Of Knights And Thieves

by thesewingscanfly

If Arthur is to secure a treaty with Mercia, he and his men will first have to bring a band of outlaws - lead by the infamous Robin Hood - to justice. But not all is as it seems. Enemies of the past rise to unite with new enemies, and grudges are never forgotten.

21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

Collapsing is about the only thing Merlin wants to do right now; out of relief that the hilt of that dagger is not sticking out of his king's chest, out of dread for what Morgana's gracious act means for them going forward, and out of the hope that he'll in return wake up and not have to offer an accusation that could create a civil war within their own ranks. But for once, Merlin isn't unconscious and dreaming. He is very much, and unfortunately, awake.

Fueled by duty, the young warlock pushes himself off the ground and goes to Arthur's side. "Are you alright?" He reaches out to collect Arthur's sword and return it to him.

"I'm fine." Arthur secures his sword in his belt as he stands, his eyes set on Morgana. Reluctant, she takes a step in their direction.

"Oi, you stay where you are!" Much points the tip of his sword at Morgana, who stands as docile as a grazing doe. There's no hostility in her posture, no interest in putting up a fight, not even a sinister remark. Only her scrutinizing gaze as it shifts from the sharp blade to the outlaw, twitchy with nerves. "Master, what do we do? Should we...do we...you know..." He swallows. "Kill her?"

"No." Without giving Robin an opportunity to answer, Arthur steps forward. "We're not killing anyone." He chews on a few more words that don't make it out, and Merlin is sure he's trying to figure out the best way to explain his plan.

"Not killing anyone?" Allan motions around at the smattering of guards on the ground. "Look I'm not being funny here, but it's a bit late for that, mate. I say we be done with her."

"I would advise against that." Morgana takes a bold step towards him and consequently towards Much's sword, though it's proximity fails to faze her.

A heat rises from within Merlin's chest, extending its reach to every last part of him. Does Allan know? Is he already privy to what Morgana's death would mean for Vaisey? The outlaw gives Merlin a glance but can't hold his gaze for long; Allan turns his attention towards Arthur who motions to his sister with a steadying hand.

"Morgana, you're not helping."

"No, all I did was save your life."

"Much, put your sword down," Arthur says.

"No, don't." Robin gravitates closer to Much. "You have to think about this, Wart. I'm not suggesting an execution, but we can't just do nothing."

Much shifts his weight, adjusting his grip with both hands. He looks between the two alpha males, and though he obeys Robin, several uncertain glances are slipped Arthur's way.

"Why not an execution?" Allan pipes up in his brazen fashion. He folds his arms, giving a nod in her direction. "She deserves it, don't she? She betrayed you. She makes your life a living hell from what I hear. And what about your people? How many of them has she made to suffer along with you, and you're going to do nothing about it while she's sitting right in front of you?"

Raising a hand to his brow, Arthur rubs it to ward off his weariness. Merlin often complains about having to appease one privileged ass on a daily basis, but he sometimes forgets that meanwhile Arthur has to explain himself and justify his every decision to anyone who will question him at any given moment. And just like the knights were not too keen to hear about Arthur's proposed role for Morgana in their predicament, neither are the three outlaws. Their expressions become hard as Camelot's king offers his insight.

"Have you gone mad, Wart?" Robin can barely contain himself in the confines of the small huddle they've formed away from Arthur's unexpected savior. "Sparing her, I understand, but protecting someone involves putting their life before your own. Are you really prepared to do that? Do you really want to do that?"

"She wants you dead." Much shoots her a paranoid glance as if the mere reference of her will cause his demise. "All of us dead if we're to be completely honest here, and I for one will not find my end at the hands of a woman. Even a frightful woman at that."

"Then you'll find it at the hands of Lord Vaisey." says Arthur. "Is that more to your liking?"

"Depends on the method, I suppose..."

"No offense, but what it comes down to is what Robin said." Allan shakes his head. "I'm not willing to risk my life for her sake."

"Then who are you willing to risk it for?" The words tumble out of Merlin's mouth so fast, he struggles to grab hold of their reins. His insides burn at the very sight of Allan in a way that seems to hamper his inhibitions. He focuses on the ginger-haired outlaw as he talks. "Because what Morgana's offering isn't just for her benefit, but for all of ours, and all of the people of Mercia's too. Looking out for only ourselves won't do anything, but feed into the steward's desire for a divided kingdom susceptible to his power. It's what he wants. It's why he has taxes and regulations that turn the citizens of Mercia against one another. Every man for himself. One person isolated can't accomplish much in a war against him, and he knows this, but if we work together, fight for each other, humble ourselves and combine what each of us has to offer then our strength will grow and continue to grow, even more the more allies we enlist along the way. Morgana is offering us a chance to weaken Vaisey, and while she has proven to be dangerous, we'd be fools to deny any help we can get from her. She's offering. I say we take it. For Mercia, for us, for each other. As long as we stay loyal to the cause..." Merlin pauses. Allan squirms. "...then we might just have a chance, and we might be able to help more people than just ourselves in the process. That's the goal we're all after, isn't it? Helping others? We should be doing whatever it takes to achieve that end no matter the risks involved, and what it might cost us. We're past that point. There's no room for self-preservation in this fight now, so I'd take your leave now if you aren't willing to sacrifice all you've got."

