Prince Arthur & the Quest for the Holy Grail
by Soledad
Author's notes: Yes, some parts of this chapter came from the 4th season episode. Including a few lines of dialogue.
Other parts come from the legends… and then we go AU again. Like with the name of the kings of Nemeth or Caerleon, which I have changed, and other things.
Beta read by my dear friend Linda Hoyland, whom I owe my never-ending gratitude. Brownie point to those who catch the gratuitous Star Trek reference. *g*
Chapter 20 – The Wicked Day
In the next morning – thanks to Master Geoffrey's scribes spending a sleepless night – the invitations to all Five Kingdoms were sent out. Well… to four of them anyway, seeing that Cenred's kingdom, Gorre, was currently without a King (or so everyone believed). One could reasonably expect that King Olaf, King Trevizent of Nemeth, King Alined of Cameliand and Lord Godwyn would come, or at least send a representative.
Out of courtesy, Arthur also had a letter sent to Baudemagus, the King of Caerleon, although it seemed unlikely that anyone would come from there, and to King Odin, who everyone hoped would stay away.
King Marke of Cornwall was already represented in Camelot by his nephew, Sir Tristan, as well as King Lot of Orkney by his sons, Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravaine and Gareth. Princess Iseult, the only daughter of Anguish of Ireland, was being expected to have a rest here on her way to Cornwall, where she was supposed to marry Sir Tristan's uncle.
It promised to be a splendid crowd of royal guests, all of whom would hopefully contribute to the feast. However, it was a matter of much greater excitement, at least for the Castle servants, that Sir Elyan had apparently decided to leave the Brotherhood of the Round Table and sent his armour, sword and red cloak back to Sir Leon.
The gossip mill was working overtime, and the wildest guesswork ever went on among the lower ranks.
"He didn't even bring his things back in person," exclaimed Drea, a young scullery maid from Howden, whose village had been destroyed by Cenred's undead army, forcing her to seek refuge in Camelot. "He sent them back with that bearded young man who lives in the lower town, protecting Merlin's mother!"
Thanks to Rowena, also a scullery maid (in undying love with Merlin, or so she liked to believe) everyone was well aware of Hunith's living arrangements.
"Can you blame him?" commented Branwen, the highest ranking chambermaid, with the biggest grudge against Gwen. "Would you want to become the subject of your own sister? Even more so if she turns out to be the daughter of a sorcerer who got your father killed?"
It was said that news spread faster than wildfire in Camelot; it was certainly true amongst the lower ranks.
"That's hardly Gwen's fault," said Beatrice, another chambermaid, who had become a little more understanding towards Gwen's situation since Sir Kay made her his maitresse.
"No," admitted Branwen reluctantly. "But she publicly disowned Tom Blacksmith as her father, choosing the sorcerer that had caused his death; and that had to hurt Sir Elyan very much. I wish I could simply leave; the thought of having to curtsey to Gwen and jump at her every whim turns my stomach. But I can't just abandon my duties here; our family has served the Pendragons for many generations and we have always taken great pride in it. But it galls me mightily to serve Gwen."
"If it galls you, imagine what the court ladies must feel like," giggled Cathryn, also a chambermaid, serving in the ladies' wing. "Lady Cunneware is like an ice queen from the old tales; I cannot imagine her – or Lady Enide, for that matter – curtseying to a former serving wench. She's not even a subject of the Pendragons, strictly speaking."
"She is now, as she has married a Knight of Camelot," pointed our Branwen. "But I see what you mean. With those two, Gwen had better tread carefully."
"And with me, you need to tread carefully, useless wenches that you are!" came a mighty yell from behind them, and they dispersed like a flock of birds as the voluptuous figure of Audrey Cook barrelled into the storage room where they were having their little gathering. "Get on with your work, Rowena, or so help me, I'll use your stupid face to scrub the pots from yesterday with! And you, Drea, get on with the cleaning of the oven or I'll find somebody with a tongue that waggles less and hands that work faster!"
No-one in their right mind would ever dare to stand up to Audrey Cook, not even Prince Arthur himself. Rumour said that even the King used to back off whenever she was in a foul mood, which was pretty much all the time. So the gossiping maids hurriedly departed with an unspoken promise of "later".
Within days, the replies to the invitations began to flutter in, and by the end of the week, the guests themselves started arriving, too. Princess Iseult of Ireland was the first, as she had been on her way already, accompanied by her handmaid and confidante, a young lady named Eira:I a golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty like herself, who seemed to catch Gwaine's interest at once. The Princess greeted Sir Tristan as an old friend and would leave for Cornwall in his company after the betrothal feast.
