Chapter 14: Secrets

"No."

Merlin blinked at her, confusion clouding his eyes. "Why not?"

Morgana bit her lip, flinched away from him. Her eyes settled on the uncharacteristically quiet Arthur, who was riding at the head of their small column, a pensive frown on his face. He was obviously contemplating the knowledge about the prophecies that Merlin had given him. "I just…. I don't think it's a good idea to tell him yet."

"That's what I thought at first," Merlin confessed, "but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Blaise was right. There is a window of opportunity, and I don't want to miss it."

"Arthur has spent the last twenty years listening to his father rant and rave about how magic is evil and needs to be destroyed. He needs more time."

"But he's changed so much!" Merlin exclaimed. "He once asked me—well, Emrys me—to teleport him. I mean, yes, that was to get away from a magical haunted lake, but he still took up Excalibur and gave me permission to bring him home magically. And I don't think that he's ever been as rabidly anti-magic as Uther. When is the last time that he hurt a spellbinder who wasn't trying to kill him?"

The lady cringed.

"Morgana?" Merlin pulled up short, nearly riding his horse into a tree for lack of attention. Gwen, who was only listening in on their psychic conversation (without magic, she couldn't speak, only hear. Merlin had mentioned that there was probably a way to let her speak, too, but he didn't know how.) "What's wrong?"

He didn't know. He probably should, though, so Morgana would have to tell him, and in a contingent of six Camelot soldiers, too.

"He's led raids, Merlin."

Merlin's brow crinkled. Gwen flinched at the reminder. "You mean like when Uther makes him and the guards search everybody's possessions for evidence of magic?"

"That too," Morgana admitted, "but he's also led… other kinds of raids. On druid camps, Merlin. Three times, plus a fourth attempt when he couldn't find the camp."

"…What?" The warlock's mental voice was small and broken, his eyes huge.

"He led raids, Merlin. He didn't like it and he felt guilty afterwards, but he still did it. He wanted to make his father proud, so he did it."

Gwen was frowning at her, looking like she desperately wanted to say something, but her lack of magic kept her silent.

"When?"

"The last raid—the one when he couldn't find anything—he got back just a few days before you arrived in Camelot."

Merlin frowned, his gaze distant. "So why did Uther stop sending him out on raids, then?"

"How should I know?" Morgana demanded. "All I know is that Arthur Pendragon has led raids against the druids. He needs more time, Merlin. You have to be absolutely certain that he won't betray you."

"But he can't betray me," Merlin pointed out. "He's got enough sense to realize that Cornelius Sigan can't be defeated except with magic. Isn't it better to tell him when he can't send me away?"

Gwen nodded a bit too vigorously. Sir Leon, who was not at all privy to the silent conversation, looked extremely confused.

"Anyways," Merlin continued, "it's not like I'd be telling him about you, not without permission. He doesn't have to know if you don't want him to."

"Which I don't," Morgana replied promptly.

"Okay then. It'll just be me."

"So you really do intend to tell him?"

Merlin looked down at his saddle, his gaze distant. "…I think so, yes."

Now it was Morgana's turn to nearly fall off her horse. "Were you not listening?"

"Of course I was listening. I—"

"Morgana?" This voice was speaking out loud, to her ears rather than to her mind. "Is everything all right?" Leon asked.

Morgana's cheeks heated up. "We're perfectly fine, Leon."

"Are you sure?" The knight's tone was politely dubious. "Because you look very, ah, distracted."

"I'm sure."

"All right then," he muttered.

To stave off awkwardness and change the subject to something more palatable, Morgana changed the subject to Tintagel. Merlin, who had never heard this before, and Gwen, who had, were both attentive listeners. When Morgana was done, Merlin started talking about Ealdor. Morgana and Gwen had been there, of course, but they'd only stayed for a couple of days. Besides, the town had been preparing for battle with bandits while they were there, and those were hardly normal circumstances. Even Gwen talked a little bit about her childhood in Sir Leodegrance's household.

