A/N: *Shuffles through the door looking sheepish* Erm, hi. So, that little break took longer than I expected. I won't bore you with the details of why it has taken me so long to update, but I am sorry to have kept you waiting. I'll try not to take so long next time.
Anyway, this chapter's kind of a setting of the stage for the next chapter...so not a lot of action, but necessary for what is to come.
Thank you again to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed - your words of advice and encouragement mean the world to me (even if I can't reply personally, because you signed in as a guest).
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
Chapter 21
"...well, you can imagine, Megan went ballistic when she was told she had to arrange for meals for another twenty people in the party, when she'd already made all her lists and put her orders in for the few days that the Prince will be here. And then the seating arrangement for the feast will have to be redone. Henry was irritable all yesterday afternoon when he heard that, and snapped at Juliana - she's the new serving girl who started last month - just for putting the tablecloths away in the wrong cabinet. You'd think they've never had to deal with last minute changes for a royal visit before, the way everyone's carrying on, when..."
Merlin tuned out the sound of Gwen's speech again. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd done that since her visit began, close to an hour ago, and had to concentrate hard to suppress the heavy sigh of ennui that was clawing at his throat for a not very subtle release. Normally, Gwen's soft tones and frequent hand or arm squeezes would be a source of comfort for Merlin, when he was feeling on the darker side of 'down', and having lived in the palace from her mid-teens, she was an excellent authority on gossip about the staff and nobles. But in the past few days, Merlin was finding it harder and harder to stay relaxed and not give in to the annoyance her visits sparked.
Perhaps it was her obviously false cheeriness he found so irritating. Or maybe it was the fact that she was blatantly ignoring the very glaring hints he was dropping - from his point of view, at least - that he'd really had enough of the meaningless small talk, and would rather she just went back to doing whatever it was she had been doing before she decided to interrupt his solitude again.
The problem was that even if Gwen did leave, he wouldn't be allowed to spend time in his own company for long. Merlin had been 'chatted to' by a number of people over the last week, since his health had improved enough to allow it. From Simon, the stable boy he often used to talk to (while having a five-minute breather during an arduous manure-clearing session of the royal mounts); to Enid, the head-seamstress, who had many times helped Merlin by mending Arthur's ripped shirts (after a vigorous bout of training, or when the King was being especially careless about removing his undershirt - that was "not getting a bit too tight. Shut-up, Merlin!").
Then of course there were the knights, or 'babysitters', as Merlin tended to view them, disdainfully. Now that he was spending most of his daylight hours reading or performing simple tasks for Gaius, rather than sleeping, most of the knights would while away their shift of 'Merlin-sitting' with a steady stream of inane chat. Some more than others. While Percival's banter was still limited to the odd sentence of no more than ten words a piece (and only when the silence stretched on for more than half an hour), Gwaine could talk a deaf man into insanity, even if the person he was talking to constantly tutted and sent him dirty looks, as he tried to bury his nose further into a very boring tome on the thirty uses of Wormwood.
Merlin had a strong suspicion that all this sudden interest in keeping him entertained and preventing him from being left for too long by himself stemmed from Gaius' 'enlightened' assumption that it would lift his spirits. His guardian too seemed to be making an especial effort to engage the warlock in conversation, whenever his duties allowed. And each day, he would give him a long list of chores (that could be completed within the confines of their quarters) - in the hope that he would succeed in distracting him from whatever thoughts were responsible for the permanent downcast of his ward's mouth and eyes. Though why Gaius wanted to alphabetise all his books, when neither of them was much inclined to replace a book on anywhere but the nearest flat surface, he couldn't fathom. And if he had to prize another leech from the tips of his ears in the next month, he would find a way to slip them into Gwaine's clothing, and see which lasted longest when the knight went for his nightly top-up of alcoholic beverages; Gwaine or his blood-sucking stowaways.
Needless to say, the old man's efforts were not having a great effect, and not even the added guilt of seeing the man's frequent, worried glances in his direction, and heavy bags from lack of sleep around his eyes, were enough to convince Merlin to respond in even a slightly more upbeat fashion. The knights and Gwen too - when they were not engaged in their never-ending string of mundane nothings they felt sure he would be interested to hear - would often send him sidelong, troubled looks. Did they think him so imperceptive he didn't notice their scrutiny, soft sighs and slight head shakes, as they finished their shifts and turned to leave? Certainly no-one so far had confronted him on his behaviour and sour demeanour; as if to do so would be to acknowledge he was anything but the cheerful soul they pretended he still could be.
At least no-one had brought up the subject of his magic; though whether that was because it was another topic of anathema or because Arthur had still not made them aware of its existence, he was not sure. And Merlin was keen to keep it that way, so he was very much disinclined to ask whether anything had been mentioned in relation to the night Arthur turned everything on its head by following him. The person most affected by and prejudiced to his magic knew of it, and that was quite enough for Merlin to be dealing with. Especially since he remained uncertain of Arthur's opinion on the matter. Yes, the King had not killed him, nor returned him to the dungeon, but neither had he visited him again to pass judgement, ask questions or voice his concerns. The impression the King had given in their last talk - mostly via facial reactions, since very few of the words spoken had been his - was that the truths he had learned, from his former servant and perhaps-never friend, caused him great pain and, at times, revulsion.
