A/N: It is...almost Halloween again. Whoops. I'm still alive, folks, and I'm still working on this, of course! I HAD to update today, though, even though its been so long, because today, SEpt. 20, 2018, is BBC's Merlin's tenth anniversary! Amazing, huh? So here ya go, and in honor of the 10th, for the first time ever, additional content for The Price Of Eight For One will be available in the form of short stories from Merlin's soulmates perspective's. It will be published tomorrow under the title What To Expect When You're Expecting (One Soulmate But It Turns Out She has Seven More), shortened to What To Expect When You're Expecting (One Soulmate).
Enjoy this chapter and go check out the bonus content sometime in the next couple of days if you want!
Chapter 16:
The sweet scent of flowers fills the air. Winter is giving way to spring, and the green things of the earth know it.
Merlin breathes in the delicious air, turning her head over on her pillow contently. The little magic which still lives in Camelot's air sings, making her feel a contented buzz of happiness. Her stiff, narrow bed has never been so comfortable.
Her eyes shoot open. Light is streaming in through the window; the sun is warm.
It's the third day of the Forgaians' visit, and the second morning since the fiasco at the banquet. Arthur and King Omarr are supposed to review their treaty this morning, and Merlin is late.
She practically flies out of bed, throwing on her clothes, and barely sparing a moment to ensure that her nice blue neckerchief is securely tied. She bolts down the stairs, throwing her bag over her neck in a beeline for the door.
"Merlin, where are you g—?" Gaius's voice is cut off by the door shutting behind her.
"Sorry, I'm late!" Merlin calls over her shoulder.
She arrives at Arthur's chambers in record time, stifling a laugh at the prince's attempt to dress himself. They arrive at the meeting room only a minute or so late, and Arthur is forced to grumpily apologize for his servant's tardiness.
Merlin keeps her eyes down and tries to look sorry and meek.
"No matter, Arthur," booms King Omarr. "Actually, I wonder if your servant wouldn't mind taking my son and his guard around the city for a while to see the sights while you and I discuss the treaty."
"Of course," Arthur acquiesces. He waves his hand at Merlin. "Go along then. Take your time showing Prince Osmund all the best sights."
"As you wish, sire," Merlin says, sketching a light, mocking bow, knowing only her soulmate can see the light of mischief in her eyes.
Arthur ignores her with a herculean effort, turning to King Omarr to add, "I'm sure His Highness will enjoy the tour. Camelot is a wonderful city."
"So I have witnessed," the Forgaian king agrees graciously, and then addresses Merlin, "my son may be found in his chamber, and the knight posted at the door, Sir Enten, is his personal guard."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Merlin says.
Arthur makes a shooing motion behind his back. Merlin shoos.
She arrives at the young prince's chambers to find a knight in a deep blue cloak guarding the entrance. He is extremely tall, with brown hair down to his ears, a hooked nose, and a haughty expression.
"Sir Enten?" She sketches a slight bow. "His Majesty the king sent me along to take Prince Osmund on a tour of Camelot. I was told you are to accompany us."
"My lord duke," said Sir Enten coldly.
Merlin blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"My proper title is 'my lord duke'," Sir Enten clarifies, his back straight. He looks down at Merlin with a sniff of derision. "You will address me properly or not at all."
Merlin fights not to roll her eyes. Duke of what, exactly? "Understood, my lord duke."
"Good. And you will address the prince as 'your Highness' or 'my lord prince'. In Forgaia, we do not tolerate disrespect," he warns her sternly.
Merlin wonders why Arthur gave her this job. Is it because she was late?
Sir Enten—she refuses to call him 'my lord duke' in her head—knocks on the door. "My lord prince? The guide has arrived. Are you ready to tour the city?"
"Yes, one moment, Enten!" Osmund's young, high voice chirps through the door. "I'm coming!"
It opens a moment later. The young prince looks suitably excited, and not nearly as nervous as before. His eyes go wide when he recognizes Merlin from the hallway encounter.
