Chapter 21: Stranger Things
Merlin said, without opening his eyes or tensing a single muscle, "If you touch me I'm going to break your fingers."
He was lying on the cot in his cell, mostly on his stomach, face mashed into the flat pillow, one knee drawn up. Sundown was a couple of hours ago, though it didn't feel like midnight yet, but the cell was never truly dark – moonlight and torchlight from the courtyard through the apertures at the top of the outer wall, more torchlight through the viewing window in the door.
The door whose hinges he'd heard just moments ago, banishing sleep and pulling him to awareness. Based on the late-ish hour, and the near-silent whisper of trouser-legs and boot-tread, he'd guess Arthur, out of the small handful of people who might come to his cell at any time.
But as soon as his visitor spoke, he remembered another possibility – one Arthur had been trying to avoid by posting guards he trusted specifically.
"Just trying to make sure I'm breaking the right man out of the cells, mate."
He was up on an elbow and a knee in an instant, tensing at the proximity of a stranger, before he registered the words – and the attitude of the man, raising empty hands as he backed away from Merlin's cot.
"What-" Merlin said stupidly. "Are you doing in here? Who are you?"
"You're the prince of Caerleon, aren't you?" the man said, dropping his hands from the reassuring posture to tuck his thumbs comfortably in his belt.
Which held a sword. And beyond a tangle of long dark curls and the depth of shadow on his face indicating a beard, Merlin couldn't distinguish any characteristics in the dim light.
"Depends on who's asking," Merlin answered warily, getting his feet over the side of the cot. In spite of the comment about escaping the cell, if the stranger intended him harm, he'd have to wait for the sword to be drawn before he could do anything – supplemented by magic, or not – to appropriate the weapon for his own self-defense.
"Ah," the man said. "Now I can see you better. Who knew you'd grow tall?"
"Who are you?" Merlin asked again, more confused. No one from Camelot would want to help him break out of a cell, and no one from Caerleon would come for him. Anyone who might was going to be ordered not to, by the king.
"My name's Gwaine," the man said, extending his hand.
Merlin flinched at the action without meaning to; a casual introduction was so incongruous, in the situation. "And you know me?"
"We met once," the man named Gwaine said easily, dropping his hand without taking offense. "Come over here where the light is better." Merlin moved, but no closer to him; he could see the gleam of teeth in a grin. "Not by name, though. Everyone knew who you were – Prince Merlin, adopted for your extraordinary magic."
Merlin couldn't help snorting. How far that was from the truth, at the moment.
"Of me, they only said. Geart's son."
The name echoed down through memory, teasing at a faint impression, strengthened because he'd thought of the bold boy more than once, wondering what became of him.
"They gave you your father's sword," Merlin said slowly, remembering and guessing, in one. "He died in battle?"
"At Denaria."
"Oh…" Merlin said, a long sound of realization. He hadn't been aware of the war at the time it was fought, only learning of it later as history between Caerleon and Camelot, part of the justification for Fyrien, which also had been a defeat. "So… what happened to you? Why are you here?"
"Left my mother and sister to the charity of neighbors, and maybe the fortune of a good marriage," Gwaine said, in a careless way that made Merlin wonder. Had the boy who'd come to Beckon Cove seeking to earn support for his family changed so much that he no longer cared for them. "Haven't been back to Caerleon since. I guess you know why."
"Yes, but – Camelot?" Merlin asked. Because Uther's knights were the enemy at Denaria, where Sir Geart had been killed.
"Once in a while. Mostly not."
Merlin cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm sorry." Not just for the man's father, but for the boy Gwaine had been.
Gwaine appeared not to have heard him. "Lucky I was, this week, or I wouldn't have heard about you. So – what happened to you? And why are you here?"
"I was sent to lead a raid," Merlin explained, trying to shrug off the guilt-shame-embarrassment with a minimum of words. "Arthur ambushed my men. I surrendered so he'd let the rest of the warriors return to Caerleon."
"What about all this magic you're supposed to have?" Gwaine asked critically.
Merlin tucked one finger behind the necklace, pulling it out for show. "Uther's idea of hospitality. It's meant to block the magic."
Gwaine grunted. "You can't get it off?"
"I'm working on that." Merlin smiled, though the other man probably couldn't see it, and wouldn't understand anyway.
Gwaine was staring at him, though, he could tell, and it made him uncomfortable. But only for a moment, before he twitched at Merlin's sleeve, not quite touching him. "Come on, we don't have a great deal of time."
He headed for the cell door and Merlin followed instinctively, up the few stairs and through the door – left just slightly ajar, and that only noticeable from up close. The air outside the cell, at the foot of the stone-carved stair, was thick with sweet smoke that made Merlin want to cough and sneeze at once. His eyes tingled and blurred til he blinked them clear, and he felt at once both lighter and taller.
Two guards were slumped atop their stools, leaning one against the wall that formed the base of the stair, and one over their tabletop, cup tipped and dice spilled on the floor.
"What happened?" Merlin said, venturing near enough to them to see that they were still breathing and unbloodied. "What did you do?"
"They'll be fine," Gwaine said, without really answering. "They'll wake up eventually, so – let's go." He turned to the stair.
