Snapshots Going Home CH 9

Arthur stood by the window, watching the cloaked figures quietly leading the horses out of the square. His eyes hardened. He absently let his fingers trace the one figure on the glass.

"Did you even hesitate, Love," he whispered, "did any thought of us whisper through your mind at all? Would you have let me do this, were our positions reversed? So many times I've had to let you go, to brave all for the right thing. Is this right? To see a murderer spared? Do you know the difference, anymore between an innocent and the guilty, or do you see only a life? Is this war against death itself going to be our new battleground?"

He sighed. Questions he'd never get the answers to. No. He had put this in play. Now all he could do was wait. And hope even while he doubted himself.

"Sire," Leon called from the doorway. "The report came in. He left moments ago."

Arthur nodded, jerking his chin at the window. "I saw. Gwaine knows?"

"Already behind him. So far the only thing that hasn't gone as you said it would was that he took the servant, Ian, with him."

Arthur snorted, mentally congratulating the manservant for being so perceptive. Had Ian known all along? There had been nothing in the servant's demeanor to suggest it, but Merlin would have dismissed him for the night before attempting this. Which meant Ian had deliberately followed him. Well done, he thought to himself. Well done, indeed.

"Then it's out of our hands now," he answered.

He never moved from the window, his eyes staring out intently, watching for the cloaked figures to return, praying in his heart that he'd done the right thing in allowing this. Trying to remind himself he'd had no choice. That all he was doing was taking advantage of how predictable his lover was.

It brought no comfort as the hours ticked by.

MERLIN10101010101010110MERLIN

Merlin worked quickly in saddling his horse, thankful the groomsmen didn't sleep in the stables. He threw a small saddle bag packed with a few things he hoped he wouldn't need. Reaching down, he secured his daggers, surprised to find they had become a welcomed and reassuring weight on his legs.

"The left one is looser than the right, Sire," a voice called from behind him, making him whirl. "With the chafe of the ride, they'll become unbalanced."

"Ian," Merlin sighed in relief. "What are you doing here?"

"Apparently the same as you, Sire. I'm in the mood for a late night ride."

Merlin hesitated, narrowing his eyes at his manservant even as Ian knelt and adjusted his sheaths. "I was hoping to go alone, Ian."

"I'm sure you were, Sire. But as you said, Beonin would never believe you'd be allowed to leave on your own."

"I'm not-"

"Sire," Ian chastised lightly, going to his own horse and began preparing the mare. "Please don't insult us both."

Merlin sighed, then frowned. "You haven't told anyone?"

"No, though I can think of a thousand reasons I should, Sire," Ian replied evenly. "However, I thought it best to reserve that threat for if you tried to stop me from coming with you."

"It could be dangerous, Ian," Merlin warned.

"Most likely, Sire," Ian agreed.

"I'm not going to kill him," Merlin insisted.

"You'll do what you believe best, Sire, I'm sure of it. I can imagine you have no intention of risking the King's life through the Link, and therefore have a suitable plan for bringing this entire situation to a resolution," Ian answered calmly, walking his horse to stand next to his Lord. "Shall we? Dawn comes quickly enough."

Merlin nodded, letting his manservant follow him into the night, wishing he was nearly as confident in what he was doing as Ian had suggested. The reminder of the risk to Arthur if this proved foolish had been enough to make him flinch, but he set his shoulders firmly in resolution. He didn't know what would happen, but he knew in his heart that he needed to give the former knight this chance. He knew what he was willing to risk, and what he wasn't. This wasn't some foolish whim taken on lightly. Beonin had already paid a hefty price for his treason. Hatred and revenge would cost him what little he had left. Freedom was on offer, and Merlin needed to make that offer before the man lost everything, for nothing.

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Gwaine followed the two figures silently from a safe distance, cursing himself. He'd argued with the Princess, swearing on all that was holy that Merlin wouldn't be this foolish, that he'd never pursue the exiled knight on his own. Most of all, he'd firmly believed Merlin would never risk Arthur's life like this. Those in the inner circle may not have understood everything, but they knew, risking one was risking both. That a magical link was somehow involved.

Because those two didn't have enough freakiness between them, he thought. Many contributed Arthur's new eyes and abilities to a spell of Merlin's, but he knew better. Durstan had happily filled him in on everything he knew and understood about a Soul Bond, which wasn't much. He didn't pretend to understand even half of it, and chose to understand instead that Arthur, somehow, had a weapon that could protect their warlock on a level no one else could. Except, apparently, from himself.

Despite that, Arthur had- correctly- predicted every move the warlock had made so far. It irked the Knight, who loved the boy as much in his own way. Hand of Justice, the Queen had called him. And he admitted, he liked the sound of it. He was the least noble of Arthur's Knights, he was sure, but the most useful, the most willing to get his hands dirty where others wouldn't. For Merlin, for his first real friend, he'd do anything. Blood washed off easily enough.

He glanced at the sky, saw the pre-light of dawn creeping over the horizon. Very soon, Princess would have to play his part. He didn't imagine it would be difficult for the King. The anger that had seethed off the man as he'd described exactly what Merlin would do had been palpable. The Knight had no cause to believe it would have cooled any in discovering he'd been right.

