Chapter Seven: Something's Afoot
Merlin sat listlessly. His thoughts whirled around one another like currents in a fast-flowing river, swift and deadly. He wondered what was happening above him, whether Arthur and his nobles were discussing his fate, whether the king had won them over. But how much power could they truly have over Arthur? He was the law of the land, the judge of anything and everything. If he decided to free Merlin and magic—which he had decided—what could they realistically do to stop him?
The worry about that was almost as terrible as the worry over everything else. It gnawed at him that he couldn't see the damage the Sluagh had done to the citadel, that he couldn't help Gaius tend the wounded—a penance, of sorts. The thought of his mentor brought fresh memories to the forefront: namely, the physician's testimony at the trial.
It had clearly been set up between him and Arthur; Merlin knew that Gaius wouldn't lie directly to the king unless Merlin's life or his own was in danger. But now that Arthur had accepted him, there was no reason to. So it had to have been planned (especially since Merlin knew Gaius would never have willingly turned over Hunith's son to Uther).
The notion comforted him. It gave him whiplash, almost, to oscillate so often between despair and hope. It was like having a blazing fire inside him that constantly fought with a sweeping stream of rain, one rising as the other fell. The feeling made him dizzy.
His medicine had stopped coming since Jonathon and the others had left, and the food had truly taken a turn for the worse. He tried to eat what he could, knowing that nothing more appetizing was likely to come, but he wasn't quite desperate enough to eat meat that had maggots crawling around in it. The hunger pangs came and went, though the pain in his shoulder was much better, even without the medicine.
When Merlin heard footsteps bouncing off the hallway, he stood from the bench to look out of his cell. He could sometimes hear the guards' voices or their shift changes, but these sounded like they were coming closer. Were they putting someone away in the cells? That would give Merlin someone to talk to, even if they were a criminal. Aside from Gilli (and the trial, which didn't count), he hadn't spoken to anyone in over a week. The isolation was painful and alien—he'd always lived with his mother or Gaius, and lately he'd lived in a bustling castle, gossiping and chatting with the other servants constantly.
"Hello?" he called out, though he knew the guards wouldn't take kindly to their resident sorcerer speaking with another criminal.
But it wasn't a criminal that was walking toward him: it was Lancelot. Merlin had never been happier to see someone in his life, and he let out a laugh, a grin splitting his face.
"Lancelot!" he cried, reaching his hands through the bars. "What are you doing here? I thought the king had barred me from having visitors."
The elation inside him was almost painful. Talking to Gilli had helped, but it wasn't anything like seeing a familiar, friendly face. And Lancelot, besides. Merlin already knew he didn't care about the magic or anything. That knowledge in itself was relaxing.
The knight smiled back. "Hello, Merlin. And he did—he lifted it only today. I thought I'd be the first to see you." He grasped one of Merlin's hands, and the warlock soaked in the sight of him. He'd seen him only briefly after he'd first woken up, and then he'd been haggard from helping with clean-up and looking after Merlin.
Now, he was clearly washed and well-rested, though there was some dark emotion shadowing his face.
"There will be others?" Merlin almost laughed again, and he released Lancelot's hand. "Gwen, of course, and Gaius. But what of the other knights? How are they… taking all this?" Lancelot sat down on the grimy floor, facing the bars, and he patted the ground. Merlin took the hint and mirrored the action.
"Rather well, I should say," Lancelot said. "They're hesitant and distrustful, but… Percival has only known you for a little over a month, you know, but he likes you. He's a good judge of character. Gwaine, you already know, has been ready to rescue you this entire time." He kept his voice soft so the guards wouldn't overhear. "Elyan is fearful of your power, though I think Gwen is talking him 'round. And Leon is trying."
"And you?" Merlin asked. "How have you been through all of this? I know it couldn't have been easy with…"
"It hasn't," Lancelot said. Guilt shot through Merlin's stomach, cloying and heavy, and the knight wrapped one hand around the bars. "Don't think I would've changed anything, though. Of course it's hard when they all look at me like—like I've betrayed their trust. But I don't regret keeping your secrets, Merlin, or knowing them."
The warlock looked down, running a finger over his worn boots. He'd have to visit a cobbler, soon, or else they would fall apart directly on his feet. "I wish it wasn't so difficult for you," he settled on saying. "Though I can't… Maybe it's selfish of me, Lancelot, but I don't think I'd change anything between us, either. You have no idea…"
Merlin couldn't articulate it into words. Lancelot's support meant so much to him—the knight's friendship had been a cornerstone in his life. Gaius was great, and he loved his mentor. But it wasn't the same as having someone who encouraged you, who was your own age. Lancelot was nothing like Will—more noble and less fool-hardy—but he filled that same space in Merlin's life. Not as a replacement (because no one could replace his childhood best friend), but as a confidant, someone who Merlin could turn to when there was no one else who might even begin to understand.
"Don't worry about it." Lancelot grimaced. "If anything, it's me who should be apologizing to you."
"What? Why?" Merlin wondered what on earth the knight was talking about. After all the trouble Merlin had gotten him into over their friendship… He eyed Lancelot suspiciously. "Did you read my diary, too?" he demanded. What, had Arthur just decided to reveal his innermost thoughts to every single person he came across? Like some kind of proclamation that everyone had to see? Hear ye, hear ye! Come listen as I spill all my manservant's secrets!
"No!" Lancelot cried. "Why would I do that?"
"Well, what else was I supposed to think? It seems like every other damn person I talk to has decided my private life is now public business!" Well, maybe he was exaggerating, but Merlin thought he could be forgiven for that. It wasn't like he had asked to be put on trial, offered up as proof that magic-users could be loyal to Camelot. He'd agreed to it, sure, but that had been out of necessity, not want.
