Chapter V: A Face at the Table
The magical refugees gathered in what had become their de facto meeting place, a long stone building that might have been a guild hall. Merlin had never overly enjoyed these meetings, but he particularly dreaded this one. He always hated delivering bad news, and last night's admissions had been particularly terrible.
The important thing, he reminded himself, was to keep emphasizing the positives. Magic was going to be legalized. They could go back to their families, see their friends without worrying that they'd get them killed. Arthur wouldn't ever stop fighting for them; he'd resist every single last one of those evil restrictions as much as he could. If the worst happened, then anyone who wanted could remain in Listeneise. They might find themselves wrangling baby dragons, but they could stay in a place of safety.
Merlin brushed away his vestigial state fright with the ease of long practice. Now, he was only anxious about the news he had to impart, not the fact that he was talking in front of hundreds of people. That was progress, technically.
"As you know, the Great Conference of the Kingdoms began yesterday." He couldn't help but grin at them. "Our patience is paying off. King Alined made noises about not legalizing magic to squeeze concessions out of Camelot, but Arthur shut him up within two minutes. Even better, Alined was the only one who even suggested leaving the Purge laws in place, and even he came around within those same two minutes. Every single reigning monarch in Albion fully intends to end the Purge."
A moment's stunned silence, then whoops and cheers of exhilaration. People hugged their neighbors, wiped away tears of joy. A few children began spontaneously dancing. Even the three people who knew the rest of it, Morgana and his parents, were smiling.
Merlin didn't interrupt the celebration, but he didn't join it, either. His kin calmed down slowly but surely, and then he could continue.
"We will be free. There is no doubt of that. However, some of the other rulers are being idiots about the conditions of our freedom."
The excitement drained away, replaced by tense silence.
"Keep in mind that the other monarchs only want to add a few restrictions to the new Magical Code. They haven't done it yet, and there is no guarantee that they will. Arthur and Claudin are wholeheartedly against these restraints, and they'll be fighting them with everything they've got.
"When Morgana and I met with Arthur last night, we gave him an additional tool to use against those other kings. We told him that he could inform the other sovereigns that we spellbinders have found a place of our own, that we don't have to accept their laws if they're too restrictive. Arthur will not name Listeneise, of course, but he'll remind them that we don't have to give their kingdoms the benefits of our powers. We can stay here as long as we need to, keeping our healing and field magic away from them." A tight smile. "Our kin can negotiate too."
"But what do they want to do to us?" Deirdre asked. The short, skinny woman had been rescued from Amata last autumn, and Merlin had long suspected that she wouldn't want to go back. Now, she was looking at him like he'd just confirmed her worst nightmares.
"Remember, these things haven't happened. It's entirely possible that none of them will pass, because we have people on our side. But in the worst-case scenario, there would be legal protections for nonmagical folk who panic around us, increased penalties for using magic offensively and defensively, a registry in every kingdom, and reparations for witchfinders." Merlin didn't bother keeping the disgust from his voice.
This swell of voices was the opposite of the last, angry instead of joyful. Merlin allowed them to vent for a couple minutes, then lifted his hand for silence. It fell, but grudgingly.
"There is no way under the sun that Arthur Pendragon will allow all those absurd, evil laws to pass. Even if he's forced to bend on one or two of them, his backup plan is to create a time limit. In the worst realistic scenario, we could stay in Listeneise for another five years, then rejoin the rest of the island when the statutes expire. Also, we really ought to avoid the kingdoms whose rulers suggested these hateful ideas. Gods know it would serve them right."
"And what if they extend the laws?" another audience member demanded. Cyndeyrn, his name was; he'd been a boy when the Purge began, and his parents had fled to the countryside of Camelot as soon as his magic manifested. "What if this is permanent?"
"Then we leave," declared Merlin. "A mass exodus from the kingdoms whose rulers supported those laws into the kingdoms whose rulers are committed to our protection, or even back into Listeneise. It's healed so much over the winter. It'll be as good as new within just a few years."
