Long past midnight but prior to dawn, when all the stars had disappeared into a promissory grey, a young boy flew into Gaius's chambers and abruptly halted—Felix, the son of Timaeus and Octavia, who were lodging Sirs Oswald and Ethan. Disheveled and still gripping the open door, he knocked. Gaius stirred and Felix knocked again.
"Yes?" Gaius propped himself up on an elbow, groggy, trying to assemble some logic to the strange urchin disrupting his sleep at such an hour.
"Mother said to get you and Master Merlin," Felix said. His errand performed, he danced from foot to foot, his eyes darting everywhere but Gaius, lest the Court Physician ask a follow-up question. His eyes settled on Gwaine, sitting in the window—another incongruity of the hour.
"What's the problem?" Gwaine asked, rising from his seat and startling Gaius.
Gaius cursed unintelligibly and grabbed a robe.
"It's my sister and the knights," Felix said. He released the door and tried to leave.
"Hold it!" Gaius said. "We won't be able to follow you if you run off. Give us a moment—Merlin!"
Dressed and awake, and Gaius carrying his worn physician's bag, they reached the house of Timaeus and Octavia with the sun still below the horizon. The sky was growing lighter, however, and servants and merchants hurried about.
"Here they are," Felix announced upon entering his house. Gaius, then Merlin, then Gwaine followed, walking into a room of hostile silence. Multiple windows were open, along with the door, and the morning light crisply outlined every shape and form.
"Who—" Gaius began.
"We'd like those castle rooms after all," Sir Oswald told Merlin. The two knights were mostly dressed but completely packed—Merlin was surprised at how much baggage they had piled behind them, that they'd lugged all the way to Camelot on their own. On the other side of the room, Timaeus sat with his daughter, Flavia, in his lap, her wrapped hand resting on the table. A bit of blood had soaked through the cloth.
"What happened?" Merlin asked. Octavia put a bowl of porridge on the table for her son. Felix stirred it slowly, licked his spoon, and surveyed the adults in the room.
"Flavia cut herself on their swords," Octavia crossed her arms.
"I was just moving them off the table," Flavia complained quietly.
"Blunt swords," Timaeus added, not contradicting his wife. Gaius placed his bag on the table and sat down facing Timaeus and Flavia.
"Exactly," Sir Ethan said. "They're blunt." He pulled his out of its sheath—one of two he wore, Merlin noted, assuming the other one to be honed to standard sharpness. Oswald also wore two swords.
"Blunt," Ethan insisted, holding it up as proof. Gwaine moved closer, eyed its length, and held his hand out for permission to examine the sword by hand. Oswald cleared his throat and Ethan re-sheathed it.
"She hurt herself on your carving knife," Oswald sneered at Octavia. Gaius had unwrapped Flavia's hand to see her wound, but Oswald's tone drew his attention.
"It's a bit uncourteous to accuse guests like this," Oswald continued. "So if we may," Oswald turned to Merlin. "More suitable rooms—per Prince Arthur."
"Yes Merlin," Gaius could barely hide his disbelief, "perhaps it's best if you escort these knights out."
"I'll help," Gwaine said.
"Follow me, then," Merlin said, extending his arm to let them exit first. Gwaine picked up one of their bags, and Merlin led the way to the castle. Luckily, the rooms had not been reassigned.
It took several trips for Merlin and Gwaine to carry everything up to the rooms. Gaius cleaned and sutured Flavia's wound. He instructed her parents how to take care of it, what to watch out for, and to see him if they had any concerns. Finished with Oswald and Ethan, Merlin and Gwaine returned, Merlin short of breath and rolling his shoulders, Gwaine with only a slight glisten on his face to betray any exertion.
"Did Sir Oswald's manservant not help?" Gaius asked as they walked away from Timaeus's house. More a comment than a question.
"He has his own servant?" Merlin said, exasperated.
"No servant," Gwaine said. "How's the girl?"
"She was cut by an extremely sharp blade," Gaius said. "It's clean, it'll heal . . . " Oswald bothered him. He knew the family was telling the truth, that Flavia had faltered while moving the swords out of the way.