The knight rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of sympathy in them. "I didn't read your diary, Merlin. And I rather think the king is doing a good job of keeping what truly needs to stay private just that—private."
"How is putting my whole life on display keeping it private?" Merlin muttered. "He literally summoned the midwife who attended my birth. That's as invasive as you can get!"
"Point taken. But anyway, that's not what I'm talking about." Lancelot lowered his gaze back to the floor. It darted to the sheathed sword on his hip, the same one that Merlin had enchanted those weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," Merlin said, trying to keep his tone gentle. Lancelot had a tendency to overreact when he thought he was at fault or didn't deserve something.
"I sort of—I'mdefinitelyresponsiblefortheking'sdeath." It came out all at once, in a rushed whisper, like it had been making Lancelot sick to keep it in. Merlin glanced down the hall.
"Did you kill him?" he asked, voice equally hushed. He already knew the answer.
The knight recoiled. "What? No, of course not. It was Agravaine—"
"Oh, well then, I guess you're not responsible," Merlin said, leaning back. He sobered as Lancelot glared at him. "I mean it, Lance. It's not your fault."
"How can it not be?" Desperation leaked into his tone, and he frowned. "You told me to watch Agravaine, to make sure he didn't do anything—this is the very definition of failure! You trusted me to do one thing, and I let you down. I let Arthur down, the Crown down. Being made regent and king in such a short amount of time, and then with all this… I'm responsible for that."
"You're not," Merlin insisted fervently. "Don't you dare think that. You're the noblest, loyalest knight I know, and you're just one man. Let me tell you something I've had to learn the hard way: when you're working by yourself, nothing ever goes to plan. There's simply too much for a person alone to accomplish. And yes, I did ask you to watch him, but not at the expense of your other duties. Agravaine—and Morgana—are responsible for Uther's death. No one else."
As he said it, the words reverberated in his bones, and he realized just how true it was. It was hard to do everything alone, to have so few people to rely on and ask for guidance. Lancelot hadn't failed—not anymore than Merlin had failed. They had done their best, given everything.
Merlin wasn't sure he was ready to forgive himself—he knew he could've saved more people if he'd been smarter, faster—but he could forgive Lancelot. There was nothing to forgive, really.
The knight narrowed his eyes, searching Merlin's face. "Do you truly believe that, Merlin? That we can be excused from making mistakes because we were acting alone? That our actions can be forgiven because we simply tried? Have you forgiven yourself?"
Merlin opened his mouth—that wasn't exactly what he'd meant. He didn't quite know what he was going to say, but he was saved from having to know when more footsteps approached. He looked up to see Elyan and Leon, both walking toward them hesitantly. Merlin got to his feet, nervousness swirling in his gut. Aside from Lancelot, he'd known Leon the longest—and he got along well with Elyan, from the few months they'd known each other.
"Er, we can leave if you two…" Elyan trailed off as Lancelot stood as well, brushing off his trousers.
"We're finished, I think," Lancelot said, glancing back at Merlin. "Consider it, alright? You're not as capable as you think you are."
The warlock frowned, but he understood what the knight meant. If Merlin had done all he could, there was no sense in beating himself up about it. But the thing was that Merlin didn't know if he had truly done all he could. He'd tried, yes; he'd tried harder than he ever had before. But what if he could've done more?
"You do the same," he replied, nodding as the knight left. Leon and Elyan stared after him until he disappeared, as though avoiding something. They weren't as odd a duo as Merlin had first thought; Gwen had known Leon for a long time, and it stood to reason the knight had probably met Elyan, too.
Leon cleared his throat. "We, ah, we came to see you, Merlin."
No, really? I thought you came down for food and lodging. The warlock tried not to laugh. He'd never seen the knight look so awkward in his life. "I got that. Was there a message you wanted to give me?" Perhaps Arthur was trying to avoid the questions of coming himself by sending his knights down instead.
"No, nothing like that," Leon said. "I suppose I… I wanted to thank you. If what everything Gaius said—and that woman Edith said—is true, then you deserve my gratitude. You've saved Arthur's life, Uther's life—probably even my own life. I can understand why you had to lie."
Merlin watched him, looking for some sign of insincerity. But this was Leon. He was one of the most honest men Merlin knew. In the knight's face, he only saw embarrassment and earnestness. "Er, well." The warlock coughed. "I… You're welcome. It was no trouble, really. Okay, it was maybe a lot of trouble, but I still would do it over again. This is my home, and I—" He cut himself off, realizing what he'd been about to say. "Arthur is my friend, even if he is sort of a prat."
"You really are the same person, aren't you? It wasn't all some grand scheme," Elyan said. There was a hint of wariness in his posture, but no fear. And really, after everything, the warlock was just grateful the knight had come and visited him at all.
"I don't think anyone could've acted that well for that long," Merlin muttered, glancing away. "I never tried to hide who I was, just what I could do."
"It's reassuring, in a way. Even all-powerful sorcerers can be clumsy idiots," Elyan said. He was smiling lightly, but there was a tightness to his eyes that suggested it wasn't merely a jest. "Listen, Merlin—I won't lie to you: the sort of power you wield is terrifying. It terrifies a lot of people. But… I guess I can't blame you for it, if you didn't choose to have it."
Merlin pressed his lips together. He didn't know the knight as well as the others, but… He was going to be honest from now on, even if the truths made him uncomfortable. He swallowed. "You're not the only person it terrifies, Elyan," he confessed quietly. "I just… do the best I can."