But no matter how cheery and light their conversation might be, none of the three speakers forgot what they weren't talking about.

Morgana could only hope that Merlin would see sense, that he would realize that Arthur did in fact need more time. But this was Merlin, so she very much doubted that he would.

Her dreams that night were dark and troubled, full of rejection and tears. She woke tense and frightened, a sharp contrast to Gwen, whose reunion with her brother the previous night had put her in a good mood.

Elyan had been on his way back to Camelot, he'd told his sister last night. He'd heard about Cornelius Sigan and was worried about his family, so he'd swallowed his pride and gritted his teeth and started walking. He'd picked up a few skills in his years away, and he wanted to protect him.

That was very sweet of him, Gwen had replied, but sword skills aren't much use against power like Sigan's. Elyan disagreed, Gwen disagreed with his disagreement, and before anyone knew it, they were arguing like only siblings could. Arthur, alarmed, had intervened, pointing out that they were going to Tintagel, so Guinevere wasn't in any danger.

Elyan had stared at him in horror for a few moments before announcing that the road to Tintagel was crawling with bandits, and if his sword really was useless against undead mages, he was coming with them.

Now three members of their newly expanded party (Leon, Elyan, and one of the guards) were breaking their collective fast in the common room. Elyan smiled, rose to greet his sister. "Leon gave me a job as a guard," he told her.

"So you really are coming with us?" Gwen asked, looking startled.

"Yes." Elyan's face was grim and determined. "I couldn't convince them to turn back, so I'm going with you. You'll be at least a little safer that way."

"Are the bandits truly that bad?" Morgana queried, incredulous.

"Bandits and slavers," Elyan sighed. "You'll need all the help you can get, my lady."

Morgana made a mental note to have words with Cador about that.

Leon abruptly heaved a heavy sigh, rose to his feet, and went marching off. Knowing him, he was searching for the other guards.

"Are the rumors true?" Elyan asked once the knight was out of sight. His voice had dropped in volume, and he stared at the door Leon had gone through.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Gwen pointed out.

"That he was temporarily arrested on suspicion of aiding a sorcerer."

"Oh! That."

"He was? Leon?"

"He wasn't exactly aiding the spellbinder, he was just… a bit too hesitant for Uther's tastes."

"But he actually got arrested?"

"Temporarily. Arthur too."

Elyan's gaze sharpened. "That's another rumor I've heard. They're saying that he doesn't just sympathize with magic, he was born because of a spell."

"I was what?"

Slowly, Morgana and the siblings turned around. Sure enough, Arthur stood there, shock and befuddlement writ plain upon his face. "I was born from a spell?"

Oh, gods. With everything that had been going on, Morgana had completely forgotten about this part of Merlin's 'word and deed' scheme. Now, though, she could clearly remember Morgause (who was not her sister) telling her stunned audience why Uther had really instigated the Purge.

Elyan fidgeted. "It's only a rumor, sire."

"Still, I want to hear it."

Morgana braced herself. Hopefully Arthur wouldn't believe it. If he did….

…then his reaction would not be pretty.

Arthur listened in silent disbelief as Elyan reluctantly told him what was supposedly the real story of his birth. His parents, desperate for an heir, had gone to Nimueh. The priestess had created him from magic and death—possibly the intended victim's, possibly his mother's—and after Ygraine had perished in childbed, Uther had blamed magic for his loss. The Purge was not a war on evil, out-of-control spellbinders. It was one man's revenge for a death that might not have been magical in the first place.

He didn't want it to be true, but….

Nimueh, balance, and timing. He'd never heard the name Nimueh before she started terrorizing the citadel, so how could random gossips know about her? Then there was the principle of balance. Gaius had told him once, back during Arthur's lessons about magical theory, that sometimes, people were so far gone that only another person's death could save them. He was fairly certain that that was what had happened when he'd been bitten by a Questing Beast. Emrys had killed Nimueh then, and her death had enabled him to save Arthur. As for timing, the Purge had begun very shortly after his birth, so shortly that the Day of Pyres had dawned mere hours after his mother's funeral.

