Chapter XI: The Exiles of Essetir
In retrospect, Arthur really ought to have listened to Gwaine when he requested to not let Caerleon come to dinner that evening. He definitely shouldn't have sent someone to bring the knight back after he made his excuses and escaped early, because Gwaine had seen something that Arthur had not—or, rather, that he hadn't understood. The king had noticed that Caerleon kept glancing in confusion at one of his knights, but honestly, Arthur sort of assumed that Gwaine had done something foolish in a Caerleoni tavern and/or that he'd gotten himself arrested in that kingdom. That, quite frankly, should have been reason enough to let the drunk slither away. But Arthur was stressed, he wanted all his men around him, and he felt that Caerleon was unlikely to make the connection between some random wanderer and a respectable, presumably noble-born knight of Camelot.
Arthur was wrong.
It happened a few minutes after Gwaine returned, slinking into his seat like it was the cart to his execution. Cenred made some offhanded comment about old King Loth out in the Orkneys. Caerleon jerked upright, a triumphant "Aha!" escaping his lips.
Pretty much everyone at the upper table turned to stare at him. He was smiling at Gwaine in a distinctly predatory manner. Arthur groaned quietly, preparing himself to apologize for whatever drunken shenanigans his knight had gotten up to, but Caerleon said nothing. He was probably waiting to drop whatever he'd learned in the negotiations, where he could use it to (try to) wring concessions out of Camelot. Marvelous.
Gwaine better not have skipped town without paying for whatever damages he'd caused, Arthur reflected sourly as conversation resumed.
So after dinner, he called Gwaine in for a private meeting. The miserable sod dragged his heels and refused to meet his king's gaze and generally behaved in a highly guilty fashion.
He might as well get to the point. "What did you do?"
"…Do, sire?"
Gods, he actually sounded sincere when using Arthur's title. It was worse than he'd thought.
"In Caerleon," the king clarified.
"I've never been to Caerleon in my life."
"Then, what, did he encounter you somewhere outside his kingdom?"
"I don't think so," was the miserable response. "I mean, I might have seen him as a little kid, but…." His jaw tightened. "He's going to threaten to use me to drive a wedge between you and Cenred. You know that I grew up in the Orkneys, right? My mother and father were Essetiri by birth, and they went with King Loth to the islands. My father died in that stupid disaster of a war where Loth tried to invade Caerleon as a staging ground to retake Essetir. He'll probably say that I'm one of Loth's spies. Cenred might believe that or he might not, but he'll act like he believes it to wring concessions out of you. But—I'm not a spy, Arthur. I haven't had anything to do with my family in the Orkneys for—it must be three or four years now. I'm not a spy."
"I believe you," Arthur assured him, "but how would Caerleon even know that your parents were loyal to Loth? I can sometimes detect the barest hint of an Orkneys accent in the way you speak, but that's hardly damning evidence of espionage." Internally, he reflected that it was no wonder Gwaine had never liked Uther and was so uncomfortable around Cenred if their family had driven his into exile.
Somehow, impossibly, Gwaine looked even shiftier. "Strong family resemblances," he mumbled.
"Strong family resemblances," Arthur repeated. "Well, I'm hardly surprised that your father was a great enough warrior that Caerleon remembers him ten years later. You've clearly inherited his skill."
Gwaine mumbled something incomprehensible that might have been an expression of gratitude. Clearly he needed more reassurance.
"Look, even if Caerleon claims that you're in cahoots with Loth, he can hardly prove it." That didn't work. Why wasn't it working? "Cenred might claim to believe you're a spy, but without better proof than your father serving the man ten years ago, it will be easy to dismiss his words." It was still not working. "If I'm not mistaken, quite a few of Loth's followers went back to Essetir after he failed to invade Caerleon. If anything, you'd be a spy for Cenred."
Gwaine choked on a hollow laugh.
"…What aren't you telling me?" Arthur asked slowly. "Have you been sending word to your family? Because there's a difference between telling one's relatives that one has become a knight and giving sensitive information to Loth."
But Gwaine was shaking his head, his gaze averted. "Not as much of a difference as you'd think."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that—look, I haven't given away anything dangerous or important, I'm really careful about that, but I've written my mother and sister a couple times since you knighted me." (Gwaine was literate?) "You know, 'I'm a knight now, Uther wants me dead but I'm fine.' That sort of thing. But they're still on good terms with Lot, because he's the one who stopped Grandfather from marrying Mother off again, and he has to be on good terms with Grandfather because he's the bloody heir, so he might have mentioned it to him, I don't know, and Cenred—he probably knows about the falling out, but he can claim that it was a lie or something, and that I really am here for Grandfather and not to avoid him."
