Chapter 6
The citadel was unnaturally quiet. The news had spread like an airborne illness, and already all the staff, the knights, and nobility crept about with cautious solemnity. The king had been attacked and was gravely injured. The whole castle knew by now and no one dared disturb the miasma of fear and uncertainty, as if by breaking it they would tip the scales and send everything into ruin.
Merlin assembled the prince's breakfast on a tray in the almost silent kitchen. The cooks, servants, and washer women swept about like shades, not daring to exchange their gossip in anything louder than a whisper. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck. As the prince's manservant, he was the most likely of them all to know the truth of the matter, but no one dared approach.
All for the better. Merlin was tired and in no mood to batter back morbid curiosities. The night had been spent either keeping Arthur company or helping Gaius tend the king. Fruitless endeavors in both cases. Uther's life was slipping away; he had a week at most. As for Arthur, Merlin was well aware that no words of comfort would reach him. So he'd kept silent in company with the prince, and had held it even after the sun rose. He wasn't keen to have it broken by nosy inquiries.
He finished the tray and left undisturbed.
He didn't make it through the hallway though. Lancelot was waiting for him outside.
"How's Arthur?" The knight asked first.
Merlin raised and dropped a shoulder glumly. "As well as can be expected. You're not with the others?"
Lancelot shook his head. "Agravaine dispatched the Round Table to track down who hired the assassin, but it seems I'm not fit enough." He raised his still bandaged right arm.
"Oh."
"Merlin," Lancelot dropped his voice, checking the empty corridor. "Was this Agravaine's doing? Did Morgana plan this?"
"I couldn't say. I doubt it, though. It's not her style."
"Her style?"
"Morgana isn't much for assassins. When she wants revenge, she prefers doing the dirty work herself."
Lancelot scrubbed his hands through his hair, looking very weary. "I feel so useless. The king lies dying and Arthur could very well have ended up the same. I can't even track down the one responsible with this damned wrist."
Merlin's gaze grew hard. "Don't go blaming yourself. None of you could have prevented what happened. You didn't know."
"I know," Lancelot said, dropping his arms limply to his side. "But it doesn't stop me feeling that I've failed in my duties."
Merlin's posture slumped. God damn it, Lancelot. He set the tray aside on a window ledge.
"Listen to me. You're not a failure, and only a fool would accuse you of being one. It was a well-crafted plan: Arthur himself approved their entry, the royal wing was well-guarded, and none of the knights were even close to the royal chambers. You can't be everywhere at once."
Lancelot sighed. The sorrow had not left, but Merlin knew he was practical man. "You're right. What's done is done, and I can't wallow in self-pity. Not when there's still danger out there."
"Right," said Merlin. "Even if it wasn't her, Morgana's not likely to keep hiding once she hears the king has been…"
"Yes. I suppose I can thank this injury for something," Lancelot said drolly. "It gives me more time to shadow Lord Agravaine uninterrupted."
Merlin nodded, staying silent. So that move had paid off. He shot a glance toward the waiting breakfast tray, the royal proffer steadily going cold. "I should get back to Arthur. Be careful."
"You as well."
Merlin didn't even bother checking Arthur's rooms. The prince was in his father's chambers, hunched in a chair at the dying man's bedside. Gaius had already given him the verdict that the king was not long for this world, but still Arthur's eyes flickered over Uther's paling form, sharp and searching as if a solution could be found as long as he looked hard enough.
Merlin set the tray down on the table. He had no comforting words to give Arthur. In some cases, he found it better to be silent. Some preferred solitary grief to empty platitudes. He couldn't allow Arthur to deny basic needs though. "You should eat something," he said in the same hushed tone that had muffled the entire citadel.
"I'm not hungry."
"I'd be surprised if you were. You still have to eat. Starving yourself won't do anything."
Arthur said nothing. Staring at him in profile, it dawned on Merlin that with Lancelot still being alive, this was Arthur's first hard-hitting death. Yes, the prince had always mourned the absence of a mother in his life, but he had not been old enough to suffer bereavement, to hold someone dear and then watch them go, never to return. Seeing it that way suddenly made Arthur seem so very young, and Merlin felt his own age stacking upon his shoulders.
Jaw clenched, Merlin picked up the bowl of sweetened porridge and crossed over to Arthur. He crouched, making sure Arthur couldn't ignore him unless he fully turned away. "Eat." The command was soft, but a command all the same. He held the bowl out. "Hunger makes nothing easier, and he would want you to keep your strength up."