She gives him a quick grin and a wink, hoping that he won't mention it. As Sir Enten turns back to close the door, Osmund returns the wink, looking thrilled to be in on a secret.
"My lord prince, this is King Regent Arthur's personal servant…." Sir Enten trails off.
"Merlin," Merlin supplies readily. "I'm honored to show you the best of our fair city, your Highness."
"And I am honored to see it," Prince Osmund returns, though he looks bored of the pleasantries. "Shall we?"
Merlin spends most of her day escorting the prince and his guard through the city. She shows them the different marketplaces; the farm area with its produce and the fine wares of all the vendors. They visit the smithies and the jewelry makers, the clothiers and the stalls with piping hot meat pies.
Street performers are a dime a dozen because of the visiting royalty. Some do acrobatics, backflips and pretzels. Other play their instruments or sing, even acting out skits with puppets. They all have hats or tins for tips.
Osmund insists on trying a pie, and buying apples in the farm section, and tips a minstrel who played his favorite tune on a harp. The young prince has a grand time, not encumbered in the least by his scowling guard, who seems to disapprove of everything as disrespectful as laughter.
Merlin is about ready to call it a day and retreat to the palace with her charges when Osmund scurries through a tight spot in the crowd toward a candy seller and disappears in the crush of bodies. Sir Enten is highly dismayed, and Merlin can't help but feel a pang of worry. It takes them several minutes to find him, sitting on a barrel and looking around as though only just realizing he had gotten lost.
"My lord prince!" Sir Enten exclaims, grabbing his elbow as though he could disappear again any second. "What were you thinking—"
"Shhhh," Osmund cuts him off suddenly. "Listen!"
Where he is sitting on a spare empty barrel, he is directly adjacent to a vendor tent which seems to have just closed for the day. The purple curtain is shut, but voices can still be heard faintly through the din of the marketplace.
"—on't tell me it ain't trouble! Mark me, when knights of the realm are punished just for wanting to seek out dirty magic-users, it ain't long til those filthy creatures take over the whole kingdom, and Camelot too!"
Merlin listens, her heart in her throat. Sir Enten's hand drifts onto his sword hilt. Osmund seems to have lost all his color.
"It's those rats they call royalty," a different voice replies. "They harbor magicians and witches, no doubt. They ought to be stomped on, just like the vermin they're protecting."
"Oh, we'll see that they are," the first voice says, snickering.
Osmund lets out a tiny squeak of fright. Sir Enten's hand claps over his mouth, his other hand beginning to draw his sword from his sheath.
The voices move on to talk about the price of silk as though they hadn't just been discussing murder.
"No," Merlin whispers, stopping Sir Enten's wrist with her hand. She shakes her head. "Osmund needs to get back to the castle."
Sir Enten doesn't even bother correcting her form of address. He nods curtly. Osmund slides off the barrel quietly, and they slink away from the tent, only daring to hurry once they're farther off. They make their way back to the castle quickly, going straight to Prince Osmund's chambers.
"I need to tell Sir Leon," Merlin informs Sir Enten. "He'll know what to do. And then Arthur and your king will need to hear as soon as they're out of their talks."
"Then do so," he orders brusquely. "I will see that my lord prince stays safely in his chambers."
Osmund slips inside his door without saying anything. He glances back just before the door shuts, and Merlin sees a sliver of his face; full of fright and very pale.
Merlin speeds off toward the armory without a second glance. When she can't find Leon there, she checks his castle chamber, and finds him writing out guard schedules.
"Leon, someone wants to murder the Forgaians!" She blurts, skidding to a halt, her hand still resting on the door handle.
Leon closes his eyes slowly, not moving from where he sits at his desk, the schedules spread out in front of him. "Of course. How could this visit get any worse?"
Merlin stares openly, wondering why Leon can't seem to be bothered to move. "Leon? Did you hear what I said? Possible murder? The visting Forgaian royalty?"
