Chapter XVI: The Face of the Opposition

Arthur had strongly suspected that this was coming. Guinevere had warned him of her suspicions after seeing the graffiti, so he'd braced himself for this news. Still, it stung.

"All three confirmed this?" he asked.

"All four," Merlin corrected him. "Grainne gave his name too."

The king nodded. "I suppose that this makes sense," he sighed. "There were, what, five nobles we thought might be passing themselves off as my bastard brother? They were the right age, their mothers are conveniently dead, they've expressed anti-magic sentiments…. And Madawg was one of them."

"Madawg was one of them," Morgana confirmed.

His head hurt. He thought longingly of his bed, reminded himself that he could sleep soon. "First thing in the morning, I'll write to Madawg and order him to Camelot. That will force this into the open. Merlin, try to scry him again before bed."

"Of course. I'll have the other scryers focus on searching his lands, too."

"Good. For now, we'll keep Madawg's part quiet, wait until he receives the letter."

"…Why?" Morgana's brow was crinkled.

"Because I'd prefer to settle this as quickly and quietly as possible. If I don't publicly name him, then there's a slight chance he'll lose his nerve and abandon the rebellion of his own volition. It's a very, very small chance, but I do need to take it."

"That makes sense," Morgana acknowledged.

"…Is there some reason we can't teleport?" Merlin asked. "Go in, have him talk to the king, solve the problem right away."

Arthur weighed the suggestion. The rebels depended on secrecy, unpredictability, fear. The shadows were their only armor; once they were exposed, it would be easy for the knights of Camelot (not to mention the most powerful warlock in the world) to crush them. Remove the leader, learn names from him, and half the rebellion's strength would evaporate. "I can't think of one," he finally admitted. "We'll go tomorrow morning, Merlin, you and me and the knights."

"I'm looking forward to it," the mage said.

"If that's the case," Guinevere stated suddenly, "then you ought to go to bed now, Merlin, make sure you're rested for tomorrow morning."

"What?" Merlin's brow crinkled.

Something stern girded Guinevere's smile. "I really think we ought to start dispersing."

Comprehension lit the warlock's gaze. "You're right. Good night, Arthur, Morgana." He and Guinevere made their escape, leaving the two confirmed children of Uther Pendragon alone.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Very subtle, those two," she groused.

"When you think about it, it's amazing that they could keep any secrets at all," Arthur agreed. "Especially Merlin."

"You can be a fantastic secret keeper without being subtle."

They were quiet for a few moments, knowing that the conversation had to be held but not wanting to start it. Morgana broke first. "Is it possible that Madawg really is our half-brother?"

Arthur slumped into his chair, his eyes closing of their own accord. "I don't know," he confessed. "I wish I could assure you that of course he isn't, but…."

Morgana's lips twisted in a rueful grin. "Oh, I know, Arthur."

"I don't think he is," her brother continued. "He's, what, two or three years older than me? Mother was still alive then, and I have trouble believing that Father would betray a living wife. Everyone agrees that he absolutely adored her. But I can't know for certain. Maybe they had a fight."

"If I recall correctly, Madawg's mother is dead." Morgana's fingers drummed the table. "And we know that his father is dead because he's the active lord. Without dabbling in necromancy, we can't ask them."

"Necromancy?" Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he wanted a distraction, however brief.

"The magic of animating and communicating with the dead. If we were desperate to know, Morgause could probably summon Madawg's mother for us." She frowned. "Except I think that ghosts can lie or refuse to answer, so perhaps not."

"Let's not," Arthur seconded. "I don't want to know that badly. Summoning the dead feels like the sort of thing that would leave you cursed."

"Necromancy is known for going disastrously wrong," his sister agreed. She looked away, her hair falling like a dark curtain between them. "But even if we had proof one way or the other, it wouldn't matter."

"Of course it would matter."

"To you and me, yes, but not to the rest of the world. What matters is that reasonable people can reasonably claim to believe that Madawg is Uther Pendragon's firstborn son. What matters is that Madawg can claim legitimacy, and his supporters can say that any counterclaims are lies and denials from evil corrupt sorcerers."

"I really do hate it when you're right," Arthur muttered. "On the other hand, though, it might matter to me. To us."