Elyan and Leon stared at him for a few beats. Merlin couldn't quite read the expressions on their faces—pity? Acceptance? Hesitancy? But it wasn't hatred, and it wasn't quite fear.
Leon looked up at the high window in Merlin's cell, where the afternoon sun leaked through, and he elbowed Elyan. "We have some duties to get to, Merlin, but we'll be seeing you."
"Alright," the warlock said, waving good-bye as they left.
His heart hadn't felt this light in weeks. Perhaps months.
Perhaps years.
At dinner, Merlin had a couple more visitors. He grinned widely as Gaius and Gwen came into view. The latter carried a small plate of food—just bread and meat, really—but after what Merlin had been served lately it looked like a feast. His mentor had the guards unlock the cell door under the pretense of making sure the prisoner was "ready" for the trial to begin again the next day. The warlock didn't think they bought it, but he didn't exactly care.
Truly, what could they do? Jonathan and the others disappearing was worrying, but it was no reason to panic. Arthur was king, and he wasn't about to let anything happen to any of them. Merlin just had to trust that he had it well in hand.
"How have you been, my boy?" Gaius asked. He'd naturally insisted on looking Merlin over again, although the warlock was recovering quite well.
"Better now that I can get visitors," Merlin said, smiling at them. Even trapped in the dungeons, he'd never felt so happy. Maybe it was simply the contrast between the absolute loneliness with all the company, but… He thought it had more to do with everything else.
"Have they not been feeding you?" Gwen asked as the warlock swallowed another bite of food.
"Of course they have," Merlin said. It wasn't really lying, and even if it was, he was only lying to not cause any trouble. The last thing everyone needed was to worry about something that they didn't need to worry about.
Gaius raised an eyebrow, giving such an unimpressed, disappointed look that Merlin almost surrendered. "Hm," he said, in that exact tone that indicated, I know you're lying, but I'll let it go for now. "It should all be over soon, anyway, and then you'll be staying where I can keep an eye on you. Don't think I've forgotten about cleaning the leech tank, either."
"Thank you, by the way," Merlin said. "For testifying."
Gaius held Merlin's hand. His mentor's fingers were bony, the backs of his hands veiny and spotty, his palms callused. The gesture was so comforting after such little contact that it put a lump in Merlin's throat. "It was my privilege to finally be able to defend you in front of the court. I'm so proud of you, Merlin, more than you can ever know."
The warlock blinked back watery eyes and grinned back. "I never knew you could act so well," Merlin said. "You should've given me lessons. You lied straight to everyone's faces."
"I did try to give you lessons," the physician dead-panned.
"If I hadn't known you, I don't think I would've been able to tell," Gwen added. "Arthur's doing a great job of all this. And I wanted to tell you, Merlin, that we've been working together to repeal the laws—with some help from Gaius, of course."
Gwen bringing up Arthur and her spending time together made Merlin's heart give a little jump. It wasn't quite jealousy, but it was close. He shoved it down. It was selfish to feel that way when they were discussing changing the laws. He would be free, under a queen and king who were kind and just—what more could he want?
He knew that they were going to be married, too, no matter what. Arthur had talked about it with Merlin, and then he'd gone and kissed Gwen in front of everyone in the courtyard when they'd taken back Camelot from Morgana. And Gwen had been sneaking into his room, even if nothing untoward had happened (except for a violation of his privacy).
Really, this was all ridiculous. The warlock should've been happy for them. Or maybe he should've actually been focused on the big picture at hand: namely, the legalization of magic.
"So he has plans for… for the druids and such? And magical creatures? Or what about mages coming into their power?" Merlin asked. Partially, he was trying to distract himself from the ridiculous train of thought his mind had taken. Partially, he was genuinely curious. "How will they be located and trained? The farther the village is, the more likely it is that they'll be punished for it, even with a change in the laws."
Gwen bit her lip. "That's a good point. I'll bring it up with him—I wish you were there when we talked about it. You know so much more than I do…"
"I'm sure you're doing a fine job," Merlin said. "And Gaius can always help. And Geoffrey."
"Oh, yes, because all of my patients have completely healed from their wounds in the fortnight it's been since the attack," Gaius said. Merlin was pretty sure the physician's offended expression was a front; the old man had to be secretly—or not so secretly—delighted that Arthur was overturning the ban. The warlock wondered, for all that Gaius talked a big game, if his mentor had expected to see Camelot welcome magic again in his lifetime.
"They have been, of course, but it's not the same," Gwen said. "He misses you, I think. I do too, of course. We'll all be glad when this entire thing is over."
Merlin laughed. "Me too, Gwen. Me too."
Gwen hummed to herself softly as she walked toward the physician's chambers, listing what she would need in her head. She'd been planning on speaking with Arthur after dinner, but one of the wealthier merchant's wives had gone into labor. Gaius had rushed off to help, and he'd asked Gwen to run a few errands for him: mainly delivering medicines and changing bandages on a few knights.
There weren't any staying in the physician chambers themselves anymore. After two weeks, they were either well enough to move to more comfortable quarters, or they had died. Gwen didn't want to think about how many bite wounds had grown infected, tainted with the Sluagh's magic. Only a few had survived them.
Knowing that Gaius wasn't in his room, Gwen didn't bother knocking before she opened the door, though she paused when it had only opened a crack. It sounded like someone was in there. She heard the clink of the medicine bottles, footsteps. A soft curse—it was a man, she thought.
