Chapter 17: Mithian (5)

Merlin inhaled sharply the moment the messenger came into the light, and was on his feet in an instant, pale and grim himself. "Gwaine?"

Sir Gwaine? Mithian thought, his friend? Why would a knight come as a –

The messenger stepped into the room, his hand raised as if to reassure Merlin – or hold him back – as he addressed King Rodor.

"I beg your pardon also, my lord," he said. "Circumstances have changed, and King Arthur has need of Merlin's services – at least for a time. I – we hope that we can return him to you to complete this visit before too long."

"Is Arthur all right?" Merlin's question snapped in the air – with tension rather than temper.

The messenger made a placating motion with his hand – but didn't answer, and didn't look at the young sorcerer.

"Certainly," Rodor said, answering the messenger's air of expectancy – but it seemed to Mithian, he was also surprised that Merlin's question went unanswered. "I hope it is nothing serious?"

"As do I," the messenger answered smoothly, then looked at her – the rest of the table, but back at her – and bowed. "I beg your pardon also, my lords and ladies, for depriving you of my friend – but there is news to be told, and plans to be made – we must leave at first light in the morning."

"So soon?" Crissa wondered.

"The need is urgent, my lady," the messenger responded courteously.

Merlin moved abruptly, striding out from the table to shepherd the messenger toward the door – the bearded man resisted for an instant, til Merlin half-turned and said, "Excuse me," to the room.

"Of course," Rodor said genially – raising his eyebrows to his family.

"What's going on?" Gunnor asked from between his uncle and Merlin's empty chair.

Mithian stood also, meeting her father's eyes with a question – he nodded, and she hurried after the men, in her capacity as the loyal almost-betrothed of one of them, rather than a concerned hostess representing another sovereign kingdom.

It was a good thing she knew where they were headed, because they were moving fast, and not talking. Which was a little surprising – unless the messenger refused to give his message til they were private in Merlin's room. The stranger heard her, though, and turned without breaking stride.

To explain herself initially, she said, "May we offer you the room next to Merlin's tonight? Is there anything you require – food, water, wine?"

"No, I'm fine," he said brusquely, and offered her a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you anyway, Princess. I'll share Merlin's, and then… we're going to be leaving anyway."

Merlin turned his head to look at his friend, for a pair of heartbeats, but didn't slow.

Mithian added, "May I accompany you? Not on your trip, I mean –" though why not? she was as good a rider as any man – "just now?" She didn't say, unless it is a private message – because that would give him the chance of agreeing, and then she would be dismissed.

"It's up to him," the messenger said noncommittally.

When Merlin didn't say anything, Gwaine shrugged to her as they reached the stairs – Merlin began to leap determinedly up two at a time, and the messenger only a step behind him. Mithian gathered her skirts, crumpling the gold silk, and skipped up in their wake.

She'd had scant opportunity to enter one of their guest rooms, even when her suitor was not in residence, but her first thought was, We have servants for this. Her second thought was, He used to be a servant.

The bedcovers and pillows were rumpled and crooked on the bed, the rug kinked and kicked up on itself, the wardrobe door was open, the red tunic hung over the back of a chair next to the table, which itself had not been swept properly clean of crumbs, though the remaining mess was confined to one place setting.

Her third thought was, I'm glad he's comfortable here.

Entering first, Merlin bent to scoop his own cloak from the floor, flung it negligently over the open door of the wardrobe – then abandoned the half-hearted inclination to tidy for guests, or begin to pack for an unexplained trip. Turning, he lifted his hands to his hips and glared at the messenger, an expression Mithian had never seen on his face before.

"Is Arthur all right?"

Mithian closed the door behind them, and leaned back against it.

Gwaine spread his hands, clearly reluctant. "I don't know… He's alive though. I'm pretty sure."

Merlin breathed through his nose like he'd just surfaced from a long dive in a deep lake. "Why don't you know. Why aren't you in Gawant. What happened."

Gwaine unfastened his cloak and slung it over the opposite chair, facing the sorcerer across the table and moving like he was sore and stiff from the saddle. "Almost a week ago Elyan came to Gawant."

