Chapter Four: Gwen
"Rise and shine!" Merlin's irritatingly cheerful voice pierced Arthur's veil of sleep. Bright light suddenly assaulted his closed eyes, and he groaned. Why did Merlin have to be so chipper this early? It was infuriating.
And then, he remembered.
Arthur opened his eyes, sitting up. Merlin—the sorcerer, the traitor, the man who had apparently saved his life at least three times using magic—was facing away from him, laying the prince's breakfast out on the table. It made him furious, rage like fire sweeping through his veins. He had tucked the anger away earlier, in favor of a more calculated, objective approach—but this—
The emotions cracked on his resolve like waves eroding a rock.
He gripped his sheets, his knuckles bleached white. Trembling, he resisted the urge to grasp his sword and gut the worthless traitor. He's a liar, through and through; I can't let him live, better to do it now—
He hadn't anticipated the feelings that would overcome him in Merlin's physical presence, the memories. And his internal war, the war that had begun within him last night…
It raged inside him.
He saved my life. I will not strike him down now.
Merlin's nimble hands re-arranged Arthur's preferred breakfast how he liked it. "—council meeting later, and I think Lord Maverick is looking to marry his daughter off to you or one of the knights close to you; he's bringing her here, keeps talking to the others about it, never mind that you've rejected about a thousand marriage proposals…" He trailed off as he turned, catching Arthur's eye. "Is everything alright?"
The prince blinked. Don't tip him off. "Yes, of course, Merlin." The traitor still looked tired—exhausted, even—but this observation no longer caused Arthur any distress (or so he told himself). The man was lucky Arthur had decided not to kill him outright, as his father surely would've done. His father, still ill in his chambers.
Did Merlin have something to do with that? Was he somehow preventing Uther from getting better in an effort to kill the man who had made it his life's goal to eradicate the evils of magic?
He would find out in the journal; he knew he would.
"Are you sure?" Merlin asked, coming closer. Arthur resisted the urge to flinch; he didn't want the sorcerer to touch him, and the look on his face was so—so Merlin. Not like how he'd imagined. He'd thought it would've looked darker, more evil, with his discovery.
But it just looked like Merlin.
"Yes, I'm sure," Arthur said, scuttling out of bed the opposite side of the traitor. His sword was on this side, and he itched to grab it, to hold it close. His mind whirred with everything he'd learned last night. Merlin's rants, the fact that he'd had magic since he was a babe. It seemed even more overwhelming in the light of day, with the sorcerer (warlock, whatever) right here in front of him.
Merlin was watching him, concern revealed in the way he cocked his head, the way his eyebrows furrowed. He looked nothing like an evil sorcerer, and the thought seemed to fuel the prince's anger. "Where were you yesterday?" Arthur demanded.
Was Merlin's split-second hesitation his tell, the unconscious implication of a lie? "Doing things for Gaius, mostly," he said. "There was a bad outbreak in the lower town—very urgent." Was he lying? He hadn't seen Gaius yesterday, giving credence to Merlin's words, but…
"Funny—I would've thought I might've heard about such an outbreak," Arthur said, trying not to let bitterness seep into his tone. Merlin's eyes widened minutely before his expression returned to normal. If Arthur hadn't been watching for it, he never would've seen it.
The servant shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you—"
"The truth, perhaps," Arthur interrupted pointedly, trying not to snarl. Merlin glanced away, looking startled. Had Arthur really let his lies go so unchallenged? Had he really allowed this traitor to dictate how their conversations went, placating Arthur with needless falsehoods?
(He's saved your life, whatever his lies, a voice tried to tell him, but he didn't listen, he couldn't listen, he wouldn't listen).
"It is the truth—" Merlin began.
"No, it's not. Lying to your prince is a capital offense, Merlin," Arthur told him. "I will do without your services today; you can spend the time you would normally be serving me in the stocks."
Merlin's mouth dropped. It had been years since Arthur had thrown him in the stocks—years since he had seriously threatened it, even. He must learn that there are consequences for what he says to me. The prince was desperate to punish him, to hurt him in the way he'd hurt Arthur. But he couldn't, not yet. The stocks would have to do to allay the storm of hurt and fury inside him.
Confidently, despite the fact he was only in his nightclothes, Arthur strode out the door to his chambers. The guards outside stood to attention, looking at him in askance.
"You will escort my manservant to the stocks. He is not to be let out until after sundown," Arthur ordered. "And fetch me another servant—preferably not that George fellow." The guards glanced at each other, as if unsure of what to do. "Now."
The scurried to obey, entering his chambers. Arthur stepped back to watch, crossing his arms over his chest. And this way, I don't have to worry about him walking in on me reading the diary. It made sense, both to sooth the burning feeling in his chest and to prevent him from learning about what Arthur was doing.
The guards each grabbed one of Merlin's arms. "Arthur?" he asked, still bewildered. "I don't understand. Why are you—"
"You will resume serving me tomorrow," the prince said dismissively, making a shooing motion with his hand. He turned away, so he didn't have to see the look of dueling hurt and anger on the traitor's face.
Merlin went willingly enough, as though the thought of using his magic to escape never crossed his mind. And it serves a third purpose—a test. Will he obey me even when he doesn't like it, when he has the ability to disobey?
Only time would tell.
Arthur knew other rulers felt a sense of power in their throne rooms, but to Arthur, this place had always represented his duty and responsibility to his people. When all eyes turned to him for guidance, he had to know the answers; he had to have a response. It was a physical pressure some days, bearing down on his chest and compressing his lungs.