The second to arrive was Lady Vivian, representing her father, King Olaf. As it was widely known that she was still suffering from the love spell laid upon her by King Alined's conjurer, her presence at the same feast to which Alined, too, had to be invited, was the cause of some concern. But she didn't seem to seek out Arthur's company at all, and – even though she quite demonstratively let Gwen know how much a serving wench, even a former one, was beneath her – she appeared happy enough to spend her days with the court ladies, few of those though there were.
King Trevizent of Nemeth also sent his only daughter and heir in his stead. Princess Mithian – another promising bride considered by Uther whom Arthur had rejected in the past in favour of Gwen – turned out to be a stunning, dark-haired beauty and a gifted negotiator, who was apparently also a great huntress, despite her deceivingly delicate looks. She had a white unicorn's head in her personal device and made fast friends with the other princesses as well as with the court ladies within hours of her arrival.
She was the only one who at least made an attempt to treat Gwen with some semblance of respect, making it unmistakably clear, though, that said respect was owed to Gwen's future status rather than her person.
"Consider yourself fortunate, Dame Guinevere," she said with cold politeness. "Prince Arthur truly risks everything for you; I know no other man of royal blood who would be ready to give up so much for love. See that you repay him with proper gratitude."
"I don't need your lecturing, my lady," replied Gwen coldly.
"It seems to me that you do," said Mithian. "I'd give my lands and my crown to be loved like that. Alas, whoever I will marry in the end, it will be for the good of Nemeth, not for my own. Treat Arthur's love to you as the undeserved gift it is and remember: it can just as easily turn against you if not nurtured carefully."
With that, she turned around and left Gwen alone in the courtyard to interpret her warning as she wanted… or would.
"Oh, look, it seems King Alined and his entourage have arrived!" said Merlin brightly.
He and Arthur were standing on top of the stairway leading down to the courtyard, watching the hive of activity down on the square. A caravan of colourful carts was being unloaded by acrobats, dancers, jugglers, strong men, and jesters before their very eyes. A female acrobat – barely more than a little girl – back-flipped into her partner's arms casually, while the jugglers were practicing their routine, sending batons high into the air.
"Oh! Did you see that?" Merlin exclaimed in delight. Arthur, however, was decidedly unimpressed.
"It's a man throwing sticks in the air," he said in a bored tone.
It was only now that Merlin took in Arthur's mood.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Arthur just pulled a face.
"I mean, it is your betrothal feast!" Merlin insisted. "Not a huge feast, admittedly, but you've got dancers, jugglers, and acrobats to entertain you. It must be a terrible burden," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Arthur gave him his nobody-can-possibly-be-such-an-idiot look. Just like in old times, which unexpectedly warmed Merlin's heart.
"Have you forgotten what happened last time Alined brought his conjurers with him?" the Prince asked.
"Oh!" replied Merlin sheepishly because yes, he actually had. For the moment anyway. It was hard to forget it completely, with Lady Vivian in the Castle.
"But that can't happen again, right?" he asked. "I mean, with you getting betrothed to your one true love an all that…"
"Let's hope so," Arthur seemed a lot less optimistic about the whole thing. "I do not trust Alined any further than I can throw him."
"At least he isn't one of your almost-brides," said Merlin, grinning like a loon. "And you getting betrothed to Tauren's daughter, who went into exile rather than serving him as a court sorcerer, ought to ruin his appetite."
"There is that," admitted Arthur; then he put on a big, false smile and descended the stairs in a royal manner to greet his unstable ally.
In the meantime, another party rode into the inner courtyard: an escort of two dozen men-at-arms on horseback, protectively surrounding a carriage pulled by four dappled grey horses. Two hundred head of cattle and several heavily loaded carts followed, which were immediately turned into the kitchen yard. Lord Godwyn, who was now getting off the carriage with the help of his manservant, clearly didn't come with empty hands.
After him, a tall, imperious woman clad in rich dark garments left the carriage, helping Princess Elena of Gawant to get off, and finally a small, elderly woman in a hooded grey cloak that obscured her face.
Princess Elena looked positively radiant, Merlin thought. She might have put on a little weight, but she did look a proper princess now, finally free of the Sidhe influence. Getting word of her arrival, Princess Mithian, Princess Iseult and Lady Vivian came down from the Castle in delight to greet her as their equal – which she was, even though her father wasn't a king – for news about her miraculous rescuing from the Sidhe had spread through all Five Kingdoms, and everyone was happy for her.
Gwen, too came forth, but not as much to greet and welcome her than to ask her about Lancelot's whereabouts. Which she promptly did, after a brief and stilted greeting. All these former almost-brides of Arthur showing up to her betrothal were getting on her nerves, honestly. Besides, she missed Lancelot.
"He was last seen in your father's castle," she told the Princess of Gawant accusingly. "So, where has he gone and what is he doing there? All Merlin would tell me is that he's gone to face his destiny… whatever that might be."
"And that is all I can tell you as well," replied Elena. "What concern of yours is his coming and going anyway? You have made your choice and he accepted it and stepped back, out of respect for his future King."
