Chapter Six: The Dragon
Arthur could see the allure of secrets—and the necessity. It became almost a game for him and Gwen: avoiding Merlin's suspicious looks, sneaking in when he wasn't watching. Still, despite the excitement, the prince felt somewhat hypocritical, and these two emotions warred within him.
Worry over the Sluagh also plagued him. After reading the entries, he was reassured to know that Merlin had helped to deal with magical plots before, though he didn't like the independent agency—and sheer power—they signified. Whatever Gwen said, the choices Merlin had made hadn't been his to make.
His sister and her army were a constant, looming presence, a source of infinite dread. He felt it pressing on him as he tried to sleep, as he woke up, like a band around his diaphragm, stopping him from breathing in or out completely. He knew Merlin felt it, too; his servant looked worse than he felt.
He did his best to allay the man's suspicions as well.
"No, really, you've been looking at me strangely for days now. What is it?" Merlin set down the clothing he'd been picking up and put his hands on his hips, cocking his head. "And don't say it's nothing; it's clearly something."
There was still a sort of heaviness between them, an awkwardness born of misunderstanding and anger, though everything had mostly gone back to normal (or as normal as Arthur could bear; he still wanted to rage whenever he knew the man was lying to him).
Arthur set down his fork. "You have the fragile ego of a girl, Merlin, thinking I've been looking at you more often. Will you swoon if I fetch you flowers?" An attack on his masculinity was sure to get a rise—and change the topic adequately.
"If you fetched me flowers, I'd probably drop dead of shock," the servant said, snorting. "And don't let Gwen hear you say things like that—she'll have your head faster than you can say 'I didn't mean it.'" That, at least, was probably true. "But you still haven't given me a reason."
Damn. He was like a dog with a bone—or perhaps a wolf with a carcass. Merlin was more stubborn than any of the dogs in Arthur's kennels. They were better trained, too. "I don't answer to you," he said, looking away. "You're meant to be doing my laundry."
"Which I might be able to do if I didn't feel your eyes on me constantly." He flung his hands erratically when he said this, and part of Arthur wondered what sort of gestures he made when he did magic—were they similar? Or were they like the sorcerers of his nightmares: simple, forceful, controlled, like the sure blade of a killer?
"My eyes aren't on you. I don't want any part of me near you—like most sane people, I'd imagine." Arthur took a large bite of sausage to prove that he was done with this conversation. Merlin eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to drop the topic, picking the clothing back up.
Arthur found himself wondering at the man's plans for the Sluagh. Gaius had said they could only be defeated by powerful magic. And powerful magic probably coincided with visible magic. And the last entry of the diary had spoken of him performing riskier magicks. Arthur couldn't resist peeking out at the man. What is he planning?
Gwen was right in that it would be easier if they told him, but the prince couldn't bring himself to do it. He would know everything before he confronted Merlin, and he would see how well the man's story matched up with the one he'd written. Just how entrenched are your lies, Merlin?
"See!" The servant whirled and pointed at him. Arthur raised his eyebrows. "You're doing it again! You're looking at me!"
The prince snorted. "You're delusional—or perhaps drunk. Have you been at the tavern?" Had he not been watching for it, he would've missed the profound look of irritation cross Merlin's face before it vanished. He frowned, wondering what exactly it meant—oh. All those times Gaius had said Merlin was in the tavern… He'd probably been doing other, far more illegal things.
"Stop changing the subject. You were staring at me," Merlin said. "You should at least have the decency to say why." At least he hadn't dropped Arthur's clothing on the floor this time, the little rat.
"I'm a prince; I don't have to tell you anything." Arthur smiled at him sweetly. "And the council meeting starts soon. You best start preparing my clothes."
He heard the man mutter something like, "I'll start preparing your clothes when you tell me what the hell is going on," but his servant did as he was bid.
That night, Arthur was exhausted from a long day of training, giving speeches, and looking over their numbers of supplies and men. Merlin had double-checked them for him (despite his hesitancy to allow a liar to do so), and had found a mistake in one of the scribe's calculations. Although it had been relatively minor number, it had projected their estimated sword capacity about a hundred higher than it actually was. Arthur had had to go and deal with the man himself, who had nearly fallen down the stairs trying to apologize.
All he wanted was a bath and to sleep, but he knew that wasn't to be; after his bath, Merlin would leave. And then some of his more illicit work would begin. Or, rather, the discovery of just how illicit Merlin's work truly was. The sneak. Arthur couldn't help but watch him, even though he knew it cast suspicion on him.
This time, Merlin didn't seem to notice (likely because Arthur was peeking at him behind his changing screen). The servant poured his water into the tub, humming to himself. His sleeves were rolled up to keep them from getting too wet—the very picture of ordinary. How could this man be the same one who had defeated Nimueh on the isle to save Arthur's life? The same one who had defeated Sigan, Murien, Sofia?
"It's ready, Arthur," Merlin called, unaware the prince was watching. He climbed into the bath, where Merlin helped him wash his hair and back, nattering about something-or-other.
In the beginning, Merlin had been far too rough with his hair, but now he knew how to wash it properly, scratching his scalp lightly and never pulling on the strands. He couldn't help but relax, even though he knew the one helping him was a powerful sorcerer he'd never truly known. Closing his eyes, he did his best to avoid thinking.
"—listening to me? Arthur? Arthur?" Bloody irritating man. Arthur grunted, and Merlin flicked his cheek lightly with water, which forced him to open his eyes so he could glare up at him. "Don't look at me like that. I can't very well let you fall asleep—knowing my luck, you'll drown in the tub, and I'll be the one everyone blames."
"If I were to drown in my bath, with you not even a foot away, you would be the one to blame," Arthur said. But he stood, dripping, and stepped from the warm, soothing water. Merlin helped dry him and get him into his nightclothes. Seeing as it was getting cooler (and Gwen was coming), he elected to wear a shirt.
