Arthur's sword swung to a halt inches before Merlin's Adam's apple.
The reality of the image felt like a nightmare come true. Merlin's blue eyes, locked with Arthur's, made it all much worse than anything that had come before.
He hated every bit of his inevitable reaction. He hated his heart for racing. He hated his lungs for feeling breathless. He hated his mind for still registering the sharp sting of betrayal. He'd expected this—calculated it—but part of him wondered if Merlin would be more passive. Reluctant, when it came to it.
It was a foolish thought from the beginning. Merlin was never passive.
Arthur's steely expression was not an act. "Out of my way, Merlin," he said. He delivered the words like a command, but he didn't expect them to be obeyed.
They weren't. Merlin didn't move. His chest was heaving—struggling for air after he'd thrown himself between Arthur and the Druid. His arms were spread in a defencive motion, and his wild expression conveyed a conviction Arthur hated more than anything. It was a decision rooted against Camelot, and Arthur could only imagine how Merlin truly viewed his kingdom.
"You know this isn't right, Arthur," Merlin managed. He was still short of breath, but Arthur despised how genuine he sounded. Once again, he found himself reminded how this would be far easier if it was anyone but Merlin. "I saw it. I saw it in your face this morning. You don't want this. At the very least, it's a betrayal to Gaius and his trust."
"Gaius shouldn't be protecting sorcerers," Arthur reminded him. He still hadn't lowered his sword. He wasn't going to. He wanted Merlin to feel the cold touch of his blade.
"I know, but Gaius is the only one who can talk reason into Uther where magic is involved." Merlin's eyes sparkled with intensity, and for the first time since Arthur had met him, the other man became an open book to him. A struggle raged in his blue eyes—not a new one, but one Arthur could now read. There was pain simmering there, and a desperation Arthur hadn't expected. "This is your call, Arthur. Not your father's."
Arthur swallowed. Merlin was right on one account. It was his call... for now.
"My call, is it?"
He said it so quietly, he wondered for a moment if Merlin had heard, but he had. The sorcerer's confidence faltered. Confusion crept into his expression. He clearly hadn't expected that answer. "Well, isn't it?"
"It doesn't have to be." Slowly, Arthur retracted his sword from Merlin's throat. He faced the point to the ground and brought it down hard, wedging the tip amongst the pebbles with a loud chink. His gaze lingered on Merlin's befuddled expression, giving the sorcerer a second to process before turning to Cian.
He prayed the Archdruid wouldn't spy any of his true emotions. He couldn't afford that. Merlin was failing his second trial, but Arthur had predicted as much. Fortunately, it was not yet over.
"Well, Cian," Arthur began, snidely stressing the Druid's name and also drawing on any sort of regality he had left. It was time for a little bit of theatrics. "You don't seem to think much of noble-borns, or our loyalties. Fine. I respect that. You want someone more like you, and today, you're very much in luck. I happen to have a non-noble for you."
He gestured to Merlin at this, who had lost much of his initial gusto and was standing awkwardly between them, his buckled boots unbalanced on the rocks. He opened his mouth—probably to protest—but Arthur pushed on before he could. "Merlin was born near here," he explained. "A place called Ealdor. Simple place. Farming community. He has his mother, no father. I currently employ him as my manservant. Is that common enough for you?"
The Archdruid cocked his head. His pale eyes, slightly narrowed, studied Arthur, as if not sure what to think of him now. He also did not seem to have expected this turn of events.
Good. Arthur kept his expression frozen, unreadable. If the Druid surmised this was premeditated, Arthur had no idea what direction this would go.
But to his relief, Cian nodded. "I suppose," the Druid relented. "Although I don't see why it matters."
Arthur smiled a little. Despite himself, he was enjoying this. "You will," he said, and with that, he pulled his sword out of the ground and chucked it at Merlin.
Merlin, to Arthur's little surprise, fumbled it. The steel clattered to the cavern floor, the sound reverberating throughout the chamber. "What're you—" Merlin sputtered, struggling to maintain his balance. He dropped to the cavern floor, retrieving the blade and squinting up at Arthur in the half-light, but Arthur ignored his confusion.
"I was thinking about our little conversation earlier, Merlin," Arthur began, speaking to everyone in volume and not really looking at the manservant. Instead, he focused his attention on undoing the large clasp on his cape—two metal circles that only a royal's cape displayed. In one fluid motion, he pulled it off and stepped forward. Then, he dramatically draped the red fabric over his servant's scrawny shoulders like he'd done to countless young knights over the years.
