenly became much easier to ignore.

Arthur sighed. He should not have asked. He should have known he could not be a casual observer. Nothing involving Merlyn was ever casual.

"What are you doing?" Merlyn asked. She was sitting at the long wooden table in the center of their chambers—it was Gaius' favorite surface to conduct experiments on, because it had the most room and the flattest top. At the moment, the old physician had a tapered beaker full of a thick, yellow-white liquid and was about to heat it over an open flame.

"This was drained from that man's stomach," Gaius informed her, making a vague gesture to the first of the deceased to cross their path. "What do you think I'm doing?"

Ah, so this was a teaching moment.

"You're…going to see what he had for lunch?" she tried. Gaius looked at her rather sternly. She thought a little harder. "Oh! You're going to see if you can find a common source for the illness."

"Well that would be the first step to finding a cure," Gaius grouched. She let him get away with it, because everyone deserved their coping mechanisms in times of stress.

"Are we sure it's magic?" She inquired, for maybe the third time that day.

Gaius glared at her. Oops, maybe that was the sixth or seventh time she'd asked. Gaius's patience didn't usually run out until repeated question number five. "Yes, Merlyn. It's magic of the darkest kind."

She frowned as her mentor poured a red liquid into the beaker. "I thought magic didn't have 'good' or 'bad' affiliations. I thought it depended on how it was used. 'The heart of the caster is the heart of the spell,' and all that. So how do you designate any spell 'good' or 'bad?'" Gaius gave her a look, and she felt compelled to explain further. "I mean obviously this is very, very bad, and whoever did it is evil. But couldn't you use the same spell with the opposite effect? Like, instead of making everyone sick you make everyone feel better?"

Gaius sighed, and returned most of his attention to the beaker in his hands, now a rather revolting orange-pink color as the food separated from the acid due to heat. "Magic itself is not good or evil—but it is generally accepted that certain spells are dark. Forbidden, if you will. Things like taking over others' consciousness, for example, are almost universally accepted as bad."

"But what if you had a really excellent reason for doing so? Like…I don't know…If you were using a random guard to get into your enemy's hideout, or get out of the city. Then it would just be self-preservation, right?"

Gaius set the beaker down and started making notes. "Magic exists as it does, Merlyn. But men are not angels, and people use it to evil ends. You only have to look at this plague to know that this is true." (2)

Merlyn frowned now, slightly stung. "But you wouldn't let me use magic to heal those people, either." She sat straighter, feeling a surge of defensiveness and indignation. "I was always taught that standing by when you could do something for someone was a crime in itself."

And finally, Gaius looked at her, and Merlyn was taken aback by the very real anger in his eyes. "Neither of us are doing nothing, Merlyn. We are doing what is best for all people by staying alive to find the cure. Now," He said, wiping his hands on a nearby rag, "If you are done accusing me of sabotaging your vigilantism, help me drain the contents of the second victim's stomach."

Merlyn stood. "But Gaius—"

The door opened and Arthur burst in with a following of guards.

"Search the rooms," the prince declared, his face stern and determined, blue eyes hard. "You, over there," He ordered, pointing to the corner where Gaius stored their winter coats. "You, behind those books."

Arthur did not particularly like searching people's homes.

It was an invasion of privacy, for one thing. He knew far too much about far too many strangers thanks to these searches. And it was…eye opening, learning about how his subjects lived, how little they had. Once, he'd accidentally asked a family of ten 'that's it?' when he'd finished his search of the one-room home. The look he'd received in return had been far from respectful, and there was no adoration or loyalty to be found in their eyes.

Most people, actually, looked at him with resentment while he conducted the searches. Resentment or fear.

Arthur hated it.

As the prince, he could hang back, guide from afar and let his captains direct on the ground. But he knew his men were sometimes less than careful with people's belongings, and he knew his presence helped to mitigate that, to some extent. And besides, to hang back because of his own discomfort? That felt cowardly.

Still, he let his men do the more…uncouth things. Like searching through the brothels or the dressers of men and women who had…interests. People who were breaking laws and engaging in crimes that were not as serious as the one he was currently trying to stop. His avoidance was less about cowardice and courage than necessity and efficiency. There were things Arthur could not turn a blind eye to as the prince, and things his guards could overlook in his stead.

