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Surprise! It's a Love Story
The Kalends of August (July 16-31)

Arthur hadn't spoken to him in days. At least, nothing beyond simple orders and shallow smiles. His aloofness had been subtle, so subtle that the others hadn't noticed, but it had tightened like a vice around his chest every successive day.

Then, the weather began to sweeten, and Arthur started to come around—slowly, as was his way. They never discussed their thoughts—they never did—and one day, with the plans of the journey ahead of them coalescing, Arthur had turned to him with a grin and Merlin could almost imagine whatever transgressions he had done to Arthur were forgotten.

The morning of their departure, while the breeze blew cool and lilting through Merlin's small window, the king banged his way into the physician's chambers and hit one gloved hand against Merlin's closed door. Gaius' shout of 'Sire!' did little to stop him. "I need a peasant shirt!"

Merlin rolled into a sitting position, and was still yawning and kneading at a knot of muscle on his bare shoulder when Arthur burst in without further notification. "How much spare clothing do you think I have? Ask one of the knights."

Arthur was already rifling through Merlin's grand total of three shirts. "This is it? What do I pay you for?"

"Not to clothe you."

Arthur huffed and turned about to exit as swiftly as he came. "Well get up already. Honestly you must be the laziest—"

The king's voice was harder to hear as he moved out of the room and back out into the castle still berating Merlin. Though, Merlin noted bemusedly, the scolding was without Arthur's usual bite. His friend's broad grin hadn't been lost on him either, despite whatever falsification Arthur felt like exuding. Arthur was excited to have a mission, and to take a break from the daily demands of being royalty.

Merlin chose a relatively clean tunic and tugged on his boots. He looked around for his neckerchief only to once again remember he didn't have any. This was becoming a bother.

When he exited his room and clomped down the stairs, Gaius looked up at him from his position on their single table. The elder physician was sipping on some lukewarm tea, and one of his hands was folded over their herb satchel. "I added a vial of undiluted balsamic tincture for blisters."

"My feet are already thanking you."

Gaius sighed. "Be careful, my boy."

"I always am."

Merlin loped through the castle grounds—other servants and nobles had already begun their day and the usual morning crowd would be upon them soon. He skirted the more popular routes until he met the others, minus Leon, at the stables. Gwaine tossed him a roll of bread.

They had all packed light, but they would still be taking the horses down to Iseldir's new camp. Surprisingly the horses had already been saddled, but perhaps a stablehand had been available early this morning. Merlin looked about for whom it was to thank them—Arthur surely wouldn't think to—but he found no one. Confusedly he pointed at his horse's saddle. "Who…"

"It was Princess," Gwaine whispered loudly. His exaggerated shock made the others chuckle from atop their horses, and Merlin played along.

"I better double-check then."

Arthur was unamused, and kicked at his head from the saddle.

Anemos' harness had been impeccably applied of course, Arthur wasn't a complete goon, and Merlin was just mounting the gelding when Leon finally arrived. The eldest knight bound his bedroll to his own horse while he reported the final details of the guard's orders.

And then, finally, they were off.

Since the days of the peace treaty, a few developments had occurred between Camelot and the old, destroyed camp. With regular patrols, and the promises of trade, an established trail had written its way into the forest, and the horses made short work of the distance.

By mid-afternoon the party drew close, he could tell through the faint stirrings of magic, and the thoughts that had worried through Merlin's brain finally roared to the forefront.

His first priority was always to Arthur and Camelot's safety. However, he had a responsibility to not let this fragile peace fracture through a fault of Arthur or an angry Druid. He had seen enough horrible results come from misunderstandings, and if he could prevent that today, he would.

Merlin reached out with his magic, throwing his mental voice out to Iseldir.

"Emrys," the elder responded. "What brings the king?"

"We are tracking Morgana in the south. He's going to use your merchants as a cover story."

Iseldir was quiet for a moment, a feeling of distraction and rapidly running thoughts brushed through their mental link, and Merlin physically reclined back in his saddle. He hadn't quite gotten used to that aspect of magic yet. "I appreciate you giving me advance warning. I must discuss this with the others."

Iseldir cut their connection, and a cold wall sprung between them. Merlin shied away until he was fully returned to his immediate surroundings, and picked up on the conversation between Leon and Arthur on navigation of the trail. The flatlands of Albion fell to rocky outcroppings and unstable earth, and it took more effort for the knights to traverse the thinning paths.

The high walls surrounding the area kept the clearing for the camp hidden well. For this reason, they did not catch sight of the divot in the forest until they walked upon it.