"There," he declared, clapping Merlin on the shoulder like his father had done to him many, many times over the course of his life. Transferring the burden of responsibility. He stared at Merlin pointedly for a moment, showing the servant he was not at all kidding before turning back to the Archdruid.
"Earlier today, Merlin told me he believes his humble servant opinion does not matter," Arthur said, speaking with flair as he hopped down several large stones, pacing regally before the Druids. "He believes only the thoughts of the prince should count in important political situations. But Cian! You seem to disagree."
"Arthur." Merlin's voice wobbled as he straightened, holding the sword incorrectly. Arthur's bright-red cape nearly swallowed him. "Arthur, that's not what I meant when I said—"
"And fair is fair," Arthur pushed on, speaking over Merlin's panic. "I've decided it's Merlin's call now. As of this moment, I transfer all my royal authority over to him. The decision is his and his alone."
With that declared, Arthur twisted away from Cian and graced Merlin with a mocking bow. He straightened from the motion very slowly, giving everyone present time to understand the implications of this decision. As expected, muttering quickly broke out amongst the Druids and the knights alike.
Arthur didn't care about their reactions. He only cared about one person. "So, tell me..." he said, studying every semblance of fear growing in Merlin's traitor face. "What are we to do, Common Man Merlin? Kill some Druids, and capture the rest? Or disobey the king and return empty handed? The choice is entirely yours."
It was fascinating, really, to watch all the colour drain from Merlin's already pale cheeks. "Arthur, I—we—" the sorcerer garbled, Arthur's sword clinking against the stones as he almost dropped it. "You can't—I-I can't—"
His words failed him, and he swirled to Cian, obviously begging the old Druid to object. But, as Arthur had hoped, the sorcerer didn't appear angry. If anything, he appeared properly surprised.
His major deed done, Arthur used this opportunity to fade into the background. He pulled back to his knights, effectively abandoning Merlin in the centre of the cave. What happened next was up to him. The stage had been set. It was time for the actors to dance.
The manservant's lack of words hung heavy in the air. Cian, too, appeared thrown for a loop. For once, both sorcerers seemed unsure of what to say. Good.
Did Cian expect Merlin to protect him? Arthur couldn't help but wonder. After all, Arthur wasn't entirely sure Merlin would. It appeared the secret sorcerer had never truly sided with anyone. Not wholly. And he wouldn't, not until Arthur made him. Merlin could not live between a rock and a hard place forever.
The sorcerer had passed so far. Made it to Arthur's second trial. But now it was time for him to finally pick a side.
Cian was the first to come to a conclusion. He chuckled, and the sound confirmed Arthur's suspicion. He was, to some degree, confident that Merlin would choose the Druids' safety over Camelot's law. And perhaps he was correct.
Or perhaps he was dangerously wrong.
"Well," Cian murmured. "So be it." He laced his hands behind his back and bowed his head in Merlin's direction. "Manservant Merlin, it appears our fate rests in your hands. What, pray tell, is your verdict?"
Arthur clutched the boulder beside him, watching Merlin intently. He hated to admit it, but part of him feared what came next.
But, to his relief, as Arthur watched Merlin's face, the man he understood shone through. Terror quickly replaced his confidence. His posture loosened, growing hunched within Arthur's cloak and from the weight of a sword he did not wish to yield. Gone from his eyes was the stony-faced wizard who had summoned a dragon and turned on Arthur in Camelot's woods. Gone for now, at least.
Arthur relaxed somewhat. It was a comfort to him that the humble side of Merlin was not all an act. Despite his magic, Merlin was no leader. Arthur had been faced with the burden of leadership long enough to recognise someone caving under its pressure. It only took seconds for Merlin to crumble, proving he was partly what Arthur had always thought him to be: a reactionary. Merlin was uncertain until conflict smacked him in the face. He was not the kind of man who would ever lust for the throne of any kingdom.
This was good. But it was also bad. Good because it meant Merlin wasn't the ambitious, cold-hearted, and terrifying leader his father feared would one day rise up against Camelot.
Bad because it meant Merlin was, to some extent, still the person Arthur had come to care for and trust. And Arthur still didn't know what to do about that.
Merlin made a noise that sounded like a cross between a distressed sigh and a wounded gasp. "Can... can I think about it for a moment?"
He addressed the question at Arthur, but Arthur merely shrugged. He gestured to Cian. "Up to him."
Cian scrutinised Arthur at this, but Arthur had no trouble keeping his face a passive mask. He was growing rather good at it.
Desperation swam in Merlin's features. He swiveled back to the Druid.
"Think on it," Cian answered. His expression softened as he addressed Merlin, his tone growing smooth and soothing. It made Arthur's skin crawl. "Discuss. I appreciate a man who does not act rashly."