Leon stands suddenly, as if galvanized into action. "Of course. What did you hear? We need to inform Arthur and King Omarr right away."
Merlin describes the overheard conversation on their way to the throne room where Arthur and King Omarr have been going over treaties all day. Leon listens gravely, and asks a few questions about which tent, where in the market, etc., the details of which Merlin gladly supplies.
They arrive at the throne room, and Leon strides up between the guards stationed at the huge wooden door and raps on it smartly.
"Come," Arthur calls, and Leon tugs the doors open, gesturing Merlin inside.
King Omarr and Arthur seem to be in good moods, seated comfortably at the table and enjoying a light dinner, courtesy of the fine Camelot kitchens.
"What is it, Leon?" Arthur asks, ignoring Merlin.
She rolls her eyes. He's probably still miffed that she was late.
"Sire," Leon reports solemnly, his hands clasped behind his back, "there has been a death threat against His Majesty King Omarr and His Highness Prince Osmund."
"Excuse me?" Arthur drops his fork. His good mood vanishes like a gust of smoke on a windy day.
King Omarr's jaw drops. He stands hastily, knocking over his goblet of wine, which spills across the table. Merlin makes a beeline for the nearest towel.
"What is this nonsense? A death threat? Do you mean to tell me my son is in danger?"
"Possibly, Your Majesty," Leon allows, frowning. "But within the safety of the palace—"
"Safety—what rubbish! Girl!" King Omarr turns on Merlin, who is mopping up the spilt wine. "What have you done with my son?"
"I escorted His Highness and Sir Enten back to the palace, and when Sir Enten assured me he would take the prince to his chambers, I went straight to Sir Leon, Sire," Merlin explains, pausing in her wine-cleaning duties. "Your son is in his chambers, guarded by your own knight."
"Ah. Well…good," King Omarr says, nonplussed. "That's good. Although I request that you address my knight with the respect and title he deserves. He is properly referred to as 'my lord duke'. More to the point, what do you plan to do about this…threat, Pendragon?"
Merlin tries not to roll her eyes. 'My lord duke' indeed.
"Investigate its authenticity and potential danger, of course," Arthur responds quickly, having regained his decorum. "Sir Leon, get to it."
The Forgaian king nods, but he seems to have completely lost his good humor, his face slowly turning splotchy and red with anger as he fondles his sword hilt. Merlin had assumed it was ceremonial and strictly decorative, but now she keeps one cautious eye on it.
"Right away, sire." Leon sketches a bow to both royals and exits hastily, leaving Merlin to find another towel and hopefully prevent King Omarr from stabbing Arthur.
She can understand the urge; honestly, she has it often enough herself. But on the off-chance that something goes wrong and things get ugly, she doesn't look forward to stopping the big, bulky Forgaian king without flaunting her magic.
Merlin sneaks off into the corner when she's done cleaning up the wine, watching as Arthur and King Omarr make stiff conversation that has nothing to do with death threats. She eyes the parchment strewn across the table and wonders how close they were to signing the treaty.
Almost half an hour later, both royals have relaxed slightly, sitting more comfortably and resuming their meal. Merlin is playing waiter and wondering if she can reasonably sneak off and get some hot, calming herbal tea to the prince with his own dinner, since the crisis seems to be, if not resolved, probably contained.
In fact, she'd be unsurprised to learn at any moment that Leon has already taken the culprits prisoner, given his recent understandably bad mood.
Merlin has quietly made her way nearly to the serving door of the throne room to find some of that tea—if she's right, it'll do the poor scared prince some good—when the double doors to the hall burst open.
Surprisingly, it's Sir Enten skidding through them without a hint of decorum. His face is red and sweaty, and he looks horrified.
"My lord king, Sire," he stammers, stumbling to a halt and sketching a perfunctory bow. "The prince—"
King Omarr rises to his feet, alarmed. "What about my son?"
Merlin squeezes her eyes shut for a fraction of a second. This can't be good.