He climbed into bed, pretending to be ready to fall asleep. Merlin cleaned up (he'd empty the bath in the morning; it was too late now), and slowly put out the candles. Arthur heard the door open and close a few minutes later, though he pretended for a while longer. Merlin might come back. And then where would Arthur be? Caught, that was where.
But it seemed the servant was gone for good, and he rose, beginning to light the candles. It wasn't a moment too soon; Gwen knocked only a few seconds later. She looked wonderful, almost glowing in her soft yellow dress. Sharing this secret with her had served to relieve some of its immense weight from Arthur's shoulders, and he appreciated that she'd respected his decision to not tell Merlin, no matter how much she disagreed.
"Hello," he said. "Are you ready?" He went to his jewelry drawer and unlocked it, pulling out the small, nondescript book that had changed his entire perspective on everything.
"As much as I ever am," she said, sitting. He went next to her and opened the journal where they had left off. They'd read of Merlin uncovering enchantments, discovering Morgana's powers and urging Gaius to tell her, and helping defeat Lady Catrina (which had amused Merlin far too much). Arthur had tried to recall what he'd been doing during these events, but although he'd been a part of them, he'd never been privy to all that happened behind the scenes.
Since Gwen looked ready, he cleared his throat and began:
I can't believe I've been so stupid! I was out in the forest collecting wood, and I wanted to try out a spell I'd learned. I thought there was no one about, but a woman saw the smoke transform into a horse and knew it was magic.
"That was him?" Arthur muttered, but Gwen gestured for him to continue.
Uther sent for a witchfinder. I'd never seen one in person before; I've been warned to stay away, that they have methods to detect sorcerers. This witchfinder was called Aredian. He questioned me, but I denied seeing the magic in the forest. He searched my chambers anyway—as well as the main physician chambers—and found some "magical" bracelet.
"Strange that he didn't know right away Aredian was some kind of sorcerer," Arthur said. "He seems to know most of the time, when someone uses magic." Or at least he'd known in previous entries. Perhaps his senses were unreliable? He didn't know.
"Maybe Aredian didn't use magic when he got here. Or maybe he just doesn't mention it," Gwen speculated.
"Odd thing not to mention." But Arthur read on regardless.
It was not mine or Gaius's (I have better hiding places than some jar, and he told me it wasn't his). Aredian arrested Gaius regardless, for my mentor claimed it was his. He was clearly tortured—he was ill, afterward, because an old man is not meant to endure such hardship. But even as he confessed to the crime of sorcery, I knew I could not let him die. He means everything to me, and I feared that I had killed him.
Aredian took Morgana in for questioning, Gwen told me. I knew I could not let a second person be executed for my mistake. When I searched his chambers, I found a flower. It was belladonna, which can be used to induce hallucinations.
Arthur furrowed his brow. "But not the bracelets and amulets we found later?" Odd. If Aredian had kept the belladonna in his cupboard, when had he stacked all of the fake "magical" jewelry to frame people with.
"I'm sure Merlin will explain," Gwen said. "And I still can't believe the king just let Gaius be hurt like that. They've always seemed like friends."
Or as close to a friend as my father can get, Arthur thought, understanding the meaning behind her delicate words. "He's… blind when it comes to magic, as I'm sure you know. He isn't rational when it's involved, usually." Or ever. Gwen nodded but didn't comment.
The prince couldn't help but feel guilty—he should've done more to help, even though he'd succeeded in stopping Gaius's execution in time for Merlin to present evidence that he wasn't a sorcerer (even though he sort of was…). Why did his servant have to do everything in such a complicated manner? Even when the man helped, he did so convolutedly. He ignored the voice telling him that Merlin didn't exactly have much choice; secrecy had tied his hands.
He continued:
Long story short, Aredian managed to give the witnesses belladonna eye drops. When I brought this forward to the king, he had Aredian's chambers searched. I'd conjured jewelry in his cupboard—for further proof of his guilt—but, to save his own cowardly life, he took Morgana hostage.
"His sentences are the most disjointed things I've ever had to read," Arthur muttered. "But at least we know how the jewelry got there. Merlin's as much a liar as Aredian."
"Arthur!" Gwen swatted his arm lightly (not even trying to hurt him, just to let him know she was displeased). "The witchfinder tortured his mentor and threatened to execute Morgana! And he had lied about the belladonna and the bracelet. You're being ridiculous."
Perhaps he was, but he couldn't help but see the hypocrisy in what Merlin had done—or the fact that the witchfinder had been right. All those he'd targeted—Merlin, Morgana, Gaius—had been sorcerers.
And I made him vomit up toads. Petty, perhaps, but the man deserved it. When I made the handle of the knife he was holding to Morgana's throat burn, he dropped it and tripped backward. He fell through the window and died.
"And he did that, too," Arthur said. "Is there no end to his trickery?"
"You can't say the man didn't deserve it," Gwen said, which was rather brutal coming from her. "Even though it shouldn't have happened like that. He was threatening Morgana! Merlin had to do something—he saved her and got rid of him. Why are you so hard on him?"
Because he lied to me! Arthur wanted to shout, but they'd been down this road so many times it was worn and filled with holes. He didn't want to argue with her, though he acknowledged that, for the most part, Merlin had done an okay job. Perhaps better than his serving, which was mediocre at best.
Before the silence could stretch on too long, Arthur read the last paragraph.
I can't say I'm sorry, though Gaius told me perhaps I'd overdone it. I don't know what I would've done to the man if my mentor had died. Probably something worse. I'll try not to think about it.
There was a darkness to some of these, a darkness Merlin had kept well-hidden. But Arthur couldn't say he wouldn't do the same, if someone had killed his father. His father, who was lying in bed, lifeless, as an army marched on Camelot… Morgana… She had so much to answer for.
"Do you want to read the next one?" Arthur offered. So far, Gwen had refused each and every time, though he knew she could read. He wondered if she was embarrassed.
