"I beg your pardon, my lady, but you want me to do what?"
Gwen was rather surprised George didn't bother to hide the incredulity in his voice. From what Arthur had told her, George rarely showed much emotion at all. But then again, Arthur would never have given him such a request as she just had. Arthur had merely given George duties that were expected of a manservant.
This was most definitely not one of those duties.
"Eavesdrop," Gwen repeated patiently, "and report back to me."
George visibly struggled to regain his composure. When he'd managed it, he asked, "In the market, my lady?"
"In the market," Gwen confirmed. "We must know what the people are saying, and I'd rather hear it from a source I trust."
George puffed up a bit at the compliment. "Of course, my lady," he said stiffly, even though he still didn't look thrilled by the prospect of mingling with everyone in the market. "I will report every word to you."
"But not to Arthur," Gwen warned, "unless I say otherwise."
As she'd expected, George didn't question this. The reply was merely another, "Of course, my lady."
Gwen stressed a few other points—blend in, try to get people to talk without asking too many questions or being too pushy, don't be too quick to defend them against scandalous remarks—before dismissing George. To be honest, she didn't know him as well as she'd like. She'd never seen him outside of the role of servant, and she doubted he carried all the formalities with him when his duties were through. Yet she still felt she knew him well enough to trust him with something like this, despite all that.
He just…felt trustworthy.
Like Merlin, a bit, although it was a different sort of feeling. Merlin had that sort of friendly openness about him that charmed everyone, and if his smile ever fell away to seriousness, no one doubted his words. George…. George struck her as the sort of person who would be aghast at the very idea of anyone spreading such rumours about them. About Arthur. He would know them quite well by now, and she doubted that such tales would even give him pause.
There simply wasn't a soul who truly knew Arthur who would ever think he'd do something to the detriment of his people.
And George would know Arthur better than most, if not better than his close friends and confidants.
George, Gwen knew, was in a position where he knew more than he ever let on. Like she once had. Like Merlin still did. But the beauty of that position was that people tended to overlook you, to discount you, to forget that you would know as much as you did simply by the nature of your tasks. They underestimated you. Ignored you. You were invisible.
She'd been irrevocably thrust out of the shadows when she'd married Arthur. She'd assumed a position of importance. But that didn't mean that she didn't remember what it was like in the shadows. She knew the freedom such anonymity gave.
George could use his now, for her sake and for Arthur's, and quite possibly for the sake of all of Camelot.
Merlin wasn't sure what Arthur was thinking.
He clearly was thinking. Merlin had little doubt about that. He'd looked just the same when he'd been poring over the list that had been Merlin's undoing. He was concentrating, and he looked troubled, and….
And, as had become usual, he wasn't saying anything to Merlin.
Even when he asked.
Repeatedly.
"Merlin, I can't think when you're prattling on," Arthur said bluntly, not looking up from the papers in front of him.
Merlin, who had been keeping a steady stream of chatter going that was worthy of Gwaine in an effort to get a reaction out of Arthur, snapped his mouth shut. Then he said, "Aren't you at least going to tell me what you're working on? You usually want me to write these speeches. Are you sure you're going to sound like yourself if you've actually written it without my help?"
Arthur sighed. "It's not a speech, Merlin."
This was progress, Merlin knew. A few days ago, Arthur wouldn't even have engaged him in conversation like this. If he'd wanted silence—really wanted silence—he would have ordered Merlin to leave, and Merlin would have (eventually) left. It had been awfully disheartening when Arthur hadn't treated him the way he always had before. While things were still far from normal, this was infinitely better than it had been.
It gave Merlin hope.
"So what is it?" Arthur didn't have to tell him, of course. But he always had before.
And, sure, Merlin could just look over Arthur's shoulder or try to read upside down, but it was the principle of the thing.
It was a matter of trust.
"Proposals," Arthur said flatly.