"I don't need more brothers," she scoffed. "Or more sisters, either."

Arthur wondered if they did have other siblings out there. Once, he would have found the idea unthinkable. Now, he realized that there was no reason Vivienne had to have been his father's only lover or the only other woman he'd gotten with child. He'd never seen Uther treat anybody the way he treated Morgana, but maybe their half-siblings were being raised far from Camelot. Maybe Uther had never known they existed.

He shook his head as though to physically exorcise the thoughts. Morgana was right, it didn't matter, at least not with regards to their everyday lives. He couldn't acknowledge any half-siblings, just as he and Morgana had never made their own kinship public.

"Arthur? Are you all right? You're uncharacteristically quiet."

"Just thinking, that's all."

"Don't hurt yourself."

He snorted. "Don't worry about that. If we do capture Madawg tomorrow without anything going wrong, will that be enough to cripple the rebellion? If they found one long-lost secret bastard son more suited for the throne, then they might find another."

"It would buy us time and delegitimize both claims," Morgana pointed out.

"I don't suppose you've seen anything in your dreams?"

"The man in the lion mask," she answered. "It's just a mask, which I think is more evidence that he's not Uther's."

"With multicolored puppet strings," Arthur recalled. "Anything else?" For obvious reasons, they'd stopped their dream-world meetings. The lion-headed man had appeared that winter, but Morgana might have seen something more recently.

She mulled it over. "A dead tree," she finally said, very slowly. "Its trunk is covered in claw marks that might have come from a lion. I'm not sure, though. There's a cup in the tree's top branches, impossible to reach without magic." The witch blinked. "I don't know why I said that last bit, but it feels important. You can't reach the cup without magic."

"That's… good?"

"I think it's good." She closed her eyes, nibbled at her lips, searched her memory for more leonine imagery.

"Just tell me everything," Arthur advised. "Something might be relevant in a way that we won't understand until it happens."

"A castle with weeping walls, but then it begins to laugh. Corbenic restored, with dragons flying around its towers. A green man carrying his own head. A trail of slime dripping into a goblet right next to a mortar and pestle. A white stag with tines of silver. Seven men standing before a giant. The flash of a dagger." Morgana shrugged, helpless. "It's either bizarre and symbolic or too generic to be useful."

"The slime might be poison," Arthur speculated. "I'll not eat anything he offers me, and I'll tell the others to refrain as well."

"Marrok could probably smell poison."

"Yes. Can you think of anything else you've seen?"

"No other images, but I should tell you more about the dagger. It's very distinctive. Assuming it's an actual object and not a metaphor, you'll want to be able to recognize it."

Arthur made a 'go on' gesture.

"The hilt was gold," Morgana recounted, "and covered with gems, black and white. The blade was mostly iron, but the shape of a bird was etched across it. I think it was a magpie, but I didn't get a good enough look to be certain. I don't know who that might represent, so I asked Geoffrey to search personal and family crests until he finds someone who might be represented by a magpie. If the dagger is real, it's fancy enough that it could only have been commissioned by a member of the nobility. If it's a symbol, the magpie would represent their identity."

"Do you think the black and white gems represent the dagger's family colors?"

"Possibly, or they represent the coloration of a magpie. Possibly both. And before you ask, yes, of course I'm having Geoffrey take notes if he finds people whose sigils are magpie-like birds and not just magpies."

"What's Madawg's family crest?" Arthur wondered.

"I think it's an eagle, but I'm not certain. I'll check that for you tomorrow morning, before you leave for your confrontation. It's getting late, Arthur. We really should go to bed."

"You're right. Good night, Morgana."

"Good night, Arthur."


"Watch out for poison and a dagger," Merlin repeated. "The dagger, if it's real, has a bird on it that is possibly a magpie or possibly an eagle, the sigil of Madawg's house. Did I miss anything?"

"Just be on your guard," Arthur ordered.

"Especially against poison, fancy daggers, and magpies."

"Yes, Merlin," the king sighed. "Especially against those."

"We will be," Leon promised. Lancelot nodded his agreement, face grim.

