A Good Man is Hard to Find

(12)

Merlin rolled over with a groan in time to see Arthur strike. He blinked frantically to bring the scene into focus, yanking the threads of his battered consciousness together. His limbs moved as though his veins were flooded with treacle. Distantly, his mind was panicking over the fact that he'd just used magic – a lot of magic, more magic than was safe – in front of Arthur; its clamour was like a thin whine in the back of his skull, aggravating the violent headache which had taken possession of the rest of his cranium. He forced himself into a crouch. His eyes skittered sideways to register Morgana, unconscious on the floor, and then slid back to the fight.

Helios was snarling murderously, his hand and face dripping blood onto the stone floor. Arthur lurched forwards again, lacking his usual grace, but had less luck this time – stepping back, Helios grabbed him by the elbow and swung him round, putting him in the centre of a ring of Southron warriors. They were making mocking noises, Merlin realised, toying with the wounded, exhausted, outnumbered king.

Helios had his back to Merlin. Merlin had no weapon. He scanned the room, and the movement made his head spin. He staggered to his feet.

~/~/~/~

Gwaine and Percival stood side by side in the corridor leading to the royal apartments, moving in sync in a whirl of steel. The enemy were thinning out, bottled into the corridor where their superior numbers became scant advantage. So close now to the core of the castle, the knights pushed forward relentlessly.

Over the din of swords and voices, Gwaine heard a commotion from the doorway ahead. Last time he'd seen Arthur, the king had promised to stay in the relative safety of the dungeons for the duration of the battle. Nonetheless, he felt a pang of misgivings. He sped up.

~/~/~/~

Arthur spun the blade in his good hand, shifting on the balls of his feet. Helios was grinning, now, despite the blood still dripping from his beard. Clearly, he was inclined to take his time exacting revenge for the scar that would be left on his face.

The soldier beside Helios lurched forward, brandishing a sword. Arthur was forced to dodge awkwardly sideways, but he managed to drive the knife forwards as the man's body came in range. His opponent spluttered in rage, clutching at the slash across his ribs, but before Arthur could press the advantage, someone had moved in behind him and landed a blow on his back. For a second, his vision whited out, and he heard a strangled yell which must have emitted from his own throat. He stumbled forwards, but managed not to lose his footing. He realised that the blow had been from a sheathed sword, or the flat of the blade – a taunt rather than a death blow, but excruciating on his lacerated back. They were laughing at him again.

'Morgana should have left this to me from the start. I don't think you'll be that hard to kill after all, little king.'

Arthur glanced up at Helios, straightening up. The warlord was clad in heavy leather and plate armour; an outdated design, but considerably more protection than his own thin shirt afforded him. Distantly, a lifetime of knight training reminded him that such armour tended to be weak at the neck.

Little good such knowledge would do him, however, outnumbered seven to one with only Merlin's two-inch gardening knife.

Another soldier moved in; Arthur sidestepped again but the move was anticipated this time and a fist landed in his ribs. He hunched over, coughing, as the Southrons laughed again.

Clutching Merlin's knife, he squinted over to where the servant had been slumped on the floor. He was gone.

The battle outside was getting closer again. He tried to calculate with a tired mind. Backup might be with them in a matter of minutes. In the meantime, his assets were limited to the two-inch knife in his fist, his own failing strength, and a possibly injured servant who was, currently, nowhere to be seen.

A sound behind him made him spin round – another soldier was making a move towards him, sword unsheathed and looking purposeful, this time. Arthur staggered back a step, bringing himself in range of hands which mercilessly pushed him forwards. Off-balance, he watched the new aggressor lunge.

The blow didn't connect. Halfway, the man let out a roar of pain, and blood sprayed from the backs of his legs. He crashed to his knees, hamstrung. Behind him, a pale and slightly sick-looking Merlin hefted a sword made for a man eight times his size. (Helios' sword, Arthur realised, of course, that he himself had kicked across the room.)

The others reacted with fury. Helios plunged toward Merlin, and Arthur, forgetting all the careful cataloguing of assets that he had been engaged in, reacted instinctively. He flipped the knife so he held it by the blade, and in a single, fluid movement, hurled it into the gap in the warlord's armour at the throat.

Helios, choking, fell to his knees. He spat copious amounts of blood onto the floor, and after a stunned second, collapsed completely.

There was a shocked, still moment. The soldier who had pushed Arthur recovered first, and the king resorted to the ungentlemanly technique of punching him on the nose. Merlin grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him out of the ragged circle of soldiers so they had their backs to the door. Wordlessly, Merlin passed the sword to Arthur. Arthur raised an eyebrow, uncertain which of them, at this point, would be less use with a massive sword (any other day, there would be no question, his subconscious put in, petulantly). Merlin raised his other hand, showing that he had, somehow, had the presence of mind to pull the knife, now saturated with blood from tip to handle, out of Helios' body.

It wouldn't matter much, in the end. There were still five soldiers facing them, and neither of them was exactly fighting fit. Thankful for Merlin's stubborn presence at his elbow, Arthur hefted the sword and took a steadying breath, preparing himself for a final stand.

'You two need any help at all?'

For a stunned moment, Arthur wondered if he was hallucinating. Gwaine raised an eyebrow at him critically as he finished making his way over the rubble half-blocking the entrance. Behind him, Percival, Elyan and Leon came in, with more Camelot soldiers at their back.

