Merlin looked more than a little horrified at Arthur's emotional display.
Arthur should have expected that. He rarely lost it, and if he did, it was usually for an obvious reason. Instead, he sat slumped in his chair, blinking back tears. So much for subtlety.
Two more trials awaited Merlin. If he was honest with himself, Arthur had been petrified Merlin wouldn't pass the first one. The trials replaced dragging his servant to his father—a scenario that made him shudder—and he still hadn't recovered from finding out Merlin had lied to him in the first place. He wasn't sure if it could handle discovering Merlin only wanted to use him.
Merlin opened his mouth, probably to ask what the hell had come over him, but just then Arthur's door swung open and the king strode in, dressed for ceremony and glittering in his many pendants.
Merlin, smartly, leapt out of the chair. He caught it before it fell over and executed a clumsy bow, mumbling "sire." He looked frazzled and frightened, but that was normal.
In fact, it was very normal, and suddenly, Arthur wondered just how normal. How often did Merlin fear for his life? Did his heart skip a beat whenever Uther entered a room?
Did Arthur himself scare him sometimes?
Arthur had always thought Merlin was a little too brave for his own good, but the thought carried new weight now. Merlin never took any of Arthur's threats seriously and often stumbled his way into other trouble. The king had been convinced for years that Merlin was mentally ill and Merlin hadn't done anything to disprove it.
Arthur's breathing grew shallow. Maybe he purposely hadn't tried. It occurred to him then that all the idiocy was actually Merlin's greatest shield. If the knights were scouring the castle for sorcerers, they wouldn't think twice about a servant who fell over himself half the time.
Unpleasant realisations were surfacing—little things that hadn't occurred to him the previous night. Arthur had often overlooked sorcery where Merlin was concerned. His servant had come under fire many times when magic was questioned. Each time, Arthur had scorned the thought. Merlin was a wonder all right, but a wondrous idiot, not a wondrous wizard.
But in the end, did this make Arthur the wondrous idiot? Him, and his father? Perhaps Merlin was a breed of sorcerer Camelot hadn't been prepared for... a powerful idiot.
Unless the idiocy was all an act?
Arthur didn't like that thought. He wanted some part of the man he knew to be real.
"Arthur, did you hear a word I just said?"
"I—hm?" Arthur jolted back to reality, almost falling over as his chair veered backward. He caught himself, gripping the edge of the table for support. "Yes, terribly sorry, father. I'm a bit drowsy. Merlin woke me late."
Arthur thought that was a decent excuse, but unfortunately, the disapproval on his father's face didn't fade. "I see. And can that be why you haven't dressed?"
Arthur's eyes widened. He glanced down at his bare chest, realising that with everything he'd never asked Merlin to dress him.
Merlin's eyes widened, too. "Oh! Er—" he blubbered, vaulting to the wardrobe and whipping out one of Arthur's fancier tunics. The sleeves flew around wildly. "M-my fault, all my fault, sire. I distracted him. Don't mind me, he'll be dressed before you know it."
Uther levelled a stern look. One that said Merlin might get chucked out the window if he didn't move quickly.
The look was not lost on Merlin. His ears went red in stressed embarrassment as he moved behind Arthur, motioning for him to put his arms up. Arthur complied, and Merlin slipped the tunic over his head.
"Apologies again, father," Arthur said. He tucked the tunic around his torso as Merlin moved to retrieve his belt. "To what do I owe the visit? Is it about my speech?"
He knew the answer was "no," but feigning innocence was much easier with his father. Where Merlin was concerned, he was conflicted. Confused. But the king didn't confuse him, and Arthur was accustomed to this type of conflict: the familial kind.
Not the betrayal kind.
"It's not your speech," Uther answered distractedly. He watched Merlin as the servant bustled around the room. "It's another matter entirely. I've postponed your speech for today."
Merlin stopped short. A ceremonial coat dangled from his arms as he gaped at the king. "Postponed?"
Uther's forehead crinkled. "Are you deaf and dumb?"
Merlin's ears turned a darker shade of red and Arthur snorted. The servant muttered "possibly, sire," before hurriedly putting the coat away and pulling out a hunting jacket to replace the ceremonial one.
