Chapter Six: Power

Merlin thought he would've been too anxious to feel hungry after all that, but his stomach disproved this with an upset gurgle. The lieutenants had to have heard it, and the tips of Merlin's ears went red. They didn't say anything; they only dragged him away from the throne room. The path they took, however, was not one that led to the dungeons.

"Where are we going?" he asked, though he knew there was only a slim chance they'd answer. His shoulder still throbbed from where they'd handled it roughly earlier.

When they passed the tapestry depicting some ancient lord or another, Merlin knew where they were going, though he couldn't understand why. There was no reason for him to be escorted to the council chambers; it wasn't a part of the trial. Or so he thought, anyway, and nervousness started to make his skin itch. If he was going to be speaking with the councilors…

The guards outside the door seemed to have been expecting them, and Merlin lowered his head as he was brought inside. The councilors were assembled in their usual places, and Merlin wished he had a pitcher of wine to hide behind, that this was simply another meeting where he was expected to serve. They had never noticed him before, not properly, but now they stared and stared. It was almost worse than it had been in the throne room: this was a concentrated judgement, emanating from people of power and influence. It seemed to pierce him like an arrow. Merlin knew they could make things very difficult for Arthur if they chose to. The king himself was at the head of the table, his face inscrutable.

Even members of the war council were present: Lords Wymond, Randel, and Alloys were out of place amidst the finery in their military dress. Their gazes were somehow worse, especially Lord Wymond. He assessed Merlin the way one might appraise a horse, examining their teeth and hooves for health. The warlock had the hysterical urge to whinny.

"Ask your questions," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. Merlin might have imagined it, but there seemed to be a hint of apology when he glanced at his servant—just a slight softening in his eyes. This had to be why he was here, then: the king had struck a deal with his nobility. Merlin knew Arthur probably wouldn't put him through this simply for fun. No, there had to be something in it for him, and so the warlock would do his best to play along.

But despite the king's prompting, none of the lords or ladies seemed to know what to say. They stared at him like marionettes—blank-faced dolls waiting for someone to direct them—and he grimaced. He'd been allowed to stand, presumably because they wouldn't have been able to see him through the table if he'd kneeled, and his right hand was going numb.

"Well, boy," Aldwin began, "I'd like to know how you drove those creatures off. If you had the power before, why didn't you use it then? Unless you're not really on our side."

Merlin swallowed. "My lord, I couldn't have before. The Sluagh…" He didn't know how to explain it, exactly, and he felt like he were talking to Uther all over again. Aldwin was known for his hard stance on magic, and the blustery man was quick to anger. "Morgana persuaded them to come from their realm with the promise of flesh and souls to eat. Controlling them is difficult, and it can only really be accomplished through threats or bribery. I didn't have the influence with them before to get them to leave. In fact, it would've been impossible to make them without them getting a meal first, I think."

He frowned as he remembered Wymarc's words. He had hoped to hold the shield long enough that they would turn against Morgana and her mages… "But the combination of having fed and the threat of death was enough to convince them. It requires a great deal of magic to summon them from their world, but it doesn't take much to get them back. With the barrier thin already from them coming through, it was simple enough for them to leave. And after I-I killed them…" He trailed off, figuring that his explanation had been sufficient.

"Could you have killed them all, though?" Wymond asked. He leaned forward, but his posture was relaxed. Unhurried, the way a cat might toy with a mouse before eating it. "I understand it takes a great deal of magic, but Geoffrey intimated that you are as powerful as one of the old High Priests."

Merlin laughed awkwardly, glancing around. "I don't know about that, my lord. M-most of it was preparation and luck." Was it better to downplay his power or to own up to it? He tried to suppress a shiver; he had never liked confronting how strong he was. It only reminded him how different he was, even among his own kind, and it frightened people. It had certainly scared his mother, and it had made Gaius tense sometimes. Only Will had ever been fully supportive of his magic usage.

This thought made Merlin feel suddenly alone, even though all eyes in the room were on him.

"Preparation?" Muriel asked. She looked like a particularly wrinkly bird as she peered at him. "What sorts of preparations?"

"Er, well." Merlin cleared his throat. "The enchanted weapons, of course, and the shield. I learned that the Sluagh were coming perhaps a month before. That was when the spell truly began; it was so powerful I could sense it. And it needed that much time to be complete. So as that was happening, I thought I should try to be… I thought it best to help how I could." He recalled the sleepless nights spent agonizing over it all, writing research in his journal. How scatterbrained he'd been, doing magic in front of the prince and leaving his diary under a blanket. Those had not been some of his best moments.

"Why now? And how did you do it alone? I understand you were doing work as both a personal manservant and physician's apprentice. It doesn't seem likely that so much could've been done in only a month's time," Sterling said. "You've had magic for a long while, Merlin, and you haven't seen fit to use it before?" Trust Sterling to point that out. The warlock's mouth twitched as he tried not to scowl.

"Both my manservant and physician duties were neglected," Merlin admitted. "I used nights when I should've been sleeping to sneak around and such. I'm certain His Highness or Gaius could tell you that much. And, Lord Sterling, I was tired of watching people die when I could've prevented it. I wanted to try and save them, this time." Try being the operative word. Merlin remembered the missing faces in the throne room, and guilt churned low in his gut.

"So you concede that you might have helped the kingdom more with your magic in other situations?" Randel asked. He tapped the hilt of his sword. "Can you give a specific example?" Alloys and Wymond seemed especially interested in the answer, from the eager expression on their faces; Merlin supposed magical battles were of interest to them.

"Lords and ladies, I have already used other magic in defense of the kingdom. Many of the sorcerers that mysteriously disappeared or died—like Sigan or Edwin—were a result of my involvement. But I didn't… I have always been bound by secrecy, and it's cost lives. I wanted to be more… proactive in my approach. Most of the magic I have used before was more subtle, unnoticed." It was as close to the truth as he could admit. Because how could he explain to them the helplessness of being sidelined when he had so much power to fix the situation? The anger, the guilt? How could he explain that living in the shadows had suffocated him, stifled him?

