Chapter 6

The Lie: Arthur

Arthur's heart quailed as he saw the knights march out to the training ground. The reality that Merlin's death would have left him broken and uncertain was still so close to reality, that he knew he might be overwhelmed by his emotions, as he set his plan in action. He glanced up at the window of the physician's chamber,wondering if his plan was mad. He wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, and he knew his plan was mad.

"No," he told himself, echoing the wise words of his beautiful wife. "My heart is not broken." Merlin was by his side as always. While Morgana would believe any act of strength or daring from Arthur, she would never anticipate guile. His sister would be convinced.

As his act began,Arthur felt steadied by the familiar movements of sparring. His muscles warmed to the exercise, his speed increasing as as he allowed his blows to strike harder. He paused, motioning for Percival to hold the practice dummy. He caught his breath and went back at it, stabbing and hacking, bits of leather, cloth and stuffing flying up into the the last golden light of the afternoon. The light had been exactly so, when Morgana had attacked him, when she had nearly killed Merlin.

He paused for a moment, dropping his sword point as he stood. Taking a deep breath, he lunged forward again, working his way through a series of movements, finding pleasure in their accuracy and smoothness.

The fireball was headed towards him, glowing gold. Dodging, he fell to his knees and heaved himself up again. Merlin was shoving his horse in front of Arthur, and the screaming of the animals rang in his ears. He saw Merlin raise his hand defensively, as if he could stop magic with his mortal flesh alone. He was swinging his sword wildly now, his control gone as he stumbled forward with considerable force, into the practice dummy. Gawaine approached from the left, both hands held out in front of him to show he had no weapon.

"You ok, princess?"

Arthur lunged upwards at Gawaine, who leaped back gracefully. He pursued him with series of blows, the long haired knight dodging and weaving as Leon stepped in front of Gawaine, his steel ringing on Arthur's. The king shouted as he spun and attacked the practice dummy again with a manic intensity. Merlin's eyes were filled with fear, with a pleading agony he had never seen before, and then he was engulfed in fire. Merlin had magic. Guinevere was calling his name, but in his eyes, Merlin was falling, fire was blazing from his chest in a circular pattern, smoke puffing upward, as his body hit the floor, limply. He shoved Gwen away, hardly knowing what he was doing, as he shoved the horrific image of Merlin from his mind. Leon's concerned face flashed by as he staggered to his feet.

Gripping his sword with a renewed strength, he engaged Elyan. His sword circled in a glint of silver. Arthur rallied, and in a series of lightening jabs backed Elyan into the practice dummy, raining blow upon blow until Gawaine and Percival were both suddenly on top of him, holding him back. Arthur tore away from them, falling again, casting his sword aside. Merlin had magic. His anger and betrayal fueled his strength as he threw himself into a wild series of blows against any knight who stood against him. He engaged them all, his heart focused by anger and emotion. Percival stood against him now. Then Leon. Gawaine was shouting but he did not listen as he hurled himself forward again. His fear and the burning agony of betrayal filled him with an unnatural strength. Merlin had lied to him. Again, betrayal. Betrayal from his most treasured certainty, from his friend, his servant, his brother. Gawaine landed with a thump as Arthur swept his legs out from under him with a smooth movement of his own.

Arthur fell to his knees, his ears filling with Merlin's screams of agony as they moved him. He was begging Arthur for mercy, begging for his understanding, calling for him as if Arthur's name alone could bring him any relief from his suffering. The young king surged to his feet again, reaching down into his boot to fling the dagger he kept there. With an almost fatal fascination, he saw it tremble as it struck home in the practice dummy. A strange and terrible despair gave him back his strength as he came to his feet once again. Arthur's own heart was laboring, drowning under Merlin's desperate, delusional pleas for help. He lifted his sword, to drive the terrible images away, to strike at the danger to himself, to his kingdom. He was burning. He struck out with his sword again and again, but Merlin was slipping away from him. Merlin was trying to tell him something but he could not bear to hear his words. His last words. His head was pounding wildly. Merlin was dying, and Gaius had gone mad, and something was wrong, so wrong it brought him to his knees.

He heard a cry of anguish, so filled with forlorn abandonment and despair, that his heart stopped for just a second. Merlin was gone,and Arthur's chest was a gaping hole of darkness, the world suddenly still and grey in the space of second. Air was flooding back into his straining lungs; his eyes were clearing. The scream had been his own and to his shame, he knew this had not been a ploy completely.

As they supported him to his feet, he glimpsed the crowd of servants gathering near the entrance of the training field. More clustered, higher up on the parapet. A familiar burst of shame and anger fueled his last surge of energy. He shoved against the hands that were helping him and lurched into the castle, cursing as he walked away.

He opened the door to his chambers and slammed it shut behind him with all his strength. At last, he was alone. The trap was set. Arthur wiped his face, sponging away the sweat, his tears. He wondered why he was still crying, as weakness overcame him and the adrenaline faded.

"Sire", he heard someone call softly. It was George's voice.

"Leave me," he shouted, but the voice he heard was hoarse and shattered. "Leave me!" The door closed softly.