Chapter XVII: Maddox
"So."
At the sound of Arthur's voice, Merlin started, looked up from his futile attempts to decode Sigan's secrets. "So what?"
"Auxiliary secrets." Arthur glared at a place somewhere beyond Merlin's shoulder, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "What does that even mean, auxiliary secrets? Are you part fairy or something?"
"Of course n—" And then Merlin thought of his grandparents kidnapping a prince, of how easily he himself had found the Lake of Avalon, of his and Mother's shared ability to see through illusions. "…Actually, that would explain quite a lot."
"What?"
"Well, I don't know if I've ever told you this, but Mother's adopted and we've always known that there was something weird about her birth parents, so maybe they actually were Sidhe all along. It's certainly possible."
Arthur's head hit the desk with a dull thud. The wood hid his expression but couldn't entirely muffle his groan.
"Are you all right?"
The prince turned. "I changed my mind," he announced. "I don't want to know any more auxiliary secrets until I'm drunk."
"Okay, I suppose," Merlin muttered, going back to his book.
It was hard to read, and not just because a good quarter of the text was written in some incomprehensible cipher that Sigan had probably invented personally. Merlin was distracted, jittery, even though he had somehow managed to look and act mostly calm ever since telling Arthur what he was.
Arthur knew. He knew.
It had been the hardest, most frightening thing he'd done in his life. Forget awaiting Kanen's men in Ealdor or choosing his purpose over his father or public speaking on the Isle of the Blessed. The only thing that came close to matching his confession in difficulty and the sheer willpower he'd needed to go through with it was walking into Camelot for the first time.
At least Arthur hadn't reacted badly. He'd gawked like a fish and made a few very concerning spluttery-whimpery noises and generally behaved as though he were about to pass out, but he hadn't reacted badly. Sure, there had been that one heart-stopping moment when he ordered Merlin to leave him, but that had turned out to mean that he wanted some time on his own to process things. Merlin could understand that. Hell, he'd probably have asked the same.
So he'd come to his adjoining room and dug out Sigan's grimoire in a failed attempt to make himself useful while Arthur adjusted—or, well, started to adjust. Fully adjusting would take awhile—to the truth.
He'd actually done it. He'd told Arthur who and what he was. The thought was incredible, and scary, and… warm, somehow, warm in the center of his chest. He'd confessed, and Arthur was really reacting very well.
So there was no reason that he shouldn't be able to focus on decoding Sigan's grimoire, because Sigan was dangerous and possibly insane and definitely going to kill people unless Merlin figured out a way to make him less immortal. Or unless Arthur stabbed him with Excalibur. Or unless Beothaich had the same properties and Merlin didn't get possessed before killing him.
That was his real worry, possession. He knew that he was powerful; he'd have to be an idiot not to realize that. Sigan was strong enough by himself. If he possessed Merlin—Emrys—and claimed all that magical ability on top of his own, then….
Merlin gave a little shiver and stared more intently at the coded page.
He hadn't had much time to study it, but he'd already determined it wasn't a code like anything he'd ever seen before. Admittedly, he didn't know much about codebreaking, but he'd thought that they replaced one letter with another in a predictable fashion, like each letter was replaced by the one after it or the order of the alphabet was reversed. He'd tried those codes on a couple words only to receive gibberish.
He'd have to break the codes if he wanted to find out what in the world Sigan had done to make himself immortal.
A thought occurred to him, one that made him glance up from the book towards Arthur. The prince was staring moodily at a wall, clearly lost in thought.
Well, no time like the present. "Do you know anything about codebreaking?"
"What?"
"Codebreaking," Merlin repeated, tapping the book. "I've already read the parts of Sigan's grimoire that aren't in code, and they don't have the information I need to find out how to undo his immortality. So. Do you know anything about codebreaking?"
"…I knew that book was illegal."
"Arthur."
"No, I don't know anything about codebreaking. Geoffrey never taught me. How the hell did you get your hands on Cornelius Sigan's grimoire and why didn't you tell me you had it?"
