Chapter Six: Chained
Arthur, King of Camelot, last scion to the Pendragon bloodline, did not know what to do as he stared at the woman in front of him. Could not think of anything to say, to ask, as her turquoise eyes held his.
His mind drifted back to a dark night years ago, when Uther had died and he had been crowned king. The conversation he had with the woman in front of him.
"And I thought, maybe if I used magic, maybe I could save him. But no matter what I do, with or without it, I still lose people I love," he had said quietly.
"Grief often clouds our judgment to see what is evil and what is good, Arthur. Do not close your mind off to magic, for one day you will see the only reason why magic can be evil is because of the people who use it for evil purposes."
Doubt, mixed with something else, slid like oil within his veins.
"I do not know what exactly the two of you get up to, but wherever there is danger, I know I can find you in the thick of it. Whatever this is, I know you and her will be there to help."
Iris's gaze did not falter, even as she dipped her chin. As if she heard his thoughts. As if all of the words he could hear still held true.
But he also saw the line in the sand between them, as clear as the wall of iron bars that separated him from her.
"What am I supposed to do?" he had asked his wife, not even an hour ago.
Gwen's response had been soft, but firm. Spoken like a true queen. "You must decide if you will allow your father's ghost to shadow your choices as Camelot's king. You have the power to change the old ways. You have the power to decide if it is worth listening to your heart, or if you will be the one to let the sword fall."
His hands trembled slightly at his sides still. It was his choice- to hear what Iris had to say, or to fall back on old laws that demanded blood. Demanded that she be burned, or beheaded.
The wife of his closest friend. The sister-friend to his own wife, to Morgana. The blood sister to one of his most loyal knights.
So he had come down into the dungeons again, but to listen to her story rather than demand for a confession, as he had before.
Guilt mixed in with the doubt, with the other emotion he could not name, as his gaze shifted from her jewel-bright eyes to the chains that were shackled to her wrists and ankles.
You're no better than Uther, a voice hissed in his mind. A murderer. Magic slayer.
No.
The other voice that rang out was his own. The Once and Future King.
I will not be the man that my father was. I will never rule as my people live in fear, or in chains. I will be the king that my people need.
And as if she heard him, Iris slowly smiled at him.
And because of that smile, because of the understanding that it spoke of, Arthur opened that iron door, crossed the proverbial line, and unchained her.
Ooo0ooO
Merlin felt as though his bones were made of stone. It was an effort to lift an arm, to take a step. It was an effort to rise from bed, which was cold on one side.
The darkness he had plunged into the moment Iris was thrown into the dungeons would not relent. The fear that crept along his skin sank deep, like fangs of a beast. And he allowed it to drag him down into its bottomless pit.
He barely acknowledged the sunlight, the taste of his morning tea. His body went through the motions, his muscles knowing what to do even as his mind drifted far, far away.
He had not felt her since her magic had sought him out the other day, when hours had passed between them with few words being spoken. She had withdrawn when the sun had set, leaving him feeling cold and helpless.
A knock sounded from the door before a familiar face peered in. He barely blinked, not thinking to rise and bow as was demanded.
Gwen, however, entered the room with nothing but a soft look on her face. She had forgone the crown, the finer dresses now in her wardrobe. Apart from the golden band on her finger, she looked how she did before she had been queen. Just Gwen.
The first friend he had made coming to Camelot.
It was that friend who sat across from him, took his hand into hers. He felt the warmth and the strength there. He saw the love and the concern in her eyes and it made part of him settle back inside his body.
"How are you doing?" she asked, her hand tightening around his.
"I…," Merlin breathed, before words failed him.
I am afraid of what will happen to Iris.
I am afraid Arthur will learn the truth.
I am afraid.
How could he explain this to her? The secret was their lifeline, what was keeping them safe from the pyre.
Keep the secret and live. Reveal the secret and die. That was all he and Iris knew- Gaius, too, before…
Merlin shook his head. "I am… afraid," he said, forcing out the last word. The truth.
"Arthur would never-," Gwen stopped, taking a breath. "Arthur is with her now. He will listen to her story."
The truth or another lie? Merlin wondered vaguely. The heaviness began pressing in again, on his chest.
"Do you truly believe he would harm her?" Gwen asked softly, but not unkindly. Her dark eyes were calm, but unreadable. He was vaguely aware that those eyes might be seeing more than she let on.
Merlin knew Arthur saw Morgana and Iris not just as a lady and a servant, but like sisters.
Sisters I did not ask for, Arthur had emphasized over the years. But ones gifted to me nonetheless.
"I don't know," Merlin said. "How Arthur might feel differ from what the laws demand."
"Did Arthur not change the laws so he could marry me?" Gwen pressed. "Do you truly believe him to be like Uther?"
Merlin's eyes shot back to hers. "I don't know," he repeated, more quietly this time.
Gwen looked like she wanted to say more, since her mouth tightened. Her eyes searched and searched his, as if looking for an answer to an unspoken question there.
"Merlin," she began, gripping his hand more tightly. "Do not close your mind off to what Arthur might decide."
Suddenly, Morgana burst in, her green eyes flaming. She took one look at Merlin and Gwen before moving to sit beside Gwen.