Merlin had scried the area around Madawg's keep (at least the parts that he could scry. Some were obscured from his sight) during breakfast. He chanted the whirlwind spell, bringing the party and their horses to a secluded place a few hundred feet from the nearest road. They trotted to the worn path, attracting baffled stares from the peasant family walking toward town with their cart. The mother's eyes widened as she noticed Arthur's crown. She hissed something at her husband and their brood, and the ones who weren't sitting in the cart dropped into clumsy bows.

"At ease," Arthur said. He smiled, waved at the gawking children. One waved back. She was quickly joined by three of her siblings. The fourth, older than the others, gaped wide-eyed at Merlin, with his blue cloak, sorcerous staff, and magic-golden eyes. The warlock followed Arthur's lead, smiling and waving.

The boy ducked for cover. Merlin's smile froze.

Gwaine scowled, but thankfully he had enough sense and restraint to not rebuke a frightened child of perhaps ten years. He waited until they were out of sight before asking, "You okay, Merlin?"

"I'm fine."

The knights snorted, arched their brows, and made various other gestures of nonverbal disbelief.

Merlin amended, "A little disheartened, but it's nothing I can't handle. Seriously. Lots of people gape at me or react strangely. I'm getting used to it. It'll die down once they're more accustomed to me."

"Still," Lancelot protested, "you shouldn't have to experience that sort of thing."

"That's what we're working for, isn't it? By tomorrow, the boy will be telling his friends all about seeing the king and his knights and his scary Court Mage. If he's smart about it, he can milk this encounter all summer. He'll be the most popular child in town.

Lancelot looked doubtful. "If you say so."

"I do say so. Now, we were about a mile from Madawg's castle, so we should be seeing it soon."

"I see it," Percival informed them, indulging Merlin's ungraceful change of subject. Elyan stood in his stirrups, nodded in confirmation.

The rest of them laid eyes on the keep about two minutes later. It was a perfectly ordinary, serviceable castle except for an unusually tall tower at the northwestern corner. A village had grown around its base, small but prosperous, with its own tannery and smithy and potters' building. The villagers came out to see their king. A few cheered, but others eyed Merlin with trepidation and remained silent.

"Looks like our friend from the woods won't have bragging rights after all," Gwaine observed.

"Of course he will. He just has to make up some story about bravely defying the scary warlock. He can get his family to back him up."

"It's easy to tell that your only sibling is still an infant. Trust me, Merlin, brothers and sisters don't work that way. He'd have to bribe them, and they'd still 'slip up' within a few days."

"And I say that his family would back him up wholeheartedly. Leon, you have more siblings than the rest of us combined. Who's right, me or Gwaine?"

"I'm afraid it's Gwaine," the knight replied.

Gwaine cackled. Merlin gasped. "Traitor," he declared.

A man who must be Madawg met them at the gates of the keep. Merlin scanned his face for any resemblance to Uther, Arthur, or even Morgana, but found nothing. His hair was brown, his eyes deep blue (like Arthur's, but the king's coloring came from Ygraine) and small and shifty, his nose slightly misshapen from some long-ago brawl. There was nothing of the old king in his features.

Then again, both of Uther's known children took after their mothers. Merlin made a mental note to look for a portrait of Madawg's mother, his father, any other relatives.

But although this lordling didn't look the part, he certainly dressed it. His tunic was Pendragon red with gold scrolling—not quite the dragon rampant, but if you were looking for it, the embroidery suggested a draconic shape. The sword and dagger at his hip were resting in gem-encrusted scabbards, and their handles bore elaborate filigree. No gems of black and white, though. Good.

"Your Majesty." Madawg bowed. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have prepared a better welcome for you." He looks over the rest of the party, gaze lingering on Merlin. For a moment, pure hatred flashes through his eyes, but he veils the emotion quickly, loathing hidden behind a bland smile.

"I'm sure you would have," Arthur said dryly.

"I'll have a luncheon feast prepared for you. Chambers as well, so that you and your men can recover from your travels."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. We'll only be here for a brief time. Bring us to a place where we can speak in private."

Another flash of quickly concealed rage. He didn't like being reminded which one of them was king. Had he always been like that, or did it spring from his new royal ambitions?

