Chapter 3: Emancipation

The clerk's office was tiny, barely more than a closet with a high, wide desk that halved the plain room, separating one small campaign chair from a higher rotating stool. There were two doors, also, one at the back of the room whose access was limited to the clerk behind the desk, and one to the right side of the room.

Freya followed Gaius to the office, which was empty, and waited at the hall doorway as he entered and approached the open side door. She heard voices, multiple male voices, from what echoed like a sizeable room.

Gaius waited, presumably to catch someone's attention, then addressed the unseen person, explaining the reason for their presence. Freya hoped Merlin hadn't already left the barracks – how could they ever find him in a city the size of Camelot?

"Well, sir, you've come to the right place," answered a voice pitched rather high for a man, and pinched nasally. "We're processing the emancipation of four young men this afternoon. Three cadets have come of age during this mission in Sage Springs, and one other has satisfied the terms of a civil sentence. Thus, four. We are waiting now only for, hm, Merlin."

Freya heard footfalls from the hallway behind her, and turned. There was the cadet she'd seen in the midst of the marching unit, uniform still wrinkled, dirty, stained. The short fringe on the shirt was ripped, the shin-guards laced over the trousers just as muddy as the shoes beneath. The limp was noticeable, but as he made no attempt, now, to march, his gait was also familiar to Freya. Rangy and unconstrained, as he glanced side to side like a pacing panther to miss nothing of his surroundings, but gaze ultimately forward, as if deciding where to attack first.

"Merlin?" she said, feeling her lips pull into a smile she couldn't have helped if she'd tried.

And her heart leaped. Leaped, and fluttered, as he smiled back. It was a lopsided smile, cynical and self-deprecating, but it was a conscious smile, there and gone without being stifled or checked.

He reached to drag the knit cap from his head and nodded to her, his eyes moving down to her feet and back up to her face in a quick appraising glance, like he'd never given her before.

She was suddenly acutely aware of her status. As a six-month widow, she was now available to offers from interested men.

Did that head-to-toe glance mean he was interested?

"Ah, Merlin," Gaius said, moving out into the hallway behind Freya. He reached, and Merlin shook his hand with little reservation, nodding to the old physician as well. "It's been a long time," Gaius continued, clapping Merlin's shoulder, then looking at the cloth he'd touched. "You've been bleeding – are you hurt? We've been working in the sick room all afternoon, and expected we might see you, but we were–"

"Cadet Merlin!" came a bellowing roar from the room beyond the clerk's office.

Freya jumped at the sudden call, but as her eyes stayed on Merlin, she was amused to see that the shout brought no reaction from him.

"Oh," Gaius said, gesturing for Merlin to enter, maybe embarrassed at keeping him from the ceremony. "They told us, your emancipation–"

Merlin's lips tightened momentarily. "You didn't come all the way from Emmett's Creek for this."

"Well, no–"

"Cadet! Now!"

Merlin shrugged, giving Freya a sideways glance as he entered the clerk's office. They followed him through the door into a large chamber, mostly empty, with large, ostentatious portraits of various men in military uniforms. There was a large table at the back of the room, that held four small crates, each with a white tag on the front. The far corner was concealed from the rest of the room by a large standing screen of olive-colored material.

There were six men already present, five in uniform and one in a brown jacket, trousers, and vest. Three of those in uniform stood in a row, unnaturally straight and stiff, their eyes fixed to a point on the opposite wall, their hair shorn almost to the skin. Two looked young enough to be called children; the third looked closer to Freya's own age, though they were all eighteen, she supposed, if they were leaving the corps due to a coming-of-age.

Merlin joined them at the end of the row, but simply stood still, without straightening or lifting his chin, his blue eyes inscrutable and fixed on the fatter of the two older men in uniform. Officers, Freya guessed.

The older of the officers was shorter also, and lean as a whip; his expression was one of polite boredom as he began to recite what sounded to Freya like a rote speech, about gratitude for their service and the value of their contribution to the corps. The other officer was the egg-shaped man from the head of the parade, whose boots were shined within an inch of their lives; he held Merlin's gaze with purple-faced fury, which surprised Freya, but he didn't interrupt the older man – his superior, then, probably.