'What time do you call this?' Merlin asked, with a wan shadow of his usual humour.

Arthur let out a long, shaky breath. He wanted to say something appropriately flippant and sarcastic, or just to express vehement relief and gratitude. But on this occasion, all he could manage was a vague gesture at the last five Southron soldiers.

'All yours,' he huffed, and promptly fell to his knees.

The knights moved between their king and the remains of the usurping army, but as it turned out, no further labour was required of them. With a quick glance between them, the Southron men seemed to come to an agreement, and as one, they threw down their swords and surrendered.

The knights moved swiftly to disarm and arrest them, while others checked the bodies of Helios and his henchman, and another cautiously approached the still-unconscious Morgana.

'So... what're you going to do, now you have your kingdom back?' a quiet voice asked lightly, at Arthur's side. He looked sideways at Merlin, who had joined him on the floor, the heel of one hand pressed to his head.

'I think... I'm going to sleep, for about a month.'

~/~/~/~

It was, in fact, some hours before Arthur got his wish. His quarters were full of defeated, wounded or dead enemy warriors, for a start, and Morgana's regime had left the castle in disarray. There were questions that needed answering urgently, and arrangements that needed to be made before the newly reinvested king could creep away and rest.

The principal problem was of what to do with Morgana herself. She was still unconscious, but liable to wake and wreak magical vengeance at any time; the knights treated her limp form like an object liable to explode at any moment.

Though it would be a travesty to any and all codes of chivalry to which they subscribed, many of the knights were in favour of killing her before that could happen.

Arthur refused to consider it. Elyan, incredulous and fearful of the sleeping witch, tried to press the issue, and the king snapped at him, then immediately, wearily apologised.

'I'll need to speak with her when she wakes,' Arthur insisted, 'to confirm that she has no more allies within Camelot.'

It sounded like a weak excuse to Merlin. Having witnessed the siblings' conversation before the battle, he could tell that Arthur was stalling. Though he, too, was appalled by the idea of murdering an unconscious woman (and indeed, one he had once considered a friend), he was worried that Arthur would continue fruitlessly trying to get through to her, or release her and make himself vulnerable to future attacks.

Merlin was no more certain than any of the others as to what was wrong with Morgana, and what condition she would be in when she woke. The magic he had unleashed at her had been raw and wild. He had wanted to disarm her, not kill her, even in the heat of the moment - and when he tentatively took her pulse and checked her breathing, there seemed to be nothing physically wrong with her, but she did not stir.

Eventually, on the king's orders, she was carried to a cell in an isolated part of the castle, and two unlucky knights were tasked with keeping an eye on her in case she woke, or her condition worsened.

Gaius was brought up from the dungeons on a litter. He was roused enough to understand that they'd won, and to take in a few mouthfuls of warm soup, then dropped back into a deep sleep, restored to his own chambers.

Gwaine and Leon led the company dispatched to make certain that all areas of the castle were secure and clear of enemies. Soon afterwards, two knights returned escorting Agravaine, under guard. They'd found him, they reported, crouching in a store cupboard in the kitchens.

Arthur looked up at his uncle from where he sat, slightly hunched over his aching ribs in a chair amid the rubble of his devastated bedroom. He raised an eyebrow, as imperiously as he could manage, and waited.

Agravaine hesitated, and dropped to one knee.

'My lord, I beg your indulgence. I tried to counsel Morgana...'

'That's enough,' Arthur croaked. He shifted in his seat, wincing. 'I've heard quite enough of your voice over the last few days. I'll spare you the reading of a list of charges eight pages long, because neither one of us has the patience for that.' He looked at the knights either side of the kneeling man. 'Take this traitor to the dungeons, please,' and, shifting his eyes back to Agravaine's, he added, 'to await trial.' The knights turned toward the door, pulling their prisoner, and Arthur looked away, letting his head fall forwards

As they left the room, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone, another figure slipped in. Pushing her hood back, she revealed herself to be Gwen. Arthur had his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. She knelt in front of him, and took both his hands in hers. He looked up and his tired eyes widened in a kind of wonder. She kissed the tips of his fingers where they emerged from the bandage on his hand, and raised one hand to his cheek. Her face was set, determined, though tears were shining, unshed, in her eyes. Arthur said nothing, but his eyes would not leave her face.

'You need to sleep,' Gwen said, softly but firmly. She turned her head to nod at Merlin. 'You as well. Come on.'

She took Arthur by the hand again and drew him to his feet; when he swayed precariously she ducked underneath his arm. 'Servants' quarters. You can't sleep here.'

Merlin followed her along the corridor to the narrow rooms set aside for the royal family's personal servants. It would be where he himself slept, had he not decided to keep his little cubicle next to Gaius' workshop. Though small, the rooms were comfortable enough. At the door, he turned and said 'Gwen...'

'It's fine. I'll tell everyone not to bother either of you until tomorrow morning. All this can wait until then.'

Merlin hesitated, then nodded and retreated into the room. Arthur had not said anything about witnessing the magic he had used against Morgana. Perhaps, he thought optimistically, he actually hadn't noticed. He was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep with all the events of the day whirling in his head, but nonetheless, he was eager to lay his aching head on the pillow. As soon as he did so, sleep took him.

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Apologies, again. I still promise that this will be finished – I had thought this might be the last chapter, but I think the repercussions of these events are going to need one more chapter to get resolved. Thank you very, very much if you're still reading this!