Chapter 24: Arthur (4)
His nap was short but deep, and when he woke both Mithian and Merlin had changed their clothes. The princess had braided her hair in the style of her kingdom, and Merlin had bathed and shaved and donned his own clothes, with the dark-red tunic embroidered with Camelot's gold dragon over the heart.
Neither of them looked happy; Arthur didn't blame them. He was determined to sort out the issues between them – ridiculous, after the weeks Merlin had spent agonizing over the decision before he'd even gone to Nemeth – but for now, he wished he had chainmail and a crimson tunic of his own, his recently-reclaimed stone-drawn sword rather than borrowed finery. The dark brown trousers and soft fawn jacket over the high-collared blue shirt didn't quite fit, and Merlin had no time for tailoring.
Arthur didn't eat much of the breakfast that had been delivered sometime while he slept, but he was aware that his former manservant watched him with a physician's eye, and seemed satisfied by the quantity and quality of Arthur's meal; at least he said nothing to the contrary.
"How do you feel?"
"Better."
And then it was time to descend the stair again and meet with the queen. During the lapsed time there had been no rebellious disturbances that they were aware of; Arthur was encouraged to remain convinced of Annis' trustworthiness.
They were spontaneously directed to the receiving hall, a sort of antechamber to the whole castle, with the main doors open to the daylight and the chill, and servants and fighters alike moving around the periphery. Dealing with the remnants of the morning's ambush in the dining hall, he guessed; his mind tried to stretch to imagine what he would do to handle such a situation in Camelot, before retreating. It was an unnecessary exercise, and one he was yet unaccustomed to. Another discipline, this one mental, that he'd have to re-apply in returning to the responsibilities of his own kingdom and throne.
There were two great armchairs set in the middle of the space, visible to all and yet private to each other, and a small table beside them supporting scrolls and an inkwell. He approved of the arrangement; her people would see her in negotiation with him, realize the indisputable fact of the surrender and admit whatever pronouncements resulted as acceptable compromise.
Annis stood next to one waiting for him, wearing what looked to be a wolf's-pelt around her shoulders for warmth; Gwaine was just turning from conversation from her, heading toward the three of them as they reached the base of the stair that led to their shared chamber. The knight looked collected enough, but his habitual grin was gone – though neither was he wearing the stern battle-ready expression that usually replaced it. Rather, Gwaine carried the sobriety of mild shock, that caught Arthur's attention and caused him to halt in front of his friend to address him immediately.
"Gwaine," he said. "What is it?"
"The queen was just telling me…" Gwaine began. Then blinked, and recognition of Arthur drew him back toward his usual attitude. "Something about my family. My father." He glanced aside at Merlin, out of sight behind Arthur.
"Your father?" Arthur said, hating the slight confusion he felt. His mind was as unused to the agility required of it in as his body was.
"Leon didn't tell you?" The way Gwaine said it made Arthur think, Merlin knew whatever it was also. "He asked me where I'd come to Camelot from, when you knighted me. Potentially conflicting loyalties – you know Leon."
"Here?" Arthur guessed, nodding. He remembered Leon mentioning the intention to question Gwaine, the day of his coronation; he'd entrusted that task to his senior knight and thought no more about it in the busyness of that day.
"Yes, but…" Gwaine hesitated – which was also unlike him, before adding with a wry smile, "My father was a knight. One of Caerleon's."
Arthur blinked. And didn't utter any of the half-sentences that occurred to him. But I thought… But why didn't you… But when we…
"I left all that behind me when I left home," Gwaine said, and there was something in his voice that seemed to plead to Arthur for understanding, maybe forgiveness also. "Nobility, and all its notions. I was going to make my own way, earn my own accolades. Maybe I should have told you? But this spring, at your coronation – Arthur, that meant far more to me than any claim I might have inherited elsewhere."
Mithian made a small sound – oh, that makes sense – that occurred to Arthur as well. Gwaine had always been better than an average mercenary, in talent and in honor.
Once, his pride might have smarted to have had such a secret kept from him – he looked at Merlin and saw that the younger man had known. But Merlin and Gwaine had shared a time in suffering and hiding – in service to him and Camelot – and he didn't begrudge either of them confidences they'd made. And Gwaine's secret made it possible for him and Merlin to come for Arthur – and after all, he trusted Gwaine's oath of knighthood and loyalty to Camelot. That was one they shared.