"That won't help anyone who dies under those laws, though," Cyndeyrn pointed out.
That was an unfortunately valid point. Merlin nodded slowly, unable to deny it, thinking hard. The best thing to do would be to nip these statutes in the bud, keep them from being signed into law in the first place. But what was the best way to accomplish that?
The answer came. He grinned, a slow wide baring of teeth that was as confrontational as it was happy.
"It occurs to me that the kings and queens of Albion would be significantly less inclined to write laws designed to oppress us if there was a spellbinder in the room with them."
Murmuring broke out once again, with yet another different tone. His people were worried this time, worried but hopeful. There were even a few chuckles as the audience imagined their least favorite kings scooching away from Merlin.
"I'll go after lunch," he decided.
Hunith was glaring at him, but she remained quiet. United fronts were important, especially in front of the community. Also, he was old enough to not be scolded in public by his mother. Still, Merlin had no doubt that there would be Words once they were alone.
He was right. Once everyone else (except Morgana and Balinor, who held Ganieda in his arms), Hunith stalked up to him with her hands on her hips. Merlin suppressed the urge to cower.
"Don't you think that this might cause problems?" she demanded. "Not only will there be cries of blackmail, some enterprising fool who thinks you have Arthur enchanted could take this chance to stab you, poison you, kill you in any number of horrible ways."
"I'll be careful," Merlin promised.
"Be protected," she corrected him. "Can't you—use an illusion or something?"
"I won't eat or drink anything, and I'll keep my back against the wall so no one can sneak up behind me," her son assured her. "And if anyone does try to stab me, I'll stop them. If anyone tries to stab anyone, I'll stop them, too. That enterprising fool might go after Arthur instead."
Hunith scowled but nodded her grudging acceptance. Then a downright evil smile curved her lips. "If you're going to be representing our people, you'll need to look the part."
Morgana attempted to hide her laugh behind a coughing fit. It didn't work, but Merlin appreciated the gesture. He probably would have appreciated it more if he'd not been frozen in cold horror.
"I, ah, don't know what you'd like me to do, appearance-wise. Other than brush my hair, that is. I can do that. But it's not like I have a lot of finery just lying around."
"What about that formal outfit you got from Claudin?" Morgana asked, because she was a treacherous traitor. "You know, the thank-you gift that he and Orgeluse picked out after the Battle of the White Pass."
"…I'd forgotten about that," Merlin admitted.
"There might be an old torc in the castle," Hunith speculated, "or perhaps a ring." Her mirth faded for a moment as she added, "Gold holds spells rather well, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Merlin confirmed.
"Good. Then you can enchant it before you go."
"Yes, Mother," said the mightiest warlock alive, resigned to his fate.
Ganieda laughed.
Arthur had intended to bring up the topic of a sorcerous headquarters at the morning portion of their meeting, but Odin had brought up the topic of guards the moment he sat down. It was entirely possible, indeed even likely, that some spellbinders would seek revenge on those who had harmed them and their kin, namely the guards who had arrested and killed so many practitioners of magic. They'd need some way to ease tension between the two enemy groups, or at least some legal recourse for the unusual circumstances. That discussion lasted all morning and wasn't anywhere near over. Arthur spent his lunch contemplating the thorny issue. His guards were already less-than-pleased with him after last year's audit.
The king was still lost in thought as he and his fellow sovereigns made their return to the council chamber.
Loth's voice startled him out of his reverie. "Find another place to loiter, lordling. We have business here."
"So do I."
Arthur scrambled around the frozen King of Essetir, his mouth flopping. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.
The other monarchs started filtering in more quickly, drawn by the promise of drama.
Merlin's smile was a little tight around the edges, but his tone remained light and cheery. "My people and I were talking about this meeting, and then one fellow brought up that it was silly to have the lot of you decide magic's fate without a single spellbinder in the room, so here I am."