"I'm fine, thank you," she said, so he started the next entry.
It all began when a mysterious, armored warrior threw the gauntlet down in front of Arthur. And the prince, instead of doing the logical thing and ignoring it, picked it up. Only this armored knight revealed herself to be a woman—which meant Arthur couldn't fight her, naturally.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "You could've backed out," she said. "You didn't have to fight her." Was he to suffer company with people who cared nothing for the knight's code? It was obvious to him why he couldn't have withdrawn.
"Not with my honor at stake," Arthur said. "It's just not done." He recalled what had happened after all this, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. Merlin helped me here, too, but at least he told me the truth this time. His father hadn't sacrificed his mother; he hadn't been born of magic. He kept reading.
She ignored his attempts to make her withdraw, not that I blame her. She beat him soundly when they fought (so much for greatest fighter in the land). The woman—Morgause—spared his life if he promised to meet her outside of Camelot. The prince agreed. Unfortunately, he told his father, who of course tried to stop him from going.
So naturally I had to help him escape. Not that Arthur thanked me. Anyway, we went to Morgause together, where she offered him the chance to speak to his mother. Ygraine told him that he had been conceived through magic, and that his father had sacrificed her so that an heir might be born, using the power of life and death—the power I once wielded to save Gaius.
Gwen gasped as Arthur tried to fight down the painful memories. The one time he'd seen his mother, and it had been an illusion cast by a sorceress. She'd died so soon after he'd been born… He couldn't recall her voice, her face, except when she was telling him how his father had betrayed her, sacrificed her. Used magic, something Uther professed to be the worst crime imaginable.
He would've burned Merlin already. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be reading this. But the serious thought of executing Merlin hadn't crossed his mind in days (or ever—because how could he ever order Merlin to his death?). The warlock didn't deserve it, magic or no. Arthur felt he didn't even deserve being locked up, at this point.
But he didn't know what he should do. Change the law for one man? Or was it just one man? Were there more? And his father still lived… Could he undo the man's legacy even before he left this world? Such things just weren't done. But could he lie to his people? His most trusted knights?
Well, Lancelot knows already. The sneak.
"—Arthur?" He felt a hand lay on his arm. "Are you alright?" He looked down into her large sympathetic eyes.
"I—I'm fine, thank you," he managed. "I'll keep reading, now."
Arthur practically flew back to Camelot. He was furious, and he derided the king as a hypocrite and a liar. They fought, and Arthur was ready to kill him. This, I suspected, was what Morgause had wanted: a kingdom divided, unstable, and ripe for ruin. And while Arthur can be angry, he would never be able to live with himself if he killed his only remaining parent.
Arthur could see now how beautifully he'd played into Morgause's hands. Merlin's assessment couldn't have been truer, yet the prince had ignored all his common sense and charged head-first at the perceived problem: his father. He recalled exchanging blows with him, the way he knew with certainty that he could end Uther's life right then and there.
So I did the only thing I could: I stopped him. I told him what we had seen had been an illusion, and he calmed. Uther swore it was a lie, and he ceased trying to commit regicide. The king thanked me personally for remaining an ally in the fight against magic, and I felt like I might have vomited on his polished shoes.
He probably would've executed me for that alone, never mind the sorcery.
I spoke with Gaius about it, and while it is true that Uther and Ygraine turned to Nimueh for an heir conceived through magic, they had no idea it would be the queen whose life would be taken. And Uther, furious with Nimueh (for it was she they had gone to), began the Purge, slaughtering hundreds. I don't know if this is better or worse than the lie that Morgause told Arthur. Or if it makes it worse that I have lied to Arthur yet again.
Arthur sat, stunned. Merlin had lied again? And not for his own hide, but for Uther's? Did the wretched man have no concept of boundaries? His head raced, his heart throbbing in his chest like something had hit it. Uther had turned to magic. Arthur had been conceived with Nimueh's help, and Merlin had lied about it. To what? Save the skin of the man who had killed hundreds of his kind?
No—there had to be some ulterior motive, some…
…he would never be able to live with himself if he killed his remaining parent… Could it really be that simple? That, and… Arthur's people and knights would've been torn. Follow the prince, who'd just killed his own father? It would've destabilized the kingdom. He could see that now—far more clearly than he had in the heat of the moment, in the hot fury of being told his father was the worst kind of man.
Does this version make him any better?
"I had no idea any of this happened," Gwen said. "I mean, Morgana said you came back angry, but…"
Arthur forced himself to speak. "My father made sure it was kept quiet. And I was so embarrassed at being this gullible… I made sure not to say anything either. Merlin never brought it up—though I suppose now I know why." Still, he couldn't exactly blame Merlin. The servant had done what was best for Arthur and the kingdom, even if he'd chosen to keep the prince ignorant.
Would I have stopped if he hadn't lied to me? He didn't know, and that scared him. He couldn't be so out of control with his emotions that everyone else had to do damage control. That was not how a king was meant to act—nor a prince. He needed to do better.
And Uther… His father had turned to magic. And then, when his wife had been taken, he'd executed thousands. Arthur had known for a long time that not everyone with magic deserved to die—he'd known it with the druid boy. He'd known it with the children his father had killed. The prince simply couldn't bear to think of it; he remembered his first execution—he'd been ten years old… A girl, no older than him, had been spotted doing magic. And he'd watched as she died.
He'd cried afterward, and his father had nearly slapped him. He'd almost forgotten the memory—had done his best to forget it. He'd had nightmares about the girl, even years later…
But he still couldn't keep back the rising irritation at Merlin; it tugged at him as inevitably as the ground tugged at his feet. The warlock had lied. Again. All of these pages were filled with lies—or truths, rather. Arthur had been given the lies.
"I guess we should continue," he said, mouth dry. He didn't want to linger on these revelations. Conceived through magic…
"We don't have to if you don't want to," Gwen said, but she seemed to sense it would be difficult for him to sleep if they stopped now. "But I am eager to learn more." As was he. Just how many more lies would there be?
