VENOM, CLAWS, BEAK, MUSK & EYE
The sun is pleasantly warming their shoulders, even if there is a chill in the air as often in this time of the year.
Merlin dangles a cork at the end of a string for the little black cat to play.
- "I reckon it'd be quite nice to live here", says the acrobat teenager, crunching into the apple pie the servant gave him.
They are perched in the slots in between the crenels, enjoying the time off they managed to scrounge, one after completing his morning chores, the other after his exercises with the jugglers.
- "I've got an idea", exclaims Merlin. "Why don't you stay in Camelot, Daegal? The Steward's always complaining there aren't enough staff, especially to care for the knights' horses. And Guinevere wants a new runner to be trained because there's more and more mail to carry back and forth to the other realms. Oh, that'd be great! I'll ask Arthur!"
Daegal smiles at the enthusiasm, then frowns.
- "I can't, Merlin ..."
- "Why?"
The fourteen years old boy strangely looks much older than his ten years older friend.
- "I can't tell you", he sighs. "It's complicated."
- "Would you miss it? Breathing fire and the magic butterflies and being on the road and wearing your toque with the bells and feasting every night?"
Daegal shakes his head, amused at this naivety.
- "I don't feast, me. I'm working."
- "Oh."
The teenager gets off the crenels and crouches to scratch the kitten's ears.
- "Why don't you come with us?" he asks suddenly.
Merlin giggles.
- "I'm too clumsy, I can never walk on a tightrope like you or throw knives. And I have to stand by Arthur. To protect him."
Daegal puckers a skeptical eyebrow.
- " And does he protect you?"
- "Arthur watches over us all", assures the manservant fervently. "He takes care of everyone, and he loves us and he never lets anyone down ..."
The boy pulls a face.
He seems about to say something when the cat gives a sharp scratch that rips off the cork from the string and sends it tumbling down the stairs. The little creature rushes after it and Merlin jumps off the crenels to go after her.
Daegal follows them, laughing.
He has only been here for a day, but he already likes Camelot.
The smiles in the streets, the reassuring feeling of a place where people work hard but take care of each other, the beautiful white towers and the benevolent king ...
He'd like to stay...
But he did not come for that.
Oh no, on the contrary.
He sighs and hurries down the stairs to catch up with the starry-eyed manservant who feels just as much as a big brother than a younger one.
Merlin enjoys the day, because so far he has not once needed to go close to the guest who scares him.
Gaius was not there when he woke up, called at daybreak for a serious fall in the lower town, but Arthur was in good spirits this morning: he gently made fun of Merlin, saying he has never seen someone capable of getting drunk just from wine vapors (the young man did not protest because he wasn't so sure anymore of having lived or dreamed the awful moment of the day before), then gave him a list of chores that have kept him away from the room where the negotiations are held. And now the manservant was even able to chat with Daegal a while. The teenager is a dull soul, blonde, with drooping eyes and the habit of wincing guiltily even when he has not done anything wrong. He asked many questions about the castle's routine, the king's habits, Merlin's daily chores, and in return told him about his bohemian life, leaving aside the hardships to speak only of sequins, pâtés as tall as men, lands draped in mystery and adventure.
Merlin listened with wide eyes, gawking in wonder. But when he tells Guinevere, however, she has no time for his enthusiastic tale. She is in a foul mood, trying to cope with the endless whims of the Lady Vivian.
- "This ... this ... vain and petty goose", rambles the young woman, her white and blue dress rustling on the hallway neat tiles, carrying a laundry basket like a mere maid. "Can't someone teach her to behave properly? She's ... humph!"
- "What has she done, now?" Merlin asks, not taking offense when he realizes she has not listened to a word he was saying.
- "Oh, she just can't wash as anyone else! She needs blasted donkey milk for her bath! Where am I supposed to find that?"
She pauses at the top of the spiral staircase, bites her lower lip and inhales deeply to calm her nerves.
- "If only she could at least stop calling me "you, there!" she hisses. "Of all the ladies I have served, I've never seen one so spoiled and frivolous!"
Merlin shifts his own laundry basket to his bony hip and reaches out to sweep off a curly tendril of hair on Guinevere's forehead.
- "It's going to be alright", he promises. "Only three more days. Then people will remember you're a lady."
Guinevere chuckles bitterly.
- "It's not that, Merlin ... I could stand it if it was only me she treated this way, but she had the stable boy whipped, the guards on her floor are going bonkers with her fits, and I found Anna in tears after she slapped her, calling her a ninny. Problem is, if she doesn't get her every wish fulfilled, her father will be upset ...
- "... and the negotiations will suffer, complete Merlin in a low voice.
- "Exactly. Now, run along. Give me your laundry and go to the kitchen, there's luncheon to bring to the guests."