Arthur graced him with the barest of quizzical looks, but he took the bowl. Merlin stared him down expectantly until the prince had forced down a few spoonfuls. "When did you become so bossy?" Arthur mumbled.
Merlin only snorted faintly, straightening up and crossing to the table. He snagged a chair and brought it back, placing it down next to Arthur's, but not too close. Then they sat together, Arthur in mourning and Merlin in hidden remorse.
"He's lying there because of me," Arthur eventually whispered. "This happened because he saved me."
"You were his son. He loved you and was willing to give his life for you, as a parent should." Even among Uther's many cruelties and hypocrisies, that love had been genuine and Merlin could not begrudge the dying king that.
"Stop talking like he's already gone."
"I'm sorry, Arthur, but there's nothing Gaius can do. He doesn't have long."
Arthur slouched, his hands clasped together almost as if in prayer. "I won't give him up. Not yet."
Arthur could believe that, keep telling himself there was hope. But even a prince, soon to be a king, could not bend death to his will, and the one man that could had no intention of altering its course.
In his dimly lit chambers, Agravaine both celebrated and chafed.
Uther was dying. The unworthy king that had led his sister Ygraine to her doom was dying, and when that happened, Arthur would be crushed and Camelot would be vulnerable. Morgana would be perfectly poised to take her place as rightful queen once more.
Being unable to ride out immediately and deliver this joyous news was putting a significant damper on his excitement, though. He dared not defy her orders, for fear of both her wrath and the possibility of leading their unseen adversary back to her, but oh, how he longed to see her, to please her and see that dark, beautiful fire in her eyes when he gave her good news. But here he was, trapped in the citadel, pacing his chambers as he waited on the messenger crow that only ever came to his window at night. Thrice damn Emrys to a fiery hell, whoever he was.
Agravaine paused in his circuit of the room. The thought of the unknown sorcerer had made something occur to him. A creeping smile made its way onto his face, and he hurried to his desk. The sun would be going down soon; it should be about time for him to compose his report to his mistress. As his quill scratched along the parchment, Agravaine's pleased mood increased, beginning to wipe out his frustrations. After all, nothing was more satisfying than killing two birds with one stone.
By the time it had gone dark and he heard the scratching of talons on his windowsill, Agravaine was ready with his message, and a plan already forming in his head.
Emrys had proclaimed himself the defender of Camelot, had he not? Would that not extend also to the king? The sorcerer might even be near at that very moment. If Agravaine could find a way to lure him out, it wouldn't only be Uther's demise they would be celebrating. He just needed the right opportunity.
He tied his message to the crow's leg and sent it off with a smile on his face.
Another day came and went in Camelot, still trapped in quiet. Arthur found it unbearable, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't just pretend things were normal, nor force anyone else to do so, but he felt like he was being smothered by the citadel's silent rooms and his silently respectful knights. Even Merlin's quips had stopped.
He spent the second day after his father's wounding much like the last, cycling between the king's rooms and the council chamber. Even if Uther's life hung by a thread, the prince was still required to tend his kingdom. In the afternoon, Leon, Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine made their return. The assassin had been tracked all the way to Wenham, a town in Odin's land. Will the man never leave me be? His son brought his death upon himself, I didn't want to kill him. They were useless thoughts. Even if Arthur were to stand before Odin and proclaim them aloud, he was sure the man would still be out for his blood. He felt so utterly helpless. Gaius couldn't save the king, and he couldn't even seek the solace of vengeance, or else bring war on the kingdom. He was used to battering back all his problems with a sword, but when something came along that he couldn't take on with weapons, he didn't know what to do. All he could do was wait as Uther's breath grew more labored and the daylight slipped away.
At least at first. As time slipped out of his fingers, taking his hope with it, a dark idea had seeded itself in his mind and heart. The first time it had popped into his head he had tried his best to banish it. He wasn't a moron, he knew better. But with Gaius unable to do anything, and that rising tide of despair threatening to crash over him, Arthur couldn't help but think… Maybe there was a way to save his father. An illegal, dangerous way.
"My Lord?"
Arthur was drawn out of his thoughts by Sir Leon. He'd lost track of himself again. The members of the small council were staring at him uncomfortably.
Lord Dormand, one of his father's old guard, cleared his throat delicately. "My lord, I know it is a difficult time, but it is best that we are prepared."
"Pardon?"
"For the king's last rights…and your succession of the throne."
Arthur's hands folded together, knuckles locking tight to prevent any trembling. "The king is not dead yet," he said cooly.