His idiot warlock was leaning against the far wall in plain sight of the door, with Béothaich propped up beside him. He was dressed more finely than usual, in a fine blue shirt and slate-gray trousers tucked into sturdy deerskin boots. A narrow torc of braided gold encircled his neck.
"Magic?" gasped Loth, taking an instinctive step back.
"Speaking of—" He tossed something to Arthur, who caught it automatically. "—here's my fine for using magic to get here and back. If someone tries to kill me, I'll try to use my staff for self-defense instead of, say, a lightning bolt."
"Excuse us for a moment," Arthur ground out. He marched up to Merlin, grabbed the warlock's arm, and half-dragged him out of the room into one of Camelot's many conveniently located alcoves. "What the hell?"
The false cheer evaporated. "My people are not pleased that those folk are trying to change the code."
"Yes, you mentioned that."
"I told them I'd keep a personal eye on things to encourage good behavior."
"Are you attempting to blackmail the kings of Albion?"
"Queen Evaine's in there, too," Merlin sniffed, "and no, of course not. I'm giving a face to those they seek to oppress."
"You're trying to intimidate them into passing the original code."
"I'm trying to protect my people." Merlin met his gaze squarely, without the faintest hint of shame. "Those alterations are another way to oppress spellbinders. They might not be as bad as the Purge, but that doesn't make them acceptable."
"And you didn't think to warn me?"
"I was going to, but I'd just gotten into position when that old fellow walked in. Which one is he?"
"He's your king, you dolt. Loth of Essetir and the Orkneys."
"You're my king," Merlin corrected him. "And now that I know who he is, he really does look like Gwaine. Bit uncanny, that."
"Merlin," Arthur said, "you can't be here."
Gods help him, but he recognized that mulish glint. "Why not?"
"For starters, you'll cause an international incident."
"Bit late for that, I think."
"You'll cause another international incident."
"Only if they start it."
"That's not an appropriate response!"
"All right, I'll try to not worsen an international incident even if they start it."
"You can't stay, Merlin," Arthur reiterated. "You can't just hang around and terrorize my fellow kings. And Queen Evaine," he added, recognizing the glint in his former manservant's eyes. "No, don't look at me like that."
The warlock folded his arms, then sighed. "Well, how did they react to the possibility of us not coming back? Because if they're responding well to that, then I can leave."
Arthur groaned. "The topic hasn't even come up."
"Seriously?"
"We've been talking about guards all morning. Ways to defuse tension between them and your lot so no one gets hurt."
"That's important," Merlin acknowledged. "But are you going back to the restrictions this afternoon?" His eyes narrowed. "Wait. Do you think they're doing that thing you did?"
"…You're going to have to be more specific."
"What you did yesterday when you acted like returning magic was a foregone conclusion and all anyone had to do was determine the details. Setting the terms of the debate."
Arthur swore. His thoughts raced. He couldn't be sure if Odin had done that on purpose, but the change of topic could have a similar effect. He'd have to change that, make it clear that the matter of modifications was not finished. "Change of plans. You can stay. Just don't do anything stupid."
"No international incidents," Merlin agreed.
They stepped out of their alcove only to realize that every participant in the meetings, as well as a fair few servants, had been huddling outside for who-knew-how-long. Some of them, like Rhodor and Claudin, had the grace to look embarrassed by their eavesdropping. Others did not. The servants, observing Arthur's scowl, scattered.
Breathe in, breathe out, find equilibrium. "Merlin and I apologize for the delay, Your Majesties. As you may have guessed, our unexpected visitor is Merlin Caledonensis, called Emrys, a prominent leader in the magical community. Merlin, these are the reigning sovereigns of Albion."
"Lovely to meet you all," the warlock said, as though they'd met on the streets of Ealdor. He even waved. Arthur supposed he should be grateful that the dope didn't try to shake anyone's hands. Perhaps he could be trained after all.
"Well met," Claudin replied politely, acting as though he'd never seen Merlin before.
"Well met," Merlin returned.
