Chapter 10: Treacherous Ground
Arthur pushed open the door of the physician's chamber, giving a quick glance around – and then an irritated sigh. The man was never here, anymore.
A small voice questioned, Can you blame him?
For a moment he stood in the quiet, empty room and inhaled the familiar odors and he could see Merlin everywhere he looked, and hear him; he was afraid of that feeling because he wanted to keep it, and never experience it again, at the same time.
Voices, though. Good distraction. He strode further into the room, peering into corners, up to the higher level where Gaius kept more books – no one. He was alone except for –
"Gaius?" he called at the door of Mer- of the back storage room.
A moment of silence. Then Gaius opened the door, stern and sad, and descended the three stairs to the main chamber heavily. "Sire," he said. "What brings you here so early?"
"What were you doing?" Arthur said. A bit confused, and a bit hesitant to start the conversation.
The old man paused on the last step, hand still on the rail. "I was talking to Merlin," he said.
Arthur stared for a minute, before feeling his face warm and dropping his eyes. Everyone dealt with grief in their own way; he was a little afraid of what would come out of his mouth if he started speaking to Merlin's spirit.
"Guinevere says, she can't believe he's gone," Arthur said.
"And you, sire?" Gaius made his way to his desk and sat down behind it, propping elbows on the arms of the chair and tenting his fingers together contemplatively.
Arthur found he couldn't stand still. If affection was a weakness, what was this? He'd seen what grief had done to his father and had grown up never wanting to let anyone close enough to hurt him like that. "I know he's gone," he said aloud. "I know that. I know he isn't coming back, no matter what I do…" The best possible, or the worst, though he'd felt the odd inclination to both, at different times. To have Merlin cosmically returned somehow, as a reward for good behavior, or to pacify a royal tantrum. As illogical as the idea was, it lingered. "I think about, what I could have done differently, if there was anything I could have said, since that damn stupid brawl and the knights saw him doing magic."
"Arthur, you mustn't –" Gaius began to protest.
"I know it doesn't change anything now," he said, turning at the door to pace back to the stairs of the room. "But I think… there's so much I don't understand, Gaius. I feel like, if I can understand better what happened, then…"
"It won't happen again?" Gaius said.
Arthur stopped and nodded, focusing on the floor. So it wouldn't happen to anyone else, any other that he was responsible for – and that was every citizen of Camelot, wasn't it. If he was going to uphold the laws of his kingdom, when one day he was king, he needed to know that he could do so without shame. "I can't help but think that it matters. When I am king, how can I know that I'm choosing the right course of action if there are things I'm ignorant of, or just plain wrong about?"
"For instance?" Gaius invited.
Hells, where to start. He wasn't ready to examine his impulse to make Merlin an exception to the law based on personal familiarity. Perhaps it would never be an issue again. But the ideas of guilt and innocence and magic and motivation were all so complicated. His feet started him moving again, pacing, of their own accord, as he thought.
"I understand what he did that day," Arthur told the walking toes of his boots. "And I understand why." Even if he wished Merlin had never done it, risked his life for Arthur. "But… what about the rest."
"The rest, sire?" Gaius was going to force Arthur to be specific.
"What he said at the trial. What he told Aerldan. Even that – whatever that was, when you released him." All of the things that contributed to Arthur's inability to see Merlin free. He reached to the inside of his vest and took out the folded sheet he'd worried for weeks, now. Unfolding it, he set it on the desk in front of Gaius, leaning on spread fingers on its surface over the old man. "I want the truth."
Gaius leaned forward to take a moment to read, then re-read it, passing wrinkled fingertips gently, almost reverently, over Merlin's words in Arthur's handwriting.
How long have you been using magic?... I don't know. When did you start using magic?... I don't know.
"Arthur, as far as I'm aware, it's all true."
"What?" he said, shocked into standing straight. "What do you mean, as far as you're aware? And how can it be true that he killed Morgana, or that a single spell killed two creatures months apart in time?"
Gaius sighed. "If you don't believe Merlin, you won't believe me, because much of this, I cannot corroborate with firsthand knowledge."
Arthur settled his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. "What can you corroborate with firsthand knowledge, then?" he demanded.