"I'd like to put both our minds at ease," Uther continued. "I spoke to Gaius and he confirmed your worries match my own. This Emrys must be found and the Druids know of him. I have long awaited their capture, but they have eluded me. No longer. Oliver, our new informant, has no loyalties. His information can be bought, and he will lead us to the Druids for the proper price."
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin's shoulders tense. For the Druids? Maybe himself.
"A steep price, I imagine," Arthur answered.
His father hummed in agreement. "Gold is worth much less to me than Camelot's safety. The traveller has already been paid in full. You will gather your best knights and ride with him at once."
Arthur flinched. Gaius's words from the previous night swam in his mind. I'm not sure what good it would do, as we don't even know if this Emrys means any harm.
I don't, Merlin had answered. Arthur wanted to believe him.
"Of course," Arthur muttered. He stood and gave a bow, strapping on his sword. His fingers tapped the pommel restlessly. "Although I doubt the Druids will offer such information voluntarily."
"No," the king agreed. "Gaius voiced a similar worry. The Druids are religious fanatics. They will gladly die to protect their secrets, but on this occasion, the danger at home may outweigh the danger from afar. If the Druids are promised a safe haven in return for their knowledge, they might be persuaded."
Behind Uther, Merlin perked up. His expression betrayed a mix of surprise and hope.
Arthur mirrored it, but mostly the surprise. "A safe haven? You'd consider such a thing?"
"Gaius has argued for it in the past," Uther admitted. He leaned against the table, studying his signet ring. "He believes the Druids are a peaceful group of sorcerers. He argues if I grant them such a haven, they will prove this to me in time and grant Camelot priceless knowledge—wisdom that can be used against our true enemies."
Merlin bent over to retrieve a pair of boots, but that didn't hide the soft smile of wonder on his face.
Arthur remained sceptical. "Does this mean you'd like me to offer them this bargain? In your name?"
"Yes, my name—but primarily Gaius's. If they refuse, take some captive for questioning and kill the rest."
Merlin's smile faltered. Arthur grimaced.
"Of course. And if they accept? When will they receive this haven?"
His father barked out a laugh. Arthur, unfortunately, recognised its meaning. "Receive it? Never!"
Merlin's shoulders slumped. Dismay crossed his features and he turned away again, shuffling to make the bed. Arthur held back a sigh.
His reservations must have been evident, because his father frowned. "We do not bargain with sorcerers, Arthur. I appreciate Gaius's well-meaning, if not misguided, suggestion. It will bring us the information we need. If such an agreement comes to them in Gaius's name as well as my own, the Druids will consider my proposition sincere. He was a friend to them before he put their ways behind him."
"I see," Arthur said, picking the closest word to 'disagree' he could voice without consequence. "And does Gaius know you don't plan on upholding this proposition?"
"He will understand." Uther gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and Arthur didn't need to look at Merlin to know his revulsion. "That is not the point of this. I want a face to pin to this Emrys. By now he will know we are coming for him."
Arthur did steal a glance at Merlin at this. The sorcerer-servant kept innocently fluffing Arthur's pillows. How right his father was. How would the king react, he wondered, if he knew Emrys stood before him this very moment?
Perhaps he should know.
Arthur swallowed. "I'll gather my men and ride at midday."
His father smiled, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. It was a familiar gesture. He only did it when he was transferring the pressure of duty onto Arthur's shoulders. "Wonderful. I expect your return in a fortnight."
He left. Merlin shot a worried look Arthur's way, but when it wasn't returned, he turned back to the pillows.
Arthur studied the back of his head, mulling over his second trial.
"Do you still want to come?" he asked finally.
Merlin scoffed at the question. "What? Yes! Of course."
"Good. Prepare my horse."
And with that, Arthur shoved on his boots and followed his father.
He needed a break from Merlin.
~O~
It wasn't premeditated, but Arthur gave Merlin the cold shoulder all the way to the Druid camp.
He couldn't help it. Every time the servant tried to strike up a conversation, Arthur wanted to pelt questions at him like crossbow bolts. Why this, why that—there were so many "why's" in his head swimming about, and he wanted answers to them all.