How could he explain that he was good for more than fighting in the dark? Or even fighting in the light? He had… He had always dreamed of doing things with his magic that weren't possible without it: increasing crop yields, healing incurable diseases, warming homes and streets so exposure wasn't a risk. He could have done so much…

It pained him that he hadn't, that he would've been hunted and killed for it.

"And do you have any proof?" Aldwin demanded. "All we have is your word!"

"My lord, I can only offer you the logic of it," Merlin said. "Most powerful mages can only be killed by other mages." And it made him a murderer—or perhaps a killer, because most of them had it coming—but he had come to terms with his own violence long ago.

He just hadn't come to terms with others knowing his violence. Their fear terrified him, hurt him, worse than the aching in his shoulder. This wound went deeper than skin or flesh.

Aldwin snorted. His sweaty head gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. "If I recall correctly, you came to Camelot only four or so years ago. We dealt with sorcerers just fine before you came along."

With hypocrisy, you mean, Merlin thought. He knew there were cuffs in the dungeons meant to prevent sorcerers from using their magic; Uther had collected all manner of magical artifacts with the intention of using them to control or kill mages. And he'd used them, too, even when Merlin had been in the citadel.

The warlock had only taken care of the evil mages, after all. Gaius had dissuaded him from taking care of the good ones, too, but Uther had done it for him—in all the wrong ways.

"My lord, I cannot speak to times prior to when I came," Merlin said.

"I, for one, find this ridiculous," Eleanor announced. "We basically have only your word on all of this. And anyone who could corroborate your claims is dead. You can only offer us the logic of it? We all know there is no logic in magic!"

"But if he has a desire to defend our kingdom, surely we should let him," Alloys said. "You know our casualties would've been far worse without him. Even if magic isn't legalized, it simply makes sense to use the resources we have. And he speaks true: there were more deaths due to rogue sorcerers before he came. If I recall, the prince was nearly killed a number of times."

"His Highness was nearly killed the same number of times after he came!" Eleanor cried. "We come back to the same problem: we have only his word."

"If I recall," Arthur broke in, "there were a number of our enemies that simply disappeared after Merlin arrived in the citadel, which certainly hadn't happened before. The griffon, the dragon, the skeletal army, the knights of Medhir, the immortal army, Sigan. Even the questing beast was killed without any of my knights having remembered striking the blow. They attributed it to me, but I cannot remember having done so either."

It was the only time the king had spoken—to correct a misconception—and Merlin wanted to sigh in relief. Unfortunately, this was different from the trial proper, where the king was inclined to defend the warlock with everything he had. Here, Merlin could only defend himself.

The warlock didn't like it.

"Is it true?" Wymond asked. "Did you defeat those things?"

"I did," Merlin said, shifting to relieve his numb legs. Even after he had admitted to everything else, there was still a block inside him, between his mouth and his brain—a wall to stop him from speaking, from breaking the conditioning he'd had all his life. "I did, my lord."

Wymond tapped one finger on the table, his rings glinting. "How did the shield fall, then? If you are so committed to the kingdom's safety."

Merlin glanced at Arthur. Did he admit to Agravaine? His brow furrowed: he didn't see the lord in the meeting. In fact, he hadn't seen him at the trial, either. Had he fled the citadel? Gone back to Morgana? The king's face revealed nothing of what Merlin was allowed to give away. "Part of the physical rune was destroyed," the warlock settled on saying. "The magic was held inside it for a very specific purpose. With the rune malformed, the magic that was powering the shield leaked out. I had poured magic into it for hours in order to fuel the shield, and fixing it was—very taxing for me."

"Do you know who destroyed it?" Sterling asked, frowning.

Merlin shook his head. "I saw no one. It might have been a spy of Morgana's inside the citadel, however: I know she must have had some. And she would know enough about magic to have understood that the shield needed a physical anchor."

"So this rune—it is still there?" Wymond asked.

"As far as I know, my lord," Merlin said. "I repaired it."

"Where is its location exactly?" Alloys said.

Merlin's hand twitched. He wished he had the ability to fidget, though that probably would've given away more of his nerves. "In the cavern beneath the castle, my lord, where the dragon was kept. I thought it was… Out of the way."

Muriel laughed. It sounded more like an ugly cough, and at first Merlin was terrified she was going to keel over and expire right in her chair. It would certainly not be auspicious if she were to die with him present, although it would be in line with his luck. "You're right on the mark, boy," she said. "Tell us what spells you like to use, the subtle ones, since you apparently don't throw lightning and fire around every time."

"Um, my lady, usually I just… Well, they aren't actually spells," he said, then grimaced as Aldwin opened his frog-mouth to protest. "It's magic, but nothing as concentrated or powerful. As I'm sure you all will recall, His Majesty likes to drag me along with him on hunts and various campaigns." If they were offended by his tone, only Eleanor and Aldwin showed it. "This gave me plenty of opportunity to defend him. But since he was, of course, right there… I tripped his enemies, or I would make them drop their weapons. Sometimes I would have branches fall on their heads, or their sword swings would be too wide… Things that might be attributed to luck."

"But you could've killed them all in a heartbeat," Wymond said. "In fact, you could kill us all now." The other councilors shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion, and Merlin licked his lips. The commander tilted his head, and the warlock would've called him snakelike, except he actually kind of liked snakes. It seemed insulting to compare them to this man. "You could have taken over this kingdom long ago. I'm sure you've dreamed of things being different. Why not?"

"It would have been wrong, my lord," Merlin answered steadily. "To have undermined the kingdom in such a way… It would have led only to disaster for the people—and likely for myself."

It was the stuff of nightmares—his nightmares. He had often feared he was a monster. Or he feared that he was in the process of becoming one: a slow metamorphosis into something ugly and despicable. His guts seemed to want to claw their way up his throat when he thought of himself as someone cold, someone capable of slaughtering with such little remorse and so much ease. He would look up at the ceiling in his small room, counting the cracks between the stones, trying to convince himself that he was not like Morgana, that he wouldn't give in to his bitterness and guilt and allow it to turn him into something awful.

"For yourself?" Aldwin repeated, incredulous. "You could have ensured your safety a thousand times over."

