The cold of night seeped up from the ground and into the stone bench. Merlin tipped his neck back and stared at the black sky, wondering why they hadn't gone back into the castle long ago. But he knew the answer was that he would rather freeze out here with Morgana sleeping against him than be by the warmest fire, the softest bed. He edged his arms out of his jacket one at a time, carefully shifting her head to his lap as he did so, then spread the article of clothing over her, tucking it round most of her body.
I ought to wake her up so we can sneak back in, he thought ruefully. But he didn't move, except to bring his hand near her face so he could feel the warm puffs of steady breathing. He hadn't needed to use magic to produce this; she had simply fallen asleep on his shoulder by the time the sun had gone down.
It was flattering. In a strange way. Then again, perhaps his ability to get a girl to sleep was not one to boast about. He had just been happy to see her smile again. And the possessive way she'd held his arm, maybe that was only to keep him off guard, but he had liked that, too.
"Merlin." Arthur's voice, on edge, sounded out of the darkness. "What are you doing out here? Is Morgana with you?"
"She's sleeping."
"We have beds for that." Arthur's form took shape as he appeared carrying a low-burning torch. He sounded resigned rather than angry which Merlin took to mean they weren't in any trouble. "At least you had the sense to stay near the castle, I suppose." He held the torch out so that the light cast over Morgana's body. "Is that comfortable?"
"Not so much for me," Merlin admitted.
"Leon shouldn't have let you two go." Arthur had an expression of reluctant forbearance for a moment before he added sharply, "No one saw you?"
Merlin shook his head. "I took care that they didn't." He squinted up at the other young man. "I haven't seen you lately. You must be busy with your guests?"
"My father's guests, you mean." Arthur sheathed the sword he was holding in his other hand and stared at the ground. "I'm taking Bayard's daughter riding in the morning."
"She seems lovely," Merlin offered. "I mean, from what I could see. On the other side of the hall."
Arthur grunted. "I'm sure she is lovely, but she's not—"
"Gwen?" Merlin finished helpfully.
"Shut up."
"Because we can talk about that if you want."
"I don't want to talk to you about Guinevere, Merlin," Arthur said in something approaching a shout.
Morgana stirred and murmured in irritation. Merlin stroked her head reassuringly and stared, unintimidated, at the prince. "Really? Because it seems like you might."
"Well I don't," Arthur retorted, but somewhat more quietly, as he stalked around, waving the torch so that sparks flew off it in all directions. Then he spun back and glared at Merlin. "It must be nice to be one of the simple folk."
"I wouldn't say there was that much that was nice about it," Merlin reflected. "Work. Bad food. No food. Leaky roof, bossy masters..."
"But there's nothing to worry about. No responsibilities. No wedding together of kingdoms." Arthur fell abruptly silent and turned away again.
Merlin stared at his shadowy profile. "You think you might have to marry this girl?"
"Well, it was always going to be that way, wasn't it? If not her, then someone else. And I understood that. Anything for the good of Camelot. Only now—"
"You're in love with Gwen," Merlin said into the silence.
"What difference does love make," Arthur said, but his voice was tight with confirming emotion.
"Quite a bit," Merlin said slowly, gazing down at Morgana for a moment, whose face was still pressed trustingly into his leg. "Rather a lot."
"Nevertheless."
A few moments of silence followed Arthur's grim statement.
Merlin strove for something comforting to say. "Well, perhaps you're worrying too early. The king may not even be thinking of such a thing."
"Perhaps not, except as his son I happen to know he is generally two steps ahead of the rest of us," was the slightly bitter response. "Look, Merlin, I'm tired. He's been keeping me at his side, I've been entertaining these people and talking about the weather while my knights are getting lazy guarding Morgana and sitting about the armory half the day no doubt, which reminds me—"
Well accustomed to this type of rant, Merlin waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.
"Morgana," Arthur said, pointing at her with the torch. "I need you to be ready to take her away from here. At any moment, you understand? If things get..."
"Crazy," Merlin supplied. He knew it irked Arthur when he finished his sentences.
"Crazy," Arthur agreed, frowning, which he could see even in the darkness. "I can't have Father using you two as hostages."
"What about Gwen?"
"I will worry about Guinevere. You can look after Morgana...can't you?"
His tone was serious, not sarcastic and yet there remained a hint of doubt as if it was a request.
I always try.
She doesn't always let me.
He wasn't sure what Arthur would make of such observations. At last he said: "I'll be ready."
"Good." Arthur stepped past the bench, the light sweeping a new set of shadows about. "Thank you," he added, as an afterthought. "And Merlin. Have her back inside before daybreak."
"Of course, sire." He was purposely a touch droll.
Morgana slept peacefully on as the light faded in the prince's wake.
Arthur's wish for rain was not granted. It was just another morning in an unbroken stretch of mornings each as pleasant as the one before. Nor was the lady Elaina indisposed. She was waiting for him in the main courtyard, perched atop her ride with an expression as serene and sunny as the skies. A groom was holding their horses but no one else was around, though he looked about.
"Good morning...You, ah, aren't bringing an escort?"
She blinked at him. "I assumed you would be able to keep me safe, my lord."