Gwen bit her lip. Should she call for the guards? But what if it was—a noble? Or Arthur? Or one of the knights? She'd be scolded, even if she did have Arthur's favor, or she'd look paranoid. No, best to see who it was first. If the man was an intruder, she could always call out afterward.
(She tried not to think about them being dangerous. Gwen wasn't bad in a fight, exactly, but she didn't have any weapons, either. Or magic, like Merlin.)
Wondering how ridiculous she was being, she peered through the crack between the door frame and actual door. The light coming in through the window was still enough to see by, and Gwen could make out a guard's uniform. The man looked familiar. His presence wasn't alarming, but he certainly shouldn't have been rummaging around in Gaius's chambers
She opened the door fully. "Hello," she called, and he looked up. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I think you can," he said. "You work for the physician occasionally, don't you? My head has been aching all day; do you have anything to help?"
Gwen smiled. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all, though she didn't like that he hadn't simply waited outside. But pain could drive anyone to impropriety.
"Of course," she said. "Let me fetch that for you." Gaius kept his pain relief in front and to the left. It was one he kept well-stocked, and Gwen could recognize it easily.
"Where is the physician, if I may ask?" the man said. "Oh, my name is Maverick. I apologize for my bad manners; I'm not normally so rude."
"Madam Anne is giving birth, and he's been called to assist," Gwen said. "It's a pleasure to meet you—my name is Gwen." She held up the tincture. "This should be fine for your headache—drink half before you sleep and half in the morning. If the headache persists, come back tomorrow; it might be a sign of disease or injury. You haven't hit your head, have you?"
The guard shook his head, and she noticed he had very pretty gray eyes. "Not that I'm aware." He took it from her. "You have my thanks. The physician is lucky to have so many skilled assistants." His tone was strange—almost mocking—and Gwen's smile faltered.
"You mean Merlin?" she asked.
"Just so." He straightened, glancing out the window. "Well, I had best be off. I'm meant to be at my post, you know––this blasted headache makes it hard to guard anything, though."
"Where are you stationed?" Gwen's voice was deliberately casual. "I could check on you later to make sure you're not having any difficulties."
Maverick waved a hand. "That certainly won't be necessary; this should do fine. I'm stationed in the dungeons, however, if you must know. You visit this––Merlin––quite frequently."
"He's my friend, is all. And I worry for his health, after the battle." Gwen felt like the man was saying something else when he spoke, like his words had other definitions she wasn't aware of. There was a hint of condescension there.
"Well, he seems to be recovering well. And we're looking after him, rest assured. I'm certain he'll be out in no time, with how the trial has been going. Quite interesting, the way the king is handling it all," the guard said. Gwen resisted the urge to bite her lip.
"He did save Camelot," Gwen said, shrugging. "I think that speaks for itself, and King Arthur seems to believe it merits a closer look, at least."
"It seems to me that perhaps his mind was made up before he took that closer look." Maverick waved his hand. "I'm sorry; we both have places we should be, and I have kept you. Have a good evening, Gwen." He gave her a nod and walked past.
The servant dipped her head in return. "You as well, Maverick. Please come back if you require anything else."
The guard shut the door behind him with a small click, and Gwen wondered if she should tell anyone about the bizarre encounter. She shook her head; he hadn't been doing anything wrong, exactly. Arthur had enough trouble keeping his nobles in line, the aftermath of the Sluagh, and the trial as it was. She might mention it to Gaius in passing, to see if it alarmed him.
Or… For a wild moment, she thought about following the guard. But what if he caught her? She grimaced. Gwen could go to the dungeons under the pretense of visiting Merlin, but she'd already been once that day. Would it seem suspicious?
Gwen frowned. Arthur had lifted Merlin's ban on visitors, so perhaps she could simply watch the man. Likely as not, it was nothing, and she was being overly-suspicious. And even if the guard had been up to no good, what could he do? Or what had he even been trying to do?
She glanced around the chambers, but Gaius kept his workbench so cluttered it was difficult to know if anything was out of place. She moved a few things around, thinking he ought to organize it. Nothing seemed obviously missing.
Gwen checked inside Merlin's room, though—again—it was such a mess she had no idea if something was gone. She frowned; if he had been looking for something, he probably hadn't found it. But what if he'd been trying to plant something? What could he have planted, though?
She gathered the medicines she would need to deliver, as well as the fresh bandages, frowning. Maybe Gaius would be able to tell if something was amiss. She would be sure to mention the incident to him.
For now, she had things to be doing.
...prohibition of all enchantments, spells, or any other magic used to take the will of another person. Depending on the severity of the enchantment and what the victim was forced to do, punishments range from a fine, time spent in the dungeons or stocks, banishment, or execution. This will be at the king's discretion…
Arthur frowned down at the draft. The wording was far from elegant, but perhaps he could ask Geoffrey to help him create something better-sounding. He sighed, wishing Merlin were there to read it over; the man had a head for making things sound pompous and official. The king put the parchment to the side, rubbing his head.
The three days' break from the trial had done wonders for his stress levels, but it had also left him more time to miss Merlin. He wondered how the warlock was doing down in the cells, and he resisted the urge to simply get up and check himself. The last time he'd gone down to see his friend in the dungeons…
Arthur was glad he had done it, of course. Merlin should not have been under the misunderstanding that the king was planning on punishing him. But hugging him, the fluttering feeling in his stomach when he'd done his best to comfort him…
He hadn't had enough time to think about it—or the kiss—either. Arthur hoped the resumption of the trial would fix that.
The king pulled out another piece of parchment, looking over the list of witnesses for tomorrow. Some of it was corroboration for Gaius's testimony; they had easily found the carpenter and guards willing to talk about the strange happenings. The other witnesses might be a problem in terms of credibility, but Arthur believed his thoughts on the matter would be crystal clear.