"I recall waking, lying on the floor just there, and Merlin had that lead-lined cask in his arms," Gaius said bluntly. "Guinevere was present also, you could ask her, but you heard the goblin inside the container yourself, when we presented it to Uther."
To have Merlin acquitted of the charge of sorcery, Arthur snorted to himself. A charge brought by Gaius under possession of said goblin. Okay, Merlin was sometimes surprisingly resourceful; Arthur didn't mind admitting the possibility that the servant would figure out how to oust the possessor and trap it.
"I was present on the isle with Nimueh the sorceress," Gaius said. "That is a long and complicated story, but the end of it was, I had gone to confront her over deception and betrayal at the time of your injury by the questing beast. She attacked me – when I woke she was gone and Merlin was there."
Arthur felt his way to the bench beside the eating table, and eased himself down. How many times, could he have said the same thing. When I woke, Merlin was there, and whatever danger threatened, gone. No. Impossible. Though, perhaps she had underestimated him and he had gotten close enough to use a knife or something…
"I watched him practice the spell that would help kill the griffon," Gaius went on.
And the bottom dropped out of Arthur's world. The griffon had threatened Camelot… three years ago. That long, really? Then Leon would have been right about Gaius allowing Merlin to practice magic, at least – encouraging?
"I said at the time, no mortal weapon would kill it – you noticed yourself that your spears and swords made no impression. I saw him finally succeed – the knife in his hand glowed blue, before he rushed out of here to catch up with you and your men that night you left Camelot to fight it."
Glowed blue. Arthur lowered his head to his hands. Wishing he could remember, or forget. No mortal weapon – Lancelot had taken the credit for that kill, but Arthur never understood how his spear alone had been effective. Glowed blue – he twisted away from that thought as well. Merlin had been dying – lost in darkness as thick as that in the cave Arthur had thought for a moment would be his grave. Impossible.
As it had been impossible for him to use magic with that rune-block carved into his chest?
"Perhaps he used the same spell to enchant a weapon to kill the questing beast," Gaius said, effectively distracting Arthur. "Under the circumstances, I would not be surprised if Aerldan misunderstood what he said. The same spell, but enacted at two separate times."
That meant, Merlin had done magic almost since the first year they'd known each other. Varied spells. Damn, it meant he hadn't merely dabbled in the evil material of magic, he'd… how far had it corrupted him, and Arthur hadn't seen?
No. He shook his head at his own thoughts and pushed up from the bench to pace again, somewhat feverishly. Merlin had asked Arthur not to hate, told him he was better than that. He'd used his own tortured fingers to make sure Arthur was all right – he'd refused to run for his own safety, he'd saved Arthur's life. How could any of that possibly be termed corrupted? Not even self-serving!
So. Either Gaius was lying or mistaken – he'd lean toward mistaken, but Gaius knew Merlin as well as Arthur, and if he believed Merlin capable of fighting sorceresses and performing advanced magic – hells, it felt like all his thoughts and memories had been torn to shreds and flung out the window into a high wind. He knew Merlin had helped free Mordred; if he admitted the possibility that his manservant had captured the goblin, killed a sorceress and the griffin, where did that leave him on the rest? Innocent of involvement when Tom the blacksmith or Alvarr the renegade druid escaped the cells, that was easy enough to believe. Even healing Tom was acceptable as within Merlin's desire to accomplish. But why kill Sophia? Why claim to have killed Morgana? And the dragon?
He glanced at the marked candle on Gaius' worktable, he knew he had less than an hour before he was expected to meet the visiting princess, ride out for a picnic with polite interest and good breeding – and the sort of awkwardness that reminded him of Merlin, but resulted not in a cheerfully returned insult, but a feminine embarrassment he didn't know how to relieve. Couldn't very well call Elena an idiot.
Arthur sighed and turned, leaning back against the worktable, carefully so his weight would not disturb Gaius' equipment. "What about those first questions, then," he said.
"Truth as well," Gaius said. "He told me much the same thing, when I found out about his magic. He'd never studied, he didn't know any spells, he'd been moving things with his mind since his cradle."
"But for that, you have only Merlin's word for it, or his mother's," Arthur pointed out.
"I see no reason for either to have lied to me about these things," Gaius said, sitting back in his seat. "The first time I saw Merlin was about two seconds after he'd saved my life – with magic, and without a single spell, or the reassurance that I would not summon the guards immediately. For a stranger. I'd never seen anything like it before, or since."