They filed back into the council chamber, but once again, it was already occupied. A pair of unhappy guards stood at the far side of the room, and another brace flanked the doorway. Merlin's smile faded. "Prys, right?"
The guard startled. He pointed at himself with an air of bafflement.
"Yes, you. You're Prys, right? You'd tease me about my insomnia."
Prys looked helplessly at Arthur, who ignored him in favor of taking his seat. The other monarchs kept watching but made no move to interfere.
Merlin turned to the two by the door. "And you're the brothers with the Roman names. Romulus and… Julius?" Reluctant nods. The warlock returned his unsettling yellow gaze to the other pair of guards, specifically the one he hadn't addressed. "And I have no idea who you are, so I assume you're one of the new hires."
"Yes?"
The warlock meandered over to the center of the longer wall, leaned against it with exaggerated casualness. He was roughly halfway between the guard pairs, away from the doors, with a good view of the entire room. His smile was bright and easy, but Arthur knew him well enough to recognize the lines of tension throughout his body, the sharpness in his eyes.
"This morning's conversation about the guard was necessary but unconstructive," Arthur said to the silent room. "I propose that we give ourselves time to think over that issue and return to certain suggestions raised yesterday, namely potential amendments to the legal code."
The ensuing silence reminded him of the time he'd tried to sneak extra desserts from Sir Ector's kitchen. Quite a few faces glanced towards the innocently lounging Merlin.
…Were they frightened of him? Surely not. They'd heard the king and the warlock's hurried conversation, seen Arthur drag this idiot unprotesting out of the council chamber. Fearing Merlin of all people was utterly ridiculous.
When nobody spoke, Merlin took it upon himself to inquire, "What revisions would these be?"
Surprisingly, it was not Arthur but Loth who answered, rattling off the suggestions before concluding with, "But I suspect you knew that."
"It never hurts to be reminded." Another bland smile. "But honestly, Your Majesty, if my people have to put up with that sort of risk, we might just stay where we are. It took a while to get the houses and whatnot in order, not to mention a food supply that doesn't consist entirely of fish, but now that we have, we can stay out of your kingdoms indefinitely."
"What does that mean?" asked Claudin, who knew full well that the spellbinders had a secret base somewhere but didn't have any of the details.
"We found a place to stay that's not in any of your kingdoms. Originally, we tried to repopulate the Isle of the Blessed, but that didn't work out, so we moved. Lovely place, too. A bit run-down to begin with, but it's amazing how quickly a group of spellbinders can construct a village and cultivate enough fields to feed themselves." A reminder, and not an overly subtle one, of what they stood to gain by restoring magic… and what they stood to lose by not treating its practitioners fairly.
The silence stretched on. They barely breathed.
"We should at least get rid of the witchfinder assistance," King Caerleon declared. Several people startled at his sudden speaking, then gathered themselves with sheepish grins. "Witchfinders are rich, and bounty hunters can be retrained to go after real criminals. We can each set up a fund for their retraining, then send them after smugglers and whatnot."
"An excellent idea, Caerleon," agreed Evaine. The rest of the table murmured their agreement.
Merlin's mouth thinned, but he said nothing. He understood that it was better to use the hunters' skills for good than to send them all into exile. He wanted to break the red spiral, not create new sources of resentment.
That didn't mean he liked it.
Now that Caerleon had broken the ice (and not been struck down by a wrathful warlock), the others found it easier to converse. "We need more provisions to protect nonmagical folk than were originally written in the code," Bors declared.
"Like what?" asked Merlin.
Bors frowned at him, then deliberately turned to his fellow monarchs. "Our people will be frightened after twenty years of life without magic. They need reassurance that we will not favor sorcerers over them."
Arthur steepled his fingers. "I have no issues with additional protections, Bors, but they need to go both ways. They must also be carefully written to prevent unscrupulous nobles from using them as an excuse to persecute spellbinders." There. He'd shown that he was willing to negotiate, but only within certain parameters. "What do you suggest?"
