Chapter IX: Of Merlins
Arthur pressed the royal seal into the last letter. "It's done," he told George. His manservant gathered the letters into his arms, taking them away for delivery.
Now that he was alone in his chambers, Arthur allowed himself a few moments of indulgence. He sighed, rubbed at his temples, closed his eyes. The summonses to Camelot probably wouldn't do anything, he was entirely aware of that. Still, a king had to at least try to head off the oncoming disaster, if only so that no one could say he hadn't tried.
The reprieve couldn't last. Arthur stood, adjusted his shirt, and made his way to the dining hall. With the Conference's business accomplished (except for the snag with Alined), it was time for the other monarchs to return to their own kingdoms. They would depart tomorrow morning; tonight, they feasted one last time. Tonight, Arthur would ignore his worries, forget about the day's riot, push the stresses of the future out of his mind.
Well, at least he'd try.
No matter what else happened, no matter how much they'd underestimated the opposition's cunning, they had legalized magic. Their triumph might not be as sweet as they'd hoped, but it was a triumph all the same. It deserved celebration.
The seating arrangements for this final feast had caused Arthur far too much stress. He'd vacillated time and time again between what to emphasize. Should the focus be on the incipient departure of the other kings (and Yvaine), or should he emphasize the return of magic? He'd almost descended to flipping a coin before deciding that the other monarchs had already been honored and fêted for days on end. This was magic's official return, so magic's representatives—namely Merlin and Morgana—would sit in the places of honor.
If nothing else, they would provide good conversation, not to mention insulation from questions about whether a former servant had really drawn Excalibur.
The witch and warlock were waiting for him by the entry to the hall. Merlin tugged uncomfortably at his torc, but Morgana was calm and resplendent in deep green. "Wait a second," she ordered her brother. She adjusted his crown, drew back, nodded in satisfaction. "Much better. We can go in now."
"Glad to have your permission," Arthur drawled.
They entered. Merlin and Morgana sat, but Arthur had to make a short speech—new era of friendship and prosperity, hope for the future, etc.—before he could join them. Sometimes he wondered what percentage of his time he spent making speeches. Perhaps he should have Geoffrey figure that out for him.
When Arthur finished, the servants entered with the first course. "This is bizarre," Merlin muttered, eyes flitting across the table. "It wasn't that long ago that I was standing where you are, George."
The manservant—who was not, to the best of Arthur's knowledge, secretly a long-prophesied warlock destined to restore magic—stiffened slightly, uncertain of the proper protocol. Arthur rolled his eyes, because of course Merlin would address a servant when he was sitting between two kings. Loth, seated at the warlock's right side, reddened with indignation.
Morgana came to the rescue. "It's a bit strange even for me, but in a good way."
"You'll both get used to it," Arthur assured them. "I know you didn't have much time between the security meeting and now, but have you managed to move back in?"
"Partly," his sister answered. "I'll finish up tonight. What about you, Merlin? What do you think of the Court Mage's tower?"
Something flitted across the warlock's face, but it was gone before Arthur could interpret it. "Much less dusty than I expected. Thanks for having it cleaned out, Arthur."
"Thank Guinevere. I wanted to make you do it yourself."
"Yes," interrupted King Rhodor, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly. "I heard the most fascinating rumors about her and the sword in the stone."
"Ah," said the King of Camelot. He shoved an impolitely enormous bite into his mouth and made a show of chewing. Morgana smirked. Merlin bit his lip to avoid laughing. Arthur kicked them under the table.
Rhodor just waited. Even worse, he wasn't the only monarch watching Arthur's delay with bated breath. Arthur wondered how he could change the subject. He needed to figure it out soon, as there was no way he could get away with not swallowing soon.
"Does the princess of the druids know about these rumors?" Morgana teased.
Arthur regretted his earlier kick. "The druids don't even have a princess," he groused.
"But all the rumors say you're marrying her," the witch protested. "How could they all be wrong?"
"Rumors are wrong all the time."
"Remember those rumors about how I killed and replaced you?" Merlin chimed in. "Do you think they'll stop now that we're in the same place at the same time, or will people come up with some other explanation?"