He said, "Does Elena know?"
Gwaine's grin was brilliant, and part of that seemed relief. "I told her, so she wouldn't worry about an uneducated mercenary mucking up the governing of her kingdom. I'd just as soon no one else knows, though?"
Memories of Lancelot and Percival and Elyan unfolded in his mind, of proofs to the knights born to privilege that nobility was a quality of character, not birthright. And Gwaine had chosen his side in that struggle; Arthur would choose to respect that. He nodded. "Are you going back to the room?"
"Thought I'd clean up a bit." Gwaine showed his hands, washed clean now, but there was still blood splattered brown and dried, elsewhere on his clothes.
"Do you want me to –" Merlin said.
"No, I'll do it," Gwaine interrupted him. "We're back to sharing chores, don't forget."
Arthur turned his head to catch and acknowledge his knight's leave – and looked at Merlin as Gwaine began to ascend the staircase behind them. "So you knew?"
Merlin held his gaze. "We had several conversations about fathers – general and specific."
Arthur suspected that his own father had come up, maybe more than once. It felt like a long time ago, when he'd had a father to argue with and rely on for protection. He turned back to the two chairs and the waiting queen, once again thankful for the loyalty of friends like Merlin and Mithian supporting him. He took a deep breath to fortify himself – then strode to meet her.
"Your Majesty." Annis ducked her head and spread her skirt.
Arthur couldn't help flinching at the term Caerleon had used with such venom. "Just Arthur, please."
The queen's eyes widened with surprise, and she gave her head an inquisitive twist. Arthur only gestured for her to be seated, and lowered himself to the other chair as she did so.
Merlin leaned against the side of the tall back of his seat; Arthur heard him murmur, "Would you like to sit down? I can fetch –"
Obviously to Mithian. The princess answered pre-emptively, "No, thank you. I'll stand with you."
Arthur had to fight the urge to turn around and glare til his young friend understood the significance of her words, intended or not. Idiot.
Annis' attention was on them as well, maybe curious about their inclusion in this privately-on-display conference. "Is William your real name?" she asked.
"This is Merlin," Arthur answered her.
"The sorcerer allowed in Camelot's court," Annis said. "I so hope we have a chance to speak later and more amicably – I am very much intrigued by your decision to reverse a law your father seemed so dedicated to enforcing."
"Perhaps," Arthur allowed.
"And I suppose your name is not Bronda, either," the queen said to Mithian.
"No," Mithian said – politely, but her voice carried a cool amusement. "It is not."
Arthur didn't turn, and after a moment Annis nodded acquiescence to Mithian's decision to remain anonymous. Arthur wondered what look Merlin might be wearing.
"Forgive me if this question is offensive," Annis went on; Arthur was willing to let her direct the conversation, at least for now. Perhaps it was the gracious diplomacy of victor – however it happened – to the surrendered, or maybe he would just rather not exert the effort to control, just now. "But your sorcerer mentioned torture, privation, and illness. I can see for myself that you're thinner since… I last laid eyes on you. If you're ill I can summon a healer?"
"Merlin is apprenticed to our court physician," Arthur said mildly. "I need no other."
"Ah. I see." Annis' eyes flicked upwards of Arthur's right shoulder with a calculating glance. "If you don't mind explaining – why the term torture was used? I was under the impression that –"
"Chains," Arthur said, willing his voice to remain even. Because he could not have her pity him, or wonder if there was weakness significant to exploit, mentally or physically, after his trial. "An empty cell. Bread and water at irregular and inadequate times. And to force me to sign a treaty subjugating my kingdom to yours, the former king had my head submerged in a water-filled tub, often to the point of unconsciousness." His chest ached and he had to focus a moment on the fact that he could breathe. Merlin shifted and Arthur felt the backs of his friend's fingers slip behind his shoulder. Seeking to give or receive comfort; Arthur felt both. And added sardonically, "Repeatedly."
Annis' lips were pinched, a gray cast to the skin of her face. She stared at Arthur, no doubt imagining what revenge another monarch might take after such treatment – then switched her gaze away past Merlin for another long moment. Then shook her head tightly.
"I humbly beg your pardon." Annis meant each word absolutely literally, he could tell. "On behalf of my people. And… if it is not too much, mercy on my husband's life."