No one says anything for a moment, and that's when Merlin realizes he's still boring his focus into Allan like an unrelenting battering ram. He shifts to consider the others, finding Arthur's brow furrowed at him, utterly perplexed.

"Well that was...spirited," Much finally says.

"Sometimes, Merlin," Arthur studies him like a weird growth that's suddenly being noticed for the first time, "it's like I don't know you."

Merlin shrugs, both to dismiss Arthur's implications and to try to rid himself of the jitters that have arisen with his unleashed emotions and rising aversion to Allan.

"You know, you're starting to sound a bit like me," Arthur adds.

"Unintelligible?"

"Fancy words aside," Robin interrupts with a shake of his head, "she could still slaughter us all in our sleep. It's that simple. And who would help the people of Mercia then, huh? And Camelot once they've lost their king?"

"Let's take a vote on it, yeah?" Allan looks hopeful, though he undoubtedly knows the count would be in his favor. "Settle this before more of Guy's goons come along."

The crease in Arthur's brow deepens, "We're not voting on this."

"That's no way to be a team player."

Robin steps in closer, lowering his voice so Morgana can't hear, "If we could just restrain her, you know, as a sort of insurance-"

"I'm not tying her up again."

"Again?" Much searches for clarification, but no one pays him any mind. "How often does that happen exactly?"

"Don't let yourself be so easily deceived, Wart. She can't roam free. I won't allow it. Not in my camp, near my men. Or near you for that matter because believe it or not, I am on your side."

"It better be believed!" Much bristles with indignation. "You nearly died singing him praises in Nottingham. Let's not be quick to forget that."

"I wasn't singing praises, Much. Just...pardoning some wisdom in his favor."

"Whatever you want to call it..."

"You have reservations, I get it,"Arthur says. "I have some myself, but just like you want me to believe you're on my side, I want you to believe I'm on yours. I would never be reckless with the lives of your men." As Robin considers his words, Arthur motions towards Morgana. "You saw with your own eyes...she spared me from a fatal blow."

"That's all well and good," says Allan, "and, again, not being funny, but the decision seems plain to me. It's our camp, it's our rules."

"From what I hear, it's Robin Hood's camp." Arthur looks to the leading outlaw. "So what does Robin Hood say?"

Robin takes a moment to think things through, glancing between Arthur and Morgana with his hands on his hips, then even looking to Merlin for a second or two. The young warlock can only hope his own words might have resonated with the benevolence of Robin's usual character, swaying him in their direction. But before he can give his final say, Morgana's patience wears off.

"And they say women talk too much." Morgana pushes Much's unsuspecting blade out of her way and presses herself into their circle of discussion between Arthur and the baffled thief, her wrists held out to them with expectancy. When no one says another word or makes a move, she nods towards them. "Go on, then."

"What are you doing?" Arthur asks.

"Saving time and soothing the fears of your little friends. Though Robin, last we met, I remember you having a sturdier spine than this."

The outlaw lets out a humorless laugh, resting his hand casually atop the handle of his sword, "Last we met, Morgana, killing Arthur wasn't at the top of your to-do list."

"No, it was on yours, wasn't it?" She gives a tight smile.

Much gives a more genuine laugh, "What nonesense is that?" But when no one else finds it funny, he looks to Robin, "Wait...what is she talking about?"

The darkening expression on Robin's face, and the flapped reaction of his sidekick only confirms what Merlin's been wondering: if Robin has been keeping his past with Arthur as close to his chest as Arthur has. And apparently the answer is "yes."

"Morgana...put your arms down." Arthur tries to dismiss the topic, but it's clear everyone's minds are occupied with questions.

"It's what they want. You should too."

"Why did you want him dead?" Too nosy to resist, Allan is unhindered by the awkwardness that Robin's been exhibiting since the remark slipped from Morgana's lips.

"Give me your belt, Much." Robin steps towards the former sorceress, his hand out and waiting for Much's retrieval. He unfastens it without hesitation, and sets the leather strap across Robin's palm.

"I mean, there had to be a reason...you aren't exactly the murderous type." Allan continues as he watches the exchange.

"Of course, he's not," Much says, quick to come to Robin's defense. "It's a misunderstanding."

"I don't think it is." Allan gives a nod in his direction. "He's not denying it."

"He's not, is he?" With the smallest grin, Morgana looks at Robin as he approaches with her new bonds in hand.

Stepping in, Arthur takes the belt from Robin. "I'll do it." He turns to his sister, offering her some strongly recommended advice. "Don't provoke trouble, Morgana."

"Am I allowed no fun?"

"Sure you are. Merlin here will juggle for you later." Arthur throws a glance Merlin's way as he takes her wrists into his hands, beginning to bind them together.

"He doesn't have to deny it," says Much, who can't drop the subject until his master's honor is restored. "It's obvious he doesn't want to indulge in your silly babble, and that says a whole lot more than a denial. Robin, tell him."

