Hidden Motives

A/N: Thank you for the reviews as always. AnkhianMorePork asked about how Sythe was pronounced; it is scythe as you said. Just a heads up on this chapter: it will make more sense once you've read the next chapter, but hopefully that won't take away from it. Anyway, let me know what you think.

Chapter 25

The opening and closing of the dungeon door caught Arthur's attention. He wasn't sure how long he had been sat there –his dark thoughts had destroyed all concept of time- but he knew it had been a couple of hours. For a second, he entertained the idea that whoever had arrived was visiting one of the other prisoners, until he remembered that there didn't seem to be any other prisoners in this area of the dungeons. He had guessed that Gwaine must have been captured, but he was sure the knight would have tried to get his attention by now if he was anywhere in the vicinity.

Heavy, confident footsteps instantly told Arthur who his visitor was going to be. Sythe. No doubt the sorcerer had come to gloat over the earlier revelation. Arthur tried to rally himself, tried to build up a wall to hold back the torrent of emotions that were currently raging through him like a storm-tossed sea, but it was difficult. He was struggling to root himself in something that he knew to be true; everything was shifting so rapidly.

'Sythe,' Sythe nodded to him through the bars. Arthur felt some fight come back into him and stood up.

'There isn't anybody here,' Arthur snarled back. 'You don't need to pretend.'

'I'm practicing,' he grinned. 'The people will expect some sort of self-righteous speech from me when I execute the imposter; it's what you've always given them before.'

Arthur said nothing; he would not rise to the bait. Besides, it wasn't as if Arthur was under any illusions; he knew that he often came across as a little pompous. He was trying to work on it, but it took time.

'Maybe self-righteousness isn't the right word,' Sythe continued. 'What is it that Merlin always called you?' Arthur felt himself tense. 'Arrogant? Was that it?' Sythe smiled to himself. 'Or perhaps his more colourful insults. I seem to remember hearing Clotpole on occasion. Dollop-head?' He came closer to the bars and Arthur fought to keep his breathing even; he had known this was coming; had known that Sythe would strike at his most vulnerable places, and right now, he had never felt so vulnerable when it came to Merlin. 'You know; there aren't many people who could get away with calling you those sorts of things. It almost makes me wonder whether you'd consider Merlin…a friend.'

'Why are you here?' Arthur hissed, trying to deflect the conversation.

'Yes, I thought you might be angry,' Sythe nodded, ignoring the question entirely. 'But then, that's perfectly understandable. Tell me: what did it feel like down there to suddenly realise that your…friend,' -there was a patronising amusement on his face as he said the word-, 'had been lying to you all this time. That your friend had been knowingly and willingly breaking Camelot's strictest law for years. That your friend has kept you in the dark, made you look the fool, made you believe that he was clumsy and weak when really he could kill you with a few words.'

Arthur tried to block out what was being said. He had struggled enough already trying to accept the truth of what Merlin was; he had been doing everything in his power not to think about the things that Sythe was now throwing at him. They echoed the shadowed murmurs that lurked deep in the back of his mind. But he couldn't address them; not now. Not yet.

'What do you think he was planning?' Sythe continued conspiratorially; as if Arthur and he were working together to solve a riddle. 'Get close to you, make you trust him and care about him, just so that it would hurt even more when he finally showed his true colours? He's clever, I'll give him that. Manservant to the Prince! Even I wasn't so bold.' The admiration in the sorcerer's tone made a cold chill sweep through Arthur. Surely Merlin hadn't…surely he wasn't…

'Merlin would not hurt me.' The words were out of Arthur's mouth before he had even registered them in his mind. Instantly he berated himself at giving away too much of his internal struggle. He tried to cover his mistake with a forced confidence in his stance. It only served to amuse Sythe further.

'Look at this,' he grinned. 'The Prince of Camelot desperately trying to believe in a good sorcerer. I wonder what your father would say to that.' He moved closer to the bars and peered in at Arthur, his eyes hardening. 'Tell me, Arthur, if Merlin had no intention of hurting you, then why would he hide his powers?'

'You know why,' Arthur replied, his voice equally hard, this time he could see a way out, he could see a route that could disarm Sythe's words. 'The laws of Camelot would have meant death.'

'So then, it isn't that Merlin would hurt you,' he smiled, 'it's that Merlin believed you would hurt him?'

'What?' Arthur asked in confusion. His mind wasn't working as it should.

'Why else wouldn't he tell you?' Sythe shrugged, backing up a few steps. 'He doesn't trust you Arthur. For all the times that you've prattled on about nobility and loyalty and trust, when it comes down to it, Merlin never once believed that you would extend it to his situation.'

'No, that…' Arthur tried, but it was weak. He felt his edge eroding away and couldn't grasp it properly.