He hadn't expected the knights to be back so soon with news. He'd wanted to go over the diary more, preparing himself for the job of punishing a person he'd, only a day ago, considered to be his dearest friend—if admitted only in the privacy of his mind.
Lancelot, Elyan, and Leon kneeled before the throne, dipping their heads respectfully. It had always seemed so odd to Arthur that Lancelot and Merlin were such close friends, given his open subservience. The thought of Merlin sent a horrible pang through his chest. He glanced out the window; it looked to be rather warm outside, likely one of the last hot days of the season.
"It pleases me that you found such news so quickly, sir knights," Arthur said. He liked to think he knew when to withhold as well as give out praise. "You may rise and give your report."
In the height of this new revelation, he had nearly forgotten about Morgana—his furious half-sister, intent on conquering his kingdom and harming his subjects. This was a rather forceful reminder, and one Arthur dreaded; would Merlin prove to be working with Morgana, corrupted by magic in the end, though he had resisted its evils since birth?
(Assuming it was evil, which Arthur couldn't believe wholeheartedly, not after what he had already learned.)
The knights rose and Leon stepped forward, as the small squad's leader and most senior knight. "Sire, Sir Lancelot was fortunate enough to get wind of what appears to be the entirety of Morgana's plot," the red-haired man said. He motioned for the other man to speak.
"There seemed to be one knowledgeable man among the more ignorant folk, my lord," Lancelot said. "He said the witch had tried to recruit him as a mercenary—I sensed no lie in this statement, as his bearing and dress was that of a fighter. He told me that once he understood the breadth of her plans, he fled, wanting no part of such a dark magic."
Arthur nodded. Perhaps Merlin had been right to—well. Why had Merlin been so adamant about the prince sending Elyan and Lancelot? It didn't make sense to him, not now. Merlin couldn't have had the kingdom's best interests at heart, though Arthur couldn't see any of his other knights (except perhaps Percival or Gwaine) engaging with a mercenary.
The prince pointedly did not think about how Merlin's diary had, thus far, revealed only that Merlin had tried to save Camelot.
"I asked him what sort of dark magic, and he said he wasn't exactly sure, but he knew Morgana had needed many sorcerers to make the spell work. And he knew something else, sire: he mentioned an army made up of the Sluagh. He said they might be some sort of creature," Lancelot finished. "Perhaps she gathers them there."
Arthur's first instinct was to direct Gaius to the task. The physician stood off to the side, refusing to look directly at the prince; likely, he was upset his ward had been thrown in the stocks. Arthur felt little remorse for his distress, for the man had lied to him.
"Thank you, sir knights. You have done well. Was there any other information you gathered?" Arthur prodded. His backside ached from sitting in the hard chair, but he found cushions only made him want to lounge (which was not a look a ruler wanted).
"I did get an exact number for the other sorcerers, my lord," Elyan replied. "Twelve others, it was said, for a total of thirteen."
"An evil number, to be certain," Arthur acknowledge. His thoughts raced. An army, then—maybe. And twelve other sorcerers in addition to his already-powerful sister. "Any news of Morgause?"
"No mentions, sire," Leon answered.
"Were there any estimates as to the size of this 'army' or the number of mercenaries she has employed?" The prince resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the armrest. An army so soon after the last—he didn't know if Camelot would be able to withstand a normal attack, never mind the mention of "creatures."
"None, my lord," Leon said.
"The mercenary did say the witch planned to attack in three weeks' time," Lancelot broke in. Arthur inhaled sharply as attendants and council members began to speak in hushed tones, voices high with terror. That was no time at all to prepare. And with—with everything else happening… His father… Merlin…
He gathered himself together, taking the shards of his turmoil and burying them deep. He would do what needed to be done, ill father or no. Traitorous Merlin or no. He would forge ahead.
The prince cleared his throat, and the crowd fell silent. Those faces, those trembling eyes, they depended on him. And thousands more outside here. "We will begin preparations immediately," he announced. "Gaius." He didn't want to trust the old man, but he had little choice. "Find out as much as you can about this 'Sluagh.' Sir Leon, begin recruiting. We will have a curfew and start evacuating as many citizens as possible behind the walls."
His father would've disagreed with the last idea. It meant more mouths to feed, less food for the nobles. But Arthur wasn't his father. Some of the councilors looked as though they wanted to protest, but none spoke. Their complaints would be heard at later meetings—meetings that would have to be doubled in order to facilitate all the planning that needed to be done.
And there was still Merlin.
"Dismissed," Arthur told the room, and everyone began to shuffle out. How was he meant to deal with all of this?
But dealing with "all of this" was his job, and he would do as well as he could.
"I don't know what to do," Arthur whispered, gripping his father's cold hand. Uther's eyes were closed, and he was the picture of death: frail, pale, and still. The prince wondered how long he really had left, though Gaius assured him there was still a chance he would get better.
Gaius, a man who had lied to him and his father, shielded his ward. Shielded Merlin from death or worse, Merlin who was a liar, a traitor—but had also saved Arthur or Camelot multiple times.
"There is a report that Morgana comes, marching with an army of something called the Sluagh," he told his father. "I've begun preparations, but I fear for Camelot. We've fought off many things, Father, but never so close together." And it piled worry on top of worry. Logically, he knew he should be more concerned about this—and he was, he was more than concerned; he was almost panicked—but the predicament with Merlin haunted him.
"I don't know what to do," Arthur repeated. Uneaten food sat on a tray on his father's bedside table. He knew what Uther would say: execute Merlin publically and focus on Morgana.