"He is still my knight and champion!" exclaimed Gwen, her face darkening with anger.
Elena shook her head. "No, he's not. He is a knight of Camelot, and the champion of Arthur, not yours. You should honour your own choice, because you'll soon have a lord of your own and thus it's your part to love him. There is no queen in the whole of Albion who'd have a king on her side as great as Arthur Pendragon would soon become."
"How do you dare!" cried Gwen, her eyes black with barely controlled fury.
Elena remained unimpressed. "I dare because that is the truth," she replied coldly. "If it weren't for you, I might have the love of Sir Lancelot, by whom I'm now carrying the son that has been promised my line since the end of the Fallen Kings: the son who would reunite the Houses Don and Llyr and who shall be, in his time, the best knight of Albion."
For a moment, it seemed as if Gwen would lose her mind from sheer anger. Some of those who witnessed the scene were afraid that she might actually hit the Princess of Gawant, destroying an alliance older than herself in a moment of fury.
In the last moment, however, she stilled her own hand and said icily, "So you have taken advantage on the loneliness of my champion and got yourself with child by him like a tavern whore."
"I followed my destiny as it has been foretold, for I am the last Princess of Llyr and have an obligation to continue my line," corrected Elena, her voice equally cold. "Sir Lancelot and I have both had visions at the holy well and understood our duty. He accepted our son as his and named him Galahad; none of which is truly your concern."
"But it is my concern not to have you in my court, at my betrothal feast," hissed Gwen. "I don't need you, nor the alms of your father. You'll leave at daybreak tomorrow and never return, if you value your life."
"Oh, but this is not your court; not now and not for a while yet," interrupted the stern voice of Lady Cunneware. "You are not the Queen of Camelot yet; and as long as you haven't been crowned, you have no right to forbid anyone to attend the courtly feasts – at the very least the long-time, faithful allies of Camelot."
Gwen whirled around and opened her mouth to rebuke the ranking court lady, but Cunneware silenced her with a raised hand.
"You would do well to remember your place, Dame Guinevere, which is – at this moment – still merely that of a Castle servant. You may have successfully bewitched Prince Arthur where other, more suitable brides have failed, but there is one thing he will ever hold even above you, and that is the good of Camelot. Harm the kingdom in any way, especially by undermining long-standing alliances, and Arthur will come to his senses and send you back to that peasant's cottage where you came from."
Turning her back to the helplessly gaping Gwen, Lady Cunneware turned to the Princess of Gawant with a deep curtsey.
"Welcome to Camelot once again, Princess Elena," she said. "I've taken the liberty of giving you quarters between those of Princess Mithian and Lady Vivian, since our chatelaine," she emphasized the word so that no-one would doubt whom she meant, "is otherwise occupied in these days. Prince Arthur's manservant will show you the way, won't you?" she looked at Merlin imperiously.
Merlin grinned. "Of course. If you would come with me, Princess…"
Elena and her lady-in-waiting, whom she introduced as the Dame Brisenne, as well as the hooded old woman, followed him to the guest chambers assigned to the Princess. Once there, they bolted the door, and the old woman tossed back her hood.
"Hallo Merlin," she said simply. "Is Gaius doing well?"
In the Feasting Hall of Camelot Castle Morris, King Uther's manservant of old, watched with interest as two acrobats were setting up a man-high circular board, divided into brightly coloured segments. He wondered what they would need it for. He had seen similar things in taverns but couldn't really imagine that it would be used for the same purpose on a royal feast.
The Gleeman, as the entertainers called their leader, came in at this very moment, casting a critical eye over the preparations, checking if everything was as it ought to be. He was a man of middling height and middle age, simply clad, but his clothes were made of surprisingly good fabric, with his greying ash blond hair slicked back from his face. It was a rather unremarkable face, not at all what one would expect from a travelling entertainer, but there was something in the look of his small, pale, beady eyes, in the tilt of his mouth that made Morris's skin crawl.
A sound that sounded like a thump distracted him from his thoughts for a moment. Turning around, he saw objects flying out of a deep trunk. The Gleeman noticed it, too, and an unpleasant scowl appeared on his face.
"You have misplaced something Geldred?" he asked with ill-concealed exasperation.
A round and somewhat misshapen head – covered with a felt hat – appeared, peering out over the rim of the trunk. It belonged to a stunted body, barely taller than that of a ten-year-old child, though its owner (whose name was apparently Geldred) was clearly an adult.
"Our special gift to the Prince," he answered in a high-pitched voice. "I cannot find it anywhere."
He started to search again, with obviously growing concern, but the Gleeman fixed him with a piercing stare.
"Geldred," he said in a warning tone and the stunted one froze. It was undoubtedly apparent that the Gleeman was a man to be feared, which didn't really surprise Morris. His first instinct was rarely wrong… a useful thing when one served in the Castle, full of short-tempered royals and their guests.