"But I could not have safely paid the price," Merlin said in a near-whisper. Then, louder: "I have no desire to rule anything or anyone." He gave a wry smile. "It's far too much paperwork."

"So you say. Have we any proof that you haven't already enchanted the king?" Eleanor asked. The king's right eyebrow escaped its rigid prison before being forcefully shoved back down.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur said coldly. "I am in full control of my faculties, Lady Eleanor. Tell me, has there ever been a time when someone has been enchanted that you have not all noticed? Magic is not flawless, and a person under its influence acts strangely. I have been enchanted enough times to recognize the feeling, and I am certainly not."

"He has admitted to power, sire, and the ability to cast untraceable magicks," Sterling said. His tone was reasonable and non-accusative. "Is it so difficult to believe that he has been influencing you with it, my lord? To the point that you have not noticed?"

"You did begin to behave differently when he came," Aldwin accused. He didn't go so far as to say that Arthur was better to his undeserving lessers, though the implication was there. Not that Merlin thought it was very accurate; Arthur hadn't been kinder to him in the beginning. He had done his best to punish the warlock for ever having been born.

"Yes, Lord Aldwin, I grew up," Arthur said. "It had nothing to do with my manservant's presence." The stress on the word was derisive, and Merlin told himself it was only because they were in mixed company. "And, presuming I was enchanted, it would have to be the slowest and worst-executed plan ever. He arrived at Camelot, magicked the prince, and then? Decided to force the prince to force him to muck out the stables, clean the floors twice, get battered in combat training—for what? As some sort of cover? For years? He would have been better assissanting the king to get his puppet on the throne. And now he has been sitting in the dungeons for over seven nights—on purpose?"

The king's voice hadn't risen during the tirade. It had stayed a deadly calm, ridicule laced in every syllable like poison. The undercurrent of mockery was hardly an undercurrent at all, and Aldwin's already red face turned a bold, daring purple. Merlin thought he might explode—or have a heart attack. He wondered idly if they would let him use magic to save his life; it was the only way the lord might be spared from such a fate.

For some reason, the thought of Aldwin keeling over dead didn't bother him as much as the thought of Muriel's death. But, well, that was what being an absolute git did for you.

"Forgive me, sire," Aldwin managed to sputter out. "I spoke—unwisely."

"You did," the king said, though he didn't give his forgiveness one way or the other.

A terrible silence descended on the room, almost a muffling sort of silence, as though everyone and everything had been draped in thick cloth. Another rumble came from Merlin's stomach, thunderous in the quiet, and he blushed down to his neck. He tried not to look down in betrayal at his torso, though it was a near thing.

"Well, if we can think of no other questions, I motion that we close this, ah, interview for today," Sterling said. "I, for one, am famished."

"I have no objections," Muriel agreed. Well, her life was probably on the line, Merlin thought. If she missed a single meal, the old, frail woman might wither away.

"Then it's done," Arthur said, and the relief in his voice mirrored Merlin's own.

The food that awaited Merlin wasn't nearly as appealing as his breakfast had been: the stew had an odd film over the top that looked suspiciously like floating mold, and the outside was cold. He pushed it to the corner, not yet hungry enough to eat something so suspicious-looking. The lieutenants that had brought him hadn't left, either. They had joined the regular prison guards in their small room by the dungeon's entrance, and the sounds of card or dice games that normally came from it were gone.

Merlin caught no glimpse of Jonathon—or of the other two guards that had been friendlier toward him. Three of about ten was a depressing number, but he told himself it had been better than all the guards against him. Now, though, that thought had become a reality.

And the warlock found himself suspicious.

He had never personally met the captain of the guard, but he was supposed to be a serious man, a minor noble who took looking after the castle and its inhabitants very seriously. Even if the guards themselves were lax, there was never a shortage of them. The captain made sure that every single important point in the castle—anyplace that danger might appear from—was watched at all hours of the day.

While Merlin didn't want to flatter himself, he was an important prisoner. So why remove guards that were meant to control the dangerous sorcerer? Had they been suspected of sympathizing with him? Were the lieutenants' pull as great as they had implied, and they'd gotten the guards who supported Merlin fired? None of the options quite matched inside Merlin's head. He frowned, vowing that he would keep a closer watch on everything. With Arthur distracted, and the citadel weakened, it would be the perfect time for another of Camelot's enemies to strike.

Morgana was licking her wounds, and Essetir was still reeling after Cenred's death. But the kingdom had no shortage of people looking to harm it—perhaps even a new person.

You're just being paranoid, he told himself. Guard changes didn't mean something bigger was going on. Jonathan and the others had probably only finished their shift for the day, and new guards had been appointed because Merlin was so powerful. All that talk from Geoffrey had to have people spooked.

He sat down on the bench, letting his hands go limp. They felt oddly weightless after having been released from the chains, lighter than they should've been. His wrists were red and raw. Merlin frowned down at the floor, rubbing his eyes. A sudden wave of loneliness came over him: no one had spoken to him except to interrogate him in days. He had no Gaius, no Gwen, no human comfort at all. Even Arthur had seemed apart from him.

The warlock was isolated, alone in that throne room, surrounded by people. He'd been an animal in a cage, tolerated only because he was an oddity, something intriguing to look at, and because he'd been behind bars. The feeling intensified as he curled up on his side—his right, for his left shoulder throbbed still. He was afraid to look at it.

How many of his friends hated him, now? Did the knights still care for him? Leon, certainly, was on the fence, and he'd only seen Gwaine and Lancelot—briefly—since his exposure. He missed the easy camaraderie, the way he could chat with the other servants. He hadn't had time in the month leading up to his arrest. He'd already been by himself in so many ways…

The old memories of Will and Ealdor made it worse. The look of pain on Edith's face… Having himself stripped in front of strangers, his bizarreness among even his fellow sorcerers exposed…

And how many hated him because of what he hadn't done? Did they blame him for the shield falling, for not being fast enough or strong enough to save their son or daughter, even when he'd saved others? Had they seen his power and wondered why he hadn't used it before?

The thought of their judgement, their anger… He closed his eyes, holding his arms awkwardly to not aggravate his wrists.