"No – wait," Merlin said, this time not following. "I'm not leaving, not like this."
Gwaine paused to look at him, raising incredulous eyebrows, and Merlin tried to fumble his way to understanding, for both of them.
"You said – that day we met, you said there was no honor in Caerleon. I'll give you, not much. But it's there if you look for it – and it's here in Camelot too, if you look for it."
Gwaine left the stair, scoffing. "I've never seen any, among the entitled classes."
"I have," Merlin told him. "I gave my word to Arthur-"
"Arthur!" Gwaine exclaimed in disgust. "The Pendragon prince who ambushed you and put that chain around your neck."
"That was his father's idea," Merlin corrected.
"The prince hates magic as much as the king, doesn't he?"
"He doesn't hate it, he's just wary and… uninformed," Merlin said. "After I surrendered, they found my magic book and I said, yes I'm a sorcerer-" Gwaine grimaced his opinion of the intelligence of Merlin's confession. "He didn't scream and run. He didn't order his men to attack and kill me. He just waited, to see what I would do. As if, he doesn't believe that magic deserves death – it depends entirely on how it's used. That was his instinct. And he's apologized for his father's ill-treatment of me, and he's expressed gratitude for the magic I've done here to help him, and-"
Gwaine took another step closer. "You like him," he exclaimed. "Don't you. Your enemy?"
Merlin rolled his eyes, uncomfortable at the accusation. "The kings are enemies, but we're not. We're negotiating my release-"
"How's that going for you?" Gwaine interrupted sarcastically, gesturing at the cell they'd just left.
"I gave him my word," Merlin said determinedly. "That means something to me. I'm not going to break it by sneaking out of here at night."
"Why do you feel like you owe him? Why do you feel like you owe any of them?" Gwaine's tone was more curious than resentful – and he hadn't shrugged to Merlin's refusal to leave, turning his back to depart the citadel himself without getting caught, as he'd entered.
Which was impressive. Merlin could only have done it with magic, probably – and he'd been right about the value of keeping this man's loyalty.
"I do owe Arthur for letting my men live," Merlin said. "And I owe it to magic-users everywhere to give the Pendragon heir the best and truest impression of magic that I can. I owe my king for taking my mother and me in, but as to how I'll return that benevolence, that's going to have to be re-negotiated as well, for I'll not go raiding again."
Gwaine came right up to him, studying him all over – the shape of his body, the depths of his eyes, the one ornament that adorned his neck.
"What makes you think Pendragon's not just taking advantage of you?" he said. "That he's not using you, that block and the threat of being here where they kill magic? If you want your freedom, you'll do anything vastly disproportionate to the value of what you're getting in return?"
Merlin let a small smile curve his lips. "My life. Peace between our kingdoms. The grounds for an alliance when it's our turn to reign? Yeah, that's worth a couple of hours of boredom locked up, a couple nights on a cot. A bit of magic that costs little more than the energy it takes to perform."
Gwaine tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "Pendragon asked for magic in negotiations?"
"I offered," Merlin said. "He's just about accepted."
"And you think you're safe in the meantime?"
Merlin shrugged. The flash of torchlight reflected in the other man's eyes banked as if in consideration, and Merlin took the opportunity to study his surprising visitor in return. Plain clothing – sturdy and worn, like his boots. Hair unkempt, jaw unshaven… sword riding his hip like part of him, and what must surely be his father's family ring on a chain of his own around his neck.
Maybe he had no respect for Thurston or Caerleon or nobility at all, anymore – but he still honored and remembered his father as a good man and a knight. And if Thurston had made a different decision that day, he and Gwaine might be old and fast friends now, familiar through training together and maybe adventuring about the countryside – and if he'd been along on the Evorwick-Stonedown campaign… oh, well. Gaius called it destiny. Alator said, everything happens for a reason, even when we think it should have or could have happened a better way.
"Why don't you stay?" Merlin ventured. "You can meet Arthur, get to know him a little, judge for yourself-"
"Have him throw me in a deeper cell," Gwaine said cynically. "Send for the executioner…"
"He'd be more likely to escort you out and tell you don't come back, if he really was mad," Merlin said, thinking of how Arthur had reacted to Merlin's spontaneous – and illegal – use of magic. With exasperation rather than hatred and the desire to see him punished for an otherwise harmless transgression of the law. "I'll give you my word, too. Your protection to the best of my ability while we remain in Camelot."
He held out his hand, and Gwaine looked at it. For a long moment.
Then he remarked, "I should have known you'd be difficult about being rescued. You're a prince of the barbarians after all, aren't you?"
Merlin grinned, and Gwaine took his hand in a firm grip of agreement.
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Gaius trod the corridor between the king's chamber and the prince's, quiet and cool between the torch-brackets on the wall, whispering warm when he passed the illumination. The strap of his physician's case passed over a shoulder bent with age and worry, and his hands were empty. He gazed into them briefly, gnarled and wrinkled, two fingers stained from the basil he'd been crushing too absent-mindedly earlier in the day.
Twenty years and more ago, he'd walked this same route in one direction or the other between king and prince, father and son, man and boy. Sometimes he'd carried Arthur, kept too late after a private dinner for little legs and tired eyes, or brought for parental comfort after a fever-induced nightmare. Moments when Gaius, old bachelor that he was, wasn't enough for the motherless prince who'd needed people the way his father had refused to.
