A/n: Hi guys! Sorry it has been forever. I actually PMed my lovely reviewers (Aaronna, DwaejiTokki, and CaughtInTheRa1n) a month ago saying I'd have it up two weeks at the latest. Sorry guys I lied. Special thanks to those guys for motivating me to at least crunch out a couple hundred words before bed for the last few weeks or so. Thanks to all of you who are continuing reading this, and I hope you enjoy this (horrifically late) chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, and I am certainly not profiting off this endeavor. All mistakes are my own.
A Criminal's Burial
Chapter 4
Stretching skyward, Arthur drew a deep breath of the fresh morning air and cleared the stale cobwebs laced in his lungs. Though the sun pricked at his revirginized eyes, Arthur shut them and basked in the sun's warmth as it smoothed away his chill. When his muscles cramped at the strain, he eased them back down with a sigh. He was still exhausted as ever, a deep-seated weariness weighing him down pace by stubborn pace. At least he was now allowed outside. Anything to escape that dreary little room with those dismal nagging thoughts.
Arthur strode through the bustling courtyard towards a small clearing just outside the gates. He swam upstream in a torrent of indistinguishable faces, trudging through a wash of gnarled voices and distorted daily commotion. The guards gave him an odd look as he passed, but whatever expression he was wearing apparently inclined them against inquiring.
Now outside the castle main, Arthur paused. There was not another soul in sight between here and the treeline. After pacing the short span, Arthur slumped against the first sizable trunk of the bunch and stared into the forest, vaguely wondering if he was facing the direction it happened.
His hand immediately flew to his full pocket, automatically reassuring himself before he had the opportunity to process his panic. The neckerchief was still there.
Closing his eyes without removing his hand, Arthur's head lulled to a shoulder. Blacks and oranges danced beneath his eyelids as the wind waved branches in salutation to the sun. Stronger boughs creaked, bending to the wind's will; dry grass rustled, painting itself in whorling swirls; and the earth hummed, reverberating with the life it reared. All nature's majesty abound, and all of it fell unintelligible against the king's senses.
Swaddled within his own body, he barely noticed as his skin colored or his borrowed clothes chafed. He—an acclaimed and confident king—was reduced to little more than a ball of obscure unease. Everything about this entire situation was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he thought as he rolled his head into the tree.
The shock more so than the pain jarred him into an unwilling alertness, and he huffed in weak protest. He was tired of thinking about this and its utter wrongness. He was tired of sleeping for exhaustion's dreamless sake. He was tired of waking up with Merlin's name bubbling up on his lips. He was tired of lamenting anew upon waking. He was just so tired.
Wrenching out a strangled laugh, Arthur closed his eyes once more, wishing he could just get some sleep. Sleep where he wasn't too exhausted to dream, but sleep with a dream that did not include the man who had constantly been at his side for the last five years.
Five years, Arthur thought, in the last five years he had never really been alone. Even when the servant was out on his occasional tavern benders, Arthur always had his knights, his advisers, and for a long time, his father and Morgana. Spare a few moments of stolen solitude, he was never alone.
Yet no one was here.
Eyes opening, the king examined his surroundings. Any other day, he would probably formally consider this Staunton's land and his estate, but today, today he was just in an unfamiliar forest near an unfamiliar castle, full of unfamiliar faces. He was utterly alone, alone and deprived of his sole source of nearly constant companionship: Merlin.
Drawing the neckerchief from his pocket, Arthur spread it across a thigh, hand smoothing it out as his eyes raked over the scrap in the light of day. He thought of all the times he had teased the other man over this very article of clothing, how Merlin would snip something sharp in return, leaving Arthur sputtering a dull "shut up, Merlin".
The wind rustled once more, kicking up dead debris and flushing them against the incriminating silence. With the wind came voices, and Arthur perked and turned towards the direction. From his place just on the edge of the forest, he could spot a patrol returning, its men joking and shouting as they jostled and shoved one another from aback their horses.