"Much..." Robin rubs his forehead.

Allan looks between Arthur and Robin. "Knowing you two, it was probably over...what? Money? Morals? My bet is morals...you two straddle some pretty lofty high horses."

Much scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. Now you're just weaving your own tales. Robin, set him straight, so he-"

"Would you two shut up about it?" Robin snaps. "It's a useless discussion." He throws a brief look towards Arthur to check on his progress with Morgana. When he's satisfied with it, he starts off in the direction of their camp. "We need to get back."

Robin pulls his bow from where it hangs on his back, gripping it in hand so it can be wielded at a moment's notice. He scans the horizon as he tromps away, his shoulders hiked with pent up tension.

"Great, now you've upset him," says Much before following after him. Allan is close behind.

"It's not my fault it's a touchy subject for him, is it?"

The two continue to argue as they get further into the forest, but Merlin stays behind a few paces to walk with Arthur and Morgana. He watches the outlaws up ahead, trying to relive his every interaction with them, searching for other oddities surrounding Allan. Perhaps he's making too much out of what he saw, and is letting his fatigue and consequent emotions get the best of him. That's what he wants to be the case, anyway, but there is a bigger notion deep within the pit of his stomach. One that offers an explanation for Allan's indifference to their plight during the escape, of his random appearance just now, of his hesitance to fight, and of his emergence from the most recent battle without a single scratch to speak of. Gold or grime. It's difficult to see the difference in a cloud of bias, but one way or another he'll have to clear the air. And that certainly is for all their sake's

"Everything alright?"

"What?" Merlin whips around to see Arthur next to him. "Oh...yeah."

"You've been quiet. Did that speech wear you out?" Arthur lets Morgana go ahead to navigate over the terrain of the woods without his help this time. "I've never heard you string so many words together before. Not somewhat coherently, anyway."

"I guess I just have nothing else to say."

"No? That's a first."

"It's not, actually, you're just usually too busy listening to yourself talk to notice."

Arthur lets out a breath, though it sounds more annoyed than apologetic. "What is it? Have I upset you in some way?"

"You haven't."

"Well, something's wrong. You're certainly in a mood."

"I'm thinking," says Merlin. "That's all."

"About what Morgana said?"

"About...everything." Merlin glances over at Arthur. He gives no response, only casts his eyes forward as they walk with a certain unspoken understanding. What would there be to say? He knows as well as Merlin does that their circumstances rest as precariously as a stack of stones on a cliff's edge. Vaisey's growing power, Morgana's new alliance, Allan's wavering loyalties, Arthur and Robin's latent history, all resting one on top of the other. If even one should so much as shudder, they'll all come tumbling down.

Though to Arthur, the stack looks significantly shorter than it does to the young warlock. Or, at the very least, significantly different. He knows nothing of the suspicions surrounding Allan or of Kilgharrah's forewarning of gold and grime infiltrating their ranks. To be honest, Merlin's glad for it. It's a burden he's more than willing to bear if it means lightening his king's load, which is already hampered with matters of both an international and a local scale.

But perhaps the most trying weight for Arthur has come in the form of the more delicate gender. Given the three women at hand, however, "delicate" may not be the best word for Merlin to use. Each has tested Arthur in a way that has surely been more challenging than any opposition that could be routed with a simple flourish of his blade. Merlin has seen his king defeat foes in battle with ease and confidence, but whether Arthur is aware of it or not, the areas where he tends to tarry are not so tangible. Combined, the three women, present or otherwise, have caused him to bring into question things that were once strongholds in his every day life and decision-making; balusters in his climb to kingship. With the rails coming loose, Merlin can only hope his friend will find his own footing.

---

With the snap of a twig, Arthur steps into the outlaw's camp. He never once thought he'd be so happy to see the archaic excuse for a home, but nothing could be more beautiful in that moment than the sight of porridge boiling over the roaring fire pit, and the sounds of snoring coming from within the nearby cave. It's still early, but even the lethargy following a night with little sleep can stop Arthur's men from springing up from where they sit or surrendering their slumber in lieu of greeting their king with enthused spirits and several hardy hugs.

"You gave us quite the scare, sire." Elyan releases Arthur, but grips his shoulder affectionately, "We're pleased to see you both back in one piece."

"Even with the extra muck you've gathered on your boots along the way," Gwaine says, flicking his eyes Morgana's way.

"Sir Gwaine." Morgana's lip curls involuntarily. "It's been far too long."

"Not long enough."

"What is she doing here?" Djaq asks in her thick accent from the cave opening.

"Lads!" Robin walks further into camp before anymore questions can be raised, corralling his band towards him with a wave of his arm. "A word."

The Saracen obediently makes her way over to Robin with Much and Allan already at his side. Getting up from his seat beside the porridge, Will hurries to join her for the last few paces, throwing curious looks the witch's way and muttering something in Djaq's ear. The last to fall into line is John, who emerges from the cave where he was obviously sleeping quite deeply by the disarray of his clothing and lines etched on his face. His gaze wanders in Arthur's direction, and he double-takes, the stern expression on his face softening, and his eyes slipping to the ground where they stay until he joins the others. Arthur furrows his brow at the grizzly man's demeanor.