Mithian remembered, That's Sir Elyan now, and he's going to be brother-in-law to the king…

"He told me. Three weeks earlier, after you left, Arthur received word of raiders along the border with Caerleon, they'd taken Stonedown."

Merlin's hands clenched, and Mithian remembered a story he'd told her about bandits in his own village – and how Arthur had ridden across the border out of Camelot to save them.

"Arthur rode out with the patrol to stop the bandits, and free Stonedown," the messenger continued. Merlin made a rude noise, and swung away restlessly. "Only one man came back, bringing a message from King Caerleon that Arthur had been captured – that he was well but they intended to keep him hostage."

Merlin spat a single foul word that raised Mithian's eyebrows – did he remember she was standing there? – but didn't seem to faze his friend.

"Leon and Brenner rode out to meet with Caerleon, hear his demands and see about Arthur, so he was alive then, and even eating at Caerleon's table. Elyan said, Leon said."

Merlin's lips pressed into a thin white line, and his nostrils flared. He shook his head, turning to gaze at the floor and move restlessly, not really pacing.

"Elyan told me, Leon had a hard time with the council – though it is a hard situation." Gwaine glanced at Mithian as if remembering that she wasn't yet married into Camelot – though Nemeth was an ally. "They can't send the army to war with Caerleon, as much for Arthur's safety as for the extreme cost of such a move…"

As the daughter of a king, Mithian understood. The lives of the men at stake, the cost to the kingdom of supplying the campaign, the vulnerability of the rest if the main fighting force left the capital, the reactions of the other surrounding kingdoms – and all of it as the world froze toward winter.

"The council evidently voted to forbid Leon from asking anyone for help with magic. And Leon, as acting regent, evidently refused to sign any accord with Caerleon unless Arthur ordered him to – which he won't do," Gwaine concluded. "So. Leon gave Elyan leave when he asked, and he came to visit me and my new bride –"

New bride – Gawant – so this was the dashing, heroic knight who'd won and married Princess Elena. Mithian blinked and looked at him with new eyes, and hoped that Elena was happy. He was very handsome in spite of the exhaustion, and seemed also level-headed and good-humored.

"Because I told Leon that I came from Caerleon originally, when I was knighted," Gwaine went on. "Of course he asked me about possible conflicting loyalties – you know Leon."

Merlin stilled, his arms crossed over his chest and his chin down, but his eyes fixed on his friend.

"His hands are tied, as much as the council's," Gwaine said, his concentration intensifying also. "But mine and yours –"

"Let's go," Merlin said tersely, wheeling to stalk toward Mithian at the door, startling her with the movement and his intention, both.

"In the morning," Gwaine answered. "It's already dark now." And, Mithian rather thought, if he'd traveled here from Gawant, he'd need a night's sleep before continuing on to Caerleon.

"Then we'll go with magic." Merlin changed direction, holding out his hand for Gwaine – who backed away. Merlin stopped but didn't drop his hand. "I can take both of us right to him, no matter where he is."

"Across two kingdoms?" Gwaine said.

"Yes. Probably. Right to his sword, maybe."

It put Mithian in a cold sweat to think of what he was suggesting – instant-transportation spells were powerful, dangerous magic, and he said it so easily, so carelessly.

"Which they wouldn't have left with him," Gwaine argued – it seemed his concern was slightly different than Mithian's. "Stop and think this time, Merlin."

Merlin made a frustrated noise and spun, kicking the leg of a chair that was in his way. Mithian took two steps forward without thinking, right into his path. He met her eyes – his deep and clouded with pain and worry and restlessness – for a moment. She didn't say anything, didn't reach to touch him, but he sighed and released a little of his anxiety.

"I figure," Sir Gwaine went on, including her with his glance, "I can arrive at Caerleon's castle and claim my father's connections to get inside. Me and my servant." He grinned, but Merlin didn't react. "I can distract the king and queen playing company, and you can sneak Arthur out. Because if we come like an army, using your magic with brute force, their first reaction is going to be to use their hostage. You can't bring the castle down with Arthur inside – and no one wants you to kill dozens of people, Arthur probably most of all."

Merlin pressed a fist to his forehead, white-knuckled, as if resisting his friend's logic, searching the backs of his eyelids for another option. Then finally nodded. "Gwaine, if they hurt him in the meantime – if they've hurt him – a whole damn month."