The noise was a familiar one, and Arthur felt himself drawn to the sound and the normalcy it supplied. When Arthur went undetected as they passed him, he was slightly concerned for the men's observation skills. Any lax security in his lord's lands could mean a hole in Camelot's defenses, the eventual loss of his own kingdom. He would have to talk to Staunton himself when he had the opportunity.
A horse whinnied, and Arthur shot up, setting himself to follow the patrol at a distance. How else had he even gotten this deep into Camelot, were he not traveling on horseback. Perhaps, if he were lucky, his own horse would be in the stable. Once he had reentered the castle boundary, he saw the men hand their reigns off to a couple of boys, who led the horses in the opposite direction.
As the raucous knights jostled off towards the castle, Arthur spared them no second thought and started after the two boys, who were each leading four horses a piece. The horses, for their part, trotted merrily along with little objection, and the boys slowly led them through the congestion with a practiced ease.
Arthur darted ahead to catch up with them, cutting in close the the taller albeit thinner of the two boys, who was clad in a tawny jacket and topped with a mess of unruly black hair. Startled, the king stared just long enough to make the boys stop and ask, "Yes? Sir?"
He shook his head and looked at the other boy, a blond, instead. Clearing his throat, he simply asked, "Would you happen to have my horse?"
"Your horse, sir?" the blond parroted, shrugging towards his partner, who shrugged back and looked at Arthur like he was some nutter on the street.
Arthur sighed and rubbed his temples. In the citadel it was rare he had to bite out precisely who he was. "Yes, a chestnut stallion. White socks, a stripe here"—Arthur stroked from his hairline to the tip of his nose—"Surely someone would have told you you were housing the king's horse?"
"The king's horse," the two muttered as they looked up at Arthur, mouths agape and stuttering apologizes.
With a shake of his head and a noncommittal wave of his hand, Arthur continued, "No need, just, have you seen my horse?"
The brunet, quicker to regain his composure, replied, "Did it come with another, sire?"
"A dun one? Black mane? Bit rude?" the king shot out.
"Those two"—the brunet sighed—"Are terrors. Separate 'em and they nip at the others an' make this ruckus—"
"Yeah, so we gave up. Sep'rating 'em, that is," the blond finished. "Figur'd all those scars? They'd been friends a long time."
Arthur's face curled into a deep frown for a moment, and the boys interpreted it as he—the freaking King of Camelot—was displeased that they had allowed his horse to get even more nicked up. As they began their second round of apologies, Arthur stopped them with an outstretched hand, effectively silencing them. "No, that's what they did to each other. Pick at each other, scars for...from one another. That's what they do to each other. I would rather they at least remain together." Glancing at the knights' horses, shifting in place, Arthur finished, "Could I see to them, when you return them"—he gestured towards the stirring animals—"to the stable? And tell me, did my horses return with saddlebags by chance?"
When Arthur began walking, the boys took it as the go ahead to resume their trek towards the stables, and soon were leading the way. "Yes sire, Lord Staunton said not to touch 'em," the brunet replied after coaxing his horses forward.
"And how many were there?" he persisted, eyeballing the other horses and their loads.
"Two, Sire. On the dun one. There was a crossbow and some bolts, too."
Arthur's eyes widened. If he had intended to go to Staunton's land, he would have brought far more than a mere two saddlebags. Hell, he would have brought more men. Far more than Merlin. What sort of circumstances would make him venture so far out so ill-prepared?
"After you've taken care of these horses, and I have seen my own," Arthur propositioned, "There are two silver coins for each of you, one before, one after, if you bring those bags up to my quarters."
The boys nodded emphatically, and Arthur could tell the two picked up their pace, itching to fill their hands and pockets with coins (or, in the least, hot, sticky sweets purchased from the market). When they finally reached their destination, the boys set to the tasks at hand after pointing Arthur to a pair of stalls at the end of the stable.