"It was in his tomb," Merlin explained, "and you literally just said that you didn't want to know my auxiliary secrets."
Arthur laughed at that, a faint note of hysteria in the sound. "I should have known you were you. Only you could be this frustrating twice."
For once, Merlin opted not to comment. "So Geoffrey knows about codes?"
"And tomb robbing," Arthur added, either not hearing or completely ignoring his warlock. "Tomb robbing, Merlin. Tomb robbing, and orchestrating jailbreaks, and practicing magic, and, and, I don't even know what else. Do you have any hobbies that aren't massively illegal?"
Merlin had to think a moment. "…I like to read," he finally remembered.
"Illegal books!" Arthur screeched, gesturing wildly at the grimoire.
"That's irrelevant," Merlin protested. "Reading itself isn't illegal, you know, so technically—"
Arthur fell off the chair, he was laughing so hard. Merlin glared at him for a moment before the ridiculousness of the situation, the leftover tension from his confession, everything caught up with him. The next thing he knew, he was laughing too.
He felt better when they were done. Lighter, somehow, like the air after it rained.
"So Geoffrey would maybe know codes?" Merlin asked once they were done.
Arthur stared at him in befuddlement. Merlin wondered if he'd forgotten about the codes after his fixation on the warlock's illegal activities. "The code," he reminded him, brandishing the book. "Parts of this are written in code, and you just said that Geoffrey might know about codebreaking?"
"Him or Gaius," Arthur muttered, glowering at the grimoire as though it was responsible for all his problems. "I don't know. It never really came up in conversation."
"I hope Gaius does," Merlin said. "I left him a copy."
"Gaius—no, of course Gaius knows." Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Who else knows?"
First he didn't want to hear anything about auxiliary secrets, now he wanted details. Merlin wished the prince would just make up his mind. "My parents, of course. Gaius. Will, my friend from Ealdor. You remember Will?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then there's Lancelot—"
"Lancelot?"
"Yes. He saw me fighting a griffin in the woods, then finished it off for me while I passed out from a minor case of blood loss. Let's see. After him was Mordred, but then his clan taught me to use illusion spells so I've mostly been in disguise around other spellbinders since then."
"You're disguised among your own kind?" Arthur repeated, brows furrowed in confusion.
Merlin nodded. "It's unlikely that the druids would give away one of our kin on purpose, but there's always a chance that they'll say something by accident or that someone will be spying. It just didn't seem like a good idea running around using this face, you know?"
"I suppose."
"Right. So after Mordred was—oh, wait, I almost forgot Anhora. And I shoud probably mention Blaise, too, even though he's part of Mordred's clan and met me before I started wearing illusions in public. Anhora knew who I was right away."
"Who're those people?"
"Blaise is my tutor in magic. I don't think you've ever met him. Anhora is the old fellow who showed up after we encountered that unicorn, remember?" Arthur nodded. "He got me a unicorn for when you'd been bitten by the Questing Beast, which is when Morgana… sort of walked in on me borrowing you from your sickbed."
"Morgana knows?"
"Mm-hm. And then Gwen put the pieces together about a week ago and told me right away that I should tell you the truth, too, and then I spent the past week worrying about that and wondering if she was right, and then you said that it's better to find out these things by being told, so… here we are."
Arthur closed his eyes, looking very old and tired. "Gods."
"Exactly."
"Shut up, Merlin."
And just like that, the warlock knew things would be okay. Arthur would be upset and exasperated with him for a long while yet—Gwen and even Morgana still occasionally gave him very odd looks—but his friend still treated him the same way, still thought of him the same way.
They would be fine.
He smiled.
Maddox could hardly believe that Donald's scheme had worked.
The guardsman hadn't volunteered for his task. He'd been new to the city, new to the guard, and not particularly good at the sword. But according to Donald, that (well, the first two, anyways) made him perfect for this mission. Even if the sorcerers figured out that there were spies among the prisoners, it would be bloody difficult to identify someone who had yet to be promoted from the night shift.