His nobles could bicker all they want, but ultimately Arthur was king. The council's make-up was at his discretion, and his command of the military was strong enough that none would dare try to start open war with him. Especially now that Merlin had revealed himself––he doubted any of them wanted to face a mage's wrath.
That left only espionage—an assassin, a coup. The citadel wasn't defended by an entire army; just the knights and a garrison. Well, and Merlin.
But Arthur thought the threat of his nobles rebelling in that way had mostly passed. His nobility would only try such a thing with extensive backing from the others, and with so many coming over to his thinking… Still, it wouldn't do to visit Merlin personally. He had to maintain a modicum of impartiality.
A knock came at the door, and Arthur called for them to come in. It was George, and the servant bowed low—careful to balance the platter of food—before serving him supper. Arthur stood from his desk and stretched, resisting the urge to yawn. He'd very much refused to use the extra time from the trial to take a nap.
"How is my uncle, George?" the king asked, sitting down at the table. George had brought him chicken and vegetables with a side of sweet, warm wine.
"Not best pleased, Your Majesty," the servant replied. He began to straighten the room, almost mechanically. "Though he can't do anything about it."
"And the knights? How do they appear to be handling their extra duties?" The question simply slipped out; Arthur was used to discussing all kinds of matters with his servant, and he'd grown more comfortable with George in the two weeks he'd been with him.
To his credit, the man barely looked surprised at being asked. "Well, my lord. They appeared neither tired nor overly bored when I delivered Lord Agravaine's food, and they rotate regularly as you ordered."
Arthur nodded, slicing off part of the meat and chewing thoroughly. After the first bite, his body seemed to realize how hungry it was, and he began devouring the rest of it without hardly pausing for breath. As much as he wished Merlin were still serving him, George was good at getting him to eat––by providing tasty meals or snacks periodically, if nothing else. The king looked up to see George glancing at him, something like satisfaction in his face.
The silence extended for a few moments, only broken by Arthur's chewing and George cleaning the room.
"Sire, there is something important I feel I must tell you," the servant said. His words were almost hushed—careful, like he was afraid of someone hearing. "I—you know I am loyal to you, my lord."
Arthur lifted an eyebrow, puzzled. "Yes, George. That's why you're the one taking my uncle's meals, and no one else," he said slowly. Had the thickness in Merlin's head spread to the other servants in the castle? The king wondered how long it would be until the nobility caught it, and then he realized plenty of them were much thicker in the head than Merlin could ever be.
"It is simply that most would believe it is not my place to say so, my lord. I don't wish to overstep my boundaries, but I…" The servant licked his lips, more nervous than Arthur had ever seen him. Usually, the man was more stoic than a plank of wood. "I thought that if I am to take the place of your manservant, I am obligated to fulfill all his duties."
The king put down his knife and fork. "Out with it, George. What are you talking about?"
"Many of the council members prefer to have me as their servant, my lord," George began. "I am… efficient. I don't know how many realize that I'm now serving you, as well. Regardless, a few of your lords asked me to come attend them. I didn't like what they had to say, sire."
"Who?" Arthur demanded. "And what did they say—exactly?"
"It was Lord Aldwin, Lord Clarence, and Lord Alloys. I believe it was Lord Aldwin who invited them. None spoke anything treasonous, sire, but I thought you would like to know anyways," George said. Lord Clarence wasn't on the council, but he was a nobleman in his own right. His father's lands were small, to the West, if Arthur remembered correctly. He was the second son; the king believed he had come to train to be a knight. "They talked about how the physician Gaius had to be lying, that you had planned it all with him—that you had planned all of it and had always intended to bring back magic. Lord Aldwin was insistent that Merlin had cast some magic on you, that you had never expressed sympathies for magic before.
"Lord Alloys was more uncomfortable with the accusation, sire. He told Lord Aldwin more than once that he'd had too much drink, and he needed to watch what he said. Lord Clarence agreed more than not, my lord, and he intimated that others are having similar thoughts. There were no names mentioned, sire."
Arthur scowled. His fists clenched and unclenched underneath the table. How dare they question his judgement? Enchanted? Did they not recall all the times he had been enchanted—or all the times his father had been? The troll, seeing visions. There were signs that Arthur wasn't exhibiting. They were brainless, the lot of them.
Well, perhaps not brainless. It seemed he hadn't been as good at pretending as he'd hoped. Still—it was his right as king to judge offenses as he pleased, to change laws as he saw fit. The council was there for advice only; they had no power to gainsay him.
"None of them spoke of deposing me? Or sending an assassin?" the king asked.
George shook his head. "Nothing of the sort, Your Majesty. All of it was strictly legal, I believe. But I thought it was something you should be made aware of, sire."
"You were right." Arthur picked the silverware back up and tapped the fork against his plate. He wished it was still early morning, when he might be able to clear a part of his schedule to go down to the training grounds and work out his frustration on something that couldn't hit back.
Instead, he shovelled a mouth-ful of roasted vegetables into his mouth.
When he was done, he swallowed. George was still staring at him, as though waiting for some kind of verdict. Arthur wondered if he would be able to survive having the man as his servant for the rest of his life.
"Thank you for coming with this to me, George. Will you tell me if you overhear anything else?"
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"Very well. Good night, then. Go home early, and sleep well," Arthur said, waving his hand. George bowed low, murmured his own parting, and left.
The king rubbed at his temples, wondering how many damn headaches this whole situation was going to give him in the end.