He started the next entry.
I released a druid girl from a bounty hunter's cage. She was so sad, so broken-looking… And I knew it could've been me. It could've been me, sitting in the cage, waiting to be sold and executed.
That was a… disturbing image. What if Merlin had been caught long before Arthur had ever met him? Uther paid money even for those sorcerers brought across borders, and with Ealdor so close to Camelot… He imagined a child, shivering and abused, wheeled about in a cage like some kind of dangerous animal. What if he'd been like that girl, executed without the prince even knowing who he was?
He shivered.
"How horrible that must've been for her—and for him," Gwen said. "Waiting to be killed… Merlin did the right thing."
"A stupid thing," Arthur muttered, but he privately agreed. His father's witch hunts had done nothing but harm innocent people, ignoring the real culprits.
So I freed her and hid her beneath the tunnels of Camelot. I brought her food. We talked. She… kissed me. It was nice; I didn't have to hide, for once. Hiding has somewhat impaired my romantic relations—even without considering all the work I do. But with Freya—her name was Freya—it all seemed so easy, even though I had only known her for a short while.
Nothing good ever lasts, for me.
That was ominous. Arthur was—almost relieved to hear that Merlin's romantic life had been stopped by his secret, though he couldn't say why. Even the idea of him with this druid girl rubbed him the wrong way.
A beast was attacking the citadel by night: a great winged panther, called a bastet. Gaius told me it was Freya—this animal ripping apart people was the sweet girl I was harboring. I couldn't believe it; I wanted to leave with her. Leave the lying, everything.
"Leave?" Gwen echoed. "He was going to leave Camelot with her?" Arthur tried to think back to when this must've taken place. The bastet… He paled. No. He must be remembering wrong.
"He must've enjoyed being honest with her," he croaked. Gwen stared at him oddly, but he continued.
But he was right. I saw the bastet, and I knew. She was fighting Arthur and the knights—Arthur landed a blow. I managed to distract him with a falling gargoyle, but it wasn't enough. The wound was mortal.
She confessed to me that she had been cursed to kill forevermore, that she'd had no control over herself when she changed. There was such guilt in her eyes…
The best I could do for her was give her the funeral she deserved. She told me I made her feel loved, dying, as I held her.
The letters here were smeared, blurred—Merlin had cried over them. Oh, God… I killed the girl he liked. The girl he was going to run away with… And then he'd shoved a bucket over his head, and done a terrible job comforting him. Why had his servant stayed?
The law forbade sorcerers from marked graves, from funerals. Arthur couldn't imagine grieving so quietly in a place that would've gladly desecrated the corpse of the person he was mourning.
Gwen was covering her mouth, glancing at him. Seeing his expression, she said, "I don't think he blames you; he stayed here. I don't blame you. She was cursed, and we know she was killing innocent people."
"She was an innocent," Arthur said. "Maybe he could've found a way to cure her. Think if it had been one of my knights—or me—who'd been cursed, and killed needlessly. She didn't have to die."
"You didn't know," Gwen insisted. "Don't blame yourself for this. You saw a danger to your people."
"I killed a girl." He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was rough and callused, but the sensation made him feel more grounded, more here. "I'm surprised he didn't leave right then. He's had no reason to stay, these past years." Constantly under the threat of death, constantly lying… What was the point? To save a man who hated him and his kind? To save a kingdom who hated him and his kind?
"He has," Gwen said. "He cares for you—for us. He knows how many times he's saved us. If he left, we'd be sure to die. Gaius, you, me, all of his friends." But how could he be so altruistic? It didn't fit with the power-hungry sorcerer—none of it did!
But Father lied. He lied to me about Ygraine, about my conception. He lied about why the Purge began. He's more of a liar than Merlin has ever been. He itched to confront the king, but he knew nothing would come of it. Uther was ill and bedridden; he might as well have confronted a rock.
The conflicting emotions wouldn't seem to leave him alone. Lies, lies, why is my life full of lies? Lies since my birth, lies since Merlin arrived. At least he could understand why Merlin had lied; his father had lied to cover up his mistake, so that he might lash out in his grief, blame his pain on another…
"I can't believe he would forgive me," Arthur said. "He clearly liked her." There was that strange twinge again, deep in his gut.
"He's not blind, Arthur; he understands you didn't know," Gwen said. They sat in silence for a brief moment. "Shall we continue?"
Arthur both needed and dreaded to read the next entry. It would reveal more about things he had to know about, but it might also complicate his feelings. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it. He had enough to do tonight—mainly, trying to get some rest. Shaking his head, he said, "No, if that's alright with you, Guinevere. We both need our rest."
"Of course." She rose and curtseyed sweetly—though he'd told her she didn't have to in private—and left, smiling at him as she closed the door. As he climbed into bed, he was thankful this time hadn't ended in an argument.
He stared up at his dark curtains, mind racing, too wound up to sleep. His father lying, Merlin lying… The mystery of the dragon… The Sluagh, Morgana marching on Camelot… What Merlin was doing to prepare for it… What he was doing to prepare for it… Eventually, in an exhausted fervor, he fell asleep.
Merlin had looked everywhere. No, genuinely, he had. The goblin room, his room, Gaius's chambers, the dragon's cave—even stranger places, like where he frequented the woods. But he couldn't find his diary anywhere—the diary that held basically all of his secrets.
Internally panicking, he couldn't even tell Gaius about it; the old man would scold him first for keeping a diary and second for losing the diary. He might as well confess, because an execution would be infinitely kinder than the tongue-flaying he'd receive from his mentor.
Gaius still seemed to realize something was wrong, though he incorrectly assumed it had something to do with the shield. He asked about the runes—was their integrity holding, was the magic draining too quickly? Merlin had denied these things, but his mentor hadn't seemed convinced. Merlin was almost relieved.