The man in the brown suit, balding and petulant, rocked on his heels and clutched a sheaf of papers to his narrow chest, peering over a pair of spectacles as the four cadets. He cleared his throat with a little "ahem!" and coughed dryly several times, but the older officer ignored him to drone on, and Freya guessed that the officer knew the coughing and throat-clearing to be more habit than intended interruption.

That officer finally concluded his speech and saluted. All four cadets returned the gesture; Merlin drew himself up and matched the others with the same snap movement.

Freya heard Gaius snort under his breath beside her, and had to consciously relax her eyebrows from a raised position, herself. That was something she never thought to see from Merlin. She wondered – with a full awareness of the mischief in the thought – if he'd salute again, maybe to the fat officer who still glared at him.

The older officer nodded to the dry little man in the suit. "Master Clerk," he intoned.

"Thank you, Commander," the clerk responded, his voice the high, pinched one that had spoken to Gaius upon their arrival. He stepped forward, letting the sheaf of papers fall forward into splayed fingers. "Odry," he read out, and sent two quick glances over the spectacles, at the fat officer and up the row of cadets.

"Cadet Odry, step up!" the fat officer barked, and Freya recognized the voice that had called to Merlin in the hallway. The oldest of the three unfamiliar cadets stepped forward and straightened again, throwing out his chest and lifting his chin. The clerk continued, "Cadet Odry, you were caught stealing from a merchant's stall in the Northeast Quadrant Square, convicted and sentenced to two years. You were granted the chance to serve that sentence in the cadet corps instead of prison, which two years are concluded today."

Caught stealing? Freya lost the train of proceedings in her confusion. Three cadets coming of age, the clerk had said, and one satisfying a civil sentence.

Hadn't Merlin told her he'd be serving a military sentence because of his attack on Agent Arthur years ago? Had someone made a mistake? Cadet Odry was shaking the fat officer's hand, exchanging a salute, without protesting the charge of theft.

There was no mistake. Cadet Odry had satisfied a civil sentence. The other three had come of age during their assignment up north.

That meant Merlin had just come of age. Merlin, hard, tough, and sure, was just eighteen. And she was nearing twenty.

She blinked, and it was as if she saw him with new eyes. His hair was less than half an inch long, all over his head; that made him look older, somehow, instead of younger. But the days'-old shadow of whiskers across his clenched jaw proclaimed him a man. There was an inch-long still-healing pink scar on his forehead at his hairline. And between the torn fringe at the cuffs of his uniform shirt she saw that he wore braided wristbands over the old rope-scars. To protect or to conceal?

Then he was stepping forward, his name called. The fat officer, though he'd shown little emotion toward the other cadets, looked ready to pop with fury. Freya saw the corner of a sardonic smile on Merlin's face, the same sort of look he'd always given Reeve Whatley, that said he could see right through him, and didn't think much of him as a result.

The officer saluted Merlin reluctantly, held it for a moment unreturned, then Merlin stepped back to the row. Gaius snorted again; one of the other cadets snickered. The older officer had been brushing at the lapel of his uniform jacket and hadn't noticed Merlin's deliberate lack of courtesy, but the clerk protested, "I say…"

Merlin – eighteen?

She remembered wishing they'd grown up in the same town, that her marriage to Padlow had never happened, that she might have been with Merlin instead.

When Padlow's wagon had rolled to a stop in front of the neighbor's home, two days after her mother's burial… Merlin had been barely thirteen years old.

Maybe even shorter than her, then. Lighter – smaller – younger.

She'd spent the last five years married to a cruel man, a thief, a liar, and a cheat. Merlin had only just gained the right to marry.

Freya couldn't make it fit. That first night when she'd carried the bowl of soup to him – brooding at the corner of the bar, filthy with road-dust and burning up in his hate – she would have guessed him at least a decade her senior, if not more. And then there was the way he'd tossed her out of the dart's path and thrown it back at Burton, fought Whatley and Percy at the same time without hesitation. He'd gone quietly and purposefully about his business in town, working on the roof with Gaius, in the forge with Elyan, never asking for aid or shelter from anyone, constantly pushing away Shasta's attempts to care for him.

After he'd bathed and shaved, hatless she thought him not quite a decade older, but five or six years at least. At least.

She remembered his unguarded smile at her the night Gwen had persuaded her to dance a step or two. He'd looked so young – because he was so young. And before that, he'd been trained as a revenger. What was the name he'd mentioned – Morgan? Meryl? How could she take a child, and turn his hand to violence and death?

