Chapter XXVI: Sins of the Father
"No," Merlin sighed. "Still nothing. Thank you, though." He slipped off the ring, returning it to its master.
Gilli pocketed the enhancer with a shrug. "It was worth a try, though."
"I wish I was better at scrying," Merlin sighed, scowling at the bowl in front of him. "Are either of you any good at scrying?"
Gilli and his friend Freya shook their heads. "I suppose you could ask Morgause," the other warlock suggested dubiously.
"I did earlier today. She started talking about how there's about forty things Sigan could have done either alone or in tandem that could make scrying for him difficult or impossible, and she doesn't even know how to undo all of them. Nimueh probably did, but, well, I sort of killed her, so she's not going to be much help."
"Ah," said Gilli, "that's why things were so tense between you on the way back. I thought it was because of the mind control thing."
"It's both of them, really," Merlin admitted.
"I think that you'll have to go back to your original plan," Freya told him. Merlin hadn't known her for long (the same could be said about Gilli), but he liked them both already. They were the sort of spellbinder he'd always wanted to know.
"You could get people to take shifts," Gilli suggested. "I'd do it if I knew how to scry."
"Maybe," Merlin muttered, uncomfortable at the thought of asking people to do his work. He'd always felt that if he was the one who'd taken on the task, he ought to be the one to complete it.
(Something niggled at the back of his brain, something about a promise and a dream, but the thought fled as soon as he tried to pursue it.)
"I would too," Freya seconded. "Merlin, how long did it take you to learn to scry?"
"About a month," he confessed, embarrassed. "And then I kept improving for awhile after."
"Oh. Well, perhaps Gilli and I could go recruiting instead of scrying Camelot ourselves."
"That's really not necessary," Merlin insisted.
"We want to," Gilli told him bluntly. "You're the first person who has a chance of winning freedom for people like us, and we want to help."
Merlin swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Thank you. But I'm still not sure—"
Gilli and Freya glanced at each other. "We'll get started, then." And they were out the door before Merlin could gather his wits enough to protest.
The warlock stared after them in silent disbelief before he gave a little huff, leaning back in his chair. At least they weren't 'my lord'-ing him.
He couldn't scry Sigan, and he'd just looked in on Camelot. There was only one thing left for him to check up on.
Merlin spoke the words for scrying, watched the water blur and color until it showed him Arthur and his party on the road to the citadel. The group's mood seemed tense and uncomfortable, just as it had been the last three times he checked up on them. Arthur was rigid and glowering, Morgana cold and stoic, Gwen quiet and worried. The guards traveled around him, looking more like a prisoner's escort than a prince's companions. No doubt they had orders from Uther about what to do if Arthur had been 'corrupted' by magic.
Sometimes, Merlin felt like he knew the king better than Arthur ever had.
"I'm going to talk with you tonight," Merlin told him quietly. "I think I owe you that much, at least, and you definitely need to know that he has the Raven's Key. So don't yell at your father too much, all right? It'll be a lot easier to meet with you if you're not in the dungeons." He frowned slightly. "Or maybe it wouldn't be. Less chance of people just walking by and noticing I've put the guards under a sleep spell. Never mind, then, I take back what I say. Yell at him to your heart's content."
Arthur said nothing, of course. He had no way of hearing his now-former servant. But Merlin thought he looked better than he had yesterday, at least. More pensive, less sullen. Maybe he was preemptively working on witty retorts to Uther's inevitable outraged tirade. It was what Merlin would do in his situation.
But pensive or sullen or somewhere in between, Arthur was all right. He wasn't exactly free, but he was safe, and Cornelius Sigan was nowhere in sight.
Merlin let his gaze linger a moment longer, then turned back to his ancestor's grimoire. He had work to do.
Arthur was brought to the throne room immediately, alone except for his guards-turned-captors. Uther was having an audience with the Shoemaker's Guild, but he took one look at the guards surrounding his son and began making polite excuses. The shoemakers had to know that they were being put aside, but they were perfectly amiable about it, agreeing to reconvene tomorrow. It was getting late anyways, they commented.