He wasn't relieved, however, to not find his diary anywhere. He could've sworn he left it in his room, but now there was nothing save his other illegal items. Not one of the most important illegal items of them all.
Forcibly, he pushed the panic from his throat down, down to his stomach, where it roared up a frenzy until he felt sick. But he had to keep acting as though everything was normal. And his bone-deep exhaustion—continued from his lack of sleep—certainly didn't help matters.
But he brought up Arthur's breakfast, starting in the kitchens as he always did. "Don't you touch any of them pastries, boy," the cook warned, brandishing her ladle at him. He smiled innocently as he collected food for the prince; he could always mooch off of Arthur, even if his friend had been acting rather odd.
"Merlin!" someone hissed. He turned to see Arabella, one of the maids. "Did you hear? I mean, of course you must've heard—you probably know more than I do."
"Er." Merlin glanced around, but he found no clues in the vats of porridge or sizzling sausages. He looked back at Arabella, who was a bouncy girl with bright blue eyes and tan skin. "No?"
"What?" she said, exaggerating her shocked expression. He would've found it annoying on anyone else, but it suited her, somehow. "I'll walk with you part-way to the prince regent's chambers. You just have to know!"
Arabella had been one of the king's many servants. While others had fetched his bath, she had cleaned his room and brought him meals. She didn't do this any longer, instead helping with more general upkeep.
They walked up the servant stairs together, Merlin carefully balancing Arthur's tray with both hands. He wondered what on earth she was yammering about; he hadn't heard anything about anything.
"So what is it I have to know, exactly?" he asked, tilting the tray ever-so-slightly so a sausage close to the edge rolled back.
"It pertains to the prince's relationships, naturally," Arabella said.
"Naturally," Merlin repeated. Had someone put the prat under another love spell? He barely had time to sleep, much less break an enchantment. Morgana and her army would be there in less than three weeks' time.
"One of the guards saw Gwen sneaking into his chambers last night!" she squealed. "Isn't that salacious? I mean, he's dreamy for sure, but… He's always been too noble to take any of us to bed. Or if he has, he's kept very quiet about it."
That was too much information. He could just imagine serving girls throwing themselves at Arthur, who refused to even acknowledge them. But this news wasn't as big as Arabella thought; Merlin knew his friends, and he knew the likelihood of them doing anything more than kiss was low (Arthur wouldn't want to risk staining her honor or getting her pregnant). But then, why had Gwen snuck into his chambers?
"That's—very surprising," Merlin said, in what he hoped was a convincing tone. "Thanks for telling me. I, um, always appreciate the news." He usually did, but this time he knew Gwen might get a load of teasing or nastiness for what she'd done—or what people thought she'd done.
"Anytime, Merlin. Let me know if—you know…" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and the servant nodded.
"Of, er, course," he said, and she flounced off. Arthur acting strange, Gwen sneaking into his room... I don't have time for any of this! His friends had all gone mad, it seemed like.
He debated knocking on Arthur's door, but in the end he decided there was no way anything had happened. He was proven right when he opened the door to see Arthur snoring soundly—distinctly alone.
Merlin accidentally spilled the wine left over from last night on all of Arthur's papers as he set down the tray. Muttering a string of curses, he glanced to Arthur before, with a flash of his eyes, the wine on the pages—and dripping onto the floor—disappeared.
"What was that noise?" Arthur asked sleepily. His eyes were half-lidded and heavy, and he just watched as Merlin sheepishly drew the curtains.
"Nothing, sire, absolutely nothing," the servant said. Arthur frowned, sitting up to peer around the room. Seeing nothing amiss, he settled for an even deeper frown.
"I definitely heard something," he said.
"The wind, my footsteps, the bustling sounds of your people in the courtyard… You're going to have to be more specific," Merlin said, going back to the table and organizing the papers he'd almost ruined.
"I'm not mentally deficient, Merlin—it was a clanging sound, as if you'd knocked something over," he said. The servant shook his head rapidly.
"No, I knocked nothing over. Perhaps it was a dream?" He ambled over to the fireplace; it was chill enough that the warmth would be welcome.
Arthur's frown morphed into a scowl. "Don't play games with me, Merlin," he said. But he rose from bed without further fuss, sitting down at the table to eat. He went to pour some wine, peering into the empty pitcher. "I could've sworn there was more in here."
"You must've drank it all," Merlin said glibly. "Or perhaps… you and Gwen drank it all?"
Arthur was so startled he nearly dropped the pitcher, though he quickly regained his composure. "I'm afraid I've no idea what you're talking about," he said.
"Gwen—you know, the serving girl who lives in the lower town? Daughter of a blacksmith, sister to Sir Elyan? The one who apparently snuck into your chambers last night?" Merlin listed. He blew gently on the kindling that had caught fire.
"That's none of your business," Arthur maintained.
Merlin grunted, unconvinced. "Truly? Usually you like my advice when it comes to Gwen—I can't help but feel you have something to hide."
"I've nothing to hide," Arthur said immediately, his voice rising.
Merlin stood, dusting off the knees of his breeches. "Then you wouldn't mind telling me what she was doing here." Arthur's vehemence to hide the whatever-it-was piqued Merlin's curiosity. Had they been doing something "salacious"—as Arabella had put it? The thought didn't bring as much displeasure as he thought it would. "If she's with child…"
"We didn't sleep together!" Arthur cried, with enough outrage that Merlin believed him. "Good God, Merlin, we were only talking. Why must you stick your nose into everything? Sometimes a man just wants to be left alone—to eat his breakfast in peace!"
The servant scowled but did as he was bid, letting the uncomfortable silence envelope them as he continued cleaning up Arthur's chambers. Gwen was his friend; Arthur was his friend. Didn't he deserve to know what was happening with them, why they were acting so strangely?
Perhaps Arthur was right. Perhaps he was too nosy. Likely it had nothing to do with him. Their relationship was progressing, and he was no longer involved.