The ceremony was over. The two officers walked past Freya and Gaius on their way out, the fat one bending to whisper in his superior's ear, the other brushing him away impatiently. The four emancipated cadets went to the boxes on the table under the windows – already the room was beginning to dim as the sun began to fall toward the western horizon, and the lamps on the walls around the room weren't lit yet. The clerk was at the table also, checking his papers, shuffling them about officiously, directing each cadet to one specific crate.

Freya turned to Gaius. "Did you know Merlin was so young?" she asked, in a very low voice that wouldn't carry to the table. She felt embarrassed and didn't know why.

Gaius looked at her closely. He didn't answer the question she'd asked, but put one to her in return. "Does it matter?"

Did it? Had Merlin changed since she'd known him? Was he a boy, looking to others for permission, guidance, reassurance? Had he ever sought to be taken care of? Rather he'd rejected all advice and caring, and vehemently.

The cadets had all opened crates from the table, their nailed lids carefully set to one side. The three Freya didn't know were occupied with lifting item after item – their personal belongings, Freya thought, surrendered when they first arrived. One of the younger-looking cadets held a pair of trousers out, and all three laughed to see them a good four inches too short.

Merlin had scooped out his clothing in a large bundle, which he held under his arm while he examined the contents of his wallet. Seemingly satisfied, he bent to retrieve his wide-brimmed hat and boots from the crate at his feet, then headed for the screened-off area in the corner of the room, re-checking his wallet as he went.

After a moment, the young man named Odry made his way to the screened corner as well; the other two were still emptying their crates. Gaius took Freya's elbow and steered her out of the room.

"Even with the screen up," he said to her as he led her down the hallway to the street door, "it isn't quite proper for you to be present when the boys are changing their clothes."

Freya refrained from reminding Gaius that she'd seen quite a bit of Merlin during his illness when he'd come to the Creek. But Gaius didn't know that she'd accidentally walked in on him in his bath… that thought led to a swift embarrassing memory of what she'd seen.

Even if she was no longer married, was it still wrong for her to contemplate these memories?

He was almost two years younger than her.

The other two emancipated cadets passed them, carrying the contents of their crates in their boxes and talking excitedly, though Freya could make nothing of what she heard.

"They all have chances to make plans for this day," Gaius said conversationally. "Chances to find work or apprenticeships. Or to return to their hometowns. They also have the option of joining the standing army for regular pay. Won't be hard for these young men to make their way. It's not uncommon, either, for merchants or craftsmen to come here to take a younger boy for an apprentice."

Further down the hall, more doors were open, more voices floated through, and a few smaller boys ducked here and there.

"Where is the girls' boarding house from here?" Freya asked idly, referring to the arrangements for girls orphaned without a family to foster them. She would have gone there, herself, almost six years ago when her mother died, but for the waiting cousin.

"It's a few streets over," Gaius agreed. "They teach them sewing and waiting table and what-not. The same rules apply to them, basically, except the girls are not trained to fight or sent out on missions." His tone was so dry Freya looked over, and had to laugh when she caught his eye.

They reached the street door and exited the barracks, standing to wait close to the sun-warmed brick of the building, out of the way of folk passing on the board-walkway. It was nearing the commonly accepted dinner-time, and Freya's stomach felt empty.

"It's rather hard on those who are brought in young, with no money, and who then outgrow their clothes," she remarked.

"As I understand it, no one leaves with nothing," Gaius said. "It's like a charity, almost. People can donate food or clothing, or bring gifts and money. And even if folks aren't looking for long-term help, the boys are available for odd jobs or running errands, the girls for extra serving-work, taking care of children, and so on. Most, I guess, have a little money set aside in those crates by their emancipation day."

"Do you think –" Freya hesitated a moment, unwilling to betray a special interest to the canny physician. "Do you think Merlin made other plans? He never did write back… maybe he'd rather not be reminded of Emmett's Creek."

Gaius stretched his arms, flexing fingers that had been busy with his healing work all afternoon. Freya wondered if she smelled of harsh soap and medicinal herbs, now, as he did. Would Merlin notice–

"Did he scowl when he saw you, or look like he wanted to turn and run in the other direction?" Gaius said.

"No," Freya answered. "He looked worn out, but he – no, he didn't scowl." Gaius patted her shoulder.

"Well, good afternoon," a familiar masculine voice called from down the street; they both turned.