"Why," Arthur responded. Without the man present, he found it easier to be unemotional with the question, what was to be done with Caerleon. "I should have him executed. Then I need never fear his attempt to return to power."
Besides the sick twisted feeling in the pit of Arthur's stomach that told him, he needed to see the king dead for what he'd done, for how Caerleon had mocked the pain and fear he caused. But if he did give in to that impulse, and execute his enemy… would that mean that Caerleon had succeeded in changing him, after all? He decided he didn't care so much, what his fellow rulers might think in hearing rumors of this story – he cared what memory he had to live with, his choices and actions.
The queen slid her eyes shut for a moment – then opened them to pin Arthur to his seat with the intensity of her expression. "Then execute me as well."
Arthur felt the shock of Merlin and Mithian both, but didn't allow it to show on his face. "You were unaware of my condition, uninvolved in the transgression of the treaty that was the taking of Stonedown. You have behaved honorably, to the best of my knowledge, under your sovereign. Why should I execute you?"
"There is no reason you should," Annis answered. "Just as there is no reason you should spare my husband… save for my wish not to outlive him. Your - Arthur, I mean, I know my husband. I will not speak ill of him in his absence, but I know him. I won't claim a passionate romance between us, but I… would remain with him. In life or in death."
Arthur studied her, and decided it was sincerity, not manipulation. Is mercy strength? Uther would not have thought so, nor Caerleon, nor Odin. Merlin found it easier to forgive those who hurt him, than those who hurt Arthur. Caerleon alive would be problematic… but noble, on Arthur's part. If he came to regret such mercy, that would be through a failing of the other man – not himself. This decision he could always reconsider – which he couldn't do with its converse.
"He will remain imprisoned for a full day after our departure," Arthur said, slowly but decisively. "After that, he may have his freedom within the borders laid out in our existing treaty – but no authority. Not even to give a single order to the lowest of your servants."
Annis' knuckles were white in her lap, and her nostrils flared as she breathed deeply, but the emotion she controlled was relief.
"There will be no more mercy," Arthur said, trying to make the stipulation as much of a gentle caution as he could. "He transgresses the conditions at the cost of his life, and we will be sending ambassadors to assure ourselves they are being kept."
"What of our other borders?" Annis said.
"He steps not a foot into Nemeth," Mithian said immediately. Annis' eyebrows lifted slightly; she still didn't know the princess' identity, or her right to speak so determinedly, but Arthur nodded corroboration.
"Nor any kingdom allied with Camelot," he added. He couldn't help wondering if he'd just encouraged Caerleon – a personal enemy, no matter how the rest of his kingdom treated with Camelot – to seek his own allies against Arthur elsewhere. And mentally shrugged. That was Caerleon's choice – that or accept the consequences of his mistake and live peacefully.
"That is… very fair," Annis said. Her fingers unclenched and smoothed the fabric of her skirt as if she'd forced them to. "What else?"
Arthur's body relaxed in the chair, also; he closed his eyes momentarily to drag the old treaty into his recollection. There wasn't much he wanted changed – his father had been good at treaties, fair and practically balanced, even if he could have used his absolute power over the impressive fighting force of Camelot's knights more to his advantage.
"Stonedown, and Evorwick," he said. "The cost of reparations for both towns."
Annis sounded surprised that he hadn't demanded more land. "And no more? Done."
"Recompense for the knights lost from my patrol," Arthur added softly. "Lives taken in the breaking of the treaty terms."
She thought – but not very long, before she nodded. "That is reasonable."
"You can expect an emissary with an armed guard, once I've consulted with my council on these several amounts," Arthur said – and another idea occurred, even as she indicated agreement. "Who is your heir? I understand you and your husband have no children."
The queen stiffened, inhaling sharply through flared nostrils; her eyes were hard enough to strike sparks from flint. Behind Arthur, Merlin shifted and released a soft sigh of understanding – "Oh…" – that drew Annis' glance upward at the young sorcerer leaning on the side of Arthur's seat.
Her lips tightened, but she allowed the admittance, "None that survived infancy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mithian murmured immediately, and to Arthur's ear her tone totally escaped pity for the older woman, in favor of genuine regret for the little lives lost. And Arthur himself was not so oblivious to miss a hint of explanation to the dynamics of Caerleon and Annis' relationship.