He didn't understand the sadness that welled up inside him at the thought. Arthur and Gwen—together, without him? He'd known, intellectually, that that was always how it was going to turn out. Gwen would be queen, and he still a lowly servant, a lowly servant forever if Arthur's attitude toward magic held true.
But he hadn't though it would be so soon that they would leave him behind. Merlin let out a small sigh and kept cleaning. He's right anyway. I don't have time to stick my nose in their business.
Arthur felt oddly exhausted when Gwen came in that night. He didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, Morgana's encroaching army (and his preparations for it), his father, or the Merlin situation. Perhaps a combination of all of them. He rubbed his eyes—even the firelight seemed too bright. He just wanted to draw his curtains and sleep.
"Good evening, Arthur," Gwen said. She poured herself some wine and sat next to him. Then she poured some for him, pushing it closer. "You look as if you need it."
Arthur took it gratefully. "I feel as though I do." He took a sip, its sweet-sour taste soothing on his tongue. He wanted to lose himself in it, as he'd done in the past. Forget the issue of Merlin and what to do about him. Forget the army. Forget his father.
He shoved down the urge ruthlessly. The prince who'd used alcohol to cope had been an irresponsible twat, someone Arthur's kingdom couldn't afford in the present crises. Arthur flipped to the entry they were on, knowing by now that Gwen wasn't inclined to read.
But before he began, he looked at her. "Did anyone see you come in?" he asked. "They saw you last night—and Merlin had questions."
Gwen grimaced. "I know. The serving girls wouldn't stop prodding me about it. Made it difficult for me to work. And some of the guards kept glancing at me—and I could see what they thought in their faces." Right. They had likely jumped to the same conclusions Merlin had.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize how hard getting caught might be for you," he said.
"I overheard one of the stable boys. He said—well, he said you must've been stressed, to have finally taken one of the serving girls to fuck, especially such an ugly one. Said I'd be throwing myself at them next, charging coin." She didn't look at him as she said it, spoke about her ridicule and hurt. But he could hear it in her voice. She'd grown up here, knew these people, and now they assumed the worst of her.
"That's not who you are to me—that's not who you are regardless," he said.
"I know it," she said, smiling and catching his hand. "But it pleases me to hear you speak so. Shall we continue? I'll be more careful when I leave tonight."
"Alright," Arthur said. His lady asked, and so he would deliver. He cleared his throat and started to read.
I fear that fate will not be denied. Morgana aided Mordred and Alvarr in stealing the Crystal of Neahtid from Camelot's vaults. It can show its user the past, present, and future. Mordred had the power to use it; Morgana had the resources to steal it. I overheard them talking about it—she met with them outside of Camelot to deliver the crystal.
"That happened so long ago…" Gwen whispered. "Was she truly so corrupted even then?"
Arthur couldn't say; he didn't know. Perhaps Merlin knew, but he hadn't made such a thing explicit in his journal, and of course he'd hidden it from them if he'd known what was happening. Had he known of her betrayal before it happened?
Why hadn't he tried to tell them?
I didn't know why the crystal was important or what role it played in their plans. I was forced to go to the one person who might know about it: Kilgharrah. He grows impatient with me and my stalling. But I worry what he might do if I set him free.
At least he wasn't as gullible as he portrayed himself as. Some part of Arthur was hurt by that, hurt be Merlin's loss of perceived innocence. He'd known about it since he first began reading, but… It hit him, over and over, how little he knew about his friend. "And rightly so," Arthur said. He looked seriously at Gwen. "Do you think he actually did it? Tell me honestly."
She bit her lip. "I don't know. I just—I don't know. He could have, but maybe Kilgharrah—" She spoke the name awkwardly, neither of them knowing how the strangely-spelt word was pronounced—"simply managed to find a way to escape. But…" They both knew that was too optimistic.
What would Arthur do if Merlin had released the beast? Caused all those deaths to his people? Such a crime—an act of murder a thousand times over—couldn't go unpunished. But how could Arthur punish him with everything else he'd done?
His father would've already executed him. Maybe, maybe… The dark thoughts crept in as they hadn't since he'd first started reading the diary.
We don't even know what he's done yet. That was his plan, his promise: he wouldn't act until he had all of the information, every last shred of it. And then he would use it to condemn or pardon. It all depended on Merlin.
He continued:
Gaius and I told Uther of this, leaving out Morgana. The king ordered Arthur and the knights to retrieve the crystal, but I think Morgana must have warned them, for they were waiting for us when we arrived. Mordred escaped, but we took Alvarr and the crystal. As everyone else slept, I looked into the crystal and saw a horrible future: the dragon burning Camelot to the ground.
"That was why he looked so strange when I woke," Arthur muttered. He'd known, then. If he ended up releasing it… He'd known the consequences.
In Camelot, Alvarr escaped (likely with Morgana's help) before he could be executed.
I must confess something to you, reader: I may have omitted an important detail previously. The dragon has warned me, repeatedly, of Mordred's dark future: he is destined to kill Arthur. I couldn't bear to kill a child (and ended up helping save him), but now… Mordred, I fear, has begun down the path of vengeance. He was ready to use the crystal to raze Camelot. Perhaps Alvarr coerced him. I don't know. I just—I don't know. There are other prophecies that describe Morgana and Mordred, united in evil. But while Morgana has made mistakes, I would hesitate to name her evil.
Arthur blinked, sitting back into his chair. "Mordred… The druid boy we saved?" Destined to kill him? United with Morgana "in evil," whatever that meant. Where had Merlin heard of these prophecies? Arthur knew of no such things—foretelling relating directly to him. His death…
"They can't be true," Gwen reassured him. "Mordred is still something of a child, and he must be grateful that you saved him."
"But I have killed his kind; surely that might overpower his gratitude." And the prophecy—wherever Merlin got it—had been right about Morgana. The magic crystal had been right about the dragon. Uther had always condemned magical tellings of the future as nonsense, charlatans looking to make a buck off of gullible people.