"For the council?" Merlin asked, perking up. He knew what Arthur had brought up at the council meeting yesterday. He'd had to hear it from Gaius and Gwen, but he knew about it nonetheless—which was more, he'd guess, than others of his station. He'd been trying to avoid becoming engaged in too many conversations—there were more people than he'd like who suspected he knew something about a sorcerer, and he supposed Bronwyn must have mentioned something to someone before Arthur had seen her—so he didn't know as much about the gossip flying around as he usually did.
"It doesn't concern you."
Merlin gave Arthur a reproachful look which was completely ignored, mainly because Arthur missed it entirely since he still hadn't looked up. "So it's not about magic or sorcery or the Druids or—?"
"Why don't you make yourself useful and get me my lunch like you're supposed to?"
"I did," Merlin said. "If you'd look beyond your nose, you'd see it."
Arthur looked up to glare at him at that, though Merlin felt the jibe was more than warranted. Arthur finally reached over to grab some bread and chewed on that slowly as he went back to looking over the papers.
Merlin cleared his throat. Loudly.
Arthur, irritated, met his gaze again. "If you haven't anything better to do—"
Merlin knew better than to let Arthur get any further than that. "I could give you some insight if you like."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't need to hear your advice, Merlin."
"But I still know more about this than you do," Merlin pointed out. "I've been living the other side of it."
"Don't remind me," Arthur ground out.
"But if you want to know how any of your proposals would go over with—"
Arthur didn't let him finish, and by his tone Merlin knew he'd pushed too far. "If I want anything from you, Merlin, I'll ask for it."
"Arthur—"
"And if I do ask anything of you," Arthur continued loudly, "I'll want facts, not theories."
There was more on his mind than just the proposals for the council meeting. That wasn't really surprising, of course, but Merlin wasn't sure what was bothering Arthur more: that the knights now knew of Emrys, that Arthur knew he was Emrys, or the difficulty of maintaining the lie that Merlin had needed to perfect to survive.
"Is there something you wanted to ask me?" Merlin asked quietly.
"No," Arthur replied sharply, in a manner which told Merlin in no uncertain terms that he did.
So perhaps Arthur hadn't made as much progress as Merlin had thought.
"Let me know when you change your mind," Merlin said. Wheedling now would get him nowhere; if Arthur didn't just tell him to leave—which he still might do—he'd shut down.
Arthur returned to his work, only occasionally remembering to nibble on his lunch. Merlin returned to what he'd been doing earlier: polishing Arthur's boots. He still had a number of other chores that demanded his attention—Arthur invariably said enough to him to give him his orders—but times like now, when Arthur had fewer things to occupy his attention, were the most likely times he would say something to Merlin, and Merlin planned to be there to give Arthur every opportunity.
He supposed he ought to be thankful that George wasn't doing half his work, as it meant Arthur wasn't thinking seriously of replacing him.
Not yet, anyway.
A knock at the door some time later managed to do what Merlin could not—pry Arthur's attention away from the proposals—and Gaius looked in. "Sire," he said, acknowledging Arthur with a slight dip of his head, "would you mind terribly if I borrowed Merlin for a moment?"
For a split second, Arthur looked like he was about to ask why. But then a mask fell across his face, and the moment of hesitation had vanished. In the end, he merely nodded and waved a hand.
Merlin shot him a worried look, nicked an apple off Arthur's plate, and joined Gaius at the door. He bit into the apple, and Gaius led him aside, away from Arthur's chambers—and the guards—to a nook not far from Morgana's former chambers. "Have you heard anything, Merlin?" Gaius queried.
Merlin swallowed his latest bite of apple. He knew Gaius was asking about something specific, but he couldn't guess what it was. "From the servants?" he asked. "About Emrys?"
Gaius looked grim. "Not just the servants," he said, "and not just about Emrys. I need you to tell me what you've heard people saying."
Merlin frowned. "Nothing unexpected. People are still saying Dragoon turned up recently. Everyone seems to be speculating about Emrys and why Arthur called off his search when he did, but I've only heard one person suggest that Dragoon and Emrys are one and the same, and I'm fairly certain he didn't believe it even as he said it. There are a few people talking about sorcerers, so Bronwyn might have said something when she was here, but people just tend to be asking the same questions they always are."