They were all so blessed that Uther hadn't managed to train that need out of his heir.
Gaius paused before the door of Arthur's chamber, and sighed deeply. Gone were the days when he could carry Arthur, or his childish burdens for him. Now the crown prince carried the burdens of the whole kingdom…
And delay could not help. Gaius raised his fist and knocked.
"Come in."
Gaius pushed the door open, ascertaining their privacy in a moment. Arthur stood beside his desk, reading from a scroll tilted to catch candlelight. He turned to identify his visitor with a glance; paused, and let the page drop to the desktop, giving Gaius his full attention.
"Well?"
Gaius had a lifetime's experience giving bad news to patient and family alike, far too often than he liked. "A relapse."
Arthur sagged, catching himself with a palm down on the scroll on his desktop. He looked blindly toward the candle.
"I've given him a sedative that should last the night," Gaius went on. "Of course the guards and servants have orders to fetch me if he should wake agitated, but… I am sorry, Sire. This was the fourth dose necessary today. His heart-rate increases dangerously and his temperature rises correspondingly, and… Arthur. Twice he gave orders for Gorlois to be brought to him, to give him updates on two different battles, fought years apart."
Arthur thumbed absently at the edge of the scroll, hiding his expression. At once it hurt Gaius' heart and made him proud. Arthur was ready; everyone knew it but him.
He said, "Did you tell him…"
"That Gorlois has been dead a dozen years? Both times."
Arthur's mouth tightened grimly, and then he looked at Gaius. "He gave me a list of people he suspected of using magic. Half of them are dead, or don't serve here in the citadel any longer. Tom the blacksmith, for one."
Who never had magic, Gaius knew for a fact.
"Leon is on it," Arthur said, the wry tone in his voice a rickety bridge across a vast deep darkness. "And Geoffrey." He lifted one hand to rub at his eyes, thumb and fingers, resting his hips back against the desk. "He's being guarded and served by men who know to come to me or you or Leon before following irregular orders, but – what are we to do?"
"I cannot keep giving him this sedative, this often," Gaius said. "Not without risking damage to his health in other ways. But… I noticed also that between his agitation and his enforced rest, he has lost interest in his meals, and won't be encouraged to eat or drink much."
Arthur nodded silently, dropping his gaze to his boots and crossing his arms over his chest. He'd probably noticed as much himself, and he was intelligent enough to know what it meant, but it was Gaius' duty to tell him, anyway. Gently.
"If that doesn't change, he will soon be too weak to leave his chambers, if he were so inclined. Poorer physical health might render him more docile…"
Arthur cringed; Gaius couldn't blame him. For all his faults and failures, Uther had been his friend and a good king in all but magic and mercy.
"But it will change?" The prince looked up hopefully beneath the mild dishevelment of golden hair hanging low over his brow. Gaius didn't answer, and Arthur's expression fell. "It could change?"
"Anything is possible, of course, my lord." He tucked his hands into his sleeves. "However, as the recovery of an illness of the mind is also impossible to predict, it is my duty to inform you that, once again, several members of the council have asked me to approach you about implementing a regency."
Arthur began shaking his head. "I won't give up on him. I won't usurp-"
Gaius used the prince's name as kindly and compassionately as he could. "Arthur. You are usurping nothing that your king is able to claim for himself. Or ever may claim again, with a clear and level mind. A regency may be voluntarily rescinded, if and when you and the council come to believe that your father is capable of bearing the mantle of leadership again."
The muscles of Arthur's shoulders were set, and his jaw hardened.
"There were several who were… greatly concerned that Caerleon should take offense at the treatment of her queen," Gaius added. "And their prince, magic or no."
"Annis wasn't offended," Arthur mumbled. "And Merlin is…"
"I know," Gaius said, and added again, "Arthur. Don't think of this as something you're doing to your father. Think of it as something you're doing for him."
Another moment passed with Arthur staring at his boots. Then he jerked a brief, unhappy nod. "Have Geoffrey draw up the papers. My agreement ought to appease the council for a couple of days, and by then, maybe… I want to deal with Merlin before they think they can direct my regency, and make things difficult."
"Very well," Gaius said, approvingly. That right there, proved Arthur his father's son in the best possible way, well able to handle the reins of a kingdom. "Gwen said he took the restorative draught and she stayed til he fell asleep again, so if my opinion isn't meaningless without personal observation, he should be fine tomorrow. I intend to visit myself, after my morning rounds."
Arthur raised his head contemplatively. "Did my father tell you how to get that chain off his neck?"
"No. Twice I tried to persuade him before he began eyeing me with suspicion. But Merlin believes his tutor in Helva would be able to break the enchantment."
Arthur grunted, conceding the point that Merlin did not need to remain in Camelot til he was released from magical restraints as well as physical. "When you look in on him in the morning, perhaps you could bring a book or two to alleviate his boredom."
The prince turned and bent to open a drawer of his desk, lifting a book that Gaius recognized immediately; he'd paged through it days ago, seeking information on the king's mysterious malady, though they'd never found a cursed object in the king's room for cause. Arthur handed the book to Gaius, whose heart skipped a beat – until he realized, with Arthur as acting regent, no harm would come to him even if he were caught carrying the Caerleon prince's book of magic.