"Blades that are, as far as anyone can see, blunt," Gwaine said.
"Too bad you couldn't get a closer look," Merlin said. "I think they noticed you trying."
"I saw what I needed," Gwaine said. "Their behavior said it all."
"Have you ever met Sir Oswald before? Or Sir Ethan?" Gaius asked.
"No," Gwaine said. "But I've seen such blades before—they're forged by sorcery."
"I wish I could say I was surprised," Gaius sighed. "I have met Oswald before. He's a good fighter—likes the camaraderie more than the action—a bit of an epicure, and he is one of the most courteous, respectful gentlemen I have ever met. You'd like him," he told Gwaine, "despite yourself."
"And yet I find him discourteous and uncaring," Gwaine said.
"With magic blades," Merlin said, as they crossed the gate of the inner wall. "That's a risk to take, bringing them here—they mean to use them. Probably to kill someone—the Melee," Merlin realized. "Arthur."
"Or any of the other dozen noble sons fighting for prestige," Gwaine said. "A pretend battle is the perfect cover—it'll be impossible to say just who did it, assuming the death isn't dismissed as unfortunate happenstance."
The sun had risen by now, and with it castle activity. They passed manservants, maidservants, pages, and squires; ladies ambling arm-in-arm, or escorted by well-dressed noblemen; they passed guards, and four Camelot knights—marching two-by-two—set to patrol the lower town.
"We have to warn somebody," Merlin said.
"Merlin," Gaius was tired of explaining this: "Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan are knights."
"And I'm just a servant."
"I'm not," Gwaine said, and veered away from the ground entrance leading to Gaius's chambers.
"What are you doing?" Merlin said.
"You still need proof," Gaius called.
"That's the beauty of being the King's nephew," Gwaine grinned. "I can just ask."
"Let me," Merlin began, but Gaius grabbed Merlin's sleeve, tugging him into the stairwell.
"Do you really think those crystals they wear are involved?" Gaius asked quietly, wary of any nearby ears.
Merlin nodded grimly. "I can't explain it, Gaius," and he tried to explain, but Gaius stopped him.
"What if they weren't wearing them?" Gaius said.
"You mean, do they ever take them off? Or do you mean—"
"I mean, you wouldn't have to get close—the crystals could 'accidentally' fall off."
True that, Merlin thought—he rather liked the idea. But where and when?
"It might give us some answers, Merlin," Gaius said, misinterpreting Merlin's thinking for hesitation.
"Yes it might," Merlin said—no more dead ends. "In fact, I should probably double check how Sir Oswald is settling in to his chambers right now." Merlin bounced back down the stairs, smacking into Gwen upon his exit.
"Sorry!" Merlin said, speaking over, around, and with Gwen's own apologies.
"Arthur's pacing the corridors looking for you," Gwen said. "He has not had his breakfast yet."
Except this dead end.
"I'm on my way," Merlin sighed.
He hadn't had breakfast, either.
Arthur attacked his breakfast silently. Merlin made Arthur's bed, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible—somewhat difficult, as Arthur sat at the window-side of his table, the fireplace to his left, and Merlin well within sight on his right.
It dawned on Merlin that Arthur knew about his magic, yet here he was, making the bed by hand. He stopped. He positioned himself off to the side, and lifted Arthur's sheets with magic, then the blankets, weaving his hands in the air with each motion. He felt Arthur's glare, but gave it only cursory notice—and whatever ire Arthur felt, it was soon replaced by curiosity. The study of something heretofore hidden from him. Merlin clamped down the grin that threatened to dominate his face—he couldn't deny he appreciated being the center of attention, yes—but to use magic in front of someone without fear of death, punishment, reprisal, admonishment, or just plain old impatience—how comfortable—how relieving it was.
Arthur felt his father's opinion crawl around his neck like an iron collar. He chewed more pensively. Someone knocked on the door, startling Merlin.
"Enter," Arthur called once Merlin had resumed the mundane way of adjusting Arthur's pillows.
"Sire," a servant took one step across the threshold to deliver his message. "King Uther desires your presence."
Merlin's gut tripped with anticipation—Gwaine had really done it.