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Arthur sighed as the sun rose slowly. Almost time for it, then, to play out his part. Nothing in him agreed with what the warlock had done, but everything in him had known he'd do it. His rage wouldn't be hard to stir. His husband was nothing if not predictable. The more they had tried to protect him from it, the more the warlock had chafed at his restraints. This had been as inevitable as the creeping into the sky. He calmly walked over and rumpled the unused bed. Time for it to begin.

"Guards!" he called in a fury, and set about pacing the room.

He wasn't surprised when two Dumnonian guards crashed through, expecting trouble from the tone of his voice.

"Where is the Elder Prince?" Arthur demanded, waving toward the empty bed. "He didn't return last night. Where is he?"

The guard's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "I… I'm afraid I don't know, Sire. The shift before us never reported he wasn't in the room."

Arthur felt his face flare red in anger at the very real ineptitude of the guards. "So you mean to tell me that there's an entire guild of assassins looking for your Prince, and no-one thought it wise to report he hasn't been seen?"

The guard's own face went red with shame, and from the corner of his eye, Arthur could see the others in the hall shifting uncomfortably. Good. He looked at the guard, letting his irritation be seen as the man shuffled his feet, but remained where he was.

"Then why are you just standing there? Find him! And get me an audience with Prince Durstan and the Queen!"

He almost felt guilty for how fast the man moved.

Almost.

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Arthur smashed his way through the doors of the audience room, slamming them behind him. He took a deep breath, and fell lightly against them, closing his eyes, berating himself for ever thinking he could survive this. For thinking it would be easy.

"Was that really necessary?" the Queen asked him with irritation, causing the King to shove away from them and move closer to her, seated at the head of the table. There were no servants, no guards in here. Just the four of them.

"I'm afraid it was, your Majesty," Gwen answered for him. "Arthur's reaction has to be perfect for this to work. I'm afraid his temper has never done well when it comes to Merlin."

"Are you absolutely sure this is the way, Arthur?" the Queen sighed. "It seems very risky."

Arthur shrugged. "I never claimed it wasn't, your Majesty. But I know that man better than I know myself. There was nothing we could have done to avoid this. He would have found a way around anything we tried- it's my least favorite of his unique skills. The one and only man who might have had a slim chance to stop him is dead, and even he failed more often than not. No, if it was to happen regardless, it has a better chance of success if we support him rather than fight him." A lesson it had taken him far too long to learn, he feared.

"And you're sure Gwaine will be able to follow him without being seen?" Durstan asked. He had been the least supportive of this. In the end, it had been Gwen who'd forced him to concede, to allow for the reality of just how far Merlin would go to preserve a life.

"If anyone can, it's Gwaine," Gwen snorted. "He can make shadows appear noisy when he puts his mind to it. Which just makes him all the more frustrating when he chooses to be deliberately loud and obnoxious."

"It doesn't concern you, sending one man against this enemy?" Durstan asked. "We have no way of knowing how many men he has with him, where he's going to attack, or even when."

"It doesn't matter," Arthur answered quietly from his seat. "Ian tipped the scales."

"Arthur?" Gwen asked, hesitantly.

"Something… this is familiar…" Arthur murmured, closing his eyes. He cocked his head, as though listening for something. It pricked at the edges of his awareness, like a memory contained trying to come through. Nothing clear, nothing more than an instinct. But somehow he knew, without doubt, that Ian's choice to go had changed everything.

He wished he knew whether it was for better or worse.

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"You're absolutely sure?"

"The King of Camelot is in a state of fury over it. He has every guard and Camelot Knight searching."

"Who else is missing?"

"The servant and the deadly Knight have also not been seen."

"And the Royal Family?"

"Worried, but trying not to let it show. There were rumors of a meeting two days ago where the Queen expressed some anger over the carelessness Emrys displayed in his counter attack. There are whispers that he left from guilt."

"It's possible. And a small escort did successfully get out of the City unseen, even by my own eyes and ears. If he's recovered from his illness, he would be a formidable opponent in his own right. It's difficult to believe the young Prince would go without informing his King, and newly wed husband, however."

"There are stories, my Lord, of the Prince being headstrong, and frequently disobedient. Just before coming, I heard the Camelot Knights grumbling to each other over how often Emrys will take foolish chances to protect his lover. The Prince may have feared his King to be the next victim."

"And the direction?"

"Northeast, my Lord. Heading toward Camelot but making sure to avoid many villages. Emrys would be recognized anywhere should someone see him."

"You've done well."

"My Lord, the bounty on my daughter?"

"Will be removed should this information prove valuable. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your post. It would not do for the Queen to wonder where her lunch was."

The servant fled immediately, leaving the guild master to consider. This was not the first of his little pets inside the castle to report similar tidings. Was it possible? Had the young Prince actually unknowingly left himself so vulnerable? It was unclear whether the deadly Knight had gone with them or followed them, but there were merits to both actions. The King's reactions certainly seemed to match everything he'd heard and witnessed for himself. That kind of rage was difficult to fake.

He moved his bulk to his desk, cursing the softness of his once hard belly. Wealth did awful things to a man, he thought, reaching for his pen. A bird would fly soon, and then the matter would be left up to the Bounty Lord. He considered for a moment that a confrontation between the two may result in a lack of payment- he knew enough to know underestimating Emrys to be a mistake- but that was always a risk. Perhaps, he considered, rolling up the message, a side wager. Yes. There would be many interested in that- enough to make it a fat purse.

He'd profit one way or the other.