He wasn't quite asleep—not even on the cusp, really. It wasn't an escape, but it was better than looking at an empty cell. Merlin was trying desperately not to think of that, or anything at all, when the voice came.

Merlin! It was a hiss, very quiet. Like the person was unpracticed at mind speech or very weak. And the voice was familiar.

Merlin frowned, eyes opening. He looked around, but of course no one was there. Gilli? he called tentatively. Is that you?

Of course it's me! Unless you've dragged some other poor, hapless sorcerer away from their peaceful life to do your bidding, Gilli said. Bidding? It wasn't like he was the warlock's minion or anything; the man made it sound like he was some evil lord.

I didn't drag you, Merlin replied. I asked you very politely. In a letter. What are you talking to me for?

The conversation did something to revitalize him though, and he sat up again, trying to pinpoint Gilli's location. The man's magic was so faint, however… It was like trying to find a single, tiny pebble in a field full of rocks. The leftover magic from his rune and the Sluagh clouded the air, and eventually Merlin gave it up as a bad job.

What the hell do you think I'm talking to you for? The indignance in Gilli's mind-speech was palpable, and Merlin winced. I'm here to ask if you need me to help you escape.

The warlock thought for a moment. Er… No, thank you. I'm fine here. The cell is actually quite—cozy, he said. He guessed that compared to his last cell it was. All part of the plan, or something. Arthur's plan, anyway, and the king seemed to have it under control. Well, in the throne room he did. The council room was another story.

You mean you wanted to be revealed and thrown in jail? Gilli asked.

No, but it's all for the best. The king's planning on legalizing magic. Have you been keeping up on the trial? Merlin asked.

That thing where they pretend to give sorcerers a fair shot before murdering them? Gilli seemed to give an equivalent of a snort, and it was bizarre to hear with magic and not ears. No, I haven't. I've been a bit preoccupied trying to figure out if I should stay or run. You didn't exactly help me out after everything.

I was a little preoccupied myself, Merlin replied stiffly. Gilli had agreed to come, and the warlock knew courtiers got places in the barracks after their trips. There was no reason he should've checked up on Gilli. (A guilty part of him pointed out the sorcerer had only come as a favor to him, and Merlin had been a poor friend about repaying him—or showing him any sort of attention at all.)

Yes, I can see that. Your master plan of getting caught and executed—it's all coming together, I'm sure. The sarcasm was so thick Merlin could practically taste it in the air, even though the words went straight to his mind.

It is, actually. You heard the part about the king legalizing magic, right? Merlin asked.

You heard the part where the king is probably lying to you, right? It's a farce, Merlin, Gilli said. He's going to kill you, in the end. There's too much of Uther in him, and I just wish you could see that.

The warlock rubbed his eyes with his palms. He'd had to have slept at least thirteen hours the night before, but a wave of exhaustion swept over him. It pounded inside his head and against his heart. The trial was a farce, but not in the way Gilli thought. Arthur hadn't been placating him; he was sure of it. The king holding him, comforting him… That had been real. It had to have been, or else everything Merlin had ever done in defense of the kingdom was for nothing. In defense of Arthur. He hadn't done it so the king would legalize magic, but if Arthur had rejected him, had sentenced him to death after everything…

It would've killed Merlin more thoroughly than the flames ever could.

But he knew Arthur, and he was sure—as sure as he was of his own heart beating and the blood in his veins—that the king hadn't been lying. He had carried Merlin up to guest chambers after finding him with the rune. He had known for weeks before, getting to know the side of the warlock that he had to keep hidden.

He's not going to kill me, Merlin said firmly. What have you been up to, anyway? Plotting to assassinate him? He didn't think Gilli would, but the young man was volatile. He'd used magic in front of hundreds of people at the tournament (much like Merlin, though the warlock refused to think about the comparison).

Nah, Gilli replied. I know better than to piss you off. I've found work. The steward thinks I'd make a good stableboy; one of 'em died during the battle.

The warlock wondered morbidly how it had happened. Had the young servant been carted off into the sky, ripped apart by monsters? Had he died in one of the lower town's fires, trying to save his house before it burnt down? Had one of Morgana's mages murdered him?

Did they mention his name? Merlin asked softly. It was less a volume and more of a feeling: the gentleness that sometimes came when speaking of loss.

No. I can—well, I don't mind asking, Gilli offered.

Merlin shook his head before he realized the sorcerer couldn't see him. No, it's fine. I'm sure I'll find out eventually. I'm glad you found work, especially there; the stableboys are all friendly. He'd gotten to know a few. Arthur had forced him to muck out the stables so many times—a chore not in his job description—that he'd almost been forced to strike up a conversation with a couple of them.

He'd even kissed Oliver, though it hadn't been serious, and they'd parted amicably. He'd had freckled cheeks and kinky hair, and he'd always smelled like a barn. The warlock hadn't minded, but he'd realized quickly—like many of his other flings—that it could never go anywhere. Oliver hadn't known him, not really, and Merlin had always imagined it was different lips on his when they'd kissed, hands that were larger and callused from sword-fighting and not shovelling manure. Or sometimes he'd imagine a soft body against his own, long curly hair that went far past the shoulders…

It wouldn't have been fair to Oliver to continue.

Merlin wondered if the stableboy was still alive. If he resented Merlin, now, or feared him. He didn't know if outright hatred was worse. He didn't want to know at all.

They say the king's favorite warhorse bites, Gilli said. And all the newbies, naturally, have to take care of that one. I saw the beast eyeing me when I came in. I think it knew I was going to have to go near it, and it was plotting on how best to kill me.

Smoky isn't going to kill you, Merlin said, letting amusement leak into his words. Bring something to bribe him with.

His name is Smoky? Well, I can give this to the king: he's not as pretentious as I thought, Gilli said. I thought for sure it would've been named after some stuck-up lord.

It is, Merlin admitted. But I renamed him Smoky in revenge. I can't remember exactly what Arthur did that time, but I'm sure he deserved it. He was so mad when the horse wouldn't respond to 'Galgarga' or whatever anymore. Arthur had been mad enough to strangle his manservant, and that was always when Merlin knew he'd done a good job. If the king looked anything less than murderous upon finding out what Merlin had done, the warlock hadn't tried hard enough.