But was that any way to repay what Merlin had done for him? Still—he couldn't get the man's lies out of his head. How much was real? How much a farce?
"Is magic truly evil?" Arthur asked, his voice soft. He rubbed his callused thumb over Uther's soft hand. "Were you really so wrong?" That anger continued to bubble in his chest, hot and heavy. He wanted Merlin to pay, on some level, for the hurt he'd caused.
Just banish him, a voice said. Banish him and be done with it. It would take care of the problem entirely. But… Arthur had to know. And what if Merlin merely ran to Morgana, and she gained what seemed like a powerful sorcerer?
There were too many uncertainties, uncertainties that might be solved by searching through the journal. I could toss him in the dungeons. But was there any guarantee he wouldn't be able to simply leave? Merlin had been slippery even without the apparent use of magic.
"And how can I devote so much time to this when my people are in danger?" Arthur said aloud. He paused, as though waiting for a response. When none came, he replaced Uther's arm back down on the bed.
The prince stood and left his father's chambers, nodding to the guards outside. He made his way to his own rooms, knowing the next few hours would be spent making plans and hoping Gaius could get him more information about this "Sluagh." He had another council meeting that evening, and he would want to appear before the people soon to reassure them.
But as he sat down at his desk, that drawer called to him. What if Merlin had turned to Morgana's side? Would it not be better to know, to plant information?
To kill him?
Surely it wouldn't hurt to simply look; he would still have plenty of time to prepare afterward, so long as he didn't lose track of the hour.
Okay, but only a look. He almost couldn't believe himself as he got up to fetch the diary. Morgana was pressing closer with a possible army, and here he was trying to figure out his traitorous sorcerer of a manservant instead of executing him.
"I should execute him," Arthur said bitterly as he sat and opened the book. Still, he couldn't resist; he needed to know, needed to know whether Merlin had wholly betrayed him.
(He couldn't have betrayed you in the first place, Arthur. He was born with his magic, and evidence shows he's done nothing but save your life with it).
He began the next entry, squinting to decipher Merlin's chicken-scratch handwriting:
Perhaps the prince isn't as bad as I thought he was. Let me explain.
That was certainly a change of tone. Arthur didn't know how to feel; anger still simmered in him, but there was a certain doubt, too. A doubt that shadowed everything—from his lurking suspicion of his father's doctrine to Merlin's friendship.
King Bayard was here with his retinue, and he offered both Arthur and Uther goblets (I don't know why he chose that for a gift; they have probably a million goblets already). Anyway, (what I thought was) a serving girl told me he had poisoned Arthur's goblet, and when I tried to tell the king, he made me drink it! I sort of collapsed, and the only antidote to the poison was the Mortaeus flower, which obviously I couldn't get at the time.
Arthur still remembered the cold panic he'd felt, and then the determination to defy his father and save the peasant who had saved him. But what could've been Merlin's angle? Why had he done all of this—why save the son of a man who would see him dead? Because a dragon had told him Arthur was "destined for greatness" (whatever that meant)? He had to have some kind of ulterior motive.
Uther forbade Arthur from getting the flower (or so Gaius told me later), but Arthur did it anyway. The prince saved my life (well, sort of. He wouldn't have needed to if I hadn't saved his life first). Uther locked him up for it, but Gwen helped get the flower to me.
Arthur recalled vividly his despair that his venture had been for naught. Gwen had helped Merlin that night and proven her loyalty to both him and Arthur. She was a good woman: kind and brave.
She also kind of kissed me. It was nice. I'm not sure I can let it go any further, though. How could I bear to lie to her if we were more than friends? I can barely stand lying to her now.
Arthur's eyes widened. She'd kissed him—beautiful Gwen had kissed bumbling Merlin? Except he wasn't bumbling, was he? In these first few pages he had already proven himself oddly competent. Anyway, it seemed as though it hadn't gone anywhere.
The prince is still a prat, but he's not terrible. I guess he does care about people other than himself. Oh, and the serving girl is actually a sorceress called Nimueh (or so Gaius says). An evil sorceress, at that. I have a feeling she's not going to vanish anytime soon.
Nimueh. Arthur could recall vaguely hearing the name, but couldn't think of a face; Merlin's prediction likely hadn't come true. After facing defeat, she had probably left Camelot alone for good. The prince continued with the next entry.
So someone else kind of learned about my magic today. But it wasn't my fault, no matter what Gaius says. It's not like I go around telling people; these things just happen to me.
It sounded so like Merlin… Again, Arthur was struck by how similar this sorcerer in the pages was to the man he knew. How much had he lied? So far… It seemed he had only lied when necessary, to protect his secret. And magic from birth—none of it made any goddamn sense.
Anyway, it started when he first saved my life. The man's name is Lancelot, and he saved me from a griffon (which has the front-half of an eagle, and the back-half of a lion). When he came to Camelot, I learned he wanted to be a knight. Except there's a rule about only nobility being able to be knights (such rubbish!), even though Lancelot is far nobler than most of the lords who decide to become knights anyway.
"Lancelot knows?" Arthur breathed aloud. One of his most loyal knights in cahoots with a warlock? He had to—had to banish Lancelot. How could the knight have let this knowledge go? The man was meant to put Camelot first—Arthur first. And instead he had—he had—
Arthur pressed his lips into a line and read on.
In return for him saving my life, I decided to help him become a knight by forging him a seal of nobility. It's not like he doesn't deserve to be one anyway; the rules are wrong. But the griffon kept being a nuisance, and eventually Arthur (and Lancelot) decided to ride against it, even though Gaius's research pointed to the fact that griffons can only be killed with magic.