Merlin blinked at her. He had never seen that look on Morgana's face before- the anger, yes, but not the burning, unwavering strength. It was as if she had taken up the fire that flickered low with Iris gone and it had burned away the uncertain, frightened woman who had struggled with her magic, her truth.
"I will not allow anything to happen to Iris," Morgana said. "Arthur will have to tie me to the pyre too."
Gwen glanced at her friend, as if seeing her for the first time too. Something shined within her eyes before she took Morgana's hand with her free one.
Morgana gripped that hand tightly, then took Merlin's other hand too, linking them all together.
Merlin felt a jolt then, like a bolt of unseen lightning had shot down his spine, waking him up. The weight pressing down on him vanished, as if it had never been there, or perhaps had been taken up by Morgana and Gwen too, through their connected hands.
Ooo0ooO
The sound of a sword hitting a wooden target echoed again and again through the practice ring within the outdoor arena.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
Gwaine gritted his teeth, shifting his body, posing to strike again. Sweat poured down his brow, stinging his eyes. He ignored it. Ignored it and the warm sun, the sounds of people moving about inside and outside the castle, going about their day like usual.
Going about their day while his sister rotted in a cell.
A growl ripped from between his teeth, then the next swipe of his sword took off the wooden head of the dummy that already bore the scars of his attacks.
He continued to move, unable to stop, unable to let his thoughts consume him. There was nothing but him, his sword, and his target.
Across the arena, quiet as a shadow, Lancelot observed the other knight. His eyes tracked the dummy's head as it rolled towards his feet, already forgotten by Gwaine.
Both knights had been here since dawn, when the world was quiet. Gwaine had not so much as slowed since picking up his sword, only stopping once to drain his waterskin before resuming.
Lancelot let him work out his frustration, his fear, knowing that Gwaine would talk when he finally tired out. The kind-hearted knight briefly considered sending for Morgana, but knew sometimes the best way to deal with turmoil was not with words, but with actions.
Gwaine seemed to agree with Lancelot's thoughts as he took off the dummy's right arm next.
Perhaps he will stop once there was nothing left but splinters, Lancelot mused.
A flash of gold and red caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Turning, Lancelot spied Arthur walking along the high walls of the castle, draped in a crimson cloak. The red fabric caught the wind as Arthur moved to unfasten it, before draping across the shoulders of his companion.
Iris.
Lancelot opened his mouth, his eyes turning towards her, ready to tell Gwaine. He was interrupted by a soft voice in his mind, as gentle as the breeze that was sweeping in from the east.
Let him continue, Iris requested. I am all right.
Even from a distance, Lancelot knew she could see the dip of his chin, silently acknowledging her.
So instead, he drew his own sword, approaching Gwaine. When the other knight paused, Lancelot lifted his blade silently.
Gwaine did not so much as blink before lunging for him, the clashing of their swords echoing through the air.
Ooo0ooO
Iris watched her brother and Lancelot duel, their movements swift and sure. Lancelot did not falter under Gwaine's quick parry, did not stumble as the other knight drove him back step by step.
Let it go, Lancelot's movements read.
Turning her gaze away from them, Iris drew Arthur's cloak tighter over her shoulders. He had silently offered it to her due to the cool wind, when he saw her shiver slightly. Her dress was thin and still damp from the dungeons.
Arthur did not say anything when he gave her that cloak, did not say anything when he spied the faint bruises circling her wrists and ankles from the chains. His eyes had only dulled, his shoulders tightening.
Iris waited. She had not breathed a word when he had arrived in the dungeons when morning broke, had not thanked him for freeing her from the chains and that cell. She had only followed him at his behest as they went up and up, staircase after staircase, to the high wall facing the eastern territories.
"I am not my father," Arthur said, finally breaking the silence. His tone was quiet, stiff.
"I know," she said.
"I do not wish to be the king he was," Arthur continued, refusing to meet her gaze. "I wish to be fair and just."
"I know," Iris repeated, conviction strengthening her tone.
"I do not want the old ways to allow for fear and distrust to spread," the king said. "I want Camelot to become a kingdom where my people can live free and safe."
Finally, those clear blue eyes turned towards her. "I wish to hear your story, Iris. I wish to know the truth, and I swear that no harm will come to you."
Iris waited still, allowing him to see the patience, the understanding, but also the lingering doubt that swam inside her.
"You once told me to not close my mind off to magic," Arthur pressed. "To not let anything cloud my judgement. So tell me your story."
Then Iris felt it, the shift in the wind, the sudden warmth as if the sun had sighed. Or, perhaps, a great dragon, its breath passing over her skin.
So Iris looked out towards the kingdom, under the spring sun, and allowed her doubt, her fear, to melt away like a fading shadow.
"I grew up in an outlying village by the White Mountains, on the border of Camelot and Odin's kingdom," she began. "And when I was small, my mother and I visited someone by the name of Kilgharrah…"
So Iris continued her story and felt something within her release, as if invisible chains had fallen off of her soul as well as her body. She told her story, wisely keeping to the name Emrys when her story finally merged with Merlin's.
The entire time Arthur listened, he did not move, did not so much as breathe. Shock and anger were the first to bolt through him, but those were slowly replaced by something else, the emotion he still could not name.
So the King of Camelot continued to listen to the sorceress.
Ooo0ooO
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Merlin or its characters.
Author's Note: Please review!