"Sir Morak," Annis said. She lifted her hand – elbow resting on the chair-arm – to flick a beckoning gesture with her fingers. The figure of a young warrior separated from the shadows at the far end of the chilly front chamber, open to the midafternoon, and joined them with a measured, wary tread.
He looked young – younger than Merlin, maybe, not yet twenty. Clean-shaven – or maybe shaving wasn't yet regularly necessary for him – his hair hanging in tangled, unclean locks past his shoulders, which did not make him stand out from his fellows. Nor did the ragged indigo he wore with his leather armor. Arthur looked to the sword at his hip, and could see no fault with it – conspicuously well-cared-for, in comparison to the rest of him.
Arthur met the young man's dark eyes – which flicked once to Merlin before finding his own determinedly, steady despite the fact that he swallowed twice. Arthur had to admire his courage, too. Young Sir Morak could have no confidence that his life would not be required by an offended and conquering king, or at least restricted like Caerleon's. Arthur didn't recognize him from his ordeal; his name had never been mentioned, but he was neither hiding nor fleeing nor rallying men in defiance of Arthur or Annis. Clearly willing to abide by his queen's decision, and pay for his king's mistake, whether he'd been aware of the torture, or not.
"I'd like to take him with us when we return to Camelot," Arthur decided.
Merlin made a noise that sounded intrigued, and the young man lost a shade of color. Annis said immediately, "As a hostage?"
Arthur paused. "As far as that description and its implications is effective in keeping the peace, for now and in the future." Perhaps having his heir in Camelot would halt any plans that might occur to Caerleon for rebellion. "In actuality, I'd like to treat him as one of my knights for an extended period of time – a year, perhaps. And if we come to an understanding, and if he forms bonds with my men, that will strengthen the relations between our two kingdoms when he takes Caerleon's throne someday."
"And in the meantime?" Annis tapped her fingernails at the end of her chair's arm, and glanced up at Sir Morak – who looked thoughtful and hesitantly hopeful, himself.
"The throne is yours. As long as the original treaty is kept, I'm content to keep the peace rather than declare war and suffer casualties on both sides." She was hard, but she also seemed both fair and honorable; if she didn't or couldn't keep her husband and any loyal warriors he could persuade to support him out of trouble – Arthur would be in a better position to counter said uprising from Camelot, and surrounded by the strength of his own army.
"There is a copy of that treaty here…" Annis turned to the side table, her hand reaching for the scrolls.
"I have no need to consult that," Arthur told her, having its main points already in memory.
She tilted her head in respectful appreciation. "We will see to it that the amended agreement is drawn up in writing for our signatures by dinnertime. Unless you'd rather…"
"No need to wait," Merlin said. "If I may?" He pushed away from Arthur's chair, crossing behind him to bend over the small table between him and Annis. Untying and unrolling the scroll, he held it up for Arthur's inspection. "Establish the adjustments immediately?"
With magic, Arthur understood. And wondered if he'd ever get to the point of making these suggestions first. Maybe it was better if he didn't, and they continued to come from Merlin. He gave a little nod and gesture, and Merlin blinked gold at the document, for the time it might have taken him to scan its lines. From his seat, Arthur could see the ink – decades old – twitch and squirm and resettle into new lines.
Nicely done. Both Annis and Sir Morak watched the performance with a mix of interest and apprehension, which put thoughts into Arthur's mind as his sorcerer put the modified treaty into his hand.
"One more thing," he said, half-distracted in skimming Merlin's magical changes to the document; of course they'd be permanent. And Mithian was reading over his shoulder, if he wasn't mistaken; she'd catch anything Merlin missed. "Remind me of your kingdom's official stand on magic?"
Merlin straightened. Annis flung a wary glance up at him; Morak shifted his weight and watched the sorcerer out of the corner of his eyes, his hands twitching as if uncertain whether to grasp the hilt of the sword in his belt or not.
"Caerleon didn't trust it," Annis said. "Didn't like it. Didn't hide that fact – but he didn't go looking for it, either. No one here –" Arthur translated, here in the stronghold – "uses it. But elsewhere it isn't prohibited, as long as no complaints or quarrels are raised."
