Chapter XIX: Strength and Schemes

In hindsight, Arthur going to the local tavern, getting completely wasted, and latching onto "my new besht friend ever, becaush he'sh honesht with me, Merlin" was probably inevitable. Still, at least he hadn't spilled the beans to anybody, and Gwaine seemed nice enough once he recovered from the surprise that his new drinking buddy was actually the Crown Prince of Camelot. Arthur had, after all, had quite a few shocks recently. He probably deserved his little breakdown, though Merlin wished he'd chosen a less public venue. What if someone started to wonder just why Arthur suddenly felt the need to wander off and get uncharacteristically drunk?

Admittedly, he probably shouldn't be worried. It was a bit of a stretch from "Arthur got drunk, I wonder why?" to "Arthur recently discovered that his manservant is secretly a powerful warlock leading the magical resistance," but someone might be smart enough to figure it out. Hell, he still wasn't sure what Arthur had said to Gwaine. The fact that the other man hadn't started babbling about magic when Merlin came into the tavern implied that he was clueless, but then again, he had been rather drunk then. Maybe Arthur had said something that Gwaine would only figure out when he was sober. There was no way to tell until the drink wore off.

At least he was sleeping off his drinking spree in one of the guest rooms. Arthur had insisted. Loudly. It turned out that he was a surprisingly affectionate drunk.

All in all, it had been a worrisome end to a long and fruitless day. He'd managed to figure out that the code wasn't a straight replacement cipher; Sigan had used different codes for different letters, and Merlin had no idea which codes he'd used or how he'd kept the bloody thing straight in his head. For all he knew, every single encrypted section used a different code that would have to be broken individually. With his luck, he wouldn't be surprised.

At least contacting the druids had gone well. He'd called out to them in thought-speech a couple hours after noon. Although they had been several miles from Tintagel, one of their sorceresses had been strong enough to maintain a telepathic connection with him for a few minutes. Through her, Merlin had gained the headwoman's permission to bring Arthur and the ladies to visit their camp—provided he left behind his weapons. The druids knew who he was meant to be, who he was becoming… but they also knew who he had been, and Merlin could hardly fault them for their caution.

When not talking with the druids, trying to crack Sigan's code, or not-so-silently cursing Sigan's name, Merlin had tried to spend time with Morgana and Gwen. The lady's cousin had picked up that she was upset about something and had decided that the best way to cheer her up was by sticking to her like a limpet. Thankfully she was a natural at thought-speech, so she and Merlin had still been able to discuss Arthur's new knowledge of her magic. Gwen didn't have any relatives attached to her side (Elyan was training with the guard), so his conversations with her took place out loud. She knew about the People's Queen now, and Merlin had somehow managed to avoid continuing their discussion about his supposed relationship with Morgana, which was, of course, no more real than his so-called position as 'magical royalty.'

And he was not, had never been, and would never be magical royalty, despite what anyone said.

With his friends occupied, his charge drunk, and his patience with Cornelius Sigan completely exhausted, Merlin went to bed early. He dreamed of letters shifting and swimming before his eyes and woke up almost as tired as when he'd gone to bed.

Arthur was even less enthusiastic than usual about being awakened. Merlin dropped him off at the resident physician's chambers and went to scout out the newest potential threat to his wellbeing: Arthur's drinking buddy.

Gwaine and Merlin had interacted a little last night, when the manservant realized that his prince was in the tavern and went to fetch him. Arthur had refused to be parted from the man. Gwaine, for his part, had wanted to see proof that Arthur really was the prince "becush I acshully like him, I don't believe thish shlander." Of course, the man had passed out not long after receiving proof that yes, this was in fact Arthur Pendragon. Merlin wasn't sure if that was the alcohol or the shock. Probably the alcohol. He'd drunk an awful lot last night.

Despite the (copious, copious) quantities of mead he had imbibed, Gwaine was already awake and lively when Merlin knocked on the door of the hastily assembled guest room Arthur had commandeered for him. He was putting on his boots when the warlock arrived, giving Merlin a chance to take stock of him.

