A/N:

In which Merlin and Gaius finally get to talk...and poor Sir Marrock regrets his life choices.

[I don't own Merlin, AlexanderCho on deviantART owns the awesome cover art, and there's a poll (plus additional color-commentary) in the A/N at the end of this chapter.]

On with the fic!

Chapter 92: The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men

Sir Marrock hadn't meant to commit treason—honest to goodness, he hadn't. The evening had started out well enough, but then things hadn't gone entirely to plan and now he was really in a pickle.

Marrock was well aware that basic guard duty fell outside the normal purview of a Knight of Camelot, but after that blacksmith had escaped, the king had insisted on a knight joining the daily guard rotation. Marrock suspected this was as much about ensuring loyalty as it was about adding manpower.

Bit ironic tonight, though, Marrock thought as he carefully manipulated a conversation with the two young guards on duty even as he tried not to think about how he'd dissembled more in the past week alone than he had in his whole career up to that point.

"Lads, honestly, what good would it do for all three of us to troop down to the cell?" Marrock shook his head. "And what, leave the other cells and the only exit unguarded?"

Matching skeptical looks graced the guards' faces. Marrock upped the ante, leaning in conspiratorially and grinning as he clapped one of the guards on the shoulder.

"And frankly, I'm a bit envious—it's much warmer here than it is in that miserable corner of the dungeons."

He feigned a derisive huff.

"But I suppose it's fitting; the usual cells are too good for a traitor—and a sorcerer, to boot."

The guards nodded in tandem.

Good, that was the plan.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

After completing all his other duties for the day, Gaius had arrived late in the evening to tend to the prisoner's wounds, just as Marrock knew he'd done the evening before. The guards didn't even try to follow Marrock as—cell keys in one hand and a torch in the other—he escorted the physician down the long, dark corridor to the prisoner's cell.

Good, that was the plan.

Standing in front of Merlin's cell, well out of earshot of the guards, Marrock set the torch in the wall sconce and unlocked the cell to let Gaius in. He was surprised that Merlin didn't rise when Gaius entered, not even after Marrock re-locked the cell door behind the physician. It only took a moment, though, to figure out why. Even with the crossbow bolt removed and the wounds properly dressed, the boy hadn't regained proper use of his legs. Marrock wasn't supposed to feel pangs of sympathy for a traitor, not even one to whom he owed a life-debt, but that was exactly what he felt.

Wait—that was not the plan.

Gaius spoke quickly and quietly as he crouched down beside Merlin, who'd managed to drag himself into a sitting position.

"Sir Marrock has granted me this brief opportunity to speak openly with you. He wishes to repay the debt he feels he owes because you spared his life in combat for the sake of his family."

Merlin looked from Gaius to Marrock, eyes wary and searching.

"How much do you know?"

The blunt question caught Marrock off guard. He hadn't expected a sorcerer that powerful—warded cuffs or not—to show open fear towards just one man armed only with a single sword. Marrock wasn't supposed to feel pity for a sorcerer, not even one to whom he owed a life-debt, but that was exactly what he felt.

No, this was definitely not the plan.

He found himself answering the boy's question, fighting the instinct to offer words of comfort to him. He struggled to separate the traitor, the sorcerer, in front of him from the clumsy, likable boy who'd been the prince's sarcastic shadow for the past two years.

"Um, I...well, I know you have powerful magic and you betrayed Camelot—"

Merlin flinched.

"—By fleeing with Arthur, and...uh, I know Gaius knew about your magic."

Merlin's eyes widened—Or just a trick of the torchlight?—as he looked quickly to Gaius, who nodded reassuringly. Marrock strangely found himself wanting to reassure the boy as well but managed not to. Barely.

Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "I can only give you a few minutes—no longer than it could reasonably take to—" He gestured at the white linen bound tightly around Merlin's middle.

Gaius turned to Merlin and—careful not to press on the bandages—wrapped his arms around his ward.

"I feared I'd never get this chance," he whispered; Marrock barely caught the words.

The sorcerer, the traitor, curled into the embrace as much as his chains allowed, looking younger and more vulnerable than Marrock had ever seen him.

"I'll, uh—" Marrock cleared his throat. "I'll just be over here, then."

He backed up a couple paces and turned away from them, facing instead toward the guards' station around the corner at the far end of the cell corridor.

I can't—not in good conscience, at least—go completely out of earshot.

But he could hope against hope he wouldn't learn anything he'd regret knowing.

Please just say goodbye. No treason, no sorcery, no secrets...

"Gaius, I've...I've really missed you."

"And I, you, my dear boy."

Marrock heard the rustle of the physician's robe as he released his grip on the boy.

"Merlin, I am so proud of you," Gaius told him, "No matter what happens, never doubt that."

His voice more raw than before, Merlin said, "But I lost him, Gaius—I wasn't, I couldn't—"

"Arthur?"

"No, not Arthur—well, him too—but I meant my...my father. When he stayed behind, he did it for me."

What?

"If I'd been better, stronger, if I'd—"

"It wasn't—" Gaius tried to interject, but Merlin seemed not to notice.

