Chapter XXV: More Human

It was inevitable, Gwen knew, that news of her common birth would leak out. She'd thought, however, that she could control it as she had in Nemeth, revealing her past in a way that would benefit her cause.

She'd forgotten that secrets, once divulged, had a life of their own. She hadn't thought that the gossip would inevitably follow her, not as quickly as her team had traveled, but close enough behind. Of course people would spread word of the servant girl who'd somehow become King Arthur's ambassador for magic.

She really should have thought of that before Princess Vivian burst into her rooms demanding to know if the gossip was true, if Lady Guinevere really was peasant-born.

All these thoughts flitted through Gwen's mind, coupled with a healthy dose of self-recrimination and a spot of panic. She sat there at her correspondence, momentarily frozen.

"Well?" demanded Vivian, when she felt that the silence had stretched out too long. (It hadn't been long at all, but the princess was hardly known for her patience.)

Gwen put down her quill. "Yes, I was born a peasant. My father is a blacksmith, my mother was a maid, and my brother Elyan was only knighted this summer for his valor against Cornelius Sigan's gargoyles." She met the highborn woman's gaze, refusing to be ashamed. "And I served Lady Morgana as her maidservant."

Vivian goggled at her. Her mouth worked silently for a moment before she blurted, "And King Arthur still chose you as his ambassador?"

"In a manner of speaking." Her old nervous tic loosened her tongue. "Truth be told, it wasn't initially his idea. I was talking with Hunith—she's Merlin's mother and also a terrifying force of nature—about how I wanted to help make things better for spellbinders and druids and everyone, and the next thing I knew she'd come up with this grand plan where I journeyed all over the island on Camelot's behalf." She shrugged helplessly. "And so here I am."

The princess was no longer gawping outright. Instead, she eyed Gwen like a particularly challenging blacksmith's puzzle, trying to make sense of the disparate rods and bars. There was an unaccustomed furrow between her eyebrows.

Gwen bit her tongue to keep from continuing. She waited for the other woman to process this information.

"But why?" Vivian echoed. She spoke at a normal speed, now, rather than a rush of thoughtless words. "There must be dozens, hundreds of nobles who could do the same thing. If, if this magic business is so important to King Arthur, why would he send an untrained peasant?"

"Would you have guessed she was an untrained peasant?"

The two ladies started as they turned towards Isolde, who was leaning against the wall. Her expression made Gwen think of a languid cat deciding if she would pounce.

"The way I see it," Isolde continued, "no one here or in Nemeth ever guessed that Lady Guinevere was lowborn. She passed perfectly, and she did a damn good job of her mission, too." A shrug. "I don't pretend to know King Arthur well, but it seems to me that he cares more about whether his people can do what they need to do than who their parents are. Four of his most trusted knights were born to peasants, and so was his favored ambassador, and they haven't given him a single reason to regret it."

Gwen's cheeks heated. Vivian looked even more gobsmacked than before, which Gwen hadn't thought was possible.

"Wasn't there an emperor who was born a slave?" the smuggler added. "I don't know much about the Romans, but I'm fairly certain that one of their better emperors used to be a slave."

"Diocletian," Vivian said automatically. "He saved the Empire and then abdicated. Like Cincinnatus, I always thought."

Gwen, who lacked that sort of education (it was odd enough that she knew how to read) and therefore had only a passing familiarity with the Roman giants, nodded and hoped that she wouldn't be asked to contribute. She'd embarrass herself, embarrass Camelot, and prove correct everyone who claimed that a servant girl couldn't do a lady's job.

But her worry proved unnecessary. Vivian shook herself out of her reverie, returned to staring at Gwen with a frankly intimidating intensity. Gwen met her gaze and tried to project strength, confidence, and other things she wasn't currently feeling.

"I will think on this," the princess finally declared. She strode out of the room nearly as quickly as she'd come in.