Was that why he had stayed away and sent others in his place to watch the sorcerer? Because he could not bear to look on the man who had been such a disappointment to him; who had lied almost every moment they had been together. Who could only tell the truth if it was dragged out of him when he was at his most vulnerable. Was that the real reason why he kept Merlin's magic chained; a prisoner inside its host?
Merlin absentmindedly rubbed his left wrist and then froze; his face turned to stone as it was about to register a wince at the now familiar sting his calloused finger pads caused. It could be the metal the manacles were made from, or the magic they were imbued with, but something was making the surrounding skin feel like it crawled with every type of blood-sucking insect under the sun, and he had scratched and scratched until his flesh was raw. Though it thankfully didn't happen too often, he'd had his fair share of experience of being clapped in irons, yet he couldn't remember his skin being as irritated by the metal as they were now. Rubbed, yes, to the point of losing a couple of layers of skin, but not like his wrists were wrapped in stinging nettles.
Whatever the cause, Merlin couldn't be more grateful than now for the overly long cuffs on his tunics, and their ability to prevent unwanted questions about what appeared to be the only form of self-harm left open to him, when all other avenues had been closed. And even if he was to truthfully deny that that had been his intent, he could not bear to see pity replace the suspicion in their eyes, when they found out why he had broken his own skin enough to make it bleed in places. He didn't deserve pity; only their contempt. But that was the one thing everyone - including the son of Uther the magic-quencher - seemed reluctant to give. Even the excuse Arthur had given for sealing the bands on his arms had not been based on his hatred for him, but for Merlin's hatred for himself.
He had tried to get them off, but his efforts at lockpicking had met with as little success as his frantic - and in the beginning, frequent - tugging. And that was to say nothing of the fruitlessness of his striving to remove them with magic. The spells he had so far tried on the manacles were as ineffectual as his other endeavours to draw on his power; even for something as simple as snuffing out the candle on his bedside table, before another impotent bid to get some sleep.
To top it all, every time he had dug down, into what had once seemed an endless supply of the warm presence that was his magic, it had brought pain. The emptiness had lashed back at his effort ten-fold, like a frightened beast; forced into a corner and fighting to escape the torture its enemy wrought. Unwilling to explain his stupidity to an already distraught guardian, Merlin had simply added another lie to the never-ending string, by explaining the shriek of agony (that had burst out of his room and snagged the physician in) as merely the result of a stubbed toe. His red face and streaming eyes could just as easily have fitted the hastily invented act of clumsiness, and after a loud tut and head-shake, his mentor had left his ward's bedroom. The warlock's guilt grew at another falsehood so easily believed.
It had taken a great deal of effort to go against what came as naturally to him as breathing, but eventually he had become accustomed to suppressing the unconscious urges to draw on his magic. It felt like being cut off from his soul, but he would endure. He had acclimatised himself in recent times to spurning pain, and it was not as if he had any choice in the matter. Even the innocence of a butter knife had been denied him, along with pieces of rope longer than the length of his arm, and all ingredients in the physician's stores that could induce anything worse than an hour's worth of bellyache. And with his magic set like a mousetrap - waiting to punish him for trying to reach it - he would have no further chances to sneak past his far more attentive and emotionally-involved guards than the previous ones had been. Not that he truly wanted to get any of the knights in trouble for sleeping on duty, but he was getting increasingly desperate to rid himself of the oppressive feeling of having no control over his present, never mind his future.
Forcing himself to not react to the call his wrists made to his fingernails, Merlin moved a hand up to rub at his right-temple, and the headache that throbbed there. In the beginning, he had assumed that it had been the result of his fever and sleep-deprived stay in the dungeon. But while the fog of his illness had cleared as his temperature fell, the pain in his head only seemed to get worse. Though Merlin had no desire to draw attention to the symptom, he had secretly hoped that the remedies his guardian continued to give him (until he was satisfied his lungs were free of their congestion) would have some effect on his head. The drumming had dulled to a more bearable patter at first, but had then returned to its previous tempo and strength; accompanied this time with the wonderful addition of nausea, that did nothing to improve his mood.
If anything, it made him want to scream and shout things like...
"Oh please will you just SHUT UP!"
Merlin sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, and held it there, like it was the last bit of air in a suddenly small room. Oh Gods, did I actually say that aloud? He unclenched white-knuckled fists, and slowly dragged open clam-tight eyelids to view the person sitting opposite him. Gwen stared back; eyes and mouth wide and unmoving. All hope that the voice he had heard had been an internal shout of frustration quickly evaporated, leaving a sour sensation in his stomach and throat that only served to heighten the sick feeling already coiling and spasming there.
Merlin swallowed and blinked hard, feeling his cheeks flush hotly as he struggled to slow his rapid pulse. "I...I...Gwen...I'm-"
His friend held up her hand, which instantly quelled his rough and unused-to-use voice. A small smile twitched onto her lips, that Merlin knew was as forced as the dismissive tone she spoke in next, as both drove away the look of hurt that had momentarily flitted across her face. "It's okay, Merlin, there's no need to apologise. I have been burning your ears off for quite a while now, haven't I."
A grunt - that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle - emitted from the other side of the room. Gwen looked back over her shoulder to meet the eyes of the otherwise silent (and therefore easily-forgotten) listener, before Percival swiftly looked away. He suddenly found the book, open on the table in front of him, far more interesting than he had done for the past hour.