"Perhaps not, but…Gaius has said, he does not have much time left." Lord Dormand spoke cautiously as if he expected Arthur to start throwing things with the wrong word. "No matter how much we might wish for better news, we cannot deny the reality."
"I'm not denying reality!" Arthur snapped, louder and harsher than he'd meant to. "I just haven't given up yet." That treacherous plan was niggling at the back of his mind again. He inhaled sharply through his nose and stood from his corner seat. The ornate chair at the head of the table remained empty. "Make whatever plans you feel are necessary," he said, still cold and authoritative. "I trust you are all well-qualified for the task. The council is dismissed." He didn't even wait for the lords to rise before he was shoving his way out of the back door of the council chamber.
As soon as the door closed behind him he was swamped by embarrassment and anger. The trip back to his chambers soured his mood even further. He would turn down hallways to see servants whispering away, only to become mute when they caught sight of him. He passed several knights and guardsmen who would lock eyes with him for a moment before looking quickly elsewhere, never quite fast enough to hide their pity.
It was night again. The days were naturally getting shorter, but Arthur felt as though the dark hours were interminable compared to the light ones. The two days since his birthday felt more like two years. His steps quickened. If he allowed himself to slow down, he would be caught in that same slow deadness, same resignation that had befallen the whole city. By the time he got to the stairs he was sprinting, and didn't slow down until he was within sight of his own door.
He wasn't surprised to find Merlin in his room, though he'd hoped to be alone. His manservant had placed himself at the rear window, peering into the courtyard below. "What's going on?" Arthur asked as he approached.
"It's a vigil for your father," Merlin said solemnly, a mood Arthur had never thought suited the young man. "The people wish to share their grief."
Through the smudged window panes, Arthur could see the gathered residents of Camelot standing like sentinels, their faces lit with the warm glow of hundreds of candles. That sudden irrational anger that had come on during the council session rose up again. He kept a better rein on it this time. "Why are they behaving like he's already dead when there is still life in his body?"
"They're preparing themselves for the worst," Merlin explained. The servant's blue eyes glanced toward Arthur. "They're showing their devotion. You shouldn't be angry at them. This is the only thing they can offer as support." The statement almost sounded stern. Arthur turned his head away, frowning a bit. Merlin had been rather high-handed the last few days, but he supposed he should be grateful. He was right about the people, and Arthur doubted he would have touched any food at all without Merlin being so pushy. He looked out again at the lake of lights, as his subjects already mourned their king.
"I'm not giving up," he said. When he'd said it yesterday he had been convicted. Now his voice sounded rough. Seeing the lights, thinking of the words "Nothing to be done" drew that terrible notion to the forefront of his mind. It was traitorous, dangerous, it went against everything his father stood for, but if he didn't try then it really would be over.
Merlin nodded infinitesimally. "I know. I know you won't," he murmured.
Arthur's mouth worked, unable to form the treasonous words but knowing he had to. If he couldn't say them now, just between himself and Merlin, he would never work up the courage he needed. He focused on the lights and the hope of snuffing them out. "There is a way to save my father."
Silence for a moment. "How?"
"…With magic."
He knew Merlin had turned to stare at him, but he didn't look back himself. He didn't care to see whatever expression had come over Merlin: shock, anger, fear, maybe incredulity at such foolishness.
Arthur didn't expect a tired sigh. "I'm truly sorry, Arthur. I know all this is hard to accept, but I don't think this plan is wise."
"I know its madness," Arthur said. "But what kind of son would I be if I didn't do everything in my power to save him? It's dangerous, but…"
"I wasn't talking about the danger," Merlin cut him off. "You need a sorcerer to heal Uther. Do you really think any would come forward?"
Arthur's mouth snapped shut. That idea had never even occurred. "I can offer a reward," he protested. "A pardon."
"I doubt many would trust it."
Arthur bristled. "So you're saying my word means nothing?" he snapped.
"I'm not saying anything." He was quickly starting to hate Merlin's damnable calmness. "I know you and I know you would keep your word, but someone who doesn't probably wouldn't take that risk. For twenty years your father has hunted magic; why should they expect you to be any different?"
"Then we'll find an artifact! There must be something in the vaults. Gaius used magic once, he can heal my father." He drew closer to Merlin. "I said I wasn't giving up, and I don't mean to. You might think it's hopeless, but I won't know until I try," he swore, voice gone cold.
Merlin's throat bobbed as he swallowed, before he dipped his head. "Then go ahead. Just don't pin all your hopes on this chance, Arthur."
"I won't," growled Arthur, turning away from the window and his servant. "You're dismissed for the night, Merlin."
"Are you sure you don't need anything?"