As the door closed, Gwen sagged against her seat. "Thank you," she said to Isolde, who grinned back.

"That went better than I expected," Tristan announced. "I thought there'd be more yelling."

"Well, the little children haven't found out about Gwen yet. Or at least they haven't stopped by."

"No, they haven't heard yet," Tristan countered. "Vivian's the first to hear the best gossip."

His lover arched a brow. "And how would you know that?"

Tristan shrugged. "She's bored, so she pays extra attention to stories and gossip and hearsay. She's probably got a whole network set up that she might or might not realize could be used as spies."

"That's what we should do to get Olaf's alliance," Isolde chortled. "Suggest that he make Vivian his secret spymaster. She gets purpose doing something she loves, he gets a spymaster whose loyalty he doesn't have to worry about, Dyffed sees that brilliant ideas come out of Camelot that they won't get anywhere else, which makes Arthur a good ally, and everyone is happy."

"I know you're joking," Gwen interjected, "but that might not be a bad idea." She gestured at herself. "It would certainly help them adjust to the idea of… unorthodox individuals in unusual positions."

"Have Lady Hunith convince him," Gilli advised, eyes sparkling.

"She'd think it's a brilliant idea," Gwen agreed, not certain if she was actually considering that bit. It was a bit difficult to tell where the joke ended.

Then again, that was a situation which had become far too common over the last few months. Discovering that Merlin of all people was leading a magical resistance movement had added a great deal of absurdity to her life.

Abruptly, her mind was made up. "Why not?" she asked nobody and everyone.

"Why not let set Lady Hunith on Olaf?" Gilli exclaimed. "I… I don't actually think that's a good idea. He'd have her thrown into the dungeons."

"Not that part," Gwen specified, "the bit about seeing if Vivian could become Dyffed's spymaster. I'm already endorsing bizarre and unorthodox ideas, so what's one more? Maybe this one will make them understand how much the world is changing."

"…Wouldn't you knowing about her be a liability, though?" Isolde asked.

Gwen deflated. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

Tristan shrugged. "Then again, they'd know that you knew, and a spymaster's identity doesn't have to be secret. The spy's, yes. The spymaster's, no. So you might as well."

Gwen nodded slowly. "That might actually provide another layer of misdirection."

"What?" asked Gilli. Tristan chortled; the warlock glared at him.

"Well, if Vivian is already known for gossiping, then people are more likely to second-guess whether she's speaking with a spy or not. It would sow at least a little bit of confusion."

"Try it," Sefa advised, speaking up for the first time. "If nothing else, it will make the princess more favorable towards you, and the king favors her immensely."

"Yes," decided Gwen, because what was one more minor absurdity on top of all the others in her life? "I think I will."

Arthur stared. His eyebrow slowly ascended. "The army's new."

Morgana snorted. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

"Do you think they're all actual people?" Gwen wondered. "I mean, if you went up to them, would you be able to bring them into this dream-world?"

The witch considered. "I don't see why not."

Merlin's lips twitched. "We should go looking for Sarrum. He'd love to be dragged into a witch's prophetic dream-world."

"Maybe another night," she said dryly. "Morgause wanted to come meet you tonight, Arthur."

His eyebrows physically couldn't go any further up, and that was the only reason they didn't. "Morgause."

"Yes, Morgause. My sister who is also the last High Priestess of the Old Religion."

"And who wanted to take over my mind," Arthur reminded her. That felt relevant.

"She gave that up months ago," Merlin assured him, "and even if she hadn't, she couldn't while Morgana and I are here."

That shouldn't have been reassuring, but it was. Still, Arthur wasn't entirely convinced. "Why does she suddenly want to meet me?"

"We were talking earlier today, and it sort of came up," Merlin answered.

Arthur frowned at him. "I'm going to need some more detail."

The warlock considered. "Well, we were going over siphon things, and Nimueh came up, and she asked me why I thought you were the Once and Future King, so I suggested that she should finally meet you."