And perhaps the people were too intimidated by their king to bring such accusations, as Uther had seemed to welcome. But my adversary in this matter used magic…
"I see," Arthur said mildly. "Well, you know Camelot's policy has changed. We would be extremely disappointed to hear of the persecution of anyone solely for the sake of magic, in any kingdom we have ties with."
"We will," Annis had to clear her throat, but continued smoothly, "keep that in mind, Your Highness."
"Very good," Arthur said.
Sir Morak blurted, resentful but also curious, "Why don't you just have your tame sorcerer enchant us all to bind us to your will?"
Annis tensed in her chair, eyes darting again to Merlin as if he was suddenly all too close, though he hadn't moved. Merlin gave them a surprisingly soft smile, considering how he felt about people making assumptions about the selfish or dark use of his power – a smile that erased the rest of Arthur's fears about changes to his friend's character.
"Magic shouldn't be used like that," Merlin said only.
A moment followed and Annis, at least, absorbed the implications of his simple statement. And turned the first smile Arthur had seen from the queen, on him. "There is something about you, Arthur Pendragon. Something that gives me hope for us all."
Arthur knew then that he'd made the right decision. Standing, he stepped to the table and spread the scroll, inking a quill and signing his name with an ironic flourish. Caerleon couldn't get it after a month of trying, and here he was after half an hour with Annis. Hopefully this was indicative of their future relationship.
The queen twisted sideways in her chair to add her signature below his – and maybe the first time that she'd done so with any authority. Arthur thought that she wasn't the type to make herself miserable with second-guessing or questions of betrayal of or loyalty to her husband and king. She'd saved his life and kept her kingdom sovereign, after all.
"I would be honored to have all four of you join me for dinner tonight," Annis added, weighting the scroll in place so it could dry before it was rolled. Maybe so that the more incredulous among her people could witness it for themselves, for a little while. "Along with Sir Morak, and a few of my chief warriors."
"We will, thank you," Arthur said. "However, I intend to depart for Camelot at dawn tomorrow…"
"Of course." Annis dipped her head. "Preparations will be made for your company. Morak, surely you have a busy afternoon and evening ahead of you?" The young man bowed, his eyes flicking between the three of them to convey circulated respect, and turned to stride away. "I am happy to entertain you all in whatever manner you wish, unless you simply desire rest and privacy? The room adjoining your current chamber is being prepared for your additional use."
Arthur considered. In spite of the bite of early winter in the air, he rather thought it would be good to feel an obvious extent of freedom. He was physically weary – easily tired after his ordeal – but restless, otherwise.
"Perhaps I'll take myself on a tour of the rest of your stronghold," he said to Annis, twirling his finger to indicate the exterior perimeter.
"Would you like me to –"
"No, thank you," he interrupted her offer. "I'm sure I won't get lost." No offense, but he didn't want any of her people anywhere around, for a while.
Her nod was very nearly a bow of acquiescence and respect. "My servants are yours for the duration of your stay – anything you need or want…"
"Thank you," Arthur said.
Turning for the open doors, he felt Merlin shift with him – and hesitate, prompting his remembrance of Mithian. She might need a cloak or something to keep warm, if she meant to accompany them – if she didn't, she was probably Merlin's company to keep, inside the castle. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to be truly on his own, especially since he meant to talk to Merlin anyway.
"Might I have a few words with you, my lady," Annis said, to Mithian, but not excluding Merlin and Arthur from the question.
Mithian leveled a look of evaluation at the queen, and Arthur privately thought the princess of Nemeth could hold her own, if she so chose – and evidently she did, nodding to Annis and giving Merlin, and then Arthur, a reassuring glance. "I'll be all right."
Merlin hesitated a moment more, but when the two women drew together, and away from them, Arthur headed for the doors. His friend caught up with him a moment later, a warm solid support behind and beside him that Arthur realized, just that moment, how much he'd missed. He should say that out loud – but Merlin probably knew it already… and might also take the comment as a rebuke.
So Arthur didn't say anything, taking in the unkempt and disorganized courtyard at a glance, then heading toward the gate in the wall to his right. Merlin kept close, and it occurred to Arthur that the younger man had missed this, too. It was a warming thought in the chill-edged air and wan sunlight, after the loneliness of the cell and the suffering, after Caerleon had done his best to make Arthur believe he was useless and forgotten.
Which reminded him of something his father had once said about his current companion – his life is worth less than yours. A sentiment that was blatantly untrue, with all that he'd discovered about his cheeky peasant servant, since then.