But his father had been wrong before. And his father had lied before—especially about magic (Arthur had sat staring at his father's blank face for an age that day, wondering why he had lied about his birth, why he had blamed magic instead of Nimueh. What sort of hypocrite used magic then turned around and killed everyone else for doing the same?).
"I don't know, Arthur. I can't see a child of—what, he must be fifteen summers now—killing you," Gwen said. Neither could Arthur, but he read on anyway.
The dragon's calls haunt me. He beckons me as I try to sleep, demanding that I come release him. But I know now I dare not.
"That's the end of it," Arthur said. A hot fervor began to grow within him. He had to know—had Merlin released the dragon? He would find out before the night's end: in this, he was resolute. He needed to know, needed to know the extent of Merlin's sins. Lying, treachery—would he add mass-murder to the list before the night was over?
He had to know.
"What does he mean, 'beckons me while I sleep'?" Gwen asked. "Surely the dragon couldn't have called to him aloud; the whole castle would've heard."
"I think he means through magic means. He tells of the dragon calling to him before, when he first came to Camelot," Arthur said. "I wonder, though, if it's a sort of feeling or impression or an actual voice." He knew that magic could give impressions and feelings; he'd been under the thrall of enough spells to recognize that much.
But words without voices? He wasn't sure.
"Shall we continue, then?" Gwen said, and Arthur nodded.
You have to understand. A sleeping curse was cast upon Camelot—something that sent all of its citizens into a deep slumber. Morgause was behind it, the witch who manipulated Arthur with the ghost of Ygraine. Arthur, myself, and a few others had left the castle to investigate the knights of Medhir (for smoke rose from their castle), and when we came back, everyone was collapsed on the ground.
The words were written shakily, sloppily (or more sloppy than usual). As if Merlin had been rushed—or perhaps emotional? Arthur wondered what new secrets Merlin was going to reveal to him.
Everyone save Morgana.
At first, I thought her immune because of her magic, and I covered for her. I lied for her—to Arthur, so he wouldn't know. But soon I too began to grow tired; I could feel the weight of the enchantment upon me, tugging me into eternal sleep. I used my magic, casting spells on Gaius to see if I might break the spell. But nothing worked. My magic was useless, and the knights of Medhir, summoned to rise by Morgause, were invading the castle.
I had no choice. You must believe me. If you believe in nothing else I've said, at least believe this: I had no choice when I went to ask Kilgharrah for help. But the dragon had grown impatient, so impatient he would give me the information only after I swore on my mother's life to release him. His magic flashed, and I know the oath was binding.
"Oh, Merlin…" Gwen gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. A chill settled over Arthur. A binding oath. An oath he'd presumably kept. What did it mean? Had Merlin truly released him? Had he allowed the dragon to nearly raze Camelot with its deadly flame, its powerful malice?
The chill was so cold it numbed him. What did a person do with so many secrets? Arthur's mind raced, the idea of locking Merlin in chains an alluring one. Just toss the problem away, until he'd figured out what to do.
And still, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to execute him, execute him. Burning, beheading, hanging—the sorcerer needed to die. He'd killed and lied and had released the dragon.
"Arthur?" Gwen asked tentatively, laying her hand on his shoulder. Arthur shook her off. He had to think like a prince, like a king. Not like Arthur.
"I'm fine," he said gruffly. "Let's see what he does." And so he came to the decision he always came to: he would wait and see. Perhaps Merlin had changed his mind last minute, and the dragon, in a fury, had escaped.
He doubted it, but perhaps…
Arthur continued:
He told me how to break the enchantment. The sleeping curse affecting Camelot was attached to a person, a willing vessel. That vessel was Morgana, and the only way to break it was to kill her. My blood ran cold. How was I meant to choose between her and the lives of everyone I've grown to love here?
"'A willing vessel,'" Arthur quoted. "She knew, then? She knew she was dooming Camelot, so early on? Did she care so little for us all?" The thought of her being filled with the malevolence he'd seen those weeks ago, her icy smirk and stinging eyes.
"I don't know," Gwen said, biting her lip. "I think there's only one person who can tell us." Morgana. Not that she'd be forthcoming about it—Morgana's playful teasing had turned into cruel taunting. She'd only laugh if they asked.
When I returned to the throne room, I heard the sounds of Arthur fighting. I knew he wouldn't last. How was I meant to choose? I looked at Morgana, and I offered her a drink.
Here again the ink was smudged, as though Merlin had cried. Cried over Morgana? The woman who'd already tried to destroy Camelot and kill the king, the woman who had helped Alvarr steal a crystal for those same purposes?
I poisoned her.
Arthur blinked. A coward's move, his mind said. A clever move, he countered. Merlin hadn't wanted to reveal his magic, and Morgana would've likely beaten him in physical combat. Poison had been his only option.
"I can't believe he would try to kill her, just like that," Gwen said shakily. "He's always seemed so… I mean, I know he's killed before, but those were always strangers."
"He was desperate." Arthur swept a finger across the wrinkled page. "And I don't think it came easily to him."
"Still. I've always seen him as so… so gentle," she said. "But he can be as hard as anyone." Harder, probably. Arthur didn't know, if he'd been put in the same situation, if he would've been able to strike down his own sister, the girl he'd grown up with. Poison, sword, it wouldn't have mattered. He doubted he could've done it.
"Yes. And I think we'd do well to remember that." If Arthur tried to imprison him, kill him… He'd have to be very careful about how he did it. He eyed Gwen. She wouldn't be happy with him, either. Might never forgive him, if he hurt Merlin.
But if Merlin had been responsible for so many of his people's deaths…
She struggled in my arms as I held her, betrayal wide in her eyes. I can't get the image out of my mind; it lingers there. I think she lives, but I fear I have turned her away from us forever. Her hatred of Uther has festered, and I am so afraid…
I made a bargain with Morgause—she'd withdraw the knights of Medhir so that she might know the poison I used. She wanted to save Morgana. There was no other way. Please, believe me.