She watches him go away, a bit surprised at his sudden darkened look, then hurries down the spiral staircase, mentally listing all that she still has to do before going back to the room of the insufferable Lady Vivian.
Only three days left. She can't wait for it to be over ...
Merlin makes it to the kitchen just in time to help George carry the trays of roasted chickens sprinkled with fennel seeds to the Small Hall where the negotiations take place. He hides behind the stiff back of the red-haired servant and the pillars, not daring to glance at the five monarchs.
- "Your demands are noted and will be taken into consideration in due course", Arthur is saying. "In the meantime, is there anyone else who has any other comments about the northern territories?"
His strong and deep voice dominates the discussions and he visibly obtains what he wanted, if the way he sits proudly on his tall armchair is anything to go by.
- "About the Barbarians", asks Olaf, frowning. "What do you plan on doing? Their mere presence is a threat to all of our kingdoms."
Merlin does not hear what says Queen Caterina, who also seems to be concerned about this problem, because the kitten playing this morning on the city wall has sneaked into the room – and this is going to be bad.
Arthur tolerates the cats often found asleep on chests and window sills, or even taking a sun bath, curled up on the throne, but Merlin suspects he won't be as lenient with the small intruder that just climbed on an empty chair, then on the table covered with scrolls and maps.
Georges glares at him and, mouthing, orders him to go get his cat immediately before someone turns his head towards the end of the table where the curious kitty is dipping his whiskers in an inkwell.
- "It's not enough to just protect ourselves from them", is explaining the Sarrum with his loud voice. "You have to make an impression, mark the minds, send a clear message. Once they understand who you are, what you're capable of, they never come back. And they crawl before you."
Merlin silently pleads for George to come and help, but the senior servant, standing with his arms crossed next to the buffet, does not budge.
The kitten trots to the middle of the table, gives a few strokes to a quill, jumps on a map that flattens and draws the attention of the whole assembly.
King Olaf raises a disapproving eyebrow. Queen Caterina hides a chuckle behind her slender fingers and Alined moistens his lips, ogling the young servant. Arthur sighs, annoyed, and leans to grab the cat and dispose of it, but the Sarrum is faster than him.
His iron grip clutches the delicate body of the kitten and lifts it from the table.
- "That's what I was saying", he continues with a crude laughter. "Their effrontery has no limits, until you show them who is their master."
The cat struggles with an high-pitched meow, tiny claws barely scratching the rough skin, her tail bristling with anger.
- "They're vermin, have no respect for borders and would constantly be looting and raiding our lands. Unless ..."
The man's massive fingers break at once one of the legs of the kitten that squeaks in pain, writhing in his grasp.
- "If the punishment is severe enough, they won't try again, believe me."
At the sound like a ruptured twig, Merlin turned spoiled milk white and Arthur could not help but shut his eyes a second. Queen Caterina let go a small yelp of horror, Olaf turned his head away, rolling his eyes, and Alined shuddered.
The Sarrum chuckles, the limp kitty dangling in his big hand, then throws it to Georges who catches it with a grimace of disgust.
- "Get rid of this, boy. Shall we grab a bite, Pendragon? I think we had enough chitchat for this morning."
The King of Camelot carefully avoids looking at his manservant and clenches his fists under the table to control his voice.
- "I agree. Let's take a break."
From the corner of his eye he sees Georges pulling Merlin out of the room. Once the doors open, other servants come in to serve them, bringing tin bowls filled with tepid water and rose petals.
- "You seem ... ill-at-ease, Arthur", sneers the voice of the Sarrum next to the king.
- "I'm not."
- "Good. You must be merciless", approves the man, wiping the golden juice of a roasted chicken leg from his chin. "If you lapse once, you will loose everything."
There is a threat underneath the advice and Arthur responds with a polite smile before heading to another of his guests.
He must gather all his will to successfully swallow something without gagging.
The sickening snap continues to echo in his ears. The whiskers of the black kitten dotted in ink some of the scrolls and there is a drop of drool on the map that was in front of the Sarrum.
Three more days. Only three days. Then everything will be back to normal.
Arthur has to wait until the end of the day, when it's time to get dressed for the banquet, to have at last the opportunity to talk to Merlin.
His manservant's eyes are red-rimmed from crying. Gaius said the kitten would remain crippled.
- "I'm sorry for what happened to your cat", says the king sincerely. "But you really need to focus. We must not make mistakes. They are dangerous, but we don't have a choice. If we don't sign peace with them, it means we'll be at war. I can't risk thousands of lives for a kitten that never should have been there."
Merlin's blue eyes are filled with incomprehension, anger and powerless sorrow.
- "They're evil", he whispers.
- "That's an opinion you'd better keep it to yourself", Arthur retorts sternly. "You will show the utmost respect to my guests. They are of royal blood and you will know your place."