"Definitely another explanation," Morgana answered. "They'll say that you're disguised as Arthur, I'm disguised as you, and someone else is impersonating me."
"Probably the princess of the druids," Arthur muttered. Laughter echoed up and down the table.
Dinner went surprisingly well after that. Arthur had been worried about his warlock doing something to offend one of the other kings, especially because old Loth was right there, but Merlin was on his best behavior. That boded well for the future, as this wouldn't be Merlin's last formal dinner. Maybe it was those leadership lessons he'd mentioned a few times. Perhaps they were paying off.
By the end of the night, Arthur was pleasantly tipsy and significantly less anxious than he'd been all day. Part of him had expected yet another thing to go wrong, but it hadn't. Morgana had charmed everyone around her, Merlin had gotten to ramble on about the weirdest spells he knew, nobody had asked further uncomfortable questions about Guinevere, the traitors hadn't attacked, and there hadn't been any new riots.
Then Caerleon walked up to him as he left the table, and Arthur found himself wondering if the night was about to get bad again. Or maybe the other king was just too drunk to remember that his own chambers were elsewhere. A man could hope, couldn't he?
"Arthur," Caerleon called, and the younger king's hopes dissipated.
"Yes?"
"I need a word with you."
Damn it. "Of course." It wouldn't be appropriate to hold the meeting in his bedroom, so Arthur led Caerleon to the small council chamber, all the while thinking longingly of his bed.
Caerleon cut right to the chase. "What are your plans about Alined?"
"I haven't had a chance to think it through yet," Arthur answered. "What of you?"
"For starters, I'm going to keep an eye on him. He's a cunning bastard. If he's willing to defy the rest of us so openly, then it's because he has some other plan."
"Yes. He wants to establish himself as magic's greatest ally and attract spellbinders who otherwise would have gone to another kingdom."
"Oh, that's certainly his end goal," Caerleon agreed, "or at least one of them. But I doubt that this is the only step he's taken. If it is, I'll eat my crown."
"What do you think he's doing?" Arthur asked.
"Good question. I wouldn't be surprised if he's helping to supply your rebels and rebels in every kingdom but his own."
Arthur's eyes widened.
"Probably other things, too," Caerleon added. "I'm just not sure what. Just keep an eye out for him, Arthur Pendragon." He made as if to leave.
"Why are you telling me this?" the other king inquired.
Caerleon stopped, but he did not look back as he answered. "We've become allies. You spared my life, our men have fought together, and the woman you didn't deny would become your queen saved my daughter and grandson's lives. Annis would be quite irked with me if I didn't at least try to warn you about a potential threat."
"Thank you," Arthur said quietly.
The older king nodded, and then he walked away.
Merlin stood at the door of the Court Mage's quarters. A globe of blue-and-gold light floated at his shoulder, bright enough to light up a good portion of the spiraling staircase. He glanced down the steps to ascertain that nobody was there, then grimaced and stepped into his new chambers.
The first room was a sort of office, one where people could come to meet with the Court Mage on official business and request favors and other public affairs. There was an old desk in the corner, currently empty save for an inkwell. Three shelves had been built into the walls right next to the ash-dusted fireplace. Across the room, another door led to the smaller staircase that connected this floor with the library/lab and, eventually, his bedroom suite.
Closing the door behind him, Merlin performed a quick sweep of the room. Everything was as he'd left it. No traps, no assassins hiding under the desk, no dead, dismembered falcons—merlins—lying on his chair. A bit reassured, he walked up the stairs, through the library, up the stairs again, through the private parlor that was apparently necessary for someone of his new status, up yet more stairs, and finally into his new bedroom. No dead birds in any of those rooms, either. Whoever had left the first one, the one laid on his bed that had filled the entire chamber with the scent of blood, hadn't deposited another while he was away.
Merlin locked the door with a flick of his wrist and stripped down to his nightclothes. When it was time to lay down, he caught himself hesitating. He remembered the mutilated bird left on his bed, a threat in a place where he should be safe, and wondered if he really wanted to sleep here. Then a scowl marred his features, and he pulled back the covers in a harsh jerk.
