Author's note: Thank you everyone who have added this story to their follows-list and reviewed!You spur me on.
I've decides to bring Arthur's perspective into more consideration in the story. That will make storytelling easier later on.
Chapter warnings: some violence, minor character death (canon).
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I Am the Embers of Your Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 4
()()()
Two days later, the tournament begins. The bleeding stopped the night before and thankfully Gaius didn't notice a thing during those days. No one suspects a thing, and Merlin can relax somewhat; exhale and focus on what's ahead.
He's heard about them, of course - the tournaments.
In the meadow half a mile outside Ealdor, by the edge of old man Simon's field, he and Will had often sat in the grass and talked and laughed. Merlin had, since he first was explained to what tournaments was, always called them silly – why would anyone want to bonk someone else in the head with a sword! – and Will had laughed then, calling him silly. Of course one wants to fight, for glory and honour, to show the world how strong you are!
Will had long had this private dream of becoming a knight, a soldier. To fight and find glory and honour and be someone, not just a simple, nameless farmer among thousands of others. His father had worked in Cenred's army, and more than once Merlin had found his friend hiding in the storage barn, staring like awed at the man's worn blood-splattered chainmail.
But at the same time, Will deeply despises nobility , those who truly could be knighted (the life of an ordinary soldier is far less glamorous than that of a knight) and never ever wants to become one himself. Royalty caused his father to die and ripped apart his family. So he never acknowledges the fact that his dream is very possible – he could walk to Cenred's city and ask to join the ranks and undoubtedly be accepted, being a young and strong man. He never acknowledges it because becoming a soldier would make him serve them, one of those he so despises, even make him one of them.
The warlock is, in a selfish way, incredibly glad about that. Will joining the army would undoubtedly part them and his dear friend might even die on a field somewhere far away without Merlin even being warned, perhaps without him even ever knowing, and no one would be there to remember.
()()()
Merlin had thought Camelot to be crowded upon his arrival, but now the streets are swarming with people and every inn is full: people from far and wide have come to watch the game.
Knights from far and wide have come to this great event. The servants all-over the castle chatter excitedly about the event; few can actually afford betting but some does it anyway, throwing caution to the wind, and a lot of money is put on the city's prince. Merlin hears from all sides – even if few talks to him directly, him being a newcomer, an outsider – that Arthur has been Champion for five years in a row. Everyone expects him to win again.
For a moment, Merlin imagines being the Prince. Of having the pressure of a whole city, a kingdom, on one's shoulders, and he shudders inwardly, the alikeness of his own situation to that of the Prince's hitting too close to home. But there's no one who knows and no one to tell, save the dragon which is chained deep down in a dark cave and it can't reach him. If he suddenly had enough and left the city and everything behind, who would be able to stop him?
And anyway, if he ever told Arthur about the prophecy and destiny and being two sides of the same coin, the prat would just laugh his head off, call him an idiot and order him to muck out the stables.
()()()
Putting on armour is far more complex than it looks at first glance. Desperately he tries remembering what Gwen had told him, but still fumbles with the fastenings and Arthur is growing more and more impatient by the minute.
"The tournament starts today, Merlin!"
"You seem nervous," Merlin remarks, disliking the tense air and hoping to ease it somehow. He glances upward just in time to see the Prince roll his eyes exaggeratedly.
"I don't get nervous," the prince retorts annoyed, looking ahead not facing Merlin as he speaks.
"Really? Because I thought everyone got—"
"Will you shut up!"
Reluctantly, Merlin does as he's told, handing Arthur his helmet. He looks at his handiwork quite proud that he managed it, even if it took awhile. All the straps and metal pieces are at the right places.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?"
"My sword."
Oh. It was a stupid mistake, he admits, too obvious to miss but he's new to this job so it's really not his fault. He picks up the weapon and Arthur tears it angrily out of his hands. "You really are an incompetent cabbage."