"So you've heard nothing new?"
Merlin shifted on his feet. "Well, no, but I haven't heard much of anything recently. I've been trying not to get caught up in conversation." He didn't need to elaborate; Gaius knew him well enough to know why.
Merlin also knew Gaius well enough to know when he was worried. He'd known that from the first, of course, but this was…. This wasn't something small this time. This wasn't just going to be an oft-heard and oft-ignored 'Be careful, Merlin'. This wasn't just something that merited a look to tell him Gaius would be waiting for him to return from whatever dangerous task he'd set for himself. This was more…. This was one of those 'the future of Camelot is hanging in the balance' times.
And Merlin had no idea why.
"You may want to reconsider that," Gaius said quietly.
Merlin was suddenly convinced he should never have nicked one of Arthur's apples. He hadn't had much, and already his stomach was protesting after digesting this news—even before he heard the half of it. "What's happened now?"
"Word's gotten out."
For a heart-stopping moment, Merlin couldn't breathe. He couldn't do more than stare at Gaius, wishing he hadn't heard those words. Not like this, no, it can't be like this!
Arthur still hadn't really recovered from finding out. To put everyone else in the same position, all at the same time? To not get to choose how to tell, or who finds out when, or—?
"Not about you, precisely," Merlin heard, and he sucked in a grateful breath. "About the powerful sorcerer Emrys," Gaius clarified, "and his proximity to Arthur. About Arthur's proposed changes to the laws banning sorcery. You can imagine the speculation, I'm sure."
He could, and he suddenly understood Gaius's questions and the meaning behind them. "What are they saying?" he asked—hoping, for once, that his imagination was worse than the reality.
"Little good," was Gaius's reply. "It seems some even believe Arthur may be in league with Morgana."
After everything Arthur had been through by Morgana's hand, the thought was utterly ridiculous.
But Merlin knew better than others that even ridiculous notions could be accepted, and he was well aware that what others perceived as ridiculous could in actuality be quite true.
Arthur had laughed at the thought of him being a sorcerer, after all.
"But it shouldn't be that hard to prove them wrong, right?"
Not right, if the look on Gaius's face was anything to go by. "It can be terribly difficult to be rid of an idea once it is planted, no matter how ludicrous the premise."
It was the timing of it all that made this worse. He was sure Bronwyn would have told someone besides them what she knew of Emrys. That information alone could have bred preposterous rumours. But coupling it with the fact that Arthur had finally worked up the nerve to propose any changes to Camelot's laws on sorcery, no matter how unrelated?
It almost made Merlin wish Arthur had been stubborn enough to hold off on saying anything, since his actions now seemed to lend credence to what was apparently the town gossip.
"How do they know what Arthur said to the council?" Merlin asked. "Nothing's official yet."
"It matters little now," Gaius pointed out. "The damage has been done."
Merlin knew what that meant: he had more pressing things to deal with. Presumably, finding out all he could and figuring out how to allay the people's fears. Gaius would do his best to determine who had talked and why and whether it had been inadvertent or deliberate.
"Keep your ears open," Gaius said. "Guinevere brought the matter to my attention, but we've yet to determine the extent of it all."
Gaius didn't know how many people were talking, how convinced they were of their own words, or how wild the rumours were. He wouldn't necessarily be able to find out, but the more information they could gather, the better. A part of Merlin wondered who else Gaius was enlisting—Gwaine would surely be able to hear every version out there at the tavern—but he trusted Gaius's judgement on the matter.
"I'll tell Arthur you needed to send me to fetch something," Merlin said. "Supplies. You need some more vials and jars, don't you, after those last ones broke? He won't question me." Especially not now when he's second-guessing every question for fear he might not want to know the answer.
Gaius gave Merlin a long look, and Merlin knew it wasn't solely because he had correctly assumed Arthur wasn't to be told of this yet. "Just be sure," Gaius said, "that you don't forget what you went for."
