A TRICK OF THE LIGHT

Chapter Twenty Five

"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
(J.K. Rowling)

-x0x-

"That was close," Merlin said with feeling.

Arthur opened his eyes. He was lying on the muddy bank once more; his faithful servant crouching beside him. The rain still fell and the sky was still grey. The trees still shivered overhead, yet nothing felt the same. "Close," he murmured. "Yes. I killed him, Merlin." He never got used to taking a life, though he usually hid it much better than this. The sudden attack had unnerved him.

"And a good job too. I'd rather be stuck with a royal prat than an ugly brute like that." Merlin's chuckle was rather too high. Relief was the cause of his rambling.

Raising himself on his elbows, Arthur let the insult slide for once. "Thanks – I think."

"For the compliment? Or for saving your life?"

"I saved my own life, thank you, Merlin." Arthur responded more vigorously.

"You stabbed him, certainly. And a fat lot of good that did you." Merlin raised his eyebrows. "If I hadn't come along…"

But you did, thought Arthur. Somehow, you always do. He took a good look at his servant. Merlin was plastered in mud from top to toe, as though he had tumbled down the hill head first, instead of taking a more conventional route. There was a halo of wisps around him and his eyes were bright enough but his face, beneath the streaks of grime, was white and he moved with a restless energy that made Arthur feel quite sluggish in comparison. Though I did nearly drown, he excused himself generously.

Something else. There was something else he should have been asking about.

"Why are you screwing up your face like that?" Merlin dropped his voice to a whisper, full of sympathy. "Does your head hurt?"

"Of course not. I'm thinking…" Arthur froze. Too late to take the words back now.

"Will wonders never cease?" his friend retorted instantly, challenging Arthur with his clear eyes. Time to get up now, they said. Time to stop lying down on the job.

Or maybe that was just the conscience of a king.

He clambered to his feet with far less dignity than he would have hoped for – but, after all, the ground was muddy and he was soaked to the skin through his cold wet armour and rain-heavy jerkin. Merlin continued to watch him, saying little but radiating concern. When he reached out to help, Arthur brushed away the proffered hand. "I can manage. Where's my sword?" He looked around.

Merlin bit his lip. "Over there," he said quietly, pointing. "Shall I fetch it for you?"

In the shallow water lay the Wolf, face down and fearsome no longer but stone dead, with the tip of Arthur's best blade poking through him still. One or two wisps bumbled over to him, full of curiosity, and hovered over his floating body with interest. "No," the king said firmly, setting his jaw. "You've done enough. That's my responsibility."

He waded back into the swirling flood and bent to retrieve his weapon, like a good knight should. Pain flashed through his skull; shards of splintered glass that glittered behind his eyes and made him wince. He did not cry out but straightened up as swiftly as he could, sword in hand, red water swirling around his knees.

Then he saw the second body and, with the violent chill of a returning nightmare, he remembered everything.

"That's the girl's father," he told Merlin dully.

"I thought as much." Merlin's first priority had been his king but now he moved across and crouched down beside the poor man, lifting his head from the water with a gentle hand and laying it carefully on the dark earth. "Should we carry him up to them?"

Arthur stared up at the slippery slope. "I'm not sure we'd make it." He frowned. "Besides, there's another matter to consider. Another man down here, alive…" Deep in his heart, a battle was raging. He felt no compassion, and yet, as a knight, he knew his duty. "We need to free him, Merlin. He's still trapped."

The look on Merlin's face showed that his thoughts were equally conflicted but he bowed his head in acquiescence. Arthur took off his wet cloak and laid it respectfully over the man's body; an act which clearly moved his servant. "It's the best I can do," he explained, even though there was no need. Even the wisps seemed to dull their light in silent mourning. The floating corpse of the Wolf was abandoned without a backward glance, as the two men turned and ploughed their way through the mud and the jumble of scattered belongings to the upturned cart and the stranger hidden beneath it.

-x0x-

"I'm sorry - you want me to what?"

Gwaine's angry voice rose above the raging of the wind. His dark brows pressed together over his gleaming eyes, narrowing the focus of their furious gaze. His good arm searched for another to cross, but had to settle in the end for clenching by the knight's side. Pest burned overhead, reflecting Gwaine's mood in vivid colours; amber, red and yellow.

Meanwhile, Leon gave a tight-lipped smile that hinted he would not be swayed by any show of temper.

"You're going to ride in the cart," he explained once again, in the mildest of tones. He knew Gwaine well by now – and Gwaine knew him too.

I could bluster all day long, like this storm, and still make no impression. Yet how could he let himself down by capitulating meekly? Did he not have a certain image to uphold? With half a grin that Leon could not fail to see, Gwaine continued his rant, though the rage had gone out of it finally. "Fortunata won't let any other fool ride her."

"This fool won't be riding her either. Look at you, Gwaine. You can barely stand up, never mind ride a horse in a howling gale. Don't think I haven't noticed. One sharp gust of wind and you'll be over. What if no one sees it happen?" He shook his head with regret. "Gaius will have my head if I don't bring you back."

"He'll have mine when you do," said Gwaine. "Doesn't matter. Look, I know you mean well, Leon. And I spoke out of turn. For that, I'm sorry. But to ride home in a cart, like an old man or an invalid…"

"You are an invalid." Tiring of their argument, Leon glanced up at the dark sky; not for the first time, and not without a shiver of dismay. "We're running out of time, Gwaine. Do as I say, or don't. Your life is in your own hands. If you choose to gamble it away for the sake of pride and dignity, that's your affair. A true knight knows when to obey. Are you truly a knight, Sir Gwaine, or is this all a game to you; a way to occupy your time until the next bright thing comes along to attract your attention?"