When one of his fellow moles had broken cover to kill the one sorcerer (hopefully the one behind all this rebellion), Maddox had nearly passed out. What if they had some kind of spell to identify spies and used it then and killed them all? But they didn't, because they'd ended the other man's life and only started looking for other moles after leaving the citadel.
He'd thought he would be caught then, that something in his face would betray him. Apparently he was a better actor than he'd ever dared to imagine, for he had yet to fall under suspicion. It looked like all those years of covering for his siblings were paying off.
Maddox's tiny group, one of the many that had formed after the sorcerers split up the prisoners, had remained in Essetir for a day and a half, traveling along the border of Camelot and steadfastly avoiding other travelers. They didn't talk much. Maddox would have been happier about that—he didn't want to consort with traitors, and there was the ever-present worry that he would give himself away somehow—but the silence was a mixed blessing that left him alone with his thoughts.
What had happened to the others? He couldn't remember the name of the poor man who'd been immediately murdered after putting down the one sorcerer—he'd always been terrible with names—but he knew that there were others who shared their mission. They'd been split up when the sorcerers had divided up the escapees, so he had no idea what had become of them.
For all he knew, the sorcerers had murdered them all. For all he knew, he was the only one who could find their hidey-hole and save the kingdom.
Gods, he wished he hadn't been picked for this mission.
Some of the prisoners split from the others. These three men and two women had kin in foreign kingdoms or in villages far from Camelot's capital, places where they could hide from the king's justice like the cowards they were. Maddox tried his hardest to remember their names and destinations, forcing the unfamiliar appellations to stick. If—when he made it back, because he was going to survive this and he was going to make it back alive and then he was going to demand a bloody promotion—when he made it back, King Uther would want to know where his enemies had gone to ground. He was a very thorough man when it came to rooting out traitors, one of the reasons that Camelot had prospered these past twenty years.
The rest of them snuck back into the wilds of Camelot, guided by the druid who had been waiting for them outside the citadel. They bypassed the White Mountains and made their way to a huge misty lake. A boatman was waiting for them, a grizzled old fellow with a craggy brown face and heavy-lidded eyes. Maddox wondered uneasily how the man had known they were coming. If he'd somehow forseen their arrival, could he also figure out that Maddox—not to mention the other guardsmen, assuming that they'd survived—was a loyal subject of the King of Camelot instead of a sorcerer?
Thankfully, the old man's powers seemed to be limited to precognition and finding his way through the thick mists that blanketed the lake. Soon Maddox and the prisoners found themselves in a bustling island city that was full of sorcerers and sympathizers and a giant bloody dragon, gods save them all.
It was called the Isle of the Blessed, Maddox was told. The Butcher King had destroyed it, but then Lord Emrys had called the children of magic back to its hallowed shores. Since then, Lord Balinor and Lady Hunith had been in charge of restoring it to its former glory. They would be safe here, their druid guide assured them.
It was the rebellion's base of operations, the heart of their schemes. It was an entire city full of sorcerers hidden inside the kingdom of Camelot, within striking distance of the capital itself.
Maddox had to get out of here. He had to warn the king.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No."
"Wrong answer, Merlin. You're out of your mind."
"No, Morgana, I'm not. Gwen was right, and Arthur is actually taking this a lot better than I expected."
"For now. What happens when the shock wears off?"
"…He fully assimilates this information and accepts me completely?"
Morgana's glare could have boiled water.
Merlin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "He's angry, we yell at each other awhile, and then he remembers that he needs me to fight Cornelius Sigan."
That sounded likely, but Morgana wasn't about to admit that to him. He'd probably just take it as permission to continue doing stupid things. Was this how Gaius felt? If so, she pitied the poor old man.
"But like I said, he really is reacting rather well to this. He wants to talk tomorrow over breakfast."
