Chapter XVIII: A Message from a Spy

When Arthur had gone off to stop the war, he hadn't really thought too much about his original destination. Now that he and Odin had made peace (and a better peace than he'd dared hope for), however, he found it difficult not to fixate on the potential repercussions of not arriving in Gawant when Godwyn had been expecting him. Never mind that Arthur had been attacked by bandits; he could have gone there after escaping, and he'd chosen to ride off in the opposite direction.

Godwyn probably wouldn't be too offended that Arthur had, after an attack that he couldn't have prevented, gone to protect his people by stopping a war. He wasn't an unreasonable man. He wouldn't even be overly upset that Arthur hadn't managed to send word about his new destination. It wasn't like he'd had access to a messenger until he'd arrived at the camp.

But then he'd gotten to the first camp and hadn't even thought about explaining his situation to Godwyn. He hadn't thought about it until after he'd signed his first treaty (with Odin of all people, which still surprised him a little every time he thought about it), and now he couldn't stop thinking about it.

So on the way back from the treaty signing, Arthur turned to Leon and asked, "Do you know of anyone who could ride to Astolat for me?"

Lancelot turned curiously towards him. "Astolat?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. "It's the name of King Godwyn's castle. I was supposed to arrive there… probably around now, actually, give or take a couple days." It would have depended on the weather and the possibility of less fatal bandit encounters. That reminded him—he needed to deliver news of his guards' deaths to their families. Perhaps he ought to send another messenger ahead to Camelot, but the men had died trying to protect him. He owed it to them to deliver the news in person when he arrived. "I need to send word and explain what happened."

"A messenger wouldn't arrive much earlier than you," Leon pointed out, mildly suspicious.

"I'm going back to Camelot," Arthur said. "If anyone asks, it's to tell my father what happened here."

Leon hesitated. "It might be better to send your father a message."

It would be, but if Merlin couldn't find a way around his prophecy…. Besides, Arthur was needed in Camelot. He was the only person who could stand up to Uther and mitigate the damage he was causing. He wouldn't be able to stop everything, but something was better than nothing.

An idea struck. Arthur looked again at Lancelot, honorable and brave and loyal. Lancelot, whom Uther wanted dead, Lancelot and Gwaine and Percival and Elyan and Leon. Hell, he might even want Marrok dead if he considered the squire tainted by association.

Uther had sent them to war in the hope that they would die there. Arthur doubted that he would stop trying to end them, but if they were out of his power….

"How would you five like to visit Gawant?"

Neither asked who 'you five' were. Instead, they exchanged meaningful glances that Arthur couldn't quite decipher. "I would have to bring Marrok," Leon finally stated. He must also be worried about Uther lashing out at the boy. Arthur wished he could blame him, but he couldn't.

"I think I can manage," announced Gwaine, who had once again been shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Good taverns there?" Elyan quipped.

Arthur sighed exaggeratedly, but it wasn't like he'd been speaking quietly. Percival had probably heard too, and Marrok (Arthur had noticed that he had good ears), but they at least weren't saying anything.

"Are you going to write a letter?" Lancelot inquired, mercifully bringing the conversation back to its original purpose.

"I probably should," Arthur admitted, "and I'll have to give you a verbal message too. Do not let Gwaine deliver it."

"What, don't trust me?"

"But won't he be insulted there's only one knight?" Percival asked.

Arthur thought about it, turning away so that his men couldn't see his expression. After a moment, he mentally shrugged. Uther was already furious with them all; he probably couldn't get too much angrier (there had to be a physical limit on how much rage a person could experience at one time without literally exploding), so the least he could do was afford the four commoners who had become his trusted companions a bit more protection.

"We could bring along another knight," Leon suggested, clearly deciding that his prince wasn't going to say anything.

"Or," Arthur interjected, "I could just knight you now instead of waiting until I become king."

Lancelot's head whipped around. Gwaine choked on air. Leon sucked in a breath. Elyan went completely still, save for the widening of his eyes. Percival nearly fell off his horse.

"What?" Lancelot half-asked, half-squeaked.