This was the Merlin she'd glimpsed between the light-hearted lines of his tales of adventure in Camelot, Mithian thought. Stern and focused.

"I know," Gwaine said. "Listen, let's get some sleep – Highness, if we could have supplies arranged, we can see to our own horses in the morning. It'll be the better part of three days hard ride to reach Caerleon's stronghold."

Mithian nodded, but made no move to leave. "What of your lady wife?" she asked, keeping her tone even and low.

"Left her in Camelot with Gwen and Ally. She understands." Gwaine smiled in a way that spoke of happiness and satisfaction, and Mithian was glad for both of them.

"Will Caerleon know that you come from Camelot?" she asked. "Will he know that you've sworn your loyalty to his hostage?"

The knight cringed and glanced at Merlin, as if he recognized that flaw in his plan, and had hoped that no one else would. Merlin's only response was to begin to stalk about the room, rummaging for one of his bags and to fill it with items and garments necessary for the trip. "Rumors fly, my lady… I can deny them all. If they remember anything of me, rather than just recognition of my father's name, they won't believe knighthood."

"If they believe you've risen in the world enough to have a servant, will they believe you have a wife," Mithian said, calmly, making an effort to calm her racing heartrate. "May I come with you. And this time, I do mean along on your trip."

"No," Merlin said, shortly and crossly, not even looking up from his rather violent fit of packing. It surprised, but didn't offend her.

"It might help throw Caerleon's suspicions off," Gwaine said thoughtfully. "If we come with a woman. But it would be dangerous – your father would never let you."

"I can ride," Mithian informed him, without protesting or begging. It was a very bleak thought, to be left behind; she wanted to be part of Merlin's life no matter what that included, but she wouldn't press if her presence put them in more danger. "I can shoot – and I can charm the king and queen of Caerleon blind. I also think, Arthur would do something like this for any one of us here in Nemeth – so I want to help, if I can."

"Hm," Gwaine said, looking from her to Merlin. "Well, if your father allows it… This plan is meant to be accomplished by stealth and deception, rather than open steel…"

"I will see you in the morning," Mithian told him – since Merlin wasn't paying either of them any attention. "To say farewell – or not."

Gwaine nodded. "Goodnight, my lady."

She waited a moment, but Merlin was still distracting himself rather angrily – now throwing things out of his bag. She ventured, "Merlin?"

He froze – and it took him a moment to begin to move again, facing her but not meeting her eyes, in giving a little bow. "Good night, Princess."

She didn't turn to leave, and after another unbearably long moment of uncertainty on her part, he came to her by the door, dropping his untidy pack on the table as he passed.

"I am sorry," he said, and the blue of his eyes was tumultuously dark. She knew he meant it, that he was apologizing for all the changes this made – for their immediate future, for their arrangement. Then he added, "I don't think you should come."

She didn't answer. She couldn't articulate a faint but ominous doubt that if she watched him ride away in the morning, he wouldn't be coming back. But there was more than one way to lose a person, she knew.

"They wouldn't dare harm me, even if your subterfuge is discovered," she said. "But I won't, if it will make you angry."

Then he looked at her face, and raised his hand to draw the backs of his fingers over her cheek, so gently it brought tears to her eyes. "I could never be angry at you," he said.

It wasn't true. Antor and Amylia had been married long enough that Mithian had seen first love dissolve into aggravation and misunderstanding and disagreement – but she'd also seen true love persevere and deepen and forgive, through those transitory emotions. You could be angry at the person you loved – though she couldn't imagine being angry at Merlin, at the moment – and actually have that heat forge a stronger relationship, instead of burning it to ashes.

"Please try to sleep," she added, catching and squeezing his hand, before she left. He didn't answer.

Mithian found the steward and gave him his orders – their three horses ready and provisioned a quarter-hour before first light – and because her chamber was on the way to her father's, she poked her head in to instruct Bronda in the packing of a bag of her own, the laying out of traveling clothes.

Light flickered under her father's door when she knocked – and she wasn't totally taken aback when her father's manservant opened to reveal Alice, stirring a measured spoonful of powder into a goblet of wine while King Rodor waited patiently at the small table in his quarters, head resting on his fist as he slouched in his chair.