He scolds to keep Merlin out from troubles, but his servant only hears injustice and leaves the room, slamming the door.
- "As you please, Sire."
Arthur sighs loudly. He is dressed, he no longer needed him, anyway. And he gave up long ago the idea of explaining to Merlin this attitude would have anyone else fire him.
But his heart still feels heavy from the misunderstanding and it is with a jaded look, slouched in his seat, that he watches the bear dancing at the song of cymbals accompanied by red waltzing petticoats and the rattling of Egyptian bracelets.
In the happy days, on such an occasion, Merlin would have been bursting with excitement next to his seat, goggling and giggling with Mithian. She would have slipped her little hand in the king's at the ferocious groans of the muzzled bear and held her breath when the teenager walked through the great hall on a tightrope high above them.
Why is that time gone?
Merlin is not even in the room to watch the show he was dying to see. He must be sulking somewhere.
- "Stubborn as a mule ..." Arthur mutters, lost in thought.
- "What was that, Sire?"
Queen Caterina is looking at him with a pleasant smile and he straightens up, shaking the weight of memories from his shoulders.
- "Nothing", he says. "I was ... er. Distracted. Please forgive me. You were talking to me, maybe?"
She laughs in a refined way. Her auburn hair is aristocratically pulled up with diamonds pins twinkling in the candlelight, her graceful neck highlighted by a pristine lace collar.
- "Not at all", she simpers. "I was just… thinking. Arthur Pendragon, it must be so difficult for you ..."
He considers her for a moment, puzzled.
- "What do you mean?"
- "Well, these celebrations, all this joy ... It is a terrible thing to find oneself alone in the world, suddenly, cruelly alone. It must be hard to be king and father both. To shoulder all that responsibility all by yourself…"
Arthur frowns, but she does not notice it, busy playing carelessly with the golden clasp of his robes, leaning to him, awfully close, her jasmine perfume intoxicating.
- "I am the same ... the war has taken my husband, you know. But I feel sure, My Lord, that you and I shall not remain alone forever. We will find love anew. A kindred spirit to share the burden of this life..."
Her eyelashes flutter languorously, shading her bright doe eyes, her satin cheeks are blushing slightly, the soft curves throb gently in her revealing neckline trimmed with gold braid.
Arthur stares at her unbelievingly for a moment, then sits up, clearing his throat. He takes off her fingers from his collar and brings them back on the armrest of the chair.
- "Thank you for your kind thoughts, my lady", he says calmly, trying to soften the coldness he feels rising in his tone. "May you find solace and support among your people, as it was the case for me. Camelot is a family that honors friendship. As to fine amor and hymen ... they are far from my mind."
Queen Caterina manages a rueful smile, then pretends a sudden migraine to excuse her mortified self from the table.
Arthur does not realize his face is grim until King Alined, who is placed on his left that night, asks what upsets him.
- "It's nothing. Domestic worries", he answers absently.
- "Oh."
Alined dabs his neck with a towel.
- "But your servants are so highly effective", he says casually. "This ... what was his name again? Oh. Merlin. He showed rare excellence in serving me during yesterday's banquet."
Arthur's spirits lift up a bit and he chuckles.
- "Merlin? You must be mistaken. He's the clumsiest of them all!"
He absently looks for him in the blur of minstrels singing, fat stuffed capons steaming hot and rich aromas of fruity wine, but does not find him.
- "Is he, really?" muses Alined ingenuously. "But I found him quite ... perfect. It's so unusual these days, I wanted to ask you to assign him to me during our stay at Camelot. My lackey's so incompetent I'd break out in hives if I have to put up with him any longer."
Arthur ponders for a moment.
- "Well ... Merlin is my personal manservant, but ..."
- "Oh", repeats Alined. "I didn't know. Of course I would not want to deprive you of such ... satisfying services."
The king rubs his neck.
Merlin is upset because of the cat, but Arthur knows he will not do anything that could harm the negotiations. Although having a grumpy Merlin in tow will increase his own stress level. Perhaps it is not so bad to part from him for a few days ...
Alined is very secret and there's a lining of irony in his every word, but he seems to have a good heart.
After all, who would compliment Merlin without being accustomed to him, but a sincere soul?
Arthur motions to George.
- "Tell the Steward and Guinevere that Merlin is to be at the personal service of King Alined for the rest of his stay."
He leans in to whisper in the ear of the exemplary servant.
- "And find him quickly. I bet he's sulking in a corner instead of working. Tell him I won't suffer his insolence any longer."
George nods and scuttles off.
Arthur feels a bit better and begins to enjoy the banquet. That night, he goes to bed hopeful about the following day, unaware that a painful scene takes place on the other side of the castle.