The Gleeman, meanwhile, pulled a slim box from his tunic. "I took the liberty of ensuring their safe passage myself," he said with an unpleasant smirk.
Then he opened the box to reveal three sharp throwing daggers. "We must make sure this is a celebration the young Prince will never forget," he added, throwing one of the knives through the air with barely any aim at all.
It pierced the centre of the board with terrifying precision.
Morris was an observant man. That was how he had survived serving in the Castle since he was but a youth… although even a man with poorer observation skills would have spotted that these conjurers were up to no good. The question was, however, what he could do about it.
The young Prince was clearly in some sort of danger… but Morris had no idea what kind of danger it might be (though he did have his suspicions) and, more importantly, he had no proof. Neither could he stay close to the Prince all evening, as he was supposed to stay with the ailing King. Uther needed someone with him whom he could trust unconditionally.
That meant he needed an ally. One who would stay near the Prince all evening; and one who might be able to protect him.
That ruled out the knights. They were good in battle, but too straightforward to spot an assassination attempt in time. Well, save for Sir Gwaine perhaps, but he had the unfortunate tendency to get very drunk, very quickly on such feasts.
That left, by necessity, Merlin. Unlike most people, Morris had an inkling that Prince Arthur's manservant wasn't the bumbling idiot most people took him for. An idiot couldn't have survived the pitfalls of Castle service for so long. And not only had he survived; somehow Prince Arthur tended to escape seemingly hopeless situations largely unharmed since the boy had entered his service.
A less observant man would have chalked it up to sheer luck. But Morris had seen much during his long years as King Uther's trusted manservant and therefore knew that there was more to Merlin than what met the eye. He was always very careful not to ask what, exactly, it was. It wouldn't have done any good to leave Prince Arthur bereft of – well, whatever it was. But now Morris was determined to put this unnamed… thing to good use. For the protection of the young Prince.
He left the Feasting Hall in search for Merlin.
Gaius checked on King Uther's condition and was relieved to find some small – admittedly, very small – improvement in both his speech and his movement. Apparently, the brain attack had been less severe than it had first seemed, and Gaius began to hope (tentatively) that the King might actually make an almost full recovery. In time.
Arthur wanted to visit his father, of course, but Uther flat out refused to see him and Gaius advised against letting Gwen take care of the King as well.
"It was bad enough when Uther simply saw her as a commoner, as the blacksmith's daughter," he explained to Arthur. "Now he sees her as the evil spawn of a murderous sorcerer who has bewitched his only son. Having her around him would only worsen his condition."
"Will he recover enough to take on his kingly duties again?" asked Arthur.
It was the honest expression of filial concern, but it also meant: Will he be able to stop me marrying Gwen?
Gaius shook his head in regret. "Not for a long while yet, I'm afraid; perhaps never. I've asked Hunith to look after him and she agreed. She has a patient, agreeable nature, as you know, and she is a skilled healer in her own right. Your father will be in good hands."
Arthur knew that, too, of course, and he was relieved. To tell the truth, he didn't want Gwen around his father right now, either. That would have been horribly awkward, for both of them – and one couldn't have wished for a gentler, more caring person at somebody's bedside than Merlin's mother.
So he thanked Gaius, who then left because he'd been called to the chambers of Princess Elena… which surprised the elderly physician, as the Princess of Gawant had not looked particularly ill upon her arrival. Of course, her unpleasant encounter with Gwen could have left a sensitive lady in a delicate condition, but his previous experience suggested that Elena was not that sort of lady.
And indeed, she didn't seem particularly ill when Gaius entered her chambers.
"How can I help you, Princess?" he asked with a respectful bow.
"Truthfully, I do not require your services, Master Gaius," answered Elena with an open, friendly smile. "I just wanted to see you. I know it was you – and Merlin – who saved me from the Sidhe, and I wanted to thank you. Besides, I've brought someone with me who've longed to see you for the longest time. Mistress Alys?"
The small figure of a hooded and cloaked woman that had been huddling in the background now came forth, and as she tossed back her hood, Gaius felt his old heart constrict with joy and fear.
"Alice," he whispered, embracing his once and again love tightly. "You have taken great risks, coming here. If Uther knew…"
"But he doesn't and never will," interrupted Mistress Alice. "Worry not so much, my heart. I'm here under a different name, as Princess Elena's personal healer. She's with child and needs me around her person all the time. Besides," she added with a gentle smile, "how could I miss out the chance to see you again? We may not have such an opportunity very soon."
"It is still a great risk," said Gaius, and Mistress Alice nodded.
"I know. But you are worth it. And we are both too old to wait for a miracle to happen. We must use the time that is still left for us wisely."