"Just a headache, my dear," he answered her look of concern. "I love those children dearly, but they were excited when you and Merlin left with the messenger – and therefore twice as loud and hard to handle. Amylia was in tears at one point."

"I'm sorry," Mithian said, going to kneel on the rug just beside him, tucking her gown around her legs like she used to when she was small.

"Not your fault," he said easily, accepting the goblet from Alice with a nod of thanks. "What news?"

"Arthur is at odds with King Caerleon," she said, careful of how those from Camelot might want it told. "Caerleon holds a valuable hostage – Merlin is going to try to rescue him and break Caerleon's hold on Camelot, by subterfuge. I have offered to accompany them and pose as Sir Gwaine's wife, as he claims Merlin his servant."

Rodor said nothing, letting go of the goblet to drum his fingers on the table, gazing into the hearth-fire. Alice was wide-eyed and sober, replacing things slowly in her small medicines-pack by feel, to continue watching them. From his station near the door, the king's manservant gave an unexpected snort – and an abbreviated bow when the king turned to him.

"Her Highness is your child, my lord, as much as either of her brothers," he stated. The king only hummed thoughtfully.

Mithian added, "I know it will be dangerous, and I will be careful, but if I can help, I want to. Camelot often faces such unexpected situations, and if Merlin and I are to be married –"

Rodor glanced at her and sighed. "If you were one of your brothers, I wouldn't even consider telling you no, but approve wholeheartedly of aiding an ally in need," he said. "I know you can handle yourself, and I do not fear for your safety in other respects – Merlin is an honorable young man. He spoke to me this afternoon, after your hunting party returned."

She nodded, her throat closing with something like exhilaration. So Merlin desired their betrothal and marriage, enough to initiate this next step…

"Merlin's magic is quite capable of protecting her from harm, Your Majesty," Alice spoke up. "He'd give his life in her defense, you may be sure. And I will go with them myself, if perchance they need a healer, for the princess' reputation and as her lady's maid."

"You speak in favor of the plan?" the king asked with mild curiosity.

"I was betrothed, once." Alice gave her apple-cheeked smile to Mithian. "He wished to remain in a place of danger, making sacrifices to do what he thought was right, and I chose to leave. Who knows what would have happened, had we remained together… Yes, I think she should go with him, if that's what she wants and he is amenable."

Not quite, Mithian thought. But I don't think you should, wasn't exactly the strongest dissuasion.

"Very well," Rodor said. He sighed and set his hand on Mithian's head, caressing the tiny braids pinned there. "I will miss you. Be sure to let us know the moment you are safe again."

"I promise," Mithian said.

"I will make my own preparations," Alice added, adjusting the strap of the medicines-pack over her shoulder, and heading for the door. "First light?..."

…..*….. …..*… ….*….. …..*….. ….*…..

Sundown the next day, and it was too late for Mithian to change her mind – as Alice had done at midday, composedly agreeing to meet them in Camelot, and alert Gaius and Leon and their friends about the actions being taken. Mithian wondered if the middle-aged lady had ever intended to make the journey to Caerleon, or if she'd just spoken to persuade Rodor to Mithian's plan.

She thought rather irritably, that any person who professed to enjoy adventures had either never had one, or was clearly mad. She was cold, and damp from the gray drizzle that descended from a darkening sky. Sore from the saddle, and the pace Merlin was setting. Pushing, whenever Sir Gwaine didn't rein him in. She understood his sense of urgency, but just now she was also feeling a little sorry for herself at her suitor's lack of attention.

To be fair, he'd been paying his friend little attention, either – staring or scowling when the knight suggested a walk to rest the horses, or a rest to recuperate their own strength. She was a little glad Sir Gwaine didn't specify for the princess, though she was sure it was implied. She didn't want Merlin's impatience focused on her.

Just now, Gwaine had drawn his mount even with Merlin's in the lead – hopefully to suggest stopping for the night. The wind was picking up and the light - she thought – was failing. Hard to tell, in this weather, if it was really getting dark – until it was dark.