That, Arthur could believe. In theory. The part where Merlin would act first and think later and not consider legal or illegal when someone's life was at stake and he thought he could do something about it.
"But it doesn't make sense, Gaius," he said. "I know Merlin was – not like anyone else. But you're asking me to believe he used magic as an infant? Not by choice but by instinct and… inborn ability? And somehow managed to keep using magic – with or without spells or incantations or training – for twenty years, without a single hint of evil in his heart? Because I knew him Gaius, lazy obnoxious disrespectful clumsy – whatever Merlin was, he wasn't evil. How much magic, for how long, before corruption begins to set in?"
"Arthur." Gaius pushed himself up from behind his desk. "Do you recall from your history lessons, what initiated the Great Purge."
He huffed, but knew he'd have to indulge the old physician's tangent if he expected any more answers. "The king was betrayed by a close confidante, a sorceress of some power, and so was discovered the corruptive nature of sorcery. Therefore any use of any form of magic and any encouragement, aid or support of those who chose to continue endangering themselves and those around them – you know the laws of the ban as well as I do, Gaius."
"The incident of betrayal," Gaius said, watching him closely. "What do you know of that?"
"I –" He stopped, disconcerted. Details, had he ever been told details? Not even the sorceress' name, or crime?
"Her name was Nimueh," Gaius said gently. "A high priestess of the old religion – yes, the same one Merlin killed to defend me. Your father needed an heir, and his beloved wife Ygraine was barren. Uther went to Nimueh for a solution, but the magic was advanced and complex – your life was given, to your parents and to the world, at your conception. And at your birth, a life was required to maintain balance, and –"
"My mother," Arthur said. His lips felt stiff, and his legs. He looked down at his feet and hoped the table behind him would not collapse; he wasn't certain he could catch himself.
"Nimueh was young and perhaps careless," Gaius said. "Uther was perhaps too rash in his desperation, too impatient to heed warnings, as well."
Numbly Arthur blanked out the old man's voice. He'd heard the story before, from an image summoned by the witch Morgause as part of a plot to turn him against his father. Yet another proof, he'd thought at the time, that magic was intrinsically evil.
He'd heard so many lies that day, almost two years ago. When he'd disobeyed his father and escaped his room, left Camelot, placed his head upon a damn chopping block to prove his honor and sincerity and for what? To be used as a pawn between the witch and his father – vengeance and self-defense, and both selfish motivations – his mother's image and memory distorted, advantage taken of his loss and his love and…
And in the end, it had been Merlin's voice he listened to. Lying also, so it would seem, but… for Arthur's sake. Denying himself – if Gaius was to be believed, Merlin's magic known and accepted by the old man since Merlin's first day in Camelot – so that Arthur would not commit the crime, the sin, of killing his own father. Even if it might have been an act permissible by the knight's code, a challenge issued, fought, and won.
Right and wrong, legal and illegal – which?
Arthur raised both hands and shoved his fingers through his hair, gripping it and his head momentarily before smoothing it back down the nape of his neck.
"Nimueh protested herself innocent of designs upon the queen's life, ignorant in advance of which life might have been taken," Gaius went on. "Uther believed her, and instead blamed magic itself. A force which corrupts, insidiously and inexorably, he declared, and none of us were safe until it was eradicated completely. There were a few of us he allowed to pass without penalty, having taken an oath of complete renunciation. Any use whatsoever was met with swift and merciless punishment, anyone caught harboring someone even accused of magic…"
"All the druids," Arthur breathed. And because they began their teaching at the earliest age, "And their children."
"Even so. Nimueh also, was finally declared an enemy, as she continued her sorcery, opposing Uther's new laws. Proof, then, that magic would turn one friend against another."
He understood the old man's actions, and reticence, throughout Merlin's trial, a little better. The accusation of harboring would bring much more severe consequences than Arthur's concern for his own accusations of enchantment, by said sorcerer.
So. It wasn't just a question of disagreement over when to administer judgment – after a crime actually committed with sorcery, or at the time when magical potential was realized, in order to prevent the crime in future.
"You mean to say." Arthur retreated from the old man, back to the bench seat by the wall. "You mean to say, my father was wrong? Magic doesn't corrupt, as we've been taught for twenty-two – twenty-three years?"