Arthur goggled at him, mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to squawk, "Grandfather?"
"Yeah," was Gwaine's unhappy confirmation. "Loth's my grandfather, the Crown Prince is my uncle, and my mother refused to be married off again for politics after the love of her life died for her father's ambition, so she was pretty much disowned. But apparently I'm the spitting image of Loth at this age, him and Lot too, and also a couple of my cousins on that side of the family. Caerleon probably doesn't know exactly who I am, but he recognized my bloodline."
"So… you're telling me that Caerleon and Cenred can spin your presence to make it look like you're definitely here for your grandfather. Who is a king."
"Or worse," Gwaine admitted. "They could say that you knew all along who I'm related to and that me being here means you support Grandfather's claim to Essetir."
It was a good thing that Arthur was already sitting, or he'd have fallen over at that. "Tell me you're joking."
"I wish I could!" The knight was almost tearing at his hair in frustration. "I don't know how to fix this, Arthur. The only thing I can think of is keeping Caerleon away from Cenred, but that's more of a stopgap than anything else. Caerleon can always start spreading rumors or invite Cenred over for politics and biscuits."
Arthur didn't hide his face in his hands, but it was a near thing. Cenred was already obligated to redress from Camelot due to the broken betrothal with Morgana. If he pitched it like Arthur was actively plotting against him with a representative of the previous dynasty…. Camelot would win in a war, but how many would die? Then there was Amata to remember, because Sarrum would pounce the moment he sensed weakness.
No wonder Gwaine was so distressed. This was a disaster in the making.
"Right," the king said, grabbing at his scattered thoughts, "right. We need to figure out what to do. Get the other knights."
Gwaine was out the door almost before Arthur finished speaking.
Now, alone, Arthur allowed himself to sink into his hands. Gods. Gods, he wished his father was still alive to deal with this—except he'd probably just have Gwaine executed, so never mind that. (A familiar pang at the reminder of what Uther Pendragon had been, buried for later after a moment's acknowledgement.) So never mind that.
He wished that Merlin was there, or Guinevere or Morgana. Even if they didn't have a solution, they could at least make him feel better, make the situation seem a little less bleak.
But the others had their own tasks, and he had his knights. They would think of something.
They had to.
Merlin hadn't realized how much the Dark Tower was draining him until its malicious presence was gone.
It wasn't just that the stab wound had healed almost completely, leaving behind a vivid scar that only pulled a little when he stretched too far with a faint red swelling around it. Merlin appreciated not being in constant low-grade physical pain (although he did still get odd stomachaches at night, they just didn't compare), don't get him wrong, but the Tower had affected more than just his body.
His new-freed thoughts felt faster, lighter, even brighter, somehow. His magic flowed with more ease, replenished more quickly and completely. In fact, he was fairly certain that he was more powerful now than he'd ever been before, likely as a consequence of the land-bond. While Listeneise was still drawing from him, still healing, it was a more efficient process without the Dark Tower siphoning off power for its own use.
Merlin's mood was also quite improved, but that might just have been because he'd recovered more quickly than expected and was about to strike a blow for magic.
It was Monday. He and nearly a dozen others were even now preparing to teleport to their chosen campsite. They'd all seen it in the scrying bowls, they could all visualize it well enough to ride the whirlwind there (though not everyone had the strength or knowledge for teleportation. About half of them were piggybacking off someone more powerful and/or experienced).
"You're absolutely certain you're up for this?" Morgana asked him for the twenty millionth time.
"I told you, I'm fine. Promise."
"But you'll let Alator set up the wards," she reminded him.
"I will," he assured her, just as he had all the other times they'd had this exact conversation.
Perhaps a bit more of Merlin's annoyance than he'd wanted to show slipped through in his voice. Morgana grinned ruefully. "Sorry," she said, a little embarrassed. "I know you'll be fine. I just don't want anything to go wrong."
He took her hand, entwining their fingers. As always, the action made a little thrill flutter in his belly. "That's why everyone's been practicing their aim, right?"
"We have," she agreed, "and I at least have gotten a lot better." Her lips twitched. "The poor volunteers, though."
"They knew what they were getting into when they offered to be targets," Merlin chuckled. "I still wish I could have seen that."