When the prince stalks out of the tent with set jaw and narrowed eyes, Merlin frowns after him. If I could somehow make him drop that prattish attitude, if just for one moment, my life would suddenly feel so much easier …
()()()
The king stands to speak, and immediately, silence falls. "Knights of the realm, it is a great honour to welcome you to this tournament at Camelot. Over the next three days your skills as warriors and your bravery shall be put to the test, and of course, you shall have the chance to challenge the reigning chance, my son – Prince Arthur." There are excited murmurs and Arthur holds his head high. "Only one can have the honour of being crowned champion and the winner will received a prize of a thousand gold pieces."
It's an insane amount of money, and Merlin cranes his neck to see the King open a safely guarded and locked box on his right. The contents glimmer in the sun. Merlin is certain that if he owned all of that, he'd never have to work a day more in his life.
He glances around to look at the knights gathered on the field, surrounded by cheering people waving flags. The only colours he can really recognize are Camelot's, who has three knights – Arthur of course; and sir Leon who is one of the Prince's oldest and most experienced knights, but Merlin has never been acknowledged by the man (or any other knight) so he can't say he knows him; and the younger sir Evan, to whom Arthur spoke this morning in the armoury about some sword technique or the other (Merlin wasn't actually listening very closely at the time).
He can't place what houses or kingdoms the other knights are fighting for, except one – he recognizes the emblem of Cenred's royal house without doubt. The tax collector that comes every year to Ealdor is always guarded by men in such armour, and the same armour was worn by the men who came, so many years ago, to take the old woman away and Merlin shudders unwillingly at the memory.
One of the knights catches his eye though. There's a dark gleam on the man's face, his pose is haughty, more than the prince's (how that's physically possible Merlin isn't certain): his hair is a dusty brown, his gaze calculating. Upon his yellow cape the image of two green entwined snakes are sown. The man is kind of handsome, but looks so cold, so intent but ruthless even as he stands still that Merlin averts his gaze, hoping he won't run into the man anytime soon.
After the King has announced the tournament open, the knights file out except for two men who are to face each other first. Arthur isn't to begin competing until tomorrow. As the latest Champion, he isn't to fight until the last best few have been chosen. The men bow to the king, nod in acknowledgement to each other and draw their swords.
The Prince takes seat next to the King, regal and quiet and unreadable, and Merlin is forced to stand back among a group of other servants ready to attend; mulled wine and small foods have already been prepared, in case one of the royals or other lords and ladies sitting there wishes for it. For once, the servants dare to drop their silent demeanor and they engage in watching the battles on the arena with burning enthusiasm, cheering and crying out in all the right moments.
But Merlin finds himself often not looking at the fight but at the Prince – his jaw is set stern in concentration, his eyes focused clearly on the fighting men. Intense, calculating every move; perhaps he's internally running a commentary. Once, when sir Evan is facing an opponent in blue, he grimaces and mutters something about; " … he has to move his feet! I've told him a thousand times!" loud enough for Merlin to hear and the servant wonders if that's why he was so nervous before; for the sake of his men. At other times, he cheers, especially loud when sir Evan wins the match in the end.
The sun glints in Arthur's hair and, though he is not to fight today, he's wearing chainmail under his fine tunic and long red cloak. Arthur's right hand, resting on the hilt of his sword, is slightly curled - like he's ready to jump onto the arena any moment and join the battle. Merlin's eyes are drawn to that hand, strong and slightly calloused at the edges, but it also looks safe – comforting, warm.
Then, realizing that he's openly staring, Merlin flushes and swallows, looking away sharply. What am I doing? he thinks, horrified, heart pounding faster. He shouldn't be thinking like this – not about any man, but especially not his master! It would bring nothing but tears.
()()()
He remembers painfully clearly the last time it happened – the first time it happened. It had hurt, in a way he wasn't prepared for, it had hurt having to suppress his emotions and he'd felt so … confused, uncertain; he hadn't known what to do. And he couldn't stop looking at Will when the boy shed his shirt on hot summer days when working in the fields, couldn't stop watching the fall and rise of his chest as he breathed reminding of how precious and fleeting his heartbeat was. Couldn't stop listening to the boy's voice, warm and lovely and caring even when the words weren't. Couldn't stop thinking about Will at sleepless nights when it definitely wasn't right to do so. He knew any kind of approaches weren't welcome. After all, what's he compared to some beautiful smart young girl? Males didn't love males, even someone half-male-half-female like him: it's as simple as that. All those words pushed upon him, they were like chains, steadily growing and trapping him.