"What was that about?"

"Not a clue," Elyan says as the knights all take a moment to observe the thieves as they conference over recent news, most likely involving Morgana's surprise appearance. Several protests can be heard, questions asked, reasons disputed. But rather than get involved, Arthur leaves Robin to it, turning his attention to his sister.

"You might as well make yourself comfortable, Morgana. You're going to be here a while."

Without needing to be instructed, Percival moves to her side and extends a hand towards one of the logs near the fire to offer her a seat, but before he can verbalize his intentions, Morgana cuts him off. "I'd rather get some sleep." Her eyes narrow as if cringing at her own obligation to seek permission. "If you don't mind."

"Sire?" Percival looks to Arthur for approval.

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, "Go on. You take the first watch."

Nodding, Percival takes a hold of Morgana's arm, but she pulls out of his grasp. "I hardly think I need a babysitter."

"No, what you need is an exorcist." Gwaine gives a lackadaisical shrug. "But we work with what we have, princess."

"Gwaine." Arthur tries to stay the knight's provocation, seeing the muscles in Morgana's jaw ripple with fury. "Morgana, go with Percival. You know as well as I do it has to be this way."

Though she doesn't say anything in response, Percival takes her silence as compliance, grabbing a hold of her arm again to escort her into the cave. Arthur watches after them, waiting until they are several steps away before looking to the long-haired knight. "Is that supposed to be you helping?"

"Well, I can't speak for everyone, but..." Gwaine claps Arthur's shoulder. "It certainly helped to brighten my morning." He smiles before hooking an arm around Merlin's neck, pulling the gangly servant alongside as he goes to sit by the fire for some breakfast.

Arthur lets out a breath, looking to Elyan and Leon. "Get some sleep or have some breakfast. We can talk after we've all had some time to rest."

"Yes, we all need some rest, don't we?" Elyan says. He and Leon keep a pointed focus on Arthur, who gives a faint laugh.

"I intend to rest as well, you have my word."

"We shall hold you to that, my lord." Leon goes to take a seat beside the fire before all the places are taken. Already disbanded from their meeting, some of the outlaws retreat into the hollow for a nap, while others gather around the steaming cauldron, eager for a good meal.

"Has anyone stirred this lately?" Much asks as he stoops down and grabs the serving spoon to mix the pot's contents. "I've said it a hundred times, if you don't stir it, the bottom will burn."

"With all the spice you put in your food, my bottom usually ends up burning anyway," Allan quips from the side. A round of laughter erupts from both the knights and thieves sitting around the fire together, even managing to break through Merlin's sour mood, who joins in with them. It's a sound and sight that puts Arthur at ease for the first time in what feels like days.

"Why is it," a feminine voice starts from behind Arthur, "that every time you walk away, I can never be sure we'll meet again?"

Arthur smiles, turning to face Marian. "You were worried about me."

"Don't twist my sentiments into mere flattery, of course I was worried." Her eyes drift towards the cave where Morgana retreated to not long ago. "Though the reason for your delay is clear now."

"It wasn't all Morgana's doing, but...as strange as it may sound...she certainly made it all worth while in the end."

"Was this all her doing?" Marian plays with the frayed edges of a hole in the side of Arthur's tunic. Torn by Morgana's blade. "Did she attack you?"

There is a moment where Arthur considers telling her the truth, that the former witch's intention even without her magic was his death, but he cannot bring himself to offer that information. Not when it will result in having to justify everything again, and come to his sister's defense once more.

"Ah, no," he says. "No, we ran into some of the steward's men in the woods. Morgana actually came quite willingly, though if I were to guess, I'd say she's not exactly thrilled about being here."

"Then why the concession?"

"I can't know for sure. Fear? The protection we're offering?" Arthur reaches up to touch one of her curls. "Or some potentially dubious and lethal plan that will get us all killed before lunch."

Pulling it away from her hair, Marian keeps a hold of Arthur's hand as she tries her best to suppress her amusement. "Only a man who has made it a hobby to defy death can make light of such looming danger."

"Do you think it insensitive?"

"I think it rather foolhardy, but unfortunately that's just a part of your charm, and I don't see it going away anytime soon." The two lapse into silence, but her eyes continue to dance with the lingering jest made at his expense.

"Took some convincing, but I think I've brought them round," Robin says, jarring them out of their reverie as he comes to join them.

Arthur drops Marian's hand, turning his focus to the thief, "Have you? That's quite an accomplishment for such a short discourse."

"Well, I only had to win over Djaq." Robin glances over his shoulder at her. "Once she was on my side, the others quickly fell into line." He turns his attention to Marian. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you alright with all of this? With Morgana..."

"Yes. I admit, it's not ideal, and it may be a necessary evil, but it is necessary all the same." She looks between the two men. "Do you think she'll agree to help me lift the spell from Leofrick?"