Merlin was devastated when he was sent to King Alined's chambers on Arthur's order. He tried to protest, but Guinevere had no time to for him, overloaded with Lady Vivian's imperious demands, and the Steward flatly refused to listen to him. He eventually walked to the dreaded room and was ordered to prepare a bath. Climbing the stairs back and forth with the buckets took him a while, but then he had to close the door and stay alone with the so disturbing leering.
Maybe it was the fate of the little cat and the anger rumbling under his ribs seeing that Arthur overlooked the incident, but this time, Merlin did not let the lord have his way. When Alined started stroking his lower back while he was adding cold water to the bath, the young servant overthrew the full bucket on the lord's head and ran away without listening to the furious squawking.
Gaius was not in his chambers and Merlin, nerve-wrecked, could not bear the idea of waiting alone. He picked up the basket padded cloths in which slept the crippled kitten and fled as far as possible, to the bottom of the castle, in the jails. The soldier who was on guard did not want to get into a long argument, busy playing dice with Myror, the tall balladeer with the silver earring. He opened Number Four's cell and let Merlin in before locking again, and went back to the small table where a pitcher of good wine and leftovers from the banquet were waiting for him.
Derian was not sleeping in the cramped dungeon bathed in a bluish glow by the moonlight sliting through the basement window. He sat up, surprised.
Merlin slumped in a corner, the kitten on his lap and talked to him for quite a while, until he was a curled ball of frustration and sadness, fatigue and unanswered questions.
He fell asleep under the dark gaze of the prisoner and woke up only when Perceval came to get Number Four out for a duel, in the late morning.
Arthur has told his guests about the campaign to Ismere and they wish to see for themselves the strength of the threat Camelot defeated.
Cradling the basket of his kitten, Merlin sneaks behind the members of the Court and the few buffoons selected to provide entertainment to those not interested in the duel, and finds himself face to face with George who looks peeved.
- "Where have you been?" he hisses, pulling Merlin away from noble ears. "King Alined said you never came help him to bed and you did not deign to go wake him up! The Steward will punish you, he was beside himself, let me tell you. Plus, I had to replace you! "
- "And?" Merlin prompts almost in spite of himself.
George stares at him a moment, stunned.
- "And nothing, idiot! What did you expect? You are hopeless. I know His Majesty is outrageously lenient with you, but you've crossed the line. His Lordship isn't difficult to deal with, compared to others. What possessed you to piss him off?"
The misunderstanding he reads in the blue eyes unsettles him more than Merlin's disobedience.
- "You sure you're okay?" he softens. "You're acting weird these days. Something happened? I mean, I'd get it if you didn't want to work for the Sarrum but His Highness Alined isn't that bad..."
- "He is", Merlin whispers. "And I don't like him."
Georges scarce eyebrows frown disapprovingly under his red bangs.
- "You're ridiculous" he snorts. "Now bring back your poor cat to Gaius' and hurry to go clean up the Great Hall with the others, there's another banquet tonight."
- "Will they stop stuffing themselves someday?" Merlin grumbles.
- "Shut up."
The young man walks away and Georges lets go of another sigh of exasperation, before resuming his most remarkably polite attitude to offer refreshments to the noble audience. Queen Caterina coos of pleasure as she accepts the flower Myror just made appear from nowhere, more charming than ever in his Byzantium cloak.
The White Shadow is standing in midfield, ankles chained, and facing one of the warriors from Amata.
- "When this is over, I'd like to spar with you, Pendragon", the Sarrum says with a smirk that looks like bared fangs.
Percival explains the rules of the combat, then steps back after a last look at Derian.
He has the feeling Number Four did not listen to a word he said. The eyes of the former Dorocha were fixed on something beyond the giant's shoulder - cold and relentless.
But behind Perceval, there is only one thing and this is what worries the brawny man.
Five monarchs sitting in a row.
Maybe it was a bad idea to give in to the whim of the guests ...
Has Arthur lost sight of the purpose of this gathering?
Why let the wolf out of his cell now? It is neither wise nor justified.
And Derian's gaze was not that of the man Perceval sparred with every day for over a year.
Both men raise their quarterstaff and greet each other. Then the fight begins.
Merlin brought his basket to the kitchen where he easily obtains a bowl of milk for the little cat and a big slice of bacon on a chunk of bread rubbed with garlic for him, which he chomps perched on a stool. Her hands on her plump hips, the cook ranted for a while against "tose lords wit no heart who mess op our good Cam'lot and it's pity His Maj'sty hasn' yet gone trough wit his grief 'coz he'd never allow soch tings was he in his rite mind", shaking her ruddy face under her bonnet.
Comforted by his halt in the warm and busy room, Merlin kissed her cheek before leaving the kitchen to go help the others in the Great Hall.
But he never got that far because clamors broke out on the training ground, and everybody anxiously scrambled in that direction.
- "Someone killed the king!"
TBC