Of course, his mother knew - he couldn't possibly hide it from her. (He tried hiding it for a time and Hunith had actually been upset then when finding out, hugging him fiercely and reproaching him for not telling her at once – he'd clung to her support like a lifeline.) She'd promised him it would be all right, soothed him with meaningless words, said that it would pass and that time would make him forget. Because she knew as well as him that he couldn't act on those feelings; that they would lead to nowhere. In time the feelings would pass … and they did, even if part of him didn't want them to, not truly, because even if the feelings scared him they also made him feel warm and safe.
Maybe that's why he'd been attracted: Will was practically the only person beside his mother he spent time around and who cared about him. Will had early taken him under his wing: let him cry on his shoulder, and played with him under the oak, and they had run around and explored the village and the fields around searching for adventure as children while doing trouble and Merlin had felt so happy with him like with no one else.
Will hadn't treated him like he was different. Sure, there were jibes and sometimes hurtful words, but Will never really meant it. And if any of the other village boys had taunted Merlin for being fatherless or for his big ears or something else and tried to push him into the mud, Will had defended him with fierce protectiveness and (more than once) angry fists. Neither of the boys' mothers had been happy to have them coming home covered in dirt and bruises.
But that was years ago and they had grown up since they and somehow grown apart, even if they still had shared moment together in silence – after now, this close to adulthood they had more responsibilities toward the village and their families, more work and less time to just linger, to walk around aimlessly and talk nonsense. Merlin had eventually learned to swallow the emotions. And then they had seemed to grow away. Fade into a shadow. If not fully disappearing, at least he could ignore them. Will wouldn't accept feelings like … Never like that.
They were friends, not loving one other. Will was protective of him, but constantly bragging about how he was going to woo and marry that girl, Libya, he liked so much and pointed out that he'd help Merlin find a nice girl too, and Merlin hadn't dared tell him that he didn't want that – that he didn't want a pretty girl, no matter how nice, but rather a boy, rather Will. Because Will wasn't that kind of boy.
Being like that wasn't normal. The cleric travelling between the villagers had sometimes preached about it, the sin, alongside witchery and blasphemy, it was a sin so dark you should burn for it, a constant reminder of your unnatural perverted ways. Each time he heard it, Merlin would turn his head away, feigning respect for the cleric while an acid voice in his heart echoed Freak you're a freak you're a freak and afterwards he'd seek refuge at the back of the cottage, in some dark dank corner where no one could see, arms wrapped around his knees as he cried, alone and scared and confused: why was he like this? Why was he so abnormal? Why were everyone hating people like him for something they couldn't help, couldn't stop? He wanted it to stop! He wanted to be normal and liked!
But no one could hear his silent pleads, there were no answers and certainly no redemption.
Sometimes, he'd wondered what'd happened if he ever told Will. In his fantasies it was a chilly autumn evening under the last rays of sun, shoulder to shoulder: '…Will. I – I like you.' In his dream Will would grin and cup his cheek, palm warm and strong, safe: 'I know.' And in the fading light, the other boy would lean in and kiss him and everything was perfect, he was warm and complete. But it's just a silly little dream, nothing that would ever happen. Reality would be so much harsher, with shocked words, stares of disgust, screams of 'Get away from me!'
()()()
Merlin is brought back to the present by the rising cheers of the audience, sharp in his ears. Sir Leon is standing in the center of the arena, arms raised in victory, and the foreign sir Bade walks away with hunched shoulders, hands tight fists: maybe he's disappointed, or angry, or ashamed of losing.
He's so distracted that he jumps when someone nudges his arm.
Gaius grins at him. "Are you perhaps beginning to have fun?" the old man asks.
"Maybe," Merlin replies with a sigh. "It's not that bad … except that I still got to wash the royal prat's dirty socks."
"Then you won't mind that you have to clean the leech tank before going to bed."
"Gaius…!" He can't believe the old man! How can he be so evil?!
The physician chuckles. "Now enjoy yourself, have fun. I'm sure you'll be busy with Arthur's demands later on."