"You risked your lives to protect Camelot from Sigan's gargoyle army. More than that, you did it in a way that you knew would endanger you for as long as my father sits on the throne. If that doesn't deserve knighthood, I don't know what does."

Lancelot looked like he was going to start crying. Arthur hoped he didn't. That would be horrifically awkward. "My king," the would-be—no, future—knight choked out.

"I'm not king yet," Arthur pointed out sharply. By the time the days wane again…. No, no. Focus on the present.

"You are to us," said Gwaine—Gwaine the laughing rogue, Gwaine who disdained royalty and nobility, Gwaine the wandering vagabond without a cause. "And not just because you're offering us knighthoods."

Lancelot shook his head in disbelief, but there was a tremulous smile growing on his face as his joy brightened like the sunrise.

His other men were smiling too, even Leon, who was already a knight and part of a class that might feel threatened by these commoners' upward mobility. They'd bonded, that night when stone had come to life and only magical steel could drive it back. Arthur had known even then that he would knight them, but he hadn't realized how soon it would occur.

"We won't have time for a full ceremony," Leon noted. "Not if we're to be used as messengers. I assume you'll be using the battlefield version?"

"I will." There were two forms of dubbing. One was a court occasion, full of ceremony and ritual and acclaim. The other was stripped to its bare essentials so that it could be performed whenever and wherever necessary: on dying squires who had proved their valor, on noble-born warriors between battles, places where drawn-out rituals were impractical at best and impossible at worst. "We'll have to hold the full version later." That was what usually happened if the newly dubbed knight survived battle.

Lancelot was getting uncomfortably misty-eyed. Arthur flailed about mentally for a change of subject. "Gawant! I should tell you what to expect in Gawant and what to tell Godwyn. You can start out by conveying my deepest apologies…."

Merlin thought that scrying might be one of his favorite branches of magic. There was something immensely reassuring about knowing that, no matter how far away they might be, he could check up on his loved ones whenever he wanted. Better yet, now that he was so much better at teleporting, he could go to them if he saw they were in danger.

They were all doing well enough, Arthur and Gwen and Morgana and the folk of Ealdor. His friends weren't necessarily happy, but they were safe and uninjured and moving forward. Sometimes, that was all anyone could ask.

The warlock hesitated, but, well, there were several reasons to do this even if he preferred to use scrying to watch over people he actually liked. Grimacing, Merlin cast the spell again, focusing on Uther.

The king was with Lord Leodegrance, Leon's father, listening to his report on the state of the citadel. He wasn't visibly insane, but that wasn't a surprise. Merlin had overheard Gwen and Morgana talking very quietly about what Uther might do now that the mandrake had been found. Once Merlin had a little more strength back (he was better than he'd been this morning, but still far too tired for a man who'd spent so much time sleeping), he should pop in and let them know that Arthur was on his way back. He could give them the king's information, too, if Uther ever got around to providing any. Leodegrance was, but Merlin suspected that nothing the lord said would be news to Morgana and Gwen.

"Enough of this," Uther snarled, interrupting Leodegrance mid-word. "Has there been any news of the sorcerer Merlin?" He literally spat the name, flecks of liquid spraying from his mouth.

"No, sire," the reluctant lord was forced to admit.

The king growled again, slamming his fist down against the table. "Every person I've talked to says the same. How is it that the lying bastard cursed me in the heart of my kingdom without anybody noticing?"

"I have no idea," Leodegrance confessed. "Perhaps he became invisible? I understand that some sorcerers can turn invisible."

"Or perhaps he has a collaborator here," Uther continued. He didn't seem to have even heard Leodegrance.

Merlin's blood chilled. He doubted that Uther would ever suspect Morgana, but Gwen was known to be his friend, Gaius's too, and he was fairly certain that she'd been one of the king's caretakers while he was ill. He leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the water in the scrying bowl.

"…Like who?" asked Leodegrance.

"Someone with access to the entire manor, someone we would never suspect."

Merlin would have to grab Tom too, maybe even Morgana.

"We need to investigate the guard."

Merlin pulled up short, eyebrows shooting past his hairline. A relieved chuckle escaped. "The guard?" he repeated softly, incredulously.