"I recommend today what I recommended yesterday. Give heavier penalties to sorcerers who fight with magic so that they don't whip the people into a panic."
"What sort of heavier penalties?" Merlin inquired.
Once again, King Bors ignored him. "If a sorcerer is seen using his magic for violence, his actions could start a riot. I propose that we add the punishment for rabble-rousing to the traditional penalty for brawling."
"Perhaps you could add that punishment to the instigator, not the spellbinder who may or may not be acting defensively."
"King Arthur," groused Bors, "please silence your servant."
"You can speak to me yourself, King Bors," said Merlin, in a haughty tone that Arthur had never heard from him. He stood straight, no longer languid against the wall, and sneered down at the beefy king. A grimace flitted across his face like he'd eaten something distasteful; his next sentence revealed why. "You may address me as Lord Merlin." His hand clenched around Béothaich, its knuckles white.
Arthur's mouth fell open. Had that happened? Had he actually heard what he thought he'd heard? From Merlin himself? Maybe he was dreaming, or hallucinating, or there was something horrifically wrong with his ears and he needed to see Gaius immediately.
"You're no lord," Bors scoffed.
Merlin took a single step forward, those golden eyes fixed unflinchingly on his target's face. Bors blanched but didn't move his chair in an escape attempt. He tried to glare back, but between his own paleness and the uncanny color of Merlin's irises, it was not particularly effective. Still, he tried.
"I might not have been born in a palace, but I'm still a leader among my people. They chose to follow me in a campaign of word and deed to restore our collective reputation, and they've followed me ever since. When you disrespect their position, you disrespect them and their choice, and I'll not stand for that."
Arthur had to be hearing things, except he wasn't. Wonders would never cease.
The moment stretched out, tense and fraught. Finally Bors averted his gaze. It was a slight turn that wouldn't have been noticeable if they hadn't all been gazing at him with rapt attention.
Merlin settled back against the wall. The hand around his gem-tipped staff loosened its grip.
The room exhaled.
Arthur gestured at one of the servants who'd been watching in wide-eyed silence. The man jumped, wine sloshing inside the jug he held. "Sire?"
"Go find another chair," the king instructed. "Claudin, there should be space enough for you on the left side of the table."
If one considered that Merlin was technically the King of Listeneise, then he had more seniority than Claudin and even Arthur himself. (If one considered him the de facto King of Magic, which was thankfully not a title that actually existed, since his birth, then he'd have more seniority than two-thirds of those assembled.) Technically, Merlin should be the one seated at the left of the table (or two-thirds of the way up, depending on one's perspective), but it was so much simpler to seat him as a lord. Less explanations that way, and besides, Merlin preferred the implications of this arrangement.
The servant returned with a plain wooden chair, doubtless the first he'd found. He placed it at the end of the table.
"Sit down, Lord Merlin," Arthur said dryly. His former manservant glared. Arthur smirked. He wasn't the one who'd insisted on titles, and anyways, this served him right for turning up unannounced.
Loathe as Arthur was to admit it, Merlin's presence actually was helpful. The less accommodating monarchs found themselves reconsidering their most oppressive views once a powerful warlock was right there in front of them, especially once he commandeered a piece of scrap parchment from Claudin and started jotting down the offenders' names. ("So my people can make an informed decision about where they want to live.") It didn't solve all their problems, of course. There would still be modifications to the original code, but they were tolerable restrictions with definite time limits. Before Arthur knew it, the negotiations were over.
Tomorrow, they would sign.
Tomorrow, the Purge would end.
Tomorrow, magic would be free.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Merlin Comes as Close as he will Ever Get to Admitting that he is in Fact Magical Royalty"
"Cyndeyrn" is a variation of "Kentigern," a saint sometimes associated with Merlin in the myths. Kentigern's other name is Mungo (don't ask me why), as in the St. Mungo referenced in the Harry Potter books. The more you know, right?
Next chapter: July 29. Of course the freeing of magic doesn't go as planned. I've got like twenty more chapters in this fic and need to fill them somehow!