She could tell her mare was lagging, too – the horse stood still, with her head slightly lowered, and Mithian's fingers were numb around the reins as she watched the two men ahead of her. They appeared to be arguing, which puzzled her. Sir Gwaine was the one who'd spent the most time with Merlin; they were close friends, and she hadn't yet seen Merlin argue with anyone.

Finally Merlin reined his mount off the track to one side – abruptly, and without looking back at her. For a moment they both watched him, til he kicked himself out of the saddle in a little clear space before a clump of spruce and set about unpacking and unsaddling his horse.

Sir Gwaine wheeled his mount tiredly, and returned to Mithian; she couldn't help thinking of something Merlin had said the first day about arriving in Nemeth, about priorities and promising to be honest with her if their relationship became a burden to him. The flush of anticipation she'd felt to hear that he'd declared his intention to her father, had dulled over the course of this day.

"We're going to stop?" she said to the knight, who dismounted weariedly, trailing his reins as he came around her horse's head.

"We're going to stop. Would you like a hand getting down, Your Highness?"

She didn't. Tomorrow she might, if it was like today, but she maneuvered her right leg over the saddle, and dropped stiffly down to the ground. If it was going to be wet, she thought, there might as well be snow.

"He's still upset?" she ventured quietly, handing her reins to the knight.

Sir Gwaine grunted. "One thing about Merlin. When things go wrong, he feels guilty, like he should've stopped it somehow. I think it's the effect of having magic like he does. There were times, when we were living rogue in those ruins… but it was almost better, then."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

They were both watching Merlin, still. The saddle was off his horse and he was halfway to having a cookfire ready – stones and initial kindling, at least. Their edibles were in his pack, while her horse carried their bedding, and Sir Gwaine's was weighed down under the armor he wore and the weapons he carried.

"He's mentioned his destiny?" the knight asked.

She nodded.

"If you look at it backwards and inside out," Sir Gwaine told her, beginning to gather some fallen branches near them, without approaching the area Merlin had chosen for their campsite. "As long as he still had it to fulfill, protect Arthur til he was king and magic returned and peace made with the other kingdoms – in a certain sense, Arthur's life was in no real danger. It could be done, if it had to be done. But now, I think Merlin thinks, if destiny's already fulfilled – maybe Arthur isn't necessary anymore, and could actually…"

"Die," Mithian finished. "But, Sir Gwaine –"

"It's Lord, actually," he told her with a half-energy grin. "And, just Gwaine."

"If you'll say Mithian," she told him. "But Caerleon won't kill Arthur, it wouldn't make sense. There would be war – and now that Camelot is allied with us, and Mercia and Gawant…"

Gwaine shook his head. "No one ever said that Merlin's devotion to Arthur was rational."

Mithian sighed.

And was glad she'd been taught the details of tack, that she'd been curious enough as a child to ask questions about cooking and setting up camp in general. Merlin was so preoccupied – and it wasn't all, magic to dry the kindling and light the fire - it felt awkward for her to interrupt with menial concerns, and it was awkward for his friend to pay her the attention that Merlin probably should've.

"Let Mithian finish there," Gwaine proposed, once the horses had been dealt with, and the necessary baggage laid to hand or protected from the weather. "Why don't you weave us some shelter with these evergreens?"

Merlin looked at the long-handled wooden spoon – looked at her – and passed her the utensil, as he rose from his crouch and moved toward the trees.

"This," Gwaine declared, settling beside her and extending gloveless hands to the glowing coals under the cookpot, "never gets old."

There was no wind to bother the persistent earthward dripping of moisture, but the trees swayed and bent, reaching their branches like they were spreading skirts or embracing each other. The light seemed to glow a little brighter, reflected from each shiny needle rather than dissipating into the falling darkness as the shelter tightened into something Mithian could believe was proof against any kind of weather. She wished wistfully that she could have seen his face while he was performing the magic; he'd stood so perfectly still he was little more than a brown-cloaked shadow, from behind.

"I think this is ready," she called, pushing the spoon against a lump of potato and feeling it yield.

Gwaine produced bowls and spoons from Merlin's pack, and Merlin returned to crouch on a fallen trunk, not quite facing them, and still silent. Mithian couldn't think of a single thing to say to him that might actually help; she was back to the uncertainty of what might embarrass or offend – or even irritate – him.