"The guard?" Leodegrance echoed, his words overlapping Merlin's. "A full investigation?"

"Yes, yes. I should have seen it before. How else could the sorcerer have released the Great Dragon or emptied my weapons vault? He must have a collaborator on the guard, several collaborators. I need to find them and make an example of them." His hands were shaking, twitching, his eyes wide and manic. Merlin found himself wondering whether the mandrake exposure might have had any long-term effects. He'd seen Nimueh snap completely, and it still gave him the occasional nightmare.

"If I had the numbers, I'd clean them all out," Uther muttered darkly.

Leodegrance went rigid. "I'm certain that that is not necessary."

Uther shook his head. "Better to kill them all than to let a single sympathizer escape," he muttered. "All of them but Maddox. Maddox can't be a traitor."

Merlin wondered if he'd be able to scry this Maddox fellow whom Uther apparently trusted so much. Probably not. Scrying worked best if the scryer had already met the scryee; they needed to know faces to help differentiate between people with the same first name (people with surnames and/or titles were considerably easier to find). Still, he might as well try. He might get lucky.

"I am certain that he is not," Leodegrance soothed. "Perhaps you could make a personal guard and name this Maddox its head? That might prevent something like this from happening again."

"Maddox is needed elsewhere."

That… was ominous. Merlin would definitely have to look up Maddox.

"Besides," Uther continued, "how could I know that the other guards are loyal?"

"Perhaps by taking into account their long years of faithful service and courage in the face of danger?" Leodegrance was doing a good job of hiding his fear. He was a little too composed to be genuine. "Or you could reward the ones who fought most valiantly against Sigan's gargoyles, or you could take your guard from among the knights."

"Gaius served long and well, and he was a traitor." Uther's voice broke slightly on the last word, but he rallied quickly. "The sorcerer won his position by saving Arthur's life, murdering one of his own kin in the process. They brought me Edwin Muirden! Now they're after my son. I can't trust anyone."

"That's what happens when you kill so many people," Merlin muttered, not particularly sympathetic.

"But perhaps…." Uther nodded, up and down, up and down, up and down. "Yes. Yes."

Leodegrance kept his face blank and smooth. Merlin clenched his fists.

"The ones who best prove their loyalty can be my guard," Uther decided.

Leodegrance clearly didn't want to know, but he asked anyways. "How might the guardsmen prove their loyalty, Your Majesty?"

"By rooting out the traitors in their ranks!"

Yes, Merlin had expected that. Feared it, even. While he wasn't particularly fond of the guard as a unit, he was fairly well acquainted with several individual guardsmen, only some of whom were objectively terrible people. He didn't want a massacre among the guard, even if the cold-blooded part of him noted that such a slaughter would do Uther more harm than good.

The lord hesitated a long moment. "Your Majesty, may I make a suggestion?"

"If you must."

"The guard is not unified, especially not with so many new recruits." Very new recruits: they'd gotten their positions after Sigan's gargoyles killed their predecessors. "The established guardsmen have many rivalries, and newer members might be tempted to take the easy path to power by bringing false charges against their seniors. Perhaps there should be more stringent criteria for accusations made against guardsmen." Meaning, of course, that the guards shouldn't be allowed to just go up and murder each other on some trumped-up charge of 'sorcery.' Merlin approved.

But Uther was shaking his head. "No. The risk of escape is too great. Better to accidentally kill a few innocents than risk letting a sorcerer survive."

Leodegrance held up his hands, kept his voice soft and soothing. "I understand the necessity of such a firm stance, sire, but others might not be so understanding. The people are already upset. I suspect that even members of the nobility—"

"Can't you see? The sorcerers are stirring them up. Sorcerers and traitors and gossiping fools." Uther's lips curled. "But I won't give them an inch. Find Captain Brun. He needs to tell his men their new directives."

The lord must have known that protesting further would just waste his breath. With a carefully even, "Sire," and perfectly proper bow, he backed out of the room. If he was moving a little more slowly than usual, well, it wasn't like Merlin was about to go tell Uther about that.