Dread curdled in Morgana's stomach. "With whom?" she asked, her traitorous mind leaping to the worst possible conclusion that was not real. Merlin might have spilled the beans about his own nature, but he'd never tell Arthur about her. He'd promised. She knew this, and the fear chilling her veins was completely irrational, like the way some people panicked when they were in small spaces. She knew that he wouldn't, that he hadn't, so why couldn't she stop the fear?
"He asked if anybody else knew about my magic," Merlin explained, a bit more gently than before. "I didn't tell him about you, but I had to mention that you and Gwen knew what I was."
Did he know? Morgana hoped not, but her face flushed anyways.
"So he wants to talk with the three of us at breakfast tomorrow." Merlin paused, chewed at his lip for a moment before forcing himself to continue. "He… also said that he wants me to broker a meeting with Morgause."
Morgana's heart dropped into her stomach. "What?"
"I know," Merlin moaned, flopping into a chair.
"You told him that she wants to control his mind, right?" the lady demanded, her anger and fear about his confession temporarily set aside.
"Yes! I told him all about the danger and that he's an idiot for trying this, but he insists." Merlin gestured wildly. "He just doesn't understand that he's out of his league." The warlock sighed heavily, then gave a little grimace. "But… as he pointed out, if he's supposed to be this great king, he has to at least try to negotiate with her. I'm still trying to talk him down, obviously, but, just in case they ever do end up meeting…. Um. Remember how she claimed she was your half-sister?"
"Vividly." Her fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into her palms.
"If you have any concrete evidence that she isn't, then, you know, you might want to get it ready," he mumbled, looking at a place somewhere above her left shoulder.
A muscle jumped in her jaw. "I don't." Her voice was flat.
Merlin got the message. "Okay. I… think I might try to introduce him to some druids or something first. Get his feet wet, you know? Or Kilgharrah."
Eager to follow up on the subject change, Morgana forced herself to come up with a joke. "Have you ever actually successfully introduced anyone to that dragon of yours?"
"No," Merlin sighed, "everybody keeps refusing, but I'm confident I can wear someone down eventually."
They fell silent then, the attempted joke failing to lighten their spirits.
"…I think she is."
"What?"
"Morgause," Morgana ground out, fists clenching. "I asked one of the older servants if my mother had ever had another child, a blonde daughter a few years older than me, and she very abruptly changed the subject. I asked if her name was Morgause, and she froze."
"But... that doesn't mean it's this Morgause."
"That's what Gwen said."
"Gwen's right."
"But if you put that together with the other evidence, it… doesn't look good."
"I suppose it doesn't," Merlin acquiesced. He hesitated for a brief moment, then stood and walked over to her, his arms open, his expression shy. Morgana smiled slightly and leaned into the hug on offer. Their arms wrapped around each other.
The door opened as Gwen walked in, smiling from an evening well-spent with her brother. "Morgana, is there any—oh." She blinked, pulled up short. Merlin and Morgana pulled away from each other, their cheeks reddening. "Um. Is there anything I can get you before bed?"
"No. No, thank you."
Gwen glanced at Merlin, whose face darkened from red to crimson as he caught onto what she was wondering. Morgana braced herself for the warlock's inevitable context-less rambling. Sure enough, he did not disappoint.
"I told Arthur about my magic. Do you want to have breakfast with us tomorrow?"
Alternate chapter title: "Wherein Arthur is not Drunk Enough to Deal with Merlin's Auxiliary Secrets"
Since Sigan is writing in code, I figured I'd pull a Gravity Falls and give you a sample. The following is in the same cipher that Cornelius Sigan uses. "Xisiyskg cutssk yae rzh bpvqresw wnfmw hag subesxptt gpbmwrk, ffh mje elzk bu sa jfze qf mrlqatozmdal vhmx T'a zqizk ec nue ux lbryakw." Have fun trying to break it!
The ASoIaF fic I mentioned is up. People seem to like it, so if you're a fan of that series, feel free to read.
Next chapter: September 8. The fearsome four have breakfast together and Cornelius Sigan makes his next move.
-Antares