He'd made it his lifelong goal to irritate the man, after all. It helped take him down a notch.

I'm sure he loved that, Gilli said, laughing. The sensation was bizarre coming from the mind-link, and it almost sent Merlin into a fit of laughter, too.

Oh, he was right pissed. I thought he might finally fire me, Merlin said. But it serves him right for making me do so much. He had me mucking out the stables every other week—he should've expected that I'd make friends with the horses, at least.

They were probably the only ones that could stand the stench, Gilli chortled. I suppose I can forgive the horse for giving me the stink-eye if he made the king that mad. There has to be some good inside him.

Merlin smiled wryly at the ground. That's the spirit, he said. He didn't think Gilli would have any trouble fitting in or making friends. He was a sorcerer, to be sure, and that would keep him apart, but his casual demeanor would make popular among plenty of the staff.

Oh, sorry, Merlin. Someone's trying to talk to me, Gilli said, distracted. Not in my head, I mean.

Alright. Thank you for checking up on me, Merlin sent before the connection was severed. He sighed, but he felt less lonely than before. Less like he might be trapped here, by himself, for all eternity. There were people on the outside looking after him.

He just had to trust them.

Gwen had never gone drinking with the knights before. It was a bit of a boys' club, and she wasn't sure how well she would've enjoyed it even if she'd been invited. Besides, a maidservant having beers with a bunch of nobles—regardless of the fact that they were common-born, or that she was sister to one of them… It wasn't proper.

Strictly speaking, though, Merlin and Arthur drinking with them hadn't really been proper, either.

The tavern smelled like alcohol and sweat, and Gwen tried not to wrinkle her nose. The atmosphere wasn't strained, but she thought it should've been more lively, especially at this time in the evening. Other patrons kept shooting furtive glances at them, and conversation was oddly stilted. Even the barmaid seemed affected, and the smile on her face was obviously fake.

Elyan had invited her along. Gwen suspected it was because she knew more about Merlin's exploits than any of them, not out of any familial love. Her brother knew she enjoyed quiet dinners more than boisterous outings, though she'd gone out with Merlin before, just the two of them.

"It's rather lonely in the knights' barracks," Elyan was saying as Gwen tuned back into the conversation. "The Commander thinks it's a good idea to strengthen our border with Essetir, what with all the fighting, and he's sent half the knights out on patrol."

"Yeah. You think it's good luck or bad that we weren't sent with them?" Gwaine asked, taking a large gulp of his ale. He never seemed to be able to take small bites or swallows of anything. Gwen supposed his mouth might start to feel empty if he didn't fill it with something: he was a big talker, big eater, and big drinker.

"I dunno," Percival said. "Most of the ones that were sent were less experienced. Maybe they think we're finally coming into our own?"

Elyan snorted into his cup. "The king probably requested that we stay," he said, his voice laced with double meaning. Gwen wanted to ask what he meant, but if she was entitled to her secrets, they were entitled to theirs. Even though she hadn't wanted to keep anything a secret.

Lancelot and Leon were absent from their outing. Maybe the trial had them too on edge to properly relax, or perhaps they were out on a patrol. Gwen nearly sighed, wishing at least Lancelot were there. He would've tried to include her in the conversation. Leon, too, probably.

Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, however, hardly even seemed to notice her there. She'd done her best to be inconspicuous, taking the seat closest to the wall, but she wasn't actually invisible.

"You're right," Gwaine said. "The old guard thinks we're arrogant peasants, Perce, no getting around it. Even if we'd been knights for years, I don't think they'd ever entrust us with anything important. We're only here because the king likes us." His tone was almost gloomy—or as gloomy as Gwaine ever got.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Percival said, chuckling. His whole frame shook with the force of it, and for a moment Gwen worried his chair might break. "The king's opinion is the only one that truly matters—who cares what the Commander thinks of us? We've proven ourselves in Arthur's eyes."

"I guess," Elyan said, shrugging.

Gwaine slapped Percival's shoulder, and then he winced like he'd slapped a bag of bricks. "I like your attitude. Quit being so negative, Eyan; you're starting to sound like Merlin whenever we drag him away from work."

At that, Elyan's mouth pressed into a thin line. He'd seemed more receptive to Gwen's insistence of Merlin's innocence when he'd heard the full story behind the warlock saving their father's life, but all the talk of power at the trial made him nervous. Percival looked away, too, and Gwen finally found her opening to speak.

"Is he a depressed drunk, then?" she asked. The others looked surprised that she had spoken, and she nearly rolled her eyes. Was she supposed to have just sat there quietly for three hours?

"'Depressed' is putting it mildly," Gwaine said. "And that's if he ever even got close to getting drunk. I suppose I can't blame him, though, now that I know why. Did he drink around you?"

"Not really," she replied. "He was always careful not to get out of control. Sometimes he didn't even like to take medicine. Drove Gaius up the wall."

"Medicine?" Percival's brow wrinkled. "I can understand ale, I guess, but medicine?"

"Some of it dulls your senses," Gwen explained. "Looking back, I think he must've been in the middle of something, too. Couldn't afford to be out of it, so to speak."

"You'd know," Elyan said moodily. He'd drained his mug and motioned for the barmaid to come and refill it, which she did dutifully. Gwen waited to respond until the girl left, trying not to bite her tongue from the effort.

"I would, actually." Because Merlin was here, in Camelot, when everything went wrong—when sorcerers and armies attacked. And you were away. She didn't say that part aloud, however, and not just because there was company. "I knew something was going on—he acted so strangely, sometimes—but I never could've dreamed it was magic. But when I found out, it all just made sense."

"Poor guy seemed like he had about a million problems, and he could only tell you what two of them were," Gwaine agreed.

"I thought he was a bit shifty, honestly," Percival said. "Trustworthy, but like a… A squirrel, maybe."

Elyan squinted at him. "A squirrel?" he repeated.

"Yeah, you know—" Percival gestured to the air. "—A squirrel. He's a squirrely man. Always burying secrets, always hiding away. The furtive little…" This time, he wiggled his hands in front of him in imitation of a squirrel eating a nut.