He had no means to ask them yet. Not until his trials were over and Merlin—hopefully—passed. Then Arthur could confront him. Man to man. Knight to sorcerer. Only then could he have his mind put to rest before Merlin left Camelot forever.
After all, that was how this all ended. Merlin would have to leave. Arthur had thought about it, and that was the only outcome he could foresee. The favourable one, anyway. The one where Merlin remained breathing.
He wondered where Merlin would go. Ealdor? It was part of Cenred's kingdom, not Camelot's, although Arthur wasn't entirely sure if his father would care… not anymore. Oliver had explained that the Druids resided just out of Camelot's reach and within Cenred's borders, all in an effort to avoid conflict with Camelot.
This was a little detail he'd shared after they'd left the castle behind. It seemed Oliver had worried Uther wouldn't pay him if he'd known the risks involved.
He was probably right. The location left Arthur in a predicament. While it did strengthen Merlin's second trial, leading knights into Essetir—no matter how small the distance in—could be seen as an act of war, if discovered.
Arthur didn't plan on being discovered, and even then, he wondered if his father would have risked war for this. Where magic was concerned, his father's reasoning definitely leaned reactionary.
Arthur was no better. He was risking war for his own piece of mind. He'd opted not to execute Merlin. Now the Druids might pay the price instead.
A deep unease settled in Arthur's gut. With a kick of his heel, he urged his horse forward, leading his raiding party out of Camelot's territory and into Cenred's domain of Essetir. There was no other way to frame it. He was being selfish. There were many, many ways this could go terribly wrong, and yet, nothing seemed more wrong than what was right—turning Merlin in.
The hazards be damned. He needed answers, and he'd get them.
"How much further?" he asked Oliver, and the traveller clicked his tongue, pushing for his horse to catch up with Arthur's lead.
"Not much further, now," the man reported, his foreign accent thick and slurred on the "R." "There's a bit of a slope with a cave nestled 'round the bend."
"Ah, wonderful," Arthur muttered, his tone thick with sarcasm. "Love caves."
They continued on, pushing deeper into Essetir, and it wasn't long before the path dipped and the trees thinned. Early evening fell upon them, and a cool breeze lifted the leaves around Arthur's horse's hooves.
With every flutter of a branch, Arthur's discomfort deepened. He wondered if Merlin sensed it, because he trotted up next to Arthur, his bright blue eyes thoughtful in the growing gloom.
Arthur didn't acknowledge him, but Merlin spoke anyway, his voice low. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Arthur? Cenred's not exactly your biggest fan."
"It's not like I have a choice," Arthur answered. A lie. He kept his gaze focused on Oliver, not wanting Merlin to notice his guilt. He'd been presented with a choice. He'd made it. "We need this information. If even half of what Oliver said is true, this Emrys is a danger to Camelot. We must find him."
He didn't look at Merlin directly, but he did see the servant squirm a little. "Right," Merlin mumbled, falling back as Arthur kicked his horse again, trotting to catch up with Oliver.
"We're here," Oliver said before Arthur could ask the question. The traveller pointed, and Arthur could just make out the rocky bend he had described. Slices of moonlight cut through the open spaces in the tree canopy, but even with the added light, the drop was still difficult to make out. If Oliver hadn't pointed, Arthur would not have spotted the half-hidden cave entrance resting at the bottom of the slope.
Grimacing, Arthur swung his right leg out of the stirrup and dismounted. His boots fell heavy on the uneven ground, suctioning in the thick mud. His band of fifteen knights copied the movement.
Oliver was the only one who didn't dismount. "This is where I must leave you, sire," he announced, offering a hand in farewell.
Arthur smiled thinly, accepting the gesture and grasping the traveller's forearm at the elbow. "Camelot is grateful you chose to come forward," he said. "I hope the gold was enough compensation for your troubles."
Oliver gave a chuckle. He let go of Arthur's arm to pat his waist instead, jingling the many coins in his pouch. "More than sufficient, I'd say. I'll be stopping by again if I stumble upon anything else of relevance."
"You'll be more than welcome," Arthur assured, and with that, Oliver was on his way, galloping deeper into Cenred's kingdom astride one of Camelot's best horses.
Arthur watched him go with a critical eye, his forced smile slowly slipping into a frown.