Arthur made sure to search his acquaintances' homes himself though. He didn't know if that lessened the invasion of privacy or heightened it, but he felt a little better knowing no one else knew what Morgana's shifts looked like.

One of the last stops in the castle was the physician's chambers. A number of factors had resulted in that outcome, including its placement in the easternmost tower—they'd started in the Western wing—and the fact that they did not want to distract the physicians from finding a cure.

Honestly he'd hoped to have found something by now. The only woman he knew better than Merlyn was Morgana, and that had been incredibly awkward.

Actually, now that he thought about it, that was kind of sad. He'd only known Merlyn for a month or so, after all. It's not like they were bosom buddies, no matter her insisting that they were friends.

He did not knock when he entered—that was protocol.

Arthur walked as casually as possible, trying not to give away his discomfort. He was meant to be here, he told himself, to find the sorcerer.

…which actually didn't help at all, because he was quite certain neither Gaius nor Merlyn were in any way affiliated with magic.

So Arthur did what Arthurs do when they get uncomfortable. Give orders. "Search the rooms," he said rather unnecessarily. "You, over there." There was a couple of crates in the corner that could be suspicious. "You, behind those books."

He resolutely strode past the two physicians. Merlyn's face was flushed with anger and irritation—a look he recognized well—and he assumed it was directed at him when she had a whispered conversation with Gaius.

Honestly, he was just doing his job.

He found himself apologizing anyway. "Sorry, Gaius—Can't allow any room to go unchecked." He eyed a shelf with a wooden rabbit mask.

Well, Gaius had always been a little…different. Or maybe it was Merlyn's?

"Searching for the sorcerer?" Merlyn's voice asked from behind him. He turned to eye her.

"Yes," he muttered gruffly, opening the door.

"…and you think it likely you'll find something here?" There was a note of reproach in her voice.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my job." He was surprised at how much it felt like pleading. He tried to take it back. "Can you say you've been doing the same?"

Gaius' voice wafted forward now. "Go on and search, we've nothing to hide," he said calmly, "we were just about to examine the contents of that man's stomach when you came in sire, so I thank you for the delay."

Merlyn's mouth twitched in a smile, and Arthur actually looked up at Gaius in surprise. It seemed tempers were running high with both physicians today.

"We'll be as quick as we can," he promised. After all, this was a formality. Gaius didn't respond except to hover over the guards as they handled his delicate instruments and tomes.

Arthur shuffled through the room, trying to shove away the instinct that made him feel like a wayward child. Then he noticed a particularly messy desk, and moved toward it, thinking he couldn't possibly mess up the order of the items since they were already unorganized. "What are these books and papers?" He asked, honestly curious.

"My life's work in science, if you must know."

Arthur smirked and set the pages down. "Trying to turn lead into gold, Gaius?"

To his surprise the old man scoffed. "Hardly. My life's work has been related to debunking the practice of alchemy—according to all natural phenomena which I have observed, it simply is not possible to change something into that which it is not, without the aid of magic."

Arthur was surprised—and here he'd thought Gaius was a learned man! "You don't study alchemy?" he questioned. "What are all these—these experiments for, then?" For there were a great many beakers and bottles filled with various substances around the room.

"I do study alchemy—I just study why it hasn't worked after four millennia of trying." Gaius tapped the book on top of all his papers, as if to indicate the whole project. "Men have tried and failed for ages to do this transmutation, and I have spent my life trying to discover where they went wrong—not in order to try and make gold myself, but to develop a means of discovery which will work, and carry us further into understanding the natural world than even philosophy or religion can." (3)

Arthur blinked moved away from the papers. He needed to gain better control of his curiosity—it was getting him into all sorts of trouble today.

He noticed a door in the back. "What room is this?"

Merlyn was beside him again. "Mine," she told him, raising one eyebrow in a very Gaius-like manner, as if to say ready to search through all my private things, you prat?

Out of the corner of his eye, a well-meaning guard probably thinking he was doing Arthur a favor started toward it.

Thoughts flashed through his mind at lightning speed, of some random stranger going through Merlyn's shifts and dresses, seeing her various pairs of leggings and possibly even undergarments, perhaps even imagining her in them, and only them…

"I'll search it then," he snapped at the guard, just barely managing to refrain from a full-fledged snarl.

