All the Lies You Can Invent

Chapter One

Arthur was holding court with the people of Camelot.

He did this about once a week, and he did it rather graciously considering how mind-numbingly dull it was. The king treated each entreaty with his full attention and patience, heard every side of the story when there were multiple, delegated investigatorial duties to his knights when appropriate, and never confiscated the damned chicken the two peasants were fighting over. He even smiled.

It was in the privacy of his own chambers that Arthur would crack his aching shoulders and ask Merlin if peasants didn't have better things to do with their time than fight about a walnut tree growing on one man's property but dropping walnuts onto another man's property, in front of the king of the land.

When walnuts are your livelihood, sire, they're worth fighting for, Merlin would gently remind the king.

At which point Arthur would normally pause, a mildly surprised look on his face, and say, Well. I never thought of it like that.

And Merlin would chuckle, shake his head, and say, Of course not. You've only ever eaten the walnuts.

Merlin found the whole process just as pointless and exhausting as Arthur, if not more so. He was certain that in Ealdor his neighbors had sorted these issues out amongst themselves, since King Cenred certainly never would have spared them an ear. Merlin wondered if the people of Camelot were perhaps taking advantage of Arthur.

But then, their desire to attend his court showed their faith in him and their love. Which is why Merlin, who could care less about the blasted chicken or bloody walnuts, would continue to remind Arthur that they were the little things that mattered to his people, so they should matter to him, too.

Merlin only wished he did not have to be in attendance each and every week. All he did was stand behind the throne with a jug of wine at the ready and shift from one foot to the other for the entire four or five hours the court lasted. In the early days, when Merlin was naive and Arthur had just taken over responsibility as regent for the infirmed King Uther, Merlin had wanted to be there, insisted on being there, in case some peasant or messenger brought word of a magical threat, or heavens forbid, attempted to assassinate Arthur right there in the court.

In five years of Arthur holding court, weekly court, nearly three hundred sessions of court - only twelve times had someone come with news of a legitimately magical threat. Twelve might seem like a lot, and yes, the threats had been dire, but knowing about them from the victim's own mouth had not helped Merlin to solve the threats or intercept them any sooner. And not once, in five years, had an assassin tried to kill Arthur so brazenly as to do it in front of the people of Camelot who loved him.

That meant, in total, nearly three hundred days of Merlin's time completely and utterly wasted. He imagined the things he could have done with all of that time. He could have collected herbs for Gaius, practiced his magic, discovered the latest whereabouts of Morgana, gotten ahead on his chores, established diplomacy with the Druids, uncovered the mysteries of being a dragonlord, or caught up on some sorely needed sleep.

But no. Here he was, a glorified table holding a pitcher of wine.

He had asked Arthur if he could not be excused, but once the precedent was set, Arthur had refused to free him from the commitment.

If I have to be there, then so do you. Yes, those had been the king's words. Not childish nor petty in the least.

Merlin heaved a sigh, rolled his shoulders, and readjusted his grip on the silver pitcher in his hands. It was two hours into this week's session, and Merlin had just finished counting the number of stones making up the columns in the throne room. One hundred sixty-two. He was about to start counting window panes, when the supplicant kneeling at Arthur's feet (rather unnecessarily - Arthur did not insist on that sort of flattery, unlike his father would have) spoke a name Merlin had never expected to hear in the court of Camelot:

"-Emrys-"

Merlin's head flipped from the ceiling down to the man speaking. That he was a stranger was the first thing Merlin noticed, and that he was not dressed like a Druid - the only people from whom Merlin would have expected to hear that name. In fact, the stranger was dressed very shoddily, his clothes threadbare, ripped, and stained. He looked like he hadn't had a proper meal in months and could use a trip to see Gaius.

Merlin wished he had been paying attention. Now he was scrambling to make sense of the man's story.

"Emrys is the only thing she fears, sire," the man said, desperately, like he was pleading for Arthur to understand. "The Druids say he is in Camelot, that he is the protector of the kingdom and ally of her king. If it is true, if Emrys is in Camelot, we pray, we beg of you, sire, grant us asylum. Bayard will not guard us against her!"