One of the unicorns—Merlin thought it was Cloudmane, but they all looked alike to him—pranced over to them, her horn casting rainbows all over the ground. The witch and warlock reached out to stroke her soft starfall mane, each marveling that she allowed it. Possibly-Cloudmane watched them with her liquid-night eyes, then tossed her head as if to point.
"Ready, Alator?" Merlin called.
"Ready, Lord Embries," the Catha confirmed.
"I'm still not a—" But the other spellbinders were teleporting away already. The combined noise of their incantations and the racing winds drowned out the rest of Merlin's protest—not that anybody but Morgana and possibly-Cloudmane were here to hear it.
"—lord," Merlin finished anyways, much more huffily than he'd begun.
Morgana looked like she was trying not to laugh at him. The unicorn, however, held no such compunctions. She had the gall to roll her eyes at him.
Merlin glared. Possibly-Cloudmane remained unrepentant.
"Let's go before they think we got lost," Morgana suggested. Yes, that was definitely suppressed laughter in her voice. Merlin graciously opted not to comment.
A few words later, and they were there. It was an ordinary patch of woodland: tall trees whose leaves blotted out most of the sky, a little brook to the east, soft moss on the ground. The others were already working on their chosen tasks. Alator and Morgause were ringing the campsite with wards, while everyone else was setting out tents. They didn't have many—shelter of any kind was in short supply since they'd lost the Isle, and other people needed it more than they did—but it would be enough if they all crowded together.
"Looks like rain," Merlin observed, glancing upwards. What little sky he could see through the leaves was a heavy, ominous gray, and the air was thick with humidity. They still had a couple of hours before the sun went down, and the warlock suspected that the clouds would start to empty shortly after night fell.
"Not a storm, though," Morgana agreed. "Heavy, but there shouldn't be any lightning."
"Which is perfect," Merlin chuckled. "You hear that, Cloudmane?"
The unicorn stared at him, utterly unimpressed, and sauntered off to inspect the moss.
Merlin decided to take that as a yes.
"I don't like this," Gwaine muttered as he and Arthur made their way to lunch with Cenred. "What if he says yes?"
"Then King Loth or your mother can put a stop to it," Arthur reiterated. "The important thing is that Cenred can't claim that we're conspiring against him. Remember, you already sent your explanation to the Orkneys. Your relatives who you actually care about will know that you're not actually betraying them, and if Loth says otherwise, they can show him proof. We're bluffing, Gwaine. That's all."
"I know that. I just really, really do not like it. At all."
"Your dislike has been noted," the king sighed. "I don't like it either, but none of us could think of anything better, and we have to act before Caerleon gets the word out."
Gwaine heaved a dramatic sigh but didn't start complaining again. It's the small victories, Arthur told himself.
Cenred was waiting for them at the table, a half-full goblet already in his hand. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Gwaine, who, as far as he knew (unless he was a much better actor than they'd thought) was just an ordinary peasant-turned-knight, but he didn't comment.
"Did you recall, King Cenred, what we discussed shortly before my coronation?"
"We spoke of many things, I'm afraid. You'll have to be more specific."
"You requested that Camelot assist you in finding a new bride, as Lady Morgana is no longer available. Sir Gwaine and I might have come up with an idea."
"Oh?"
Gwaine's smile was… passable. Yes, that was a good word for it. "There's still people in Essetir who support my bastard grandfather," he said, as though he thought that Cenred had known his true identity all along. "Well, my mother and our part of the family had a falling-out with him years ago, but I've got a sister who's still of his blood. Marrying her would shut up a lot of dissidents."
Cenred very clearly had no idea what Gwaine was talking about. "Marry a peasant girl?" he choked.
"A peasant?" Arthur exclaimed, hearty with fake shock.
"What? No!" cried Gwaine, equally 'stunned.' "Of course not. My mother is Princess Gwyar of the Orkneys, daughter of King Loth. My sister's name is Clarissant."
Cenred had not expected that. "What?"
"I, uh, think that he didn't actually know," Arthur said to Gwaine.
"Really? But I look just like my awful grandfather and Uncle Lot!"
Gwaine was laying it on too thick, so Arthur kicked him under the table. The knight shot him a brief but filthy glare while Cenred was still distracted by his shock, then plastered on an expression of concern. "Sorry about that. I really did think you knew."