As Arthur made his way down the aisle, he first saw his own horse, Llamrei, who was far more interested in the horse beside him. From over their short separation, his and Merlin's horse prodded at one another. Upon noticing his owner, Llamrei nickered and clacked impatiently in his stall, presenting his head for Arthur to stroke. Smiling, Arthur stroked his own horse as Merlin's prodded at his clothing, searching for some sort of treat.
Patting the horse's head before pushing him away, Arthur said, "I'm sorry, I don't have anything for you, Bunny." Laughing a bit at saying the animal's name aloud, Arthur remembered Merlin's face when he insisted upon keeping the name the previous owner had assigned. Merlin had claimed that it was to keep the animal from being confused, but Arthur sincerely believed it was Merlin's amusement at calling a stallion 'Bunny'. Though the knights had heckled him over the choice, his servant had laughed it off. Before long, the horse had proven his mean streak to just about everyone save Merlin, and they stopped joking about the horse entirely, praying that in doing so, they would receive less of his wrath.
Of course, that never worked. Even now, after being rebuked, Bunny pressed forward, trying to suss out any edibles from Arthur's clothing. Once the horse realized there was nothing for him, he huffed and backed up, choosing to stare at Arthur with his wide-set boring eyes, which were practically persecuting him for his poor preparation.
Llamrei, on the other hand, was far more content being stroked, and tilted his head into a particularly nice ear scratch. As the horse huffed in contentment, Arthur himself backed away, giving the horse two departing pats along his neck. Though Arthur was less inclined to talk to his horses like Merlin and many of his knights, the king felt it was imperative to assure them that he would return tomorrow (when they were leaving for Camelot) and that he was retiring to his chambers.
On his way out, he passed the boys and refreshed their interest in his errand by giving them each a coin. The boys eagerly nodded, telling him that they would bring those bags right up, as soon as they were done situating the knights' horses of course.
Upon arriving to his chamber, Arthur dropped into a chair near the unlit hearth. He felt lighter than he had before, pleased to see at least one shred of the Camelot that he loved, but his body still clenched, jaw locking, right hand clutching white-knuckled at the arm of his chair. There he sat, gazing towards the ashes until he cursed himself aloud. Ears ringing to conjure noise from silence, he propelled himself up, feeling a bit dizzy in the process. He forced himself forward, pacing rough uneven steps, stumbling only slightly until his vision focused.
As he rubbed at the angry scar on his temple, a knock reverberated throughout the room. Unwilling to waste another minute, the king threw open the door and hefted the weight of a saddle bag off the panting boy. After dropping the load on his bed, he awarded the blond boy with another coin. The boy, though winded from the trek with half a horse's burden, nodded and smiled, informing him that the other stable boy would be along shortly before he gave a short bow and darted in the opposite direction.
Closing the door behind him, Arthur flew to the bed, where he struggled with the belt clasping one of the bags shut. No thanks to his hands shaking from anticipation, he finally managed the task, and threw the flap back. A stench he knew to be rotten food washed over him. Eyes watering, Arthur walked over to the window, pushed it open, and took a few deep breaths. Arthur took one last fresh breath and held it as he returned to the bag, where he extracted a petrified and slightly molded loaf of bread. Tossing it aside, he braced himself for the removal of the worst offender: the cheese.
Turning his face, Arthur grabbed it and tried to bide back his gags. It reminded him of a toad in shape and color, only it was a toad that had the extreme misfortune of drying out. As his hand slipped over a particularly unpleasant texture, he flung it towards the bread, where it crumbled into large pieces against the stone floor. He briefly felt bad for the servants who would have to clean that up, but figured he was doing a public service by containing that smell to his room and not forcing half the town to smell it if he had thrown it out the window instead.
Once he was satisfied that the smell was no longer as much a threat, he returned to the pack, which Arthur learned had that disgusting cheese rot scent imbued in its fibers. Part of him hoped he would not have to burn the bag itself for its offensive odor. Bracing himself, Arthur continued emptying Merlin's saddle bag despite the stench, which he was beginning to ignore.