He was not going to let a bunch of whiners who couldn't accept magic's return chase him out of his own bed.
The feather-stuffed mattress was soft, the pillow full and yielding, the sheets smooth, the blanket warm. Merlin had banished the bloodstains earlier, before he got dressed for supper, and he'd cremated the poor creature's body downstairs. He knew that he was only imagining the stubborn scent of copper.
It still took him far too long to fall asleep. When slumber finally caught him, he kept slipping through its grasp, haunted by unsettling dreams and startling awake at every quiet noise. Morning found the warlock almost as tired as he'd been last night.
Merlin wanted to sleep more, but today was his first full day on the job. He couldn't waste it lounging about in bed.
First thing on the agenda was a fancy public breakfast where he could be seen rubbing shoulders with royalty and nobility, a living reminder that Camelot had a Court Mage once again. Arthur was busy doing last-minute things with the other monarchs, who would all be departing after the meal, but Morgana stuck by his side and directed their conversation. (Gwen was there too, but she was content to let the other lady take charge.) Knowing full well that everyone in a twenty-foot radius was listening in, the witch asked the warlock to go over his plans for the day, the week, the forseeable future.
Between bites of very good breakfast, Merlin explained his goals. He would spend the morning conferring with his kin. ("Would you mind bringing me?" Gwen asked. "Dad is there too, and I really need to talk with him.") He'd have lunch with Geoffrey of Monmouth to go over a few legal and historical details that he hadn't been able to confirm while living outside of Camelot. The afternoon was dedicated to perfecting some of the programs that he'd cooked up over the winter, and he hoped to use the evening to socialize a bit with people he hadn't seen since before fighting Sigan. (Morgana had silently asked him to casually bring up how he'd saved Camelot, and to work in as many other positives about magic as he could.)
"What sorts of projects did you have in mind?" his brilliant lady asked.
"Lots of things. My main goal is to show people that magic is nothing to fear or hate, that it can help them and their families. The law has been changed, but hearts haven't. Well, not all hearts, at least, and you can't change them with laws and treaties. I want to reintegrate magic into society."
"Give an example," Morgana prompted.
"Well, let's start with healers. Albion lost so much knowledge during the Purge, and now there's only a handful of physicians in each kingdom, but the druids know herb-lore as well as healing magic. I know a bunch of druids who would be willing to train up healers in little villages, but I need a way to ensure that the druids are safe, so I'm going to use Geoffrey's records to see which villages had the fewest executions for our kin during the Purge. The druids can start with those places, then spread out once everyone's had more time to adjust."
"Good choice," Morgana told him silently. Out loud, she asked, "What if the townsfolk have changed and try to mistreat the druids?"
"Then the druids can leave, of course, unless they decide they want to give it another try." Merlin added just a little more volume to his voice. "We can't force people to treat us well, but if they choose not to behave with basic human decency, we have no obligation to go out of our way to improve their lives. Villages are perfectly welcome to sneer at our kin, but they shouldn't be surprised when other places begin to prosper and they're left behind."
It wasn't quite that simple. Merlin had every intention of courting detractors, of making friends from enemies. However, he refused to force other spellbinders to do the same. It wasn't fair to put the burden on the people who had been oppressed for so long; at some point, wider society would have to adjust without direct intervention. Villagers would travel to places that treated magic well, or attitudes would gradually soften when those other villages didn't burn to the ground upon accepting spellbinders. Merlin's job was to make that transition as smooth, quick, and just as possible.
"Gwen and I had a few ideas for Camelot," Morgana told him. Merlin knew this already; they'd spent hours in the dream world discussing these plans. As Court Mage, Merlin was responsible for all of Camelot, but Morgana and Gwen could take a narrower focus on the city of their birth, where they were personally known and well-respected. This discussion was for the benefit of their audience, so Merlin made an interested noise and gestured at her to go on.
Morgana obliged and spent the rest of their unnecessarily long breakfast telling Merlin about her and Gwen's ideas. Gaius could train up magical and non-magical apprentices. They could put on demonstrations of playful magic. They could set up little charms to make tanneries smell better and restore the old wards that had once protected the granaries from vermin. They had other ideas, too, but by then they could no longer feasibly draw out their meal without their stomachs exploding, and besides, Merlin had an appointment to make. They agreed to separate for a few minutes before reuniting for their travels.