Whatever Merlin had expected it to be, this was not it. In a moment his eyes took in the sweeping terrain, and he ached for wondering if this was how it was meant to be.

At the camp's center was a wide stone circle with crafted wooden benches to sit upon. Paths radiated from this center like a starburst, dividing the clearing into individual segments that disappeared into the trees around them. Some of these trees had symbols carved in their trunks, marking them to be cut down in the near future.

Not tents, but long angled structures were being built in one section, wooden beams notching together into a point at their peak. Cloth had begun to cover the walls of one, but Merlin suspected even that was not the final product of their efforts. Iseldir stood near the hut, but when the knights appeared on the edges of the camp, the elder began to pace towards them.

Merlin then hit upon the lack of people. There were only a handful of druids within sight, yet he distinctly remembered feeling the bustle through his connection with Iseldir.

Before he could muse the strangeness further, Iseldir reached them. "King Arthur, we did not expect to receive you so soon. I'm afraid we don't have much to show."

"I don't agree," Arthur said with his own awe. "I've never seen a druid camp like this."

Demurely, Iseldir replied. "I suppose it would have been before your time."

Arthur shook himself at that, and swung himself off the horse after handing the reins to Merlin. "I have something delicate to ask you. Can we speak in private?"

Iseldir bowed his head deferentially and both men moved off. The knights were already talking amongst themselves, and Percival led them to a place to tie up the horses.

"Sir Elyan?" A voice called, and all the men turned. A dark-skinned youth was smiling at them, and when Elyan grinned in recognition, the teenager waved excitedly.

The knight moved forward and clasped the kid on the shoulder. "This is Aglain." He gestured to his lesser-known companions. "Aglain, this is Leon, and that's Merlin."

"And who is that?" Leon said. The group followed the head knight's cast eyes towards a blonde woman standing a distance away. She had her hands propped on her hips and was quite obviously appraising them.

"Emrys, don't let them into the main residence." Iseldir's voice surprised him, and Merlin stumbled with the horses' ties. When he organized himself he responded with a short affirmative.

By then the woman had approached and Merlin vaguely recognized her. Her blonde hair was tied into an intricate braid and pinned upon her head, and she wore an old red dress threadbare from years of travel. She had said something that made the usually controlled Leon blush hotly.

Now that Merlin was paying attention, the woman turned towards him. Proudly, she said, "We never properly met. I am Forridel of Camelot."

"Merlin of Ealdor," he responded with an obvious question in his voice. He still couldn't quite place her. She was from Camelot?

"I believe we will be traveling together shortly. I sell animal pelts, and I'd like to see the market for them in Deorham."

"Are there any other merchants around?" Gwaine asked, not caring to be subtle.

"They haven't arrived yet," she said shortly.

Merlin could read the lie plain as day, but the others seemed to buy it. In their defense he had a few other facts at his fingertips. For example, only he had the clue that the missing merchants were probably hiding in that building half a field away.

Iseldir's voice sprung from the ether again. "Your king has told the truth." Merlin let out a breath of relief, and then hid it behind a badly timed cough. "You are certain Forridel is not required for any other dangerous plots?"

"The knights are too chivalrous for that. She is just our key to the city."

Iseldir seemed to accept this, and his presence faded away again. Merlin had again missed part of the conversation happening in front of his eyes, but his quick thinking caught him up quickly. Elyan had removed a folded cloth from his pack, and within were sewed pockets with long, thin blades within. Some did not have their wooden handles yet.

"—sell these," Elyan finished.

Gwaine peered over the other knight's shoulder and plucked a knife from the assortment. "So this is what you do instead of coming to the tavern with me?"

"These are years old," Elyan explained. "I used to make and sell them while on the road. I thought I'd grab them just in case." He pulled the blade from Gwaine and put it back where it belonged. Gwaine pouted.

"I want to come with you," the boy said.

"Certainly not. The road is not for a youth like you."

"But it makes sense," the boy argued. "We could be brothers. I've been practicing the wood carving too."

"I think this is a decision we should leave to Iseldir," Leon interjected, calming the squabble before it became anything to regret.

"This boy wants to come with us; have you discussed the details with him?" Merlin ventured, hoping not to disrupt Iseldir in anything too important.

"He knows the dangers, and I cannot stop him. He has taken a liking to Sir Elyan." Iseldir responded mentally.

From behind him, Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin turned in surprise. He hadn't noticed their approach. Arthur brushed past him to greet Forridel, and Iseldir's mouth twitched in the subtlest of smirks at Merlin's expense.

Aloud, the Druid Elder said, "Aglain does a great service to the druids by testing the possibility of trade with Cornwall." Silently he continued, "Emrys, your warning has avoided much embarrassment for the druids and for your king. I thank you."