"Yeah, that's the understatement of the year," mutters the warlock, arms crossed over his chest. How did his last manservant manage that partly attitude and not collapse because of it all?
()()()
"That's who you're going to fight?" Merlin asks wide-eyed when preparing the prince for his second fight the following day. Yesterday, Arthur had won over the first opponent he'd faced with a kind of ease and grace that Merlin found incredibly fascinating. It had almost looked like the Prince had toyed with his opponent like a cat with its pray, right before striking, and the attack had been smooth and deadly.
The servant glances across the field, at the giant of the man dressed in green: a servant has to step onto a small pallet to be able to reach up and adjust the man's helmet. His arms are as thick as Merlin's legs, and he reckons he could upturn trees from their roots with his bare hands.
"He's strong as a bear, but he's slow," says Arthur.
"And you're fast," the warlock realizes.
"You figured that out yourself?" The Prince raises an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. A gesture which Merlin returns with a dark look.
"Ha ha, very funny."
But later, under the heavy sun, Merlin finds his insides knotting with apprehension as he watches Arthur battle the giant man, all annoyance from earlier forgotten and he cheers loudly when the Prince rises as the victor. Knots that won't untie until he sees Arthur leave the arena triumphant and unharmed.
()()()
"Sire, may I congratulate on your victories on the field today."
Arthur nods at the yellow knight. "Likewise."
"Creep," the servant mutters when sir Valiant, still wearing that slimy expression Merlin doesn't like, turns around and leaves.
The Prince snorts and momentarily glances at him like agreeing wholeheartedly, before his face turns serious again and he begins listing a whole lot of duties, of polishing and washing and mucking out of stables, that makes Merlin want to hit him. Seriously. The man is such a dollophead more often than not.
()()()
It's when he's fetching Arthur's chainmail from the armoury the following morning that he first notices the shield.
Merlin gasps and nearly falls backwards across a table covered with finely adorned hunting knives, when – it happens very quickly, almost like an illusion but he's certain he's seeing it – one of the green snakes on the shield blinks, moving ever so slightly … like it's alive.
Horrified, Merlin reaches out a hand, to make sure that he's not imagining things. But an angry voice cuts through the chilly morning air just when he's inches from the wood:
"What do you think you're you doing, boy?" And the blade of a sword suddenly appears lightly pressed against his throat, near the artery. Merlin's eyes flicker upwards, pulse unwillingly speeding up at the threat.
Sir Valiant is staring at him with cold eyes and Merlin feels unnerved, and backs off, fumbling to grasp all pieces of Arthur's armour scattered on one of the tables. "I – I was just fetching the Prince's armour," he says quickly and glances at the shield one last time, before hurrying out of the room, sensing a pair of suspicious eyes burning on his back.
()()()
There's something off about the yellow knight and his shield. Merlin is certain of this. The man's fighting is ferocious and merciless and it's like he barely manages to hold back the killing blow each time; and by every hour the knight comes closer to having a place in the finals where he'll face Arthur. That worries Merlin, in some inexplicable way … even if Arthur is a good fighter, is he good enough to win against sir Valiant?
Not that I care, Merlin thinks quickly, in almost-honesty, if Arthur wins or not.
But what if the snakes on that shield really can come alive?
Sir Evan's wounds cannot be explained simply by a sword fight, and he trusts Gaius' expertise in the matter – no, something is definitely not right. But since apparently being a servant means you can't just go up and accuse a knight of cheating, he has to find proof first, if he values his head - and Merlin does.
"Merlin," Gaius says in a serious tone when the boy opens the door with purpose. "You must be careful!"
Merlin throws a reassuring grin over his shoulder. "You know me - I always am!"
The old man barely holds back a sigh as his ward disappears out of sight. He understands Merlin's actions, but his ward can be so rash and reckless, as Gaius has learned during the few weeks that Merlin has been in his care. The boy's selflessness and sense of righteousness was almost dangerous. "Unfortunately, I do…"
()()()
Breaking into a knight's chambers is a suicidal act, but Merlin doesn't hesitate. If the knight's shield really is magic, and the snakes can come alive, that explains sir Evan's wounds and sudden fever. It could even save his life, if he could just get his hands on that shield – or one of the snakes, at least. If he shows it to Arthur, then the prince must believe him, right?