Gwen turned back to find Merlin's blanched face creased by a grimace of pain, which she interpreted as embarrassment, and lifted a hand to awkwardly pat his arm.
Merlin drew in a shuddering breath and looked up to meet Gwen's steady but sympathetic gaze, before quickly looking down at the hands churning in his lap. "Gwen, I...sorry, I don't know what I was-"
Gwen gave his arm a small squeeze and shook her head. "No, Merlin, it's fine. I understand this situation has all been very...distressing for you. And it can't be easy being cooped up in here for so long." Her eyes drifted over the messy work surfaces and general clutter that could make the room look claustrophobic to even a casual visitor, never mind someone held prisoner for as long as Merlin had been. She looked back at Merlin's pinched face; taking in his pasty complexion with a frown. "I could try having a word with Arthur, see if maybe he'll let you come back to work, or at least go for a walk and get some fresh air?"
Merlin looked up at her words, a spark of hope in his eyes that had been missing for so long, it made Gwen's heart leap in her chest. But then, like the sun being engulfed by a cloud, after a brief break on an otherwise overcast day, the spark dimmed and went out. Merlin dropped his gaze again to the book on the table, mumbling, "Don't worry, Gwen, I'm sure the King has too much on his mind at the moment to be bothered about some stupid servant feeling sorry for himself."
Gwen's frown deepened at the bitter tone, and she gave his arm a small shake, drawing his attention away from his book to her stern eyes. "Don't, Merlin. Don't you ever say that about yourself again. You are not stupid and you are not just a servant to Arthur. Surely you must know by now that you are his friend." At this, Merlin snorted and looked away from Gwen's vehement glare, but she angled her head to snag his attention again. "And as your friend, he cares about you. Isn't that right, Percival?" She swivelled in her seat to burn her eyes into the knight's own wide ones, daring him to deny or ignore her plea for support.
Merlin flickered his gaze at the bulky man, who looked like he had been caught stealing pies from the kitchen again, as he slowly nodded and then followed up the head movement with a quiet, "Of course, my lady."
Merlin's first impulse was to snigger at the knight's conspicuous discomfort at being dragged into the discussion and forced to champion something his King would undoubtedly refute. His second, was to thrust his sore wrists in her face, and growl out that his so-called 'friend' had a funny way of showing his 'care'. But he couldn't be bothered. So few things in his life now sprung enough interest for him to make the effort to find joy in them, or to fight back.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was being illogical; that he should be celebrating the fact that Arthur knew. Arthur knew and he was not dead. Yet. So he had a chance to prove that magic was not evil, that it - he - could be used for good. But the louder voice in his inner chorus still blasted away the meeker ones. What for? Too many times in the past he had foolishly held this goal in mind, and endeavoured to achieve it, against all odds and advice, only for things to go wrong. Why would this occasion be any different? He knew that he hadn't always been this negative, but it now coveted his every thought; making more sense than whatever else he tried to convince himself was true.
Logic be damned! Gut feel he could trust, and his gut told him to do nothing; to sit there and accept the fact that no good would ever come from his misguided meddling in the world.
Darkness fell over Merlin, and with a small gasp, he pulled himself out of his mud-thickened thoughts to see who was creating the shadow that pooled around him. Gwen looked down from where she stood beside his chair, her dark eyes swirling with sympathy, and Merlin had to bite the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from shouting at her to stop, leave him be and go annoy someone else. He couldn't stop himself though from tensing when Gwen leaned forwards and wrapped her arms round him. By the time he had managed to force himself to relax his tight posture enough not to offend, she had released him; a long sigh escaping her pursed lips.
"Don't give in to despair, Merlin," she said, her words gentle, yet laced with the same worry her face bore. "You have so many people who care about you, and who just want to see you happy again." With one last and soon-aborted effort at a smile, Gwen spun round and made for the door. She paused on the threshold; her hand still clasping the handle as she looked over her shoulder at the slumped figure of her friend and said, "I'll come by tomorrow when I get a break, and see how you're doing, okay?"
She held her stance long enough for an acknowledgement of her promise, and had to make do with the almost imperceptible nod from the dark-haired head. Gwen released another pained sigh, her glare still riveted to Merlin's inattentive pose, before she added, in the voice of a nursemaid scolding her juvenile charge, "And if you don't tell Gaius about your headaches and sore wrists, then I will."
All that Merlin's shocked stare met was the back of the door; closing with a soft click.
Gwen glanced over at the closed doors to the council chambers again, and stared at them for a full minute, before giving up on the idea that they would do as she silently pleaded and open. She turned back to look out of the window she hovered by. The dull drizzle that had persisted for most of the day had finally sent most of the market stallholders packing their wares away, in light of the diminished numbers of customers, and the maid could just make out the last of them saying their farewells, before pushing their carts over the cobbled surface of the main square as they headed for home. The light too was fading; turning the dove grey sky to a slate-coloured one. Within the grounds of the castle, she saw the odd servant dash from one covered walkway to another, hurrying to finish last minute chores or fetch the evening meal for whoever paid their wage.