Prince Arthur's betrothal feast to the Dame Guinevere began while it was still full daylight outside and everyone agreed that it was very grand. What it lacked in the amount and variety of food, it certainly made up for in entertainment. The travelling circus troupe had outdone itself to keep the Prince Regent and his guests amused.
They were a colourfully mixed bunch indeed, clad in loud colours, with bizarrely coiffed hair in the shape of cones or even horns… those who wore their hair long, that is. There were jugglers among them, throwing batons and brightly painted wooden balls in the air in rapidly changing patterns. There were fire blowers, shaping the flames coming out of their mouths in the most interesting forms. There were jesters, like Geldred, making rude jokes to the delight of the increasingly drunken guests. There were strong men, breaking the chains they were bound with, using only the muscles of their trunk-like arms and barrel chests. There was the acrobat girl, making breakneck back-flips on the shoulder of her partner. And so on…
And then there was the Gleeman, of course.
At first, he had merely watched the performance of his people, keeping an eye on things, keeping everyone in line. Then, when the act was over, he came forth and bowed, accepting the applause as his due as the head of the troupe. All eyes were focusing on him as he gestured to Geldred who handed him the box with his knives.
"I require a volunteer," he said.
None of the court nobles or knights was drunk enough yet to step forth but that did not really matter, as the Gleeman had his eyes firmly set on Arthur anyway. Sir Ector noticed that and grabbed the arm of the Prince under the table.
"Don't even think about it, sire!" he hissed. But King Alined, seated near them at the high table, asked with a falsely benevolent smile.
"Why not? What better or more fitting occasion for the young Prince to demonstrate his legendary bravery?"
"Fitting for you perhaps," muttered Princess Mithian darkly. "A chance to reach the goal you failed to accomplish last time." She glared at King Alined with unveiled dismay, and for a moment, it seemed that it would come to an open clash between the two of them, had the Gleeman not interfered.
"Do you accept the challenge?" he asked Arthur with a calculating gleam in his eyes.
The eyes of the courtiers and knights all turned to Arthur, awaiting his decision – either with excitement or with dread.
"Arthur, don't!" murmured Princess Mithian in a voice low enough so that only Arthur – and Merlin, who was standing by the Prince's chair, could hear. "It is said that Alined is in league with Odin in these days, and you know Odin is no friend of yours. This is not safe!"
"Of course it isn't," replied Arthur just as quietly. "It's knife throwing, after all. But I could hardly refuse his challenge," he rose from his seat, announcing in a clear, ringing voice that carried to the farthest corners of the Feasting Hall, "I accept!"
There was a round of applause as he made his was through the Hall, Merlin hot on his heels. Sir Ector, however, shook his head.
"This is folly. He shouldn't have accepted."
King Alined gave him a false smile. "Well, see it that way: should he have a… an unfortunate accident, we'll be spared the humiliation of bowing to Tauren's bastard as the Queen of Camelot," of all people present, he had the most personal reasons to hope for that.
"That would be too high a price," said Princess Elena softly, her eyes following Arthur in concern as he took off his cloak and jacket, handing them to Merlin.
Then he headed over to the circular board where the Gleeman was waiting for him. Giving a crowd a reassuring smile, he placed himself against the board. The Gleeman and the stunted one named Geldred strapped his ankles and wrists to the restrains on the board.
"Do not fear, my lord," said the Gleeman with a faint smile. "I never miss my target."
For some reason, that didn't sound reassuring at all, especially if the Gleeman and his troupe had anything to do with King Odin, as Princess Mithian had indicated. But Arthur couldn't back off now, not any more. Not without losing the respect of the entire court.
"Good," was all he said, not without a certain amount of sarcasm. "Glad to hear it." But his eyes sought out Merlin, who stood in clear line of sight, his narrow face pale and intent. That calmed him slightly. He wasn't sure what exactly a Dragonlord could do – beyond the bending of dragons to his will, which was no small feat, of course – but Merlin had been his good luck charm in the last three years, and he hoped their luck would hold just a little longer.
The Gleeman now pulled out an apple and turned to Arthur. "May I?"
"What?" before Arthur could object, the Gleeman placed the apple in his mouth, and then nodded to Geldred. The stunted one gave the wheel a push and it started to spin, with the crowd "Oh"-ing and "Ah"-ing in excitement.
Arthur found that he didn't like spinning on the board at all. It made him feel dizzy and a little nauseous. The juice of the apple dripping into his throat wasn't helping, either. He hoped he wouldn't suffocate from it before this whole stupid stunt was over.
Another stunted person now presented the case of knives to the Gleeman. He held one of the blades up for the crowd to see. Then he suddenly turned and threw the knife at Arthur, without even stopping to take aim. It thudded into the board, barely an inch from Arthur's face. A huge gasp went up from the crowd, followed by a round of applause. King Alined was clearly impressed, and even Count Wulfred gave a nod of appreciation.
