White Lies Chapter Nine

A coldness sweeps over him in a wave. Arthur looks at him blankly. For a moment, Merlin wonders, does he remember me?

"Sire," he says, and kneels. He waits for the order to get up. It does not come. Finally he lifts his eyes. The boy is staring at him, the same, implacable stare that he gave him the first day they met, the same implacable stare he always gives, of one taking note of what one day he will destroy. "You sent for me," he adds. He wonders, why can't I hear the boy? He searches his mind for the boy's voice, but it isn't there.

Arthur, slowly, lifts his disinterested eyes from Merlin to Mordred. Mordred in turn looks languidly from Merlin to Arthur. They exchange a look, Mordred's cold eyes to Arthur's empty ones. A permission is granted, silently. Arthur turns back to Merlin and says emotionlessly, "Welcome, Merlin. That was a long time ago, I sent for you. Things are better, now." He speaks as though declaiming to an audience, his eyes resting somewhere an inch or so above Merlin's face. There is no intimacy, it is as though they have never met before.

"The Mercians are still at the gate," points out Merlin, he still hasn't been given permission to stand, but he does so anyway. Arthur's lip curls slightly, but he doesn't say anything.

Morgana, who has been looking at Merlin lazily, suddenly spots Gwen and says sharply, "What are you doing here?"

Gwen stammers that she was out collecting mushrooms, and Morgana spits "from the laundry?" Arthur continues staring ahead, if he even hears Morgana it is impossible to tell. She dismisses Gwen, who leaves, face defiant with tears unshed. As she leaves, she casts a glance at Merlin, weary, but hopeful. He is the only cause of that hope, and all he feels in return is despair.

He looks back at Morgana, who is tensely watching Gwen until the door closes behind her. "My lady," he says, "I'm relieved to see you are recovered. The last time I saw you..." maybe it was madness, but it had to be addressed. Why is he allowed to live?

Morgana's eyes are back to indifference. "Thank you, Merlin," she says, politely. She turns to Arthur and says, "Merlin was there when Morgause kidnapped me." She looks back to Merlin and says levelly "I was lucky to survive her poison." But her eyes are telling him a different story. It is as though they are all in an elaborate fairytale created for the benefit of Arthur, and Merlin finds himself scared to break the facade until he knows what's underneath.

"How did you escape her?" he asks, testing the ground gingerly.

Morgana looks down at her hands and says briefly, "the king rescued me."

"Merlin – " begins Arthur, dully, but Mordred interrupts. "His real name is Emrys."

"Emrys –" begins Arthur, again, mechanically, but this time it's Merlin who leaps in.

"That isn't my name. Don't call me that." He hates that his distress is seeping into his voice. He can't stand it, he can't bear to hear Arthur call him that, wiping out the years of friendship.

"It is your name." The boy speaks, in a voice of light, cool kindness that makes Merlin's skin crawl with its insincerity. "It was stolen from you by the traitor Uther. He stole it all from you. But now you can reclaim it. Under us." He is close to him now, and rests a hand on his arm. He stares into Merlin's face with his ice blue eyes. "Under my father and I."

Merlin thinks he might be sick. He looks up at Arthur, who hasn't flinched. Gwen had said she would rather be dead than at the boy's mercy, and he had told her it wasn't mercy. And it isn't. It is silent vengeance. And it's more frightening than anything Merlin's experienced before, more frightening than the Dragon's attack on Camelot, more frightening than the marching trees at Calidon, more frightening because in those cases he was fighting for victory, in this case it is as though he is already defeated.

"Good," is all he can say, his throat dry and seizing up. It is something like panic, now. "That's good."

A silence falls. Morgana is still watching him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Mordred continues to hold his arm, like a dead weight. And Arthur carries on staring vacantly into the distance. He wants to leave, but Mordred's touch holds him. He cannot leave without the boy's permission, this is clear.

"Why are you here?" asks Mordred, in his icy friendliness. "And how long for?"

"I don't know yet. I was hoping...I was hoping to catch up with Arthur, and see if I can help."

"That's kind of you," says Mordred, squeezing his arm like a pinch. "Very kind of you. Isn't it, father? But we don't need your help. And the king is very busy. Things are perfectly under control. Do enjoy your stay, though." He releases Merlin, eyes casting their pall over him once more, turning back to the thrones. As he reaches the dais, he glances swiftly at Arthur, who, without changing expression, chants, "yes, enjoy your stay, Merlin. You're dismissed."

There's nothing left to say or do. As though in a dream, Merlin nods curtly to the royal family, and begins the long walk back towards the door, feeling as though he is moving through water. As he passes the council members, Sir Kay suddenly rises and grips his arm in a vice-like handshake. Morgana calls, "Sir Kay?" and there's a noise as Mordred pushes back his chair to stand. But Merlin sees neither of them, as Kay presses his hand and pulls him in for a hug. In his ear, he breathes "8pm, stables", and then pulls away, to sit, as both Mordred and Morgana stand, watching.

It is all Merlin can do to walk steadily to the door.

****

"Freya!" he yells and he doesn't care. He doesn't care if the Mercians hear him, he doesn't care if the Camelot guards hear him, he doesn't care if Mordred's gang hears him. "Freya!" His voice echoes around the lake, drifting through the forest behind him.

"You're meant to call me 'my Lady', you know." She walks from the lake as though the water were no obstacle, dry, and somewhat irritated looking. "I knew you'd come back to Camelot," she adds, sniffily. "I told you so, didn't I?" She's in a petty mood. He doesn't have time.

"Can you imagine how much faster I'd have been here if I'd been told?"

"Told what?"

"Freya. Camelot is under siege from the exterior and a coup on the interior. How could you do this to me? How could you not tell me?"