Uther barely waited until the door was shut. "Well?"
Harris, the most virulently anti-magical guard, took a step forward, but Arthur preempted him. "Merlin is Emrys."
The king pulled up short, looking more flabbergasted than Arthur had ever seen him. The prince couldn't help but take a certain grim satisfaction in his father's shock.
"He confessed his identity to me at Tintagel," Arthur continued, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "I agreed to pardon him in exchange for his aid against Cornelius Sigan, whom Merlin has trapped in mortal flesh so as to prevent any more possessions." Not exactly what had happened (though honestly, he'd probably have granted Merlin an official pardon if he'd been thinking straight) but close enough for Arthur's purposes. "However, two nights ago, Sigan kidnapped Merlin in an explicitly stated attempt at controlling his mind. I propose that we organize a rescue mission to prevent Sigan from gaining control of another powerful warlock's mind and killing us all."
Uther spluttered. He was clearly trying to say something, but he couldn't quite force it out past his shock. His face was making the strangest contortions, cycling between red and purple and white.
The prince's escort was gaping at him too. Several jaws hung off their hinges, and one man looked like he was on the verge of passing out.
Arthur waited.
It was almost silent for a few long moments, the quiet only broken by Uther's incredulous noises. Finally he regained enough control of himself to choke out, "You want to use the resources of Camelot to rescue a sorcerer?"
He did, though he knew damn well that his father would never permit it. The suggestion was partly to get Uther off guard, partly a show of alliance, and partly a means to make anything he proposed later sound downright reasonable in comparison.
"Merlin is technically a warlock, but yes, I do."
"Of course we won't!" Uther yelled. "We're going to kill him!"
"I granted him a pardon, Father. I cannot go back on my word."
"You will light the pyre yourself if I command it."
And Arthur smiled, grim and tight, because this was his opening. "Would you really do that to the man who killed Nimueh and avenged my mother?"
Uther froze, the color draining from his face.
"Of course," Arthur continued, his face and voice carefully bland, "that assumes that Nimueh was, in fact, responsible for my mother's death, and she didn't simply die in childbirth like thousands of women do each year without supernatural intervention. I wouldn't have any idea, as I didn't even know I'd been born of magic until I randomly overheard it in a tavern."
Uther might as well have been carved from chalk.
Part of him had been hoping that it wasn't true, that Merlin had fallen for some trick of Morgause's (or even that Morgause had fallen for one of Nimeuh's lies. He wasn't picky), that the father he still loved hand murdered thousands of people over a death that might or might not have been entirely magical. Merlin had told him on the road to Tintagel that there was no way to know for certain if magic had caused Ygraine's death—the prisoner selected as a sacrifice had died long before she breathed her last—and though Arthur hadn't known about his magic then, he thought that his servant was being honest. But now, looking at his father's reaction, Arthur felt that hope crumble and die.
He clenched his fists, nails biting deep into his palms. His hands were shaking; when he spoke, his voice shook too. "Why did you really start the Purge, Father? Was it justice or revenge?"
"It was justice!" Uther roared, rising from his throne. "Justice for your mother and for everyone else the scum ever harmed. I broke the High Priestesses, I destroyed the dragons, I drove out monster after monster for her! And Camelot has prospered because of my actions."
Arthur thought of the bandits running wild, the druids hiding in the forest, how completely defenseless they'd have been against Sigan if not for Merlin. "No, I don't think that it has."
Color flooded Uther's face again. "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy."
"Really? And whose fault might that be, Father?"
The air was thick, heavy, charged. The prince met the king's eyes, refusing to look away.
Uther was the first to drop his gaze. He turned to the guards. "My son has clearly been enchanted. Bring him to the dungeons and call for—" His face twisted with something like sorrow "—find someone in the city to look him over."
The guards stuttered their agreement, practically falling over themselves as they led Arthur out of the room. The prince stood straight and tall and true, his head high.
It wasn't until he was in the dungeons that he let himself break.
