At the sound of a hesitant knock on his chamber doors, Arthur aimed his empty inkwell, timing his throw to land the moment the door opened. He could not afford to tolerate Merlin's usual laziness today.
However, the Prince was horrified to see that it was Gwen, and not Merlin, who had to duck to avoid being hit by the offending object. Gwen froze in her crouched position, apparently trying to process what had just happened. Behind her, Merlin, holding Arthur's breakfast tray, smiled.
"Morning to you too, sire. It's a good thing you're already dressed. You have guests."
"Yes, I can see that, Merlin. If only I had a servant to help me get ready in the mornings. Before any guests arrived in my chambers."
Merlin pushed through the door and set down the tray on top of the document Arthur had been reading. The servant moved to set the drinks and dishware in their proper places, one of the few parts of his job he tended to get right most days.
"Oh, don't worry so much. It's only Gwen. We like Gwen—she's not as stuffy as the rest of court."
"Right. Well, while I'm always glad to see her, is there a particular reason you're brought Gwen to my chambers before I've even had breakfast?"
At the reminder of food, the Prince picked up a fork, but then paused, remembering the discussions of increased food rationing at the last Council meeting.
"And have you both had breakfast?"
This prompted a warm smile from Merlin.
"Yes, sire. Gaius made sure we both ate before we left."
Knowing Merlin used Gaius as an excuse whenever he was lying, Arthur quirked an eyebrow and looked to Gwen for verification. This provoked a fake outraged gasp from Merlin, who was now dramatically hunched over and clutching his chest like it was in pain.
Stifling a laugh behind her hand, Gwen nodded.
"Yes, sire, we've eaten."
Arthur nodded, feeling better about beginning his own meal. He took a minute to chew, watching as Merlin and Gwen entered a silent argument over who would have to be the one to tell him about whatever they were scheming. Arthur bet on Gwen winning and was unashamed to admit he felt quite smug when he was proven right. He watched his servant flashed Gwen a betrayed look before turning back to the Prince.
"Arthur, Gwen has some great ideas about how we could better deploy the Knights to the lower town. Since she lives and works there, she knows exactly where to send the Knights so they'll be working where they're most needed."
The Prince glanced at Gwen, who nodded but did not look particularly confident to be doing so. It was clear that this had been Merlin's idea, but, still, Arthur trusted Gwen to know best on this matter. He decided to try to settle her nerves some.
"That sounds like a lovely idea. Gwen, maybe we could go on a walk through the lower town, and you could show me where you think our resources are most needed?"
She nodded, somewhat frantically.
"Yes, of course, sire. I would be honored, I mean, not that—"
"It's not an interrogation, Gwen. You live in the lower town. I'm sure you're more than capable of showing me what the people there need most."
Her shoulders lost some of their tension. From behind her, Merlin smiled at Arthur approvingly and even shot him a subtle thumb's-up. Arthur barely managed to avoid visibly rolling his eyes.
"I have training and then lunch with the King. I'll summon you after?"
Gwen smiled. "Sounds great, sire."
At this, Merlin cut in. "Could I meet you at lunch, Arthur? I'd promised I'd help show Gwen some splinting techniques today."
Normally, Arthur would come up with any excuse to force Merlin to attend and humiliate himself at the Knight's training, but this was for a good cause.
"That's fine. Meet me at the main dining hall before noon. I'm sure I'll survive without you both until then."
With a bow and a curtsy, the two servants excused themselves. Arthur followed soon after, eager to work out the rest of his anxiety with some intense workouts sure to making even his best knights regret ever being born. Finally realizing exactly what exercises he wanted to run today, Arthur smiled.
Gwaine was going to kill him.
Training was fantastic, which was a blessing, what with lunch afterward being such a complete disaster.
Rather than Morgana, Leon had been invited to join Arthur and the King in the main dining room, confirming to Arthur that this was a meeting, rather than a family meal. Clearly, Leon and Arthur were the closest thing to a council the King would tolerate right now—a privilege they could afford to waste.
As expected, as soon as the proper greetings had been exchanged, the King laid out his reasons for summoning them.
"The dragon's attack is only the latest in a series of escalating attacks against the very foundation of the kingdom. Clearly, I have become lax on the issue of magic. I fear our people have forgotten the cost of turning to the dark arts, and now they are learning their lesson the hard way. Things cannot continue in this manner. I will not be so merciful as I was in the first Purge—We cannot risk a further resurgence. Like weeds, magic must be pulled from Camelot by the very roots."
Father's personal servant, who normally blended into the background so seamlessly that Arthur had never even learned his name, jumped in to take the wine from Merlin, who had been preparing to refill Arthur's goblet. Arthur thought this strange until he noticed the shaking in his own servants' hands. Then, he only felt grateful he had been spared Merlin's attempt at refilling his drink, which was a risky endeavor on his servant's best days.
Still, Arthur made a note to give Merlin some time off. He had clearly been working far too hard with Gaius in his off-hours, and he looked terrible.