Cenred's eyes narrowed. He stared intently at Gwaine as though parsing his features. Did he actually know what Loth's family looked like? He'd been a boy when Uther gave Essetir to his father, uninvolved in the conquest. Then again, there had probably been a few portraits in the castle when they arrived, or statues of the past kings. If the family resemblance was that strong between Gwaine and his grandfather, it probably stretched back for a few more generations.
Then the other king was glaring murder at Arthur, even swelling up with outrage. "You've been sheltering one of Loth's heirs?" he spat.
"Of course not."
"Of course not! Grandfather pretty much disowned me when I went onto the road."
"And yet, I have no doubt he would bring you back if you brought a fair enough gift."
"You make it sound like I want to go back," Gwaine snorted. "Trust me, I don't want anything to do with that old bastard. Neither do Mother or my sister. Clarissant would love a chance to stick it to him." An exaggeration, from what he'd told Arthur, but it had good production value.
"And, as we were saying, marrying her would nicely silence whatever nobles still secretly yearn for Loth's return," Arthur said, changing the subject before an argument could erupt.
Cenred's mouth twisted. "But marrying her would simultaneously serve to legitimate Loth's claim to my throne." He looked at Gwaine during the emphasis, clearly daring him to comment, but was disappointed when the knight kept his silence.
"Not necessarily. You could frame it as making peace with the Orkneys rather than you wedding the granddaughter of your father's predecessor."
"Essetir and the Orkneys have been at peace for a decade," the other king sneered.
"Technically, yes," Gwaine acknowledged, "but we all know that Grandfather would attack you in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it."
Arthur fought back a grin. Well done, Gwaine, casually 'betraying' something that should have been classified information but was actually obvious to anyone with a lick of common sense. Well done indeed.
Cenred centered himself. "Yes, he would," he noted coldly. "I find it strange that you would treat with a member of that family, cousin." There was a very faint emphasis on the kinship term, a reminder that their nations were, ostensibly, allies; that Loth was supposed to be an enemy.
Arthur did his best to look blank and baffled. "Sir Gwaine wants nothing to do with King Loth."
"I don't," his knight confirmed. "I really, really don't. He's terrible. D'you know what he did to my mother?" And without waiting for an answer, he launched into the whole sordid story: how Loth had refused to support his mourning daughter after her husband, a scion of a relatively lower-ranking family with close ties to Loth's queen, died in Caerleon. Instead, he'd demanded that she remarry so that he could make another attempt at reclaiming Essetir, starting a third war and getting more people killed. As a bonus, he even recounted the woeful events in the same style that he used for his tavern tales, a style which made most sense when narrator and listener were both drunk.
Arthur knew all the details already, so he was free to ignore Gwaine's words in favor of Cenred's reactions. The other king remained carefully blank-faced as he listened. Not ideal, but at least he wasn't hurling accusations at them.
That was the point, really. If Gwaine's heritage was going to come out, then it was better to control the narrative, to spill the beans before Cenred could accuse them of secrecy, lies, and conspiracy. Whether or not he believed them, he wouldn't be able to press Camelot for concessions over this, not when they'd given themselves so much plausible deniability. That was the entire point: heading him off at the pass, preventing the blow before he so much as thought to strike.
It wasn't until Gwaine ended his story with a swig of wine that Cenred spoke. "I'm surprised you didn't mention this when we met on the night of Arthur's coronation."
Arthur froze. He hadn't heard about this incident. Oh, gods, let this not destroy everything.
"We talked then?" asked Gwaine blankly. "I… don't actually remember that. Lots of good alcohol that night, if you know what I mean." He smiled his brightest, most disarming smile, then changed it to something more alarmed. "I didn't try to make you sing with me, did I?"
"…You did not."
Was it just Arthur's imagination, or was Cenred starting to relax?
"Oh, good. So, now that you know everything, what do you say about marrying my sister?"
"I will take it under consideration," declared the King of Essetir, which was a political euphemism for no. (Uther had taught him that, Arthur remembered with a little pang.)
Gwaine shrugged, languid, relaxed. "All right. Just tell me if that changes so I can help." He flashed his disingenuous smile once again.
Cenred nodded before turning his attention more fully to his lunch. Gwaine launched into a tavern tale. Arthur hid a grin as Cenred's eye twitched slightly.
They'd taken care of one threat. Others lurked, waiting to devour him, but this was a victory. Minor, perhaps, but a victory all the same.
He'd take it.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Gwaine Weaponizes his Terrible Storytelling Abilities and Arthur is Both Impressed and Annoyed by how Effective it is"
Next chapter: February 19. The raid on the oubliette.