The warlock let the scrying magic dispel. He leaned back in his chair, chewing at his lip as he considered (vacillated, really) what to do next. He had to do something, because Leodegrance was right about there being rivalries on the guard. It was simply a question of which course of action would be most effective. Should he limit himself to telling Morgana and Gwen, or should he go to the one person who might be able to change Uther's mind?

Then Merlin imagined Arthur's reaction to him not at least offering the option and winced. Yes, he should go tell the prince, offer his aid. So he cast the scrying spell again, summoning up an image of his friend. One spell later, he materialized in the woods near his friend's path.

"Arthur," the warlock called silently, "I need to talk with you."

The prince startled so badly that he nearly fell off his horse. He looked around wildly, eyes wide, as the honor guard around him watched with confused concern.

"I'm in the forest a bit to your east. Just make an excuse and hurry over here. I'm still recovering from the land-bonding." He was only a little tired for now, but that could change at any moment. This was the longest he'd stayed awake for… over a week, he thought.

One of the soldiers worked up the courage to speak with Arthur, probably inquiring if he was all right. The fellow was vaguely familiar; Merlin thought that he might be a minor knight from a family on the border.

Arthur nodded sharply, mouth pressed in a thin line. He said something else—Merlin found himself wishing he knew a spell to improve hearing—before raising his voice and bellowing, "Merlin! Get over here!"

The warlock froze.

"Merlin!" Arthur repeated, more commandingly this time.

"You realize that you're surrounded by armed men of Camelot, right?"

"They'll stand down. Just come over here."

Merlin wasn't certain if the men would obey their prince's orders, but they already knew he was there. (Why Arthur had felt the need to blab, he really had no idea.) They were scanning the woods, hands uncomfortably close to their weapons.

He did need to talk to Arthur, and he could be fast when he needed to be. If he stayed away for them, kept an eye out for arrows, and raised a shield at the first whiff of danger, he'd be fine. Probably. So, ignoring the reprimands of a mental voice that sounded very much like his mother, Merlin stepped onto the path.

The soldiers stared at him, their eyes full of judgement and suspicion and even hatred. A few men looked ready to gut him at the slightest provocation. Still, they kept still as Merlin made his way over to Arthur.

"You can ride on one of the spare horses," the prince informed his warlock. "We'll talk as we ride."

"Okay," Merlin mumbled, thoroughly spooked. Arthur wasn't going to betray him. He knew that Arthur wasn't going to betray him. Even though, with Cornelius Sigan gone, Camelot didn't actively need a spellbinder's protection, and Merlin had sort of lied to him for a year, and then there was the part about Uther's prophesied death and he was just going to stop thinking about this now. "Can… can we ride in the back?"

Arthur was baffled. "Is something wrong with the front?"

"I'd rather not turn my back on all the armed men who are supposed to kill me on sight," he admitted. "You know, to avoid getting shot, stabbed, decapitated…."

Arthur raised his voice again. "For now, Merlin, you're under my protection. If a known warlock is desperate enough to approach an armed contingent of Camelot, I'd like to hear why."

So Merlin ended up at the front of the column on a horse that probably didn't like him with twenty or so trained warlock-killing killers who knew he was a warlock staring at him. It was not a comfortable experience, and he wanted to ask Arthur just what the hell he was playing at. But he also wanted to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, and that desire trumped his curiosity. At least the terror was keeping him awake. "You know how your father is now allowing guardsmen to kill accused spellbinders on the spot, without even a trial?"

A muscle jumped in the prince's jaw. "I know."

"It looks like there was some kind of exemption clause in that decree which protected the guards. Uther's removing it now. Lord Leodegrance tried to talk him down, and I don't doubt that Lady Morgana will try too, but… he's not really in the mood to listen to others."

Arthur groaned long and low. "Leodegrance pointed out that this is guaranteed to be used as a way to get promotions and clear out rivals?"

"Uther told him that's acceptable collateral damage. I didn't think you'd agree."

"I don't."

The man riding closest behind them (Merlin was hyperaware of his presence, of his eyes boring holes in the back of the warlock's head) cleared his throat with unnecessary vigor. Merlin flinched, automatically jerking around in his seat (and nearly falling off his horse in the process), his magical shield already half-formed. But the minor lordling hadn't been giving the signal to shoot or bludgeon or otherwise attack. He'd just wanted their attention.