"I won't," Merlin promised, for he knew what Gaius was saying: do what you say you're doing. Don't lie more than you have to. Don't give Arthur any more reason than he has not to trust you.
Merlin didn't say anything when he came back in.
Arthur had expected him to continue on with his mindless twaddle, but he didn't.
"What did Gaius want?" Arthur asked, realizing too late that Merlin's silence might have been another attempt to get him to talk.
Merlin, who had picked up one of his boots and a polishing cloth, looked up at him. "Oh, he just needs me to get some supplies from the market. You know. Jars, vials, that sort of thing. He hasn't got time himself, and he's running low. I'm to speak with the glassblower if I can't find enough, though I expect anything'll do in a pinch. I can talk to the potter if—"
"I get the idea, Merlin." And he did. He didn't need to hear Merlin talk a blue streak to understand something so simple.
But the trouble was, he had a feeling that this wasn't so simple.
For one, Arthur hadn't been so wrapped up in his own things that he hadn't seen how troubled Gaius had looked, and he doubted a lack of empty jars could be the cause of that particular look.
For another, Merlin had given him that bright, easy smile of his, looking all wide-eyed and innocent, and Arthur's stomach had clenched instinctively.
Something's wrong.
How often had it been like this—almost exactly like this, with Merlin knowing something he didn't and acting as if nothing were wrong—and he hadn't seen it? Hadn't noticed that anything was off? How many times had he been fooled?
Too many, Arthur would guess, if the fact that Merlin seemed to think he could still fool him was anything to go by.
"I expect that this will be the end of secrets between us," Arthur had told him, not even a fortnight ago now, and already he had evidence that that wouldn't be the case.
He shouldn't be surprised. He hadn't really expected Merlin to stop keeping secrets from him. But he'd wanted to think that Merlin would, just in an effort to repair their fractured relationship. For if Merlin couldn't trust Arthur with whatever he was keeping from him, how was Arthur to trust him?
"You have to be ready to hear what I have to say."
How long could Merlin justify using that as an excuse?
"Do you need to go now?" Arthur asked, keeping his tone even.
"I was going to go once I finished your boots," Merlin said, holding up the rag for emphasis. "You've gone and scuffed them all up again."
Arthur tried to guess how urgent the matter truly was. Merlin didn't sound like he was in a hurry. He wasn't making excuses to leave. He was doing a phenomenal job of acting like nothing was wrong.
So perhaps Arthur was jumping to conclusions after all.
But he trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that something was wrong, and Merlin knew about it.
If he called Merlin out now, he'd have one chance to read whatever fleeting expression crossed Merlin's face, and then he'd know the truth of it. He'd know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Merlin was keeping something from him. Again. Just as he always had before.
"You know I'm loyal to you and that I'll never act against you."
From the little evidence Arthur had at his disposal, he still couldn't refute those words. Merlin had, apparently, managed to thwart magical attacks. He'd saved his life far more times than Arthur knew. From what Arthur did know, Merlin had idiotically risked his life time and time again for Arthur's sake and, by extension, for Camelot's sake.
"I'd never betray you."
And he would lie to do it.
Every time, it seemed.
Even now that Arthur knew the truth of the matter.
And despite it all, he still asked for trust in return.
Trust.
Arthur still couldn't conceive the potential consequences of extending that trust too far, and that worried him more than he'd ever admit to Merlin.
Sometimes, he had little choice in the matter. Sometimes, his hands were tied. Sometimes, there was only one reasonable option.
But this was not one of those times.
And if he never tried to place his trust in Merlin again, Arthur feared he'd never be able to.
He dearly hoped this was a small matter, whatever it was, even though Gaius's expression and Merlin's silence caused him to doubt that.
"They'll keep," Arthur said, waving a hand. "Go—" and here he made another dismissive motion "—barter for the jars Gaius needs before you have to run to every craftsman in town to put in requests."
Merlin blinked in surprise. "Really?"