Predictably, Merlyn followed behind. "Will you?"

"Yes, I will." Better him than anyone else at any rate. The guard he passed on the way looked absolutely bewildered, but Arthur was not feeling particularly apologetic.

In some logical, rational corner of his mind, Arthur recognized that he was not being particularly fair to this man, who hadn't done anything wrong except try and move things along as quickly as possible, per his orders.

Needless to say, Arthur did not quite have it in him to listen to that rational voice in his head today.

"What gives you the right, I wonder." Arthur turned around to send her a glare. She looked at him innocently as he opened the door, and he wondered if her previous anger was directed somewhere else after all. "Just curious," she added abruptly, blue eyes far too guileless to be believable.

"Because I am the prince and today it is my job to conduct a search that could reveal the identity of the sorcerer or sorceress that brought this plague upon us." He gave an over the shoulder gesture as he stepped over her threshold. "It is a matter of protecting the people."

He glanced around her room. It was messier than he'd expected of her, actually. Her dirty clothes were in a pile beside her unmade bed, and her cupboard door was open. A few books lay about in a manner reminiscent of her mentor's chambers. He glanced at the nearest title: A Study of the Processes of Scarring.

Good lord, he thought, she's as bad as Gaius.

"You should clean more," he sneered, "Then maybe you could see the floor."

"Not everyone has someone they pay to clean up after them," she declared airily, unrepentant. "You said every room would be searched?" She asked.

Much too innocent, he thought. "No one will be given an exemption," he told her distractedly, noticing the colorful ribbons on her nightstand that he'd seen in her hair, some days.

"So yours is being searched, then?"

He spluttered. "What? No—I mean, why would we? I'm a member of the royal family."

Merlyn shrugged. "Morgana's room was searched. I assumed yours must have been as well, seeing as she's practically your sister."

He stared at her, consternated. "There would be no point," he reiterated. "I'm not using sorcery and I'm certainly not the cause of the plague."

She raised a delicate eyebrow. "And I am? And Gaius? Morgana?"

He opened his mouth. Snapped it shut.

"No exceptions," he ground out.

"Except you." She shifted back, popping her hip. "And the king, I suppose. Are there any other nobles?"

His eyes widened, surprise and outrage filling him on reflex. Thoughts of the absolutely cursory search he'd given Morgana's chambers filled his mind, the hesitancy of his guards to touch the belongings of the nobility. His reaction was worsened by the stress of the day, his worry for his people, the repeated invasions of privacy that he had no choice but to conduct, because there were people dying, his people were dying horrifically and it was at least partly his fault because he was the one responsible for protecting them... "He's the king! You would accuse him of sorcery?" He growled.

She seemed surprised by his reaction, her blue eyes widening, and her arms dropping to her sides. "Well no, but—"

"Then I suggest you do yourself a favor and hold your tongue for once, Merlyn."

She did so—more out of surprise than fear of punishment, he suspected. He didn't normally threaten her for her audacity.

He turned back to her things, agitatedly rifling through what appeared to be a junk drawer, full of random keepsakes and objects, like an empty inkwell and a small, hand-carved fish that would fit in one's palm. He wondered if she'd made it herself, or if it had been a gift. He wondered if it had been a man, if she'd had suitors before his servant.

He wondered why the thought made him so angry.

Arthur shut the drawer. Looked around. Dropped to the floor to see under the bed. It was clean, except for the occasional dust-bunny.

Finally, he couldn't put it off anymore. He stood and walked to her chest of drawers.

"My undergarments are in there, you know." She told him haughtily. Apparently his minute of silence was up.

Well yes, I figured, he wanted to say, but there were some topics one was simply not sarcastic about. Instead he glared at her. "I have to look everywhere." She continued to glare. He mentally sighed. "Would you rather someone else do it?" Would you rather it be a stranger?

She stiffened at that, then turned away, toward her window. He took that as permission.

Arthur was careful not to look at anything too closely. Was careful not to touch anything he didn't need to, or disorganize anything that was neatly stacked and folded. He went fast, doing this only out of necessity.

He still got glimpses though, and it made his neck and cheeks feel hot.

It was over in under thirty seconds. He stood and closed the drawer.