With a wordless snarl of rage, Arthur banged his fist against the wall. His skin broke against the rough stone, but he couldn't care less. He hit it and hit it and hit it until his knuckles bled, snarling incoherencies and curses. At long last, his rage spent, he staggered over and collapsed into his cot.
That was how his father found him an hour or so later. The king was escorted by the captain of the guard and a pair of unfamiliar men. Arthur wanted very badly to roll onto his side and just stare at the wall, but he knew he'd never get away with that.
"Come over here, Arthur," Uther ordered.
The prince made a show of stretching before he obeyed.
The first man nodded in what he clearly thought was a sage manner. "Yes, it's quite likely he's been enchanted, sire."
A muscle jumped in Uther's jaw. "I'm well aware that he's enchanted, Halig. Your orders are to fix him, not tell me something I already knew."
Halig? Arthur frowned, trying to remember if he'd ever seen this man (or the other one who hadn't been named) in his life. Then another thought occurred to him. "Where's Gaius?
Uther flinched slightly, sorrow crossing his face before being covered again by stone. "The former court physician has disappeared. Doubtless he was warned by his sorcerous ward that they had been exposed and fled the citadel before justice could be served."
"Oh, good." For a second, Arthur had been worried that his father had thrown Gaius into the dungeons (it was a large dungeon, and Gaius could have easily been imprisoned too far away for Arthur to notice him).
Halig and the other stranger (were they witchfinders? Bounty hunters? Arthur didn't recognize either of them) glanced at each other and nodded. Apparently everything Arthur said would be treated as evidence of enchantment—or at least, everything he said that his father didn't want to hear.
Had he really been so compliant all his life?
He'd seen this sort of interrogation before, though obviously he'd never been on the receiving end of it. Halig and the other man asked the same sort of questions that Gaius would have, though Arthur got the impression they were holding back because of his station. Gaius held himself back too, but it was out of respect for the person rather than their title.
Arthur answered the questions calmly, rationally, and mostly honestly. He wouldn't bring Morgana or Guinevere into this, of course, and he stuck with his lie about granting Merlin an official pardon. Other than that, though, he told the truth, presenting it in the best possible light: Merlin chose to reveal himself at Tintagel, and Arthur, realizing that another spellbinder was their best chance against the deranged lunatic who wanted to kill them all and really should have been their first priority, had accepted his aid against the older warlock. He hesitated a moment after that, but, well, Gaius was already safe, and the surviving Catha were already condemned, so he launched into the story of how Merlin had bound Sigan in mortal flesh.
Surprisingly, the tale took longer than the rest of the interrogation, mostly because someone interrupted every few seconds. It was really quite annoying, and Arthur found himself wondering if this was how Merlin had felt when he told him about his secret. But he had to tell them, or at least his father. He needed to know that Sigan couldn't possess anyone anymore.
His three questioners seemed to regard the incident as proof that he was even more enchanted than they'd thought, which was rather annoying. "You know damn well I'm not enchanted," he told his father. Uther ignored him.
By the time they left, Arthur felt like he'd been wrung out and left to dry. He'd been tired when they came in, exhausted by his assault on the wall, but now all he wanted to do was sleep. Yawning with enough force to crack his jaw, the prince made his way to his cold, narrow cot and shut his eyes.
Arthur slept awhile, only to be shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder.
"Merlin?"
"Hello, Arthur." The warlock's grin was sheepish. "I was sort of hoping that you wouldn't be in here, but I suppose I can make do."
"It's surprisingly good to see you," Arthur retorted, fighting down a grin of his own. The prince didn't know how long he'd slept, but it had obviously been enough to restore him. That, or Merlin had done something magical to make him sleep better.
Could spellbinders even do that?
He paused, looking over his now-ex-servant. Merlin wore his Emrys garb, Beothaich in his hands, his eyes gleaming gold in the light of the orb floating above them.
"Did you do something to me?"
"What?" Merlin was utterly befuddled.
"Do something to me," he repeated, gesturing incoherently.
"What happened to your hands?" Merlin demanded.
"…I got in a fight."
"With what, the wall?"