In the bag, the king found some dried meat (which he discarded in a similar fashion) as well as some coins and a change of his own clothing (which would definitely have to be burned). At the bottom were a few odds and ends, including a tinder box, flint, a knife, a blanket, and a miscellany of fishing supplies.
As he shoved that bag away from him, he heard another knock at the door. Upon venturing over and opening it, Arthur saw the brunet, who was winded, but pleased with his performance. Taking his load and dropping it on his bed, he turned to his coin purse, which he had left on the nightstand. "There is another copper in it for you if you remove that—er—mess," Arthur said, waving his hand in the direction of the rotten food, which was smelling up a corner of his room.
"Yes, Sire!" the boy chirped, mostly because he had yet to catch a whiff of that stench.
"And—uh—hold your breath," Arthur warned. "And take this"—he removed his own foul shirt from the first saddlebag and handed it to the boy—"You can dispose of it as you please."
The boy took the shirt and wasted no time scooping up the offensive food substances without a single complaint. Wadding them up and tying them within the material, he walked over Arthur and asked, "Will that be all, sire?"
Arthur wasted no time in giving the boy his coins. "How can you endure that?" he asked out of curiosity upon the boy's departure.
The boy turned around one last time, a cockeyed smile splitting his face as he quipped, "I work in the stables, sire." Without much further ado, the stable boy spun back around and swept out of the room, effectively ushering out the offensive odors.
Heart constricting for a moment, Arthur stared after the boy, one who could have been a younger version of his servant. With renewed fervor, he closed the door once more and set to the other saddlebag. He had an easier time removing the buckle this time, but a harder time pushing up the final flap. What if there was evidence of Merlin's treachery inside? What if there was nothing at all? What if this whole plan yielded no more answers than what he had earlier this morning?
Swallowing, he slowly opened it, and to his relief, this bag did not reek. This bag, however, did not even contain a single change of clothing. Merlin hadn't planned to be out long enough to require a change of clothing. How could Merlin have planned on betraying Arthur? One would think if you're going to betray your king in the middle of the woods, you might as well bring everything you own to quickly flee. There were no bed rolls, either, Arthur noted, but remembered Lewis saying they had found a camp set up for two. Perhaps Staunton's men had packed away the tents and things.
Beneath the blanket, Arthur found a small, old box, one that he had seen in Gaius's chambers many times before. It was all metal, battered by scratches, edges worn with age, and was corroded in a few places, likely as a result of some potions spilling over the years. Opening it, he first saw a folded letter, written in Merlin's slanted scrawl. The front only read "In case I am incapacitated and one of you clotpoles needs it for something (because quite frankly, it would be irresponsible of me to not leave this instructional letter with you lot running about)", and Arthur smiled. Within that second, he knew none of this could have possibly been Merlin's fault.
Though it was a relief, taking all the blame off his servant, Arthur sunk to the bed, clutching the unopened note. If Merlin's death wasn't Merlin's own fault, it was his. His mind searched for plausible explanations, arriving on various excuses of possession or maybe Arthur had somehow lost his sword during and attack and someone else delivered the final blow. He shook his head. No matter what, it was his fault. Merlin was his responsibility.
Chest tightening, Arthur carefully opened the letter, where he found diagrams of each plant the box contained as well as a few of plants that were useful and abundant throughout Camelot. Next to each picture were messy arrows, describing which parts to use and how to prepare them. However, the document wasn't wholly professional, given the fact that it was peppered with insults about the reader's intelligence and patience, insults Arthur was sure were directed at him.
Instead of taking offence, Arthur laughed long and hard. He laughed at how preposterous the word "clotpole" looked written, how casually Merlin can deploy "idiot", and the odd little notes like "do NOT eat this it tastes like socks". Why exactly Merlin knew what socks tasted like he would never know. Sobering, Arthur placed the letter next to him on the bed, realizing that such a letter was probably designed to not only potentially save someone's ass, but to provide Arthur or the knights with fodder to tease him upon awakening, to revert their social interactions to normalcy, no matter what happened.