"And how," the knight sneered, "do you know all this, sorcerer? Were you spying on our king?"

"He is my king," Merlin snapped, jutting a thumb at Arthur, "and of course I was spying on Uther. It's not like he lets me into his council chambers anymore."

"Lets…?" choked one of the lower-ranking soldiers.

Merlin almost explained, but he still very much wanted to be out of here as quickly as possible. He returned most of his attention to Arthur, though of course some of it remained on the bloodcloaks behind him. "I thought that you should know. Also…." Why was this part so hard to force out? Everyone here knew he had magic. (The hostile trained killers knew he had magic.) "If you wanted to get back to Camelot more quickly to try to stop this, I would help."

The lordling and everyone else who was close enough to hear spluttered. It would have been funny if Merlin weren't so viscerally frightened. Keep the magic secret, his mother had told him every day for most of his life. If Camelot knows what you are, you will burn, and scream, and die. Keep the magic secret, Merlin.

"Sire," the lordling gasped, "you can't seriously be considering the sorcerer's suggestion. He'll kill you!"

"Merlin is harml—" he began automatically, then remembered otherwise. "Merlin wants me alive and well. Think about it. If he wanted us dead, he'd just call his pet dragon."

"Kilgharrah's not a pet," Merlin pointed out, wishing his friend hadn't just reminded the armed men that yes, he was indeed a threat. "I might have a pet wyvern now, though. I'm thinking of calling him Ralf."

Arthur gaped at him in something like horror, his mouth working soundlessly. "I…. No. No, I'm still not going into that. If you were to… help, how many men could you take?"

"Sire!" cried the knight.

"If my father is about to let his guards massacre each other—"

"What proof do you have other than a sorcerer's word?"

"Merlin willingly revealed his magic to me, knowing full well that I could have killed him for it, as a gesture of faith and goodwill when Cornelius Sigan was ravaging our home. He has repeatedly saved not only my life, but quite possibly the lives of every man, woman, and child in Camelot. I'm not trusting his word, Traherne. I'm trusting his actions."

Merlin swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. He really hoped it didn't show. Fortunately, Arthur, when he turned back to his warlock, didn't seem to notice anything. "How many?"

"I... don't actually know yet. But, Arthur, my ability to teleport isn't the only risk factor." How could he phrase this delicately? "You could survive magical transportation, but..." He gestured at the men behind them.

But Arthur was grinning. "You're right, of course."

"Are you feeling all right?" Merlin blurted. "Any blows to the head recently?"

"No."

"Did he take any blows to the head recently?" Merlin repeated, directing his question at the bemused soldiers.

"He did not," growled Traherne.

"I knew all along that my father would never forgive anyone else coming with us. I wanted to see what you would say."

Merlin goggled at him, his mind racing. The prince had wanted to show his followers that Merlin would think of them and the consequences they'd face if they let him teleport them back to Camelot. He'd wanted the guards to see the entire interaction: Merlin's warning, whatever it may be; the inevitable banter that occurred whenever they conversed; the sight of a nonthreatening, very human spellbinder freely offering loyalty and aid, deference and affection to a Pendragon prince. He wanted them to see a man with magic acting in a decidedly non-evil way.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Long story," the warlock replied. "I'm just… glad you've been thinking like that."

Arthur's lips quirked ever so slightly. He understood. "So. Merlin. Are you willing to bring me to Camelot to save the guardsmen who hunt your people?"

A couple soldiers startled slightly. They hadn't thought of it that way. Even Traherne's eyes widened.

"Yes," Merlin answered honestly.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up."

Merlin could have laughed. "Of course, sire."

And they were gone.

Alternate chapter title: "In Which Arthur is Very Uncomfortable with the Happy Emotions that he Inspires"

Fear not, friends, the red wyvern will not be named Ralf, or Redward, or anything quite that stupid.

"Traherne" is just a random name I found online, not one of the Round Table knights or anything like that. Astolat, though, is mentioned in the mythos.

Next update: December 20. The new knights begin their sidequest. Arthur returns to Camelot.