The room is plain, with very few personal possessions – the bed is neatly made and there's a wooden chest by the foot of it, closed with a lock. Merlin instinctually is drawn there and he sweeps his hand over the lock, which opens with a click as the warlock's eyes glow a warm golden.
There it is: the shield, next to the knight's sword and a pair of leather gloves. The warlock debates with himself for a moment, before reaching out to touch it – the shield doesn't feel at all strange to his fingertips, like any shield in the armoury. But when he closes his eyes and concentrates …
The hum of magic, steady and familiar, has something dark and foreboding about it and Merlin withdraws his hand with a sharp intake of breath. While his own magic is like a a complex system of layers and he's felt this web wrapped around everything and everyone around him, faint but steadily there – only apparent if the person really has magic, like with lady Helen - and he can only feel it if he truly concentrates. But the magic on the shield is jagged: one single spell darkly covering everything else on it. That must be it! What causes the snakes to come alive! If he somehow can remove it, then –
Footsteps, echoing in the corridor behind him, cause Merlin to pause. There mightn't be time enough! He needs that evidence somehow.
He glances back at the shield – to find three snakes staring back at him while hissing and showing sharp teeth. Merlin launches forward, grabs the sword, the motion made with a sort of fluidity he hasn't known himself to possess before. He reacts just in time to defend himself from one of the snakes which moves to strike: jaws open wide, white deadly teeth glimmering in the candlelight.
Its head falls with a thud on the floor.
The footsteps are just meters from the door, and there's no time to get rid of the evidence of breaking in; Merlin drops the sword and grabs the snake's unmoving head, and rushes out of the room through the servant back-door, relieved to find the corridor behind it empty.
()()()
"Gaius! Gaius!"
The loud cry startles the old man. Merlin runs into the room as if chased by a storm, something in his left hand that catches the candlelight with a green hue. "I've got it! Here! Look! The shield's magic, Valiant's shield, and it made the snakescome alive – look!"
The snake is not of a kind that Gaius recognizes, and he knows most of the species in the vicinity of Camelot; also, he's not blind to magic. It's the only logical explanation. "How did you get your hands on this?" he asks.
"I had to sneak into sir Valiant's chamber," admits Merlin and momentarily averts his gaze, sensing his mentor's frown – an expression he's already come to fear. "But I had to! I had to get a look at the shield, to make sure about the snakes. And then the snakes just … came alive! I don't know how, maybe some protective magic – maybe they sensed me as a threat? They tried attacking me but I managed to grab the nearby sword, and there you go."
"Merlin…" Gaius shakes his head at his ward (how could the boy be so reckless!) andchides: "I told you to be careful!"
The rest of the scolding, however, must be saved until a better moment later on after this has been dealt with. Right now, the physician has a dying knight to heal, and his ward has another knight to frame for using sorcery. He sincerely hopes Merlin will not do something outrageously stupid in order to do that; the King would not be mild in such case.
While the physician extracts poison from the snake's teeth to produce a cure for sir Evan, who lies wrapped in blankets feverish and delirious, Merlin waits impatiently by his side. "Will he be all right?" he asks worriedly for the second or third time in the last half hour. He might not know the knight, but he can't deserve to die like this.
"He is very lucky that you discovered sir Valiant's use of magic, Merlin," Gaius tells him solemnly. "If not, he'd probably be dead by morning. Now, he has a chance to by that time be awake and able to tell us – and more importantly, the King – what really happened."
"And then sir Valiant will be caught?"
"Hopefully, yes."
That kind of answer isn't the absolute one that Merlin seeks. It means that Valiant can keep fighting until then and hurt, maybe kill, more men. In the finals today …
The finals. Where the winner is going to face the champion - Arthur!
The warlock jumps out of his seat as soon as the physician is finished, and grabs the snake head, and rushes out of the room. "Merlin?" shouts Gaius after him. "Where are you going?"
"To tell Arthur!"
()()()
"You? You cut off its head?"
"Yes!"