"A sharp knife is no good without a sharp eye," he said.
Gwen let out a breath, her bosom heaving, and buried her face in her hands.
Princess Iseult rolled her eyes. "Men and their sharp objects," she commented in tolerant amusement. "They never truly grow up."
Sir Tristan gave her a look of mock hurt, but she ignored him because the Gleeman now took the next knife from the case, throwing it suddenly while the tension grew. It flew through the air, humming like a swarm of angry bees, and thudded into the board on the other side of Arthur's head. Another round of applause arose. Gwen closed her eyes and turned her head away for a moment in relief.
The Gleeman took the final knife from the case, waving it at King Alined who was applauding gleefully. Alined nodded encouragingly for him to throw it. Gwen didn't even dare to breathe as the Gleeman prepared to throw the knife, this time taking aim carefully, her eyes fixed on Arthur's face in anguish. Merlin moved surreptitiously closer, ready to intervene if he had to… and he had the feeling that his magic would be needed this time.
The Gleeman threw the knife. It flew with deadly accuracy right at Arthur's face. Merlin's eyes glowed briefly, and the knife began spinning in the air, which slowed it down considerably through this but kept its course nonetheless. One could hear the blade slice into something that wasn't wood, and the crowd gasped and held its collective breath for a moment. The wheel slowed to a stop… and everyone could see the knife struck straight into the apple.
The Hall erupted in applause and Merlin felt his legs turning into jelly. He hadn't been sure that the trick would work but he didn't dare to try anything more… spectacular in front of the entire court. That he'd calculated the speed and direction of the knife correctly was a relief. He hoped he'd never have to take such a risk with Arthur's life ever again. This had been a close call. Way too close.
"You did well," said a voice behind him, and he turned to look in the eyes of Morris.
"I don't know what you mean," he replied evasively. Uther's old manservant shook his head.
"Merlin," he said patiently. "I didn't ask what you did or how you did it. But I know that a knife so razor-sharp, thrown with such a force, would have Prince Arthur in the throat – even through that apple. Whatever you did, it saved his life… again. Don't worry; I won't breathe a word of this, not even to the Prince himself – just keep him safe, will you?"
Merlin nodded, slightly dumbfounded, but he couldn't answer, because Arthur was coming back, tossing the apple and catching it to take a healthy bite from it.
"See, Merlin?" he said, chewing his mouthful of apple noisily. "Nothing to worry about."
Merlin just shook his head in exasperation.
On the other end of the Hall, the Gleeman was having a quiet word with Geldred.
"This is not how it was supposed to happen," said the stunted one anxiously. "King Alined is not happy with us."
The Gleeman shrugged. "So what? We do not serve Alined. He was merely our means to get into Camelot."
"But our master wants the Prince dead, too," pointed out Geldred. "More than Alined, in fact."
The Gleeman shrugged again. "We're not done yet. That's what the contingency plan is for. In a few hours, the sleeping draught on the apple will begin to take effect. The Prince will be defenceless. Then we will strike."
The celebration went on well beyond midnight, when Arthur finally declared that he was going to retire, admitting fatigue after all the excitement of the day. The guests, fairly drunk by then, did not truly care whether he left or stayed. Only Gwen was a little miffed, as this meant she would have to leave, too; she would have preferred to enjoy her victory a little longer.
"I am tired, Guinevere, surely you can understand that," repeated Arthur, yawning. "I'll just briefly visit my father, and then go to bed."
"He made it adamantly clear that he doesn't want to see you," Gwen reminded him.
"But I want to see him, and I've been kept from seeing him long enough," replied Arthur stubbornly. "He may not approve of my choice but he is still my father and I still love him," he looked around. "Merlin, we are leaving."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Merlin doubtfully. "You can barely stand up."
Arthur gave him a very unconvincing death glare. "Are you saying I'm drunk?"
"No," said Merlin seriously. "I wouldn't be worrying if you were, but I happen to know that you haven't had nearly enough wine for that. Which is why I'm saying I don't think you should be wandering around the palace, as unsteady as you appear to be."
At any other time, Arthur might have listened to him, if only for the utter seriousness of his tone. But whatever was clouding the Prince's mind, tonight, it also made him very un-cooperative.
"You can come and pick me up in half an hour if you can't help being such a mother hen," he said dismissively and staggered off in the direction of his father's quarters.
Merlin stared after him in frustration. "I might do just that," he muttered angrily, heading towards Gaius's room. "You royal prat; why can't you be reasonable, just sometimes, for a change?"
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, the Gleeman emerged from the shadows, followed by one of the strong men of his troupe: a big hunk of a man, with arms like tree-trunks, rivalling those of Sir Percival; his face was still painted chalk white, with kohl-rimmed eyes, as he had appeared during the performance. He was also still wearing the gauntlets and wrist-guards he had used to break the chains.