Gaius turned to lower himself to the three-legged stool, and leaned over his robe-covered knees. "Magic doesn't corrupt, Arthur. It is a neutral force."
"It distorts nature," Arthur argued.
"It supplements nature," Gaius corrected. "Power corrupts, Arthur. I am an old man, and I have seen it time and again. The power of wealth. The power of position and rank. The power of skill. All may be abused, the repetition of which selfish misuse is what changes a person's character."
He had to admit, he'd seen that before, too. A rich man had more influence than a poor one. There were lords who used their wealth to generously increase the prosperity of those under their care and protection, councilmen who used their intellect and education to urge a noble course of action, men born and trained to physical skills who freely gave them in service to king and kingdom.
There were also lords who squandered their riches on personal indulgence, councilmen who looked no further than their own interests, skilled fighters who turned to lawless mercenary bands or thievery for their own gains.
That was not to say that gold corrupted and was therefore evil and should be banned. Nor education, nor skill, nor even being born into a noble family – which of course was not even a choice.
"Magic is no different from these things, no better and no worse," Gaius said.
"But I have seen it used for such horrendous acts," he said, a faint protest. "The monsters – the sorcerers plotting my father's death, my death."
"Anyone may succumb to the temptation to avenge a loss," Gaius said.
Arthur sat back abruptly. He had, hadn't he. And his father had, in initiating the purge.
"You have seen it used for good, as well, though it has had to remain hidden – that magic punishable by death the same as sorcery used to attack or harm or hurt. You have known someone who resisted that temptation to avenge a loss. More than that, he cared for those who would have called him enemy – you, your father, Morgana, the knights. He accomplished great and good things for those who mocked and mistreated him – and he would have kept on doing so, given the chance."
He couldn't think about that. Of course he knew who Gaius meant; in spite of the I cannot corroborate with firsthand knowledge, Arthur had seen it himself.
Merlin had saved his life in front of the entire court, when they'd been nothing to each other but street-brawl enemies. And no good deed goes unpunished – Uther had thanked him for it by handing him over to Arthur, and Arthur had thanked him by making his life miserable. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not; it had been humiliating to Arthur, back then, that the rescue had been necessary at all. Oh, the rumors – a peasant boy saved the crown prince… because his reflexes were faster? Because he'd been more alert to the danger? Arthur had done his best for a while to humiliate Merlin in return.
And only weeks later, Merlin had voluntarily drunk from a cup he believed poisoned, to save Arthur doing so.
And if Gaius was right, that Merlin had been capable of magic his first day, then why. Why save Arthur, who after all had seen him executed for it. Why stop Arthur killing his father – if he hadn't, Arthur would have been king now, to preside over his trial, having revealed his magic, and maybe offer mercy...
"It doesn't make sense, though, Gaius," he said, swallowing the guilt. "If he knew he had magic – and no intention of swearing off using it – why did he come here?"
"I am afraid I can give you only half an answer," Gaius told him. "I mentioned Merlin's magic was purely instinctive, when he came; almost he couldn't help using it, and it made his life uncertain, even in Ealdor. He came here to learn to control it. To learn to hide it."
"To learn…" Arthur repeated. "From you?"
Silence in the dusty pungent room. He realized he was asking for Gaius' confession as well, and felt proud, privileged, and scared when the old man answered.
"Yes."
"Why you?" he said. Hells' sake, a man at the heart of Uther's court.
"I knew his father," Gaius said mildly.
Another shock – in a long line of them – barely made an impression. I thought he said he didn't know who his father was, never met him. Arthur said, drawing it out into a question, "And his father was –"
"Another magic-user."
Arthur was not going to get into a debate about whether or not magic was hereditary. His father, he was aware of the rumors, had executed children, based on the fear that it was possible. Kinder and safer to do it as soon as possible, even.
"Why did he stay?" he said, softly pleading. "You make it sound like he learned that control a long time ago, and obviously he learned to hide it adequately. Why didn't he leave Camelot again?"
Gaius regarded him for a keen moment. "I think you know the answer to that, sire."
I'm happy to be your servant until the day I die.
