Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, his property, his friends or his enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Cenred's hospitality is certainly better than his inhospitality, Merlin muses. The chambers he has been brought to are, if not sumptuous, comfortable and warm. From the window he can see the sun high in the sky and he estimates it to be around midday. He can see the fields leading away to the foot of the hills, although mountain might be a better description. The rugged outcrops seem somehow fitting to the kingdom.
He sighs and turns away from the tantalising view of freedom and sits at the table, laden with enough bread, ham and fruit to feed an entire village. Picking up a pear he turns it over in his hand before taking a bite of the sweet fruit. He hadn't realised how hungry he has become but as the juice slides easily down, the flesh sticks in his throat, thoughts of Arthur flooding his head.
He lays the bitten produce on the table before him, watching as the white inners slowly decay, turning yellow and dry. He hasn't seen Arthur since the guards lifted him gently from the dungeon floor and carried him away to Cenred's physician for attention and despite the king's assurances the prince is in good hands, Merlin wishes he were with him. Cenred, however, was adamant he replenish himself ahead of an impending council meeting, the purpose of which seems to be to plot Uther's downfall and the consequent overthrow of Camelot.
There is a knock at the door and Merlin, unaccustomed to such courtesies, starts. Cenred enters with little ceremony and stalks up to the table.
"I trust you're well rested," he begins. "The court is assembling and we should be on our way."
"How's Arthur?" Merlin asks, unwilling to go anywhere until he's received the assurances he wants.
"He's well," Cenred answers after a pause which Merlin doesn't like. "He's being cared for."
"I want to see him," the warlock demands, standing up and pushing the chair away, ignoring the way it scrapes along the ground.
Cenred dips his head, a parody of deference Merlin thinks, and then looks up, his eyes devoid of any emotion. "I'm afraid that won't be possible at the moment. Drudwyn is healing him as we speak and has left instructions that the prince needs total rest and quiet. You'll see him as soon as he is well enough to receive visitors."
Something about the king's tone of voice doesn't sit right with the warlock and he decides he needs to see his master, regardless of what Escetia's physician has to say about it. Although, on reflection Merlin isn't even sure Drudwyn is a physician. He was certainly doing something to Arthur in the throne room that has no place in the medical books.
Cenred is moving to the door, clearly expecting Merlin to follow him and the warlock wonders whether now is the time to dig his heels in and insist on seeing the prince. He's been protecting Arthur for such a long time but it's always been instinctual, spur of the moment, live or die action. He's not really had to think about it before, never had to come up with a scheme, a plan of action. It feels alien and daunting to him.
He's startled from his musing by Cenred clearing his throat in a meaningful way. "Shall we?" the king asks, motioning to the door with his arm in a friendly fashion but Merlin doesn't miss the way his hand rests on his sword so he simply nods and follows Cenred down countless corridors and passageways. He wonders if his room is the furthest from the council chambers for a reason and tries to remember the various doors and stairs and turrets they pass on the way.
The king seems to prefer to keep his political affairs separate to his royal duties and the council meets in a small anteroom to the king's personal chambers. The room, Merlin notes, is set out for business, not comfort. The table is bare and the chairs surrounding it are occupied by Escetia's nobles and although the warlock vaguely remembers a few of them from the throne room and dungeons, only Rience is instantly recognisable.
The king's right hand man stands as Cenred and Merlin enter, eyeing Merlin in a way that makes the sorcerer altogether uncomfortable. He nods deferentially to Cenred and gets straight to the point.
"Camelot is complacent, my lord," he informs the court with a sly look at Merlin out of the corner of his eye and Merlin can see the man smirking, enjoying the warlock's discomfort. He clearly has a long way to go before he believes Merlin to be a friend to Escetia. "Uther does nothing about the ransom demand. It seems he cares little for his son and heir."
Merlin feels his blood run cold. He had really, truly, believed Uther would send an army out after Arthur. For himself he expects nothing. The king has always been blatantly dismissive of servants but for Arthur? He would have wagered his life's earnings, such as they are, that the prince would be the one thing Uther would lay down his own life for.
Cenred laughs at the news. "You hear that, Merlin?" he asks. "Now is the time for us to strike at the very heart of Camelot. The king and his knights will fall at the first battle." He makes his way to the head of the table, leaving Merlin standing uncertainly at the foot, and sits, leaning back casually into his seat. "And with your magic there will be no stopping us. Camelot will be mine."
Merlin's stomach is churning so much he's surprised the assembled noblemen don't hear him. He wants to be sick and the duplicity he's committing makes him feel even worse.
"How do you intend to do that?" he enquires, innocent curiosity lacing his question. "Uther won't surrender without a fight." He allows himself a moment of satisfaction. His words are true but nothing Cenred doesn't already know.
"But we have you, my traitorous little sorcerer," Cenred gloats. "You are the last thing Uther will be expecting and with his naïve rejection of sorcery he will have no defence against it. There is nothing to stop us being victorious."
Rience coughs tactfully, gaining his king's attention. "My lord," he begins, giving Merlin another look that chills the warlock to the bone. "We must tread carefully."
"You worry too much, old friend." Cenred turns to Rience and smiles. "We have the perfect decoy. Uther will welcome the magician if not with open arms, at least without suspicion. The boy will be able to walk freely around Camelot, open the gateway for us and we will have the element of surprise, might and magic on our side."
Merlin lets his head drop, gaze falling on the ground, unwilling to meet anyone's eye. The king has outlined a plan perfect in its simplicity and Merlin has no doubt he can execute it with little trouble. Gaius will see straight through him but Camelot's physician is an old man, a practitioner of magic in his time and no matter how strong the bond he holds with Uther, news of Arthur will win in the king's eyes.
It could work, Merlin decides. It will work.
He'll make it work.