"What good is—" Merlin paused and his chains clanked suddenly. Marrock heard a sniffle as Merlin tried again. "All this power and I'm...I'm still not enough. I couldn't protect him, I couldn't protect Arthur, or Freya, or—"

"Merlin," Gaius said, in what Marrock immediately recognized as the physician's Good Bedside Manner, "You mustn't blame yourself."

Gaius sighed and added, "He was a good man."

"You knew, didn't you?"

When Gaius didn't reply, Merlin said, "My mother not talking about—I mean, that I can understand. But you?"

Marrock fought the temptation to turn around to gauge Gaius' expressions for himself; if the physician replied, his words were too quiet for Marrock to hear.

"Why didn't you tell me? I spent my whole life thinking he must have been dead or—" Merlin's voice broke. "—Or that he knew what I was and didn't want me."

Marrock's heart wasn't supposed to break for an enemy of Camelot—not even one to whom he owed a life-debt—but all the same, Marrock's first-time father instincts won out as he listened to a boy who'd grown up feeling so abandoned.

This is the complete opposite of the plan.

"I thought—uh, your mother thought—well, we believed it was safer that way..."

Gaius sighed.

"...Especially once you came to Camelot. If Uther had found out somehow, he'd have viewed the son of the last Dragonlord with the deepest suspicion."

Emrys? Merlin was the son of Emrys?

"But I—" A sharp breath. "Especially then, I had a right to know."

Marrock heard the sound of Gaius unwrapping the bandages and Merlin's soft hiss when Gaius apparently brushed too close to a particularly painful spot.

"These are doing better than I could have hoped, and no sign of infection, thank heavens."

Merlin barely acknowledged that as he picked up a new thread.

"So, um, Arthur—he knows, now."

A pause. Marrock fought the urge to turn around.

"How are you doing—about that, I mean?" Gaius asked gently, "It's, well, it's been a long time coming."

Merlin sighed. "I, uh...I told him just before we were ambushed..."

Marrock had been right. Arthur hadn't known; the shock on his face that dawn had been genuine.

"And...Gaius, I don't think he took it well."

Marrock had to agree. Not that I'd say that out loud, not to Merlin or Gaius.

But why not to them as opposed to anyone else? Marrock didn't like the possibilities his mind offered.

For the love of Camelot—this was the very antithesis of the plan.

He'd evidently missed Gaius' reply while he'd been lost in his own thoughts, but they had already moved to another topic. While Marrock appreciated they'd heeded his warning that they wouldn't have long for this conversation, he earnestly wished once more that they'd stick to safe, non-treasonous parting words.

Alas, he was not that lucky.

"So, what now?" Merlin asked.

"We're not sure..."

'We'? Oh, great.

"I talked with—"

Merlin stopped abruptly. He paused before speaking again, slowly, as though censoring his ideas between his mind and his mouth.

"I talked with, uh, them...but I couldn't persuade them."

"About what?"

"To stop trying to protect me."

"But if—" Gaius choked off and cleared his throat. "Merlin, their efforts are all that stands between you and execution."

"I know."

"So why would you—?" Marrock heard Gaius rummage in his medicine kit. "If it's your injuries, well, I'll figure out something stronger—"

"Thanks, but it's...it's not the pain."

"Then what—oh." The physician's tone softened. "Merlin, there's...there's no shame in being afraid."

"What? No, it's not that—I mean, yes, I'm scared—terrified, honestly. But, um...that's not why."

"Then...?"

"I'm scared for, um...Did they tell you about the, uh, the connection?"

Gaius sighed heavily. Marrock couldn't help the knot forming in his stomach.

'Connection'? What does that mean?

"If Aredian—"

Merlin paused. Marrock realized with uncomfortable clarity that he didn't need the boy to finish that sentence; it didn't take much imagination to think what Aredian could—no, would—do. The knot in Marrock's stomach tightened as Merlin spoke again.

"I don't...Gaius, I don't want to hurt anyone else."

"But what about the prophecy?"

"Arthur doesn't need me, not anymore."

"Even if that were true—which I sincerely doubt—there's still the rest of us. You matter. You matter to us, not just because of some prophecy."

"Thanks."

Marrock could hear the mix of hope and doubt in that single word.

But sorcerers—they're supposed to be arrogant and power-hungry.

But that hadn't sound like greed or pride.

Merlin added, "That's, uh, that's what they tried to tell me, too—they said they're looking for a way to control the, um, connection. Would you help them?"

"Of course I'll help! You needn't even ask, my boy."

"And if...if there is a way, if we're sure it'll work, then...will you help me convince them to...to let Aredian torture me?"

What?

"Merlin, why would you say—"

"Please, just listen—it's the next best option we have."

"As your physician, I'd have to disagree."

Marrock didn't have to peek to know Gaius was wearing his Unruly Patient Lecture face—the one every knight had received at least once. He could hear it in his voice.

"I don't care," Merlin said firmly, "It's safer that way—for Arthur, I mean."

"But what if—"

"No—Aredian can't be out searching for him if he's here in Camelot, if he's focused on me instead. Trust me," Merlin huffed a short, bitter laugh, "I think I'll hold his attention for a while."