Uther would never change his mind or his laws. And if, as Arthur suspected, knew, resisted, the laws were themselves horribly unjust, he would have to do something about that, when he was king. Would have to oppose the enforcement, even now while he was prince, as much as he could. Had Merlin given his life to bring Arthur to this realization?
"Having been told most of his life that having magic made him evil, made him a monster, he believed he'd found his true purpose, his justification for drawing breath, in serving you. His destiny, you might say."
What's so important in Camelot?
You.
Arthur felt physically ill, and passed his hand over his eyes. Merlin, Merlin. You should have run.
Well. One half of the answer, and he guessed the other half of the answer would be found at the opposite end of Merlin's journey – the start, and the person who sent him. Who would also be the only one who could answer the question definitively, when did Merlin start using magic.
He sighed, pushing to his feet again and pacing to the closed door where he stopped and studied the rough grain of the wood. Gaius had told him the truth – as the old physician and one-time magic-user perceived it.
His father also, no doubt, believed he'd taught his son the truth. As he perceived it. So who was right, and who had deluded himself?
"Thank you for answering my questions, Gaius," he said aloud.
"My door is always open to you, Prince Arthur." It was the physician's tone, compassionate in diagnosis.
He reached for the latch and left the chamber, heading for the courtyard. It was a complicated question, and perhaps a purely objective answer impossible. Up to him, then, to form his belief based on logic and proof the clearest he saw it, and to the best of his ability. And all his inclination wanted to put the sharp and uncomfortable weight of the topic of magic behind him. Remember his reckless and loyal and lively servant as he was, and not question what he thought he knew.
For now, however, he had to return to the issue of their guests.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Gwaine woke to a stray gust of air and an unintelligible human noise. He jerked upright from his blanket, right hand landing on the hilt of his sword always carefully positioned beside him when he went to sleep.
In a moment his eyes found the prone figure of his companion, a few yards away on the bare ground; Merlin was stretched full-length and belly-down, his face propped carefully in hands that still bore bandages. For a brief disoriented sleep-to-waking moment Gwaine thought three weeks back and Merlin straight from the pyre and the question of what shall we do now to be answered.
Then he realized Merlin was laughing.
A mirthless chuckle, though, and when he dropped his hands, his eyes shone with unshed tears through his wry expression. "That was close."
"What happened?" Gwaine demanded. "Where have you been?"
Keeping his elbows down to brace himself without need for his hands, Merlin scooted to a sitting position – and knocked against an object that had been hidden by his body. A long staff, white but not smooth – carved, probably, the markings looked regular to Gwaine – and a luminous blue stone twice the size of an eagle's egg attached somehow at the end.
"And what in hell is that?" Gwaine added, bemused.
Merlin told him.
Once or twice, listening to the outrageous things coming from his friend's mouth, a flash of wondering if it had all been finally too much, occurred to him. He looked into the eager earnest expression in Merlin's lake-blue eyes – then again, magic. He wondered if all of Merlin's life had been so fantastic.
And he thought he had stories to tell drinking companions.
"So this creature you saw at the lake," he said, slowly retelling the story to make sure he'd grasped it.
"A pixie, Gaius thinks, based on the description, and it can only be the princess' old maidservant, out of the king's retinue."
Gwaine made a noise of acceptance. "You overheard a pixie plotting with the king of the fairies to get Arthur bedded and beheaded –" Merlin's face twisted in amused protest at the flippant description – "you followed her-it-whatever back to Camelot, where you sneaked past the guards to get back into the citadel where you almost died three weeks ago?"
"It's Uther's fault," Merlin declared. "Those soldiers simply are not on their guard against someone with magic. In any case, if anyone saw me they'd think I was just a ghost."
Gwaine sighed, shaking his head. At least the younger man had gone in the dead of night on the risky mission. "And so Gaius said…"
"The visiting princess is probably a changeling and has no idea a fairy is inside her so we have to help her and Gaius can make a potion but he needs dropwort and I'll find that for him today. But Arthur is going riding with the princess so you need to follow and watch him and make sure he's safe because he's in love with Gwen so he's going to refuse to propose to Elena and I can't see the sidhe being happy about that."
"So you're going to pick flowers," Gwaine said, "and I'm going to watch Arthur woo a girl he doesn't want. Got it. And then?"