Sighing, Arthur folded the letter along its original creases and moved to put the it back in the box, but withdrew, sliding the parchment into his pocket alongside the neckerchief instead. He patted it and rolled onto his right side, careful to avoid laying on the precious cargo in his pocket. Surrounded by the contents of the saddle bags, Arthur stared blankly towards the window as he felt his body sink deeper into the mattress, completely surrendering itself to gravity's embrace. Legs still half-dangling off the bed, Arthur blinked slowly, every blurry awakening more confused than the last, and drifted into a doze.
Tossing back and forth, images filled his mind, images he thought appeared too real to have been mere dreams. He saw Merlin, stabbed through, Excalibur extruding about half its length as the rest of it was driven deeply into the Earth below. Blue bleeding red, red against green, all lapped up and consumed by the Earth. Consumed, shredded, limb from limb. Arthur threw himself over with a gasp.
Awake and disoriented, Arthur briefly felt his head ache, pain radiating from his hairline to cheekbone, and a few of his left ribs gave a quick throb. Gritting his teeth, Arthur curled into himself, left hand clenching as it, too, cramped. His throat tightened and burned; he couldn't breathe. Panic consumed him for a brief moment before he sucked in a successful breath. The pain had departed as quickly as it had seized him, but he could still feel its residual ghosts worming throughout his body, carving out a space of their own to occupy.
Calming down, Arthur focused on his breaths, which felt cold and insubstantial in his hollow lungs. The parts of his body that had been momentarily stricken felt empty, lopsided. He was off-balance, and the only counterweight was now his grief and burden to bear.
As Lewis was readying himself for the journey ahead, a guard approached him in the crowded stables, looking a bit out of place as his eyes darted around the crowded space.
The guard, who had seen first hand what this so-called man of medicine could do, did not want to personally incur the man's wrath. Unfortunately, it was he who had literally drawn the short straw (out of the first pick, too, one would have thought it luck would have been better) and it was he who had to deliver the news. As Lewis made eye contact with him, shooting him a look that screamed 'get on with it', the guard looked around and proclaimed, "Sir, the boy. He's dead." With another glimpse around the room, he was satisfied that his announcement was a vague enough thing to announce to the court physician of all things, he looked back toward Lewis, anticipating instruction.
"Pity," Lewis deadpanned. "Throw him in with the others, I suppose. Fill it in come tomorrow. I have a feeling another will drop off by tonight."
The guard nodded and left with a 'yes sir' while Lewis hoped that the boy's information had at least been good. He did not want to have to waste more time in Camelot trying to figure out how exactly to smuggle in a small army. Figuring there was nothing more to do about it now, he set off to get the king ready to set off on the journey to the capital of their kingdom.
Upon awakening at some hour where the sun was just peaking out faint tendrils, Arthur tidied up his room, determined not to leave any useful shred of information behind (except with the expired food substances and an article of his own clothing, which the saddle boy had removed). He continued to pace until he settled down in front of the unlit hearth. What was he even supposed to say when he returned to Camelot? That Merlin was dead? When they asked, would he say he didn't know how? Would he lie, to give the others closure? Would he just insist that he didn't want to talk about it, only to endure berating about his own selfishness? What if they already knew? What if Staunton had relayed the information somehow? What if they all believed Merlin was a traitor?
No. No one could believe that, Arthur concluded, least of all the people who knew him.
Cursing his inability to remember, the king still debated on what to say, how to say it, but came back with nothing. His mind drifted to returning to Camelot himself, how returning would be. Though he always knew Merlin was dear to him, he had never expected to take his death quite so hard. He didn't know how he would return to the place that held memories of all these years, the place that held the people who loved him; he didn't know, even if he planned, that he could announce Merlin's death without wavering, without succumbing to emotion. He didn't know how to answer their questions. He just didn't know.