They followed Arthur from a distance, watching as the Prince passed the two guards outside the doors to King Uther's chambers. He was obviously struggling to keep his eyes open, yawning all the time in the process. The guards, too, were watching him, their attention momentarily distracted. The strong man used the chance to creep up behind them, grabbed the head of the closer one and broke his neck with a short, powerful yank to the side. The other one went down simultaneously, with one of the Gleeman's throwing knives in his heart.
The Gleeman gestured his man to stay behind and watch the door. Then he stepped up to the dead guards and drew one of their swords before heading inside.
Entering the King's chambers, Arthur found his father sitting in a big chair, sleeping peacefully. An empty wine goblet was hanging from his hand in a precarious angle, ready to drop at any moment. Arthur took the goblet from the slack fingers of his father and put it on the table. Then he sank into a chair opposite Uther, simply enjoying being with his father, without arguments or accusations. He tried to fight the weariness he felt seeping over him, but it clearly was a losing battle.
Outside the door the Gleeman stepped over the two guards he and his henchman had just killed and entered the royal chambers with the naked sword in his hand.
Arthur was drifting off into sleep, struggling to focus on his father. He had the odd feeling that he might not get another such chance. But keeping focused was getting increasingly difficult. His head lolled… a fact that saved his life, as he caught a glimpse of a man slipping into the room, sword drawn. He managed to draw his own sword just in time to parry the blow as the man – the Gleeman, his foggy brain realised, it was the leader of the circus troupe – struck.
He all but spilled out of his chair and staggered backwards. He felt dizzy and disoriented; staying on his wobbly legs alone proved a challenge. He tried to call out for the guards but his voice was so weak he barely heard himself.
In the meantime, the Gleeman attacked again, and it was obvious that whatever else he might have been, he was an excellent swordsman. In his weakened state, Arthur barely managed to fight off the attack. His sword was knocked out of his hand with frightening ease and thrown across the room. He collapsed to his knees from the sheer force of that blow, unable to clamber to his feet again. Never in his life had he felt so utterly powerless.
"Good-bye, Arthur Pendragon," said the Gleeman with malevolent satisfaction.
Standing over the helpless Arthur, he raised his sword, ready to strike… but his blow was blocked by a sword. To his shocked surprise, he saw an enraged Uther Pendragon standing there, with Arthur's sword in his hand.
"It w-will t-take more t-than a c-coward like you t-to k-kill my son!" Uther growled, his speech mumbled from his recent brain seizure, but his eyes clear and furious.
The Gleeman whirled around to strike; Uther blocked the blow. They traded a series of ferocious blows, but it soon became obvious that Uther had deteriorated in more than just his speech. His attacks, while ferocious, were also uncoordinated, and he was beaten back by his skilled adversary and only narrowly escaped being killed.
Arthur did try to get to his feet and go to his father's aid, but he was too drowsy and collapsed back on the floor. Uther's attacks were having less and less effect as his arm grew tired, and the Gleeman easily deflected the blows. He was just toying with Uther now.
"Have you anything to say to your son before I kill him?" he taunted cruelly.
Uther and Arthur exchanged helpless looks, both clearly beaten. Then, unexpectedly, the old fire rose within the King one more time, overcoming the weakness of his body. He attacked with renewed ferocity, taking the Gleeman by surprise, delivering blow after blow to him, forcing the Gleeman back, until he managed to knock the sword from the assassin's hand.
Arthur watched, spellbound, the resurfacing of the strong King he had always known as his father as Uther prepared to deliver the fatal blow. As if the empty shell he had been in recent months had never existed. But the Gleeman was not giving up just yet. He suddenly drew a knife and lunged at Uther, in the very moment as the King thrust his sword.
Arthur felt immensely relieved seeing that his father had been faster; the Gleeman sank to the floor, obviously dead. But Uther, too, looked weak and confused again. His legs buckled, and Arthur realised that something was very wrong.
"Father?" he struggled over to catch the King before collapsing. As he helped his father to lie down on the bed, he was horrified to see blood staining Uther's robes.
The Gleeman had got him, after all.
"No…" Arthur choked, trying to call out to the guards again, but to no end. He stood. "I'll go and get help."
But Uther caught his hand. "Stay with me."
"I'm here, Father," Arthur ruthlessly suppressed his tears and called out again. "Guards! Someone! We need help!"
The door was flung open and Arthur was beginning to sigh with relief when he realised that it wasn't really help that had arrived. With an inhuman howl, the strong man from the circus troupe stormed into the King's chambers, the sword seeming like a mere eating knife in his huge paw.
Arthur knew with frightening clarity that he was about to die. He was still too dizzy to reach his sword – still sticking in the Gleeman's dead body – in time, and his father could no longer help him, because his father was dying. They would both die, before they could make their peace, and then Camelot would fall…
Yet before the strong man could have laid hands on him, there was a hiss like that of an angry snake, sounding vaguely like Hleap on baec!, and the giant of a man was flung backward, crashing against the wall, rendered unconscious… or perhaps dead, in any case his head was broken.