"Spell?" Robin's brow pinches together with confusion. "What spell?"

Having no desire to regale Robin with the sensitive details, Arthur shifts his weight, focusing on Marian, "I think she knows it's expected of her. Though I don't expect her to do it freely. She'll want something in return, I'm sure of it."

"Does someone want to fill me in here?" Robin motions towards the hollow opening, indicating Leofrick's current whereabouts. "I saw the boy when he first arrived, he seemed fine to me."

"Because I wasn't here," Arthur says.

"The hell does that mean?"

"Morgana and Lord Vaisey..." Marian folds her arms as if there is a chill in the air. "They conditioned Leofrick to fear Arthur."

"For what purpose? That makes no sense."

"What purpose do you think?" Arthur asks a bit too sharply. "It was another move in the steward's endless game. To throw me off, to turn people against me, to sound the alarm whenever Leofrick and I are together. Take your pick."

"Easy, Wart...we'll get things set right." It's Robin's turn to shift his weight as he decides on his next words. "I, uh...I assume it'll require magic though..."

Arthur nods, "I know."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"It's what Leofrick needs."

"Right, of course," Robin says with the faintest scoff. He pushes a hand absently across his mouth as if warding off the escape of anymore choice words, and bracing his amiable expression for the temptation to turn sour.

"What?" Arthur knows what Robin is thinking, but he prods, eager to hear them confirmed.

The strings between Arthur and Robin tighten until their strain is as palpable as the breeze blowing around them. Marian feels it, and lowers her voice. "Maybe now is not the best time to-"

"I just find it interesting, that's all." Robin folds his arms, pivoting to face Arthur more fully.

"Please, can we not?" Marian looks beyond them to their men enjoying themselves, but as they've already established, neither Arthur or Robin take pleasure in pretense.

"Find what interesting?" Arthur asks, ignoring Marian's requests.

"Magic is an abomination to you." Robin gestures out. "Ah, well, that is until it can be of benefit to you, isn't that right?"

"This is for Leofrick. Not me."

"I think we know that's not entirely true. It all comes back to you, Wart. You could defeat Vaisey, leave Mercia a victor, and a drop of magic will never have to go near Leofrick. He'll be fine once you're gone. So why use something so unfathomably evil to you to fix him now?"

Arthur has no rebuttal. He has no words to defend himself, and yet he can't admit that Robin is right either. He can't be sure he is right. Everything in him, pushes him to oppose what he's said; it heats his blood and grinds his teeth, quickening his breath all the while.

"You don't have an answer, do you?" Robin shakes his head, driven to say more with every passing word. The freedom to speak on the dicey matter clearly euphoric. "Except, of course, that you want it done. It's that simple. You want it done, you want it fixed, you want Leofrick to hoist you back onto that pedestal, and you want it now. For a man who sits high on a throne, what other reason needs to be given? Your own desire should be enough."

"Robin..." Marian rests a hand on his arm, trying to silence him as the conversation is now taking a turn, and beginning to draw the attention of the others in the camp. Merlin is already on his feet, but he stays where he is next to Gwaine.

"Except it's not enough, Wart. Not for me, and do you know why?"

"I assume you're going to tell me."

"Because people of magic die if it's not what you want."

The knights all rise to their feet at that affront, consequently triggering the thieves to theirs.

"Robin, let's not talk about this." Marian pushes him back several paces from Arthur, seemingly more comforted by a wider gap between them. "Not here or now."

"Why not?" The outlaw asks, his arms stretched out wide. "I think this is a pertinent discussion for us all given the circumstances."

"Because there are more important things that need our attention." She stares at him with an urgent gaze. "Our unified attention. I'm asking you, please, drop this."

"I've tried to drop this, Marian, over and again, but I can't seem to wrap my mind around it. Not around any of it; not him, not his laws, not his contradictions. Not even around you for that matter."

"You're turning against me now?"

"I'm not turning against anyone! I'm trying to understand! There are many things here that don't make sense to me, but one thing that has been nagging at me since the very moment he arrived is that you can forgive him so easily when it was your engagement ring that was traded for the pyre-"

"That's enough, Hood!" Arthur lurches forward, his progress impeded by Marian's interference, but his fist is still able to grasp the front of the outlaw's tunic. Robin struggles against him as the knights and thieves close in around them, standing off against one another should either side need to defend their leader. Merlin's hand appears on Arthur's shoulder, ready to intervene.

"Arthur, stop!" Marian pushes against his chest in an attempt to separate the two, but Camelot's king has narrowed his focus to Robin and Robin alone.

"If you wish to hoard your hatred towards me, then that's your choice, and I won't try to convince you otherwise, but don't so much as even dare to judge Marian for taking a higher road that neither one of us has been able to tread."

"Get off me." Robin knocks Arthur's hand away, forcing him to release the now crumpled fabric from his grip. He shrugs his shoulders to shake his tunic and dignity back into place. "I need a walk." Brushing the numerous hands off of him, Robin attempts to break free from the tight cluster of men that has formed and entangled him.

"Master," the bandana clad thief tries to catch his arm.