'Yes, that makes it all clear. Two men: master and servant, supposedly friends. One who lies and hides behind deception and masks; who keeps his dangerous powers a secret from everyone, biding his time, waiting for the day when he can be rid of the other: the other who is not to be trusted, who is so swept up in his father's blind hatred of magic that even his closest friend believes that he would be executed rather than shown mercy.

'How much Merlin must hate and fear you, Arthur Pendragon. Are you beginning to wonder what other lies he's told you? How much of the truth do you think you know? What do you think he's used his magic for? Surely it must be driving you mad.'

Arthur said nothing, just stood there with his fists clenched, his eyes pouring fury onto Sythe as the man's words began to echo round his head. He tried to block them with other things that he knew to be true, but the more he tried, the more he began to realise that he hadn't got a clue what the truth was anymore.

Merlin would never hurt him. Then why had he come to Camelot? Why had he kept his job as manservant when he knew that at any moment he could be discovered and executed? Why had he needed to be so close to Arthur all this time?

No! He shook his head; he would not allow Sythe to play more games with his mind.

'Merlin is loyal to me,' he said defiantly, surprising himself with the conviction in his tone. Did he really believe it? Maybe he had to. 'He has always been loyal to me and he will always be loyal to me.'

'More arrogance,' Sythe told him, but his tone had grown colder. Noise from beyond the dungeon corridor caught his attention and he looked away from Arthur. Moments later a smile carved its way into the man's face; he turned back to Arthur, his voice hushed.

'You think he's loyal? Then let's see if he'll save you from your father's wrath.' He turned away and looked up the corridor. 'Father,' he called, respect and reverence in his voice instantly.

Arthur looked to see his father striding towards them. There were no soldiers with him this time and he looked weary, tired; just as he had done in the weeks before. Arthur wondered if this sudden surge of energy and lucidity was drawing to a close; perhaps he had not been as recovered as he had first appeared, maybe the events of the past week had caught up with him. Arthur felt a new grief sweep through him at the thought of losing his father again. He wanted to try and convince him again, wanted to try and show the man that he had looked up to for so many years that his son was the one behind bars and that the man dressed in royal robes was nothing more than an imposter. But one look at his father told him that it would be utterly hopeless. His face was set, determined, angry; he had had enough of this deception. He wanted it over with, they all did. All except Sythe.

'You captured the imposter?'

'Yes, Father.'

'What about the other, your manservant? Where is he?' Uther asked fiercely.

'I believe he may be dead, Father,' Sythe replied smoothly. Arthur felt himself flinch, his eyes going wide at the words. Dead? The familiar aching feeling that he had grown so used to back in his prison began gnawing into his chest again, all thoughts of the earlier revelation gone for a moment. Dead? He couldn't be…It had to be another bluff on Sythe's part, but then…Arthur had seen how powerful Sythe was; could Merlin match him? Arthur had assumed that he could, but what if that wasn't true. Wouldn't Merlin have attempted a rescue by now? It had been hours since they'd been under the city. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation from Sythe, but stopped himself just in time. It would do nothing to appease his father and it would show Sythe exactly how much the thought of Merlin's death had affected him.

'Belief is not enough. I want a body as proof.'

'Of course, Father. I will organise my men as soon as we are done here.'

That seemed to placate Uther. He nodded and then fixed his eyes upon Arthur. With difficulty, Arthur met his father's gaze. He tried to keep the turbulent emotions and feelings out of his eyes, fearing that they would be mistaken for defiance.

'Have you delivered his sentence?'

'I thought you might want to do it, Sire.' Uther gave a heavy sigh, but shook his head.

'I will not waste anymore of my time on this sorcerer. It is you he has injured and grieved, my son; it is only fitting that you should pass sentence.'

Arthur closed his eyes against the coldness in his father's voice. Nothing would sway him.

'As you wish.' Sythe turned round while the King stepped back, unable, therefore, to see the victorious sneer that was being directed at Arthur. Arthur ignored it, didn't look at him, even as he opened his mouth to speak. Instead he fixed his eyes beyond Sythe and beyond his father, staring at the wall as if his eyes could move it and wrench the bars from in front of him so that he could run and get away from everything that his life seemed to have been reduced to.

Sythe was talking, although Arthur didn't really catch what was being said. It was long, drawn out, full of flowery words and arrogance that, even in his detached state, Arthur recognised as exaggerated impersonations of himself. Even now, Sythe was mocking him.

Taking several deep breaths, Arthur forced his mind to block out was being said and what was around him and the way his very soul felt like it was choking, but something drew his attention. A sudden movement behind Sythe didn't seem to fit with what was happening. His father was shifting uncomfortably in his robes. A gleam caught Arthur's eyes and he allowed them to refocus, just in time to see his father pull a knife from within the folds of his clothes, raise it high and drive it through Sythe's back and on into his chest, right through his heart.