Freya frowns. "In the greater scheme of things –"

"Oh hang your greater scheme of things!" he's too angry to lower his voice. "Greater scheme of things? What's greater than a kingdom imploding? Arthur is...I don't even know what's wrong with him. He's lost himself. He needs me. Camelot needs me. And I need you to help me."

She wrinkles her nose. "Why would I help Camelot? Why do you imagine this is important to me? Camelot was a place of persecution and intolerance to our kind for years, Merlin. Arthur and his father hunted me like an animal. My life was valueless to them, because of who I was, when I offered them no threat. Why do you imagine the fall of Camelot is something that doesn't bring me joy?"

"All those innocent people – "

"All those innocent people, who let the Pendragons impose a regime of terror. The Pendragons ruled, but no one ever tried to stop them." She pauses. "Merlin, it brings you pain, which isn't something I want. But I offered you help once, and you walked away from it. If you want my help, our help, come back to Avalon with me. There's still a lot we can teach you. But Camelot's problem...Camelot's problem isn't our problem." She takes both his hands in hers, and looks at him intently. "Let events take their course, Merlin. They are not your concern anymore."

"You would have Mordred in charge?" he asks, incredulous.

She smiles, beatifically, and moves closer. "Oh Merlin," she says, and she's never looked so beautiful. "I don't care. Mordred, Arthur, what does any of it matter? Can't you see? These things come and they go, they don't concern us. The Old Religion outlasts all petty squabbles."

"This is about the Old Religion. Can't you see that? Do you really think Mordred will stop at Camelot? He's occupying everywhere! Le Val sans Retour! The Isle of Blessed! The forest of Broceliande!"

"He hasn't shed any blood in any of those holy places," she says, sharply, dropping his arms. But for once, he can see something else, beside placidity, in her deep eyes. He knows he is getting through.

"Not yet," he says, "but when he's taken Camelot? When he's destroyed Mercia? When he has as many troops and riches as he can dream of, do you not think he will come for you?"

"These are not my concerns," she says, eyelids shielding her expression, and begins walking back to the lake.

"Freya," he says, pleadingly. "You preach peace and order. Do you really think Mordred's rule will bring those things to Albion?" She stops. She doesn't look back. And then she carries on walking.

****

Sir Kay talks briefly, in short sentences, in a low voice. They crouch together in a hayloft, like rats. If it weren't for all the other unbelievable things Merlin had experienced in the last 24 hours, this would incredible, he, Arthur's loyal and trusted servant, and the finest knight of Camelot, cowering together in a stable. Kay jumps violently at every sound.

He explains the military situation, which is desperate. "The king doesn't ride out anymore against the Mercians," he says, "and food is short. Morale is low. Our only hope is that the Mercians run out of supplies before we do. They are fighting a war on two fronts. But even if they do, there are plenty of other enemies at the gate. War is across the island, and Camelot is a sitting duck. They see – " he stops abruptly. "They think they see a weak king," he concludes, carefully.

Merlin bites a nail.

"I can't believe you've been in Calidon," observes Kay, finally. "I've been scared in battle before, but never abject fear like that before."

"It's nothing to the scariness here," says Merlin, without any exaggeration. "It's a world gone completely mental. I feel like there's nothing solid to hang onto."

"There's Camelot," says Kay, grimly. "I don't know what madness has come onto the king, Merlin, but it is a madness, and he can recover from it. What I cling to is the fortress. If we can defend that, if we can keep that, everything else is recoverable." He drops his voice even lower. "It isn't the Mercians that scare me most of all, though. It's closer to home."

"The boy?"

Kay nods. "The boy controls him. I don't know how. He just appeared one day, when the Lady Morgana returned. The boy convinces him not to fight. The boy is leading us to ruin. The boy and the Lady Morgana. They act together. It's magic, I think, but I can't prove it." He looks anxious. "The king said you were magic, when he sent us to find you."

"Not magic like that. This is bad magic." They both freeze as they hear movement below them. Royns is looking into the barn, looking fretful. As he moves on, Kay breathes into Merlin's ear: "He's looking for us."

Merlin sits back, and tries to marshal his thoughts into sense. As he does so, Kay carries on talking about Royns, quietly and bitterly. "...it's just because he was the only one with Arthur when he rescued Morgana," he concludes, and Merlin looks up. "Ever since then, he's been like that with them. Before that, the king hated him. But then before that the king was completely different."

"Royns was the only one there?"

Kay rolls his eyes. "The king had some sort of dream about where to find Morgana. He took a few of his best knights to Le Val sans Retour. Me and Gawain and Royns – he only took Royns because he wanted to keep an eye on him. He hated him. Then we got there and Gawain and I got separated. There was a thick mist, Royns and he vanished into it and before we knew what was what..." he clicks his fingers. "There they were. Royns and Morgana, and the king looking...so strange. Strange like he looks now. He hasn't been the same since." He glances at Merlin, asking anxiously, "you agree? That he is strange?"

Merlin says he emphatically agrees. Kay looks relieved. They sit silently for a moment. "You agree it's magic?" Kay finally asks, shyly, not quite meeting Merlin's eyes.

"Of course it's magic!" Merlin exhales softly, thinking fast about Kay's words. "What else would it be?"

Kay looks glum. The people think Arthur's a chip off the old block. The people think Arthur's like his father. Kay knows it isn't true. But even he sometimes forgets.

"You need to show me where in Le Val sans Retour," he says, suddenly. "I mean, exactly. A mist that separates you and new king comes out of it? I need to go there."

Kay looks doubtful, and begins "I wouldn't normally leave Camelot in a time of war -"

"Is this normal?" snaps Merlin, one foot on the hay loft ladder.

Kay thinks for a moment, and then agrees.