It rang true. May the gods help him, it rang true.

Merlin and Morgana were staring at him like he was a burning flourmill, ready to explode at any moment. Guinevere was nervously chewing her lip. Elyan looked like he regretted saying anything.

"It's not necessarily true, of course," the wanderer reminded him. "People say all sorts of things, sire, but that doesn't make them true."

"But it could be," Arthur ground out. It was. His fists were clenched, trembling. "Like the rumors about Sigan. Where did you hear this?"

"A tavern about a day's walk north," he admitted. "There was more talk about Sigan, though, and things going on in Camelot today."

Arthur stood, nearly knocking over his chair, and stalked towards the stables. His breathing was loud, even harsh in his own ears.

"Arthur?" Merlin called, alarmed. Of course the fool was following him. Arthur grimaced and resolved not to answer him. Maybe he'd actually get the hint for once in his stupid life. "What are you doing?"

The prince kept silent. There was a ringing in his ears, a subtle red haze tinting everything and everyone around him.

Then Merlin was there in front of him, Merlin and Morgana and Guinevere. Between them, they blocked the exit.

"Step aside," Arthur ordered, a growl in his voice.

"Not until you promise not to do anything stupid," Morgana retorted.

His nails dug into his palms with almost enough force to draw blood. "I told you to step aside."

"Are you trying to go back to Camelot?" Guinevere asked him.

"I," Arthur replied, "am going to talk to my father."

The three miscreants blocking his way exchanged immensely skeptical looks. Arthur forged ahead, shouldering his way between Merlin and Morgana.

Guinevere grabbed his arm. "I think you need to calm down before you—"

Arthur pushed her off, his gaze fixed on the stables.

"Sire?" Leon rounded a corner, the rest of the guards on his heels. "Is something wrong?"

He rounded on his knight, a roar escaping from his throat. "YES!"

Leon stepped away, eyes wide.

"My father is a hypocrite and a murderer," he snarled, not caring that they were in public, not caring that anyone might see them and hear his words and learn his father's greatest secret. "Do you know why he started the Purge, Leon? Do you?"

He shook his head, wordless.

"Because he lost my mother to his own stupidity and was too much of a coward to accept the blame!"

With that, Arthur whirled away, stomped towards the stables. No one tried to stop him.

Except that they were trying to stop him, because Merlin and Guinevere had taken advantage of Leon's inadvertent distraction to steal all their riding tack. They stood in front of it with identical expressions of determination.

Arthur wanted to scream, but he bottled the rage—when had he gotten so angry?—and forced it deep inside himself. "Get out of my way."

"It can wait," Merlin said to him. He sounded like he was trying to calm down an attacking dog. "I know you, Arthur, and I know that if you attack your father, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"You're wrong. He deserves it."

"Yes," Merlin agreed, "but you don't."

Arthur froze, pulling up short. For some reason, Merlin's words managed to penetrate the red haze of rage clouding his thoughts.

"Arthur?" Guinevere's voice was soft, gentle, concerned. "Are you all right?"

There was a long moment of silence. The prince's fists unclenched, blood circulating back into his fingers. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to stand strong.

"…Damn him."

Their first day in Camelot was uneventful. Sigan did not do anything. Neither did Uther. By the end of the day, one of his apprentices predicted that the rest of their stay would be just as uneventful.

Alator knew better.

Sure enough, just after dawn on the second day, red-cloaked guards and knights boiled out of the castle and into the town. It was the most brutal raid (at least for residents of the city) in years. Doors were broken down, mattresses torn, possessions scattered carelessly on the floor.

Most of the peasants knew better than to resist. They had survived Camelot for this long, after all, and while this was by far the most violent Uther had been for quite some time, his regular searches were hardly gentle. Only a few were fool enough to resist.

Throughout it all, Alator ghosted after one particularly vicious team of guards. He and his apprentices were linked mentally, relaying information about which houses had been searched, where the guards were heading, how many had been arrested.