Gwen smiled at the thought of her brother, and the other knights of their close-knit group, heading out for their habitual end of the day tavern trip, after a gruelling training session or patrol. Leon would most likely have lead them, with Arthur occupied for the majority of the day in the council meeting she was still waiting on to finish; discussing the terms of the treaty he would be presenting to Prince Anlawd in two days' time. Thoughts of her friends lead Gwen back to the one that had been a permanent resident of her mind for the past few weeks, and who still disturbed her inner peace, despite the attempts of all his acquaintances to find a remedy for his sadness. With Arthur either holed up in his chambers - granting no-one but his manservant leave to enter - or tied up in meetings and occasional training bouts, Gwen had not had the chance to have more than the briefest of discussions with him. And even then, the King seemed determined to divert their scant exchanges away from the subject of Merlin.
Not this time, though. Gwen was adamant that she would not accept excuses of tardiness to another appointment (with George on the case, this was highly unlikely anyway), or have her questions sidetracked and ignored for other topics besides the one she intended to discuss. And so, though she knew her time and skills were needed elsewhere, and she may have to spend a while appeasing the house mistress for shirking her duties, Gwen had stood in the corridor outside the council chambers for the better part of the last hour; hoping that any minute the heavy doors would open to discharge more than a servant or two, as they left to refill empty water pitchers and return candle-lighting equipment to the stores. So far, all that she had received for her trouble were small nods of acknowledgement and the odd sympathetic smile from the two guards stood either side of the door, in recognition for her status as the King's unofficial significant other. Gwen had tried to return their smiles, but was too distracted by the battle taking place inside her head; with one side telling her that this was a waste of time, as Arthur would likely not answer her questions, while the other side was giving her a metaphorical slap on the wrists for forgetting that this was for Merlin, and any time spent trying to help him was time well spent.
Five minutes and two more heavy sighs later, and the sound of the doors cracking open from the inside, followed by the soft footsteps of richly-shod feet, signalled Gwen's reward for her patience. She whirled around to watch the mostly greying and balding heads of the council pass her, on their way down the corridor. Some - like Sir Geoffrey - echoed the guards in their discreet but benevolent greeting of the maid; others were openly disapproving, and if Gwen had been paying more attention, she would have heard the tuts and seen the critical glares. As it was, she had eyes and ears only for the youngest though hierarchically most senior member of the council, and therefore allowed the rest to flow past her like flotsam on a stormy tide.
Eventually, a crowned, blond head appeared, followed closely by a bare, brown-haired one, as Arthur and George left the chambers. Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen saw the dark presence of her lover's Uncle, hovering a few steps behind his nephew's temporary manservant, like a shadow in a dirty alleyway, and knew that he was watching her as she strode forwards to intercept the King. But as with every other time she was forced to endure the lord's presence, she suppressed the shudder he induced, and did her best to ignore his sour, calculating surveillance.
"Arthur," she called, as he was about to turn in the direction of his own chambers, and received a surprised but genuine smile from the King; obviously too distracted to have noticed her as she'd waited in the background.
"Guinevere," he replied, and then stayed the hand he had started to raise to collect her own, on regarding the strength of purpose in her tone, frown and posture.
Gwen knew, by the crease that marred his forehead and the twitch to the corner of his mouth, that he had made an educated guess as to the reason for her loitering, and therefore she hastily threw in her request, before he could think up yet another justification for being elsewhere. "I need to speak with you, please, my Lord," she said, catching his eye and holding his blue with her brown under a steely resolve.
Arthur pulled the crown from his head and broke contact with her eyes to turn round and thrust the headpiece into George's immediately receptive hands, before clearing his throat noisily and turning back to make a point of not meeting her gaze again.
"I'm sorry, Guinevere, but I have some urgent paperwork that needs attending to in my chambers," he said, "Perhaps another time," and made to carry on walking in the direction he had been heading in, before Gwen's interruption.
Gwen almost snorted, in a very Merlin-esque gesture of derision, at Arthur's poor attempt at an evasion, and took a bold step forwards to slide a hand under his elbow; linking their arms in a move that clearly stated that she would not be so easily dismissed. "Then I shall accompany you, my Lord," she said, throwing him a sweet smile; knowing that he was too much of a gentleman to publicly humiliate her by walking away alone.
It was therefore with a tight smile and a "Very well then, my lady" that Arthur guided her down the hallway; George pursuing them at a suitable distance for etiquette to be appeased. Though she was having to bite her tongue to stop herself from beginning her line of enquiry during their journey, Gwen was wise enough in the ways of gossiping servants to know that it would be best to wait until the relative safety of Arthur's quarters.
She also couldn't shake from her mind the peripheral view she'd had of Lord Agravaine's covert signs of interest in their tête-à-tête, before she had managed to snag his nephew away, and a spark of intuition told her that what she had to discuss should not be divulged within the vicinity of the advisor. Which in turn brought forth a very recent memory of Merlin, squatting on the floor of the chambers he shared with Gaius, stating his belief that Agravaine had had a hand in his guardian's disappearance. Whilst this theory had apparently been disproved, given that the man had aided Merlin and Gwaine in Gaius' rescue, Gwen could not bring herself to trust him to the same depth that Arthur did. There was just something about the way he looked at her and Arthur together, as well as the fact that he questioned Arthur's involvement in general with those not of noble birth. And though she had no proof to back her argument, she couldn't dismiss the suspicion that Agravaine had been a powerful influence on Arthur's decision to end their relationship all those months ago; deeming it 'inappropriate'.