Arthur was quiet for several seconds. Merlin, completely baffled, wished he could see the king's face. Arthur shifted, pressing a gloved fist to his mouth, and then he asked, "What does Morgana want with your people?"

Merlin's eyes widened just as the man gasped. "Sire," the stranger stammered. "I beg you, we mean no harm-"

"I understand that," Arthur interjected calmly. "I merely wonder what value you might have to the witch."

'The witch'. How impersonal. Merlin supposed the king had to be. He couldn't very well refer to her as 'my sister'. That would dredge too many unwanted emotions to the surface.

"Please understand, Your Majesty," the stranger continued. "My people seek peace. Bayard has not outlawed magic, but neither has he welcomed it. He treats sorcerers with contempt and allowed King Uther's men to kill them in the time of the Purge. The families… the families in my care, we are not dangerous. We are healers, craftsmen, farmers, outcast by our people, seeking to make our own living - in peace. We are not Druids, but we speak their message. Sire, you have pardoned them. Might you not also pardon us?"

The man - the sorcerer, Merlin now realized - was quivering, his lips trembling and hands shaking, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his cheeks.

Arthur repeated his question with carefully measured patience. Merlin was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. When ever had a sorcerer come up to Arthur, from another kingdom no less, and asked for a pardon? It was absurd.

But maybe, just maybe, it was a sign of how things had been changing since Arthur became king. As was, too, the fact that Arthur had not called his guards forward to arrest this man.

"What does Morgana want of you?"

Through his tears, the sorcerer managed to say, "She has been gathering us, I mean to say magic users, from over Mercia and Essetir. Coercing us to do her bidding, by… by torture, by holding hostages. Even children. Killing those who refuse to join her. I hear it said she is building an army of sorcerers. My people," here another sob, "we are not strong enough to resist."

Another measured pause from Arthur. Merlin found himself holding his breath, hanging onto Arthur's every word as much as the bedraggled sorcerer must have been.

"What else do the Druids say of… Emrys?" Arthur pronounced the word like it was foreign, like he was testing it on his tongue. Merlin shivered.

The stranger spoke the next words with awe. "They say he is the most powerful sorcerer who will ever live. They call him 'Morgana's Bane'. They say he has the power to shatter mountains, turn the tide, make night day and day night, reverse even death itself."

Damn the Druids! Merlin gnawed at the inside of his cheek. When the hell did they get so chatty about the prophecies? Was it because they were in Mercia? Because they were speaking to other magic users? Or were they just getting impatient with him?

"Is it true, sire?" asked the sorcerer. "Is he here in Camelot?"

The throne room was quiet enough to have heard a pin drop. Then Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, shifted on the throne, cleared his throat, and pronounced, "Yes. Yes, Emrys is here, and he is protecting Camelot."

Every eye lay upon the king. The sorcerer's face broke into a grin and he began to cry anew. "Oh, thank the gods!" He threw himself onto the floor and spread his hands at Arthur's feet. "We are saved."

"Yes," said Arthur and cleared his throat again. "Tell your people that you have Camelot's protection, that you have Emrys's protection. I suggest you seek asylum with the Druid tribe in the Forest of Ascetir. I assure you, so long as your people seek peace, no harm will befall them here. But do understand that should their magic be used in ill against any one of my people, your welcome will be rescinded immediately."

"Yes, sire, thank you, sire!" blubbered the man. "We are forever in your debt, sire!"

As the guards guided - all but dragged - the sobbing Mercian sorcerer from the room, Arthur stood and told the room, "Court is dismissed. Guards, gather the Round Table. We meet in half an hour."

The twenty or so other peasants who had not had their turn grumbled but left as requested, and soon the room had emptied even of the guards. All who remained were the king and his manservant.

Merlin had not moved. His hands were clenched around the wine jug so tightly that his fingers had turned numb. He stared at the back of Arthur's head, waiting for the king to acknowledge him.

Arthur stared at the main doors. He sighed, took off his crown, ran a hand over his hair, and replaced the symbol of state. The king turned around, and his eyes landed on Merlin, widening as though in surprise, like he had forgotten the manservant was there.