Merlin gave the other servant a grateful look as he handed off the wine. With his newly freed hands, he went to serve Arthur and the King their main course of stew. The sound of the metal bowl settling on the wooden table in front of Arthur reminded him that the King was still speaking.
"But recruiting the best witchfinders will take time. Until then, you will deploy all your nights towards the search for the fiend who released the dragon and rooting out any further magical attacks our enemies may be planning."
This brought Arthur up short.
"The Knights are currently helping rebuild the lower town, which—"
The King's look turned dark.
"Which is why I am now telling you to reassign them. While the lower town does need assistance, this is far more important. Our efforts will be wasted if we cannot prevent another magical attack from destroying any progress we make in rebuilding our city. Once the knights have caught the main culprit and the witchfinders begin their hunt, we can redeploy some of your men back to volunteering in the reconstruction efforts."
From behind his father, Merlin sent Arthur a significant look. Arthur could not risk returning it, but Leon spoke up for him anyway.
"Sire, if I may, I fear that with the upcoming winter—"
"I'm afraid, Sir Leon, that this is not up for discussion, and I do not appreciate being challenged on the matter."
Leon bowed his head. The three continued to eat in tense silence, surrounded by only the sounds of spoons scraping bowls.
Eventually, the King spoke up again, sounding somewhat exasperated.
"I can tell you both feel strongly about this. If you must, keep twenty men working in the lower town. You may choose which twenty that will be, but we cannot afford to spare any more than that."
At this, Arthur put on his best court smile.
"Thank you, sire. That is quite generous."
"Yes, well, do not let it distract you from your main goal, which must be capturing the sorcerers infecting our kingdom."
"Of course, sire."
Arthur finished his meal as quickly as etiquette would allow. He suspected Leon was doing the same. With a look to confirm his First Knight had nothing left to say, he pushed his chair back and stood.
"I'm going to tour the lower town this evening. To take stock of the state of things myself."
Uther did not seem particularly impressed with this plan but had apparently decided the conversation had dragged on long enough.
"Very good."
And with a nod, the Prince, Knight, and Servant were dismissed.
Arthur wished he could slam the door behind him like Morgana was known to do. Merlin always handled the doorways for him, though. Plus, he reminded himself, he could not risk the consequences to Camelot for a petty moment of anger.
What a shame.
Merlin kept silent as they traveled back to Arthur's chambers, knowing from the tension in Arthur's shoulders that his usual cheek would not be tolerated right then.
Of course, Merlin was not feeling particularly emotionally stable at the moment either, so he supposed he could forgive the prince for his moodiness. As soon as he closed the doors to Arthur's chambers behind them, he spoke.
"You can't let him do this."
Of course, Arthur knew exactly what he meant.
"He is the King. I do not let him do anything."
Merlin leaned his head against the door.
"But you're the prince. Surely you can—"
The Prince cut him off.
"Surely nothing. I have my orders. It is not my place to question them."
Oh, this was ridiculous. He turned to face the Prince directly.
"Of course, it is! You're the prince!"
From the Prince's face, that was exactly the worst thing to say.
"You're a fool if that's how you think this works."
Arthur himself turned away, walking over to his window and looking to the courtyard below, but Merlin would not be ignored.
"You know your people will suffer."
A huff. "They already suffer. We will do our best to help—"
"With only twenty men? What help could they possibly be?"
"More than the people would receive otherwise."
Merlin took a deep breath, debating his next words carefully.
"It's not enough."
"We will make it enough."
"How? It's not possible. People are homeless, and when winter fully hits—"
"Enough. These are terrible times, but we will do our best to help our people as much as we can." Gods, Arthur was speaking to him like he did to councilors he disliked but needed to appease. Merlin hated it.
"It won't be enough. You know it won't."
"No, I cannot know that, and neither can you." Turning away from the window to watch Merlin out of the corner of his eye, the Prince assessed Merlin the same way he looked at a sparring opponent, with a glare only slightly less deadly than the looks he gave his enemies in battle.
"Yes, you can. I saw you at the table. You know this plan is stupid—"
"Careful, you are speaking of the King. You will show him the respect he deserves."
As if that was the sort of thing that would convince Merlin to be quiet.
"I'll show him respect when he earns it."
The prince slammed the side of his fist against the wall.
"Stop! I do not want to hear another word on this."
Matching the Prince's louder tone, Merlin marched forward.
"No, we need a better plan! We need more men! What happens if we fail?
"Then we fail!"
Merlin halted in his path forward, genuinely shocked to hear such a thing.
"That's it? 'Then we fail?' Do you plan to live your entire life without once arguing for what you believe in? Smiling, nodding, agreeing with whatever the King says, even when you know his decisions will hurt your people? And you call yourself a prince? This is your father we're talking about. You can stand up to him, or, gods, just talk to him properly for once in your life!"