Merlin slept well that night; for the first time in days, he dreamt of nothing. He woke up as morning sunlight seeped through his small window. The warlock stretched, noting that his shoulder seemed much better. The bruises were almost completely gone, faded to a yellowish green, and the slash on his face had scabbed over completely.
He stood, wrapping the blanket around him like a shawl to keep out the cold air. Outside, he could just see people's feet as they passed through the courtyard, servants getting ready for the day. It was almost unbelievable that a fortnight had gone by: he'd been asleep for half of it, and the days of the trial had dragged on and on. They were decades or centuries condensed into hours, and Merlin could feel the weight of them on his skin.
Not much longer, he thought. He dreaded the dragon coming up; he wasn't sure how Arthur could avoid it. How would the king spin it, exactly? My servant thought he would be powerful enough to drive him away… He thought the dragon would go after Uther, maybe, not destroy the citadel… He couldn't risk his mother's life, even at the expense of so many others…
Merlin shook his head to dispel those thoughts. Arthur had forgiven him. Even if the rest couldn't—even if they remembered the screams and burning too well… They would only be agreeing with the warlock, after all. Releasing Kilgharrah had been the greatest mistake he'd ever made.
His attention was pulled outward as one of the guards came with watery-looking gruel. It wasn't either of the lieutenants, but Merlin knew he'd worked in the dungeons for a long while.
"Do you know where Jonathon and the others are?" the warlock asked. The guard gave him an irritated scowl as he pushed the bowl in. There wasn't even a spoon. Merlin tried for politeness, and he gave a fake smile. "I'm only worried about them, sir."
The guard scoffed. "Sure you are, sorcerer. They were transferred, if you must know. Not that it's any of your business." He spat as he left, and the glob of saliva landed with a little plish in Merlin's bowl.
The warlock sighed; at least he'd eaten well yesterday. And now that his visitor restriction had been lifted, the others would probably bring him food. He could always ask them to.
Merlin sat on the bench, wondering when they would come get him. Arthur had called the recess to get more time to plan, probably, and to get witnesses to corroborate Gaius. Not that he'd have any trouble; everything was true, after all.
He didn't have to wait long, as the two guards he'd grown accustomed to seeing came up perhaps a half-hour later. There were dark half-moons under one's eyes, and Merlin wondered if he'd stayed up guarding him. The sounds of dice and card games had ceased with the addition of the two lieutenants—maybe they were more professional than the others. Or else complete spoil-sports.
Merlin was betting on the latter. They seemed like the type.
There was characteristic silence as they escorted the warlock out of the cells. Despite himself, Merlin grew nervous when they approached the throne room. The crowd still hadn't shrunk, and he tried to keep his shoulders and head up, their eyes tracking him the way a hawk tracks a rabbit. The sensation of being prey didn't leave as he was made to kneel in front of Arthur. The nobles seemed more interested than they'd been in previous sessions; perhaps questioning him had made them more attentive.
Merlin wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He wondered if they were going to be "interviewing" him again after the day's proceedings were over.
"The fourth day of Merlin Hunithson's trial commences," Arthur announced, cutting through the chatter. The warlock looked around for a clue about who might be testifying, but they must have been hidden behind the row of knights and nobles—or else it was one of the knights and nobles. Perhaps Gaius would be speaking again, and Merlin's mouth went dry. Would today be the day the dragon came up? Or would the king wait, priming his populace to hear that one of their greatest tragedies had been caused by the warlock in their midst?
"First, I would like to call upon the carpenter Carrow," the king said.
Merlin had seen Carrow a few times; Gaius's furniture wasn't exactly made of the sturdiest wood. He was a short man, almost plump, though his arms and neck were muscular. He had a thick mustache and a full head of hair. There was no hint of gray, though he was in his fourth decade. His skin was dark, and his face shape suggested a far Eastern heritage.
Carrow bowed low as he came up to the throne. "My lord," he said, his voice gruff.
"Master Carrow, do you swear to the Crown you serve that you will speak true at these proceedings?" Arthur asked.
"I do so swear, my lord," Carrow said.
"Do you understand that if I suspect you of lying, you may be charged with treason by way of lying to the king?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Please describe your relationship with the physician Gaius," Arthur instructed. "Specifically whether you recall fixing the railing on his balcony, perhaps four or five years ago. You may also include any other information you think is pertinent to the proceedings."
Carrow bowed again. He didn't look nervous, exactly, but he didn't look entirely calm, either. "Of course, sire. I do recall fixing his railing perhaps five years ago; I had told him repeatedly it needed replacing, my lord. I often repaired his workbench, you see, because he set it alight more than once."
Merlin coughed, trying not to laugh. Arthur squinted narrowly at him—his form of a glare with everyone watching—and the warlock tried to stifle it. But the image of Gaius with burned-off eyebrows, or a singed sleeve, looking at him disapprovingly…
"The railing looked as if someone had leaned against it, for it had fallen outward and onto the floor of his chambers, Your Majesty," Carrow continued. "I told him he was lucky he hadn't been leaning so hard he'd fallen. I remember his manner became odd after I said so—almost shifty. He kept his apprentice well away from me; I only met Merlin once or twice. I don't recall him ever making much of an impression on me, sire."
The warlock could only be grateful for that, he supposed. Even if Simmons and the knights had spoken well (or at least okay) of him, he knew most of Camelot couldn't share their opinions. He wondered if Arthur was trying to make it look like the citizens supporting Merlin were in the majority by choosing his witnesses so carefully.