Naturally, I had to follow the stupid sword-swinging idiots to save them. I ended up enchanting Lancelot's lance as he charged the griffon, helping him kill it (fortunately, Arthur was unconscious at the time).
Merlin had helped kill the griffon? Really—how many defeats had he been responsible for but had received no credit? Perhaps that was why he had decided to continue with magic—perhaps he had ended up betraying Arthur, in the end. With Lancelot's help, a man who had apparently been covering for him since the beginning.
With effort, the prince controlled his labored breathing.
The blue flames were kind of hard to miss, though. Lancelot knows, but he's promised to keep my secret. He's a good man, if a bit insufferable. He decided he couldn't stay in Camelot because he feels he doesn't deserve knighthood. He says he didn't really kill the griffon.
I mean, it's not like I wielded the lance, is it? At least he's not Arthur's level of insufferable. I hope to see him again, though; it's nice knowing that not everyone thinks I'm a monster.
A monster? Was that truly what Merlin thought of himself as? Sorcerers were meant to be arrogant, conceited. Merlin sounded… insecure. Arthur felt sick. Lancelot had been lying to him. Merlin had been lying to him. Morgana had been lying to him. Was he destined to spend his life around liars?
He forged ahead. The diary described things of a similar vein: Edwin—the man who had claimed the ability to cure all ills—had really been a sorcerer intent on killing his father; Sofia had not truly been a young woman but a Sidhe who'd tried to sacrifice Arthur; Merlin consulting the dragon in order to forge a sword to defeat the wraith (and having Uther wield it in Arthur's place). Next came Arthur helping to save Ealdor.
It was bizarre, how much Merlin had done, with little reward. And it was bizarre how often he'd been right. He'd been right to counsel the prince against killing the unicorn. He'd been right about Valiant.
But what was his motive? Arthur wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. Had the magic not corrupted him? Was magic corrupting? He didn't know, and it was killing him. Magic had tainted Morgana; surely Merlin wasn't an exception.
And Lancelot… The knight's loyalty was an issue. It called into question everything. Arthur groaned, rubbing his face. He had other things to attend to—this army—except—
Did he even know if this army was real? Was Merlin feeding Arthur false information through Lancelot? The prince seized the journal with an almost feverish energy. Surely he would've written about it?
Arthur flipped to the last few entries. He'd read that one—the one that had started it all. His eyes flew to the next one.
I can no longer afford to be passive in the fight for Camelot. After I defeated the immortal army—with Lance's help, of course—Gaius told me I'd done a good job. But know that it's not true, reader, whoever you are. I have been reactive in fighting against Camelot's foes, not proactive. The shadows have shielded me, but they have also chained me. How many might have lived had I been able to protect them with all my might, out in the open?
The tone immediately struck Arthur as different. Gone was the cheery if overwhelmed boy—this was a tired man. And Merlin had defeated the immortal army? Arthur had thought Morgana's or Morgause's magic had simply failed, prone to chaos as magic was.
But if Merlin had been responsible… And with Lancelot's help? Could it be possible, that Merlin was actually on Camelot's side—on Arthur's side? No. No, but… It seemed he was.
And it looked as though Merlin felt guilty for not being able to help more. He seemed despairing, almost distraught. Arthur couldn't reconcile this image with the vengeful sorcerers he had known all his life.
Lancelot calls me brave. He's wrong. I may not be the coward Arthur says I am, but I have little courage, either. If I had courage, perhaps I would've been able to save the people Morgana slaughtered. Perhaps I could've prevented it, had I been but braver and smarter.
I can't make the same mistake again. I allowed Morgana to live, knowing that she was a traitor, without making any real effort to curtail her powers or prevent her next schemes. Instead, I reacted to each in turn. It is a poor battle strategy, I have realized.
Arthur gripped the journal tightly. Merlin had known Morgana was a traitor? For how long? Why hadn't he told? Just how little did he truly trust Arthur, his prince? The words "poor battle strategy" was something the prince never thought he'd hear—or read—coming from his manservant.
If Merlin had continued to help from the shadows—which it seemed as though he had… He would've had to have planned, fought. How many threats had he taken care of secretly?
How many times had magic saved Arthur and his kingdom?
But to do such a thing, to prepare for what I have been warned against—it will be risky. Far riskier than other things I have done. I can't hide it from Gaius, though I know he won't condone what I'm planning to do. It chips away at me to lie to my friends, and to lie to my mentor, the one who knows all that I am and all I have done… It would be worse.
So Merlin told Gaius then—about everything. The thought didn't disturb Arthur as much as he thought it would have. The sorcerer—warlock—sounded almost upset at his own actions. Remorseful. It was another trait Arthur was not accustomed to assigning to sorcerers.
And what exactly were these "risky" things he was preparing? Magic, presumably, but Merlin gave no specific hints. It worried Arthur; he didn't know what such a thing entailed.
I must do this. I must prepare myself and Camelot the best I can. My true best. I have not allowed myself to try such things before this, but the citadel will crumble under an attack so soon after the last. Greater risks bring greater rewards—and lives are priceless. I cannot think to let Morgana again take Camelot, this time with a hoard of monsters. To come back and see people I have known for years among the dead, innocent children and brave men and women—far braver than I…
Merlin had seen truly in his assessment. But how had he known Morgana was coming? Arthur had only just learned, and he'd taken the journal too recently for Merlin to have discovered it through him.