"It was nothing," Merlin responded, a mite embarrassed. Iseldir had handled everything so swiftly, and had remained so serene, that he had felt more on the side of useless and certainly not worthy of praise. Though, when Aglain's eyes weren't focused on Elyan, they were studying Merlin with unabashed intrigue, and Merlin hoped that none else had noticed.

Aglain's eyes glassed over and Merlin took that to mean Iseldir was sending him last minute instructions. Forridel noticed the subtle change as well, and when Aglain's eyes cleared she spoke suddenly. "Let's not dally. I'll gather my things and then we can move onward."

"Do you require help?" Leon asked chivalrously, only to be denied with a sharp 'No' as she disappeared into the covered structure.

A sly grin grew across Gwaine's rough features, and he slung an arm around Leon's broad shoulders. "If you're trying to get back into the game, I've got some tips."

With the beginnings of a plan agreed upon, Forridel making round trips to drop pelts at their feet, and Aglain run off to retrieve his few things, an opportune moment arose for Iseldir to give them a short tour of the camp. Amusingly (for Merlin at least, due to the sight of the knights shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot), that offer never came. Instead Iseldir penned them in, looking guileless all the while.

Arthur began separating the pelts between the packs of all the men, roping the others into helping him tie them into place. While the king was thusly occupied, Merlin tried to subtly raise an eyebrow at the Druid Elder. "Is everyone really in that hut? It's strangely quiet."

"Yes, some are there. Most are in Essetir, and the rest are underground."

Merlin puzzled at the terminology, wondering if Iseldir meant they were in hiding elsewhere. Mentally he sighed. Too much of his life was spent decoding riddles. "Did you mean that literally?"

A ghost of a smile touched the elder's lips. "Yes."

Alright, so it wasn't a riddle. But it was certainly strange. Before he could get to the bottom of it, however, an elbow dug into his side. "Did you hear any of that?"

Merlin looked over and saw that it was Percival who had nudged him. That explained why he felt a desire to clutch at his side and complain like a girl. "Head was in the clouds," Merlin apologized.

"You were 'talking' with Iseldir, weren't you?" Gwaine joked. "I can tell when the Druids are doing that mind reading thing."

"What?" Merlin panicked. How much did Gwaine know?!

Percival only chuckled, and Arthur sighed long-sufferingly as if he had heard this all before. "There is no such thing as mind-reading, Gwaine!"

For quite possibly the hundreth time, Merlin wondered just what had happened that one week with the Druids. "Tell me you at least didn't tell them the prophecy on Emrys."

Iseldir laughed, and luckily it blended well with the current conversation. "No, Emrys, but I'd be happy to."

"Please don't," Merlin griped. "Not yet."

"Your friend has only accidentally hit on the truth; he certainly doesn't know of this magical ability." Iseldir turned away, still hiding a smile, and Merlin automatically turned to follow. "Allow me to show you what I mean by 'underground'."

"Where are you going?"

Merlin spun back around quickly at Arthur's purely curious question. It would seem strange for him to just go off with a man he had only known as an acquaintance. "I, er…"

"May an old man request the help of your manservant, King Arthur?"

Arthur looked as if the request made him uncomfortable. What for? Distrust? Jealousy? "Of course…you don't have to ask. We're your guests." Perhaps just embarrassment.

Iseldir was already halfway to the large tent by the time Merlin finished thinking over Arthur's expression, and he had to jog to catch up. When he'd gotten a bit closer he said, "Do you think it's safe to leave them unattended?"

"Forridel will keep an eye on them," Iseldir explained, nodding at the woman herself as she breezed by them laden with her last few pelts. She only briefly glanced their way before striding off towards the knights.

"Does she have magic?"

"You're wondering if I communicated with her? No, I just know Forridel well after many years of friendship. She will not be shoved aside."

With that last bit of explanation, Iseldir brought him within the folds of the structure. The green cloth blocked most sound, and though little blocked them from wheedles of the forest, it felt like walking into a castle. The difference had been so stunning that Merlin even double-checked for traces of magic.

A few cots were lined up before them, and other smaller tents stood erect in the space. It only affirmed the idea that there were many more Druids in Camelot than Iseldir was leading Arthur to believe.

Once they'd reached the center of the hut, the old man said, "It is here." At their feet was a flat circular stone, unassuming and plain. He bent down and rapped his knuckles against it in a staccato rhythm.

Moments later, the stone shoved aside and revealed a small man with close-cropped black hair. "Emrys," Iseldir introduced, "this is Cael, master of defenses." Cael smiled respectfully and disappeared, allowing Iseldir and Merlin to climb after him.