"Thank you, Master Carrow. You have been very helpful," the king said, a clear dismissal. Carrow nodded and bowed again, retreating back to behind the line of knights. The warlock supposed it was for his protection or something—or perhaps his peace of mind. Merlin would've liked a full line of soldiers to stand protecting him from the crowd's prying eyes.
Actually, now that he thought about it, he definitely didn't want any soldiers anywhere near him.
"Next, I would like to call forth Elon of Camelot, a guard for the castle," the king said. The guard that stepped forward was one Merlin had seen before, though he hadn't known his name. He was young and lanky, much like Merlin himself, though his skin was tan from the sun. "Elon, do you swear to the Crown you serve that you will speak true at these proceedings?"
"I swear, sire." Elon bowed.
"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."
"Please describe the report you gave to your direct superior about five years ago."
"My lord," the guard said. "Perhaps five years ago, I saw something strange as I was guarding the entrance to a door that led down to the caverns. No one really came down there, sire, so often we would play dice games to pass the time. It wasn't strictly against protocol, though it was heavily frowned upon."
He looked to the side, as though expecting chastisement. When Arthur didn't give any, he continued, "But once, our dice acted… Strangely. There is no other way to put it. They fell to the floor and began to roll as though pushed by a strange wind. I thought perhaps I was hallucinating at first, but now I don't believe so. When I informed the lieutenant about the incident, he suspended me for drinking on the job."
Elon grimaced. "Whatever my misdeeds, sire, I never got drunk when I was guarding anything."
"How do you believe this event is connected to the report Gaius gave the court yesterday, Master Elon?" Arthur asked.
The guard licked his lips. Merlin could sympathize; it was never fun to everyone watching you, hanging onto every word you said. It was easier for Arthur because he'd been brought up to do it, but the warlock hadn't. And neither had Elon.
"I can't be entirely certain, sire, but I believe Gaius mentioned that Merlin would sneak around the castle to learn more of your enemies, Your Majesty. He said that the sorcerer often eavesdropped on conversations. I don't know what he stood to learn going into the caverns, my lord, but I believe he used the dice to distract us in order to slip through. I swear, I never saw or heard him—or else I would have raised the alarm," Elon said.
It was strange to think of the guards as more than obstacles—Merlin hadn't ever thought about what they would make of what he'd done to distract them. He probably should've been more careful, but the guards had a reputation for drinking on the job; he'd thought their minds might be too muddled for anything. But Elon had reported it. He frowned. If that lieutenant had been even a little more trusting of Elon, Merlin's stay in Camelot would've been abruptly cut short.
"I believe you, Elon," the king said, smiling almost gently. It was more his "benevolent ruler" expression than gentleness, but Merlin was proud that he'd reassured the guard at all. "You have nothing to worry about, though obviously I expect any reports of possible magic being used to sneak past to be taken seriously. You will find the Captain of the Guard if you must and report directly to him—the security of Camelot is your job, after all."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Elon said, bowing.
"Can you think of any other similar incidents that might be explained by Merlin's presence?" Arthur asked.
"I cannot, my lord," Elon replied. "Sometimes there were strange winds that would blow our torches out, or noises and such, but nothing as obvious. And nothing that can't be explained away."
"Very well," the king said. "Thank you for your testimony."
Trepidation grew in Merlin's stomach. Was this when his connection with the dragon would be revealed? He had no doubt this wouldn't endear him to the populace or the nobles. They would probably hate him, in fact, for not just releasing Kilgharrah, but also for failing to stop him. The warlock felt like choking, his esophagus constricting all the way to his mouth.
Was this it? Would the citizens and nobility grow so out of control now that not even Arthur could save him? Would the king be forced to banish him or risk facing riots in the streets, knowing that the man who had killed their children and fathers and sisters was free?
"Just why was he going to the caverns?" Aldwin muttered, and Merlin thought that his prediction was coming true before his eyes.
"That will be discussed," Arthur said. "Tomorrow in court, not before. Or you may ask him yourself at a later date. I would ask, Lord Aldwin, that you not interrupt the proceedings unless you have something urgent to say." The words were blunt. Merlin could tell the king was growing impatient with many of his lords and ladies––or perhaps just Aldwin specifically.
Not that the warlock blamed him; the lord was exhausting even when he was quiet.
"Of course, my lord," Aldwin said.
"And now, I would like to announce that I have located, with the help of the knights, witnesses with magical expertise," the king said. Merlin's brow furrowed. What could that mean? He didn't have to wonder long; two familiar druids came forward. There was Aldusa, nervous and pale, and Wymarc, who was as collected as ever––like she wasn't a druid testifying in front of Camelot.
There were gasps as everyone recognized who the two were. The warlock was certain Arthur understood the implications of having two druids testify: the king trusted the word of potential magic users enough to have them speak in front of the court. It also blatantly put the druids squarely under his protection, which Merlin knew he had been thinking about since they'd saved Leon's life.
Pride surged through Merlin, and he had to resist the urge to grin ridiculously. Arthur definitely wouldn't have appreciated that.
"The druids have always been a peaceful people," he began. "Though naturally their presence has been outlawed because of their propensity for magic. During the beginning of the trial, I was approached by Lady Wymarc. She told me she knew information relevant to the trial—about Merlin, his role in both what took place a fortnight ago, and the nature of his magic. After extensively interviewing her, it is clear that she is trustworthy. As such, I have welcomed her and Madam Aldusa into Camelot to testify," the king explained. Merlin understood the implication of that, too: if I, the king, welcome them, you had best welcome them as well.