"Ah, Arthur!" Gaius said. As the agent neared, the physician asked, "How is your fellow from Sage Springs doing?"

Arthur waved his hand. "Nothing that isn't expected, in the line of duty and all that. He'll be fine, take a few days' leave." He gave the brick building behind them a quick glance. "So Merlin is back, then?"

"Yes; our timing fortunately allowed us to attend the emancipation ceremony," Gaius told him.

A voice spoke from the doorway behind Freya. "I'm flattered."

The tone was dry and sarcastic; Merlin obviously didn't believe they'd come simply to see him. Or were his words referring to the request she'd made in the last letter?

She turned; this was the Merlin she remembered. He wore the same clothes he'd ridden away wearing – the long trousers and scuffed boots, dingy worn shirt, wide-brimmed hat in his hand, his saddlebags slung over his shoulder. His face was clean, the burning rage banked down in his eyes. His hair was much shorter, but otherwise he seemed the same vagrant who'd wandered into Percival's Place over a year ago.

How much had changed since then! How much had Merlin changed since then?

Merlin's blue eyes were wary, shuttered, yet he made no move to leave them. After glancing from Gaius to Freya, he nodded at the agent.

"Arthur. Come to take your pound of flesh?" He didn't move a muscle, yet suddenly it seemed to Freya that he was ready to drop hat and saddlebags and fight Arthur on the instant, if necessary.

She was puzzled; she'd thought they made their peace last year.

Arthur's lips twisted. "We can discuss that later, if it suits you." Merlin shrugged, but didn't seem to relax his guard. "Lancelot told me about Sage Springs," the agent continued. "I wasn't really surprised to hear it, knowing you. When I said you and I had unfinished business, he asked me to give you his thanks, again. Asked me to go easy on you."

Merlin didn't answer, didn't move, didn't alter his gaze one bit.

Didn't even glance aside, when Gaius said, in a tone that suggested he was trying to smooth the moment over, "There's a story needs telling." Silence for a moment, then he added, "Why don't we find a place for dinner - Arthur, you could ask Gwen to join us, that way she doesn't have to cook tonight - and Merlin can give us his answer."

"Answer?" Merlin and Arthur spoke at the same time.

This wasn't the way Freya envisioned this meeting. She could feel herself flushing red, and dropped her eyes to study the toes of the new shoes on her feet.

"Didn't you get our letter?" Gaius asked.

Merlin settled his hat on his head and reached into one of the pockets of the saddlebags, withdrawing Freya's folded and obviously unopened letter – received after his unit's deployment to Sage Springs, then.

"Ah," Gaius said. "Well, this will take some explaining. I know a nice little place just around the corner–"

"The place with white curtains and red tablecloths?" Arthur interrupted, grinning. "With that big corner window?"

"You know it, too?"

"Of course. But Gwen won't be joining us; she's not feeling well, she actually sent me out to bring something back that she could eat. Shall we?" Arthur offered his arm to Freya.

She accepted, but glanced at Merlin, who was tapping one finger of the hand that held the letter against the paper, gazing blankly down at the walkway between her and Gaius. She didn't hear much of what Arthur said to her as they walked down the street, general pleasantries most likely, but because of the noise of the city, she couldn't hear a word of the conversation behind them, though she guessed it touched on her, at least in points.

Gaius would probably ask about Merlin's months in the cadet corps, but he was never one to talk about himself. He would likely want details about the 'answer' he was supposed to give, before they all sat down together.

Why had she ever left the Creek? She knew that answer, and wouldn't have chosen differently, but right now she wished she could return to the relative anonymity of serving drinks and dinners and sweeping floors at Percival's Place. This was not how she pictured this meeting.

She hadn't expected Merlin to be out of town, making it necessary for Gaius to wait in Camelot day after day, presuming on the hospitality of Arthur and Gwen. She had expected Merlin to have read the letter and decided yes or no, making discussion and deliberation unnecessary. She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of their choice, especially since she'd discovered that Merlin was younger than she thought, younger even than herself. Would she feel that she was responsible for him? That she should take care of him? That she ought to be making decisions? She hated feeling like that.

Maybe she ought to have gone to Shasta's family, instead. She'd have been depending on the kindness of strangers, once again, and still within the region of Padlow's tax farm, but possibly she'd have been able to remain unknown.