After what seemed like ages of fruitless contemplation, Lewis retrieved him and brought him to Lord Staunton's own chambers, sending servant boys to take care of the bags Arthur insisted on taking. Just as Arthur remembered him, Lord Staunton was a stout man, thick-shouldered but burdened with a belly that sung more of drink and feast than it did the tournaments of his youth. With exception of a few dark wisps that straggled behind the back of his head like a crown of laurel that didn't quite complete across the forehead, the majority of Lord Staunton's hair was the hair above his lip, a thick patch that extended widely across his face.
Arthur shook his hand and thanked him for his hospitality and Lord Staunton assured him that it was not a bother at all, having such an esteemed guest, no matter the circumstance. Pleasantries aside, the king commented, "The other day I followed your patrol a good distance without discovery. Do you believe you have the resources and men you need to protect this land?"
Staunton's eyebrows shot up a comical span as he assured, "Do not worry, my king. My men assured me that they saw you at a distance, but chose instead to give you the space. We are more than able to protect our portion of your kingdom. In fact, we are confident that we have the capacity to fight against her enemies as well, should you need our assistance in the future."
"Good." Arthur nodded. "And you plan on staying on my hospitality for two weeks upon returning to Camelot, is that correct?"
"Yes, sire, unless, of course, that is too long—"
Cutting him off, Arthur insisted, "Nonsense, I have taken advantage of your own for nearly the same length of time. You are more than welcome as my guest."
"Excellent." Staunton smiled widely, a glint in his eye.
Shifting for a moment, Arthur felt uncomfortable, but did not quite understand why. Perhaps it was that smile, perhaps it was a flash of some other face that he had not seen long enough to understand. Figuring his best option was returning to Camelot, the king suggested it, and the two set off towards the stables, where stable boys (including the two who had originally delivered him the saddle bags) had their horses prepared for them.
Upon Merlin's horse, Arthur saw the two saddle bags he had sent off this morning as well as another pack that he had recognized as the one that contains both bed rolls, which must have been collected by the knights and not the stable boys. The horse was tied to Llamrei's saddle, but didn't seem too upset when Llamrei occasionally swotted at him with his tail. Approaching the horses, he gave them both a long stroke before mounting his own.
Before leaving, Arthur patted his pocket, which was still full, and confirmed that everything he had prior to arriving was here as well. Though everyone in the party (Lord Staunton, Lewis, and four nameless knights) said that yes, he did indeed have everything, Arthur still looked behind him as they began their day-long journey to Camelot's citadel.
The smaller the town's walls appeared, the more unease settle in Arthur's stomach. Stealing glances at the walls behind the two knights that were covering his rear, Arthur couldn't shake his anxiousness upon returning home. Instinctively, he turned a bit to his right, where Bunny familiarly clopped beside him. Instead of seeing the rider that usually settled his concern, Bunny's disappointed eyes bore back into him. Immediately averting his gaze, Arthur stole a final glance at the walls before they disappeared into the horizon.
He was sure he had forgotten something.
End of Chapter 4
A/n: STILL NOT A DEATHFIC! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, even though it was just about 92% wallowing and me setting up for future chapters (hopefully you thought that was a good amount of wallowing and not horrifically OOC for Arthur). I've pretty much got it figured out, so if you've got any theories, I'd still love to hear them. If you like my shitty imagery, let me know! Are you upset that oh my god when are they finally going see each other it's been four chapters woman, GET WITH IT, well, tell me that, too! If you're in the latter camp, all I can say is good things are soon to come. Drop me a line to sequester what little free time I have at home...Seduce me from my studies even! I have pieces of the next couple chapters written, so please encourage me to shovel them together in a timely manner! I really don't have much free time these days between full-time school and work and stress and illness, but I'll try to scrape my life together and I promise I'll try my best! Thanks guys!
~gecko