By Merlin standards, that was a logical and cohesive explanation. Arthur debated asking for clarification but decided it wasn't worth it. He'd just end up with a headache.

"So?" the warlock continued after the king was quiet too long. "What do you think?"

Guinevere placed a hand on his arm. "I think it's a good idea," she advised softly. "Meeting people makes them more human."

He sighed, but she was right. "Very well. I'll meet her."

The mages smiled at him. Morgana closed her eyes, a familiar concentration taking over her face. Arthur wondered if he should point out that while there had been a fake Morgause image in this strange dream-world, it didn't appear to exist anymore. Then again, she was the one in control of this place. Presumably she knew what she was doing.

She did. The world rippled like summer heat or the beginning of the whirlwind spell, and a familiar shape took place: a blonde woman about Arthur's age in a vivid red dress. Morgause, not being used to suddenly arriving in her sister's dream-world, took a moment to realize what was happening. Then comprehension lit her face, and she turned to stare a challenge at Arthur. He met her gaze without flinching, which seemed to satisfy her. The priestess didn't bow, but she did incline her head in a brief, regal nod.

"King Arthur Pendragon."

"Lady Morgause." He was fairly certain that 'lady' was the title for a priestess of her rank. If nothing else, it indicated that he was willing to treat her as a person of authority.

Morgause turned to their sister and asked, "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Morgana assured her. "We were just getting started."

"I'll go first," Guinevere volunteered, smoothing over any potential awkwardness. She updated them on Dyffed's discovery of her peasant roots and her plan to suggest Princess Vivian as a potential spymaster. "The problem is that King Olaf mysteriously postponed our next meeting after he learned of my birth. He said he'd reschedule, but…." She trailed off with a sigh. "On the other hand, his grandsons are absolutely fascinated with me, at least the ones old enough to understand what's going on. I think that as long as they don't throw me out, I still have a chance to get through to him."

"Idiot," grumbled Morgana, presumably speaking about Olaf and not her dearest friend.

"It was bound to happen eventually, and I can hardly blame him for not knowing how to respond to something so anomalous," Guinevere protested. "Besides, at the rate that rumors fly, every other monarch I visit will know I'm a blacksmith's daughter before I arrive."

"But the further you go," Merlin mused, "the more legitimacy you'll get." At Guinevere's inquisitive noise, he continued, "If you think about it, it isn't just Camelot that's recognized you as a lady. Nemeth has, too, and once you're done in Dyffed, you can argue that they've acknowledged you as well. Olaf will probably decide that it's better for him to treat you like a true representative of Camelot because he wants something and thinks he can take advantage of you." The warlock chuckled. "Not that he can."

Arthur stared at him in disbelief. Even now, when he knew full well what Merlin was, it still blew him away to hear the former manservant say something so intelligent. Downright uncanny, really.

"I'd like to see that," Morgana chortled. "I can just imagine the look on his face when Gwen bests him at his own game."

"You really think I can?" she asked softly.

"Of course."

"Obviously."

"Yes." That from Morgause, who, Arthur now remembered, actually had met Guinevere before.

"Most definitely." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezed gently. She smiled up at him.

"I suppose we should go next," said Merlin after a few moments of silence. "Orgeluse is an amazing actress and says that she and Claudin both want their father dead, so we're going to make Sarrum fall off his horse or get hit by a stray blow or something." His voice was deliberately light, so much that Arthur needed a moment to process his words.

"What?" he inquired.

Thankfully, Morgana took over explaining. Arthur was beginning to develop a theory that she had deliberately let Merlin begin the 'explanation' just for her own amusement. That was exactly the sort of thing she'd find funny. But he tabled his ruminations in favor of listening.

"You're sure she's not acting now?" Arthur demanded when the witch was done. "Because it didn't seem much like acting when she was screeching my ears off."