"Also maybe a Bestiary?" Arthur suggested, as Gaius turned to the door. "Anything that informs on the origin of magical creatures."
Gaius paused only briefly, trusting his prince and not needing details. "Of course, Sire. Good night, and pleasant dreams."
Arthur snorted cynically – heading not for his bed, but for his desk.
Gaius lingered in the doorway to watch him a moment longer, reminded of countless nights when he was the last person to attend upon King Uther, leaving him still poring over messages and reports.
King Arthur had a fine sound. Already he was bargaining with enemies as allies. Uther's reign had been good, but Gaius knew he was not wrong, or alone, in anticipating that Arthur's reign would be great.
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Arthur was up and dressed by first light. It wasn't hard; sleeping was more difficult these days, since the battle exhaustion that made him drop like a rock onto his mattress has been spent.
His father's iron grip on his reign was slipping, and he wasn't even aware. Arthur was planning to break Camelot's defining law and release a valuable hostage and declare his own regency. All in a single week.
Well, last week they'd been at war, and Uther whimpering incoherently in a corner.
Morgana had kept to her room yesterday, after the incident with the goblin and Queen Annis' departure. He hadn't seen her since she'd caught him in Merlin's cell, come to see for herself that the younger prince was none the worse for wear. To apologize and say thank you.
Arthur trod the stairways downward to the cells hoping he could avoid Morgana today, also. She'd demand to know what they were doing and insist on being included and while he trusted Gwen's conclusion about Morgana's mindset and the mystery of the missing year, he didn't want Morgana involved in this if he couldn't be sure what she was going to do or how she would react.
As requested, Leon was waiting for him at the last corridor before the last stair.
"It was a quiet night," Arthur told him, referring to their shared worry for the king's health, both physical and mental. "Elyan should be joining us shortly after dawn?"
"I left orders at the gate," Leon answered, jogging down the stairs beside him. "He'll meet us in the armory."
Arthur nodded confirmation and thanks. Care needed to be taken with this endeavor; though only a nobleman might question Arthur if he were seen or interrupted, he very much wanted to avoid two or more, especially council-members, questioning liberties he was taking before he'd sworn the oaths of regency. They might object if they thought-
Rounding the corner at the bottom of the stair, Arthur's instincts raised hackles. The two sentries hadn't popped to their feet attentively, alert to their prince's arrival; they slouched over the table between them, limbs relaxed sloppily. Not dicing or snoozing, just – overly exhausted from a night of vigilance? Groggy… drunk? There was no wine pitcher.
"What's going on here?" Leon demanded, passing Arthur to approach them. When words failed to rouse more than blank looks and sluggish responses, he took one's arm to shake. "What is the meaning of this?"
Arthur's head turned so fast his neck cricked; the door of Merlin's cell stood just ajar.
"Dammit!" he cursed, leaping to crash through the door, bracing himself at the top of the double-stair, prepared to see blood – or nothing.
But Merlin was present and unharmed – startling up from a sprawled sitting position on the bed. Boots on the floor, knees allowed to fall to each side, the back of his head and shoulders propped against the wall, fingers laced lazily over his belly.
Arthur took a moment to breathe and compose himself, not wishing to be teased for relief in the younger prince's well-being. But though Merlin had been surprised by Arthur's abrupt appearance, he looked more guilty than bewildered. Glancing to the side, he showed Arthur reassuringly empty hands, patting the air as if in substitution for Arthur's shoulders.
"Please don't panic," Merlin said.
Before Arthur could form his lips to the question of What? or Why? a stranger stepped out from the slight bend in the wall where they'd placed Merlin's waste-bucket for privacy.
Plain clothes, dark tangled hair and beard; intelligent eyes which was a problem because of sword at his hip.
Arthur didn't panic. He went coldly methodical, easing his hand across toward the hilt of his own weapon, transferring his weight down a balanced step. Judging the speed and the angle he'd need to draw and thrust, it could be done. The stranger's arms were crossed over his chest; it would take him longer to clear his weapon than it would take Arthur to reach him.
"Merlin," he said, very calmly moving down to the floor of the cell and shifting the first pace forward. "Stand up. Get behind me."
The stranger's body tensed with subtle fluidity, reacting to Arthur's second step, and the first whisper of freed steel.
Merlin didn't move, his mouth dropping open as guilt swung back toward surprise. "Arthur, what are you doing? It's all right, I know him. He's the son of a knight from Caerleon."
Arthur paused to evaluate this information. Not someone acting on their own against a sorcerer? Or sent by his father, orders slipping somehow through Arthur's protective nets?
"You thought," the stranger said slowly, "that he was in danger from me? You were going to protect him?"
Arthur drew himself up, prepared to deny, though he let his hand linger on the hilt at his hip. Then Merlin stood, looking at the knight's son before back at Arthur.
"Because of… what you told me yesterday. The king, and… guarding me." Merlin's grin spread cheerfully sly. "You see? I didn't do anything stupid."
The stranger snorted, leaning one shoulder against the wall opposite the cot and kicking the toe of one boot to the outside of the other in an attitude of lazy insouciance. "That's debatable."