"How do I get up on the wall?" Arthur said to one of the guards at the gate.
He was allowed through the gate and directed a dozen paces down the outer courtyard, where a set of open-sided stone steps led up to the crenelated walkway. Merlin followed silently, tucking his hands under his arms as they reached the top and Arthur turned to follow the wall away from the main gates.
The cold was clean, up here, the movement of air welcome though it chewed at his nose and lips and the tips of his ears. Tugging at the uncut ends of his hair and sliding strangely over his smooth-shaven cheeks.
"This feels good," he said to Merlin, looking out over the bleak cliffs and hills surrounding them. Stubby grasses and spindly shrubs and a handful of stunted trees – but mostly rock – and he missed the thick green forests around Camelot.
"This feels cold," Merlin countered. "There are windows in the room we can open…"
His tone implied Arthur was crazy or spoiled or both. Arthur loved it, missed it and was happy his friend wasn't tiptoeing around him… but it didn't provoke him as it used to, and might do again soon. He was just too glad to fill his lungs and stretch out his arms and fill his eyes with the sky from horizon to horizon.
"I didn't tell you," Merlin added. "Do you remember Alice? Gaius' friend? The thing with the manticore? Evidently she went to Nemeth when your father banished her, and Rodor appointed her court healer."
Arthur grunted, letting his suddenly-heavy arms drop.
"She started out with us, then diverted to Camelot. So Leon will know what Gwaine and I meant to do here. And Gwen and Gaius as well." Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin's smile quirk mischievously. "Maybe not the council, though…"
"My father's banishments don't seem to hold, do they," Arthur mused. And swayed to look his friend in the face more fully. "Caerleon never crosses this border."
Merlin agreed that Arthur's decrees should prove stronger than his father's, saying grimly, "He does, he dies."
Arthur considered him a moment – what he knew of Merlin, what he was still learning. Considered, while he turned and hitched himself up into one of the waist-high breaks in the crenellation of the wall, his back to the higher part to rest again, not making his body hold him upright while they lingered. Leaning his head back against the cold stone, he angled his neck so he could see Merlin – sideways to him, looking out on the desolate countryside with his arms still crossed against the cold, the edges of his hair and clothing teased, as Arthur's were, by the high smooth wind.
"I want to talk to you," he remarked. "I've been thinking."
The grin was edging into view again; Merlin shot Arthur a look – then obviously checked whatever quip had come to mind. "About what?"
Arthur breathed three times, appreciating anew what a privilege freedom and friendship were. "Mithian," he said mildly – and it was almost amusing, the way his younger friend went perceptibly stiller – and stiffer.
Until Merlin spoke. "Arthur, I'm sorry. I can't marry her – I've told her that. I know I've mucked up your treaty, and maybe Nemeth will –"
"Why not?" Arthur said. "Why can't you?"
Merlin shifted his weight; under his crossed arms, his hands were clenched in fists. "It's my destiny to serve you. Not to marry and have a family – I was distracted by that dream once before and she was taken. Now see what happened when I allowed myself to be distracted? I can't… risk losing either of you, if I neglect…" Merlin rarely struggled for words; when he was emotional, he was usually unself-consciously eloquent.
But usually they were discussing Arthur's thoughts and feelings and decisions. It felt good to turn the focus around – and not end up arguing. He didn't feel like he had the energy to argue just now – but he did feel like being stubborn.
"I have several hundred knights," he remarked. "No one's ever thought that required celibacy would result in more devoted service. Quite the opposite – knights marry and sire the next generation of knights."
"That's – not a very good comparison," Merlin told him, but there was humor in his tone and Arthur mentally gave himself a point, as if they were sparring or jousting verbally. "I'm not a knight – and do you really want another generation of sorcerers like me running about Camelot?"
Arthur turned an instinctive Absolutely not! into a credibly decisive, "Yes."
Merlin shook his head, resisting belief. Arthur allowed himself a moment to think about the reality of Merlin's children, learning and performing magic in the halls of the citadel and the lower town…
But he'd also thought on the heir of Camelot, succession, and the woman he loved and missed with a fierce-dull ache. If his dreams came true, and he had a son… he wouldn't mind at all if Merlin's children and his were regular companions, and the next prince had a magic-wielding friend. Not one bit.