"Tonight we're going back into Camelot – I know a way directly into the lower levels of the citadel, don't worry – so Gaius can complete the potion to free the princess. If the old maidservant is the pixie, Gaius figures he knows a way to lure her down to the vaults so we can trap her and get the potion to Elena without interference." Merlin's triumph was palpable; Gwaine hated to poke holes in their plan. But for all their sakes…
"How is Gaius going to get the pixie to the vaults?" he said. And was entirely unprepared for his friend's reaction – impish grin so wide it crinkled his eyes almost shut.
"Pixies evidently have a weakness for – more distinguished gentlemen," Merlin said. "If he invites her to meet him…"
"What are you saying?" Gwaine said narrowly. "You mean, she might be attracted to Gaius? Meet him for a – what, a lovers' tryst?" Merlin chuckled; Gwaine gave a shudder and an amused shrug. "Gah. Okay, what about when the sidhe comes out of the girl? It's just going to fly back home to the lake?"
"That's where this comes in," Merlin explained, touching the shaft of the staff. "In my experience, the sidhe are arrogant and vindictive, but this will be adequate protection for Gaius and me. I don't think the sidhe are aware of events in our world unless and until the portal is open at Avalon – that's why they need the pixies as their servants. So if this particular fairy and pixie never report back to the king…"
"He's not going to know exactly what happened, to foil his plan," Gwaine finished, nodding – then tilted his head to one side to repeat sarcastically, "In your experience?"
Merlin's smile was small and private. "Admittedly limited."
"You know I'm keeping track of these obscure references you keep making to stories you've got stored inside your skull," Gwaine told him, turning to roll his blanket in preparation to depart. Halfway around the fire, Merlin's blanket copied his movements on its own. "I will require explanations, someday. Where shall I meet you, then?"
"Northwest of the citadel, straight out from the tower about forty paces," Merlin answered, struggling to his feet and picking up the staff delicately with the first fingers of his left hand. "Good luck with Arthur."
Gwaine made a rude noise. "Hells, this is going to be awkward."
"He'll never even know you're there," Merlin said reasonably. Mostly. Partly, teasing.
Gwaine shouldered his pack and scattered the ash of their fire with the sole of one boot. "Even worse."
It took him nearly three hours to get to Camelot. Almost midmorning, but he knew he hadn't missed the royal pair, he'd been in sight of the road the last hour or so. And it wasn't necessarily safe for them to cut across country without a significant escort, which Gwaine would be able to trail from their point of departure from the road.
The pennant-crowned tops of the white towers were visible through the trees when Gwaine found Arthur. And lost him again, almost as quickly.
"A race," he grumbled to himself, watching a girl with blonde hair and yellow dress flying in the wind she generated.
She galloped in the lead with a delighted expression on her face – but the consternation on Arthur's, as he chased her down in clear second-place, was almost worth it. Gwaine turned and jogged after them, finding the third horse, ridden by a plain-dressed, fuzzy-haired unknown traveling at a much easier pace for him to keep up with. And he evidently – Arthur's new servant, Gwaine guessed without much interest – knew the destination of the little party. Though he was relieved when they stopped at a bit of sloping grassy bank beside a three-pace-wide stream. To catch his breath, and see that Arthur hadn't fallen and broken his damn-fool neck on the headlong gallop.
"Because Merlin would blame me, if you had," Gwaine muttered under his breath, positioning his accoutrements to climb a nearby tree easily.
From there he could keep watch over the whole area, if they decided to take a walk, without moving – or being seen – and he'd be able to spot trouble coming a quarter-league in any direction. The princess unaware and the sidhe inside her yet impotent, the maidservant a dead give-away; he figured the only danger to the prince would be from an unexpected outside source.
"It's not because I'm afraid of what he'd do to me, as a surprisingly-powerful sorcerer – you understand." Reach for the next branch, pull and lift and next branch. "He'd just look at me with those lost-puppy eyes and I'd want to – go drown myself and you – know you really – don't deserve him."
Gwaine reached a strategic perch and settled in for a long boring day.
Except it wasn't – exactly – boring. He even wished he were closer, a couple of times, to hear what was being said. This Elena looked like a fun girl, for a princess. If she'd been an innkeeper's daughter, he might have tried to get to know her better.