The two youngest boys were sent ahead to spread word. This was probably not necessary, as gossip likely would have alerted people anyways, but Alator had always felt that it was better to be safe than sorry. Hopefully the boys' words would reach at least one person who needed to hear them, who needed time to hide things that the bloodcloaks might interpret as sorcerous.

There were three other spellbinders in the city, three minds that Alator contacted through thought-speech. Hide your things and lay low, he advised them. If you have tattoos, veil them in illusion. Plan how you're going to interact with the hunters.

Still, by the end of the day, four people were dead, and almost a hundred and fifty had been crammed into Camelot's dungeons. Bloodcloaks ringed the city, prowling around its inner and outer walls. More of their number stood guard in the overflowing dungeons, swords and throwing knives at the ready. If anyone tried to escape, they would die.

"We need to save them," Erik said. He was young, the youngest of their group, with all the recklessness and impulsiveness of youth. "We can't just let the Butcher murder them."

"We will not," Alator assured him, "but we need information first. Stay here. I will return shortly."

"But—"

"That is an order, Erik."

"…Yes, Master Alator."

Parts of Camelot's citadel retained their ancient wards. Unfortunately, the dungeons were one of those places, so Alator couldn't scry them. He needed another source of information. Fortunately, he knew where to find such a source.

The physician Gaius was mildly infamous in the magical world. A former sorcerer, he had turned his back on magic in order to continue serving Uther, who had granted him a pardon. Officially, the pardon had been solely for giving up sorcery, but there were darker whispers that Gaius had bought his life with names and blood. Alator didn't know how true those rumors were, but Lord Emrys—Embries, as the Catha called him in their prophecies—vouched for him, so he would at least give the physician a chance.

Still, he went alone. If the physician betrayed him, he could teleport himself out much more easily than he could transport his apprentices.

Despite the heightened security, Alator was able to walk right into the castle. He was dressed in civilian clothing and clutched his arm to his chest, a pained expression masking his real intent. "Which way to the physician?" he asked one of the guards.

He didn't drop his act until he was safe within the physician's chambers, which were empty save for him and Gaius. The older man arched an eyebrow. "How may I help you?" he asked slowly, suspiciously.

They were alone, but Alator still kept his voice quiet as he explained his identity and purpose.

Gaius nodded along, looking old and tired and not at all surprised. "Did you intend to rescue them tonight, or were you going to wait until after their trials?"

"How likely is the Butcher to find them innocent?"

The former sorcerer winced. "Not likely, I'm afraid, but in the mood he's in…. He's likely to cart them from the courtroom to the pyre directly. I would recommend saving them sooner rather than later."

Alator had expected as much. "My party lacks the numbers required to break a hundred and fifty people out of the dungeons. Do you know if there are any druids nearby?"

"Only one, I'm afraid." Gaius tilted his head, a thoughtful frown on his face. "His name is Blaise."

"I'll have to teleport, then, in order to find reinforcements. There are too many guards." One of the three other spellbinders he'd sensed earlier that day had been captured, but the other two remained free. They could be of use, assuming that they knew the proper spells. Otherwise, he would need wizards and mages powerful enough to teleport….

Gaius's voice interrupted his planning. "I might be able to help with that."

"Your aid is welcome, but we will still need others." Alator stood. "I need to contact my men. The sooner we send out our call for aid, the better."

To his surprise, the physician's face broke out into an almost impish grin. "You don't need to."

"There are too many guards," Alator pointed out. "Unless you have an army—"

The smile widened. Alator paused. "You have something," he guessed. "An artifact?"

"Yes," Gaius replied. "I have the Raven's Key."

...So I'm a week late, and on a cliffie, too. I'm sorry. I'll... try to do better next time.

Next update: March 3. Gaius and Alator enact their plan, and Arthur et al arrive in Tintagel.

Congratulations to those of you who figured out that Arthur wasn't learning THE Secret this chapter.

Alternate chapter title: "Wherein Uther is a Jerk and Everyone, Including Arthur, Recognizes his Jerkiness"