Gwaine put his head in his hands. "Merlin is nothing like a squirrel, mate."

"He's more like a… A dog," Elyan said. "Or maybe a wolf disguised as a dog. You think he's playful and loyal, but really there's all this danger lurking underneath." Gwen did roll her eyes this time and took a long sip of her beer. She wanted to enjoy it at least a little bit before she could no longer resist the urge to dump it on his head.

"You think he should be locked up, then?" Percival asked.

"I don't know what I think," Elyan replied. "It's just… It's like someone walking around with their own personal ballista. There's no checks on his power—he can kill anyone at any time. And not just one person, either, but scores of them. How do you make sure someone with power like that doesn't abuse it?"

"You can't," Gwaine said, "but he hasn't. It wouldn't be right to lock him up or punish him for something he could do. And it's not like he has any control over having it, either."

"Well, maybe we take it away from him, then," Elyan said. "I don't know, Gwaine, but you saw him that day!"

Gwen leaned forward. "You can't, Elyan." She faced him, gripping her mug tightly. "I mean it. His magic… It's like Percival's height, his strength. He was born with it, and if you take it away… He dies. Or if he doesn't, it'll be a fate worse than death. His magic is him."

"Well, he's more than his magic, surely," Percival said, frowning. "I'm more than my physical characteristics, too. If there was a way to make me shorter, and it was the only way people would accept me, I'd probably take it."

"First of all, you shouldn't have to," Gwen said. "You shouldn't be punished for the way you were born—or what you might do, like Gwaine said. And of course Merlin is more than his magic. Maybe… Maybe a physical trait isn't the best way to put it. It's more like a second heart, an organ or muscle he can't live without." She had read that line in one of Gaius's books.

"A second heart that lets him kill people in the blink of an eye," Elyan pointed out. Why did he have to be so stubborn? People could kill each other almost as easily without magic. If the three of them wanted, they would probably be able to kill everyone in the tavern with their weapons and training. The point was that they hadn't, and they wouldn't.

"Arthur can kill just as easily," Gwen said. "He was born with power, the same as Merlin. It's an accident of birth, Elyan, not whatever you think it is. And you're acting like killing is the only thing he can do with his magic."

"That is all we've seen him do, to be fair," Percival said. "He killed a lot of people, actually. Well, maybe not people."

"Ah, you're forgetting the shield, mate," Gwaine said. "And I'm sure he didn't go around killing people as a child, though he certainly gave that old man a run for his money." Here, Elyan seemed vaguely uncomfortable, as though imagining a child with magic was more troublesome to his point of view.

"You haven't seen him do anything else because he's been forced to hide," Gwen said. "Magic can heal and grow and build, too. Please, you can't really think he deserves to be locked up or punished for something that's out of his control." Elyan was her brother; how could his opinion be so out of sync with hers? Was he really so blind, or was he just that scared?

"I don't," Elyan said. "I guess you're right. It wouldn't be fair to punish him. It's… I don't think he should be able to run amok with it, is all. And other sorcerers—we can't know they'll be as loyal to Camelot as he seems to be." It was a small, grudging victory, but Gwen thought it was probably a step in the right direction.

"They'd still be beholden to the laws," Gwen said. "And, well…" She dropped her voice to a whisper, and the knights leaned in closer. "Arthur's drafting new ones to limit the use of harmful magic, too." Percival raised his eyebrows, as though he was surprised that Gwen had such information. She wasn't sure why; she was sure Elyan had told them that she'd read Merlin's diary along with Arthur.

"Most sorcerers aren't that powerful, anyway," Gwaine said. "I mean, Merlin's been doing it since he was an infant. It's kind of impressive, really. I'm sure only a rare few could do the things he did."

"Yeah," Elyan said, shaking his head. "I mean, I've met a few sorcerers in my travels. None of them ever really did any magic around me, though—only little tricks. I guess seeing all that… It messed with my head to know someone out there can do that. Like—" He snapped his fingers.

Percival nodded, patting Elyan's forearm gently (which was a normal-strength pat for anyone else). "I understand. Cenred used sorcerers in his army and as tax collectors and such. They were always using their power to bully other people, but I guess that's not much different from how it was with the other, non-magic officials. They just didn't have as many weapons in their arsenal. And Merlin is a good man, I think. Squirrely, like I said—" He ignored Gwaine's guffaw— "And I haven't known him as long as you all, but, well, Lancelot trusts him. Arthur trusts him. Gwen trusts him." He nodded to her. "And I trust them, at least. I can give him a chance."

"Well, I mean, you're sort of going to have to, you know, considering—" Gwaine was cut off when Elyan put an elbow in his stomach. Gwen hid a smile as she took another sip, shaking her head. Arthur really had chosen well, even if Gwaine had a bit of a mouth on him.

Her brother and the long-haired knight began to mock wrestle. Percival eventually had to break them up with his large bulk, and they both looked sheepishly at her; wrestling wasn't exactly an activity they were supposed to do in front of a lady. But she found she enjoyed their easy camaraderie. While they perhaps didn't fully support Arthur's decision to legalize magic, they at least fully supported Arthur.

And that was something Gwen could get behind.

The third day, Arthur knew, was going to be tricky. The previous days had been tricky, to be sure, but this one would be trickier because of the nature of the witness and his testimony. It was a lot riding on one person, though Arthur knew they had prepared the best they could.

The king was only worried, perhaps, because of how well everything else had been going. Two successful days, with only minor hiccups. Merlin had done well even in the private interview with the councilors; he had managed to stay mostly respectful (though Arthur had seen glimpses of Merlin's signature mutinous expression, which had his toes clenching with anxiety that the man might say something terrible).

The person he was most frustrated with was Geoffrey, who had overplayed Merlin's power. Or perhaps truly played was more accurate. Well, he thought grimly, today probably isn't going to help with that. His knights—the ones who came from influential families and had ties to other kingdoms—had looked at the sorcerer warily after the librarian had said as much. Some of them hadn't seen him personally in the courtyard, and they had still seen him as Athur's clumsy serving boy.