And alone. She felt very lonely, now, even as Arthur casually chatted about spring in the countryside, and Gaius and Merlin walked behind them. If she wasn't so hungry… and if she didn't have to face Merlin for his answer, eventually… She felt like running back to the comfortable homey guest room in Gwen's house, with the cream-colored quilt and the crocheted doily on the bedside table. She could curl into a corner of the generous-sized bed, and shut her eyes, shut out the world–

"Ah, here we are," Arthur said.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin had not been expecting to meet anyone from Emmett's Creek in Camelot, much less his enemy's widow. Gaius was an improbability, Freya a near impossibility. Yet here they were.

It was good to know he hadn't been hallucinating, but it was a sure bet it meant they wanted something from him. Freya wasn't the sort to pine for the big city and beg to be taken along on a trip, far from it. Gaius, he knew, came occasionally to the capital, but for Freya to come along, something had changed.

As Gaius and Arthur compared notes on the public dining room they'd chosen, Merlin's mind was running back through the several letters he'd received from Emmett's Creek. Written from Gaius by Freya's hand, they were full of news of different folks' doings, and messages from those he'd connected with – Percival and Shasta and Gwen, Elyan the blacksmith, and Gaius himself. They'd hinted that they considered Merlin the best candidate for the shire's reeve, if he wanted to return when his obligations to the state were fulfilled.

Merlin had given it a little thought; he hadn't made many friends in Emmett's Creek – never intended making any – but he had no enemies there, anymore. And only three, that he knew of, were aware of the horrors in his past.

He hadn't made up his mind, yet, but the only other option he'd considered was returning to Turad to rejoin Morgana's revengers. His heart really wasn't in that work, anymore, but it didn't seem his heart was in any kind of work. Possibly in working for Morgana again he might find himself, doing what he knew and understood and had some skill at. He might even find meaning in life again. A reason for living, for continuing to eat and draw breath and roll out of his blanket in the morning. Now that he didn't have rules and regulations and orders, and officers to see to it that he followed those simple steps of living.

But now she was here. And since Arthur hadn't considered it necessary, six months ago, for her to come in person to give testimony concerning the events surrounding Padlow's crimes, and the punishment meted out by the people of Emmett's Creek, it meant she was here for another purpose.

There hadn't been much about Freya in Gaius' letters. They hadn't found any hiding places for Padlow's accumulated ill-gotten gains, no jar of coins buried in the cellar, no bankbooks totaling savings and deposits. He knew Freya had a little money, since Gaius had reported the sale of the furs stored in the hut to a trader passing through. No one had disputed Shasta's assertion that Freya deserved that small profit. He recalled vaguely a small paragraph hinting that Freya's injury at the hands of her husband had won a grudging respect from the townspeople.

At first, at least. Why, then, had she come to Camelot? Why had they come to the barracks if not in search of him? Why had they stood in the crowd this morning if they had not been anticipating the return of his company of cadets?

"What's in it?" he said shortly to Gaius, tapping the letter as they walked.

"We thought everything had settled down," Gaius said obliquely. "After Padlow's – death. Freya recovered quickly, and folks seemed to be friendlier to her, everything getting to be peaceful." Gaius paused as they stepped around a beggar sitting on the curb with his bare feet stretched into the street to draw attention to his chant and shaken coin cup.

"What happened?"

"Folks started coming into town – strangers," Gaius answered. "Some important folk, influential folk. Some with positions of authority, even – other reeves from the region, merchants, paid delegations for farmers' unions. News spread that our tax farmer had his neck stretched, and folks wanted to know if they were going to get their money back. Everyone knew he was a cheat and a thief, and it was reasonable to assume he'd left his riches when he passed. Emmett's Creek, for the most part, remembered how he'd treated her, how she'd dressed in charity cast-offs and made her living working at the tavern, but try telling a stranger that Padlow's widow hasn't got a penny of his, and doesn't know where any of it is…" The old physician case a significant glance over at Merlin.

He understood without hearing more. Folk who'd been smarting under the extra burden of unfair taxes, hearing their oppressor had been executed, feel a relief of freedom, begin to plan on keeping their profits again, begin to calculate what it would mean to them and their families not to scrimp and save and hide and lie. It was just a short step from there to questioning whether some of what had been unfairly taken might not be recovered. Decisions made to take the journey, to ask, to demand, the hopes of those left behind waiting, and then to face the improbable story that the widow had been left poorer than any.