He watched her whack Arthur's arm like a hearty teamster. He watched her sneeze – all over the front of the Arthur's chainmail, judging by the prince's reaction – and grinned to think of the new fuzzy-haired servant having to clean it. He even, a couple of times, heard her snort laughter – probably inappropriate for a princess, but just perfect to set off a taproom crowd when Gwaine reached that one line in his favorite joke, the buck turns to the doe and says, Thank you my deer…
And evidently she was possessed by a fairy.
Gwaine shook his head, pinching a leaf that was partially in his way, off its stem. It was always something here, wasn't it? Welcome to Camelot.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin thought, it was a good bet Gwaine smelled him, before he saw him, in the gathering dark of past-twilight.
Having spent most of the day slogging through the various wet lowlands of Camelot, his sense of smell was somewhat deadened to it. But he couldn't help a grin at Gwaine's noise of revulsion as he pushed away from the tree trunk to alert Merlin to his location.
"I sure hope all this," Gwaine said, gesturing at Merlin's head-to-toe muck, "means you were successful."
Merlin leaned on the staff, carefully held between thumb and first three fingers of his left hand, and held up the dropwort – leaves, white flowers, roots and all. "And Arthur?"
"A single gentleman of leisure, still," Gwaine said. "As far as I know. Now where's this hidden passage?"
Merlin's magic bypassed the lock on the grate without difficulty, and he tucked the staff horizontally in his left arm, supported at elbow and wrist, so they could creep down the passage. Merlin's magic bypassed the guards in the cells and at the stairway to the vaults without difficulty also.
"They're not on their guard against magic, are they?" Gwaine breathed in Merlin's ear, as the last soldier slumped at his post in a pleasant peaceful doze, and they slipped inside the main chamber of the secured area.
"Uther's own fault," Merlin returned. And when Arthur was king, Merlin would personally make sure that secure meant secure, in the citadel.
They waited the better part of an hour; Gaius couldn't expect an assignation from the pixie-maidservant until the princess had dismissed her from service for the night. Merlin brushed more drying mud off himself in a desultory manner; most of the smelly muck had dried – on his clothes and boots, skin and hair - it cracked and flaked as he moved, though he'd done his best washing hands and face in a stream as he'd passed. Then finally they heard footsteps descending the stair, and the court physician appeared.
"Oh, you're here." Gaius puffed a bit to catch his breath, nodding to Gwaine who'd taken up a position to watch for anyone else approaching. "You've got it, the dropwort?"
"Grown in boggy and marshy terrain," Merlin repeated from the book. "In the middle of boggy and marshy terrain." Though he appreciated neither of his friends said the obvious – you tripped, didn't you. Because he still had to avoid using his hands to break his fall.
"Good," Gaius said, taking the stem of the plant to inspect it more closely.
And Merlin inspected him more closely; the old man wore a fine dark green robe with heavily embroidered lapels. "What are you dressed so nicely for? To meet your pixie? You look very handsome, Gaius, perfect bait."
Gaius folded his arms and fixed a stern look of reprimand on him, ignoring Gwaine's muffled snicker. "She is not my pixie," he said. "Though I am sure now, that is what she is, based upon her behavior at the banquet. Now Merlin, if this doesn't work, if it seems she's overpowering me–"
Merlin couldn't help poking a little fun. Perhaps it was Gwaine's influence over the past few weeks. "I will just watch and wait," he promised solemnly.
"You will rescue me," Gaius corrected with a touch of concern. "And if it does work –" he included Gwaine in his glare – "let us never speak of it again."
Merlin bit back his grin, and obeyed, changing the subject. "So… a banquet?"
Gaius exhaled. "For visiting royalty, of course, and anticipating a proposal of betrothal. You would have been proud of Arthur, though, speaking up to Uther and Godwyn in decline of the alliance, for Elena's sake as well."
"He wouldn't marry someone he didn't love," Merlin guessed, feeling pride, and a wish that he could have been there to see it. He knew well the cost of denying and suppressing feelings, instincts, desires – and though Arthur would know the same, as the heir and someday the king, he was rather glad it hadn't worked out that way, this time. And for Guinevere as well.
