Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Chapter Nine

"What?" Lancelot stared at Merlin in bemusement, and off to the side, Gaius failed to stifle his laughter.

"Arthur wants me to try to persuade you to tell him the truth about who Emrys is," Merlin repeated. The words felt a little bit surreal coming out of his mouth.

Lancelot's laughter joined Gaius's. "Well?" he asked. "Are you going to try?"

"My boy," Gaius chuckled, "I will never understand how you manage to get yourself into these situations."

Merlin shook his head. "Neither will I."

"Why would he ask that after the way you argued with him yesterday?" Lancelot asked inquisitively.

"I agreed to do it in exchange for him agreeing to give Emrys the benefit of the doubt." Merlin sighed. "Right now, I'm just trying to get him to calm down and be more openminded. He had worked himself up into such a rage and convinced himself Emrys was his enemy. I think I convinced him to at least consider the alternative. He'll be angry enough at me for lying to him when he finds out – I'd rather he not already be angry and thinking the worst before the conversation starts." He shook his head, trying to clear it. What a strange day.

"If he asks," he added dryly, "tell him I tried really hard to drag it out of you."

The knock at the door jolted Arthur. He had been so focused on the book in front of him that he'd lost track of his surroundings.

"Come," he called, and Lancelot stepped inside. He hesitated when he saw Arthur at the desk.

"I was hoping I could speak with you, sire, but I can come back later if you're busy."

Arthur pushed the book back and stood. "About Emrys?" he asked hopefully, and Lancelot smiled.

"Yes. About Emrys."

Arthur felt a brief surge of optimism until he noted the apologetic look in Lancelot's eyes.

"Please, sit," he said, taking a chair and motioning Lancelot to another. "You're still not going to tell me." It wasn't a question.

"Not his identity," Lancelot admitted. "Although Merlin did spend the better part of the morning discussing it with me. But I thought maybe…even though I can't tell you his identity, I can tell you a little bit about him. If you'd like to know."

Once Lancelot proposed it, Arthur was surprised he hadn't thought of it himself. More information would certainly be helpful in figuring out how to respond to the existence of the mysterious figure. And besides, maybe Lancelot would let something slip that would help Arthur figure out who he was.

"Is he truly my friend?" he asked the knight.

Lancelot laughed, which seemed like a strange reaction. "Yes, Arthur. He is your friend. He is unwaveringly loyal to you."

"Why?" The idea was absurd. "I'm the king of a land where sorcery is punishable by death."

"Because he believes in you," Lancelot said simply. "He believes you're a good man and a good king, even if your attitude towards magic is misguided. He…" Lancelot hesitated for a moment, and Arthur could see the struggle on his face as he considered his next words. "He trusts you more than he trusts himself sometimes, I think."

Arthur hadn't expected that. "What on earth does that mean?"

Lancelot spoke carefully. "He is still young, and he wields an enormous amount of power. His intentions are pure, but he is still learning how to grow into his role."

So Emrys was young. For some reason, Arthur hadn't expected that. Maybe because he'd been described as Arthur's protector, he had assumed the sorcerer would be older.

"Emrys has carried the weight of the prophecies for several years, Arthur. He has known for a while that he is destined to help and protect you, and he has embraced that destiny wholeheartedly. But it's a lot to take on." Lancelot paused for a moment, studying Arthur. "You knew from the time you were born that you were destined to be king. You are perhaps the only one who can understand to some degree what the weight of such a destiny feels like. And to know that the price for your failures would always be high as a result of your power."

Yes, he knew what that weight felt like. To have his path already laid out before him. To know that every step he took would make him weaker or stronger as a king. To know that his people relied on him.

Did Emrys feel the weight of Arthur relying on him? That was a disconcerting thought to consider.

Lancelot hesitated, waiting for Arthur to respond. When Arthur remained silent, he continued. "But your father was a king, Arthur. You had someone to teach you how to be a king. What to do, what not to do, what traps you might fall into. Emrys is, as the druid said, the only one of his kind. He has no one to teach him how to help or protect you. He has no one who has gone before him who can guide him on how to wield his powers wisely. He's figuring it out himself. And Arthur…" Lancelot took a nervous breath. "He would be the first to say he has made some mistakes. And he has great power, so some of his mistakes have come with a high price. But his intentions were always true. Always."

That got Arthur's attention.

"What kinds of mistakes?" he asked, alarmed.

"It's not my place to say. Well, it's not my place to say any of this really," Lancelot added guiltily. "But sometimes with really hard decisions, he struggles to know when to show mercy, or to know whether or not to protect someone who might not deserve it. He struggles sometimes to balance his power with his humanity."

Arthur felt the alarm fade, sympathy taking its place. Those were hard decisions. Gods, he knew those were hard decisions.

"One more thing," Lancelot said. He swallowed, and a look of determination came over his face. "Emrys is the only one of his kind, and Arthur…that means he's alone. He might have my friendship, but that's not the same as having someone else who is like you. He's alone, and he's trying to understand what he even is. Can you try to imagine that? I've tried. And I can't, not really."

Arthur didn't know what to make of that. He knew too well how power could make someone feel lonely and isolated, but as Lancelot said, he'd had his father, and there were certainly other kings in the world, past and present. He felt like he knew a taste of what Lancelot described, but it wasn't the same.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" He studied the knight sitting in the chair across from him. "You said it wasn't your place to share any of it, but you are. Why?"

A haunted look came over Lancelot's face, even as he tried to smile at Arthur. "Because there will come a time when you know his identity, Arthur. And I pray to the gods that when that day comes, you will show compassion for him."

"Is that a book?"

Arthur scowled at the incredulity in Merlin's voice. "Yes, Merlin. It's a book. Is that so surprising?"

"Yes, it is." Merlin reached out and snatched the book off the desk before Arthur could stop him, flipping it over to see the cover. "Sacred Markings of the Old Religion. What in the world?"

Arthur grabbed the book back. "I was looking into something."

"About the Old Religion?"

Arthur could understand why Merlin was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. It was true, he didn't spend a lot of time reading. And he certainly didn't spend a lot of time reading about the Old Religion. Still, Merlin didn't need to look quite that shocked.

"Yes, about the Old Religion," Arthur snapped, finding the right page in the book again. "And I was going to talk to you about it, but if you're going to be a pain in the ass, I'll just send you to muck out the stables instead."

Merlin held his hands up innocently. "I will be the picture of the submissive servant," he promised, making Arthur snort. "Now what is it?"

Arthur flipped the book around and pointed to a picture. "Does this look familiar to you?"

Merlin bent down, frowning at the page, and shook his head. "I've never seen it before. 'The sacred markings of the Deilen'? Who are they?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not sure. But the sorceress in the courtyard had this tattooed on her hand."

Merlin's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" he asked, bending down to look at the book again.

"I'm certain. It was exactly like that."

Arthur could see his own excitement reflected in Merlin, which just fueled the thrill of the discovery. "Whoever that woman was, she has something to do with the Deilen. If we can figure out who they are, maybe we can figure out where they are."

"And what they want," Merlin added absently, still staring at the picture. "You know Arthur, sometimes you're almost intelligent."

He ducked, but Arthur's hand still found the back of his head.