Merlin's sigh of relief shook his whole body. Still loosely clutching Arthur's sword, he hightailed it out of the cave with the red cape billowing behind him. Arthur pushed off his boulder to follow, but lingered.
Cian's calm stare dissipated when Merlin fled. His now-frosty gaze settled on Arthur with disapproval. "For once, I don't know what you are playing at, Arthur Pendragon."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And does that bother you?"
"Perhaps."
"Hm." Arthur smirked just a little before turning and exiting the cave.
~O~
Merlin was busy pacing the top edge of the slope outside when Arthur emerged, dragging Arthur's good sword carelessly in the mud behind him. "What was that?" he exploded as Arthur moved out of the cave shadows. He brandished the blade in Arthur's direction, sending flecks of mud everywhere. "What is this?"
He gestured to Arthur's cape at this, and Arthur sighed. He was not looking forward to this part. In their last one-on-one conversation, Arthur was very open with Merlin. This time, he could not be. This time, he was bolstering a lie—a situation Merlin could not know was of Arthur's making.
With a deep breath, he stalked angrily up the slope.
"Don't look at me," he snapped, ripping his weapon back from Merlin's hands. He pointed the tip between Merlin's eyes, but quickly lowered it. "You were the one jumping in front of my sword."
Merlin's face hardened. "We gain no information by slaughtering them."
"I disagree. We gain a lot if we take a few captives."
"Captives your father will eventually execute!"
"Maybe, but orders are orders, Merlin."
"And your orders are to kill peaceful people—people who aren't even living on Camelot's land." Merlin's eyes were wide and wild with panic, and Arthur was strangely mesmerised by the thoughts whirling behind them. After all, Arthur was threatening his kin, and he was making Merlin an active participant in it. "This—we are on Cenred's land. This could start a war, Arthur."
"It could," Arthur agreed. "But they are harbouring information that may outweigh that risk. They didn't listen to our demands, and we warned them."
"But what if Oliver lied?" Merlin looked like he was on brink of crying. "What if they really don't know anything? What if—what if he's gone to Cenred, and his men are on their way? Then what?"
"Then we'll have to deal with it." Arthur sighed, and his fatigue was not an act. "Merlin, as crown prince, I cannot just abstain from difficult situations. I try to think them through, but at the end of the day, a call needs to be made—and quickly. For better or worse, that decision is yours now."
And with that, he tried to turn and leave, but Merlin made a sound like a strangled crow. "Arthur!"
"What?" Arthur roared, swiveling back to face him. Even his own anger surprised him. "I made my decision, Merlin! You stopped me from carrying it out. You decided on that. You made me look weak, and I had to act. Clearly, these sorcerers think nothing of me and my knights, but they seem to care about common folk, and you're the only one I have on hand. I made a split second decision. Maybe you—I don't know. Maybe you can get something out of them I can't."
Merlin's lower lip trembled. He shook his head. "I don't think I can."
"Well, then you have your answer, don't you?" Arthur hated how harsh he sounded, but it was necessary. "It's your verdict, Merlin. Try, or don't try. It doesn't matter to me. Not as long as we return to Camelot with something. Emrys needs to be found, and Camelot's safety matters the most."
"You can't be serious." Merlin's voice cracked. "You can't—you can't seriously be putting this up to me."
Arthur rubbed at his eyes. "Look, Merlin, I don't like it any more than you do. But I made my choice. I'm not backing out now. That will look even worse, but please, take you time!" His tone, which had bordered on sarcasm, now leaned into it fully. "It's not like the longer we stay here, the more chance we have of being ambushed by Cenred's men!"
In the hour since they'd arrived at the cave, Merlin's expression had gone from convicted to terrified to shattered. His shoulders slumped as he crouched on the slope, slowing sitting down on the edge. "Why can't we just leave?" he asked, his voice almost at a whisper. "We could just… go. Uther doesn't have to know we spared them."
Arthur gave Merlin a weak smile. Wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple? "The knights are here, Merlin," he reminded. "I am their future king. I must be seen to uphold the law, but you… I suppose you can do whatever you want. If you want to run away, go. I won't stop you."
And with that, Arthur turned on his heel and slid down the slope, stalking back into the cave. He drew a rattling breath as the moonlight faded behind him, stopping for a second in the darkness of the cave entrance to recollect himself.
Well, he'd done it. Administered the trial. It wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it playing out, but it had worked more or less the same. Merlin would be forced to make his choice between a group of sorcerers that trusted him and the clear commands of Camelot's king.
Now all that remained was the fallout.
