Arthur scowled at the rain and drew the cloak's heavy hood low over his eyes. He cast a suspicious glance around and caught the door before it could slam behind him, then hurried down the dark street. In the uproar following Merlin's disappearance, the prince had sent George to tell the knights to gather at Guinevere's house in the lower town. He had hoped to bring Leon- and news- with him, but Pynell's hunting party had yet to return.
They could not stay out too long, he knew. Though well armed, Pynell had not had time to provision himself for a hunt of any length. Perhaps he thought it would be over too quickly to need supplies. His horses were fast, after all, and his hounds were clever. Arthur shivered, and not because of the rain. Pynell was hunting, and Merlin was his quarry. The prince tried to recall how many other sorcerers had escaped from similar hunts and came up with a only a handful. Even with his magic, the odds were not stacked in Merlin's favor.
"You there!" A rough voice called from behind him, "Declare yourself!"
Arthur turned and stood his ground until the guardsmen approached lanterns in hand. He stood up to his full height and pushed his hood back just far enough to uncover his eyes. Even in the rain and dim light, the guards saw who they were accosting. "Is there a problem?" he pulled his best commander's voice from some chamber of memory.
Their eyes widened as they each sketched a bow. "N-nothing, sire. Just on our rounds, sire, keeping the peace," the first guard stammered, "Is there aught we can help you with, sire?"
'Stop saying "sire", for one,' Arthur grimaced and waved them off. "Be about your business. I have matters to attend to in town." The dismissal in his tone was clear, and the two guards hurried away before they could get themselves in real trouble. He shook his head as he walked on. It was already beginning, he saw, the paranoia that settled on the city whenever his father's commands bent in dark directions. Enough men had gone to the hangman's noose for associating in common ways with sorcerers, or those suspected of it for the people to be justifiably afraid. Word of Uther's return to the throne had spread like plague through Camelot. Now the people feared what new troubles his supposed madness would rain down on them.
He was nearly soaked through when he reached Guinevere's house. The curtains were tightly drawn over the windows, but a sliver of light shone in one. Arthur knocked lightly on the door and saw one of the curtains rustle before the door opened a crack. Elyan peered through. "Arthur!" he exclaimed before opening the door wide enough for the prince to slip in.
Guinevere was in his arms before he could say anything, heedless of his sodden cloak. He held her close for a moment, soaking in her warmth before peeling away to save her from being dripped upon. "What's happened, Arthur? We've hardly heard a thing since you went to see your father, but Gwaine says that Merlin was taken by the guards and that the whole city knows what he is."
Arthur glanced around, found Gwaine lurking in the shadows at the far end of the little room. Percival leaned against the wall by the fire, his arms crossed in front of him and a worried look in his eyes; Lancelot knelt nearby, staring into the flames. Even from the side, Arthur could read what was written on the knight's face- worry and guilt. It did not take an oracle to know what he was thinking. If only they had found Merlin first, instead of the guards, then they would not be here right now. And it was just going to get worse when the prince shared his news. He sighed, "That's true. My father asked Merlin outright if he was a sorcerer, and he said yes."
"But why?" Guinevere's fingers faltered as she tugged the dripping cloak from Arthur's shoulders, "Why would he condemn himself like that?"
"I don't know," Arthur sank onto the bench at the table and picked up an apple, slowly turning it round and round in his hands. "I've seen all manner of criminals face my father's judgment. Some beg for mercy, others are defiant."
"Merlin's not a criminal," Gwaine growled from the shadows.
"I know that," Arthur stared back, holding Gwaine's gaze until the other man looked away. "I've seen all manner of reactions," he went on, "But this. . . I've never seen anything like it. He was terrified when they brought him in. He knew what the sentence would be as well as I did. But while my father was questioning him, something seemed to come over him. It was as if my father was the one on his knees, not Merlin. I've seen him like that before, before a battle, always with the right thing to say. I always thought he was a bit touched in the head when he went on like that. He was always right, though. Always knew we would be victorious. But never. . . never quite like that."
"Arthur?" Guinevere sat across from him, her brows knit in concern, "Why are you talking like that's all in the past? What's happened?"
He looked up abruptly and met her gaze, saw the fear in her dark eyes and resisted the urge to reach across the table and brush the errant strands of hair from her face. He shrugged instead. "Merlin disappeared. My father told the guards to take him to the square and cut off his head. I told him to go, and he did. Broke the shackles, pushed the guards away, threw the doors open and just vanished. I was looking right at him, and then he was gone."
"Is that what the warning bells were about?" Lancelot did not look up from the fire.
"Yes. Father sent Lord Pynell out to hunt him down. Not even to bring him back, just to. . . " Arthur could not bring himself to finish that sentence.
"Merlin against Pynell's hunters? Those aren't good odds, Princess. Even for him."