To his further discomfort, Merlin trudged up beside him, his arms crossed tightly against his thin jacket. Worry dominated his features. "What's keeping him from reporting us to Cenred?" the sorcerer asked, and at his words, a cold dagger twisted its way into Arthur's heart. "He turned on the Druids within a day."
"The Druids didn't give him gold," Arthur pointed out, but as he said it, he wondered if it was a worthy answer. "My father paid him much more than he deserved. That should keep him living comfortable for quite some time."
Merlin's expression voiced his disagreement, but Arthur ignored him, putting his back to the forest and facing the cave. "Regardless," he said, raising his voice a tad to address everyone. "We shouldn't linger here more than necessary. The sooner we are out of Cenred's lands, the better."
He drew his sword. His raiding party copied him and Merlin, thankfully, fell back as Arthur led the way down the slick slope.
Darkness swallowed them as they left the moonlight behind. Arthur waited for his eyes to adjust before pushing forward and entering the cave, his boots slick with mud and water from a shallow stream. He was just beginning to wonder if a torch was needed when he spotted the telltale signs of firelight flickering against the cavern walls.
A small part of him was disheartened. Deep down, he'd hoped Oliver's intelligence was misinformed—that, or perhaps the Druids had wised up and moved on.
He never got so lucky. Setting his jaw, Arthur kept his sword parallel with his cheek, his knees bent as he shuffled toward the light. He would have to handle this delicately. Unlike his father, he held no personal quarrel with the Druids. Too many sorcerers had attacked Camelot for him not to place those who hadn't in a separate category. But, unfortunately, this did little to change what danger they could pose.
That danger was how his father justified this excursion, but Arthur couldn't help but feel he was overstepping his bounds in more ways than one.
Movement. Arthur struck on instinct, drawing from hours of practise and strength. The point of his sword swung to a stop centimetres before the throat of a Druid.
A small Druid. A boy. No older than ten.
Arthur froze. The boy didn't scream, but he looked up at Arthur with calm, clear blue eyes—eyes that sent Arthur tumbling into a terrible memory. Another Druid camp. Another Druid boy. Screaming—far too much of it. Childrenflailing...
"Are you going to kill me, sir?"
Arthur flinched. The Druid boy didn't sound overly concerned by the question, but Arthur lowered his sword all the same.
"I... I'd prefer not to," he managed. "I'm here to speak with your leader."
The boy nodded knowingly. He turned, hurrying deeper into the cave. Arthur hated himself for it, but dark, entrapping dread snaked up his spine.
He motioned to his knights with two fingers. Follow. As one, they trudged after the Druid boy.
Arthur's worst case scenario awaited them around the bend. The Druid cluster was large—a good thirty or more adults and many children. Their fearful stares made Arthur cringe, along with the setup of the cave itself. Symbols he did not recognise littered the cavern walls. Candles lit up the space, accenting small twig-and-flower shrines atop the larger boulders. Tattered, colourful ribbons swung from the tips of tent poles, fluttering in the cave's chilly draught.
While Arthur had seen Druid camps before, this one felt especially foreign to him. Other kingdoms held other castles—other armies, other knights. Although they flew different banners and practised different feast customs, they still fell within Arthur's realm of understanding.
The Druid culture, however, possessed nothing Arthur understood, nor did he have the means to understand. The symbols on the cavern walls were a mystery to him as a young knight and were a mystery to him now. The small shrines depicted gods and goddesses whose names and powers he didn't worship. The Druid beliefs and customs were rumours and scary bedtime stories for the children of Camelot. Arthur had no idea if they were true.
In the end, these people were not his domain, and like any good future king, Arthur's loyalty belonged to the citizens of Camelot. They were his kind, his people, but they were not Merlin's people.
No. These were Merlin's people. Sorcerers. Tricksters and charlatans, practising a religion that dwindled on extinction. Men, women, and children whose minds and hearts housed and served the magic of the Old Religion. They were not the worst of their kind, but that did not excuse them. Not in the king's eyes.
In his first trial, Merlin had convinced Arthur he wasn't enchanting him. That, and he'd indirectly confessed he hoped Arthur would bring magic back to Camelot. It was a foolish hope, but it was definitely the type of scheme a romantic like Merlin would conjure up.