The king concealed a yawn as people started shuffling into the throne room. Just as many people had shown up on the second day as the first—and as many on the third, too. His citizens whispered quietly to each other, like they were watching a particularly well-scripted play. He supposed that was as apt a description as any.

Arthur's eyes were dry from sleeplessness, and his muscles were stiff, but he was half-way through the first draft for the new laws. Gwen had finally brought the book with her, and she had helped him in articulating the different branches of magic, some of which Arthur found very bizarre. Who would ever need the ability to transform into a fish, after all? To get eaten?

Focus, he told himself as the nobility started trickling in. Naturally, they were unhurried and much later than his average citizens. His council members stood to either side of him, his knights lined up on his left. He was glad not all of them were present; he didn't think there'd be enough room.

Eventually, Merlin himself was led in. The two guards leading him weren't gentle, but they weren't too harsh, either. The sorcerer—or warlock, Arthur supposed, since apparently that was the proper name for him—kneeled in front of him as he had the two days prior, and the king wondered how much he disliked the position.

Merlin had kneeled in front of him before, of course, but he had rarely been forced to express his loyalty to Arthur in such an explicit way—and in such a public way. Their friendship hadn't exactly been private, but the quiet, encouraging way Merlin treated him had always been behind closed doors.

His servant looked… haggard. He was recovering: he was less pale, and he seemed stronger, more capable of physically supporting himself. But his eyes darted everywhere, like he was afraid someone would attack him. He wasn't used to such an… open existence in the eyes of the kingdom.

With Arthur's plans, however, he would have to get used to it.

The king cleared his throat, and everyone hushed. The people of the lower town watched with wide, eager faces. Arthur wondered how many saw this as mere entertainment, something to distract them from the drudgery of their days. Perhaps that was unfair of him, though: these laws affected them far more than they would affect the nobility. They were the ones most often rounded up to be killed on suspicion of magic; most probably knew people—neighbors or family members or friends—that had been…

Well. Arthur was putting a stop to that.

"This marks the beginning of the third day of Merlin Hunithson's trial," he said, keeping his voice loud but steady. A king's cadence, the one his father had often used. He wasn't sure if the comparison sickened him or saddened him. "Thus far, I have not found proof of any disloyalty to Camelot or the Crown, only a breaking of the ban on magic. However, many of Merlin's exploits here have yet to come to light. Today, I will call on a witness to ascertain the nature of his magic use and whether—or to what degree—it merits punishment."

Excited whispers rippled through the crowd. This was, of course, the thing that most interested people; it had to do with them, after all. Arthur was sure they'd had so many questions after the shield and the battle: how often had Merlin used magic in defense of them? How had he never been caught?

And what did it mean that he hadn't been executed on the spot?

"The witness I call upon is the royal physician, Gaius," Arthur said. Alarm flashed across Merlin's face, and his eyes widened. But the king had spoken with Gaius about this. He'd said, I'm old, sire. If this is the one good thing I can do, after all those years of standing by… His regret had been palpable.

The physician came forward, bowing deeply. His robes and hair dipped with the movement. "It is a privilege to testify, sire," he said.

"Do you swear to the Crown that you will speak truthfully at these proceedings?" Arthur asked. He had practiced the words so many times they rolled off his tongue easier than air.

"I do, sire," he said.

"Do you understand that if I suspect you of lying, you may be charged with treason by way of lying to the king?"

"I understand, my lord," Gaius replied.

"Tell me, Gaius, when—or if—you first suspected Merlin of magic," Arthur said. It was strange asking questions he already knew the answers to—and so intimately, after Merlin's rambling stories. It hadn't been precisely the same with Edith or Simmons; he had chosen them because they had actually known about Merlin's magic. The king suspected the rest of Ealdor would've reported Merlin directly to Cenred if they had caught more than a whiff of Merlin's secret.

"I never suspected as much, sire," Gaius replied. "I knew, about a minute after Merlin introduced himself to me."

The physician paused, knowing the ruckus that would cause. Arthur saw Aldwin puff up out of the corner of his eye, face turning that pinkish-red he was known for. It made him look like a shaved chipmunk.

"Then you are a traitor!" he exclaimed. "How could you possibly—"

"Lord Aldwin, I would ask that you not interrupt these proceedings," Arthur said. "It is my hope that, by the end, you will understand Gaius's position. If not, you are welcome to speak with him personally after we have concluded." This seemed enough to shut him up, so the king continued, "Gaius, please explain why you did not bring this information immediately to my father, the late King Uther. You understand that you technically have admitted to a very serious offense, one punishable by death?"

Merlin drew an audible breath, and Arthur could see the tightening of his mouth that just screamed, Let me open my big mouth and ruin all of Arthur's plans! But he didn't, though the king could tell that it took all his willpower not to defend his mentor.

"I do, sire, but it is my hope that… Well, I do not believe that King Uther understood how beneficial Merlin—or magic—was to his reign. And at the time… I couldn't be sure Merlin wouldn't kill me if I had reported him, and simply escaped. I thought it best to wait for the most opportune moment. And then… It is perhaps best if I start at the circumstances of our meeting, my lord," Gaius said. Arthur knew the physician had never intended to report Merlin, but he had asked the man to frame it all differently. Not exactly a lie…

Hm. No, it definitely was a lie, but seeing as how Gaius technically wasn't lying to him, Arthur thought he could get away with it.

"You may do so," Arthur said.

The physician nodded. "I was expecting him, sire. I had trained his mother briefly, and we had become close friends. She had expressed a desire for him to learn medicine and become a physician, and I had agreed because I was in need of an assistant. When he walked into my chambers, I was on the balcony—I am certain most everyone here is familiar with the layout of my room? Anyway, as we were speaking, the railing broke, and I fell. Now, for a man of my age, a fall like that could have killed me. But using magic, Merlin saved me.

"It was no small feat to do as he did, untrained as he was. I knew he was perhaps dangerous, so I made it clear that I had no intention of turning him in—instead, I said, I would shelter him. And, I will not lie, I also felt a debt to him, sire. However he had done it, he did save my life."