"Of course, sire. Follow me. Grooms, stable their horses."

By the time the party had dismounted, two more people had arrived at the castle threshold. Judging from their attire, the curly-haired woman was Madawg's wife, and the wide-eyed toddler by her side was their son. The boy did a double-take as he took them in. He pointed a chubby finger at Merlin and shouted, "Yellow!"

The Court Mage smiled at him. "Yellow indeed, little lord."

If looks could kill, Madawg's glare would have struck Merlin dead before he once again masked his anger. Merlin was starting to wonder why he even bothered forcing down his emotions. Surely he realized that they'd seen his true feelings, right?

"May I present Lady Delyth, my wife, and our son Eliwlod."

"Your Majesty." Delyth curtsied, murmured for her son to bow. He ignored her, still staring in wonder at Merlin's bizarre eyes.

"Bird?" the boy asked hopefully.

"Yes," Merlin confirmed. Had he been in the city, he would have conjured an illusory bird out of ropes of light, but it felt like a bad idea to do that with Madawg right there. The man might stab him.

A wicked idea struck. Grinning, Merlin pulled himself and Eliwlod out of time. The boy didn't notice, though, because the moment Madawg could no longer see them, Merlin created a bright eagle, yellow and red. Eliwlod's jaw dropped, his eyes went wide, and he clapped his hands together in delight. "Bird! Bird!"

(If Merlin was wrong and Madawg actually was Uther's bastard, then little Eliwlod would be Arthur's nephew. Possibly Merlin's nephew, too, if things kept going well with Morgana. The boy's father might be awful, but he seemed like a perfectly pleasant child.)

Merlin threw the eagle into the air, and they watched it fly away. Time resumed when the child turned back to face the warlock in an approximation of his earlier position. It wasn't perfect, but if someone didn't know about Merlin's time-pausing capabilities, they wouldn't realize what had happened. Lancelot gave him a suspicious glance, but he knew better than to say anything.

"Bird, bird, bird," Eliwlod rambled, tugging his mother's hand and gesturing wildly at Merlin.

"Yes, sweetheart," she said indulgently. "Does Lord Bird have a name?"

"My Court Mage, Merlin Caledonensis," Arthur answered. He rattled off the knights' names, including Gwaine's relationship with Loth and Lot, then, unnecessarily, his own identity. Another reminder for Madawg, Merlin supposed.

"An honor, sirs, Your Majesty."

"The honor is all ours, my lady. Lord Madawg, if you would."

"Of course, sire."

"Do you want me to come along?" asked Delyth.

"Not necessary, my lady."

"Very well. I'll arrange refreshments."

They followed Madawg through his castle. Merlin glimpsed servants lurking behind corners, heard them whispering about the visitors. He paid only a little attention to them, just enough to ensure that they weren't going to suddenly charge or shoot or something. They gave no indication of hostility, though.

Most of Merlin's brain was occupied with Delyth's promise of refreshment. Unless she and Madawg had planned for the eventuality of the king, Court Mage, and several knights suddenly appearing and asking for a meeting, there was little chance that she'd risk poisoning them. The risk to her husband would be too great.

Then again, maybe she didn't like him. If he also died, little Eliwlod would become the figurehead of the anti-magic movement, and he'd need a regent.

"Arthur, when Delyth comes back, could you invite her in? I'd like to see how she reacts to whatever she's feeding us before we put anything in our mouths."

"She wouldn't risk Madawg."

"We don't know what their marriage is like. Not every couple is as happy as you and Gwen, and we already decided not to eat anything."

"Very well then, Merlin. If you insist."

"Thanks, Arthur." The warlock broke the connection.

The room Madawg led them to was small, with a great window to the east and a long table taking up most of the interior. One door, Merlin noted, and the table made maneuvering difficult. A bit of an odd choice. Merlin had Béothaich and yellow eyes, so Madawg had to know that their side had magic while his had to rely on force of arms. Was this his way of playing dumb, of silently indicating that he had no idea why the Court Mage might have cause to use magic against him? Was there some sort of ward in the walls? Perhaps he was hiding other rebels in the castle and didn't want to risk the king's party coming across them.

Or perhaps this was the nearest room and Merlin was overthinking things.