The Council of Camelot and a small array of knights waited with Uther in the Great Hall.
"Gwaine has an interesting accusation," Uther said to Arthur before sitting down on his throne. Arthur nodded at the information and took his place to the King's left. Merlin drifted over to Gaius's side, neither voicing their shared concern.
Gwaine strode through the open door at the end of the Hall, two swords in hand. A few steps behind came Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan, half-dressed and disarmed, escorted by Sir Lamorack on one side and, reluctantly, Sir Cadoc on the other. Cadoc was Oswald's friend, Merlin remembered, although Oswald seethed equally at everyone around him. Indignant. Bellicose. Ethan, however, shrank with each step, subtly, trying to hide the burgeoning panic in his eyes. Two additional knights brought up the rear.
And as Gwaine proceeded toward Uther, Morgana snuck into the Hall, shadowed by Gwen. She took her seat on Uther's right, and Uther did not so much as flick his eyes in her direction. Merlin wondered if Uther had actually summoned her.
"My lord, King Uther," Gwaine declared upon reaching the proper space in front of the throne. "Here are the swords of which I spoke, discovered in the chambers of Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan, as searched by your own loyal men."
Gwaine maintained a lordly mien, and Merlin suspected he was enjoying himself—enjoying his princely position, despite the sardonic undertone of his speech.
Lamorack and Cadoc bowed their heads to what Gwaine said, Lamorack formally, Cadoc ruefully. Merlin sympathized with Cadoc's dilemma, but too many questions surrounded Oswald and Ethan.
"Examine them for yourself," Gwaine said. Uther rose from his seat to take one of the swords, Arthur reached for the other. Merlin maneuvered discreetly behind Gaius—Gaius inhaled sharply, reading Merlin's intentions. Given Merlin's height, Gaius did not provide much cover.
"Looks blunt," Arthur said and flicked his thumb across the blade. "It's sharp!"
"Quite," Uther said, sizing up Oswald and Ethan, fury—and triumph—enfolding him like a cloak.
"This is impossibly sharp," Arthur continued. "How—?" But he knew the answer, even as he looked to Oswald for an explanation.
"Sorcery," Uther pronounced. Oswald and Ethan were not people anymore. Merlin seized this last opportunity, with all eyes on the accused. He espied the chains around their necks, the slight bulge beneath their tunics where the crystals lay. Memorized it. He closed his eyes—they could betray him—and concentrated, forcing his lips not to move as he snapped first Oswald's, then Ethan's chain.
The crystals clunked to the floor.
"What—?" Uther started, accompanied by several other exclamations from the gathered court. Oswald and Ethan fluctuated, their features dissolving and doubling—many of those watching blinked, as though cross-eyed. Oswald patted his chest, verifying the crystal was gone. Ethan stooped to retrieve his, but holding the crystal—clenching it in his fist, even—didn't suffice.
Morgana gasped, her hand toward her throat, as she stared horrified at the two men, with instant recognition.
Dagr and Ebor stood before King Uther.
"Who are you?" Uther demanded, raising the tip of the Stulorne sword at them.
"You're from the village," Arthur said, dumbfounded. Disgusted. His Stulorne hung limp at his side. In his assessment, these two were not a threat, sorcery notwithstanding—he had already dealt with them.
Lamorack, Cadoc, and the two knights had all four unsheathed their swords, ready to defend.
"Dagr, isn't it?" Gwaine said, unarmed and, like Arthur, unthreatened.
"You thought I couldn't make you pay?" Dagr snarled at Arthur.
"You went through all this, to kill me," Arthur said. "Because I wouldn't let you steal from poor peasants?"
"So you'd let them steal from rich nobility?" Gwaine couldn't help himself.
"You ruined our livelihood," Ebor retorted.
"Tyrannizing others is not a livelihood," Arthur said. "And now, you're just going to be executed for your troubles."
Executed for sorcery, or for attempted assassination, Morgana thought. She dared not speak aloud, though—these were the two brutes she'd seen morph into Sir Oswald and Sir Ethan. Her own magic had seen through theirs, however briefly, and sitting next to Uther, such a gift meant death.