Gwaine was Arthur's age, give or take a couple years, with a wild mane of brown curls and a quick smile for the servant inspecting him. He was built like a fighter rather than a farmer, an impression only strengthened by the short sword at his hip. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Merlin replied. The other man wasn't acting like he knew anything, but maybe he just didn't realize what was going on. Time to test the waters. "I'm Merlin, Arthur's manservant."

"Gwaine. Apparently I'm his drinking buddy now."

"Yes, you mentioned that last night."

"That's right." Gwaine grinned. "I guess I did. You were the one who got us out of the tavern, right?"

"Right," Merlin confirmed.

"Thanks for that! And thanks for talking the princess into paying my tab."

Merlin's eyebrow quirked. His lips twitched. For a moment, he forgot his worry about Gwaine having heard something. "Princess?"

"It fits him, don't you think?"

Either he was a really good actor or he genuinely had no idea that Merlin was a warlock, which meant that Arthur had kept his mouth shut. Merlin would bet it was the latter—Gwaine hadn't even blinked at his identity.

"It does," the warlock admitted, not trying to hide his grin.

He had a feeling he was going to like this one.

It had taken Gaius far too long to get ahold of Alator, but hopefully the delay wouldn't cost them too much. Hopefully Gaius's plan could buy them some time, long enough for Merlin to get back.

The Catha listened to the physician's theory with an expression of steadily increasing dismay. "Have you any proof?" he asked when Gaius was done.

"I'm afraid not," the other man admitted. "If it is Sigan, he's being very careful to not let his eyes give him away. But this isn't like him."

Alator stared. "It isn't like the Butcher to declare war at the slightest provocation?" He… did not sound particularly convinced.

"Not like this," Gaius told him. "If he had declared war right after the assassination attempt, I would not have thought it out of character. He nearly did, though Arthur was able to talk him out of it. But to wait this long and then start a new war when he knows that Cornelius Sigan is running amok in his capital, when Emrys is subverting everything he's worked for, when you and your Catha engineered the greatest jailbreak in history right under his nose? Uther is vindictive and vengeful, yes, but he's not a fool."

Alator hesitated for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Lord Emrys is in Tintagel still, is he not?"

"Yes," Gaius confirmed.

The Catha did not ask Emrys's identity. He didn't need to. Thought-speech would let him (or, should he choose, one of his men drafted into messenger duty) find the other spellbinder without knowing who he was. Instead he nodded, firm and resolute. "Very well. Was there anything else our lord needs to know?"

"There is. I'm going to poison Uther, keep him bedridden so Sigan can't use him to cause any more damage."

It was a calculated risk, but one he felt would be worth it. He'd originally thought to knock Uther out completely, save him from the misery of possession (according to Geoffrey, the king was fully aware of what his body was doing, could even hear a few of Sigan's thoughts), but that was too risky. There was nothing to keep Sigan from wandering around as a spirit while his stolen body slept, wreaking all kinds of havoc and potentially discovering that certain people suspected his current identity. No. Much as it pained him to make his friend suffer more, he had to provide a poison which would keep Uther—and, more importantly, Sigan—awake but too sick to rule the kingdom or, say, get into magical duels with reckless young warlocks attempting to save the citadel.

The thought made Gaius wince. Merlin wouldn't really—no, he probably would. "Also, please tell Emrys not to rush in recklessly and get himself killed. He has a nasty tendency to do things like that, but he mustn't get himself killed."

"Or possessed," Alator agreed.

The two men shuddered at that. Uther possessed by Cornelius Sigan was bad enough, but Camelot could handle mad kings and kings who made terrible decisions. It had endured monarchs like that in the past. If Merlin were possessed, though, Sigan would be able to combine his own formidable strength with the legendary raw power of Emrys.

The city wouldn't last a minute. Earthquake, flood, fire… Sigan would erase it from the map, knocking down buildings like a child with blocks. Tens of thousands would die in mere instants.

And there would be no one to stop him.