"We're finished here." He muttered, unsure of what to say to her. It had not happened before, and he was unsure of how to deal with it, didn't like how uncertain it made him feel about himself.

"I'm glad," she told him. He tried not to feel hurt, tried to remember she'd just suffered an indignity.

He exited her room, focusing instead on Gaius. "How long until we have a cure, Gaius?" He thought of the man who died in their courtroom, of the dying ones on the streets, who the people wouldn't touch because they were afraid of the disease they suffered from.

"It depends on the number of interruptions I get," he said pointedly.

Arthur felt his frustration rise. He was just trying to do his job. "We'll get out of your hair then." He walked forward, his guards preceding him out the door. Arthur trailed his fingers over the tables and equipment, because he was not uncomfortable, he was not upset, he was simply doing his job and nothing more.

He was almost to the threshold when he heard rapid footsteps behind him, and then a soft pressure on his wrist.

Arthur turned and there was Merlyn, brows furrowed with concern, a mouth still set in irritation and narrow shoulders hunched in silent apology. What struck him though—what settled him—were her almond-shaped eyes, the blue soft with the most profound understanding he'd ever seen directed at him, with a complete lack of judgment or pity. His shoulders seemed to loosen of their own accord, as the stress he'd built up throughout the long day of searching weighed on him just a little bit less.

They did not speak, exchange words or smiles. There was no one emotion that was communed between them, and it would not have been shared even if he could describe exactly what was building in the air around their locked gazes…they simply understood each other, in some fundamental unspoken way. And it was enough.

Then he turned away, feeling lighter than he had since waking this morning, because she had a cure to find and he had a sorcerer to catch, and there was nothing that needed to be said.

Merlyn and Gaius worked in awkward silence after Arthur left.

They spoke when they needed to—when he needed an extra hand or she didn't quite know what she was looking at—but for the first time in their acquaintance she did not feel that comfortable, almost familial bond with her mentor. In its place was a strain, tainted with guilt and pride and righteousness.

Merlyn knew she could heal these people, if given the chance. She knew it. And it angered her that Gaius would have her stand by and do things differently when there was such an immediate solution right in front of them.

Guiltily, she wondered if Gaius' years of denying himself the practice of magic on people he couldn't heal otherwise had hardened him too much to allow it even when it might be necessary.

She didn't know. Not really. But at any rate she'd been wrong to insinuate that Gaius, kind man that he was, did not care about the people he was meant to heal. She could apologize for that, at least.

Now if only her pride would let her do it.

Slowly she drew a scalpel and collection jar over one of the victims' abdomens. They were collecting material from one of the crystallized lumps that formed on the skin above the digestive track to see what it was made of. Gaius suspected mineral deposits, collected in the final stage of the disease when the victims became severely dehydrated. Gaius' theory was the deposits collected in the intestines and then were pushed up to the epidermal layer as the body froze, contracting from the inside.

He was a short man, with rough hands and what would have been a pleasant face. Absently she wondered if he had a family, and if they knew he was dead. She wondered what his name was, what he'd done for a living.

"Once you're finished with that, come help me with this. I need your eyes to determine the shape of the granules in this distillation."

She nodded to show that she'd heard, and continued to scrape. Little flakes came off of the soft deposits and she swirled them to the bottom of her jar.

It took ten minutes to fill the jar completely, and then when she presented the findings to Gaius he hummed and shook his head, as if worried by what he saw.

Touching the bodies had been hard at first. Still was, really, but Merlyn had adapted to the sensation. Cold like ice, and her magic flinched away from it, as if it stung. It…disturbed her. Her magic hadn't ever responded to something like that before.

Gaius hobbled over to the next table and began to compare Merlyn's findings to some page in a book. She was struck by how terribly old Gaius seemed, his face heavy with exhaustion and worry. Suddenly her pride seemed so petty.

"I'm sorry, Gaius." She said quietly, and the physician looked up at her. "I should not have said what I did. I know you care very much for the people of Camelot, and are doing what you think is best for them. It was very wrong of me to insinuate otherwise."

Gaius removed his glasses and sighed. "I think I must apologize as well. I forgot what it is like to be young and full of power, idealistic." He smiled and shook his head. "It takes practice to channel one's better nature into long-term goals. And I sometimes forget how much practice I've had." He waved her over. "Now—look at this and tell me what you see. The pieces seem to break down in a particular pattern and we might be able to use that to identify—"

There was a soft knock on the door—timid and unsure.