"From what I could see, Godwyn was impressed and Elena rather relieved, and even Uther wasn't completely incensed," Gaius said. "And there is more. This morning, when Arthur nearly discovered you in my chambers, he had come to ask me –"
Gwaine hissed for their attention, flattening himself against the wall inside the doorway. "Someone's coming."
A vaguely feminine voice warbled down the echoing stone corridor. "Hello, my lover!"
Merlin darted behind a waist-high stone crypt, careful to keep his grip on the staff – quiet and hidden. He heard waddling footsteps, and the same voice, enthusiasm absurdly undiminished as the creature entered the vault.
"Oh, what a romantic place!"
He could swear he heard Gwaine scoff. Carefully he moved forward, toward the open grate door, still shielded by the crypt. His friend slipped out the door to the opposite side – glanced down the corridor – beckoned Merlin that the way was clear.
"I've been dreaming of this moment!"
Merlin darted forward to join Gwaine, catching a glimpse of a gown-clad figure nearly as wide as she was tall, and that nearly a head shorter than Gaius. Frizzy gray hair sprang out from under a fitted cap, but she had her back to Merlin, facing Gaius – who wore a look far more squeamish than he'd ever seen on the physician's face.
"Me, too," Gaius agreed faintly.
"Longing for this time," the woman continued audaciously, pressing forward. Behind Merlin, Gwaine breathed an amused curse.
Gaius repeated the word as if it tasted foul. "Longing."
"At last," the creature breathed, yearning closer, "we two will be as one."
Merlin took pity on Gaius, and waved. The physician took hold of the pixie's shoulders, repositioning her – Merlin saw her eyes were squinted shut in her plump face, lips pursed in obvious expectation – and Gaius fairly leaped for the doorway. Merlin and Gwaine slammed the iron-barred door shut, and he spoke the spell to lock it. "Ne un clyse!"
The pixie hustled her bulk to the door, grasping the bars and pressing face and body into the iron as if she'd squeeze somehow between them. Completely ignoring the presence of the two younger men to plead with Gaius, "You'll never know what you missed!"
Gaius's hand was on Merlin's sleeve, as if he'd just escaped great danger. He heaved a sigh of relief and answered her, "I'll take your word for it."
And without warning, the dumpy old woman opened her mouth – and shot out a tongue half a pace long, thick round and purple. To slaver a caress up and then down Gaius' face before Merlin could snatch him back out of range.
Gwaine's hand had drawn three inches of steel from the sheath at his belt; his expression of surprised disgust made Merlin want to laugh in spite of his own revulsion.
"At least," Merlin said aloud, "Now we know she's the pixie I saw at the lake."
For the first time, the creature looked at him – and growled. From a round old woman's face, it was somewhat less than fearsome, but… just in case. He drew his companions a few steps down the corridor, not quite to the point where they would be within sight of the guard snoozing at the head of the stair.
"Gwaine, give me your sword, a moment," he requested, and his friend complied. He spoke the spell that had worked to fortify weapons against creatures of magic, before. "Bregdan anweald gefeluc." He handed it back to Gwaine, warning him, "Don't let her escape."
Gwaine's grin of excitement faded to a grimace of disappointment at his blade as he watched the blue glow fade. "I won't," he said. "How long do you think this will take?"
"Half of an hour to finish brewing the potion to full potency," Gaius said, having used the sleeve of his green robe to wipe his face. "It shouldn't take much longer to administer – with Grunhilda here –" Merlin and Gwaine both glanced involuntarily back toward the locked vault door – "gaining entrance to the princess' bedchamber will not be difficult. Once the sidhe is forced out of her, she will probably remember nothing of the night's events. If we're lucky."
"And if not?" Gwaine said.
"We will hope she can be persuaded it was a nightmare," Gaius concluded.
A/N: Thought we needed a bit of lightness here at the end, right?
Something I was trying to do with this fic that I hope is coming across decently and in good order. The balance of power between current king and future king, and the relationship of each to the law as it stands; as I see it, each king has a right to enact or repeal as he sees fit and has the support to do so (whether we'd consider it morally right or wrong). Arthur has a clear duty to obey the king and uphold 'the law' – he also has a duty to do right by his people according to his beliefs insofar as he is able as prince, and prepare himself to rule them fairly someday. It's complicated, folks, bear with Arthur&me as we sort it out…
Also, dialogue from ep.3.6 "The Changeling".