Gaius forced the thoughts away, shaking his head as though that would physically slough them from his brain. He couldn't think too much about what Sigan would do if he got ahold of Merlin; he'd get nightmares. Again. He had to focus on what he could do, which was contain the situation until Merlin arrived to carefully, cautiously take care of things. He wished it wasn't necessary, that he could end Sigan himself, but Gaius wasn't fool enough to believe that he could. He lacked the power, the knowledge (he hadn't had nearly enough time with the grimoire with his apprentice gone), the sheer instinct that would allow a mere mortal to defeat the spellbinder who had raised the kingdom.

Merlin had the instinct and the power, if not the knowledge. That frightened Gaius. Applied properly, knowledge could easily overpower instinct and power, especially if those two traits were combined with the sort of recklessness that his ward still hadn't outgrown (though in Merlin's defense, he was much better than he'd been when he'd first arrived in Camelot). Gaius had to temper that somehow.

"Could you ask him to meet with me before confronting Sigan?" the physician asked, latching onto the only plan he could think of. "I may have more information by then." And it would hopefully keep Merlin from doing anything ridiculous.

"I had intended to," Alator replied. "I will be present at the meeting as well."

Gaius started. "Thank you, but why?"

"Because I was charged to keep the citadel safe, and he might need reinforcements." The Catha grimaced. "And because we will perhaps have found the anchor by then."

"Perhaps it's with Uther," Gaius suggested, struck by a sudden thought. After all, where better to stash the source of Sigan's immortality than with his current host? Except, he remembered, Geoffrey hadn't had the anchor on him. The genealogist didn't even know what it was, meaning that he hadn't touched it.

"We think that it must be warded somehow," Alator said. "I am the only one adept at spirit walking, but either it isn't in the citadel or he has found some way to block its magic from my sight. Gods know I've been on enough spirit walks that I should have seen it by now."

"So has Emrys," Gaius reassured him.

"I could try again, though," Alator murmured thoughtfully. "Sweep the Butcher's chambers more thoroughly than I have the rest of the citadel…."

"If you do, wait until he's fallen ill."

"Of course. No need to risk myself needlessly. Tell me, when will your poisons take effect?"

"As soon as I can get them into him," Gaius replied.

Alator gave him an odd look, almost angry, but said nothing. "And when will that be?" he asked, suddenly cool.

Gaius considered. It was night now, the sun long set, the moon bright in a black sky. Unless possessed kings didn't need to sleep (possessed historians certainly had needed to sleep), Uther was in bed already. Hopefully that meant that Sigan was dormant too, keeping up his possession lest Uther wake in the middle of the night and expose him. Judging from Geoffrey's experience, that seemed all too likely. This meant that the earliest opportunity Gaius would have to poison him would be in the morning. He could hardly wake the man just to make him drink something.

"Breakfast," Gaius answered, sounding more confident than he felt. He'd never poisoned anyone before, but hopefully he could find some way to slip something into Uther's morning meal. Perhaps he could sneak something into the king's favorite breakfast wine? Or maybe he could slip into the kitchens at night and contaminate… no, someone would notice. The breakfast wine it was, then, and thank the gods for Uther's habit of taking a (small, of course) goblet full of wine with his breakfast. Gaius had never approved of the habit before—even if it wasn't enough to get him drunk, it still seemed unhealthy—but now the thought brought him naught but relief. "I can get it to him at breakfast."

Alator was still giving him that odd look, his lips pressed together. "Good. If there is nothing else, I will send the message to Emrys now."

"I cannot think of anything else," Gaius admitted, wondering what he had done wrong. "Thank you."

Alator nodded and left without a word.

Slowly—very, very slowly—his world was beginning to right itself.

Merlin was Emrys was Merlin was apparently high-ranking enough in magical society (because magical society apparently existed) to be considered the next closest thing to royalty. Morgana had magic. Guinevere had known, had supported them, had managed to talk Merlin into confessing (presumably she would have done the same to Morgana, once she saw Merlin's admission sink in without any irreparable damage to their master-servant relationship). He himself had been born from magic, and the Purge—something he'd always been taught was integral to the kingdom's wellbeing—was nothing more than Uther's rampage of revenge against his own mistakes. Magic wasn't evil. It didn't corrupt any more than any other sort of power.