This seemed innocent rather than flirtatious. For which he was thankful. "Of course," he returned gallantly. He swung up into the saddle, but couldn't help glancing up at Morgana's windows where several times before he had had occasion to see Guinevere looking down on the courtyard below. She was not there now. Foolish to be thinking of it. And he didn't particularly want Guinevere to witness him and this girl riding out together anyway, since he had not asked her for any reason other than a sense of duty.
Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. Too much thinking and little purposeful activity was making his head ache.
"Are you well, my lord?" Elaina leaned forward with polite interest.
"Quite...Shall we be on our way?"
The horses' hooves clattered across the courtyard stones.
Hours later, Arthur was standing alone in front of his father, who had insisted upon knowing all the details of their ride, even though there was nothing to tell. They had been gone for most of the morning and in the process had covered plenty of the countryside around Camelot. Elaina had been a capable horsewoman as one would expect of a king's daughter and they had exchanged half-a-dozen pleasantries over the duration of the outing.
"And that's all," Uther prompted, with the predatory gleam in his eye Arthur had noticed he usually got when sentence was about to be passed on a criminal.
Arthur held his hands out, palms up. "I'm sorry if you find my report to be lacking, Father, but it was an uneventful journey. Would you rather we had been ambushed by the riffraff you had me run out of town?"
"I would rather you told me you had made good use of your time with her."
Arthur widened his eyes. "I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that."
His father chuckled. "Naturally, I mean have you done what I asked?"
"You said—" He tried to recall the exact wording his father had used before the arrival of their guests. "To be attentive. Which I have been."
"Good. Well, I hope it's enough."
"Enough for what?"
"Come, my boy, you know as well as I do that their kingdom is an important ally. A union between you and the girl would go a long way towards establishing a peaceful future for all of us."
"You can't be serious." He felt a tightness in his chest. Though he'd already speculated that such a sentiment was coming, to hear it spoken aloud was another thing entirely.
Uther raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting there is something distasteful about the lady Elaina?"
"No," he muttered.
"Then you have something against the notion of marriage in general?"
"No." Should he have said yes? Was he being cowardly? Was this not the moment to announce that he had no intention of marrying anyone who wasn't Guinevere? And yet he had promised her not to reveal such a thing.
"Perhaps you think you are too young," Uther remarked, nodding understandingly. "It takes time to learn the duties of a husband, just as it takes time to learn the duties of a king. The engagement could be a longer one—"
"It's not...that." Arthur cut him off. "I don't know how to explain it to you. I just...I don't think this is right."
"Be that as it may. I have placed a higher value on my judgement than yours in this matter." His father's voice hardened again. "Our guests will be leaving shortly. Bayard and I have reached an agreement on a number of matters, your and Elaina's future engagement being one of them. There is no need for you to speak to the lady on this subject, unless you are prepared to counterfeit some semblance of enthusiasm."
"I hardly think I could feel enthusiasm over the idea of marrying a woman I don't love."
Uther waved a hand as if batting away a fly. "Love is irrelevant."
"Is that what you told my mother?"
"Don't bring your mother into this."
Arthur knew he was treading into perilous territory. They almost never talked about Ygraine; it seemed too painful a subject for his father to bear. But, driven by the injustice, he persisted, "Why not? If you weren't prepared to sacrifice your happiness for the good of the kingdom, why should I?"
"You have no idea," Uther said, regarding him thoughtfully, "what you're talking about."
"Then I'll say good night, sire." He executed a perfunctory bow and strode towards the exit, praying he wouldn't be called back because he didn't think he could keep his temper much longer.
Uther let him go, with the parting shot of "Remember your promise," before he made it through the doors.
Morgana awoke to see Merlin dozing in a chair pulled up to her bedside, his eyes closed against the light slanting through the window. She vaguely recalled having fallen asleep outside, but there was no memory of the return journey back to her rooms. For some reason this didn't alarm her. She watched Merlin for a little while. The belief that no man was worthy of her trust had only deepened since the attack on her person in the forest, yet she knew, looking at him, that he was exempt from this suspicion.
If that made her foolish, so be it.
"Morning," she said, stretching.
His eyes snapped open, then he gripped handfuls of hair as if to wake himself up. "Already?"
"Did you carry me all the way back?" she said, mildly impressed.
"Yes but...I almost dropped you once," he admitted.
"Well, I didn't wake up, so I suppose you're forgiven."
He returned her smile tentatively. After a brief pause he asked, "Do you want me to fetch some breakfast?"
"Gwen will be by with it shortly," Morgana answered. Though I never eat any. She didn't have much of an appetite in the mornings in any case and with Gwen hovering around watching every bite she took or didn't take, it was preferable to skip over it.
"Right. Er...I should probably..." He glanced at the door.
"Stay and have some with me. I imagine it's better than whatever you usually have."
"Burnt porridge."
"There you are."
He was fidgeting. Oh curses, perhaps he thought she was ordering him instead of asking.
"I mean, you don't have to if you don't want," she added, a bit stiffly.
"No, I do. Thanks."
She was conscious of a sense of familiarity between them but didn't mind it. In fact she rather approved. It was very tiring to be perpetually on one's guard. Morgana relaxed back against the pillows and wondered how Gwen would react to see them partaking companionably of breakfast together. Of course she might not react at all, given that half of a servant's job was to remain imperturbable to any odd manifestations of a superior's quirks.
Still.