"I can manage." Arthur waved him off. "Just…go home."
"…All right. Try to get some sleep."
Arthur offered no words in return as he heard Merlin cross the room and exit. He stalked toward his bed, not even bothering to change out of his day clothes. He collapsed onto the mattress.
It was stupid of him to resent people for the way they were acting. His council, his subjects, Merlin, they were only being realistic, rational even. Meanwhile Arthur was planning to turn to sorcery for a cure when he'd seen the evils magic brought with it. He just couldn't bear to stand aside when there might still be a chance left.
He closed his eyes as they started to burn. He'd already cried once, and that was too much. What he needed was to plan. He would consult with Gaius and Agravaine on anything they might know, and he would have the vault records checked for any artifacts of healing. Somehow, he would find a way to fix this.
Arthur didn't even notice when he finally drifted off. He slept deeply and had no dreams.
Morgana dreamed that she was surrounded by fire.
Not raging red fire, but pale blue and eerie. A shadow moved before it.
She was lying on the ground on her side, hurting, face pressed into the grass. Her hands were curled into her stomach, the skin cracked, burned, and oozing. "Morgause," she tried to gasp, but she had no strength.
The wandering shadow loomed above her, and it spoke in a voice she knew. Deep and rumbling, like thunder trapped in a well, but not vicious. It almost sounded mournful, its words fading in and out as her strength ebbed and waned.
"I'm truly sorry, Morgana. I blame myself for what you've become."
"E-Emry-ys," she hissed.
"Now we'll both face judgment for what we've done."
"Then what are you waiting for?" she gasped out.
"Because it's not my place. It's his."
The shadow vanished, and where it had been there was now a golden man standing over her, with a golden sword and tears in his eyes.
"Goodbye, Morgana," Arthur choked out. He raised the magnificent blade above his head, the reflected flames in the steel seeming to set it alight. Then it swung down in a blazing arc.
Morgana's eyes shot open, a strangled scream dying her throat. She sat bolt upright in a cold sweat, causing a lingering twinge to shoot through her ribs and her injured arm.
There was no fire, and all the shadows were dead ones. The hideout she'd been sheltering in for the past week or so was damp and dilapidated. It could have been mistaken for a cave if not for a shattered pillar and the smooth stone floor. Maybe an old tomb or temple lost to time. It didn't much matter. It was squalid and dark, an insult to the rightful queen of Camelot, and the symbols of concealment and protection from any scrying or scanning eye scratched in charcoal on the walls spoke of her bitter shame.
"Bæl on bryne." A sputtering tongue of flame leapt up in a cracked brazier set on the floor. Morgana wrapped herself more tightly in the folds of her dress. That dark voice and the shining sword were still haunting the edges of her mind.
As if seeking for comfort, her hand fumbled into her dress pocket and retrieved the note she'd received from Agravaine. She read it for maybe the tenth time.
My Lady,
I have most excellent news. On the night of Arthur's birthday, an assassin infiltrated Camelot and Uther was mortally wounded. According to Gaius, he hasn't much time left to live. Arthur is distraught. When the king dies, I have no doubt Camelot will be vulnerable.
As for your enemy Emrys, I believe that we could turn this situation even more to our advantage. If he is a protector of this land, I imagine he should also defend the royal family. Perhaps he will be more willing to show himself. I will keep open every eye and ear I have available to me. I assure you, in time, we will be able to destroy him.
I wish ever for your health, and await your orders.
Morgana crushed the note in her fist. Just this morning she had been celebrating the news, scheming on how best to make her next move. However, following her vision that eagerness was all gone. She had foreseen her own death, and Emrys somehow played a part in it.
She couldn't wait. She couldn't play the cautious coward's game that Agravaine so loved and wait for her adversary to find her. Morgana jumped up from her meager bedding and paced her hideout.
I need to flush him out. I need to get rid of him, before the vision comes true. But how to do it? For certain she couldn't do anything near Arthur. They had been present in the dream, so if Arthur wasn't around, the vision couldn't come true.
I won't let you hover over me, Emrys, she vowed internally. You caught me off guard before, but I am no simple hedge witch. Go ahead and cling to your shadows. I will send hunters to drag you out. I swear I'll make you pay, for Morgause and for every indignity you've caused me.
Her hands, still striped with the dark scars of Emrys' spell, clenched.
A/N: Many thanks to mersan123, catherine10, and MythologyStar for reviewing last chapter, as well as everyone who added this story to follows and favorites. And of course, round of applause for my beta, for editing these things on top of an already busy schedule. You rock, dude :)