I have to alert Arthur somehow about this, without bringing suspicion upon my head. But I guess I should also explain what Morgana is doing. I suppose it began when I had a very strange, very terrible dream…
And thus he related to Arthur that he had apparently accidentally sent his soul to another realm in his sleep and nearly gotten it stolen by the monsters Morgana planned to summon. And that he'd done something similar before, in summoning a light to help Arthur retrieve the Mortaeus flower (and if that wasn't shocking).
He wrote of how he needed to do more research on the Sluagh. How the dragon had helped him overcome his soul nearly being stolen. Arthur wanted to know more about this dragon—this dragon that was likely the same one that had tried to destroy Camelot. What role had Merlin played in that catastrophe? Why was the dragon still alive—and Merlin on speaking terms with it?
The sorcerer explained his worry that he might not be able to warn Arthur in time. I think you figured it out, Arthur thought bitterly. He must've told Lancelot—unless the knight really had come across a mercenary with all that information, which suddenly seemed unlikely. What a blow it was, to know that two people he had trusted had been lying to him for years.
But… It seemed a lesser blow than it had before. Despite all odds, Merlin hadn't betrayed him entirely: he still fought for Camelot. In fact, it seemed he planned to help Camelot in its upcoming battle with the Sluagh. It frustrated Arthur that he wouldn't know these plans—he wouldn't be able to as effectively work with him if he didn't know.
Arthur closed the diary and rubbed his face. Relief welled within him. Merlin, although he had decided to continue to practice magic, hadn't completely betrayed him. The man expressed remorse for his lies, even if that wasn't enough for him to confess.
He had saved Arthur—and Camelot—a multitude of times. And the prince sensed that his hand hadn't been absent from the other catastrophes Camelot had faced. Just how many times over did Arthur owe his kingdom to this man?
This strange man, who he had thought his friend. Who he had thought a powerless servant, if wise and clever at times. Who had turned out to be a sorcerer—and no weak one, at that. One who had saved him. And his kingdom.
His motives were a mystery, but there was no denying his actions, not anymore.
The prince stood to lock the journal back up. He had plans to formulate, soldiers and knights to deploy. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing Merlin was still in the stocks. But he shoved it down; he had lied, after all. And he might become corrupted regardless. Though with how he had been born with magic… This was still a strange thought, antithesis to everything the prince had been taught.
Arthur didn't know enough to understand if Merlin was merely an exception to magic's corrupting influence. If he wasn't… Then why had Morgana turned? Why had so many others tried to kill him? His father had been wrong. But how wrong?
He tucked the jewelry drawer's key into his belt and sat at his desk to work.
Sweat dripped down Merlin's face as he withstood the heat of the sun overhead. He hadn't been permitted to remove his jacket, and the fabric was stifling. This was the hottest it had been all week, and Merlin thought he might collapse.
He was thankful he had finally gotten used to the stench of rotten fruits and vegetables and that no one had taken to throwing excrement or rocks (that had been by far the worst time he'd ever spent in the stocks).
Merlin tried to take it all with the grace he had before, but a bitter anger boiled beneath the surface. He hadn't cared when Uther had thrown him in here, causing his back and wrists and legs to cramp and ache. Uther was a careless, arrogant tyrant. But he'd expected more from his son. Merlin had missed days before, and never had he been met with such a reaction. Today, Arthur hadn't even pressed, hadn't prodded; he'd only punished.
How could he? Did their unspoken friendship mean so little? Merlin had done his best for Arthur, and this—this was how the prince treated him? He hardly ever listened, and now Merlin felt the same burning indignity he'd felt when they'd first met, and later when Arthur had humiliated him with Cedric.
It was painful, and he did his best not to dwell on it. But what else was he meant to do, left out here with only the sun and his thoughts? He was already tired, so tired…
It's only a misunderstanding. Perhaps I missed something important yesterday. That had to be it. Something had happened to set the prince off, and Merlin clearly hadn't read the situation correctly.
But his words… The truth, perhaps. They cut him deeper than Arthur knew. How desperately he wanted to tell the truth… And how far it was from his reach.
Stuck here, he couldn't work on his runes. One less day to prepare against Morgana and the Sluagh. Arthur was endangering Camelot by locking him here, not that he could've known that. (Not with how you've lied to him… The truth, perhaps…)
He needed to be out, testing configurations. Instead he was here. It burned like a need in him—like food and water. Every second of his free time (or time that he had forced into free time) had been spent working on what would hopefully save all of Camelot. He hadn't slept, had hardly ate—all to prevent that insidious feeling from coming again, all to prevent people he knew and loved from being ripped apart by monsters.
And Arthur had thrown him into the stocks. Merlin shifted, trying to take the weight off his shoulders, sweat molding his hair to his forehead. Though uncomfortable, his exhaustion kept nearly lulling him to sleep, only for him to be woken by the pain of his back or wrists.
Hearing footsteps from behind, he did his best to twist to see who it was, but the person revealed themselves almost immediately.
"Merlin!" Gwen came into view, eerily reminiscent of their first meeting. "Did Arthur throw you in there?" She was carrying laundry, likely mending.
"I'm not sure. I think he was maybe possessed; he was about a thousand times more grumpy than normal Arthur—and normal Arthur is already grumpier than a bear woken in the midst of hibernation."
Gwen didn't even try to smile at his (admittedly not that funny) joke. "Whatever for?" she asked, sounding offended on his behalf. "You haven't been in the stocks for years." A couple of rowdy teenagers approached, bearing baskets of vegetables, but they turned around when Gwen gave them a glare.