It was clearly meant to be sarcastic, but Arthur's startled expression was proof enough.
Merlin huffed. "The wall, Arthur? Really?"
"That's not important," he muttered sullenly. "Did you do something to help me sleep or not?"
"Nope. You're probably just exhausted from fighting the wall. They're vicious, you know."
"Shut up, Merlin."
There was something fond in Merlin's smile. "You know, I was afraid we wouldn't do this anymore after I told you. It's nice to be wrong, sometimes."
Arthur glanced away. "That's not shutting up."
Silence, but it was a smiling silence.
Arthur turned back. "Yes, well, I suppose you've come here for a reason. What happened?"
Merlin launched into his tale. Arthur was pleased to realize that he was getting better at listening to Merlin's ridiculous stories; he didn't splutter once, though he did snort at the part where Sigan literally threw the younger warlock at his rescue party.
"I spent most of the last day intermittently scrying and translating the grimoire," the warlock concluded. He grinned, his teeth a white crescent. "And guess what? Unless Gaius, Kilgharrah, and I are gravely misunderstanding what we've read, Sigan can be killed by Excalibur or Beothaich. He obviously didn't write down 'I can be killed by dragonsteel and Sidhe staffs,' but he sort of mixed and matched bits from necromancy, healing, and enchantment. Nothing he used is immune to our weapons. I'd still want to find the anchor and chuck it into the Lake of Avalon just to be on the safe side, but one good hit should be enough to end this."
"Good," said Arthur, relieved. A weight lightened on his shoulders, something he'd been carrying for so long he'd nearly forgotten it was there. With the end in sight, even breathing felt a little bit easier.
Then it was his turn. Merlin was pleasantly surprised to hear that Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine didn't particularly appear to care that he had magic, and he laughed out loud at Arthur's description of his confrontation with Uther.
"It wasn't so funny at the time," Arthur pointed out, but his lips twitched upwards without his consent.
Finally, story time was over. The prince and the spellbinder were quiet for a long moment, mulling things over.
Merlin was the first to speak. "Sigan's still out there. I think that if I can't find him soon, I'll have to do something crazy. Maybe the Crystal of Neahtid can be used for scrying."
"I don't know what that is, but you—"
"Oh!" Merlin's eyes (still golden. Did maintaining the light take that much magic?) widened. "I almost forgot a… rather important detail."
Dread curdled in Arthur's stomach. "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not, but you need to. When Sigan was possessing Gaius, he learned the location of the Raven's Key. It's in his hands now."
"…The Raven's Key is the thing that animates a literal army of invincible gargoyles and compels them to obey the wielder's every command, right?"
"Yes. That sounds about right."
"And you almost forgot to tell me?"
"It's been a long week," Merlin groused, but Arthur wasn't listening.
The prince began to pace. "The knights and guards need to know about this. I'll have to tell them about your visit."
The warlock grimaced but nodded. "That means I won't be able to visit you anymore. Gaius and my parents were already against me coming here. They'd probably drug me if they thought I was going to try again."
"Also, the guards would set an ambush to try to kill you."
"That too."
Sometimes, Arthur was very concerned about his now-former manservant's priorities. "Yes, another minor detail that actually isn't so minor."
"Well—"
But whatever Merlin was going to say died in his throat. He went completely still. He wasn't even breathing.
Arthur spun to face the door. Was there a guard? But he couldn't see anybody. After a moment of squinting down the dark corridor, he whispered, "What frightened you?"
Merlin met his gaze. "I think Sigan just used the Raven's Key." His grip tightened on Beothaich. "Where's Excalibur?"
"Hopefully in my chambers. Can it be used to defeat the gargoyles?"
"Yes."
Take me up, Arthur remembered. "Then let's go."
The door swung open.
Far above them, the first alarm bells began to ring.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Arthur Looks Like a Bloody Lunatic Even Though He's Actually the Voice of Reason"
Got a new part-time job and am still searching for a long-term career, so my writing's been slower. Fortunately I have a buffer, but I need to start it up again.
Next update: October 19. The battle begins.