"You brought this on yourselves," Uther said. "Seize those crystals, and take them to the dungeons."
Dagr and Ebor tried to fight. Ebor struggled when Lamorack took his crystal, and Dagr shoved one of the knights behind him, attempting to make a run for it. Cadoc tripped him instantly, as the knight recovered and threw his weight on top of Dagr, shoving Dagr's face to the floor. Bigger than the knight, Dagr would've heaved him off, if Cadoc had not put a boot to his neck.
"I assume my friend is dead," Cadoc said, pressing the tip of his sword beneath Dagr's chin—pressing just hard enough to draw blood. Other knights from around the Hall circled them, and Dagr decided he'd rather live for the moment. Led by Sir Lamorack, Dagr and Ebor were escorted to the dungeons by a dozen men.
A knight—Sir Nabon—retrieved the crystals while another knight, Isenhart, received the Stulorne swords from Arthur and Uther.
Relief and elation swept over Merlin—it had all gone so smoothly. He wanted to celebrate with Gwaine—but Uther had beckoned and Gwaine performed the dutiful response by conferencing with the King. Merlin waited for a congratulatory pat on the back from Gaius, but Arthur moved first, grabbing Merlin and dragging him out to a deserted corridor.
"Amazing, Merlin," Arthur said sarcastically. "Just as Gwaine, your bosom buddy, exposes Dagr's magic swords, Dagr spontaneously loses his magic disguise—his true identity revealed in front of everyone. Beautiful plan—any reason you didn't want to let me in on it?"
Not the praise Merlin had hoped for.
"I didn't plan it," he said defensively. "I just—seized the opportunity. And Gwaine did all that on his own. And we only found out about the swords this morning."
"Arthur," Morgana called before Arthur could reply. She approached quickly, Gwen on her heels. "Arthur, can I speak with you? Alone."
"I'm a bit busy right now, Morgana."
"It's important."
Arthur waited for her to continue, but Morgana bristled at Merlin's presence.
"It's important . . . " Arthur said.
"Was another man with them? Dark hair, dressed like a peasant who stole from a nobleman?"
"Sir Oswald has a servant," Merlin offered.
"Doubtful," Morgana said. "Not the way they were arguing."
"It was more like he knew who they were, and they were threatening him," Gwen said.
"Someone knew?" Arthur gestured back toward the throne room.
"Whoever gave them those crystals would know," Merlin said. Borrowed something from me, 'Beauregard' had said.
"A sorcerer," Morgana was saying, realization dawning: "Malduc."
Of course. "Malduc," Merlin said. The real name. And Merlin had had him.
"Malduc," Arthur said. "Who killed King Ricatus and tried to kill King Mark?"
"He was outside your house," Merlin said to Gwen, kicking himself—he had chatted with him. Gwen shuffled uncomfortably, glancing at everyone, yet meeting no one's eyes. Merlin hadn't meant to put her on the spot, she knew, but like Merlin and Morgana, she'd interacted with this sorcerer—she should've noticed.
Arthur sprang into action. "Morgana, you and Gwen go to your chambers, post two guards outside your door," he ordered.
"You're shutting me away?" Morgana said.
"I don't care how unfair you think it is," Arthur said. "Complaining won't help. Merlin, go with them—stay with them," he glared at Merlin and Morgana, then ran back to the Great Hall.
"We should go," Gwen said before either Merlin or Morgana could speak. She placed her hand on Morgana's shoulder. "Morgana, please."
"You are not coming," Morgana informed Merlin.
"Morgana," Gwen said softly.
"Yes, my lady," Merlin said, frustrated by Arthur's dismissal, and too preoccupied with finding Malduc to argue with Morgana. If Malduc wanted his crystals back, he'd have to take them by force from the vault underground, which meant that that was where Merlin needed to be. Merlin sprinted down the corridor, ignoring Morgana's spiteful glare.
Merlin suspected Malduc had ways of discovering the vault—if he weren't already on his way. Malduc seemed to have been following Dagr and Ebor closely. Or, at least, closely enough—he might already know what had transpired. But even if Malduc yet knew nothing, Merlin could grab the crystals and force Malduc to come to him.