Merlin gave him a grimace of protest.
"You're from Caerleon," Arthur said, guessing at the obvious – he'd come to help his prince escape. Maybe against orders? "How'd you get in?"
"Not from Caerleon," the stranger corrected. "Voluntary self-exile. The name's Gwaine."
"And how did you get in?" Arthur repeated, making the question a demand. He really didn't care to know the stranger's life-story.
Caerleon origins showed, though, in the grin and sarcastic retort. "I don't have to tell you that."
"Gwaine," Merlin said reprovingly.
Which returned Arthur's attention to him, as Leon filled the doorway above and behind him; both other men flicked glances above Arthur's head at the knight.
"The guards were drugged," Leon said only, reading the situation and knowing that he didn't have to react to the presence of a stranger in Merlin's cell. His intuition was something Arthur appreciated about him.
"I'm a bit sorry about that," Gwaine said without apology in his voice or grin. "I'm sure they're lovely vigilant fellows, normally."
Damn barbarians.
Arthur looked at Merlin and spoke with fuming sarcasm, humiliated by association. "So why are you still here? If he unlocked your cell and obviously could get you past our guards…"
"Hells," Merlin said, abruptly and blazingly mad. "Do you still not trust me? This is me cooperating like I swore to do, keeping my word until you tell me we're even and I'm free to go."
Arthur breathed, and disliked the way Gwaine was watching both of them; it was different from Leon's observation and it grated. Deliberately he paced forward, til he could have reached out and touched the chain at Merlin's neck. And already the anger Merlin displayed was tempered by curious anticipation of Arthur's response.
"Please accept my apology, Your Highness," he said, inclining his body a few degrees from the waist, and he was careful to show no mockery whatsoever. "I am sorry I offended you."
"Prat," Merlin said, in place of any other word that could have been far more offensive. He sounded almost fond, though he grimaced as if in distaste for Arthur's show of respect, and pushed Arthur's shoulder with a fist. "It's not your fault."
"I blame your king," Gwaine suggested – and looked at Merlin when they both turned to him, widening his eyes to excuse his interruption and shrugging as if to say, What? "I blame your king, too."
Arthur huffed, and the tension at the center of his chest relaxed a bit. "So you stayed," he said to Merlin. "But why did he?"
"I asked him why he didn't use magic to escape," Gwaine answered instead of Merlin, speaking evenly. "He told me about that chain at his throat. I heard rumors in town, about his day in the stocks. And when he mentioned that his stitches were itching – I got that story, too. Maybe you could say I don't trust Camelot's treatment of him."
"I told him there was honor in Camelot." It was Merlin's turn to shrug. "He has a very low opinion of nobility – and especially royalty." He leaned closer to Arthur on his toes, tipping his head confidentially. "That is my king's fault. But Gwaine is willing to be convinced to the contrary."
"You make a habit of that?" Arthur said, giving Merlin a squint and a half-smile. "Convincing people their opinions are wrong?"
Merlin beamed.
"Self-appointed bodyguard is it?" Arthur said to Gwaine, grudgingly allowing some respect for the man, especially if he was telling the truth about being estranged from his prince's kingdom.
"I'll go where he goes, til he's crossing the border for home," Gwaine said.
"Then what?" Arthur couldn't help asking. Because the man's build and his sword and his movements made him think, "Mercenary?"
"Sometimes," Gwaine answered with unselfconscious cheer.
"In Cenred's pay?" Arthur challenged. Merlin's eyes widened as they darted to the other man, as if that possibility hadn't occurred to him. Which was all right; he'd probably think more like Arthur if they were all in Caerleon with roles reversed, right now.
"Not yet," Gwaine responded in a like manner, and Arthur found he believed him. If only because Gwaine didn't seem the sort to care enough to lie. And he was a knight's son himself, even if one in self-exile from an enemy kingdom.
"Behave yourself, and we won't have an issue," Arthur told him firmly. "And no more drugging the guards."
"Not unless I have to," Gwaine promised, irrepressible.
Merlin snickered, and Arthur raised an eyebrow at him sternly. "Care to stretch your legs a bit?"
"Where are we going?" Merlin said in answer, eyes clear and expression animated with interest. "That tour of the citadel? The training field?" He turned to Gwaine. "It's actually a field, not just bare ground-"
"I know," Gwaine said, dryly amused.
"Below the dungeons," Arthur told him. "That's where I put the goblin." Gwaine's eyebrows rose in surprise; Arthur guessed Merlin hadn't gotten around to mentioning that story. He added, with deliberate enjoyment in astounding the mercenary, "It's right next to the griffon."
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Gwaine followed the two princes, glancing now and then at the knight who matched his pace beside him, just as Sir Leon was glancing at him.
He met Leon's eyes with cheeky grins, which didn't seem to unsettle the knight's watchfulness. That was telling, though, that he considered Gwaine the most likely threat, unpredictable and unexpected. Rather than Merlin, the sorcerer in Camelot.