"I know," Arthur glanced at Gwaine, but the other man's glare was fixed on Lancelot's back. There was a conflict in the making, and one Arthur did not need now, or ever. "That's why I sent Leon with them, to delay them as best he could. I couldn't go. My father thinks Merlin bewitched me," his laugh held no humor, nor did Guinevere's when he caught her eye. She was familiar with such accusations; Uther had nearly sent her to the pyre for the same false crime.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"Right now, we wait until Leon comes back." Arthur picked up a worn paring knife and tested its edge before setting it to the apple. The metal was dark with age and use, but the blade was true. Just like the people around him- weary and afraid, but as loyal as any prince could wish for. Even if Gwaine did look like he was about to launch himself at Lancelot to throw the other knight into the fire, and Lancelot looked like he would let Gwaine do it. That had to stop. Arthur finished coring the apple and set it down, turning so he could see both of the other men. "Lancelot, Gwaine, look at me. Both of you." He waited for their reluctant gazes to meet his. "Whatever happens now, I need you to serve Camelot as you swore to do. The people need knights, not men out to punish themselves and each other for happenings beyond their control.
"Today in the throne room," he continued, "Merlin said that Camelot's darkest hour was still to come, and when that happens- whatever happens- I need to know that my knights will serve this kingdom. Now. Do I have your swords?" Lancelot looked stricken at that, and Gwaine smothered some of the fire in his eyes. But both nodded. "Good. Whatever conflict is between you two is just that. Between the two of you. Sort it out on your own time. We serve the people of Camelot, not ourselves."
The crackling of the fire was loud in the quiet that followed. Overhead, the rain kept up its steady beat against the roof, though the thatch muffled it. Somewhere in the back, a leak made itself known by pinging into a bucket. Arthur picked up the apple and paring knife and commenced to cutting the fruit into ever-smaller pieces. With all the nervous energy dancing through his bones, he would much rather have been up and pacing about, or fighting, or just screaming his frustrations at the clouds. Somewhere, though, probably from Merlin, he had learned to hold himself in stillness. A leader could not afford to see seen as nervous, or it would infect those who followed. Just as a fearful king bred fearful subject, so a nervous prince bred nervous knights. Better to hold that energy within and drive himself mad with it than to let it infect his knights.
"What do you think he meant?" Percival finally spoke up and everyone looked at him, "You said that Merlin said that Camelot's darkest hour was still to come. What do you think he meant?"
Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but Gwaine beat him to it. "Uther's gone mad. We all saw what Morgana did to him when she stole his crown. It broke his mind. Now that he's back on his feet, what's the first thing he's going to do? Root out every trace of magic he can find, real or not, and burn every sorcerer he can get his hands on. We'll be back in the days of witch-hunts. He'll get all those witchfinders the Marcher lords wanted to hire last spring and set them loose on the countryside. No one will be safe."
"Surely it won't come to that," worry deepened in Guinevere's eyes, "And besides. We're almost at war with Amata. How can we hire anyone from there?"
"I mean no disrespect, Gwen, but I've been a lot of places and seen a lot of men. Most will do just about anything for a pocketful of gold," Gwaine stalked toward a window and pulled the curtain aside just far enough to peer out. When the darkness revealed nothing new, he shook his head and tugged the curtain back into place.
"You're lousy at reassuring people, Gwaine," Elyan said. He squeezed his sister's shoulder and gave her a tight smile.
"Just telling the truth."
"And you choose to do it right now?" Elyan shook his head in disbelief and plopped down next to Guinevere. "He has the lousiest timing of anyone I've ever met." She chuckled and leaned into her brother, who responded with a one-armed hug. At least that bond had not been affected by the day's events, though Arthur wished he could trade Elyan places at the table.
A loud knock on the door startled them all into silence and they turned as one to stare at it. The knock sounded again, more insistent this time. Elyan rose to answer, setting his foot behind the door so whoever was on the other side could not force it open. He let the door swing aside a handspan, and his shoulders sagged with relief at who he found. "It's Lucan and Leon," he said, throwing a relieved look back at them before stepping aside to the let the soggy knights in.
"Leon." Arthur stood to greet the man as he pulled at the clasps of his drenched cloak. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face was lined with care and exhaustion. "What's happened? Did you find Merlin?"
Leon nodded and gave Guinevere a tired smile as she took his cloak. "Yes, we found him. Caught up to him less than a mile from Broceliande." He held a small leather pouch up to the firelight to pick at the knots.
"And . . . ?" Arthur asked breathlessly.
"He's gone. Disappeared. We searched until the rain began, but this was the only trace we found," Leon said as he finally tugged the bag open and emptied the contents into his hand. "I don't know where he went, or how, or even. . . " He licked his lips before continuing, "All I know is that Pynell shot him in the back, but Merlin managed to get away in spite of it. As for the rest? I don't know." He stepped over to the table and gently placed his tiny burden down. It glinted dully in the firelight.
Arthur's heart sank as he picked it up and held it to the light. It was a steel broadhead- an arrow used in war to kill quickly from a distance. This one was unbroken, but still attached to a few inches of a splintered, blood-encrusted shaft. Dark flakes of rust-red crumbled onto his fingers. 'Merlin's blood.' Arthur did his best to shove away his fears, but it was nigh impossible. Merlin had escaped, Leon said, but they all knew what an arrow wound could do to a man. He had evaded the hunters, yes, but alone and injured Death still stalked the sorcerer.