Merlin didn't suppose he'd believe it either, if he didn't have firsthand knowledge of the situation. He didn't have to wonder if Freya had any idea where the money was; if she knew, she'd have given it away by now.

"There were several – incidents," Gaius said, and grimaced at Merlin's swift glance. "No one was hurt, but it began to feel very much like when Padlow or Whatley or Burton was trying to keep folks in line. People began to talk about Freya being the cause of the new unrest, the ugly temper of the strangers making trouble through town, though clearly it wasn't her fault. And in fact, the incidents were almost all directed at her."

Merlin stared hard at her back. The new dark blue dress fit her much better than the ragged clothes she'd worn in Emmett's Creek, revealing a trim figure any man would look twice at. The shoes didn't flap at her heels, her cap and wide-brimmed straw hat covered all but the round curve of her cheek, but in the graceful sway of her walk he could see no indication that she'd suffered any further injury. His gaze rested on her trim waist, at the side where Padlow's knife had wounded her.

She walked on, unconscious of his gaze, attentive to Arthur's words.

"She's fine," Gaius said, and there was something in his tone that made Merlin glare at him; thought the physician kept his eyes ahead, a small smile was pulling at his mouth. "We thought it would be best, however, for everyone, if she left for a time. Til things truly calm down."

"Could be years," Merlin observed shortly.

"Someone told you how she came to Emmett's Creek?" Gaius said, glancing at him. "Shasta, probably? Well, she's going back to her original plan."

Merlin thought back. Way back. "Her mother's cousin?"

Gaius nodded. "It's rather far away, and no one really has the time to journey with her, and as for more common transportation–" he stopped. "You understand?"

He understood. The last time Freya had trusted a stranger paid to take her to her destination, he had simply taken her. And kept her; though she'd had some choice in that, confusion over her mother's teachings had her convinced her duty was to remain with him.

"So someone suggested you," Gaius continued. "This was only a couple of weeks ago, so we thought, since you were due to get out of the corps, and if you didn't have any other pressing plans–" The physician raised his eyebrows.

So that was the question that needed answering. And it would be harder for him to refuse with her standing right in front of him. Merlin shrugged his indifference.

"Here we are," Arthur said from in front.

…..*….. …*….. …*….. …..*….. …*…

They stood in the doorway only a moment before Arthur – a regular customer, it seemed, and missed since his marriage had him enjoying Gwen's cooking in his own home – talked them to the corner window table. And it was only moments after that they were all served pork chop with a sauce made from apple, walnuts, and maple, along with spring greens and fall potatoes fried golden brown.

Gaius and Arthur did most of the talking. Freya tried hard to concentrate on her meal, and was aware that Merlin did the same. He ate steadily and somewhat mechanically, without looking at any of them or trying to participate, or even follow, the conversation. If it hadn't been for the fuss and bother to the dining room wait-staff, and for the raised eyebrows, she might have suggested moving herself and Merlin to another table.

Gaius told stories of the incidents in Emmett's Creek that had caused her to decide to leave – the rock with a threatening note wrapped around it hurled through Percival's front window, the hateful messages scrawled in charcoal on the tavern and Gaius' office both, the fights that had broken out in the tavern, and the one failed abduction attempt.

She blushed furiously through the last story; Gaius did embellish, sometimes, when he was storytelling. She was sure that it had never been half so serious – yet it was the one story that Merlin stopped eating to listen to, and had turned that inscrutable blue gaze on her during. She held his eyes for a short moment, but his expression didn't change, and the shorn hair and lack of fierce burning hate in his eyes made him seem almost a stranger.

They had finished, mostly, when the question came up.

"So you figured to send her on to her aunt's for a while, until things calm back down," Arthur mused, sitting back in his chair. "Last I heard, Uther had appointed clerks to send letters to all the reeves in that tax region, informing them of the accurate tax burden – it'll cost everyone extra to send someone with the taxes here to Camelot, but less probably than Padlow was extorting, and less than if an agent had to be sent and fines levied for nonpayment. If another tax farmer elects to buy the region, that would settle things down quickly. If he were a fair man, and willing to work on small profits for a few years, that would be even better."

Merlin snorted at that, but though they all looked at him, he didn't look up from the table. He wore the same blank stare he'd had just as they were leaving the cadet barracks.