Merlin was not what Gwaine had expected, at all. He'd thought of him as a quiet and frail young man, as he'd been as a child, in spite of his moment of courage when Gwaine met him. Or he'd anticipated a sullen bully like every other noble boy in Caerleon; Gwaine could discharge this last duty of conscience, helping to free him, and be on his way without another backward look or thought. But Merlin actually reminded Gwaine of his father. Intelligent and relying on humor rather than temper to forge his way through situations and relationships – with a bright sort of courage and a gallant charm. And he'd given his word to protect Gwaine, when of the two of them, Gwaine was both armed and free to leave.
Gwaine watched him toss his head back and laugh at something Arthur said, and the Pendragon prince showed half a smile on his profile as they jogged the stairs in tandem, downward and deeper into the bowels of the citadel.
Arthur Pendragon was not what he expected, either. Not a pompous idiot who insisted upon the letter of the law and looked for reasons to take offense to a hollow shell of honor. He'd actually reacted to defend his prisoner – a man with magic – from a stranger. And he'd apologized. He'd blinked once at the suggestion that Gwaine be excused his infiltration of Camelot's citadel and allowed to join them. Maybe it was a question of keeping a potential enemy where he could see him and act immediately to neutralize him if need be. But maybe not.
You like him, Gwaine had accused Merlin. But these last few moments of observing their interactions told him, the feeling was mutual, whether Arthur was aware of that or not.
Sir Leon glanced at him again as they descended behind the princes, and it made his skin itch to think he was being evaluated in turn. Gwaine said, grabbing the first thing that came to mind, "So – a goblin?"
"That's what we concluded, based on its appearance and other characteristics," Leon said mildly, not giving him any real information on what happened, or why. Canny, but not belligerent. Interesting.
"And a griffon?" Gwaine added.
"Captured a couple of years ago, right here in the citadel," Leon said. "We had many casualties…"
Merlin glanced back at them, aware of their conversation. "Griffons can't be killed except by magic. They're impervious to ordinary weapons."
Gwaine thought Arthur was listening too, though his stride didn't slow and he didn't turn around. He goaded, "And you let it get all the way to the heart of the kingdom before you stopped it?"
Arthur ignored him. Leon remarked, "Griffons have wings…"
"I heard about a troll, too," Gwaine said. His straightest, strongest arrow, verbally.
Arthur stopped at the bottom of the stair and turned to halt Gwaine with a hard look – so abruptly that Leon had to catch himself, and Merlin passed Arthur by two steps before alerting and turning back.
Gwaine met Arthur's steely blue glare for a moment, respected his composure and resolve – not denying, but promising to uphold honor in whatever way was necessary. So Gwaine spread his hands in surrender, satisfied with what he'd gleaned from the prince's reaction. "That's all I heard."
Merlin clearly hadn't, but read enough of Arthur's stance to guess at Pendragon's perturbation and venture a deflection. "I've never encountered troll magic. But I'm told it's strong, and… unclean."
Leon made a sound like he'd strangled a chagrined laugh, and Arthur transferred his silent gaze to his knight, tipping a disapproving eyebrow.
"I'm sorry, Sire," Leon apologized to his prince. "It's just… unclean is such an appropriate description."
Gwaine resolved to get Leon drunk and pry for details, someday.
Arthur swiveled to Merlin, and strode on. "The griffon is just through here."
Gwaine hung back a pair of steps as they passed through an arched doorway to a cavernous chamber lit by a torch on the wall by the door, throwing looming and violent shadows into the corners and up to the vaulted ceiling.
Magic was chancy stuff – he knew very little of the theory and even less of the specifics for his own prince, and these creatures. And he regretted teasing Arthur about the griffon, because it was as big as a house. The body and tail and back legs were of a lion, the front legs ended in three clawed toes, and the head and wings were eagle-like. If eagles had eyes the size of dinner plates, and a beak that could take a man's head off halfway down his chest.
And it lunged, shrieking a sound like a saw on glass.
Only Arthur didn't flinch; Leon's hand flew to the hilt of his sword; Gwaine's entire body wrenched around and he cleared four inches of blade before he saw the chains and cuffs that hobbled the creature's legs, locked securely – so far – to a stone wall that looked like bedrock rather than laid block.
Merlin jerked like he'd been struck, and behind him, Gwaine couldn't see his expression. But when Arthur glanced aside at him, his gaze stuck on the younger prince's face.
He said sardonically, as Merlin had said when he burst into the cell, this morning. "Please don't panic."
"No, I'm not," Merlin said, and his voice sounded breathless. He didn't look away as the griffon beat its wings and fought the chains a moment, shrilling out another ear-shredding cry.
Gwaine wondered whether a muzzle was possible, because it was definitely a good idea.
Then he thought of the delicate silver necklace at Merlin's throat. That made him uncomfortable, and he blurted out, "So are we going to kill this thing, or what?"
Even more awkward was the way all three looked at him; Merlin's lips were pressed white, and the skin around his eyes pinched.
"Because you said," Gwaine excused whatever mistake they thought he'd made, "it can only be killed with magic? And it's deadly-dangerous?"
Arthur looked at Merlin. "It would be faster."
"Easier, too," Merlin countered. "But not right. It's not his fault he doesn't belong here."
"No, but perhaps it deserves punishment for the deaths it's caused. It had a taste for human flesh, when it was free," Arthur said.
Nasty, Gwaine thought.