I believe you, Arthur wanted to say. And he did. He understood the calculus behind it, the hard, steely logic Merlin had used to poison Morgana. He'd made the right call, the best call. He'd saved Camelot.
Does it matter if he doomed it not even a day later?
Arthur read on.
How was I meant to choose?
I am terrified of what the dragon may do once I release him, but what choice do I have? What choice do I have in any of this?
I cannot trust Kilgharrah, not after what he did. Not after what I saw in the crystal. But I must release him—the consequences of not keeping my oath will be grave. But releasing him might be worse. How am I meant to choose? I can't. I was not meant for this, whatever anyone may say. I can't. I can't!
The words dissolved into almost scribbles, and Arthur could hear Merlin's voice in his head, frantic, panicked, trying to find another way, trying to keep from obeying his oath. Untrained, a simple peasant boy gifted with powers and a responsibility he had taken upon himself.
And still Arthur's heart hardened. He closed off his memories of Merlin, the man he knew. Like cauterizing a wound, he burned them away. He would do what needed to be done, no matter what. He burned them away like a witch on the pyre, burned them away until there were only bones. He was cutting them off, throwing them away, these precious memories. Preparing himself. The law was the law, and Merlin…
Merlin couldn't be above it.
I know your sins now, Merlin. I know what you've done. And I can't condone it. I can't let you live.
Arthur read the last line:
I must go release the dragon.
Merlin. Merlin, the man Arthur had thought was gentle and kind and good and removed from the prince's world of death and politics. That Merlin—he'd released the dragon on Camelot, on his home. His neighbors, his friends. Arthur could still smell the smoke, hear the cries as people burned to death in their own homes, trying desperately to find shelter in the citadel.
Arthur's teeth hurt, and he realized he was clenching them. He relaxed his jaw, inhaling deeply. "Shall we read the next one?" he asked. Gwen was staring at the journal with wide eyes, as though she could hardly believe it.
Arthur could hardly believe it.
"I—I…" She swallowed audibly, and he knew she was thinking of the deaths. How many friends had perished because of Merlin? How many citizens? "I think that would be best."
Would Merlin admit to his crime? Would he condemn himself, as Arthur was now condemning him? I can't forgive this, Merlin. I can forgive the deception, the lies. You saved Camelot a thousand times over, and for that I will be more merciful than my father ever was…
Did that mean execution? Banishment? How could Arthur even think on this when Morgana and her army of monsters were right around the corner? Everything was crumbling around his ears, shaking the ground beneath his feet. He feared falling—he feared he'd already fallen, and was lying on the ground, broken, wondering how it all had happened so fast. Wondering why everything was so tall, so far above him.
He began to read.
Kilgharrah is a monster. I am a monster, something I've always suspected. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My worst fears about the dragon were realized; he did his best to raze Camelot to the ground. He killed… so many. I killed so many, for I was the one to release him. And I let him go! I'm sorry.
Sorry wasn't good enough. Nothing would be good enough, Arthur feared, except punishment. Punishment, vengeance, retribution—for his dead citizens, for those alive who'd lived through this catastrophe. Didn't they deserve justice?
I can't… It is too painful. I can't write about this. Just know that I understand those deaths are on my head. I was not powerful enough to stop him once I released him from his prison.
"Then you shouldn't have released him in the first place!" Arthur cried, shaking the diary as though it were Merlin himself, traitorous head bobbing back and forth.
"Arthur—the guards will hear you," Gwen said, but she didn't correct him. There was conflict in her eyes, a great conflict. It warred within her as it warred within him.
"I can't believe him. And he confesses as though we should absolve him!" Arthur said. As though saying sorry and confessing to mistakes made them disappear, vanish into the ether.
"That's not fair," Gwen said. "He's not here to defend himself…"
"What could he say that would make this better?" the prince demanded. "The deaths of hundreds of people, and all he can say is that he wasn't powerful enough to stop that beast? All he can say is that he's sorry? It's not good enough."
Gwen's eyes glistened. "You're right," she whispered. "It's not. But—please. Just—just…" Just what? Arthur wanted to say. Just what?
But he didn't. They stared at each other, each trying to take in the fact that their Merlin had killed people—had released the dragon, knowing full well what it would do.
Arthur continued:
I ended up stopping him, in the end. I became a dragonlord, and I sent Kilgharrah from Camelot. I'm sorry. I can't tell you the details; they pain me, pain me more than anything I have written so far. This all pains me, a great wrenching pain in my heart.
Arthur could barely comprehend the words. Dragonlord? Merlin had been in pain? What about the people he'd killed—was responsible for as though he'd breathed the fire himself, burnt down their houses himself. The letters were shaky and blurred with tears, but no pity welled in Arthur as it had before. The prince could feel nothing for this man, this man who he'd trusted, who had lied and defended him, saved his kingdom, and then had released something which had tried to destroy it.
I could not bear to kill the dragon, even having the power. I am a murderer a hundred times over. I deserve death and worse for what I have done. The screams… The stench of burning flesh…
"He didn't even kill it?" Gwen said. "How could he… after all of that… He killed the griffon, the Sidhe, Nimueh, Edwin—so many without a hint of remorse. And this is who he lets live?" She had never sounded so bloodthirsty, not to his ears. This, the woman who had told Merlin not to let Uther die.
But the dragon wasn't a person, wasn't human. And Merlin had let it live.
Arthur finished the entry.
They haunt me.
I'm sorry.
And his sorry wasn't good enough. Would never, ever be good enough for this.
AN: What did you think? Thanks as always for the responses! I really appreciate the reviews, follows, favorites, or even just silent readers. How did I do with Arthur's reactions to everything? Gwen's? I'm hoping I won't be as late with the next chapter (like I said, most of this is pre-written).