"I said I need a walk, Much!"

This time, he's not stopped as he stalks across the camp, passing by Percival and Morgana who have appeared in the cave's entrance to investigate the commotion. They look from his retreating back to Arthur. Everyone looks at Arthur. But it's Marian's gaze that sends his hand up to ruefully rub his brow so he can spare himself any direct eye contact.

He turns, squeezing in between Leon and Gwaine to excuse himself from the herd and take a seat next to the fire. If only there was a more secluded place to go; dispersing footsteps and speculating whispers fill the camp around him. But he can't condemn them for it. They are right to wonder.

The log shifts as Merlin takes a seat beside him. It's welcomed company, but only after it's clear that his servant has no plans of trying to do any talking. Gwaine resumes his seat, as do several of the thieves, who all pick up their abandoned bowls to continue on with their unfinished breakfasts in relative silence.

A swish of fabric, and a waft of lavender later, and Arthur waits for Marian to say something as she comes to stand beside him.

"Well?" He says, waiting for her to impart the scolding he knows she's prepared.

"You're making a mistake." Her voice is gentler than he was expecting, though her words don't exactly offer the same amount of comfort as her tone.

"How so?"

"I think if you shared the truth with Robin, you actually could convince him otherwise. And rid the world of a little more hate in the process."

Arthur leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I can't do that."

"You can, but you're choosing not to." She looks out into the mass of trees where Robin disappeared. "If I weren't wasting my breath, I'd urge you to reconsider." She looks to him for his response, but Arthur gives none, so Marian continues. "You should eat. I'll go speak with Morgana, and see what bargain we can strike for her assistance. You should stay here until then."

"I don't know what she'll ask for in return." Arthur shifts to glance up at her. "But you can be certain she'll use it wholly to her advantage. Be cautious in striking any deals."

"I think I can manage." Her eyes flick from Arthur to over his shoulder where Merlin sits. "But I wouldn't protest some extra help in keeping Leofrick at ease."

It takes Merlin a moment to realize she is addressing him. "Oh. I..." He delays his answer long enough to survey the state of his king. Arthur knows why he's hesitating, but contrary to what Merlin may think, he will be perfectly fine without his servant's supervision.

Arthur gives an encouraging nod.

"Sure," says Merlin. "Yeah, of course, I can." He stands from his place at Arthur's side, giving up the consolation of one king for another, much smaller one.

---

The truth is Leofrick didn't need any comforting. Inside the dankness of the hollow, Mercia's king sits quite content atop the cot which still has Arthur's armor resting at its foot; there aren't many toys to be found in an outlaw's hideout, but the child occupies himself with one of Arthur's worn gloves that had been discarded along with his armor. Easily pleased. If only all king's were.

No, the real reason Merlin's been summoned, he's certain, has something to do with Marian's lack of confidence in her own abilities. Though the prospect of once again performing magic beneath the scrutinizing gaze of others without being found out is enough to make his palms clammy. Especially when one of the audience members is none other than the great high priestess herself. It was one thing to hide his assistance with healing Arthur right under the knight's noses, but they wouldn't know magic if it lived within their ranks for years, saving their lives at every turn, and causing all too convenient strokes of luck to abound quest after quest.

The question is: Will Morgana?

She sits not far with Percival at her shoulder, watching the boy with an expression that is neither hostile nor exceptionally compassionate. Rather, it's empty. Looking through him as though in the midst of a waking dream. Merlin expected more, something different; arrogance, perhaps, at the display that had just occurred outside, at Robin's anger towards Arthur, and the implications of hypocrisy thrust upon her brother. Normally she would delight in such theatrics.

It's not until she hears Marian and Merlin's footsteps that she's drawn back into the present, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin as they approach. "You waste no time, I see."

"It's not something we can afford to." Marian goes to stand in front of her. "Thanks, in part, to your contributions."

Morgana lets a small grin slip through. "How kind of you to say. I do appreciate when my work gets proper recognition."

"You should be proud, Morgana, honestly." Merlin sits on the cot across from her. "After all, look where all of that plotting and blinding vengeance has gotten you."

Her brow lowers as she meets his eyes. "Glib doesn't suit you, Merlin."

"Then we'll get to the point," Marian says. "Do you know the spell that will reverse the enchantment on Leofrick?"

"I'm a high priestess."

"Former high priestess." Percival clears his throat as he inserts the casual reminder.

Morgana slides her gaze over to him, "And I will be again. Or you will be nothing but a former brute of Camelot slain by the likes of Lord Vaisey with no more than a snap of his fingers."

"Morgana." Merlin tries to regain her attention before her irritation boils over.

"Yes," she says with a lingering edge that fades as soon as she disengages all focus from the knight beside her. "I know the spell. It's quite simple. I would expect you to be able to perform it with relative ease." Morgana sizes up Marian as if the extent of her powers can be seen as clearly as Percival's physical strength.

Marian stays quiet, and it's a silence Merlin doesn't feel he can interrupt.