His fear lent sharpness to his words. That sharpness hurt Gwaine, though he would never confess it, but it also made him feel a flash of guilt that he knew to be well-deserved. "I'm a knight. A true knight. You shouldn't doubt me, Leon." He turned and stared at the cart filled with villagers, one of several that had been pressed into service. Speed was of the essence, and he was being selfish. "They look scared. Think I'll go and cheer them up, then."

"You do that." Leon said no more, but nodded solemnly and patted Gwaine's good arm with a gloved hand to show his approval.

-x0x-

The unlucky thief had fallen silent for a while – alarmed, no doubt, by the sound of struggling in the water, and by Merlin's unexpected arrival – but when he heard footsteps approaching at last, he renewed his pitiful cries for help. "Where's Tom?" he whined. "An' Simon? Who's that, now?"

Merlin stuck his head through a gap between the churned up mud and the broken flatbed of the cart. The thief was far less ugly than his two companions but just as unappealing in his manner. "Get me out of here," he insisted. "Stop your starin', crow-head. Where's Tom, I say? He promised not to leave me."

"I'm afraid he broke that promise," Merlin offered sagely. "He's left you all alone. With the two of us, in fact. Merlin – that's me – and Arthur Pendragon, the High King of Camelot. Maybe you've heard of him?"

Watching the foul man's reaction was almost a pleasure. "An' Simon?" he managed to gasp out, his eyes wide. He tried to pull backwards, away from Merlin's placid face, but he was well and truly stuck fast in the mud, with barely enough room to move his arms around, let alone to extricate himself.

Merlin grinned, just as Arthur bent down to join him. "Ah yes, Simon," the king said with sudden interest. "That's a very good question. Merlin?"

"Simon… Si….mon. Hmmm. Sounds familiar. Wait – I'll get it in a minute…" Merlin dragged the name out, playing with it as though he was trying to coax back a memory. Then he laughed. "Kidding. He won't be joining us either, I'm afraid."

The thief looked sick. Arthur, meanwhile, could barely contain his curiosity. "Why not?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Merlin!"

"Oh, very well." He held up his hands. "I'm sorry to say that our charming new friend found himself stuck between a rock and an angry old woman."

"He's dead?" cried the thief.

"Try unconscious," Merlin said smugly. "It happened right after you left, Arthur. Simon had a knife, you see. He tried to… well, I think he thought I was a threat to him. He never stopped to look behind him." Even Merlin had been taken aback by the chain of events. He had planned to use his magic surreptitiously and drop a tree branch down on Stubble Neck's ugly head – a classic move, but still a good one. Before he could do so, the woman had shoved her captor with both hands, and he had fallen hard against a nearby rock, stunning himself. Job done; no magic needed.

"So – correct me if I'm wrong - what you're telling me," Arthur surmised, "is that you had to be rescued by a little old lady. That's not embarrassing. Not in the slightest."

"Hey! Courage comes in all shapes and sizes. And at least I know how to be grateful – unlike some." First, Merlin had removed Simon's belt and lashed it around his wrists, several times, very tightly - just in case. Then he had thanked the old woman profusely.

"Ha ha." The king made no effort to hide his amusement. "Remind me to tell Robin about your heroic encounter. I'm sure he could create an epic verse about it."

"I'm sure he could. Unless he'd rather sing about the way I rescued you from a watery grave…"

"I'm sorry," Arthur cut in suddenly, eager to change the course of the conversation for some reason. "Where are my manners? Here we are, having a lovely chat about poetry and courage, while this poor honest fellow is trapped right in front of us, waiting to be rescued." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Very remiss of us," Merlin agreed, secretly proud of his victory.

The thief swallowed.

"You are goin' to rescue me, aren't you?" he said with a hasty revision of his former belligerent attitude.

"Are we?" said Merlin, to Arthur.

The king made a show of considering. "Should we?" he countered, purely for the benefit of the thief. Merlin knew that Arthur had already made up his mind. "I mean, really; he did try to rob these good people. And now the girl's father is dead…"

"That was Tom! That weren't me! He's a vicious man… was a vicious man, my brother. I'm half-glad he's dead, so I am. I almost broke my own neck when the cart went over. Tom, he didn't care. Simon neither. If you free me now…" His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a calculating tone. "If you free me, I'll help 'em."

"Help yourself, more like." Merlin's accusation was stern.

"No, sir, truly! Please believe me. I'll do anything…"

"Well," Arthur said, "I can't argue with that." He slid the tip of his sword towards the man's face, narrowly missing his nose. "It's a promise, then?"

"Yes," the thief said fervently. "See this wet?" He licked his finger and made a vague, cramped attempt to hold it up. "See this dry. Strike me dead if I lie."

"That's a promise." Arthur pulled back and jumped to his feet. "Merlin. Think you can lift this cart while I pull him out of the mud?"

Clambering – or rather, squelching – to his feet, Merlin gaped at the king. "Are you serious?" Not without magic; and that wasn't happening.

"No." Arthur laughed and slapped him on the back, just a little too hard. "Of course I'm not. Merlin, you have the strength of a daisy chain, and no sense of humour at all. I'll lift the cart. You can dig out our new best friend. If you're up to it, of course…?"

One day, the warlock thought, as he dropped back down onto his knees in the mud; one day I'll show him just how strong I really am. And the look on his face will be priceless.