"She's relieved to be out of Amata," Morgana declared. "She always looked so… tightly wound when we scried her, but now it's like she can breathe again for the first time in years."

"And you can tell she's not too impressed with the accommodations," Merlin added. "She didn't say anything out loud, but her nose wrinkles up a lot."

"Those of us who've spoken with her in Listeneise agree that she's honest about sharing our goals," Morgause contributed. "I don't doubt that she's keeping many things close to her chest, but nothing in her behavior indicates that she is lying about wanting Sarrum dead." There was a challenge in her gaze, in her eyes, that Arthur didn't understand.

"If you're certain," he acquiesced. "And you're certain about her brother, too?"

The three spellbinders mulled that over. Morgana was the first to answer. "I'm completely positive that Orgeluse thinks that Claudin shares her views, and from everything I've seen of and know about Claudin, it seems quite likely."

Merlin took over. "We've scried Claudin, obviously. He avoids Sarrum when he can and seems to care about the kingdom. I would say that he wouldn't complain if Sarrum were to suddenly die. The thing I'm more concerned about is the possibility of backlash from others. It doesn't matter how Sarrum dies, the more extreme members of his court will find a way to blame magic for it. He trips and breaks his head? Magic. Some offended lordling stabs him? Magic. He eats the wrong mushroom after being warned that it's poisonous? Magic. But if we play our cards right with this, then the inevitable backlash from Sarrum's death will be contained enough that it'll be less damage than he could inflict if he was still alive, especially since a lot of his people are going to be relieved that he's gone."

Yes, it was still quite strange to hear Merlin all thoughtful and cunning and ruthless. Suddenly, Arthur found himself wondering if the former manservant really had done everything in his power to prevent Uther's death. After all, he'd known it was coming; he'd prophesied it himself. It would have been easy for him to just… let the prophecy run its course.

Arthur shook himself. He was being ridiculous. Merlin had saved Uther before: Muirden's bugs, Arthur's own reaction to the truth of his birth, Cornelius Sigan, every day he'd spent in the castle without nudging him down the stairs. The warlock had more than proven himself.

"How can you minimize doubt?" he wondered aloud. The others looked at him with varying degrees of bafflement, and he realized that the subject had moved on while he contemplated the nature of trust and evidence. "I mean, what's a way to kill Sarrum so subtle that only fanatics would suspect magic?"

Because it's not just Claudin and his sisters they need to worry about, it's all the people of Amata who could be poisoned by doubt. Even if they hated Sarrum, they'd still be leery of spellbinders with the power and inclination to strike down kings whenever they pleased. Doubt would breed fear would stunt acceptance and harmony and all the other things spellbinders and non-spellbinders needed to cultivate in order to live in harmony.

And that, of course, was why Merlin had allowed Uther to live despite the harm to his people. Peace had to be built on a foundation of trust.

"It's not that difficult on a battlefield," Merlin announced. "Like you've always said, Arthur, you only need a single blow to kill someone. Does Sarrum lead from the front or back of his army?"

"The front."

Merlin nodded. "Good. The difficult part is making his fall fast and visible, and I can probably use an illusion for that."

"And then Claudin could call off the war," Guinevere suggested. "Before too many people were hurt." She winced.

"If he wanted to," Morgana replied. "We might have to kidnap him after all, but temporarily."

"I wonder," Arthur mused, "would it be worth it to challenge Sarrum to single combat?"

Merlin muttered something rude about the Knight's Code. Morgana asked, "Do you think he'd actually agree to that?"

"Probably not, but I can't let a deadly battle begin without at least trying to prevent it."

"It worked with Odin," Guinevere reminded them. "He's a very different person than Sarrum, of course, but it could still work."

"I suppose," Morgana muttered, clearly unconvinced.

"It won't hurt," Guinevere pointed out, "and it might save dozens or hundreds of people."

Morgana conceded with a nod. "Arthur, how long until your army is ready?"