The prince sends him a look of disbelief but nonetheless picks up the snake head to examine it. The scales are almost unnaturally green, the yellow eyes blank and lifeless; the fangs are still dangerously sharp. The cut is clean – surprising him, as Arthur had expected Merlin to more stand and hack at the thing until the head fell off. If what he says really is true, that is.
But with this solid proof in his hand and Merlin's eyes fixed on him in earnest – how can the servant be lying?
And more importantly though: what reason would Merlin have to lie about this? To lie would almost certainly end with his head on the chopping block. While clearly an idiot – sneaking around in a knight's chamber for example (Is he completely suicidal? Has he no sense of self-preservation whatsoever?) – and sticking his nose into trouble, not even Merlin could be that much of a fool. Accusing a knight with proof is a risk enough!
"Swear to me what you say is true."
Merlin looks him in the eye. A thing no normal servant would dare to do. "I swear it's true."
The Prince holds his gaze firmly. There's no trace of deceit in his servant's eyes. Arthur stands frozen for a moment, debating internally what to do. "And Gaius can treat sir Evan?"
Accusing a knight is dangerous – especially so if you accuse him of sorcery. No weapon is stronger against the word of a knight, than the word of another knight; with sir Evans as witness then there's a much higher chance to prove to court and the King that sir Valiant is using magic to win the tournament. None would listen to a mere servant, Arthur knows, but they would listen to the Prince and his own men.
"Yes, now when he's got the poison from the snake … he was making an antidote when I left. Gaius is the best physician you can find – he'll cure him."
The boy speaks with such intense conviction that Arthur cannot fault him.
"All right. I believe you."
Something stirs in Arthur's chest when profound relief falls over Merlin's face, making the boy quirk a grin, but the feeling fades quickly and is replaced by abounded energy as the Prince begins to plan how exactly how to break these news to his father.
The king will be furious.
()()()
"What do you have to say to these accusations, sir Valiant?"
Uther's tone is stiff and stern, and Merlin feels quite small where he's standing half a step behind Arthur. The Prince sounds calm and determined but his eyes blaze. In response, sir Valiant both sounds and looks composed, calm, not at all angry or even surprised. There's pity even, when he looks at Arthur and then his eyes darken when they find Merlin – pinning the servant down. Condemning. Calculating.
"I have nothing to hide, Your Highness," the knight responds in a perfectly oily voice, which could be used to fool nearly anyone but Merlin doesn't believe a word of it. "If it is the case, that the great prince Arthur has doubts of our upcoming battle in the arena, I would with honour let him withdraw."
Arthur glares at the man, furious. How dare he say such a thing, before the full court!
"Is this true? You fear the fight?" the king asks in a sharp voice, obviously also insulted - and ashamed at the though of having a coward as his son.
"No! Never. I have both proof and a witness that sir Valiant has been using magic against his opponents," Arthur says heatedly.
Then Gaius comes sneaking inside the council chamber, and bows before the king. "Sire. I am afraid the witness – sir Evan – is dead."
The words makes Merlin's heart fall like a rock.
That was the one factor that could change everything; that could get Valiant caught, prove that they were right, that he was using magic for his own gain. But without sir Evan, without his account on the events …
Merlin feels angry, disappointed so suddenly and violently, and mixed with the shock and sorrow for the man's death, even if he never knew him, nearly makes him physically ill. He wants to lurch forward and scream and show to them, show to them that Valiant is using magic. He's even carrying with him that shield right now on his arm – he could do it, Merlin is sure, he could make those snakes come alive and show them…!
An old hand catches onto Merlin's arm before he can do anything and Gaius sends him a warning look. "It will not help anyone to anger the King anymore, Merlin," his mentor mutters quietly so only the servant can hear.
Merlin bites the inside of his cheek and he glances at Arthur, who is standing diagonally to the left in front of him; the Prince looks tense … Disappointed.
"So you have no proof against sir Valiant," Uther says coldly. "Have you seen him do magic yourself?"
"No, sire," Arthur admits, "but my servant fought one of the snakes from-"
The King draws himself up to his full height. "A servant? You dare make these outrageous accusations against a knight based on the word of a servant?"