Arthur shot him a withering look. "It is in my best interests to see that my court physician is fully equipped with everything he needs," he said dryly, "and you are acting as Gaius's apprentice, however little you seem to be learning."
Merlin grinned, and Arthur realized he'd teased him—openly teased him—for the first time since…since it really mattered.
It was heart-wrenching, for Arthur was fiercely reminded of how things had once been and how they should still be.
And he was surrounded by reminders of why they weren't and haunted by thoughts of why they would never be that way again, however much it might come to appear that way on the surface.
Within the illusion.
"He said he was going to kill you, sire."
How easily Merlin could have done it. From what he could gather, Merlin had spent time constructing elaborate schemes which had failed to pan out—all while he could have killed him without lifting a finger.
"Gaius figures it has more to do with my magic than anything else. That it was strong enough to keep me from being completely overwhelmed by the Fomorroh."
Merlin's magic: his bane and his saviour. It was something that had saved him from quite a lot yet put him in the very position he was now. It was the reason he felt he no longer knew someone who had once seemed like his best friend, for all that he was nothing more than a disrespectful and rather inefficient servant. It was the reason Merlin had lied to him, had kept things from him, and quite possibly the reason he was still doing that, even after he'd promised not to.
Perhaps he'd tell Arthur in time, but Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever find out the entire truth. And when he thought of Merlin and what he must have done to Agravaine, to all of Agravaine's men, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know it. The men in the caves had at least met quick, clean deaths. The ones outside….
Arthur knew sorcerers could conjure fire, but he hadn't thought Merlin quite so heartless as to ignite them all and dash back into the caves saying he was confident he'd sufficiently hidden their tracks without a trace of misgiving to be found in his face. The men had been chasing them, yes. For all that they could have been innocent men led astray, he didn't regret that they had met their deaths in battle.
He regretted that Merlin apparently didn't see anything wrong with burning them alive or slashing them open and leaving them to bleed out when he was clearly capable of inflicting a far less painful death. Even Uther, if he was executing the accused as had always been the case for sorcerers, had had the decency of ensuring that the axe—or if the accused was particularly fortunate, the sword—was sharp. All it took was a swift, steady, well-placed stroke.
But this, with Merlin….
It hadn't even taken him that long. Merlin hadn't been very far behind them at all. At the time, when they'd heard the unmistakeable sounds of others in the cave, Arthur had assumed that Merlin's inefficiency had shown itself again, that he'd mistakenly left some trace of theirs unhidden which had betrayed their position. Now….
Now he saw it as a rash show of raw power, fuelled by anger and desperation. A broad attack designed to encompass as many as possible, with the few—if any—survivors taken on in a neater, more easily-explained-away manner.
He should have questioned it before, back when he'd first heard the report. But he'd been so grateful that their luck hadn't turned—and that Guinevere was back by his side—that he'd neglected to look further into the matter when he should have.
As much as it had appeared as if fire had rained from the sky, charring everything in its path in great swaths, Arthur knew such things could only be caused by dragons and sorcerers, and the only sorcerer around who would have acted to defend them was Merlin.
One of the many rumours surrounding Morgana was that she had allied herself with a white dragon, but Arthur put little stock in those. He had slain the last dragon himself. Perhaps Morgana had managed to bewitch a wyvern, but he doubted that. He knew how ridiculous rumours could become, losing most, if not all, of the truth from which they had grown. But wyverns did not breathe fire, and even if they did, such creatures would never defend him and his party any more than a dragon would have—which is to say not at all, for he remembered all too well when the Great Dragon had lain siege to Camelot. Which meant the fire must have been magical in nature, which meant it must have been conjured by the only sorcerer in their party: Merlin.
"You must know that my loyalty to you is something that will never change and can never be changed."
He didn't like to think that Merlin's loyalty to him had caused him to do such callous things for his sake. Sometimes killing was necessary, but that didn't mean it had to be done cruelly. Even his father had saved the pyre for those he believed deserved it, for those who had done something truly unforgiveable.
Arthur just hoped that whatever secret Merlin was keeping this time was considerably less deadly.