Merlin sighed. "I didn't show up for work yesterday," he admitted. For any other servant, such a thing might've earned them a whipping (not that Arthur was inclined to whip anyone; that had been more Uther's thing). But Merlin's friendship with Arthur had prevented him from experiencing such harsh punishments.
"Why?" Gwen's brows furrowed.
"I was helping Gaius," Merlin said. He didn't use his "something broke out in the lower town" excuse. Arthur had made it very clear that particular lie was flimsier than a lace curtain.
"And he punished you for that?" Gwen demanded. She was getting a gleam in her eye that Merlin often saw before she gave someone a piece of her mind. "For helping Gaius, your mentor?"
"Gwen, it's fine," Merlin insisted, awkwardly making a flapping motion with his hand. "He just… er, misunderstood. I don't need you to do anything."
"No, it's not fine. You're already tired from something—something you don't want to tell me about—and Arthur's just made it worse by punishing you for helping his own citizens. It's ridiculous. He's your friend, and friends aren't meant to treat each other this way."
Merlin felt simultaneously grateful and guilty. While he'd been gathering herbs, he hadn't really been helping Gaius, not in the way she was being led to believe. And she still wanted to defend him, despite her knowing he was keeping secrets.
"Arthur usually works these things out on his own," Merlin said. "I just—give him time."
"No, he usually works things out when someone tells him he's being an arrogant ass," Gwen corrected. That was probably more true. She hefted her laundry more comfortably on her hip. "When are you being released?"
"After sunset," Merlin said. All the talking had made his mouth extra-dry, and he wished desperately for some water (or food or shade, neither of which he'd had for hours upon hours).
"I'll talk to him," Gwen decided, patting Merlin's shoulder, one of the only parts of him that hadn't been spattered in rotten food. "Okay? You can't stay in there all day."
Merlin didn't think Arthur would release him, though Gwen could be very stubborn. "Thanks, Gwen," he said, swallowing down his guilt. He wasn't sure he deserved her, but he would do his damn best to try. And that would start with helping to save Camelot—as soon as he could get out of these stocks.
"Of course." She smiled gently at him and walked away, leaving him with sweat pooling beneath his clothes and matting his hair.
Gwen resisted the urge to march through the corridors. She still had her mending, and she tried not to grip the basket too forcefully as she walked. People nodded and smiled at her as she passed. It was pity, she knew; they felt bad that she had lost her job with Morgana.
But she smiled and nodded back because they were only trying to help, even if she didn't want their sympathies. The looks reminded her of the ones she'd received when her father had died: a sort of faked, plastered sadness.
Gwen entered the laundry room. People bustled about, fetching water and soap and clothes. The air was heavy with the scent of oils. She approached a couple of other servants gossiping as they washed their respective master's clothes.
"—And I heard he got her with child!" Abigail exclaimed. Her cheeks and hands were ruddy from work. "Isn't that dreadful? I mean, what's she to do now that he's gone?"
"That is—oh, hello, Gwen," Abigail's companion—Garrick—turned to face her. "How have you been?" He was a short man with a darker complexion.
Gwen smiled. He'd always been nice to everyone; he was a rather gentle fellow. "Fine, thank you. I was wondering if I could ask you two a favor?" she asked, knowing they'd likely say yes. The two of them owed her a few favors themselves, not that she lorded it over them.
"Of course," Abigail said immediately. "Anything you need."
She held up her basket. "Most of them are done, but there's still a few that need mending. Only, something's come up, and I don't think I'll be able to finish in time. I was wondering if you two would be able to finish them for me? I can of course pay you, but it's just important—"
"Don't think anything of it," Garrick interrupted. Gwen tried to control her blush; she hadn't meant to go on like that. "And you don't have to pay us—or at least not me. I still remember how you helped after Bella. This is the least I can do." Bella had been his wife, killed during Sigan's attack with the gargoyles. Garrick had been a wreck afterward, red-eyed and listless. Gwen had helped him with work, taking on some of his washing and other chores.
"I mean, I suppose I could use a ha'penny—" Garrick gave her a look, and Abigail cleared her throat. "Er, no, you don't have to give me anything. We'll finish it for you, no problem." She could be a bit gruff, but ultimately she was kind.
Gwen lowered the basket to the ground, feeling both grateful and triumphant. "Thank you," she said. "I really appreciate it." Garrick nodded, smiling, and Abigail murmured something like you're welcome. Gwen nearly ran into another servant in her hast to get out the door.
Honestly, she could not believe Arthur. She'd thought he'd changed. He'd grown more compassionate over the years (or perhaps, with Uther's influence lessening, he'd been able to let out that compassion). And more understanding.
Gwen strode up the stairs. If she'd worn trousers, she would've gone up two at a time. Had this event—Arthur needlessly throwing Merlin in the stocks—taken place even a few months prior, Gwen wouldn't have dared to confront the prince. Now, however, with his open affection and king-hood close at hand, she was feeling bold.
After all, a king needed to listen to his subjects, and Gwen found she had a lot to say on this particular subject. She gave a little curtsey to the guards outside his door before knocking—sharp, loud raps.
"Come in," he called, and she entered, shutting the thick wooden doors behind her.
The prince sat at his desk, looking over his papers. His face almost matched the paper for color, and his eyes were rimmed with red. He'd always seemed tired to Gwen, though she knew he'd been exhausted lately from ruling without his father.
"Hello, Gwen." He offered her a small smile and set down his work, gesturing to one of the chairs at his table. "Sit, please. What brings you here?" The nerve. As if he didn't know. How could he act so normally when he had done something so abnormal? Throwing Merlin in the stocks as though he hadn't served Arthur loyally for years.