Arthur could see people in the crowd nodding, and—although he didn't turn his head to look at them—he thought that some of his knights were nodding, too. They had strong senses of duty and loyalty; they understood debts. Arthur suspected that was why so many had been fair to Merlin—even if they were wary of magic, the man had saved their lives. That was only a sensation they had ever felt on the battlefield, the close bond of men-in-arms. The fact that Merlin—a magic-user—had stirred up similar feelings of loyalty had to be confusing.

And Arthur wouldn't deny he was using those feelings.

"Do you have any evidence corroborating this story?" Arthur asked.
"There was a carpenter that had to fix the railing, sire," Gaius said. "His name is Carrow. I believe he lives in the lower town; he has helped to repair my workstation in the past."

"Sir Leon," the king said. The knight snapped to attention, stepping out of line. "You will investigate this claim after the day's proceedings are done." It was good to show that he was following through with his witnesses' claims outside the trial; it made him appear thorough. He would likely have the carpenter support the physician's assertion later. And it wouldn't even be a lie: the best part about all this maneuvering was that everything that had happened had happened.

The only lie was Gaius's feelings on the matter, and that had been changed partially for his own protection and partially for believability.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Leon said, bowing. He stepped back.

"Continue, Gaius," Arthur instructed.

"So, my lord, I didn't report him," Gaius said. "And later I was grateful I had not. If you will recall, he saved your life the first week he was here." The man conveniently glazed over Merlin and Arthur's initial altercation. "A witch disguised herself as Lady Helen, a famous singer, in order to kill you—in revenge for her son's death, as I understand. It was only by Merlin's magic that he was able to save you as he did."

"And so, at this point, you decided you wouldn't report him?" Arthur asked.

The physician nodded. "Yes, sire. I thought, if he was loyal to Camelot, then his magic was an excellent form of protection. And it seemed poor form to reward his heroism with death." That was a good line. Arthur wondered if he had practiced it. With Gaius, it was entirely possible. The physician was craftier than his initial mild-mannered appearance would suggest

Merlin looked particularly glum, even though his mentor had basically called him a hero. He let his head hang, and the position didn't look comfortable. Arthur hoped he didn't actually believe Gaius had thought about turning him in; surely Merlin had more faith in the old man than that? But, well, experience had shown the king that his servant didn't exactly think straight—or at all—when it came to certain things. Or most things.

He had left his super-secret, highly illegal diary under a blanket, all things considered.

Arthur proceeded to prod Gaius into telling them all some of Merlin's earlier, more impressive exploits. He didn't get into the dragon—not yet—and the physician stayed quite clear of it. It was like a dance, almost, a show for everyone present. The back-and-forth, the carefully-worded questions that were just careful enough that hopefully no one realized that the king was only asking about specific topics. Gaius's equally careful answers, putting his own position in a reasonable, logical light.

His hope was to win the townspeople over with the drama, with Merlin's "heroism," as Gaius had put it—his loyalty and courage. The physician, Edith, his knights—even Geoffrey's insistence in his power—all of it framed Merlin as a story come to life, and Wymarc's eventual appearance would only cement that impression.

For his nobles—well, they wouldn't be swayed by such things. Their concern wasn't for Merlin's legend or his story. They needed to know that he was a resource, an advantage. Someone who could be controlled, someone who wasn't interested in taking their power—political or otherwise. Arthur believed that what he and Gaius said, the impression they were creating together, would help them see Merlin in that light. They didn't have to see him as a person—that would come later—just someone who was better alive and unpunished than dead or banished.

And if not all the townspeople or nobility were swayed… Arthur really only needed enough that they wouldn't actively work against him when he legalized magic. His other, more ambitious plans, too…

He had to sway just enough people that the threat of someone deposing him was erased. Most of his nobility were old-guard, loyal to Uther, and part of his regime. This time of transition would've been unstable enough without Morgana attacking the citadel and Merlin's revelation.

Arthur could've signalled to them that he was like his father, had he executed Merlin.

(You nearly did it, too.)

But instead he'd signalled that he wasn't beholden to his father's more extreme ideas. He hoped they thought him enough of his father's son to support him with only a little persuasion.

Gaius's voice began to go hoarse—they'd gone over a few of Merlin's heroic acts (not that Arthur would never call them that, at least not in front of Merlin. He'd already praised the man far too much for him breaking the law repeatedly—and he wasn't referring to the use of magic). Arthur decided that the day's proceedings could come to an end. He was relying on Gaius's reputation as an honest, hardworking physician to carry his claims through. The man had saved the lives of nobility and peasants alike; there were few who would disregard his opinion.

He had even managed to make himself sound almost anti-magic at points, which would certainly help to convince the nobility of an unbiased account. Since, in their minds, an anti-magic bias was unbiased.

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur said. "I appreciate your honesty in this matter. However, your revelations will need further investigation before your testimony can be considered true and valid. There is also deliberation to be made in terms of your punishment or pardon for harboring a sorcerer. As such, I am adjourning these proceedings for a full three days."

The physician nodded and bowed, going back to stand in line with the other nobles as the throne room broke out in conversation. It was damn difficult to keep so many people quiet for so long; Arthur thought that, if it had been any other case, he would've lost their attention long ago. He supposed it helped that Uther would have never let such a public trial drag on like this; his father had believed in swift and harsh punishment.

Arthur tried to make the "shooing" gesture as regal as he could. "Court dismissed," he said. The two guards who had brought Merlin in carried him out before the nobility and crowd. The peasantry seemed eager to get back to work—or perhaps to talk about what they had seen. It wasn't like his whole kingdom could come and watch, and Arthur thought that word-of-mouth was as good a way of spreading the news as any.

The king wouldn't know until later if he had swayed his nobility with Gaius's carefully-chosen tales. But at least he was getting a break.

At this point, he thought an uneventful respite was probably the best-case scenario.

AN: I hope you all enjoyed! I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story, followed, commented, left kudos, bookmarked, favorited, etc. I can't believe how many people have read and seem to enjoy my little story :) Questions: Did you pick up on some foreshadowing? Was any of it boring or did it feel like every part needed to be included?

My goal right now is to get two chapters out every month, but we'll see how long I will be able to stick to that lol.