And yet, there was still a large gap between a foolhardy wish and blatantly betraying his own kind.
This was the gap Arthur planned on testing.
He hoped Merlin was ready. Trial two had begun.
"Arthur Pendragon."
The voice that spoke was unfamiliar to him, and its tone did nothing to help his unease. Arthur had heard his full name spoken by sorcerers before, and always with that tone… as if he possessed the name but didn't truly own it.
The Druid who'd spoken it fit the bill perfectly. Tall and old with a watery smile that didn't reach his eyes. A twisted staff occupied his right hand, and he let it rest against a large rock, much to Arthur's further disquiet.
Arthur cleared his throat, stationing himself at the forefront of his men. "I am Arthur, yes," he confirmed. "And who are you? The Archdruid?"
"You could think of me that way." The Druid fold his arms behind him. Somehow, the move made Arthur even more nervous. He liked a sorcerer's hands in view. "Not that the title matters."
"It does matter. I asked to speak to the leader. Are you him?"
"I suppose that depends on how you define a leader."
Something akin to anger bubbled in Arthur's stomach. An emotion he couldn't afford. If things escalated too quickly, Merlin's trial would be useless.
He clenched his sword a little tighter regardless. "Fine. May I at least have your name?"
"Again, I don't see how it matters." The Druid sounded amused. Was he purposely being provocative? "Names and titles mean little. It is the soul behind the name that counts."
Right. Arthur resisted the urge to throw Merlin's trial to the wind in favour of slapping the Druid in irons. Was this how all sorcerers talked? He rarely had conversations with any.
Well, he regularly had conversations with one, but Merlin talked nonsense, not poetry.
He really didn't want to hold the Druid at sword point. Not yet. Not until the proper moment. "Please," Arthur tried again, his voice terse. "If we are to talk, I'd like a name to address you by."
The sorcerer hesitated, his expression unreadable, but he nodded. "Very well. You may call me Cian."
"Cian," Arthur repeated, more than a little happy to make some progress. "Well, then, Cian, I have a few questions for you. If you're a wise man, you'll answer them."
"I'm a wise man of a sort." The old man's small smile faded, although the hint of amusement in his pale eyes still unnerved Arthur. "I can tell you it was not wise to come here. You and your men are not welcome in Essetir."
"I am aware."
"Good. You are a wise man yourself, Arthur Pendragon. Or, at least, you have the potential to be."
Arthur didn't bother keeping his annoyance off his face. "I'm not here for career advice, thank you. In fact, I'm here with a proposition from a friend. Gaius. Have you heard of him?"
"The physician? Yes, I'm familiar."
"Excellent." Arthur sheathed his sword, prepared to administer his father's proposal. Its outcome would decide how Merlin's trial would progress. "My father, the king, has spoken with him. Together, they have decided upon a course of action. A haven, crafted for you and your people within Camelot's lands. While we do not condone sorcery, we have certainly seen you and your people's distaste for violence. It's a quality we'd like to reward.
The Archdruid cocked his head, and behind him, the other Druids stirred. "For a price?"
"Not a steep one," Arthur assured. "One you could easily pay."
Cian did not appear convinced. "And let me guess. That price is information. You want us to act as your spies."
"'Spies' is not the word I would use," Arthur refuted, although he could feel any hope of an agreement slipping away. Unsurprising. He hadn't counted on this going well. "We aren't sending you anywhere. We simply want to know what you know. If I am properly informed of threats, I can better protect Camelot and its people. Is that so terrible?"
"Protect Camelot and its people," Cian repeated, ignoring Arthur's baited question. "I see. And protect them from what? Anything in particular?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Arthur answered, and his heart rate began to escalate. This was the important bit. He had to watch Cian carefully. "It has come to our attention that a powerful sorcerer has entered Camelot. Possibly some time ago. Possibly very recently. Call me curious, but I would like to know more about him."
There. He'd said it. As Arthur watched, hawk-like, he spotted what he'd counted on. Something shifted in Cian's eyes. It was small and subtle, but he'd seen it.
Recognition.
Arthur couldn't help but grin a little. "You know of this sorcerer, don't you?"