Thankfully, the King had come to his senses. Gwen had a hunch that this was due, in no small part, to Merlin's usual interrogations of the frankly ridiculous choices Arthur sometimes made, in his aim to be the King he thought everyone wanted him to be, instead of the one she knew he could be, if he only trusted his heart. The least she could do, therefore, was to return the favour, and question the recent decisions Arthur had made with regards to their younger friend. Because it burned a hole right through her chest to see the pain Merlin didn't try very hard to hide behind false smiles and assurances anymore.
George had somehow managed to make his way ahead of them, and as their uncomfortably silent ambulation through the corridors came to an end, the subservient man opened the door to the King's chambers; bowing low until they had entered the room. Gwen looked sidelong at Arthur and he met her gaze; rolling his eyes in unison with hers, and she only just stopped herself from guffawing loudly at the bootlicker's behaviour.
Watching her lover, as he removed his jacket and cast it idly aside to land mostly on the floor (apart from a sleeve that got snagged on the arm of a chair), Gwen saw sadness cloud his eyes, when George darted forwards and immediately picked it up; walking over to the wardrobe to hang it up. Merlin would have just ignored it; viewing tidying his friend's chambers much lower down on the list of priorities than relieving his tension with a teasing comment about his 'prattish' behaviour. Funny how words such as that had been around for centuries, but only since Merlin had come to Camelot had they somehow slipped into their everyday vocabulary. Maybe, at last, for all that he complained about how awful a servant he was, and threatened to replace him, the prat was beginning to understand the real service Merlin provided: friendship. And Merlin's was the sort that could not easily be replaced.
Arthur had walked through to the inner chamber of his room, and sat down at the desk, which Gwen could see now was indeed piled high with various scrolls and pages for his information or approval. George, meanwhile, had just finished reverently placing the crown - Arthur had spared no time in removing, when he wasn't required to wear it - on its stand, before he whipped a cloth from his rear trouser pocket and proceeded to polish it.
Rolling her eyes again, and wondering if the servant was remotely aware that his mannerisms were far funnier to watch than his jokes were to hear, Gwen went to stand at the archway Arthur had passed through, and said, "Sire, may I speak to you in private?"
Arthur tilted his eyes up from the page he had been reading to look at her with...what was that? Anger? Apprehension? Caginess? When he saw her determination, he looked down at his document again and sighed, before calling out, "George, will you excuse us, please?"
Only a second later, the man was standing beside her - how he managed to move so silently and quickly was beyond even a servant of Gwen's experience - tucking the polishing cloth back in his pocket. George bowed low to the inattentive King and said obsequiously, "As you wish, your Majesty. I will fetch you your supper," before smartly marching out the door.
Gwen waited a moment after the soft click of the door shutting before she turned back to see that Arthur had returned to pretending to read through his paperwork. She sighed exasperatedly before saying, "Arthur -"
"Gwen," he cut in, still not looking up, "I know what you're here to talk about, and it..it's complicated."
The maid frowned. "What is?"
"The situation."
"Which one?"
Arthur looked up; his forehead as creased in confusion as hers. "You were here to talk about me and Merlin, weren't you?"
"No, I mean yes, I mean..." Gwen clenched her hands into fists and shook her head, as if by doing so she could shake some sense into their conversation. At the back of her mind she knew that she would not have long to get what she wanted to say off her chest; with George's efficiency and Arthur's knack for being saved from confrontations by serendipitous interruptions from his knights or uncle. "Arthur, would you please just let me speak?"
At the overt annoyance in her tone, Arthur gave her a sheepish half smile and said, "Sorry, your turn."
Gwen returned his smile with a slightly anxious, but nevertheless grateful one of her own. Yet out of habit, she couldn't help stalling while she gathered her courage; fiddling with a loose thread in the embroidery of her sleeve, and making a mental note to mend it when she got home. Gwen knew there had to be a reason why the subject she was about to broach was a taboo one with the King, and judging by the answers she had received - when she'd questioned the knights who'd guarded Merlin - she was the first to actually conquer their fear of angering Arthur by forcing him to face it.
Most of them hadn't the faintest idea why they were still keeping Merlin in his room, why he had spent a few days in the dungeon, why he wore the strange silver bands on his wrists, and why Arthur was refraining from visiting his erstwhile first choice for companionship. The only exception was Gwaine, whose repeated answer to her enquiries was "Ask the Princess", before sauntering off with a dark and unreadable expression on his face that practically screamed his disapproval of Arthur's actions. So whatever she said would probably result in the King either hiding the truth or revealing a new one about her friend she wasn't sure she was ready to hear.
"Guinevere?"
Arthur's prompt made her gasp slightly and blush, before she blurted out, "What did Merlin do?"
Arthur looked at her quizzically. "I don't follow you."
Gwen's sigh was loud and exasperated, like she had been waiting too long for a young child to admit to stealing a honey cake, and just wanted their confession out the way, so that they could proceed with the reprimands. "Arthur, Merlin ran away from the castle, you bring him back - unconscious - and throw him in the dungeons, then only let him out when he becomes ill, and confine him to his quarters. And no-one knows why. Merlin must have done something to anger you, or is there another reason why you won't go and see him, won't let Gwaine talk about it, and have been avoiding me the last few days?"