"Come in," Gaius called, even as Merlyn went to open it. The person on the other side surprised her.

"Oswald," she managed, startled and suddenly afraid, as she was every time she was in the young boy's vicinity these days.

"Miss Merlyn," he returned, at least as nervous as she. "I—I have a message from Prince Arthur to Gaius."

She nodded, stiff. "Well come in, you can tell him in person," she told him, opening the wooden door further and allowing him to step inside. Oswald hesitated, and she wondered if it was the horror of the dead or herself that gave him pause.

After a few seconds though, he entered. Gaius greeted him in his usual, brusque way, and Oswald seemed to relax a little. She smiled sadly, thinking of how he was starting to come out of his shell around her before he found out about the magic.

"The king says the lower town is to be quarantined," Oswald spoke, "Everyone who is infected will be brought there, regardless of rank or class."

She cocked her head worriedly, but did not protest. It was a harsh measure, but it made sense. As many people as possible had to be protected, and since they didn't know how the disease was spreading, there wasn't really a better alternative.

"We'll make sure all the sick that come our way are taken down there," Gaius assured.

Oswald nodded. Then opened his mouth and paled severely.

There was an awkward silence.

Merlyn had wondered when he might ask. She'd seen the question rise in the throne room, when it was determined that the cause of the illness was sorcery.

"It wasn't me, Oswald," she said softly, ignoring the pang in her heart at his doubt. "It isn't me, and it will never be me."

The servant seemed to relax a little more. He gave her a slightly apologetic look. "I know, Miss Merlyn. I just…"

He was just unsure, and that hurt too.

Merlyn appraised him. Oswald looked sick and tired, but not in the way of the plague, thankfully. It looked more like chronic stress and fatigue. And she knew it was related to her, and his concerns about her especially.

He was afraid—just like she feared everyone would be.

She still didn't know why he'd agreed to keep it a secret. When he'd promised to do so as long as she didn't harm Camelot, she'd been too scared to question it.

Now, she was desperate to know why he kept the secret and why he trusted her at all.

"Have you found a cure yet?" He asked awkwardly, and she knew he inquired about a magical cure.

She glanced at Gaius, and knew she wasn't able to keep all of the accusation out of her eyes when he glared back.

"No," Gaius told him sternly, but his agitation was directed at Merlyn. "No we have not."

Oswald looked like he knew he'd stepped in it and he hurried to make his escape. "Prince Arthur has finished searching," Oswald told them. "I should be attending to him."

She thought of the heavy weight in Arthur's eyes from this morning, when he'd been searching their rooms. "Did he find anything?" She asked, hopeful.

Oswald shook his head in the negative and inched toward the door. "Not that I'm aware of, Miss Merlyn. Excuse me."

He made a beeline for the door before she could get another word in.

"I was afraid of that," Gaius muttered, returning his attention to a set of vials in front of him. "A sorcerer of this power would never be in the city while his magic acted."

Merlyn frowned. "So why the search?"

Gaius sighed, "Because, Merlyn, it gives the illusion of control over an uncontrollable situation," and he suddenly looked very old, his face sagging with years of too many deaths and too much regret. "More importantly, it gives people a little hope."

It was nearly evening when Merlyn and Gaius had a breakthrough. It came in the form of a deceased noblewoman, a few years older than Merlyn. She still wore a gold and red dress that she'd probably donned that very morning, when she'd been perfectly healthy.

She did not understand what made Gaius so interested in this particular victim over all the others until he questioned her.

"Tell me what she tells us, Merlyn."

Merlyn assessed the victim. "She's the first woman to succumb to the disease. Maybe women have a natural resistance to it?" Gaius waved her forward. "She's a courtier, probably a mid-rank noblewoman." She would not be a contestant for marriage to Arthur and his ilk, but she would have high enough status for pretty much anyone else.

"Yes, yes, now what does that tell us about the disease?"

Merlyn was not entirely sure what Gaius was getting at. "She…doesn't interact with the townspeople." she realized. And if they were looking for a source of the pestilence, that meant it had to be in something everyone in Camelot comes into contact with. "It's in the water!" She realized excitedly. It made sense, too. If you were going to try and poison a city, the water source was pretty much the one thing no one could live without.