"To be clear: the ban has not been lifted. Magic is still outlawed in Camelot, though this law may be reviewed when the trial concludes, based on the verdict I give. However, the druids have never sought to harm a citizen of Camelot. Their persecution beyond the citadel's walls, by my estimate, has been unprovoked, and it will not continue during my reign. I will give a proclamation on the matter at a later date."
The crowd exploded, whispers bouncing from mouth to mouth like echoes in a cave. Most of the nobles looked outraged, though the knights specifically were… relieved. Merlin wondered how many had slaughtered noncombatants—children and their parents—and lived to regret it. He also saw a few with something like bloodlust in their eyes when they looked at the two druids.
But the king's tone didn't invite debate. If any were going to protest, it would be in a council meeting or the privacy of their own homes. Merlin wondered how many truly harbored hatred for the druids. Some had to remember a time when they were welcome in the city, when they might be asked to heal a babe or bless crops. It made the warlock ache that he himself had never witnessed it, only told second-hand in hushed tones by those who would be killed for speaking such things.
"Lady Wymarc and Madam Aldusa, do you both swear to the Crown you serve that you will speak true at these proceedings?"
"Of course, sire," Wymarc said, dipping her head. Aldusa responded similarly.
"Do you understand that if I suspect either of you of lying, you may be charged with treason by way of lying to the king?"
"Yes, my lord," Wymarc said.
"I understand, Your Majesty," Aldusa replied.
"Then, Madam Aldusa, please relate how you met Merlin, as I understand that is pertinent to these proceedings," Arthur said. The noise instantly died down, and the warlock swallowed.
"Sire," the blonde druid said. Her voice was strangely stilted. "I met Lor—Merlin some weeks ago in the woods outside the citadel. He came looking for our camp, which I hope you will understand was well-guarded. He called out asking if we had lost a young boy, Your Majesty."
The king raised a brow. "Explain the matter further, Madam."
The druid dipped her head. "Of course, my lord. Earlier that afternoon, one of our young boys, a lad named Rowan, wandered away from camp to explore. He was too far for us to hear his cries, and for him to hear ours. We only found out later that he'd accidentally fallen down a well, and L—Merlin rescued him.
"He brought him back as soon as he could, sire. He'd set the lad's leg—he's the physician's apprentice, I understand? Lor—Merlin was tired from carrying Rowan, so we––well, Elder Wymarc—said he could stay and rest with us," Aldusa said. "I was the one on guard outside the camp, along with Florian, and I heard the story first-hand. Before that day, I had never met Merlin. But he did a good thing, sire, and I believe he only could've gotten Rowan out of the well using magic."
"Lady Wymarc implied that this matter had something to do with the attack," the king prompted when Aldusa fell silent.
"It did, Your Majesty," Wymarc said, bowing. "We could feel Morgana's Working with our magic, sire—the spell that would bring those dreaded beasts through. Merlin had been hoping to get closer to it in order to discover how to stop it before the final stage was complete. When we came across him, he told me of his plight. He warned us to flee while we could, and in return I told him the Working could not be stopped, half-complete as it was.
"However, meeting him shed light on many of the happenings in Camelot. Many druids know that a great warlock has been protecting this place and its people for many years, but few have met him. Some think he is a traitor, to have defended a Pendragon. Others fear his arrogance and power, to have defeated so many of Camelot's foes alone.
"But when I met him, sire, I thought only of his goodness. We druids have a name for him—a title granted to someone with that much power. We call him Emrys, Your Majesty, and he has been helping you and your kingdom for many years. I hope that, in time, the full story may come to light." Wymarc finished, bowing.
Merlin thought that it was one thing for Geoffrey to comment on his power, and it was another thing for the druids to comment on his power. Most didn't know the standards for magic; they didn't know what was considered normal. They might not have grasped the significance of the librarian's words. But to have them spoken twice? And to have the druids, well-known mages, repeat the same thing?
The warlock didn't want to know how many were afraid of him just for his power alone.
But at least neither Aldusa nor Wymarc had talked about the prophecies, or his near-legendary status with them. It had been more difficult for Aldusa than it had been for Wymarc, it seemed, but Merlin thought both had done admirably in dodging the topic. If Arthur had spoken to Wymarc about it all, he clearly didn't want it becoming common knowledge. At least not yet.
Merlin certainly agreed.
"You believe that Gaius was correct in attributing so many of Camelot's victories to him, then?" Arthur asked.
Wymarc studied the king thoughtfully. "If the victory was against magic, sire, then yes. Anything else I cannot say for certain. But those with magic, those who have the ability to sense others' magic… It is clear that he is more than capable of defending you. And the taste of it is all around—likely an afterproduct of the shield he created."
"Thank you, Lady Wymarc. I believe that concludes the questions I have for you," Arthur said.
Wymarc and Aldusa faded away, back into the shadows, and Merlin hoped they sneaked from the citadel with magic. As much as he wanted to believe that the citadel's inhabitants would respect them, he had seen too many executions, too many neighbors turning on each other, to truly believe that any known mage could be safe in Camelot.
Perhaps someday soon that would change—when Merlin was free, when magic was legal. But not yet, and the warlock hoped Arthur wouldn't play with anyone's safety.
"And," the king said, "it also concludes the day's proceedings. While I believe the evidence grows in Merlin Hunithson's favor, my decision will not be rushed. As such, I thank you all for attending, and the trial will re-commence on the morrow."
AN: So Fffnet decided it needed to transform my m-dashes into double hyphens halfway through this chapter. Not sure why. So I had to manually go back and fix them. If you notice any are still wrong, feel free to let me know. Questions: How was it? What do you think is going on behind the scenes? Did you enjoy it?