He had been surrounded by lies his entire life, but now he was beginning to see the truth. The light still hurt his eyes, but… he thought he was getting better.

At least he knew, Arthur told himself, listening to Cador's monologue with half an ear. The Lord of Tintagel had blamed himself for the prince's journey to a tavern, reasoning that if he'd spent more time with Arthur rather than Morgana, his future king would never have gotten bored enough to indulge in drink.

It wasn't Cador's fault, of course. It was Arthur's. He should never have gone and gotten himself drunk in some random tavern just because everything he'd ever known was a lie, everyone he'd ever known was keeping enormous secrets from him, and if he thought about it too much or too long, he felt a bit like he was drowning. Arthur was the Crown Prince of Camelot and really ought to be able to handle himself better. What kind of person would he be if he turned to alcohol in every crisis? And—worse—what if he'd said something to Gwaine, to the barkeep, to some random other customer that got Merlin torn apart by an angry mob?

(Which begged the question of whether or not an angry mob could, in fact, tear apart his secret warlock of a manservant, which was a very disturbing line of thought that he determined to pursue no further.)

Grimacing, Arthur forced his thoughts away from his bloody fool of a magical manservant. Cador was talking. The man probably already thought he was an idiot after the incident with the tavern, but there was no need to reinforce the impression by staring off into space like a moonstruck cow.

What was Cador talking about again? Oh, good, it was just some story about his childhood, not anything Arthur actually needed to know.

Somehow, Arthur kept up his focus until the dinner was over. It wasn't until he went to bed that night that his thoughts came back to haunt him, leaving him tossing and turning.

That was why he was still awake to hear a sudden crash in the room next to him.

Arthur was up in a heartbeat, his tiredness forgotten. That was Merlin's temporary room. Had someone come in? Was Merlin in dang—oh, right, he was a spellbinder and secretly capable of taking care of himself, not that he ever acted that way. Wait. Didn't some spellbinders use magic in their sleep? That…that could be bad. Hopefully Merlin wasn't sleep-magicking. But just in case he was, Arthur should probably go wake him up. Nodding his new resolution, the prince rolled out of bed, made his way to the door.

Merlin was not, in fact, sleep-magicking. He was sitting upright on his bed, the expression on his face (from what Arthur could make out in the darkness, at least) somewhere between worry and concentration. He glanced over at his prince as Arthur entered, then tapped the side of head and made a silencing gesture.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, his voice startlingly loud in the night.

"Urgent thought-speech message," was Merlin's response. "Now shh."

"What's thought-speech?" Arthur asked.

Merlin glared at him but didn't answer, so Arthur repeated his question. Merlin pressed his hands over his ears and shut his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur growled.

"I'm using my thoughts to speak with someone, and he's talking back," Merlin ground out. "And it's a very important conversation, so I have to pay attention."

Arthur hadn't known that spellbinders could do that. He wondered if Merlin had been indulging in this thought-speech thing with Morgana. It would certainly explain a lot.

But now that he knew what was going on, Arthur found himself faced with another dilemma—a minor one, yes, but still something he wasn't quite certain about. Should he try to sleep again, or should he stay here until Merlin was done with his magical business and find out what was going on? After a few moments' deliberation, Arthur decided on the latter. He hadn't been able to sleep anyways, and curiosity would only help keep him up.

After a few more minutes, Merlin looked up at Arthur and gave a long groan. The older man raised an eyebrow. "Well? What's so important that your magic friends woke you in the middle of the night to share it?"

"You aren't going to like it," Merlin replied.

Of course he wasn't. "Just spit it out then."

"Okay." Merlin took a deep breath, then announced, "Your father has probably been possessed by Cornelius Sigan."

Alternate chapter title (which I didn't forget this time, yay!): "In Which Arthur Is Basically That One Guy Who Won't Shut up When You're on the Phone"

Sorry about forgetting last chapter's alternate title. I went back and fixed it.

Next update: October 20. Arthur reacts to even more shocking news. Gaius implements his plan. Things go wrong (or maybe that's the next chapter. I don't know. Haven't written it yet.)

See you then!

-Antares