"I've heard how Arthur retrieved his magical sword from the stone, before rejoining the defenders of Gawant and challenging Odin in the arena," she said to Gwaine, "but your story must be a bit different – I wouldn't mind hearing it?"

The knight, Merlin's friend, was cheerfully obliging, even considering that he had been traveling like this for several days now – and faced a solitary infiltration of an enemy castle at the end of their journey. Mithian herself could declare her identity and probably be ransomed – though there would be consequences for that – but if things went really wrong, it might mean lives. She couldn't quite comprehend that – it was so foreign to her experience the fear was too vague to be felt, though it was acknowledged.

"So we ended up sleeping through our wedding banquet, instead of…" When Gwaine trailed off, she glanced up from her nearly-empty stew bowl – thick, hearty, simple, and almost appetizing – at the moment he said, "Merlin?"

Quiet, and intense – and in the half-second before she turned to their companion, she saw the depth of this man's regard for his friend.

Merlin's bowl was cradled in his hands, spoon resting on the edge, as if forgotten. He was completely still, his head turned just enough away from them, in the direction they'd been traveling, that they couldn't see his eyes.

Gwaine shifted abruptly, setting his own bowl on the ground and leaning forward into Merlin's line of sight – then spat a startling oath. "Merlin. Merlin!"

None of his words had any effect on the motionless sorcerer.

"What is it?" Mithian said, standing – with difficulty – and moving around behind the knight.

To see that Merlin's eyes were blazing gold. His lips set and his nostrils flared, and he was like a living statue.

She dared approach him, kneeling right in front of him – he took no notice, the magic burning and burning. She took his shoulders gently; he was hard as a rock.

"Merlin?" She shook him, and tried again. "Merlin!"

"Can you break him out of that?" Gwaine said. "I don't know very much about magic at all. Should we break him out of it? What's he doing?"

Mithian shivered, moving to join Merlin on the log, snuggled close to his body though he still seemed completely unaware. "We probably shouldn't try to break his concentration, actually," she realized belatedly. "Though he – probably shouldn't be doing, whatever it is he's doing. He spoke no spell, so I don't… know. I can guess, that it has something to do with Arthur?"

Gwaine exhaled another obscenity. "Of course it does. Trying to see if he's all right – or tell him we're coming, or something. Dammit, Merlin – seeing him like this, it's just too close to what happened this spring."

"With his cousin, you mean?" She'd heard Ally's version of that, though Gwen hadn't added much, and Merlin's perspective was again, something completely different.

"He was just – gone. Sitting right in front of you, blinking and breathing and – empty." Gwaine sounded uneasy, and she let him gather the dishes to distract himself. "Come on, Merlin…"

Mithian gathered his hands between hers, gloveless for eating and by the fire, and they were icy. Clenched, though his fingers obeyed hers to bend or straighten. "Blankets, Gwaine?"

"Yeah, good idea." He retrieved one, and tossed it around both of them, tucking her in beside Merlin without hesitation. Then crouching back to watch his friend's face with a worry that looked a bit gaunt.

She chafed Merlin's fingers gently. "Come back," she suggested to him gently. Her throat felt tight and achy, and there was guilt in her heart for wishing his mood would change and he would treat her more normally. That felt selfish right now, when –

He blinked, and tears rolled down his face. Gold swirled away to blue, and seemed to drain vitality from the rest of him. He opened his mouth to draw breath raggedly.

"Merlin?" Gwaine tried again – and this time the younger man's gaze dropped to the knight kneeling on the ground before him.

"They've got him locked in a cell," Merlin said hoarsely. "They're not feeding him properly, he's lost weight. He's cold and miserable and chained and – they're torturing him."

Mithian believed him – Gwaine too, by the look of horror on his bearded face in the firelight. She probably looked the same; it was hard to breathe around this particular mix of astonishment and outrage and grief. She had liked Arthur, when they'd visited Camelot only a few months ago. Liked him even more from Merlin's stories, in spite of his father.

"Okay," Gwaine managed. "Well – good thing we're on our way. But Merlin – you have to be careful, too, you –"

Merlin tipped slowly sideways – not uncontrolled, but as though he'd decided he was done trying to stay upright. Toward her, so she caught him and guided him down til his head rested in her lap and the rest of him was curled up, half on the log and half on the ground.