He tried to relax, he really did, but his unease continued after Delyth and the servants arrived with the refreshments: various cheeses, including some very fragrant specimens that might have come from Gaul, cold cuts of meat, bread and jam, and wine to wash it down. If anything was poisoned, it would be the wine or the jam. Merlin eyed the bottles and jars with suspicion, but they appeared to be unopened.

Arthur invited the lady of the castle to join them. Her eyes widened incrementally, but like her husband, she knew how to keep her poise. "Of course, sire," she demurred.

Delyth took her seat. The servants passed around plates and goblets. Merlin scanned his for strange powders or sheens or clumps of matter, but he found nothing.

The wine was poured, the food passed around. Delyth and Madawg took a little bit of everything. Merlin was more selective, was pleased to see that the others were too. Marrok discreetly sniffed one of the cheeses. The werewolf made a face, but when Merlin asked him through thought-speech if anything was wrong, he shook his head minutely.

The lord of the castle slathered a generous helping of blackberry jam onto a slice of fine white bread. "The local specialty," he said, "and Eliwlod's favorite. We always have a few jars on hand for him."

"Not just his favorite," Delyth chuckled, covering her own bread in the same substance.

"But I doubt that you came all this way just to speak of jam. How can I serve, Your Majesty?"

"You can serve by ceasing your rebellion against me."

It was like the temperature plummeted. Madawg's hand convulsed around his goblet as his composure cracked and finally, finally stayed away. "What?" he asked, genuinely startled that Arthur would be so blunt.

"We captured a spy cell yesterday," Arthur drawled. "One of the women named you her king. Apparently you're my long-lost half-brother, which makes you the perfect figurehead for the anti-magic movement."

Merlin hid his grin behind a piece of cheese. (Delyth had already eaten one, so he knew it wasn't poisoned. This cheese, the white bread, and the blackberry jam were all safe.) Madawg looked like a small child whose parents had caught him in wrongdoing, startled and frightened and guilty.

The king leaned forward, his crown glinting in the morning light. "This is, of course, high treason."

"I didn't," Madawg lied. "I'm not a king, Your Majesty, and that spy must have been lying. I'm loyal to you and to Camelot. I don't know a thing about this, this treason."

"Then you'll have no qualms about remaining my guest in Camelot until this entire unpleasantness blows over."

"He can't, sire," Delyth blurted. At Arthur's arched brow, she elaborated, "I'm with child."

"What?" squawked Madawg.

His wife nodded rapidly. "Yes. That's why I've been so slow and sleepy lately. Sire, I'm afraid for my health—mine and the babe's, even Eliwlod's—if I have to spend the next seven months worrying about my husband."

"You can come to Camelot as well," Arthur decided. "Gaius is the finest physician in the kingdom, and we have access to resources that you don't. Have you heard the tale of Princess Angharad's pregnancy?"

Delyth groaned softly. She really did look a bit green around the gills, Merlin observed. Yet he didn't think she'd always looked like that. Was the stress causing her symptoms to flare up?

"We have no need of sorcery," the pale-faced Madawg spat, slamming his fist on the table. "Rience is more than capa—"

"Rience?" Merlin interrupted. The warlock leapt to his feet. "Where is—ooh, not good." His head swam, vision blurring.

Delyth's lips twitched as her eyes slid closed. She was smart, Merlin realized. She'd known that they wouldn't eat or drink anything that might be contaminated, so she'd poisoned herself and her husband to trick Arthur's party. Now the effects were catching up with them, too.

Merlin grabbed at his magic, the whirlwind spell fresh in his mind, but the poison moved quickly. His legs gave out under him, and he fell into the dark.


Alternate chapter title: "In Which a Bunch of Idiots do the One Thing They'd Decided not to do Because They Knew Damn Well That it was a Bad Idea, but I Guess the Food Must Have Smelled Really Good"

Next chapter: March 17. Villain POV time!

Madawg (or Madoc, or Madog) ap Uther is a super-obscure figure who is briefly mentioned in, like, three or four early Arthurian poems, including one called Arthur and the Eagle (hence his family sigil). He's listed as a son of Uther and the father of Eliwlod.