Unfortunately, Malduc had found the vault. Merlin heard the struggle—defensive yelps, iron hitting stone—and doubled his speed to the first gate leading to the vault. Sir Isenhart lay slumped in the corner, unconscious but still breathing. Sir Nabon was dead, his head shoved between the bars of the gate, blood running from his ears, nose, and mouth.
Malduc was bent over by Sir Nabon, lifting a crystal that had fallen to the floor, its mate already in his hand. He heard Merlin's scuffling footsteps—Malduc flung out his hand, releasing a compact gale in Merlin's direction—Merlin's eyes flashed, his hand lifted as a shield—a small bang like thunder echoed as the forces collided—Malduc was thrown to the ground—Merlin flew backwards, as if picked up by the wind and dropped. Merlin regained his balance first.
"Stop," he ordered.
Malduc scrambled to his feet, overcome by shock. He stared, uncomprehending, at Merlin.
"You—" he said. "You?"
"Stop," Merlin repeated, a plaintive note now in his voice. The collision was loud enough that surely guards would soon arrive. He didn't want to be caught using magic. He also didn't want Malduc to tattle on him—nor did he want to kill Malduc (not that watching his execution was preferable).
"Why?" Malduc said, as if Merlin had betrayed him.
"'Why?'" Merlin couldn't believe the question. "Why what? You're hurting people—why are you doing this?"
"You mean surviving?" Malduc said. "As opposed to what, complacently laying my neck on the executioner's block?"
"As opposed to not killing people!"
"Do you tell Prince Arthur that?" Malduc scoffed. "Does he know about you?"
Merlin couldn't answer—weren't the guards coming?
"No, of course not," Malduc said. "That would put your life in danger—then you'd have to defend yourself, too."
"Arthur's my friend," Merlin said, to half-answer Malduc's question.
"Your friend?" Malduc laughed—a pure, instinctive, disdainful laugh. "You think the master is the servant's friend? You are nobody, as far as such princes are concerned—is that why you're down here? You think you'll earn recognition by capturing me? Killing me?" Malduc walked toward Merlin. "Are you going to try to kill me?"
Two steps separated them—too close for Merlin's comfort. He could feel energy forming in his palms, flowing up his arms like beads of sweat.
"If Prince Arthur hasn't noticed you yet, he won't notice you ever. Would you like to know how I've walked through King Uther's Camelot so freely?"
"With a false name."
"And it was as good as an enchantment," Malduc said. "I am a fishmonger's son—nobody cares that I exist—I am beneath the consideration of nobility, so they never see me. But you think the world will make an exception for you? I am your only hope for earning renown—I see skills, I understand labor—I haven't the pomposity of the self-celebrated, so-called nobility."
"Ptssh. The pretentiousness of nobility is exactly what you have. Look at you, you try to dress like a noble, act like a noble—and listen to yourself: You are my only hope?"
"You don't know how it used to be," Malduc snapped. "Sorcerers used to be kings, not prey. But if you are content to idle in the shadows, so be it. I have a greater destiny."
Malduc tried to brush past, but Merlin blocked the way.
"How honorable," Malduc said. "They'd kill you, if they knew what you were."
Merlin regarded Nabon and Isenhart. Nabon had been with them in Cameliard, where magic was legal—had that changed him? Merlin hadn't tested those knights—he didn't want to push his luck. And Sir Isenhart—one of Uther's men, was all Merlin knew.
Malduc was walking away. Nabon had been the one carrying the crystals, and was dead. Isenhart had the Stulorne blades, which remained on the floor nearby.
Merlin ran after Malduc, but Malduc had bolted, with enough of a lead that Merlin couldn't catch up. He bumped into some knights, heading down to the vault.
"What happened?" one asked. "Nabon said Isenhart is dead."
Nabon? "That was Malduc!" Merlin said. "Nabon's dead."
Two knights broke off from the group and headed back, but Merlin guessed that Malduc was as good as gone.
"Show me," the knight said, and Merlin, defeated, led them to the vault—to Sir Isenhart, and the body of Sir Nabon.