The stale air of the cave shifts as Marian sinks down onto the cot beside Merlin, her hands struggling to keep busy as she gathers her thoughts. "Morgana...I keep thinking about something. And I've been wanting to ask, but there's been little opportunity...obviously, given the circumstances."

Morgana doesn't spur Marian's inquisition. Instead, she crosses her legs impatiently.

"That day in Leofrick's room," Marian continues undeterred by Morgana's frosty exterior, "where you first cast the spell on him, and where Vaisey demanded to witness my powers." She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "And where...my father..." Her brow creases at the memory. She presses her lips together, focusing on her hands. "Did you know?"

Merlin glances between the two women, surprised to find that Morgana's face has relaxed, coming to rest somewhere near a neutral state as she listens to Marian, actually taking her words into consideration.

"Did I know that you possessed magic?" She gives a brief nod. "There was a time when Arthur confided many things in me. Including that."

"But you didn't say anything to the steward...why?"

"There are some secrets that are not mine to tell." Morgana sets her jaw to drive away any appearance of compassion. "I know why you lied. And though I wasn't there for it, I understand why you allowed Vaisey to kill your father. I know that must have been a difficult sacrifice for you. I, too, had to give up my family for what was right."

Marian goes rigid at the comparison. Perhaps she didn't expect it, more still, perhaps she didn't expect it to ring so true. Merlin certainly didn't. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, being studied by Morgana all the while, Marian rises to her feet and takes several paces away, consumed by thought. Merlin looks between the two of them again, preparing to turn the conversation back to a less disconcerting path, when Morgana rises to her feet as well.

"I'll give you the proper enchantment to recite," she says. "Unless you have anymore pressing questions that need answering. I'd be happy to oblige."

"In return for the spell?" Marian turns to face her. "What is it you want? I assume such generosity will not be given freely."

"You make me sound heinous. I have only good intentions, I assure you."

Marian inspects Morgana for sincerity, but it's a fickle accomplice where the wayward witch is concerned. Sincerity and intention are one thing, but the resulting course of action can often be another entirely. Merlin stands when he notices Marian's eyes flick in his direction. She draws her gaze back to Morgana, waiting for her to elaborate.

"But now that you mention it, there is one small thing you could do for me, Marian..."

"Me?" Marian asks. "Not Arthur?"

Morgana laughs. "Arthur? Heavens, no. This favor must come from you, and you alone."

"What is it?" Merlin presses.

"Well...you see the thing is, once Arthur and his noble knights successfully rid the land of Lord Vaisey, there will be an awfully large void to fill," Morgana says. "One on Mercia's throne."

Marian scoffs, "I'm not at liberty to give you the throne, Morgana, and even if I were-"

"Calm yourself, dear...as a beloved lady of Nottingham and King Leorfrick's only surviving blood, I have no doubt that it will be you who will rise to the position of queen regent in the end."

It's an innocent enough conclusion, but one that stuns Marian. Her face becomes wrought with the bewilderment of someone whose eyes have been opened for the first time.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it before..."

Marian shakes her head, "No, I-"

"It will be quite a taxing responsibility to be sure, but think of all that you can do, the influence you will have on Mercia and it's future king. It will become what you, Marian, decide to mold it into." Morgana follows Marian's gaze over to Leofrick, who remains blissfully unaware of the conversation at hand. "You will have a tremendous impact on his outlook, rearing him from such a young age. Arthur too was conditioned from a young age; brought up to fear magic, to hate those who possess it, and it shows in the way he rules his kingdom...the way he picks his queen. Now...how will you bring up Leofrick? What path will you set him on?" Morgana gives Percival a sideways glance, stepping in closer to Marian. Her voice is softer, but Merlin doesn't miss a single syllable. "All I ask...is that you take the proper amount of time to consider such things. And I will happily restore your precious boy." The corners of Morgana's mouth curve upward ever-so-slightly, but Marian doesn't see. Merlin's not sure she sees anything at the moment, but possible futures flashing before her that could all come to pass as a direct result of her leadership. "So, then. Do we have a deal?"

Marian finally manages to draw Morgana into focus, giving a disjointed nod.

"There...I knew we'd be able to come to an agreement." Morgana smiles, slipping past them and weaving her way through the labyrinth of cots, chairs, and trunks to where Leofrick is. The three left behind quickly follow after her, not trusting her with this child for a single moment unchaperoned. Marian, having pushed other matters aside for now, has reclaimed her focus, and swoops in to lift Leofrick into her arms, sitting where he once did, and resting him down in her lap. Standing at the ready, Percival stations himself just behind where Morgana and Merlin take a seat on the cot the young warlock once slept in days ago.

"Sweet child..." Morgana leans forward to look into his face. The little king smiles at her, but soon tries to hide his bashfulness in Marian's shoulder. It's an act of innocence that draws out a tenderness in Morgana's face that Merlin has not seen since she took Mordred beneath her wing for the briefest of times. She reaches her bound hands out to take Leofrick's in hers, speaking gently, "Tell me, what is it that scares you, Leofrick?" He hesitates before pulling back to look at her again. "Is there someone you're afraid of?"

The boy nods, clutching tightly onto Marian's sleeve.