"Four more days," Arthur admitted unhappily. "Cenred and I started summoning the troops as soon as you'd delivered your message, but we need confirmation before we know where to direct them. Ideally, a small company will form near Sarrum's army to hold them off or slow them down until the main force can arrive."

"Cenred," Merlin repeated, carefully neutral.

Arthur sighed. "Yes, I'm aware that he can't be trusted, that he wants Camelot, and that he's doing this to endear himself to my people in an attempt to take over later. That's the key, though. He needs more time to arrange my death, which will in turn give me more time to become secure."

"If you're certain." But Merlin was clearly not convinced. "You still have that amulet I gave you, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you think you can try to tell me beforehand whenever you and Cenred have a private meeting? I really don't trust him not to, say, stab you and blame someone else, or betray you to Sarrum, or—"

"Calm down, Merlin. He's not going to stab me when it's just the two of us, that's too obvious."

"Oh, no, he's smarter than that. He'd kill you when you have one or two other people with you so he could turn around and murder the patsy while yelling about said patsy's treachery. Ideally, he'd plant a witness, too."

Arthur stared at his warlock with a slightly open mouth. Merlin huffed. "What? I've been worried about this since he came to Camelot. It's worse now because Cenred can further frame the patsy by planting evidence that he's working for Amata. Just… promise you'll keep the knights nearby, will you?"

"I'll stay near the knights," Arthur assured him.

"You'd better."

They talked a bit longer, the five of them, but it was mostly a combination of exchanging details and Arthur and Morgause observing each other. The priestess was much like the king had expected: clever (if a bit too fond of overcomplexity), passionate, determined, with a quiet fierce loyalty to her cause. Arthur was still wary when their meeting ended, but less than he'd been before they met.

Merlin was right again, damn him. Meeting Morgause had made her something more in Arthur's eyes, a person rather than a half-defined threat and ally. No doubt she'd gone away with a similar experience, learning to view the king not just as Uther Pendragon's son and the subject of ancient prophecy, but as Arthur.

Bloody blasted obnoxiously wise warlock. Arthur could never tell him how successful this ploy had been.

Then again, judging from his smile as they said their goodbyes, Merlin probably knew it anyway.

Alternate chapter title: "In Which Yet More People Warn Arthur that Cenred is Untrustworthy Without Inspiring a Change in his Behavior"

Next chapter: December 10. Gwen talks with Vivian, Merlin casts a spell, and Cenred helpfully reminds us of his evil plans.

Poor Gwen is reaching the point of doneness that can only be caused by prolonged Merlin exposure. Madness is starting to look reasonable to her. As long as she realizes that Morgause's schemes are too complex, she'll be fine.

NaNo is going well. I'm just over 2/3 of the way done. However, my NaNo writings will need a lot of editing.

Classics nerd time! Diocletian ruled the Eastern Roman Empire 284-305. He stabilized it, ending a period of crisis before retiring (the first emperor to do so). This allowed the Empire to survive for over another century. It's not certain if he was born a slave or only in a very low-class family, but we do know that he came from Dalmatia. This makes me want to picture him with spots and floppy ears, neither of which he had.

As for Cincinnatus, he was a semi-legendary historical figure who lived from approximately 519-430 BCE. The story goes that he was plowing his field when a representative from the Senate arrived and pretty much handed him control of all Rome. In times of emergency, you see, the Republic-era Romans would appoint a dictator with supreme executive power to pilot them through the crisis. Cincinnatus accepted the dictatorship, crushed Rome's enemies, then calmly handed power back to the Senate and went back to plowing his field. This made him a hero and paragon of virtue. Millennia later, Americans likened George Washington to Cincinnatus. According to one possibly apocryphal story that I heard, the association was so strong that when some of Washington's troops founded a new city in Ohio, they named it Cincinnati in honor of their general. (The city might also have been named to honor the Society of the Cincinnati, which was active in the Revolutionary War, but I like the Washington story better.)