"What are you doing?"

"Um?" said Merlin.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Naturally." He began to walk out of the room. Belatedly, Merlin remembered to follow him.

Merlin could not find words. He did not know if Arthur was being reticent on purpose, to toy with him, or if he was waiting for Merlin to speak first. How long had Arthur known about Emrys? Was there any chance, any chance whatsoever, that Arthur actually knew?

He found himself standing behind Arthur in the council chambers of the Round Table, still clutching that damned jug of wine - did Arthur even have a goblet? - and no closer to understanding exactly what was going on.

Soon, everyone of the Round Table was collected: Arthur's closest confidants - Gwen, Gaius, Geoffrey, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan - and the rest of the available knights and lords. Arthur sat next to his queen, expression carefully neutral. None of the council had been present in the throne room during the court, and there was a sense of unease among the members at having been called together so abruptly.

Arthur stood, and all was quiet. "Morgana gathers an army of sorcerers in Mercia," he announced.

Murmurs.

"Sire, are you sure?" asked Gaius cautiously.

"A sorcerer from Mercia just came to me seeking asylum. It seems Morgana is pressing her own kind into servitude."

"Did you give it to him?" said Elyan. "Asylum?"

"I did." Another round of murmurs. Merlin could not tell if they were in approval. "To him and his people."

"Is that… wise?" asked Geoffrey of Monmouth.

"I would rather have them here than swelling the ranks of Morgana's army," said Arthur. "And besides which, I gave him a very important task. He will help spread the word that Emrys, most powerful sorcerer to ever live, is at this very moment in Camelot. He is the only thing that Morgana fears."

Merlin could not help noticing Gaius, who in the span of three seconds had turned bright red and then the color of custard. Several others of the court did not seem particularly happy at this news.

"Is he?" said Lord Amorell, a portly and bejewelled sort of noble, who had served for decades in the court of Uther before Arthur inherited him. Merlin had never liked the man. Amorell was self-righteous and seemed to take an obscene pleasure in criticizing the new king. "This Emrys? In Camelot?"

Arthur cast his eyes over his court. Then he said: "He is."

Merlin's heart was beating so quickly he thought it might give out. He met Gaius's frantic gaze briefly, shaking his head to indicate that he also had no idea what their king was talking about.

Around the room, knights and lords alike were fidgeting, scanning the chambers, pressing back into their seats as though to escape the news they had just learned, as though Emrys were about to step out from behind a tapestry and curse them into piles of ash. Gwen stared up at her husband in mute consternation, a silent demand for him to explain himself.

The king continued, raising his voice over his court's fearful mutterings. "His face is known to none but me. But I promise you, he works in our favor and works most assuredly against Morgana. I hope she should learn of our open alliance, and then dare to attack us."

He knows who Emrys is? Merlin was starting to hyperventilate.

"No disrespect, sire," ventured Lord Berys, voice quivering; his hands that lay on the Round Table, which normally shook with palsy, were trembling even more noticeably. He was yet another council member Arthur had inherited from his father. "But are you allying yourself with a sorcerer? Are you permitting him the use of magic?"

"Lord Berys, you know as well as I do that magic is hard defeated except by magic. We have already been nearly destroyed twice by Morgana. I fear the third time she invades will be the end of us all. If protecting the people of this kingdom - and my family," he said, grabbing Gwen's hand, "means relying on magic, then I am willing to do so."

No one seemed quite sure what to say. Several noblemen such as Amorell appeared to be struggling to wade through their shock and horror to find words of objection. The queen's complexion had turned ashen, and she hardly seemed aware of the fact that Arthur was still gripping her hand.

Sir Leon, smartly, turned the focus of the meeting toward sending scouts into Mercia to discover more about this army of sorcerers Morgana was purportedly raising. It was decided that Sirs Lamiel and Reynold would lead a group of ten men to the border at Mercia and deploy scouts from there. Gwaine was put in charge of following up on the sorcerer - Roland was his name - in three days' time in the Forest of Ascetir and given the task of becoming an ear among the Druids, on the possibility that Roland was a mole of Morgana's.