"I believe so." Gaius said warmly. "I told you, Merlyn, science would lead us to the answers we need."

"Indeed," she told him grinning. Then she blinked. "Should we tell the king and Arthur?"

Gaius shook his head, "No, we'll make sure it's true first. Go draw a bucket from the well."

"Right" she told him, and he shooed her toward the door.

But just as she made to leave Gaius' chambers, Gwen rushed in.

Merlyn was instantly concerned. Her friend's warm cheeks were pale, and there were tears streaming from her terrified, doe-like eyes.

"Merlyn," She sobbed, and it sounded like begging.

"Gwen!" Her good mood from seconds ago was now dissolved like mist. "Gwen what happened?"

She gasped, hiccuping, and Merlyn went to take her hands. "It's—my father." Her voice broke on the last word. "He has the sickness."

"Oh, Gwen," Merlyn whispered, pain snatching at her heart. The handmaiden shook with the force of her grief and fear.

"Please," she begged, "please you have to have a cure. You must. I'll do anything."

Gaius' voice sounded from behind her. "We have no cure, Gwen. I'm sorry."

Merlyn did not move. She did not speak though her heart burned at the lie. She could heal Gwen's father. She could do something to save everyone.

She watched as Gwen's heart broke and all hope departed from her.

"He's all I have," she whimpered, her face crumpling with sorrow and pain.

Merlyn made sure to look her in the eyes. "Gwen. You should go to him. I'll tell Morgana you won't be coming in tomorrow."

She sobbed, but sucked in a breath as if that would strengthen her, and nodded. Gwen turned away with dignity, and Merlyn's heart silently promised to honor it.

(1) I realized I didn't really make it clear earlier—I reinvented Merlyn's neckerchief to be an ascot/scarf thing. Think Daphne from Scooby-Doo. Yes, that was my inspiration.

(2) I cannot take credit for Gaius' comment about men not being angels. I paraphrased from James Madison in his Federalist No. 51. For you non-Americans or non-history/government buffs, in that article he defends the need for a strong central government over a federation of states (I know, the name is misleading). It was part of a series of articles known as The Federalist Papers, and they were written in order to convince revolutionary-era Americans that this was the correct form of government for the developing country. Madison was an incredible writer and thinker, and the actual quote is quite beautiful, in my opinion. It has nothing to do with Merlin but I was reminded of it when I was writing that scene about the nature of magic. But what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human nature? If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to control itself.

(3) I think most of us are fairly aware that, while preeminently enjoyable, Merlin is not exactly the most historically accurate of TV shows. One of the areas in which this is most obvious is the apparent medical and scientific knowledge of Gaius and even other characters. According to my five minute Wikipedia search, the real-life King Arthur, assuming he existed at all, supposedly lived around 500 AD/CE, whichever you prefer. Gaius presents an understanding of science and medicine that did not actually exist until well into the Enlightenment (I mean hell, it took Descartes and his ideas about dualism for people to even consider the idea of human dissection for scientific exploration, and they were still doing bloodletting in the early 1800s. Look up how George Washington died. Go on. I dare you.), which was around a thousand years after this all takes place. This means, at the time in which Merlin takes place, Alchemy (the study of trying to turn lead and other materials into gold) was the premier 'science' of the day, and it was a precursor to modern chemistry. However, alchemists were also philosophers and theologians, and their work was often not based in experimentation but natural logic (especially during the middle ages). So, keeping the show's blatant historical inaccuracies in mind, I decided to go whole hog. Blame pre-Purge magic for their scientific improvement, I don't know.

All this to say, Gaius' life's work is basically an attempt to regulate the discipline known as science—in other words, he's presenting what we would call the Scientific Method, and he's using the rather disorganized discipline of alchemy to explain why it's necessary.

So? How was it? Any guesses about Oswald? Do you like angsty, unknowingly jealous Arthur? Is their relationship moving too fast? Tell me like it is, guys. I love critical feedback.

I humbly thank you for reading. Blessings to you all and all your endeavors. Now. I have been awake for...thirty-seven hours, and I think I am going to go to sleep. Night, everyone. Or morning. Or whatever.