Sir Enten seems to choke on his words. "He's—he's gone!"
King Omarr's eyes bulge. "What?!"
Pandemonium erupts.
Only two hours, five frantic searches of the palace, and about sixteen threats from King Omarr later, can any sort of calm be established.
Arthur has officially lost his cool about two searches ago, and Merlin, who left for fifteen minutes to more quietly coordinate the castle servants into checking all the serving passages and staircases, almost regrets leaving at all.
The Forgaian king drew his sword and waved it in Arthur's direction more than once before she made her exit, but with a plethora of guards in the room—both Forgaian and Camelotian—she decided it was probably safe.
She sneaks back in and is pleasantly relieved to find that somewhere in the chaos of nearly fifty guards from two cities tearing the palace apart looking for the prince, Gaius has figured out what is happening and come to mediate.
"—don't know for sure that this is indeed a kidnapping, Sire," he says placatingly. His arms are folded securely into his red robes and unlike most of the occupants of the room, his face is calm.
"Gaius is right," Arthur agrees, looking both stressed and thankful to have a voice of reason. "Perhaps the prince—"
"What, ran away?" King Omarr booms derisively. "When he knows of the danger that could await? Hardly! Who is this old fellow anyway—"
Merlin lets out a barely audible squeak of protest, but thankfully, at the back of the room as she is, no one hears her.
"I would thank you to address my trusted adviser with respect, as you commanded my servant to address your knight with respect, Your Majesty," Arthur says, his voice holding a note of warning.
King Omarr flushes and draws himself up proudly, reminded of the respect that is so vital for figures of importance in his own culture. "You are right, Pendragon, that was wrong of me. I admit that I am harried by worry for my only son, and have failed to remember myself. Your forgiveness, grandfather, and your title?"
Gaius blinks. "Ah…yes. You have it, Sire. I am only a physician who offers advice, but Gaius is my name."
"Thank you, Gaius." King Omarr inclines his head. "If we may return to the pressing matter of my son's untimely disappearance?"
"Of course," Arthur retreats, accepting the olive branch for what it is and moving forward. "We are expanding our searches, and Sir Leon is personally investigating the threat in the light of Prince Osmund's disappearance. However, there is no way to be certain whether…."
Merlin tunes out, inspecting King Omarr's face, which is rugged and flushed an angry red, but still noble. She is struck by the man's humility. In the midst of a roaring fit on behalf of his missing son, he had the decency, when admonished—however gently—to apologize to a figure below his station and even ask for forgiveness. Loud and demanding he may be when it comes to his child's safety, but he still tries to keep the traditions of respect he follows even in his anger.
With night coming on fast and nothing left to do but continue the searches, the royal parties in the room retire to wait, although King Omarr is obviously unsatisfied. Merlin doesn't blame him; if someone she cared for suddenly disappeared she would be angry too.
This makes her remember that she is angry.
She tries not to think of Morgana.
"I just want to get out there and find him," Arthur grouses. He sits at his desk in his nightshirt, picking at an old, tattered quill. "The entire treaty hinges on Osmund not being harmed. Omarr has already threatened to dissolve the treaty once. I believe he may actually do it! And I just can't believe that an intruder could have stolen the prince out of a guarded room in the middle of the palace!"
"You're needed to run Camelot, you can't exactly miss a night of sleep to join the search. And maybe he wasn't kidnapped after all," Merlin reasons from where she is retying his bed-curtains.
"Right, but then, what—he just ran away?" Arthur scoffs. "Omarr is right, that isn't exactly very likely. He had no reason to run. Why wouldn't he stay where it was safe?"
"Hmm. I dunno, Arthur." Merlin frowns, staring at the red silky cords binding the curtains to the bedpost. "Maybe he thought it wasn't safe?"
Arthur actually gives that a moment of that. "But why?"
Merlin groans. "I don't know, you prat! You figure it out for once!"