"But it's still not—"

"—It's also safer for you, for her, for—"

Marrock heard Merlin catch his slip a moment too late.

Even as he fought the impulse, Marrock's mind raced through possible co-conspirators. He heard Merlin's chains clank and chanced a glance at them from his peripheral vision—just in time to see the boy grasp the physician's shoulders earnestly.

"Please, Gaius, promise me you'll try to convince her."

"Alright, my dear boy," Gaius nodded at last, "I will try...but you know how stubborn she can be."

A pair of soft chuckles blended into the clinking as Merlin dropped his chained hands from Gaius' shoulders.

That was when Marrock noticed the scars on Merlin's chest. He'd seen the scars on his back the night Gaius had pulled out the arrow, had wondered but chalked it up to old marks—perhaps from lashings for insolence when the boy had first come to Camelot or assorted injuries from growing up in a hardworking rural village. But now, with the bandages removed, Marrock saw scars he couldn't explain away.

Marrock watched as Gaius applied more honey and blood moss to the entry and exit wounds, then carefully wrapped the boy's torso in fresh linen strips. But even after Gaius had helped Merlin pull a clean tunic over his head and wrapped another layer of wide linen strips over it to help keep the bandages underneath from shifting, Marrock couldn't wrap his mind around those scars. No boy—no one but a battle-hardened soldier, really—should bear such serious scars. Marrock had his fair share, but none compared to the burn scar—wider than a hand's breadth—in the middle of Merlin's chest.

What could possibly—

"Merlin, about letting Aredian..." Gaius sounded tired, broken. "Are you sure you'll be able to, um, that you won't...?"

"That I won't break?" Merlin sounded hurt—offended, even. "You of all people know I'd rather die than betray Arthur."

Then, with the same flippant sarcasm Marrock knew the boy would've usually reserved for Arthur, Merlin added, "Besides, it can't be worse than Nimueh's fireball-to-the-chest. I'll be fine."

Fireball to the chest? From Nimueh, the sorceress rumoured to have caused the water plague?

One mystery solved—How he wished it hadn't been!—and yet another added to the growing list.

What in the world had Merlin been doing in a fight with Nimueh?

Nimueh was an enemy of Camelot, but Merlin had evidently fought Nimueh.

A falling out between allies, or—?

"But, um, about Nimueh," Merlin dropped his voice. "Aredian knows."

"What?"

"He knows who I am...and he knows what I did to Nimueh."

"How?"

"I have no idea! I thought nobody else knew—and I don't know how he could have figured it out, because there wasn't—."

Merlin looked down, picking at his chains.

"—Because there was nothing left."

Oh.

Merlin hadn't just fought Nimueh, apparently. That burn scar—Nimueh had clearly been aiming to kill...and Merlin, well...that didn't sound like a quarrel between allies.

And on the other hand, Arthur was—or had been, until Aredian's pronouncement—a paragon of loyalty to Camelot, but Merlin, a sorcerer, was willing to die to protect him, even after Arthur had reacted poorly to Merlin's confession. So what did that mean about Merlin's—

Oh no—No, no, no! This was absolutely, positively not the plan!

Before things got any further out of hand, Marrock intervened.

"Gaius," he said, "It's time." The words came out harsher than he'd intended. "Say your goodbyes—and quickly."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

So Gaius had left when bidden and Marrock had returned to the guard post without so much as a backward glance at the boy in the cell. Through the rest of his shift, though, his thoughts had turned over and over and over again, trying to process all the things he'd learned that he really, really hadn't wanted to know.

When Sir Gareth relieved him of his post at first light, Marrock trudged home through the frosty gray dawn. With every step, he thought of Merlin's words and Merlin's scars. As the frost crackled underfoot, he wondered—just as he had on that cold day at Pontefract—if Aredian and Uther and everyone else might have been wrong about Arthur's supposed allegiances and, therefore, about Merlin's as well.

Is he truly a traitor...or the most loyal of us all?

Sir Marrock hadn't meant to commit treason...but he was pretty sure now that was exactly what he'd done.

A/N:

So, how was it? Also, I would really appreciate feedback regarding Sir Marrock's ongoing role in this fic.

If you'd like to see more or less of Sir Marrock going forward, now'd be the time to let me know in either a comment or a PM :) I get that OC's aren't everyone's cup of tea and I generally don't set out to include them, but occasionally one pops up by necessity for plot reasons and doesn't want to fade quietly into the background. In this case, Marrock wasn't even in my original plan until he appeared out of necessity part-way through Chapter 78...but once he was there, he didn't want to leave! At this point, he can't disappear completely because he's useful to a particular future plot point, but I can still adjust how much screen time he gets along the way depending on how you all feel about him.

Also, the chapter title is a reference to a poem by Robert Burns, entitled "To a Mouse" ("The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men / Gang aft agley"). In a happy accident, I'd titled this chapter a long time ago when I'd started working on it in earnest...and only realized within the past week that the posting schedule would coincide with Burns Night (well, two days after, but still)! So, um, yeah, Happy Burns Night! :)