They landed in Listeneise's general meeting area, the same place the Aithusa had hatched. Gwen scanned the crowd for her father, lighting up when he waved to her. She bustled off in his direction and wrapped him in a hug.
Merlin grinned at his own smiling parents as they approached him. Hunith carried Ganieda, while Aithusa draped across Balinor's shoulders. "How does it feel to be the Court Mage of Camelot?" Hunith asked, stretching up to kiss his cheek.
There was no point in lying to his mother. "Nerve-wracking, but in a good way. Er, a mostly good way. A little overwhelming. But I'm glad that magic is legal again. Obviously."
Hunith's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Later, Mother," Merlin promised reluctantly, making certain that only she and Balinor could hear his thought-speech. Hunith nodded ever so slightly, her dark eyes full of trepidation, but she said nothing either out loud or in the silence of their minds.
The people knew what had happened, of course, but Merlin summarized the events of the last few days anyway before launching into a brief summary of the legal issues and his own plans. He emphasized that Arthur had managed to include a time limit for the most onerous restrictions, that while things were worse than they'd hoped, their kin still had powerful allies.
"But King Alined doesn't have those restrictions at all," said Cyndyrn, neatly derailing Merlin's hopes for the day's discussion.
"He doesn't," the warlock was forced to admit. "Alined did, however, encourage everyone else to put those restrictions into the treaty." He wanted to start ranting at the hypocrisy, but Merlin bit his tongue and held his peace.
That news garnered a reaction, a low murmur of discontent. Good. Merlin couldn't ask his kin to go against their own best interests, but he had no qualms about reminding everyone how untrustworthy certain slimy kings really were. After that, though, it was up to them.
It had been too long since Gwen had seen her father, so she felt no (okay, very little) guilt about catching up for almost three hours before she finally broached the reason for her visit. The topic arose naturally, when Tom commented, "He's a good man and a good king. Camelot is lucky to have him."
"He is, and we are," Gwen agreed, looking down at her cup.
Although she couldn't see it, Gwen knew that her father was frowning. "What's wrong?"
His daughter fidgeted, nervously clasping and unclasping her glass. "It's a bit embarrassing, really, and entirely fault—not the thing itself, because that's a good thing, but the fact that I completely forgot to tell you and didn't even realize I'd forgotten until a few days ago. Arthur told me to blame Hunith, but it really is my fault entirely."
"But the thing is good?"
"The thing is good," she confirmed.
"And you didn't tell me about it because…?"
"The best time would have been when I told you about Morgana and how we were trying to sabotage Uther, but there was so much I'd already told you, I thought it could wait until things were a bit calmer. Then, of course, Morgana was exposed as a witch, you and I had to flee with her, the Isle was attacked, everything else."
"Too much going on," Tom agreed, "so something a bit less urgent was left out."
"Exactly!"
Her dad grinned. "That makes perfect sense to me. So what is it?"
Relief bubbled all through Gwen's body. "Arthur and I are getting married."
Tom's mouth went slack. He remained silent for a long moment, long enough that Gwen started to sweat. Then he choked out, "Arthur Pendragon?"
"Yes."
Tom nodded slowly, his mouth clicking shut. "All right. I—I can't say I expected this, but he is a good man. He treats you well?"
Gwen smiled. "All the time."
"Good." Tom smiled back, some of the shock leaving his eyes. "Good."
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Merlin Has a Stressful Move Without Even the Modern World's Compensatory Pizza to Soften the Blow"
Fun fact: Tanneries used urine to treat hides. That's why they would benefit from anti-stink spells.
I'm sorry for not responding to reviews. I... was on the edge of burnout from work and sort of went into low-energy survival mode. No reviews, no writing, barely even checking my email for a few days. I'm better now, though still not at 100%, and I'll do my best to answer reviews on Wednesday as per usual.
Next chapter: October 21. Morgana receives an unwelcome surprise.