"We were hoping on Merlin to accompany Freya to her mother's cousin," Gaius explained to Arthur.

"And then?" Merlin spoke up then, his tone neutral and his gaze still on the dish-cluttered red tablecloth. "The offer for the office of reeve?"

"Well, yes," Gaius said, somewhat surprised. "If you're interested. We haven't found anyone willing that we'd trust to be worth the pay."

"It seems to me you're taking the long way around on this," Merlin said, his tone still soft but with a dangerous edge to it. He lifted a piercing gaze to Gaius' face, and the old man sat back uncomfortably. "Or is the offer of the position not a genuine one?"

"What do you mean?" Gaius said, and to Freya he sounded uneasy. Under the edge of the red tablecloth, she bunched her napkin into a ball and held it tightly.

"If you truly thought I could handle the responsibility of a reeve – to keep the peace, make fair decisions, and punish the guilty when laws are broken – why send Freya to her mother's cousin?"

It was the first time she'd heard him say her name in – well, a long time. He didn't look at her at all, but she was glad for that. Hadn't she always been told her face could keep no secrets? If he looked at her now, he could see her reaction to her name sounding in his voice all over her…

"Unless," Merlin paused deliberately, "you didn't really believe I could handle all the trouble you've been having over the missing wealth."

That had never occurred to Freya. All she wanted was to get away from more strangers blaming her for their troubles, the angry demanding faces and the misunderstandings that prompted explanations of the truth of her husband's treatment of her. Had they discussed the consequences of Merlin entering the situation with the office and authority of a reeve, when she wasn't there?

Evidently they had. Gaius said, "We were thinking more of the repercussions if you –" he exchanged a knowing look with the agent next to him at the table – "if you were to handle the situation."

Arthur chuckled softly, but Merlin's intensity increased.

"You think –" his voice was still calm, but the note of danger was more pronounced, and both older men stopped smiling. "You think justice would be lacking, or control? You think a Reeve Merlin would make the situation worse?"

"Well, no," Gaius protested weakly. "We thought, since Freya wanted to go back to her family anyway–"

"Ah." Merlin relaxed back, hooking his elbow over the back of his chair, a cynical look shadowing his face. "With her gone from the Creek, things will take care of themselves, yes? No more trouble for any to worry about."

He might have said more, might have wanted to, she thought, surprised that he'd said so much already, but he bit it back and clenched his jaw, looking off into the bustle of the dining room.

Did he care about that? Freya wondered. She didn't see anything wrong in removing herself so the situation would resolve without further conflict. Then again, what did she know of what Merlin cared about? His revenge against her husband had been taken, not exactly to his liking – well, not to his liking at all – and she knew that he did care about others, at least sometimes, even if he'd never admit it and didn't care to have the fact pointed out to him. Hadn't he saved her life when it meant missing his chance at revenge?

"So where does this mother's cousin live?" Arthur asked. Freya thought he was trying to turn the conversation back to more pleasant channels.

"Turad," she answered.

Merlin's head turned slightly, and his blue eyes examined her, considering.

"Turad. That's quite a ways from here," Arthur commented. "I may be making that trip myself, soon. Ten days riding, at least."

"It'll take longer than that," Gaius reminded their host, taking a pocket watch from his vest and consulting it. "She's got Padlow's wagon and team."

"I can sell the wagon and ride if it's easier," Freya interrupted, inwardly wincing at the thought of ten days' riding when she was far from being a good rider, and not at all used to sitting a saddle. "I don't have much that I'm taking, and I'm sure it can be packed for–"

"Don't bother," Merlin said, without meeting any of their eyes. "We can take the wagon."

Gaius and Arthur exchanged glanced again. Gaius said, "You mean you'll take Freya to Turad?"

Merlin turned to look the agent full in the face. "If I'm free to go."

Freya was puzzled. Why wouldn't he–

Arthur grinned, but his blue eyes were ice-hard. "For now."

One of Merlin's eyebrows lifted; he looked far from happy, himself. Yet Merlin happy would be an odd sight.

Freya felt let down, somehow. She had expected to feel excitement, anticipation. She had been looking forward – she would admit it – to seeing Merlin again. She was no longer married, and she thought they had developed a – well, an understanding, at least. Now she felt like so much baggage – in the way here, ship her over there, shrug over time wasted.

She was so tired.