xiv.
Merlin did not see Arthur for another two days, but the castle increased tenfold in activity. More knights and infantry and what Merlin supposed were the high-ranking men who led them. He noted that none of them were women, a realization that brought his conversation with Gwen to mind. He could not talk with her, either. Guinevere, like Arthur, had her attention stolen entirely by her duties.
Merlin grew bored of it all. His initial interest in watching the knights train and the servants bustle around like squirrels in autumn faded when none of it seemed to lead to anything. He wasn't allowed in on the council meetings with Arthur, Guinevere shooed him away whenever he approached, and everyone else gave him a wide, uneasy berth. He returned to the wood.
He needed to return regardless. He had been neglecting his duties. He walked his usual path, deep in the woods where no mortal had ever traversed and leaves thickened the morning sky. His every step on the damp earth brought moss seeping from the ground, every touch on rock sprung lichen to its surface.
The forest was still: safe, but tense. The trees knew of the oncoming war. Only a few needed to witness for the rest to know, though they had all felt the corruption of one of their own.
Merlin laid his hand to the bark of a tree, reading the ancient language etched there in the rough swirls. The magic imbued in the forest, the very life of the trees, was taut. They feared. Not for themselves.
Merlin eased the tension as he walked on. He left flowers and life and warmth in his wake, healed rotting fruit and revived withered plants. The trees did not care. He could not dismiss their insistence.
"I will," he spoke out loud, though he nor the Dryads needed verbal language. He had grown used to it with Arthur. Unlike human words, his reassurance was a guarantee of his intent.
He could not stop a war, but he could hasten its end. At the very least, he would try. They understood that.
He returned to the castle, and his first view was of dawn leaking through his window. He had been gone for almost a full day. Without the reminders of humans' concept of time, he had lost track of it. His second view was of the king on his bed, slumped against the pillows where he had fallen asleep sitting up. Waiting up.
The sun had not yet crept over the horizon, and the colors in the room were washed in the hazy grey of twilight. Arthur looked… common. His golden hair was simply yellow, the resplendent crimson of his shirt a muted burgundy. All of Arthur's foolish pride and sense of authority was lost to sleep. When he slept, he was not a king; just a man, no more or less than the people he ruled over. Of course, Merlin knew that truth regardless of the time of day. Arthur did not.
Merlin leaned over him, so close he could hear the gentle breath that raised his chest. He resisted the urge to play his fingers through that yellow hair, still soft and inviting despite the grey light.
"Were you waiting for me?" he spoke sweetly, but loud, and Arthur jerked awake hard enough to topple himself backwards. He shoved himself to his feet, forcing Merlin to take a step back or risk collision.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, his humanity covered once more by regal veneer.
"You are not the only one with obligations, Your Majesty." Merlin emphasized the title too much for it to be taken as respect. Arthur narrowed his eyes.
"I postponed a war for you," he growled. Merlin startled, the context of his promise to the Dryads bringing force to such words. But Arthur did not share that meaning. "Come," the king said, and walked out of the room.
Merlin trailed after him, mind racing. Was Arthur going to force him to march to battle? Help the king slaughter his own kind? Did he hear some new activity that warranted Merlin's counsel on magic or Morgana?
Arthur led him to the central hall, and then beyond, past the imposing stone archway onto the manicured green that surrounded the castle. The field's unnatural perfection was blemished, near the stone wall that circled the castle grounds. A wide dark splotch cleared into individual thin silhouettes as they approached. Merlin recognized them from the magic thrumming the air more than from sight. Saplings.
He ran the rest of the distance. The trees, shoulder-height and scrawny, were planted tenderly into the grass. They stood too uniform to look natural, but the care in their handling beamed off them like light.
Merlin wandered into the space between them, both hands trailing across the shivering branches. Arthur, not breaking his walk, caught up.
"Sixty," Merlin said. He glanced back at the king. The man's surprise faded to an impressed frown.
"That's correct. A tree for Gwaine, and then for every man whose body we have yet to bring back."
Yet. The stubbornness of that word was so human. Merlin stroked his hand across a branch and the translucent green buds clinging to it darkened as they grew a thumb-width larger.
"Do you like it?" Arthur was too refined to let the hope show in his voice, but Merlin knew it was there. He did not think his chest could grow tighter but it did, painfully so. When he didn't respond, Arthur continued. "During the day, this grove shall be open to any man, woman, or child who wishes to enjoy the shade and beauty of the trees. They will be well taken care of, and never harmed. Would you like to name it? The grove?"
"Yes," Merlin said, before Arthur had finished speaking.
Silence wafted between them for another half minute as Merlin continued admiring the trees.