Merlin gestured. "Do you think it even understands that?"
For a moment they all watched the creature struggle with its bonds, then droop exhausted, flanks heaving for air. Head down, but eyeing them all the same. Clearly it recognized its plight, and took them for enemies, but all wild animals caught in a trap behaved so, when the hunter approached.
"The troll was clever," Leon said. "Its sole motivation was greed. Like the goblin."
Gwaine gave his opinion, "You don't kill a horse for kicking a man in the head and killing him."
Arthur gave him a brooding glance from under his brows. "You hunt and kill a wolf or bear that stalks a village because it's old or injured and it's turned into a man-eater."
Merlin, Gwaine abruptly realized, had moved closer to the griffon. Just beyond the reach of the chains around its legs, close enough to touch the cruelly curved beak that strained forward – well within the range of the powerful wings, to knock him to the ground before trampling or devouring him. His hands were up, palms toward the creature, fingers spread, his shadow stamped over the griffon.
"What are you-" Arthur started, alarmed.
The wings quivered; the rest of the griffon's body stilled, all attention on the sorcerer who looked tiny in comparison. They were so close Gwaine hardly dared breathe, in case the griffon's temper was set off again by the offense.
"Yeah, I think I can do it." Merlin spoke softly, but Gwaine thought Arthur and Leon might have been holding their breath, too; his words echoed clear in the shadowy chamber.
"Send it back to the realm it came from?" Arthur questioned.
Merlin turned to give them an optimistic smile over his shoulder, one hand still extended to the beak in a way that made Gwaine want to snatch him back.
"And if it doesn't work?" Arthur continued, skeptical – but in a respectful way, Gwaine thought. "Men were killed trying to control it long enough to chain it in here – if your portal doesn't work, it might get free in the forest, and then-"
"If that happens, I'll enchant the weapons to kill it," Merlin said, a bit grimly.
Arthur turned a look on Leon momentarily. "Bring spears."
"Javelins," Leon agreed, watching the griffon.
"Pikes," Gwaine suggested, with feeling. Keep the men as far from those claws and that beak as possible.
"Merlin," Arthur said thoughtfully. Merlin dropped his hand and returned to them. "The griffon isn't threatening us. Not like the serkets in the forest of Essetir, or the Questing Beast."
The sorcerer made a face at him. "I'm not going to drive a hard bargain and say I'm only getting rid of one sort of creature in exchange for my freedom, and leave the rest of them to their fate to cross the border back to my home. If I can, I'll do them all – including the goblin."
Behind Gwaine at the side of the door, low against the wall opposite the griffon, something bumped wood against stone, and grumbled.
Gwaine yelped an expletive, jolting and twisting away at the same time, hand leaping to his sword-hilt again. It was a thigh-high cask, two hand-spans in width, a cylinder sided with eight flat panels. It tipped and mumbled to itself, again; Gwaine could swear he heard Merlin snicker.
"The goblin's in there for now," Arthur said, sounding suspicious neutral. He passed Gwaine on his way out the door, and-
I swear, if he so much as twitches an eyelash in amusement-
continued on toward the stair, followed by Merlin, though Sir Leon waited to keep Gwaine from behind left behind unsupervised.
"So the rumors aren't exaggerated," Gwaine said to him, taking the stairs two at a time to re-establish bravado and catch up with the princes. "Strange things happen in Camelot all the time?"
"Not all the time," Leon contradicted without offense. "And, I'm sure the rumors are exaggerated. You know what men are like when they've been drinking."
"Chatty as laundry-maids," Gwaine agreed, with a suspicious glance sideways at his companion. Had there been a jab at him hidden in that comment? He decided he didn't mind, after all, if it was evidence that a knight of Camelot could have a sense of humor.
Arthur didn't lead them back to the cell where they'd been keeping Merlin, but to a little room with an irregular doorway, tucked under the stair.
An armory, Gwaine glimpsed around the princes in the lead – and there was someone waiting for them there. A shorter man with a quiet air, dark-skinned and armed as a blacksmith, and a smile warmed his face when they entered. Loitering in the doorway, Gwaine recognized him as the man who'd given him directions to the Rising Sun.
"Merlin," the blacksmith said, immediately and familiarly – though he gave a little bow to Arthur, and exchanged friendly nods with Sir Leon at the same time. "How's your arm? Gwen tells me it's fine, but-"
"It's fine," Merlin answered easily, in the same manner, sauntering up to clasp the blacksmith's hand. "Gaius is supposed to be coming down later to take out the stitches."
"He's bringing books, too," Arthur warned the younger prince. "If you can be ready by tomorrow?"
"By tomorrow, I'll be as ready as I can be." Merlin turned the words around to answer. "Maybe Gwaine will help me research?"
"Can he read?" Arthur said, raising a sardonic eyebrow at Gwaine by the door.
"Yes," he answered good-humoredly, "Gwaine can read."
"Nice to meet you, Gwaine," the quiet blacksmith interjected, with a knowing smile. "I'm Elyan. I see you found who you were looking for, after all?"
Gwaine shrugged, not answering the question, and grinning when all three of the others cast looks between him and the smith who evidently was their friend in spite of class status with varying degrees of suspicion.