Staring at the open door in disbelief, Arthur was just in time to see Merlin's eyes turn back from molten gold to brilliant blue.
Merlin had not been sanguine about letting Arthur wander the empty corridors of the castle on his own to begin with. Not with King Alined's merry troupe on the loose. The warning of Morris had only made him more anxious, so he decided not to wait till the half hour he and Arthur had agreed in to be over. He turned to Uther's chambers immediately.
What he found there made him glad he hadn't waited. He cast the spell without thinking… without realising that he was revealing himself to both Arthur and Uther. Arthur knew half of the truth already; he knew Merlin was the last Dragonlord. He would accept that Merlin was more than just that. Eventually.
Or so Merlin hoped.
Uther seeing him using magic would have been a much more serious problem… under normal circumstances. After all, Uther Pendragon was still King of Camelot, at least nominally, and his word was still the law, despite his current state of body and mind. He could still have Merlin beheaded. Or burned on the stake.
Fortunately for Merlin, right now Uther had only eyes for his son.
"Don't… cry," he sighed, though Arthur was not crying, not visibly anyway. "It is my time… and I am ready to go. To see… your mother… again."
"No!" Arthur protested desperately. "You can't die!"
Uther waved his protest aside with a weak hand. "I know… you will make me proud… as you always have…. Even if you… defied… my orders to… to do what you believed… was right. You will be… a great King."
"I'm not ready!" Arthur protested again, and again, Uther waved his protest aside.
"You've been ready for… some time, Arthur… and you chose… your counsellors wisely,"
"No!" I need you!" Arthur insisted.
Uther shook his head weakly. "I know… I've not bee a… a good father. I… I always put my duty to… to Camelot first. I am… sorry."
"Don't say that!" murmured Arthur tearfully.
Uther gripped his hand with all his remaining strength. "But know… this one thing. I always… loved you."
With that, Uther's eyes slowly closed and he lost consciousness. Arthur was horrified.
"No… Father… Father!" but he was barely able to focus. Merlin touched his shoulder.
"Leave him to Gaius and me," the young servant said. "I'll have him fetched at once. But you need to sit down. You clearly have been given some sort of sleeping potion; I suppose it was in that apple."
"Why did the guards not come?" demanded Arthur, allowing Merlin to lower him into his father's great chair. "I've called them repeatedly."
"They are dead," replied Merlin grimly. "One of them had his neck broken; no question who did that. The other one has been killed with a throwing knife. Now, stay quiet for a moment until I send for Gaius, and we see what we can do for your father."
Arthur gave him a sharp look.
"He would have you beheaded or burned on the stake for what you've just done," he said. "And you'd still want to help him? Why?"
"Because he is your father," answered Merlin simply. "Now, let me help him, will you?"
"We're going to talk about this," promised Arthur darkly. "Long and in all the gory details."
"Yes, but not when I have more important things to do," returned Merlin dismissively.
Then he went to send somebody to fetch Gaius.
Hours later, Gaius was still tending to the wounded King in his chambers… to no visible effect. Uther was still unconscious and very, very weak – and close to death. Arthur watched the old man's efforts with growing despair.
"Can you save him?" he all but begged.
"The blade has touched his heart," answered Gaius with a heavy sigh. "He is bleeding inside."
The possibility of losing the King burdened him, too. They were as close to being friends as it was possible for a King and a mere commoner. Arthur, however, was not about to accept that possibility just yet.
"There must be something… there must be something you can do," he insisted. "Please, Gaius!"
But Gaius just shook his head sadly. "It is just a matter of time, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Arthur."
Arthur's youthful features hardened into a determined mask.
"I'm not letting him die; not before we've tried everything to save him," he said. "And I mean everything. In the meantime, I want to know if King Alined was part of this assassination attempt in any way. Because if he was, he shan't leave Camelot alive."
"That could lead to war with Cameliand," warned Sir Ector.
Arthur shrugged. "So be it. When has any good come from Cameliand anyway?"
"But sire, the Quest!" reminded him Sir Leon. "You are meant to choose your champions and set off, soon. Or else it will be too late for Camelot."
"I'm not leaving my father behind as long as his fate has not been decided, and the culprit behind the attempt on my life found," snapped Arthur.
Sir Leon bowed. "I'll see into it, sire," he promised before leaving.
"See that you do," muttered Arthur. "The rest of you… leave me. I want to be alone with my father."
The knights and court nobles were loath to leave but they could hardly disobey a direct order from someone who'd soon be their King. So they left. Only Gaius remained at Uther's bedside and, hidden behind a curtain, Merlin.
This promised to be a long and comfortless time till dawn.
'TBC~