"For once?" The future king of Camelot looks offended and takes this moment to throw the end of a candlestick at his unsuspecting servant.
"Ow! Arthur!" Merlin rubs her ear, where the candle end glanced off and fell to the ground. She bends down to pick it up and tosses it back casually.
"All I'm saying, Merlin, is when have you ever figured something out before me?"
Merlin turns away to hide a smile. When indeed.
She points Arthur toward his bed and leaves for her own, hoping he actually ends up there.
She goes by Uther's chambers next, to see Gwen.
The dark-skinned maidservant is just shutting the door to Uther's chamber when Merlin turns the corner. The guards on each side of the door nod to Gwen and she starts down the hall toward Merlin, perking up when she sees the familiar face of her soulmate.
"Merlin!" Gwen exclaims, careful to keep her voice soft. "I was just about to head out. I heard all the commotion in the palace, but all I could find out was it's something to do with the visitors? I'm sorry I haven't been more helpful with that, I've just—"
"Gwen." Merlin stops her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine, I promise. You've been running yourself ragged trying to take care of the king."
It's true. Gwen's hands are twisted into her apron, and she has dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is a little more frizzy than normal, and is falling out of her bun.
"I know," Gwen admits, shrugging a little. "But still. I feel bad."
"Don't," Merlin insists. She steers Gwen toward the hallway with the hand on her shoulder. "You need to go home and rest. The visiting prince has disappeared, that's what was happening. We need you to be as alert as possible tomorrow to make sure no one gets to Uther."
"But tonight—" Gwen moves as if to go back to the king's chambers.
"The guards can handle it," Merlin tells her confidently. "Your job is to go home and sleep."
Gwen sighs. "You're right. I should go."
"I'd walk you there, but I want to go by and try to see Leon," Merlin says sheepishly. "Will you be alright alone? It's late."
"I'll be fine, Merlin," Gwen says fondly. "I've waked home alone plenty of times."
They part ways with a quick hug and Merlin sets out for Leon's quarters.
When she arrives, the room is dark and empty. Leon must still be out coordinating the searches, as they spread throughout the marketplace and homes. Merlin hopes he'll get at least some sleep, but she doubts it.
Unlike Gwen, who is a servant, Merlin can't exactly track down the head knight and tell him to go to bed, so she resigns herself to making extra eye-opener tea and giving it to Leon for the next few mornings. Her soulmate will need all the support she can give him.
All her soulmates will.
Merlin shuts the door to Gaius's chambers behind her with a tired sigh.
"Finally came home for supper, I see," Gaius remarks from the table, where he seems to have been waiting up. "I'm afraid it's quite cold."
"Gaius, I'm sorry," Merlin apologizes, sitting down across from him. "I've just been so busy. Arthur is too stressed about the treaty to sleep, Gwen is too stressed about Uther to remember to sleep, and I don't think Leon plans to sleep at all in the near future."
She picks up the bowl of lukewarm soup and starts to slurp it down hungrily.
Gaius watches her eat, his hands clasped on the table. "And how is the king? He seemed no worse this morning when I saw him."
"No better either," Merlin agrees, scraping her spoon on the sides of the bowl. "That's the trouble. I don't know how long Gwen can keep him alive like this; he's barely coherent."
"Yes," Gaius muses. "He's suffering from a malady of the mind, not of the limb, Merlin. He misses her."
"I know." Merlin swallows her last bit of cold soup morosely. "I do too. We all do."
Gaius sees the look in her eyes and reaches out to catch her hand. "Merlin. There was nothing you could have done."
"No, I…I know," she says, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I know."
Merlin stands abruptly, leaving her bowl behind. "I should sleep. Thanks for waiting up, Gaius."
"Of course," he says, watching her retreat up the stairs.
Merlin lies in bed that night and can't sleep either. When she finally does fall asleep, she dreams in color, and hears a familiar child. He used to scream, but now he cries, tears quiet but deafening in the silence of her dreamworld.
He is afraid.