"Don't 'what brings you here' me," she said, marching closer. Her hands landed firmly on her hips. "It should very well be obvious what brings me here."
He stared up at her blankly. "Is it?" His eyes had a far-away look, as though he were thinking about something else and not the issue directly in front of him. "I apologize, Guinevere; I've been concerned with Morgana and the possibility of an attack."
"Has there been news?" Gwen asked, brows furrowing. She hadn't heard about that. Usually the castle would've been abuzz with such gossip, and she had so many people who would've loved to tell her such a thing. But maybe… Everyone had avoided talking about Morgana around her. It had taken her a long time to find out that she stirred on Camelot's border with Essetir.
Arthur nodded. "I'm afraid so." He sighed, shoulders slumping. It was a show of trust that he would do such a thing in front of her. "Lancelot brought back news that she attacks in three weeks' time, with an army of creatures called the 'Sluagh.'"
Gwen bit her lip. Another army so soon after the last? Something like panic stirred in her gut. "I can understand your distraction," she said. She would've thought Arthur would've been more inclined to keep Merlin around; the prince (wittingly or not) often relied on the younger man for emotional support. Perhaps there had been more to this than she'd originally thought.
"But that's not what you came here to discuss, is it?" Arthur asked rhetorically. He searched her face. "I really can't think—"
"Just so!" Gwen interrupted, hardly believing her daring. Months ago, she never would've dreamed of speaking to Arthur so openly, in his chambers. But this was Merlin, one of her dearest friends. "You never think, Arthur. Why on earth did you throw Merlin in the stocks for helping Gaius yesterday?"
Usually, when confronted, Arthur went on the defensive. It was something he'd learned from Uther, and while his calm deflections and justifications for his actions served him well in court, they were generally unwelcome among his friends. Especially when he'd done something wrong.
But instead of speaking, the prince looked away. His mouth thinned into a white line, and he pressed his hands flat on the table, as though to prevent them from clenching.
Gwen leaned forward. "Did something happen between you two?" she asked gently.
Arthur exhaled through his nose and lifted his hands, looking marginally calmer. He regarded her with his cool eyes and again gestured to a chair. "This may take a while. You might as well be comfortable."
"Alright," Gwen agreed hesitantly, pulling out one of his chairs and sitting in it. It was far better than the rickety things in her house; it had plush cushions and four feet that sat evenly on the floor.
The prince leaned forward. "Can I trust that nothing I say will leave this room?" he asked.
"Of course you can," Gwen assured. What in Albion had him so tense and insecure? And about Merlin, of all people? The manservant was an expert at supporting Arthur at this point; Gwen had more than once witnessed him pull Arthur from his funks.
"Have you ever felt like Merlin's been keeping secrets from us?" Arthur said. "Big secrets?" Gwen thought for a moment. She'd sensed something odd about him before, but nothing like what Arthur was describing. Or, well…
"Did you discover something about him?" she asked. "Something unexpected?"
"Yes. And it changed everything about how I view him and our…" He paused. "Friendship." To hear him admit it aloud meant this revelation had been big.
Gwen knew what it had to be; she'd stumbled across that particular secret years ago. She hadn't thought it would ever come up again. "Well, he's still Merlin, isn't he? So what if he likes men as well as women?"
She had caught him kissing a stable boy (and later a scullery maid) and had decided his inclinations probably went both ways. It wasn't something to be spoken of openly under Uther; broadcast one's "deviancy" too loudly and one was likely to be whipped or banished.
"Merlin likes men?" Arthur exclaimed. "Ye gods, can't the man just be normal for once in his miserable life!" He put his head in his hands. "How many things has he hidden from me?"
Gwen froze. "Er, you didn't…" She thought fast. "What I meant was I mean maybe I had a feeling that he liked men, but clearly that can't be what I meant because that's not what you meant. Merlin definitely only likes women, and I've only ever seen him with women ever, and I was mistaken. Trick of the mind, slip of the mouth."
Arthur groaned. "I don't particularly care if he likes men," he said. "I care that it's one lie in a long list he's given to me, practically on a fucking silver platter. And I can't even be mad because—because—" He looked near-tears, a state Gwen had hardly ever seen him. The closest he'd come was when he'd realized his father was in no fit state to rule after Morgana's attack.
Gwen let him recover himself, his breathing returning to normal, before she prompted, "Because?"
"He has magic, Gwen," Arthur said, his voice hard like the castle walls. "He's a sorcerer."
Many things flashed through Gwen's mind, then: sorcerers that had attacked Camelot, Morgana's vicious smirk as she killed innocent people, the dragon's flame. Magic? "That's not—" She remembered the fear wide in Morgana's eyes, a look that had been mirrored in the druid child's. Had she ever seen such an expression on Merlin's face?
She couldn't recall.
"How—how do you know?" she stammered. "Did you see him?"
Arthur shook his head. Perhaps he was mistaken, then? "I went to his chambers to talk to Gaius. Only neither of them were there. So I… Well, I found Merlin's diary and read it."
Gwen almost couldn't believe her ears. "You read his diary? And snooping through his things… Arthur, you really are unbelievable sometimes—"
"I think maybe we should focus on the bigger picture here!" Arthur cried. He rubbed his temple, and in a lower tone he said, "Merlin—our Merlin has been a sorcerer the entire time we've known him!"
The agony in his tone was palpable, and it was one Gwen shared. Was Merlin going to turn into the next Morgana? No, don't think like that, she admonished herself. There must be time to save him—we'll show him how much we care for him. We won't let him turn… "The entire time?" she asked in a tremulous voice.