"Too much magic," she whispered, a question or a statement or both. His hair was thick and soft and damp because everything was damp today.

"I'll be all right – come morning," he whispered back, and his eyes dropped shut with finality.

Gwaine passed a hand over his face. "Idiot boy," he growled fondly. "Arthur does not deserve him, you know? Do you want me to settle him somewhere else?"

"No," Mithian said, squirming to a more comfortable position, herself.

There was a tree behind her for support, if she could curl toward Merlin and lean her head down on his uppermost shoulder. She didn't want to let go, or put any more space between them, she wanted to stay just like this, even if it was largely unintentional on Merlin's part. The warmth from his head was spreading along her thigh, his face separated from the skin of her leg by the relatively thin layer of the dark trousers she wore, and it was simultaneously thrilling and soothing.

"Try to get some sleep, then," Gwaine advised. "If I know Merlin, the camp will be well-protected even if no one is awake to keep watch."

Morning would either come too soon, or the night would drag interminably, she knew from experience. But just now she had the man she loved in her arms. Sleeping in her lap. She didn't wish that she'd stayed home, anymore – if Merlin needed her to be strong and loyal no matter how rude his worry made him – then that's what she'd do.

Combing her fingers once more through silky-smooth hair – now she knew why Crissa loved doing that with her husband – she watched firelight flicker over his lips and nose and the bone of his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered down at him.

A/N: Next chapter, Merlin pov!

Amanda: I usually like to respond to reviews in a private message, but I guess this'll have to do. Thanks so much for your review – I'm glad you've enjoyed the trilogy to this point! I'd like to take a little minute though to answer a couple of your objections…

Borden enchanting Merlin. It's not clear whether Borden had magic himself, or was facing execution by Uther's order for some other offense – the triskelion seems to merge its own pieces without magic from him. In my fic, the enchanted arrow that struck Merlin was not Borden's magic, but Ally's work, given Borden by Lord Bernard – sorry if that wasn't clear. I also think Merlin is as susceptible as the next guy without magic, at being taken by surprise (reference Morgana's use of the fomorroh, in-series).

Merlin being nobility. That's kind of a stretch, actually, Balinor was only an acknowledged cousin of Bernard's (not necessarily with a title, even), and his marriage to Hunith isn't official, if you know what I mean. If I'm going to pair Merlin with Mithian, I wanted at least the suggestion that he's closer to her status than just, the son of two untaught peasants (because Hunith obviously can read and write – maybe Gaius taught her or maybe Balinor was actually in Ealdor that long; who knows). In any case, I wouldn't normally make him a noble even by appointment, but if I'm going to do Merthian (I'm a Freylin shipper, too, but I really resist resurrection as a plot device), I'm going to do it right.

The guys' romances. The more traditional view of the Round Table has the knights away from Camelot more often than not, on quests or in their own castles or what-not. 'Our' Camelot is tamer than that, but I like the idea of an eventual peace that doesn't require our core knights' cast to be in court 24-7. Close enough that they can be called upon, but there's not an emergency every other day, anymore. And Gwaine is the one of them who might possibly have the training to run another kingdom (having actually descended from nobility). Still, both Godwyn and Bernard are hale enough that neither Gwaine nor Lancelot is really going to be absent from Camelot more than they're around. And you're right about Lancelot – he does pine. But in this fic, with Arthur speaking up more definitely to Guinevere (never even considering Elena, and Gwen never accused of enchanting him), she has a chance to focus more definitely on him before Lancelot is back in the picture. Lancelot & Elaine is legend, so I wanted to do a version of that where he does actually fall in love with another lady and find his own happiness, that doesn't threaten Arthur&Gwen. For Percival, obviously I wouldn't encourage a 13-year-old to get engaged in the here and now – but for the time and the class, it wasn't uncommon for babies to be engaged to each other by their parents. This isn't that bad, and she has the option of waiting as long as necessary (into her twenties, even, if she wanted), or to say never mind at some point. And you know Percival is not going to push before she's legal. *wink*

As far as the rest of the story – you can see what news Gwaine has brought, obviously. Merlin does deserve peace and happiness – after a little angst and action.