As Merlin's eyes adjusted to the dark he realized quite how literal Iseldir had been.

Directly beneath their feet had been a whole other camp. In this underground world further tents had been built, and abandoned upon the ground were many stone pickaxes and shovels. The men, who must have been digging before their arrival, sat patiently on the ground in deadly silence.

"Hallo," Merlin ventured.

He had to stoop to prevent his head from brushing the dirt ceiling. Piles of dirt and stone had been spaced evenly in the squat cave, and the flicker of firelight danced from a few lone sconces.

Cael began to speak in a hushed whisper. "The widespread knowledge of this camp's location makes defenses difficult. I met your friend Percival earlier this year, and I was struck by his ability to hide in plain sight."

"He does have that way about him," Merlin replied with a hint of pride for his friend.

"It was that idea that eventually inspired this." Cael gestured around. "Iseldir agrees that a temporary hideout, instead of relying on our knowledge of the woods, will keep everyone safer should the need arise."

"It's fantastic," Merlin praised. From the corner of his eye he watched a few druids swell with happiness and it made him blush. Luckily the darkness of the underground hid it. "Though it is putting a crick in my neck," he admitted.

"I actually hoped you would help with that, Emrys." Iseldir pressed a hand to the ceiling and scraped some of the hard packed dirt under his fingers. "I turned some of the dirt to stone, but not enough. Someone with your strength will have better luck, I'm sure."

While Merlin let his own senses catch hold of the spell Iseldir had placed on the roof, he thought back to similar magic he'd used in Ealdor. "I can try."

When tilling the fields, after years of watching seeds turn to plants and then to death, he'd realized that everything came from the earth. In the way his rare magic made him feel whole and connected to the land around him, the cradle of the earth taught him the same lesson for the material world. In his younger years he had used force to split larger rocks in half, or grind them into powder, but later he would just think on the oneness of the earth, and change them into dirt.

At last, Merlin said, "Hopefully I don't make the ground shake."

Closing his eyes, he focused on pushing his magic into the dirt above and around him. At first he just compacted it, he didn't really want to hunch over, but then he thought of the sweeping halls of the castle and tweaked it slightly so the ceiling began to arch, then dome overhead. Vaguely he remembered Master Finch speaking on the shape's structural stability.

His magic caught onto the crystallized pockets formed by Iseldir, and effortlessly he strengthened and expanded the spell until it began to spread throughout the ceiling.

He remembered the feeling of when he'd lived close to the earth—the smell of a pollinating flower, the sound of the brush of leaves in the wind—and as he did, his magic drifted into floor and walls. So as to hold the weight of the new ceiling, the tapered piles of dirt became slender columns of alabaster.

When he opened his eyes, the hole had become a cavern of stone. Iseldir spoke in a voice full of awe and reverence, a sentiment Merlin was wholly unprepared for. "You are a wonder, Emrys."

The men and women of that hidden chamber brushed their hands over the walls and floor that had transformed before their eyes. Cael had frozen, his shock evident. Sheepishly, Merlin tried to tell himself that the flickering light was what made the room seem so large.

So it was in that way, quite without realizing, Emrys turned a modest tunnel into the Hall of Brecffa.

Even in the midst of summer the nights ran cool in Albion.

After another day of travel, the group had arrived at the fork that split between their two destinations. Merlin had a stew going over their fire, and Forridel leaned over to fan the flames so the wooden coals burned a bright red in the dark. "Will you be traveling with me, Merlin, or with Aglain?"

"Are we splitting up?" He asked curiously. This was news to him.

"The Druids never traveled in large groups," she said by way of explanation.

"The lady has a point," Leon defended. "As a large party we are memorable."

Arthur frowned. Distractedly he accepted the bowl Merlin offered him, but when his friend moved away his eyes sharpened. "It's more than that. Merlin and I together are recognizable."

Merlin balked. "No one knows who I am."

"Forridel knew who you were."

Merlin looked askance at the woman in question. Yes, apparently that was so, but this wasn't the time to figure out why. But as he opened his mouth to deprecate his image, Percival interrupted him.

"I knew about you both."

"Because Lancelot told you," Merlin said exasperatedly.

Alas, he was swiftly outvoted. In a way, Merlin saw the logic. Apart they could blend in, but together they couldn't help but cause a stir. Plus he couldn't exactly cite magic and destiny as a reason to travel with Arthur. However, that didn't mean he had to like it.