Several things happened at once as Arthur managed to wrench his full concentration back to his surroundings. He looked at Sythe and saw the sorcerer's eyes go wide in pain and then disbelief. He looked at Arthur, almost questioningly, but Arthur knew his own face wore the same expression. What was happening? He looked over at his father at about the same time that Sythe turned to do the same, but the man standing there suddenly didn't seem to be the King. Everything about him had changed. He had backed up several steps, but his hand was still held high, as if clutching the knife. He seemed smaller somehow, as if he had folded in on himself and wasn't sure how it had happened.

'What?' Sythe managed to choke, but he stopped and then, much to Arthur's alarm and repulsion, smiled. 'You played,' he breathed.

'I won,' the King corrected quietly, but the voice didn't seem like his father's; it was too quiet, too anguished, too pensive.

'Not quite,' he hissed. Arthur registered Sythe's gasping voice uttering some words that he didn't understand and saw the sorcerer's hand twist round to face Arthur, but quicker than that, his father was in front of him, blocking the way, protecting him, just like…

Arthur released a slow breath of utter disbelief as his mind finally began to catch up with what was happening.

'Merlin,' he whispered, but as he did, the man's voice, sounding so much like the King and yet sounding nothing like him, echoed through the dungeons, strong and sure. Power- no, Arthur corrected himself: magic flowed from the two sorcerers. Sythe's: a dark crash of force, which caused both him and Merlin to stagger slightly, but which was blocked and consumed by the blue, gentleness of Merlin's….of Merlin's magic.

Sythe fell to his knees breathing heavily as his hand dropped. Merlin muttered several words. Even from behind, Arthur could see their effect. His father's broad shouldered stance melted into a slighter, slimmer frame, and his hair darkened and thickened. About him, the clothes he was wearing changed colour and material into the chainmail underclothes and cloak that Merlin had been wearing before. Arthur instantly saw that they were stained with blood in several places.

Sythe, gasping and clawing at his chest, raised his hand again, uttered more words, but the same shield of protection provided a barrier through which the attacks could not penetrate. Again and again he tried, but his spells grew weaker and soon he dropped onto his side, wheezing and gasping as blood poured out of him and created a sea of red on the floor. Arthur felt a sickening chill as he watched his own body lying on the floor, life flowing out of it. He placed a hand over his chest as an irrational need to feel his heart whole and beating suddenly flooded him.

Merlin took several tentative steps forward. As he did so, he casually flicked his wrist and Arthur heard the lock on his cell door click open; sure enough, when he pushed it, it swung free. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he made a note never to bother locking up a sorcerer. He moved forward slowly, standing behind Merlin who, by now, had crouched down by Sythe and had one hand on the man's shoulder.

Arthur didn't understand the move and, for a moment, he heard Sythe's words from earlier. Whose side was Merlin on? Shame flooded Arthur, however, as he moved further round and caught sight of Merlin's pale –very pale- face; he was looking at the blood and the knife, seeing what he had done. It wasn't that he regretted the fatal blow he'd delivered to Sythe, Arthur could see that; he regretted having to do it at all. He was, after all, Merlin.

'You've lost, Sythe. You need to accept that,' Merlin whispered, his tone gentle, soothing, holding none of the undertones of malice that always laced Sythe's words.

For a moment, Sythe looked at Merlin with something akin to admiration on his face. 'You played well,' he breathed, and then he didn't breathe again. Arthur watched as the mirror of himself on the floor began to shift and change, taking the shape of Theo from the training grounds once more; dark hair, tanned skin, well built and weather hardened. He still wore Arthur's clothes; the Pendragon red looking suddenly unreal against the blood that was coating the floor.

With a shuddering sigh, Merlin shuffled back and all but fell against the bars of the cell; he sat with his knees up, his elbows propped on them and his hands running over his face and through his hair desperately and despairingly. All colour, what little there had been, had disappeared from his face, making him look as pale as Sythe. But there was too much agony and incomprehension written across Merlin's features for him to be anything other than hopelessly alive.

Arthur didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say; didn't understand anything about anything. He saw Merlin, saw him hurting, saw him struggling with what he had just been forced to carry out, and all he wanted to do was offer comfort of some sort; anything at all that would help. But still Arthur remained standing, looking at his manservant, the flash of magic still flitting across his vision every time he blinked, and he found that he couldn't move forward and he couldn't move back and he couldn't move from where he was. They were both frozen.

He looked at Merlin again, and slowly, ever so slowly, the man's eyes rose slightly until they met Arthur's. Neither said anything, but the ice that was keeping Arthur still suddenly began to melt and drip away as he saw the desperate pleading in the man's eyes. He took a stumbling step forward and instantly Merlin's expression changed; the tinniest flicker of relief and hope shone through them, but before Arthur had reached him, Merlin's eyes had closed; his exhausted body slipping into unconsciousness.

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