"You can tell me...who is it?"

The prompt to even speak his name withdrawals a whimper.

"Will you let me say his name?" Morgana asks.

"What if he comes?" Leofrick looks to the opening of the cave as he burrows himself further against Marian. "Will he come?"

"He won't come. Not unless you want him to," says Morgana. She pauses before risking to add, "Leofrick, do you want Arthur Pen-"

"No!" Leofrick's entire body gives a violent shudder before settling into a persistent tremble even Marian's soothing touch cannot comfort. She strokes his hair, holding him tightly, but it doesn't stop the tears from welling in his eyes or his grip from clinging onto his caretaker's sleeve.

Merlin shifts to sit beside Marian, exchanging glances with her as he takes Leofrick's hand from Morgana, keeping a hold of it himself. "What is the spell, Morgana?"

She retracts her hands, looking down at them as if they have become foreign to her, but she doesn't speak, slipping away into her own thoughts.

"Morgana," Merlin presses without trying to alarm the boy next to him. "The spell."

Lifting her eyes to them, she finds her voice, "You must repeat after me."

Marian nods, and Merlin readies his grip on Leofrick, hoping that no one will notice the slight tremble of nerves he has developed himself. Percival watches closely from over Morgana's shoulder, while she studies Leofrick with the same intensity as someone performing the enchantment themselves. The words come tumbling out of her mouth, but without effect.

"Scaraþh mé tú an lægan eaglä. Arthur Pendragon char tú næch þhfuil níos mó."

Leofrick struggles in Marian's arms upon hearing the name of Camelot's king uttered in the middle the incantation, his eyes darting towards the mouth of the hollow, but Marian keeps him held close to her chest, lowering her head to repeat Morgana's words, whispering them softly against the side of Leofrick's head.

Closing his eyes, Merlin remains passive. Marian can do this. He's felt the extent of her potential before, and this is far from being outside of her capability. But he doesn't abandon her either, offering himself as a reservoir, should she feel the need to tap into his resources. There's a tingle against the young warlock's palm where Leofrick's skin touches his; the sharp, heated prick of fear fleeing the boy's body, and dispersing out into the void where it will undoubtedly wait for someone to willingly give it sanctuary. In these parts, under the steward's regime, it shouldn't take too long.

"How do you feel, darling?" Merlin opens his eyes at Marian's question, observing the calm that has seemed to grace the child. He's no longer rigid with the anticipation of an attack, and the cloud of paranoia that hindered his vision has cleared, giving his eyes their spark back.

He kicks his legs with an abundance of energy. "Hungry..."

Marian doesn't allow herself to smile, not yet, but her hope has brought a light to her face that can't be suppressed. "How about some breakfast then, hmm? I know someone who I know would enjoy your company..."

"Who?"

Taking a breath, she consults Merlin then Morgana, who urges her on with a simple nod of her head, watching Leofrick closely for his reaction. "It's, um...it's Arthur."

The three wait for a second that could have spanned beyond the length of several centuries. Like three desert nomads huddled around a spigot, anticipating it's first drop of water to quench their thirst, and flood their weary bodies with relief.

"Arter?" Leofrick chews on the name, rolling it around in his mouth to see if it sits well with his palette. Then it dawns on him. "He's here!?" A smile explodes across his face. "Arter!"

Disentangling himself from Marian's arms, Leofrick slips to the ground, running as fast as his little legs can take him across the cave floor. He nearly trips over several discarded pieces of clothing and kicks a small box sending it and its contents scattering across the floor.

Marian lets herself laugh, hurrying after him to make sure his excitement doesn't destroy anything in his path, but perhaps more importantly, to witness a long deserved victory. It's something they all could use right about now. Percival follows her to the mouth, so he can take part in the reunion, but also keep an eye on Morgana, who seems rather downcast despite the boy's infectious glee.

She returns to where Merlin found her, and he can't help but lag behind if only for a moment.

"Thank you, Morgana...truly. This means a great deal to us all."

"If your appreciation meant something to me, Merlin, I would be honored. As it is? I'm afraid I couldn't care less." The witch shifts, lying back on the cot, and snuffing out any chance at further conversation. But Merlin doesn't argue. There is triumph to partake in.

Laughter and shouts bubble from outside, drawing Merlin towards its merriment. Two steps in its direction, and a crunch sounds from beneath the young warlock's boot. He looks down. Littered around his feet are small stalks of wood not much larger than toothpicks. The box they were once housed in now sits on its side after Leofrick's unceremonious exit.

Merlin stoops down, his fingertips grazing over a few of them before he picks one up to inspect it closer. A dart. One that could render any of its victims unconscious. His free hand rubs his neck, remembering the pinch he suffered outside of Brom's house. Next thing he knew, he and Arthur were trapped in Nottingham castle.

"You alright, Merlin?" Percival asks.

"What?" Merlin glances at him before stashing the dart in his jacket. "Yeah, I'm fine." He scoops up the rest of the darts, careful not to prick himself, and stuffs them back in the box, which he replaces next to Allan's cot. "Everything's just...perfect."