"I do," Cian admitted, and Arthur glimpsed the second thing he'd bargained on. A brief glance away.
Cian's gaze flickered beyond Arthur.
To Merlin?
"Good," Arthur managed. His heart was charging in his ears now. He wanted it more than ever now. He wanted to know everything Merlin was keeping from him. "Then I hope we can come to an agreement. The Druid haven can be constructed within months, and I'll see to it that—"
"See to what, exactly?" Cian snapped, and Arthur flinched, his hand flying to his sword. "We are slaughtered in our sleep? Spare me, young Pendragon. Lies are not becoming of a future king."
"This isn't a lie," Arthur insisted.
"But it is, isn't it?" Cian said, and his pale blue eyes seemed to peer straight through Arthur's armour and into his soul. "Although you are trying to lie as little as possible. I do appreciate that. Unfortunately, my people have been burned by Uther's promises before. Quite literally. Forgive us if we decide not to repeat our mistakes."
As Cian spoke, his hand lingered by his staff. His fingers grazed the wood and Arthur let himself react, unsheathing his sword and aiming it square between Cian's eyes.
"Don't touch it," he growled.
Cian deflated, obediently pulling away and holding his hands up in surrender. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I'd forgotten. Your kind always resorts to steel when it comes to 'asking' for information. Some things never change."
"Spare me the condescension," Arthur said. "Your kind is not without blood on its hands, whether you meant it or not. We do not possess the ability for destruction you do. We've learnt to protect ourselves. You can execute someone with a thought and a look."
Cian arched an eyebrow. "And would you say we are the ones doing the executing?"
Arthur floundered, at a loss for a response, and Cian knew it. He stepped forward, eliminating some of the space between them before Arthur had a chance to shift.
"You could have so much more from us than our knowledge, Arthur Pendragon," the Druid whispered, his unfocused gaze adding to Arthur's unease and uncertainty. "Think of it. You could have a far greater gift—our undying loyalty—but you are too overshadowed by your father's shortcomings. His inability."
"What inability?" Arthur snapped. He dropped his arm, levelling his sword with Cian's side. One swing and he could fatally injure the Druid.
Cian didn't seem concerned. He smiled, but the motion was laced with melancholy. "The fact that you stand here now says it all. How much did Uther pay that silver-tongued traveller to sell us out?"
Arthur didn't answer, and Cian shook his head, backing down. "This is the inability I refer to. You cannot purchase loyalty, young Pendragon. Not true loyalty. Gold has its limits, but that has not stopped your father from testing its boundaries."
"My father has hundreds of knights that would gladly lay down their lives for him."
"No, your father has hundreds of noble-borns who were blindly raised to obey the law. His law." Cian's laugh was hollow. "What common man of Camelot would lay down their life for their heartless king? I reckon not many. The people of Camelot are not loyal to Uther, Arthur Pendragon. They are loyal to you."
Arthur's sword arm wavered. He hadn't expected that answer, and before he could respond, Cian placed a hand on his wrist. His sword wrist. Arthur flinched, nearly stabbing the Druid on instinct, but Cian's blue eyes—focused now—met his gaze.
"You are an anomaly, Arthur Pendragon," the Druid said, and his voice had adopted a wispy, almost looney tone. "It does not take magic to see it. But the longer you hide your face from the hard truths, the harder they will slap you… if they haven't already."
He spoke that last part so only Arthur could hear, and as he did, his gaze flickered away—looking over Arthur's shoulder.
To Merlin?
Arthur didn't turn to find out. He clenched his jaw, ripping his arm out of Cian's grasp and securing his sword. "Enough!" he seethed. "You talk of loyalty, and I am loyal to my father. The king of Camelot demands answers. I suggest you give them, or I will be left with no choice."
Cian's intensity faded. He stepped back, his shoulders slumping like his age had caught up with him. "Then I suppose you are left with no choice. I'm afraid we cannot help you."
Arthur's lip quivered, but he threw his sword back to strike all the same. He slowed the action, giving Merlin time to process his decision. Then he spoke the words he'd crafted just for the sorcerer's second trial.
"So be it."
Arthur took his swing, waiting for the outcry he knew would come.
And came it did.
"Arthur! Arthur, wait!"