The Prince's neck flushes red with anger. "I believe he is telling the truth, sire," he bites out.
"My lord," sir Valiant cuts in, smoothly – he doesn't look very angry or even abashed, as if he knows and Merlin senses the man glance at him momentarily. "Am I really to be judged on some hearsay from a mere boy?"
"With none able to testify against sir Valiant, I can only interpret this as mendacity. Arthur, apologize to sir Valiant immediately," the King proclaims.
Apologize? Why should Arthur apologize, when it's true, when Valiant has just killed one of his knights? It's unfair – it's wrong! Merlin can't be quiet anymore and Gaius' steady hand on his arm doesn't sway him.
"It's true! I saw the snakes come alive!" he cries out.
"How dare you interrupt? Guards, take him away!"
Merlin doesn't struggle against them, their grip is bruising. But then right before he's dragged out, sir Valiant speaks.
"Please, milord. I am sure he was merely mistaken. I wouldn't want him punished on my account." He bows again, all in respect and propriety to the King.
Uther, accepting the plead, nods his head, and on his order the servant is released even if the guards stay close in case Uther has a sudden change of heart. "You see?" He turns to his son. "This is how a true knight behaves – with gallantry and honour."
Stiffly the Prince turns to sir Valiant and bows his neck and there's so much fury in his eyes, but still, he apologizes, admits to his grave mistake, voice like silk. Merlin has this urge to scream 'No you dollophead! Don't apologize!' and unleash his magic, making those snakes come alive and forever wipe that smug expression off Valiant's face.
()()()
The door slams open and remains so, the Prince pacing, heels clicking across the stone:
"You humiliated me! Now the whole courts think I'm a coward!"
"Arthur," Merlin says and steps forward and he shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have overstepped the thin line this early, when Arthur is so upset. It's a mistake he realizes too late and he can't remedy it.
But he wants to comfort him some way and make him see – make him see that he's right and sir Valiant and the rest are wrong. That Arthur isn't a coward. In fact Merlin is proud of him, for the Prince to take the side of a commoner: for standing up for what's right and not just side with the most powerful word. But now it seems that side of the Prince is once again being replaced by a giant pratliness that the warlock loathes.
"Merlin – be quiet," Arthur growls, tone low.
Naturally, Merlin doesn't listen. "Valiant lied," he says, "it's his snakes that killed sir Evans and he won't hesitate to do it again! Listen to me, you shouldn't fight him tomorrow. If you do, he'll kill you."
"I have to fight. It is my duty." The prince glares at him as if Merlin were the snake. "I need a servant I can trust and obviously, I cannot trust you."
The words sting in a way Merlin isn't prepared for and his throat thickens all of a sudden. "Arthur -"
"Get out of my sight. And don't return. I release you from your service."
"Don't fight him. Whatever you do -"
"GET OUT!"
The servant storms out of the room and the Prince is left clenching fists in frustration, and neither notices the yellow eyes from upon one of the beams in the ceiling that has been observing the whole scene.
()()()
The cave is just as dark during daytime as during nighttime.
"How can I protect someone who hates me?" he cries and the words bounce off the walls, fleeting and impermanent.
The dragon regards him with large eyes, chuckling, and Merlin can't understand what's so amusing. Arthur might die tomorrow and the stupid dragon is laughing in his face!
"A half cannot truly hate what makes it whole. Soon you will realize that, young warlock."
"But what should I do? He won't listen to me! Nobody will, and Valiant will kill him and go free."
It's so unfair - the dragon gives him only riddles. And magic is forbidden and hated, so I can't counter him in the open, his mind supplies. If he tried anything like that he'd get arrested for sorcery and probably for trying to frame Valiant as well, and either way it would end with his head on the chopping block.
And what would Arthur do if finding out that his manservant – former manservant he reminds himself abruptly - is a sorcerer and sneaks down to talk with dragons where nobody else can see?
"It is not his time to die yet. The answer shall come to you," the dragon says, emphasizing the last few words, and right before Merlin turns, sensing the conversation has reached its end, the creature adds; "That yours and Arthur's path lies together is but the truth. This is not the end. It is the beginning."
()()()