"When you came to Camelot," he began again. "Gaius told me. You found your destiny, you believed in prophecy. And it was a heavy burden for you, wasn't it? You felt like you carried it alone, and you worried about making the right choices…"
Merlin leaned against the opposite side of the break in the crenellation where Arthur rested, attentive. He gave a nod when Arthur paused, but offered nothing.
"Now, Gwaine," Arthur continued conversationally, "Has some very interesting ideas about destiny. Very interesting, considering his father was a knight under Caerleon. Until his father's death, I imagine he thought it was his destiny to do the same. Very interesting, considering how you and I met him, so many years later… and then he took his knight's oath in a kingdom that had a conflicted history with his homeland, and that banished him. Did he make his own destiny, or was he led into it by circumstances and choices?"
Merlin opened his mouth to answer – and checked himself again, a wrinkle appearing between his black brows. Arthur smiled in satisfaction, and gave himself another mental point.
"As for me. I was born into my destiny – maybe the same as Gwaine – and everyone in the kingdom knew it. I grew up boasting of my responsibility and my status, enjoying privilege and honor as my birthright." Arthur allowed the sarcasm, and the self-deprecating smile. Merlin knew. He remembered the prat who'd dared him into a fight he couldn't win without endangering his life – with or without magic – and then punished him for rising to the challenge. "Does my destiny mean I have to marry a girl of noble blood? Does Gwaine's rejection of his hereditary right to a title mean he can't? No more should it mean that you have to remain unmarried."
"Arthur…" Merlin shook his head again, unconvinced. But he seemed more resigned than resistant, and Arthur wasn't going to give up.
"And don't even tell me that I can't tell you how to go about fulfilling your destiny," he said. "I'm king. And you constantly do the same for me."
"How can I forgive myself for being absent when you needed me?" Merlin said gently. "How can I consider, any kind of… reward, when I've failed you so?"
"You haven't failed - I'm fine," Arthur began to reassure him, with the intention of reminding him how badly off he'd been after his own torture, and Arthur hadn't been the one to rescue him then - but he wasn't finished yet.
"And how can I bear it, how can I live with myself if I allow another distraction that does end up with someone dead? You most of all."
Arthur's heart twisted in his chest, and he worked to make his tone equally gentle. "Merlin, you can't make me your reason for being – for living, for happiness. The day will come when I die – and I…" flashes of nightmare, lakes of fire and gale-scoured rocks – "worry about what you'll do, when that happens."
Of all reactions, he didn't expect a wide, cheerful smile. "Don't worry about that," Merlin told him. "I'm not going to outlive you. I'm going to die protecting you."
Arthur made a rude noise to let his friend know what he thought of that. "You can't always protect me," he said. "No, listen – I've thought about this. What if you had been there when we fought Caerleon?"
"I'd've killed him before he touched you," Merlin said, still too cheerful for Arthur's peace of mind.
"And maybe Annis would have declared war," he countered. "Assembled her army, marched to fight us… But because you weren't there and I was captured and then you came for me, Annis surrendered. We have this treaty – and her goodwill, and the chance to befriend their heir. Which we wouldn't have, after a war and maybe enormous casualties."
Merlin had lost his grin, his eyes shifting to a point over Arthur's left shoulder that might have been the horizon, by the faraway look in them. "You think you were… destined to be captured."
Maybe. Maybe not. But it wasn't much different than how Merlin looked at his own brief period of torture, then execution and a year of living outlaw in Camelot's forest – maybe not the course they would have chosen, but still good had come from the suffering. And if it was Arthur's destiny to achieve some great victory or lasting peace with his death, he didn't want Merlin fighting that, or left destroyed by guilt.
"To ally with one more kingdom with minimal bloodshed," Arthur said, trying to be more logical than earnest. "This month, Caerleon did his best to break me and make me believe I'm worthless –" Arthur ignored the agony in the glance Merlin couldn't help. "And I did learn something from him. I slept on the ground and ate scraps and I wasn't a king. I was less than a slave and it didn't matter. I serve Camelot with my life, or with my death – Camelot does not serve me. That's what I want to ask of you, Merlin – to serve my kingdom. Not me."
"To seal the alliance with Nemeth, after all," Merlin said, sarcastic and unhappy.