The King's mouth, which had hung open in shock at her astuteness, slowly closed, and his skin darkened to the colour of his ceremonial cape. Gwen couldn't help feeling the slightest bit vindicated by this.
"You say it's complicated," Gwen continued, when it became apparent that Arthur was unable or unwilling to find a reply to her accusations, "So why don't you try explaining it to me? And you can start with why Merlin has metal cuffs locked on his wrists."
At the mention of the manacles, Arthur looked away, the bloom in his cheeks darkening another shade. He fidgeted with a piece of parchment on his desk; pulling at the corners to make the sheet lie flatter.
"They're for his protection," he mumbled, keeping his eyes averted from her analysing glare.
"Protection? In what way?"
"They...stop him from...causing himself harm," he replied haltingly, and Gwen had the strange impression that there was more to it than that; that Arthur was not being entirely honest with her.
Ordinarily, she would have simply accepted the reply and moved on, but something about the whole situation - with people she would normally trust seeking to hide the truth to her face - was beginning to irritate her. To the point that she could no longer make allowances for their unwillingness to share or difficulty in putting thoughts into words. She was neither judgemental nor a simpleton, and resented the fact that they believed her incapable of understanding or caring about whatever it was that they wouldn't reveal.
"How? How do they stop him from harming himself?"
"It's comp-" at the hard glare from Gwen, Arthur cut himself off, and he let out a relenting sigh. "Please, Gwen, you just have to trust me on this, when I say that is what they do."
Gwen, however, was not in a trusting mood. "But they're not even chained together or tied to anything - not that I want you to do that to Merlin - but I don't see how they can do what you say they do. Ordinary manacles..." Gwen's thought processes had leapt a sentence or two ahead of her mouth, and brought it grinding to a halt. Arthur watched her as she frowned slightly, her eyes for a moment focused on nothing in particular, before they trailed back to his face. "But they're not ordinary manacles, are they? You're not..are they enchanted, Arthur?"
Unable to deny further, when confronted by a guess that was too close to the truth, Arthur said, "Yes," but then clamped his mouth shut, as if afraid that information he would regret divulging might spill out.
Why is he being so secretive? she wondered, frustratedly. But then the reality of what Arthur had just admitted to sunk in, and she began to wonder if he really knew what he was doing, using something with magical properties on their friend, even if the King was trying to prevent a greater crime from taking place. They hadn't exactly had very good experiences in the past with magical artefacts, and there had to be a reason why Uther had kept any he found locked away in the vaults.
For one, there was the crystal, which was stolen by sorcerers, and even though it had been recovered, it was strange how not long after that, things started going wrong. First, Morgana and Uther had had a terrible argument about something; worse than their usual disagreements. Then they had been attacked by a strange illness that put everyone to sleep, and when they awoke, Morgana had been taken by Morgause. The sorceress had spent a year corrupting her sister's mind, but in the meantime the dragon, which had been chained for more than two decades beneath the city, had somehow escaped and nearly laid everything to waste.
Then there was the stone that the sorcerer Tauren had used to perform sorcery, which her father had become involved with, and which ultimately resulted in his death. Not to mention the poultice that had mysteriously appeared under her father's pillow when he was dying from a magic-induced plague. The poultice may have cured her father, but it had also been responsible for nearly bringing about her own execution. If it wasn't for evidence that had been found of the true sorcerer's hand in the debacle, Gwen would not be standing there; pondering whether items with magical properties were best left undisturbed. Arthur, it seemed, was either not so distrustful, or was too concerned with the consequences of not using these articles to prevent him from taking advantage of the fact that - through dint of his father's obsession - he owned so many.
"But how can you be sure they're safe?" she said, taking a step towards him; her hands clenching and twisting together in tune to her stomach's movements. Arthur raised his eyebrows at her, and she hastened to explain her fears, before he came out with a condescending remark in defence of his bravado when facing threats of a magical nature. "Merlin has been...out of sorts in the last few days, and I think he's suffering from headaches."
Arthur's brow was momentarily creased by lines of concern, which warmed her heart a little, though she would have been happier if he admitted more openly to his fondness and worry for their friend. But all too soon, the lines were smoothed by his desire to soothe and dismiss her fears.
"Gwen, I'm sure it's perfectly normal. He's still recovering from two near escapes from death, and he's not been himself for some time now. So -"
"Two?" Gwen broke in, shock at the news chilling the anger - that had been growing at Arthur's barren justifications - in a heartbeat.
Arthur grimaced, and let out a long sigh; dropping the quill he had been rolling between his thumb and forefinger, before he leaned back in the chair.
"The night Gwaine and I brought Merlin back, he had run off into the forest with a bottle of Hemlock: poison. I only just managed to stop him from drinking it, and I...I panicked. I had just seen a...it was a bit of a shock. So I did the only thing I could think of at the time, to prevent him from doing it again."
Gwen's face quickly drained of colour with her dismay that Merlin had tried to take his own life a second time, so soon after the first attempt. She didn't know how he'd managed it, but her relief for Arthur's intervention increased tenfold, and went some way towards calming her pulse, which had begun to beat uncomfortably fast at the frightening news. It put a whole new perspective on Arthur's motivations for placing Merlin in the dungeons, and keeping him under a close watch, and she wasn't entirely sure that in a similar state of panic, she might not have taken actions equally as drastic.