Without ever addressing the true concerns of his council, Arthur curtly dismissed the Round Table and retired to his chambers.

Merlin trailed behind him.

In the privacy of Arthur's chambers, the door closed securely to the corridor, Merlin thought Arthur might finally address the gryphon in the room.

He was mistaken. Arthur did nothing except to walk to his window, clasp his hands behind his back, and stare out into the courtyard. Merlin hovered awkwardly around Arthur's wardrobe, unsure if he should be picking up the king's socks or initiating a heartfelt conversation about his deepest secrets of the past eight years.

He had to say something. Quietly, he asked, "Why did you tell everyone that you are allied with Emrys?"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow at Merlin. "Oh? Were you not convinced?"

Merlin made a face. "Was I supposed to be?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Come on, Merlin. Don't you see? If Morgana believes her worst enemy is at the heart of Camelot, do you think she will be so eager to attack us?"

A knot loosened in Merlin's chest. "So you don't actually know who Emrys is?"

"Not in the least," said Arthur. He turned and pointed a threatening finger Merlin's way. "But that does not leave this room, do you understand?"

"You're going to lie to your entire court?"

"To the entirety of Albion. It must have veracity, and if I had told everyone just now that it is all a ruse, there would not be enough controversy to be believed. I need people to doubt my sanity in the matter. That way, Morgana will know it is true."

"For why else would you ally with a sorcerer," drawled Merlin, "unless you were mentally deranged?" Now that he was no longer on the verge of a panic attack, he was somewhat disappointed by the turn of events.

"Precisely," said Arthur, missing his manservant's sarcasm.

"What do you expect Emrys will think of all this?"

"Hmm?"

"Emrys? The most powerful sorcerer of all time, who is supposed to be within Camelot as we speak? What do you imagine he will feel about you declaring him your ally? Proclaiming to know his true identity? Without his permission, I might add?"

Arthur paused, like this was the first time he was considering this. Perhaps it was.

"You heard the man," said Arthur, and he shooed Merlin's concern away with a wave of his hand. "Emrys is already protecting Camelot, for whatever reason. He has done it all in hiding till this point. May he take my words as an invitation to step forth from the shadows."

Merlin frowned. "I fear you are being too flippant about this."

"You doubt me?"

"I doubt that Emrys even exists, for one."

Arthur shook his head. "No, he exists."

Merlin's frown deepened. "How do you know that?"

The king turned around fully to face him, eyes lit with excitement. "Do you remember Morgana's last invasion of Camelot? We came face-to-face with her, and she declared that 'not even Emrys' could save us? Then, her magic failed. I had no idea of the significance of those events, of her words, until this Mercian sorcerer came to my court."

Pressure thrummed in Merlin's ears, and the sound it made was destiny. All of this was too close to Arthur for his liking. In an effort to dampen the inexplicable glee in Arthur's expression, Merlin asked, "So you have no qualms about him being the most powerful magical being in existence?"

Arthur scoffed. "You're exaggerating, Merlin. That man called him the most powerful sorcerer, not the most powerful creature to ever walk this earth. And even that much, I doubt."

"Then why think that he will deter Morgana?"

The king's grin hardened. "If Morgana fears him, he is at least more powerful than her. That is enough."

A/N: Recently, I've had a fondness for stories in which Arthur learns about Emrys before he necessarily learns about Merlin. This is my take on that.

The title comes from a William Blake poem called, "The Auguries of Innocence." In terms of continuity, we can say this story takes place after the events of S4, ignoring S5.

I'm going in favor of shorter chapters than I normally write and more frequent updates. Each chapter will be between 2,000 - 4,000 words, and I'd like to post every Saturday. I have enough prewritten that I should be able to uphold this schedule for awhile (emphasis on SHOULD - I'm complete rubbish at update schedules, as anyone who has read my other stories knows, so please take this with a grain of salt!) I'm not planning for this story to be too terribly long, roughly 120,000 ~ 150,000 words total, of which I've already written 55,000.

Please let me know what you think about the first chapter! Until next time,

T.F.C~