"No, you idiot, not because..." Arthur was distracted by the appearance of a person at the top of the stair to the outer wall, ten paces from them.
A woman. Mithian.
Wearing a dark woolen cloak over her red-brown dress, she glanced at them before drifting to the wall to look out at the countryside. Not as though she was presenting herself and awaiting their attention, but as if she marked their company while remaining content alone with her thoughts. Arthur wondered what she was thinking, unsmiling and gazing in the direction of her own home kingdom. Homesickness and regret? Annis surely had inquired further into her identity – had she revealed her status, had she discussed her potential personal connection to Camelot?
"Merlin," he said.
Something in his voice or the direction of his attention alerted his friend to turn and notice the princess also – his arms beginning to loosen, then drawing tighter across his chest as he faced Arthur again with a pinched expression. And Arthur realized – he could pressure Merlin into the marriage for his own good, but if Merlin's heart resisted, to hold the belief that he shouldn't, both of them would be unhappy.
So he said lightly, "You've accomplished something I never could." Merlin quirked an eyebrow at him. "You've gotten a princess to fall in love with you."
Merlin scoffed. "For a distinct lack of trying, on your part. You've only had eyes for Gwen for years."
Homesickness and regret, centered on the woman he loved, slammed into Arthur unexpectedly, stealing his breath. "I think," he said, "that any woman who knows us – you, me, any man – and loves us anyway, that's a miracle. And you don't question a miracle, especially when destiny – yes, I said it – seems to work it out that you can be with her and love her in return."
He watched realization start to dawn on his young friend's face, that Arthur might be talking about more than Mithian.
So he added softly, introspectively, "Does she take you from your duty and purpose, or does she help you do more, and be a better man? Is she understanding and supportive, or is she jealous and demanding?"
"She," Merlin began – and had to stop to swallow. "She's…"
"She loves you," Arthur said. "And that's a miracle. Now, tell me you don't love her too, after this month."
A flash of pain crossed Merlin's face, and it was Arthur's turn for realization. The younger man didn't just like or admire the princess, he wasn't just attracted to her. He loved her… and that made his willingness to sacrifice their relationship and future happiness for Camelot and Arthur's wellbeing all the more staggering.
"Don't you do it," he told Merlin. "Don't you feel guilty for what happened to me and don't you punish her along with yourself. You love each other and you have each other, and you never know how long that's going to last."
And in a week, Merlin might mock him if he said something like that, if his voice broke like that again. In a week, he might bluster and insult, to cover the emotion as unmanly. But just now…
"Go," he said, and it was very nearly a plea. "Go to her, be with her. Please. For the sake of your happiness with her, and my peace of mind."
"You really think that –" Merlin began.
"Love can be destined," Arthur said. "And yes, now I truly believe you were meant to be with her. Go."
For one more heartbeat, Merlin remained, his eyes locked with Arthur's, great emotion swirling just under control. Then he pushed away from the wall, whirled and strode swiftly to the princess.
Arthur breathed deeply of air so cold it stung his nose and throat and brought tears to his eyes; for a moment he indulged the longing he felt to be in Gwen's arms, hugging his arms to his chest against the increasing cold. Then he blinked the moisture away to watch Merlin claim Mithian's hand and begin to speak to her with earnest alacrity.
Whatever he was saying brought a look of surprise to her face – and then a sort of sweet intensity – and then a blush. The words, though inaudible to Arthur, were unmistakable on Merlin's mouth.
Will you marry me…
Mithian's wide smile had never looked happier. Her Yes! was just as obvious, and she didn't hesitate to throw her arms around his neck, flinging herself against him for his embrace.
Merlin wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder, his body bent almost protectively around hers. They stood so for a long moment, Mithian's fingers smoothing into Merlin's black hair at the back of his neck, before Merlin pulled back and lifted one hand to brush her chin. And the princess willingly tipped her chin up to meet his kiss.
It didn't seem to be the first time either, both of them unselfconsciously losing themselves in the moment together.
Arthur stopped watching, choosing instead to turn his eyes toward unseen Camelot, a score of leagues distant. He was glad he hadn't heard the words Merlin used to betroth himself to Mithian, not with his own vow yet unspoken, hot and impatient in his heart.
He couldn't wait to get back home. To Camelot, and to Guinevere.
A/N: Dialogue from ep.4.5 "His Father's Son".