Soon after the teams were chosen. In the morning, four would take the road into Deorham's capitol, while the others would follow the coastal path towards Cornwall. Merlin would much rather have infiltrated Odin's lands—his gut told him this king was not a man to be trusted. The fact that he wouldn't get the chance to search for Morgana within its borders bothered him. He did trust Arthur and the knights to look, but he also knew none of them would be able to sense her like he.

And if she did turn out to be there, how was he ever going to sneak out to Cornwall without notice? It was much too far.

While busy with these new problems, Merlin hefted the now cooled cooking pot and left the knights to divvy up the hours of this night's watch. Aiming to wash up he moved into the trees about them, but was surprised to hear the crunch of leaves behind him. Swiftly he realized Arthur was following him.

Cauldron hanging from his fingers, he waited for his friend to catch up. "I'm not going to fall in."

"I thought I could use a walk," Arthur hedged, pretending as always not to care about his servant's safety, though tricking no one.

They plodded on quietly, and to Merlin it felt like a companionable silence. When they found the thin stream again he crouched at its banks to scoop the frigid water into the pot. Arthur was an unmoving sentry at his back. A few times Merlin opened his mouth to say something cheeky, but couldn't get something with the right amount of bite. He was too pleased to witness Arthur acting all noble for him, especially after the strain their friendship had undergone recently.

He was scraping at the burnt edges with a wirebrush when Arthur sighed explosively. "Do you have a history with Iseldir?" Arthur sounded…irritated. But not just that…also like he thought it was a dumb question but was asking to appease some small piece of his mind.

Merlin tried not to sound too jittery. "No, why do you ask?"

"Forget it. Iseldir said much the same."

They were quiet again, Merlin filling the silence with intense scrubbing. Arthur stepped closer and kicked pebbles into the water before sitting next to him. Merlin tried to duck his head further into the pot, now scouring invisible spots.

Arthur continued, now with an odd sort of confusion. "You two watch each other a lot."

If he could have crawled into the pot, he would have. "I respect him. I think he is a good leader."

Arthur's face pinched, and he turned his head away and rolled another rock beneath his boot. "He's alright, I guess."

Arthur's obvious jealously made him grin, and it was enough for him to steer the conversation away. "Your muscles are so big. There, do you feel better now?"

His friend scoffed and shoved him in the shoulder. "That reminds me, you're not going to pass as a hired guard."

"As I said before, no one will even notice me." The pot was thoroughly clean at this point, and Merlin pulled it from the water and started to dry it with the end of his sleeve.

"Just keep your mouth shut, or they'll never forget you."

"Aw, Arthur, I'm touched."

Merlin's smile hadn't even made it halfway across his face before Arthur's wicked smirk struck him down. "It's been years and I'm still reeling at your idiocy."

Merlin huffed and stood with a flourish. "Says the idiot who put his tunic on backwards this morning."

"You aren't going to fool me with that again," Arthur complained. He caught up to Merlin and clapped a hand on his friends shoulder. "Wait." He bent down and hefted his knife from his boot. Sternly, he handed it to Merlin.

"Am I to fight off bandits with this?" Merlin's dry mocking batted away what could have been a touching moment.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you get captured use it to cut your tongue out. It wags nearly without your control, and you know too much about Camelot."

"Thanks, prat."

"You're welcome, idiot."

Footnotes:

(1) Balsamic tincture: also known as Friar's Balsam (meaning 'resin') and mostly made of liquid extract of Benzoin resin. It is used as an antiseptic and protectant to minor cuts/blisters. Undiluted, it will sting during application.
(2) The Forest of Brecffa is the name of the woods on the southern side of Camelot, and where Iseldir has placed his camp.
(3) We meet Cael in Seven Layer Upside Down Cake. He's the Master of Defenses.

Author's Note: My gods, I think I ship Leon/Forridel. It must be the only ship for these two on the seas of fanon Merlin. I don't care. It makes me giggle and I enjoy it. What shall I call them? Leodel? Forreon? Fleon? ;)

A little bit of bromance in this one, hopefully you like, and a good emotional place for Merlin and Arthur to have a pause for Arthur's growing questions. A little bit of Bamf!Merlin in this one, too! Like I said—I think I'm cycling through a few tropes here. I think Merlin would have been a bit embarrassed, and I like exploring how he reacts to the praise of the Druids. I'm wondering how that'll change over the course of the story.

And, of course, thanks to Linorien for telling me when my jokes bordered on creepy! And to Jewelsmg for being the perfect reference on Merlin facts. For my reviewers, thank you all again! PM's to follow, except for the guest reviewer—I don't know who you are, but thank you!

Next time: Cell Block Tango. Merlin infiltrates Deorham and overhears some troubling news.