Arthur stood from his desk and unlocked one of the drawers on his dresser. "See for yourself," he said, withdrawing a journal. "It's the first entry." Though it felt wrong to be doing this, Gwen took the diary and flipped to the first page. It was filled with Merlin's familiar scrawl, bringing back fond memories.
Merlin had taught her to read in exchange for her helping him learn serving duties. She almost hadn't believed it when he'd offered; she had always wanted to learn to read, to open books and suddenly know things she wouldn't have known otherwise. It had seemed like a forbidden skill, one reserved for nobility.
Gwen skimmed the words. Since he was a babe? She held her hand to her mouth. How horrible that must have been for him, so close to Camelot's border, constantly living in terror for his life. It made Gwen sick. And to know he'd saved Arthur with magic when they'd first met… And Gaius. What would Camelot have done without its court physician and crown prince?
"I knew he was brave before, but this is—" She couldn't find the words.
"Brave?" Arthur asked, raising both his eyebrows. "He's lied to us since the moment we met! Not to mention using magic, which is—is—"
"Don't you dare say evil, Arthur Pendragon," Gwen warned, pointing at him. "We both know that's not true, not after the druid boy. Not after reading this. How can a babe be evil?"
The prince's face twisted, as though he were in pain. "My father…" He seemed to know it was a weak excuse, and the sentence trailed off. The silence stretched, and Gwen let it. Arthur needed to think. "He lied to us," he finally said.
"So that he could live," Gwen defended. The Merlin in those first few pages had been no different from the Merlin she already knew, save the magic. He had been brave and reckless and completely ridiculous; his magic hadn't tainted him. "Your father would've killed him."
"I know." Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the world. "I know. I just—what am I supposed to think? Morgana was destroyed by magic—"
Gwen shook her head before he'd finished the sentence. "Morgana had magic long before she turned on us. Her dreams were glimpses into the future, and they never made her evil before. It was Morgause's influence, I think, together with Uther's rejection of both her parentage and her magic."
The prince's eyes widened. Had he truly not known, even after all the warnings she'd given him? Gwen had long suspected, but she hadn't let it trouble her.
"But…"
"Did you find anything in here to make you suspect Merlin?" Gwen held up the book, already knowing the answer. At least she knew now why her friend kept everything so close to the vest. It must be so lonely, living here. It was good Gaius knew, but the manservant had had to hide from his closest friends. Her heart welled with sympathy.
"Just the opposite," Arthur admitted. "He's been defending Camelot ever since he came. He saved me from evil Fae, helped kill the griffon, stopped Edwin, stopped Valiant… And that's in the first six or so entries."
Gwen blinked. "That's amazing," she breathed. Arthur scowled, his eyebrows drawing close together.
"I flipped ahead, to see if he'd stayed loyal," he said. Gwen frowned; of course Merlin had stayed loyal—was loyal. He'd proven that a hundred times over, even without her knowing about the magic. How had she even doubted him, even for a moment? Merlin and Morgana might have shared magic, but their temperaments were as opposite as fire and water. "And I think I know why he's been so tired. He's coming up with some kind of… magical defense, for Camelot. He knows as well as I that Camelot won't survive another attack." He seemed troubled by the idea.
"That's good, isn't it? More help means more people survive," she said. It was simple logic to her.
"He mentions it will be more visible than other things he's done—riskier. What if someone sees him?"
"You're worried about him," Gwen said. Honestly, Arthur needed to examine his emotions surrounding his manservant.
"No—I'm worried I'll have to execute him." That turned her cold, colder than she'd been in a long time. Arthur glanced at her grimly. "The law is the same, Gwen—I can change it for no man."
"Even when the law is wrong?" Gwen challenged. "I can't believe you! After everything he's admitted he's done for you, you'd just—just kill him? Like that?" She snapped her fingers. "Do our lives really mean so little to you?" She stood, ready to leave. She would listen when Arthur saw sense. Until then, she'd keep Merlin company.
"Gwen, please—that's not exactly what I meant," Arthur said, holding up a hand.
She raised an eyebrow. "You said what you said."
"I'm regent, not king. I can't change such a law on a whim." He sighed, and his papers fluttered in front of him. "Especially not now, when Morgana marches on my kingdom with a magical army. One we have no hope of beating back, not if what Merlin has written is true."
"With his help, we've beaten worse things," Gwen said, sitting back down. She could see the fatigue and weight of it all in his bowed shoulders. "We must trust him."
"How can I?" Arthur asked quietly, expression far away. He turned his attention back to her. "I need your help," he said, "if you're willing." Gwen sat quietly, ready for explanation. "I can't focus on all of this at once, but this situation is too urgent to leave aside. Help me read his journal. I have to prepare us for the army, but Merlin can't be ignored."
Gwen nodded. She hated to go behind Merlin's back, but she knew Arthur needed time to process this. And the manservant had his own things to focus on, it sounded like. He needed this distraction as much as Arthur did—which was to say, not at all.
"I'll do it. But first," she said with a meaningful look, "you need to do something for me."
AN: Thanks so much for the response! I really appreciate all the the people who are reading, favoriting, following, and leaving reviews (one guest in particular, Pip, has been leaving really nice ones, and I want to ask if you have an account so I can maybe reply?). Anyway, some questions: What did you think of Arthur's inner turmoil? His anger? What did you think of Gwen? I feel like sometimes she's neglected in the fandom, so while this fic will have a lot of Arthur-Merlin interaction stuff, I wanted a healthy dose of Gwen (especially given the likely end pairing).