"We met in town yesterday," Elyan explained to Prince Arthur. "I directed him to the tavern."
Arthur grunted, moving closer to the anvil the blacksmith leaned one elbow on. It was affixed to a sturdy block at the far end of a central table, cleared now but intended as an organizational point for preparations. Around the wall were spear-racks and sword-racks, shield-displays and an array of heavier weapons – maces, flails, spiked axes. Gwaine coveted, for a brief moment; it had been years and with his father, since he'd trained with anything but a sword or sword-and-dagger combination.
"Leon and I will organize a troop, and bring the griffon and the goblin out to the Forrest of Essetir at first light tomorrow morning," Arthur said, addressing them all. "We'll set up camp if we have to, and you can take whatever time you need with your portals and realms. Gwaine, if you're coming, we'll be glad of an extra sword in defense."
"You expect that will be necessary?" Gwaine said, even though he knew the reputation of that area.
"Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best," Leon remarked.
"The griffon first, and then the goblin," Merlin said, like he was talking to himself. He chewed his lip a moment, staring down at the bare tabletop. "That kind of magic will probably attract serkets, but I don't think anyone really knows what motivates a Questing Beast to come or go or stay."
"And the Knights?" Arthur said. To Gwaine's ear, the word sounded capitalized with significance, though he didn't know why.
"Probably enchant some of the spears or javelins or pikes before we go," Merlin said. "Just in case."
He didn't look happy or eager, though, and Gwaine shifted his backbone against the doorway, feeling it incumbent upon him to point out, "What about that chain blocking his magic, then?"
Instead of either looking at him, the princes met each other's eyes. Arthur's lips twisted slightly. "Gaius doesn't know how to get it off. And my father won't tell me." Merlin's shoulders slumped a bit, and Arthur's grin grew more defined. "So I invited Elyan here to try his hand. Or his tools, rather."
Elyan showed his teeth in a wide smile, lifting hammer and chisel into the air. "Brute force."
"Oh, hells," Merlin said, cheerfully distressed.
Gwaine couldn't help smiling in a sort of wonderful disbelief, as he moved where he could watch the proceedings without being in the way. These two were nothing like what he expected, as individuals or in their interactions with each other.
Merlin bent trustingly over the anvil, and Arthur pushed his hair one way and his collar the other, clearing the way for Elyan to position his tools. They spoke in shortened sentences, quiet and focused.
"Like that…"
"No, here."
"Can you… yes, just there."
"If I can turn it a little…"
Merlin joked, "Just don't take off my head, yeah?"
Gwaine went on tiptoe to make sure the chisel's sharp edge rested between the links of the chain that did not have much slack, rather than between the bones of Merlin's neck – and caught Leon doing the same, out of the corner of his eye.
Then Arthur said tersely down to Merlin, "Don't move."
Elyan steadied and stilled himself, then raised the hammer and brought it down with all the force and intent of an executioner, muscles bulging beneath his plain white shirt and leather apron.
A spark struck, and exploded into a blinding flash. Elyan's hammer rebounded, carrying him several staggering steps back when he didn't let go. Arthur yelped and released Merlin like he'd been burned, barely catching himself from falling on his backside.
Merlin slithered bonelessly off the anvil to the floor, and Gwaine banged his hip on the table trying to leap past Leon to keep his eyes on his prince.
No blood. Okay, calm down, no blood.
Merlin groaned and stirred, and Arthur was kneeling over him, gently moving collar and hair once again to check him, then supporting Merlin's neck and helping draw him up to a sitting position.
"I'm all right," Merlin said breathlessly, whether it was true or not.
His head was still bent; Arthur fingered the chain at the nape of his neck. "There's a dented link, but it didn't break."
"Let's not try that again," Merlin said immediately, and Arthur grunted, dissatisfied.
Elyan, wide-eyed, stepped up and offered a hand to Merlin, who accepted the aid of the blacksmith's strength without seeming to help himself much. And he wavered in catching his balance to stand on his own, as Arthur unfolded himself to standing beside him.
Gwaine was suddenly glad he was planning to be locked in the cell with Merlin for another day and night. If the prince wasn't going to worry about taking care of himself like he should, someone else had to. Gwaine found he didn't mind the prospect, not for this prince, who probably would never think to order someone to.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked, and it was the way he said the younger man's name. I'm sorry and Are you all right and Can we continue or should we scrap the current plan.
"I think…" Merlin cleared his throat. "I think it's damaged the link of magic, too. It's still there, but… I can probably do more past the interference? I can try testing it-" Arthur made a negative noise, and Merlin added with an impudence that reassured, "Later, in the cell. I'll see what Gaius thinks."
"Don't overdo it," Arthur warned.
"I'll see to that," Gwaine volunteered. His voice felt strangely rough.
Merlin gave him a grateful smile – immediately ruined by the grimace he made, fingertips exploring his neck and the chain still around it. Oblivious to that, Arthur met Gwaine's eyes, weighed him, and nodded in acceptance and thanks.
Gwaine felt a little shiver aligning the bones and joints all through his body – part of him perfectly content and part of him screaming warnings against trusting that feeling.
What had he gotten himself into?
A/N: Bit of a line stolen from "Cutting Edge". Yes, Doug can read.