He was truly yelling now, and the sounds echoed harshly through the surrounding chambers, made louder by the Prince's responding silence. When the Prince finally did speak again, his voice was completely calm. He spoke hardly louder than a whisper, but Merlin still heard every syllable.
"Oh? And what would you know of what it means to stand up to one's father, having never had one of worth yourself?"
Oh.
Merlin had reached his limit. He shut his mouth with an audible click, turning towards the fireplace and hoping the angle was enough to hide the look on his face. He clasped his hands behind his back, focusing on biting his tongue and trying not to break down before he was dismissed. No need to dig himself an even deeper grave—
Merlin physically winced before he could finish the thought. Because, of course, the first time the Prince chose to mock Merlin for being a bastard would be just days after he had buried his father in a shallow, hastily hand-dug grave.
It made sense that this was happening now. It might have even been funny, if it did not hurt so much.
The Prince always did have perfect timing in a fight.
When he spoke with servants from visiting kingdoms, Merlin loved to brag that the Prince could identify any enemy's weakness in a matter of seconds. He had been referring to his sword fighting, of course, but it made sense that the Prince would be able to wield words in the same way. Merlin had not been prepared to have the full weight of the Prince's wrath turned against him, but, probably, he should have been.
Still determinedly staring into the fireplace, Merlin watched as a nearly burnt log finally split in two, sending a shower of sparks as it crashed toward the grate. It made a satisfying sound as the fire flared from the shifting pressure.
There was too much fire in Camelot these days, but it might have been nice, Merlin thought, if he could have given Balinor a funeral pyre. Well, maybe not a pyre, but some sort of proper grave. Even just a quick funeral. Something to say goodbye to the father he had met just days before he died. Merlin desperately wished he knew the final rights of the Old Religion, but he hadn't had time to ask Gaius about them, and—
Oh. He was going to have to tell his mother Balinor was dead, wasn't he?
This was not a chain of thought Merlin could afford to have in the Prince's chambers. He reminded himself of the Prince's words—that no man was worth his tears—and told himself that they were a comfort. He swore to himself he would be as strong as the knights, who saw people they loved die almost daily but never seemed to be as affected as Merlin was now.
Eventually, Merlin could hear the Prince back away from the window. He continued to stare unseeingly at the fireplace. He would need to grab some more wood for it again soon. It was too cold to risk letting the fire die down.
The Prince cursed under his breath as he finally faced Merlin, something he did rarely enough to startle the warlock into turning away from the fire.
The Prince looked stricken. The moment he saw the Prince's face, Merlin felt his anger, which just moments ago had seemed so ready to spill over into something terrible, wash away into numbness.
"Christ, Merlin. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's just that—I mean, you're right. Only twenty men. How can we possibly…"
The Prince signed and rubbed his right eye for a long moment. No longer angry, he just seemed incredibly tired. When he looked back at Merlin, he seemed to shrink in on himself, as much as a man as muscular as the Prince could ever be said to shrink.
"Are you ok?"
At the change in the Prince's tone, Merlin tried his best to also straighten into a somewhat less-defensive posture. He nodded, distantly aware it was a rather harsh, jerky motion.
"Fine. It's fine. Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter."
The Prince's frown deepened.
"You're crying."
This was news to Merlin. He quickly reached up to touch his cheek and was shocked to see his fingers come away wet. Merlin quietly repeated the Prince's curse and hurriedly tried to scrub away the evidence from his face. The Prince allowed him a moment to collect himself.
"I'm sorry."
Merlin did his best to smile at this, but his eyes were still stinging, so he suspected the final look was rather hollow. He reminded himself he could break down once he was no longer at work, standing before the Prince of Camelot and speaking treason against his king.
"You said that already. I don't think you've ever apologized to me before, and now twice in one day. If I didn't already, now I know we must be living in strange times, sire."
The Prince did not accept his attempt at deflection like he usually did.
"I should not have said that. I know to have grown up—" he trailed off. Normally perfectly articulate, the Prince seemed unable to find words to describe the plight of poor bastard peasants like himself. After watching him struggle for a moment, Merlin took pity.
"We were fighting. You're under a lot of pressure. I know you didn't mean it."
He still could not bring himself to look Arthur properly in the eye.
The Prince let out a heavy sigh. He scrubbed his hands down his face.
"Why don't you take the rest of the day off. Rest. Help Gaius. Whatever you need to get done."
Unsure if this dismissal was an apology or excuse to get him out of the room, Merlin bowed.
"What time should I wake you tomorrow, sire?"
Using the Prince's title this much was probably a mistake. The Prince could clearly see right through the reasons for his sudden formality, but, thankfully, he did not comment on it.
"I know you've been tired, but I need you here an hour before dawn. We have too much to get done to be sleeping in."
Merlin nodded and backed out of the Prince's chambers. He would take the time to write a letter to his mother tonight, explain everything that had happened, and then he would move on. He had no time to continue brooding over things he could not change, and Balinor's death was certainly not something he could fix.
It was just like the Prince had said, he had too much to get done.