Only, something didn't feel quite right. It might be to do with the guilt that had flashed across Arthur's features, when Gwen had mentioned the manacles, and her fear of their effect on Merlin's health. Or perhaps it was the fact that the only other person who had been present on the night in question was forbidden from discussing what had occurred between the three participants. Of course, the reason for that could be to spare Merlin the humiliation of others knowing that he had tried and failed to poison himself, but Gwen had her doubts. How exactly would it be an aid in reassuring the young man that he had friends who loved and would miss him, if they were unaware of what he'd been prevented from doing? Something had to be done to resolve the situation, and soon.
Still, there was no reason to resort to magic to avoid a recurrence, was there? What if the magic in the manacles - and Gwen couldn't help feeling frustrated that Arthur refused to explain to her exactly what it was they did - somehow exacerbated the problem? They may appear to work as a short-term solution - as far as she knew, Merlin had not done anything to harm himself since he had returned to Gaius' chambers - but what were the long-term effects of wearing such devices? No, there had to be a more conventional way of reaching Merlin. But what more could they do to make him believe that they all cared?
Gwen was just revisiting the internal debate over whether writing to Hunith would do more harm than good (considering the fact that when she learned of all Merlin had done to himself, her resultant distress could send Merlin irretrievably into his pit of darkness with guilt), when her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the door to the King's chambers opening. She glanced over at Arthur, and saw a strange mix of irritation and relief at the intrusion in his eyes. Gwen cursed the servant's efficiency and listened to the sound of a metal tray being placed 'just so' on the table in the outer chamber, followed by the gentle clinks of cutlery and plates being positioned to George's not easily-achieved satisfaction. Gwen was poignantly reminded of the countless occasions when she had witnessed Merlin's version of a delivered meal. She knew whose treatment the table probably preferred - the current deliverer being a lot less fond of slamming, crashing, dropping and spilling - but it was clear by the King's wistful expression that he would tell the table where it could shove its choice of servant and his unrelenting polishing cloths.
"I will leave you to your reports, then, Sire," Gwen said, and turned to leave, but was stopped by the King's voice, calling her name.
"I'll speak to Gaius about the...items. And Merlin." He spared a glance at the archway behind her, but if George was listening, he was being more discreet about it than his predecessor would have been, so Arthur moved his eyes back to see Gwen's, full of pride and gratitude. He returned her small smile. "And I will see about allowing Merlin to return to his duties, once this treaty is out of the way." At Gwen's disappointed frown, he continued. "It wouldn't be a good idea for him to come back now, with all that's going on." He didn't add that he wouldn't relish the added stress of worrying about where his manservant was and what he was doing when he wasn't in sight, nor that said stress would more than likely cause him to snap at his friend, which would do neither party any favours in the mending of their relationship. But then, he didn't need to; Gwen knew him well enough to hear the fears left unspoken.
It was a start.
"Thank you, sire," she said, giving a small curtsey, before walking past and receiving an obeisant dip of his head from George, as he paused in adding another layer of shine to one of the King's spare helmets.
Agravaine watched as the small royal entourage disappeared down the corridor leading to the part of the castle where the King's chambers were situated; a widening smirk creasing his cheeks. Whatever it was the maid wished to discuss with his nephew, he didn't seem particularly enamoured with the idea of doing so. And any strife in the abominable relationship between the King and his serving slut - however minor - could only serve to aid his lady.
It had been a huge disappointment to Agravaine to see the rejuvenation of Arthur's unofficial courtship with the maid - despite all his Uncle's efforts to 'sour the milk' - on their return from the almost, but-not-quite battlefield with Caerleon. Two major setbacks in one fell swoop were enough to keep the Advisor from visiting his Lady for a week. Agravaine did not consider himself a coward; it took a certain kind of strength, after all, to turn his back on family and friends and stick to the vow he had made on learning of the death of his sister for so many long years. Not to mention the risks he took every time he left the city to make contact and plans with his step-niece, and sabotage the efforts of her half-brother. But even he found it an unbearable prospect sometimes to face the wrath of a High Priestess of the Old Religion. On the occasions - and there had unfortunately been many, though through no fault of his own of course - when he had bad news to deliver to the Sorceress, it was only the knowledge that she needed his eyes, ears and cunning in the castle that had enabled him to conquer his foreboding and make his delivery.
But this time, this time, Agravaine felt sure that events would go as expected. Circumstances had never been more in their favour. Arthur had had a significant falling out with his servant, which had resulted in him being even more distracted and despondent than he had been following the death of his father. Even without Morgana pointing out Arthur's odd fondness for the boy, Agravaine would have to be a simpleton to not notice the high regard his nephew had for the peasant's opinion and wellbeing; however desperately he tried to hide it. And whatever the servant had been up to, the night he had been brought back unconscious to the castle, by Arthur and his hot-headed accomplice, had been the icing on the cake of Arthur's mental demise; after the peasant had tried to kill himself. If he didn't have appearances to keep up before the increasingly-concerned council members, Agravaine didn't think he would have stopped grinning once in the past week, at the thought of all that he and Morgana wished for slowly coming to fruition.
Add to that the fact that members of the council and other nobility - including a number of knights he or his spies had had the fortune to overhear - were beginning to question the ability of the King to rule, when he could be traumatised so easily by such a trivial matter, and you had the perfect setting for what he and Camelot's rightful Queen had in mind to take place.