"Is every tree a Dryad?" Arthur spoke up. The question made Merlin stop moving as he pondered how to answer.
"Yes… and no. A Dryad is… a part of the forest's magic. The tree's lives. It could be several trees' lives, or only one. Or just a fraction of one's, if the tree is old and strong enough." Merlin shrugged, not satisfied with the answer but knowing further attempts to explain would end in frustration for him and confusion for Arthur. Still, he was surprised when Arthur did not inquire further.
Instead the king asked, in the closest Merlin had ever heard him come to tentative; "Are… are they happy here?"
The tightness in his chest swelled and burst into an uncontrollable grin. He spun on his heel to face Arthur. "They're elated! Did you do this because of me?"
Arthur glanced to the side, reluctance dragging his face down. "I suppose you had a small influence in the decision," he acquiesced. Merlin did not bother biting back his happiness. He often had trouble understanding human's social language: the embracing, kissing, touching; it did not make sense to him, whether it should be done or not and why, but this was language he could comprehend. There was no better way Arthur could have shown his gratitude.
"I bless this grove," Merlin said, drawing Arthur's eyes back to him. "I bless it with the strength of the forest. May these trees grow tall, to watch over you and protect you from harm."
"Merlin, if you make these grow full overnight it will surely not be overlooked by the council, or the citizens of this city," Arthur cautioned. Merlin waved away his concern.
"They will grow at a normal pace. But they will grow vibrant and luscious and awe all who lay eyes on them."
Arthur took a moment to think of a proper response. He decided on a stilted, "Thank you." He gestured back to the castle. "I have to review the supply inventory. You may stay here as long as you like. Please refrain from magic."
Merlin did stay there, since he knew he was not wanted in the castle. And he did quite a lot of magic.
He made the young leaves lush and verdant, he strengthened the branches, he fortified the soil and drew up colorful little flowers throughout the grass. Busying himself so, the day passed by far more pleasantly than the rest of his time at the castle.
When Arthur returned hours later, Guinevere came alongside him. Merlin was so delighted to see her that he bounded up to her and, taking her hands, pulled her around in dizzying, exuberant circles. Her initial surprise faded to laughter as she spun with him, brown curls dancing and bouncing in the warm light of sunset. When she tore away from Merlin she stumbled, still laughing. Arthur caught her before she fell, holding her weight as she giggled helplessly under the kisses he dropped across her face.
"Have you seen it?" Merlin asked, spreading his arm to the trees. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Yes," Gwen said, breathless and too dizzy to look where he gestured. "Arthur seems quite fond of surprises these days." She smiled up at him. He responded by kissing her smile.
"Have you thought of a name?" Arthur asked the fairy.
"I've thought of some." Merlin drew the magic of the trees around him like a cloak, snuggling in its vibrant warmth. "A name is a powerful thing, not something to be given lightly. I'll need time to make the decision."
Arthur sighed, and the fall of his happiness was palpable. Even Guinevere sobered. "Well, when you have a satisfactory one, let Gwen know."
"What?" Merlin perked up, dissipating the magic wrapped around himself and moving closer to the pair. "Not you?"
"I am leaving in the morning, Merlin," Arthur said, the touch of his voice suggesting Merlin should have known. "I am going to war."
"You are?" Merlin asked, startled. "I thought all those lords and fancy people were going."
"Yes… and I with them. What kind of king would I be if I didn't lead my people to battle?"
"A living one," Merlin replied. Arthur's eyebrows dropped. Guinevere put a hand on his chest, looking up at him in earnest.
"I am concerned, too, Merlin," she said, though she didn't take her eyes off her husband's face. "But he's been through battle before. He's a good knight." Merlin could hear, plain as the fading day, that the statement offered no comfort to Guinevere.
He had a promise to uphold, though he did not know how to go about stopping what was already begun. But he was far more selfish than the trees. He did not care if the other humans died. Only if Arthur did.
The saplings behind him knew his intent, and he felt their disappointment. If protecting Arthur meant hurting another human, he would not hesitate. Hurt, he told the trees. Not kill. It made no difference to them.
"I'll go with you," Merlin said. Arthur blinked. "You wanted my help, no?"
"Yes… thank you." Arthur looked down at Guinevere's confusion. "But…" Merlin tensed. "I would rather you stay here for now. Your… knowledge may be useful in protecting the city and farmlands. If I need you, I will send for you." He met Merlin's eyes, his own hard and concentrated. "Understand?"
Merlin's eyes narrowed, then softened. Arthur could not speak freely in front of Guinevere, and humans were fond of hidden meanings. He nodded. "I understand." At the very least, it would do for now.