Agravaine tore his gaze from the now-empty corridor and started in the opposite direction to the King, head held high, and stride purposeful. The well-lit and decorated corridors soon gave way to the more sparsely lit and furnished ones of the servants' quarters. The dark-clad Lord came to a stop by a door in a small alcove, and after first looking back up and down the hallway, to satisfy himself that there were indeed no signs of life within sight, he opened the door to reveal the tools of the trade of the quarters' residents. He bent forward to quickly snag the strings of the sack he had hidden behind a bundle of brooms, not long after dawn that morning, and quietly closed the door. Folding the top of the sack over to make it small enough, he tucked it under his arm and continued down the corridor.
Arriving at last at his destination, Agravaine again checked the surrounding area for possible witnesses, and finding none, he gave the door three sharp raps. He only had to wait a moment before the door was opened, and a dark eye appeared to fill the two-inch gap. Wariness in the eye retreated far enough to show his presence was accepted, and the gap widened the minimum amount to allow the noble to gain entrance, before the door was hastily closed behind him. Walking to the centre of the Spartan room, Agravaine stopped between the two beds and turned round to observe the - thankfully - only other occupant. He assumed the other servant who shared the humble room was busy serving his master, or had understandably been encouraged to spend as little of his free time in his room-mate's company as possible. As long as there would be no requirement to silence unwanted eavesdroppers, Agravaine didn't care.
Though they had met a handful of times now, to discuss the job at hand, it still took Agravaine a moment to recognise the man's features, without the black beard he'd had when they'd first made their acquaintance; in the sullen shadows of a tavern near the Escetian border. But as a freshly-shaven face would have a twofold advantage - as a disguise and so as to have the more acceptable appearance of a member of the castle's serving staff - the man had reluctantly agreed to do away with his facial hair. Not that there was much of a chance of the man being recognised by anyone who lived and worked in the castle, given his colourful history, but Agravaine had learned to be nothing if not cautious. It had de-aged the man considerably as well, and the noble couldn't help himself - the first time he had seen the man post-shave - from double-checking that he had the requisite years of experience in order to complete the task he was paying him for. To which he had received an indignant eyebrow raise and threat to have his services withdrawn.
"Seldon," Agravaine intoned, after the dark, calculating eyes had held his long enough for it to become uncomfortable.
"My Lord." The surprisingly deep-voiced reply, as usual, held a hint of disdain for Agravaine's title. And as usual, the nobleman ignored it; the man being the mere tool to his plans that he was.
Agravaine tossed the sack he held onto the bed, and after a moment or two, the other man turned and glanced down at it, before turning back, with a one-sided brow raised in question.
"Your uniform," Agravaine said, tilting his chin towards the bed.
The hard-faced man crossed his arms and glared at his employer. "The serving staff don't wear a uniform. I should know: you've had me fetching and carrying and scrubbing floors for the bloody past two weeks."
Agravaine mirrored his posture, angling his head condescendingly. "It's called blending in, and it's necessary to ensure everything goes to plan. We've already discussed this."
Seldon snorted. "Yeah, well, I didn't know I was going to be working so bloody hard. You're not paying me for this part of your so-called plan."
Agravaine's frown deepened, as he stared intensely into the other man's eyes. He could see that this was an argument he was not going to win and he couldn't risk the Sorceress' wrath by allowing this opportunity to pass, due to stinginess on his part. Still holding the man's gaze, he dug into an inner pocket of his jerkin, and pulling out a small, leather purse, he chucked it onto the bed, to land beside the sack of clothes.
"The lady will pay you the remainder when you have completed the job."
Seldon leaned over to the bed and snatched up the purse, before pocketing it. Agravaine fervently hoped the rogue was appeased enough to not expect him to dip further into his personal funds.
"Which will be when?"
"The last night of the Prince's visit. A feast will be held to celebrate the signing of the treaty." Agravaine couldn't have kept the sneer from his face - at his nephew's continuing efforts to pander to the wants and needs of every petty Lord and Prince his father had blatantly ignored, in favour of the bigger players - if he'd tried. When Morgana took her rightful place on the throne, there would be no need for all these alliances with pathetically small kingdoms. Those who did not bow down in fear or awe of her power and beauty, as he did, would soon come to know the bitter taste of an angry High Priestess of the old religion; leaving a bare few survivors to warn other kingdoms of the consequences of their stupidity. Only those of equal or greater might to Camelot would gain the support of her monarch...until such time as they too could be conquered. One day soon, all of Albion would be under Queen Morgana's rule...and it was only a short step for her favourite Uncle to progress from royal advisor to consort...
"I will ensure you are on the roster to serve the royal table that night, and then you can do what you are being paid to do."
Seldon gave a single, curt nod of understanding, and Agravaine turned to leave. He paused though, with his hand on the door; looking back over his shoulder at the other man. "But know that if fail, you will not receive a penny, and the Lady Morgana will be most displeased. That is something she will not allow you to live to regret."
The flash of fear that crossed the man's usually impassive features gave Agravaine another burst of satisfaction. The smile on his own face only grew, as he softly closed the door behind him and started on the long walk back to his chambers.
By this time next week, Arthur would be dead.