Arthur's feet took him to the training field. The potion in his water had diverted him from daily training with Cameliard's knights—his own eleven knights, as well. Arthur felt as if sand was falling on him, granule by granule, burying him in the hourglass. Caradoc was right. And the council's patience would not last. Julia—Julia should have said something by now—Arthur couldn't fathom her silence, but it too would not last. Arthur considered confiding in Anna; perhaps she would understand. Perhaps her reaction would be indicative of her father's. Or perhaps telling her was as good as telling Leodogran.
He surveyed the field: Cadoc sparred with Erik, who had gladly agreed to Arthur's request to join the men. Erik won the round and Cadoc listened studiously to advice. Madoc, the youngest of Arthur's men, scratched his broken arm and strained to hear what Erik said. Arthur noticed that his men mingled with Cameliard's—Rigel (approaching Erik) retorted to a jest from Sir Alun of Cameliard, and there was good-natured laughter all around.
King Leodogran stood at one end of the field, watching.
"Did you solve your mystery?" he asked when Arthur walked up.
"I did, Sire."
Leodogran nodded to the fight. "Perhaps I should invite Erik to remain in Cameliard."
"Anna rejected him?" Arthur asked as Rigel hit the ground. "Didn't he pass your tests?"
"He did as well as expected. I do not think Anna would have accepted him, but he will withdraw his suit first—probably tonight, after dinner—someplace formal and proper."
Arthur nodded with understanding. It was Sir Alun's turn with Erik, and Rigel and Taran—all of Camelot's knights except Cadoc—were playfully jeering at him in retaliation for taunting Rigel. Arthur watched them carefully, knowing that such moments could easily turn serious. As friendly as his men were with Leodogran's, they would always belong to Camelot.
"You look very serious," Leodogran observed. "If you wish to join them . . ."
"No," Arthur said. "Erik's doing fine."
"You knew he would—you would not have asked him to step in otherwise."
"You should ask him to stay." Arthur felt Leodogran's gaze unpeeling him layer by layer; he continued to watch the training. "If Lot and Royns become a problem," he said, "you'll need all the skill you can get—Erik's too good to turn away." Arthur tried to ignore the ensuing silence and Leodogran's eyes, but it was impossible to concentrate on the fight—he no longer registered the identities of the two men, though Erik was surely still one of them.
"When I asked you to stay," Leodogran sighed, finally turning his head back to the field, "you said for as long as you could."
"I don't want to make things difficult for you."
"Has Cameliard nothing to offer you?"
Arthur pretended to consider—perhaps he did. A hundred possibilities raced through his head, many of them questions he didn't know how to ask; quests that required no sword and he didn't know how to fight.
"Is it home that summons you, or just the next adventure?" Leodogran asked.
"Neither," Arthur said. "I go where I am needed, and right now, I need to be here."
Leodogran put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and there it stayed. The training lasted the rest of the morning; Arthur and Leodogran commented on the various skills and chatted off on tangents. When Erik called an end to the exercises, they were still discussing various affairs.
On the opposite side of the field Merlin wound his way through the dispersing knights, looking for Arthur. He had assumed Arthur would be among the men, but Merlin only spotted him once he looked across the field. Arthur stood beside Leodogran. Merlin knew by the composed expressions on their faces that Arthur had said nothing of the council, or his true identity. As for what Arthur had revealed about the potion . . .
Sir Taran caught Merlin's eye—a silent message of concern and impatience—a knowing look, one that told Merlin each one of Camelot's knights had also noticed where Arthur was. But Merlin didn't know what he was supposed to do about it—he wanted to go home to Camelot as much as anyone, and yet, he loved the freedom of Cameliard. Merlin remained as all the knights departed, watching Arthur, and thinking he was alone.
"Is he a prince, like rumors say?" Erik's voice said beside him.
"What?" Merlin turned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur and Leodogran leave the field. "H-how would I know?—I'm just a lowly apprentice."
Erik laughed. "It's all right, Merlin. I'm not insulted." Erik also watched Arthur and Leodogran disappear. "Princess Anna deserves the best."
"So you two are getting married, then?"
Again, Erik laughed. "Court physicians are not supposed to be the flatterers."
"I'm not— . . . Anna turned you down?"
Erik hesitated. "Not exactly," he said. "I haven't told the Princess or the King yet," he added, as though revealing the deepest of secrets.
"I'm not going to say anything," Merlin said.
"Princess Anna and I were not meant to be." Erik's words tiptoed out of his mouth.
Merlin nodded.
"And it has nothing to do with their tests," Erik said defensively.
"Never said it did," Merlin said.
Erik looked at him—he had expected a talking-down.
"I can't live in a marriage without love," Erik continued.
"You shouldn't have to—love is the greatest power in the world," Merlin said.
"Somewhere out there is my true love—and when I see her, I'll recognize her as if I've known her forever." Erik stared off, talking to himself—or to some unknown antagonist. So Merlin said nothing, waiting for him to finish.
"I want to marry for something more than political convenience," Erik said firmly. "My father thinks I'm being silly—stupid is his word." Erik looked at Merlin.
"No," Merlin said. "Everyone deserves their True Love—you shouldn't marry for anything less. Besides, how else is a knight's quest supposed to end?"
Erik laughed, though not as deeply as before. "I didn't find much of a quest here," he said.
"I think you faced more than enough challenges," Merlin said.
Erik sighed imperceptibly. He seemed lighter—relieved and assured.
"Thank you," he finally said to Merlin.
Anna had been sweating, and the grime still showed on her hands and face as she chatted with a trio of druids wearing white robes. She wore breaches and a leather jerkin and nodded to something one of the druids said, her hands playing with the reins of her horse. Caradoc stood silently nearby, stroking the nose of her own black horse. She wore the same dark attire she always wore when riding—but the dust of the road had turned her boots from black to brown-grey. And unlike Anna, whose hair hung braided down her back, Caradoc's dark hair was tangled loose and windswept about her shoulders. Sir Bors, who had also ridden out with the Princess that morning, was still mounted, surveying the busy afternoon streets and the townfolk flowing around the Princess.
Arthur watched Anna, waiting for the interview with the druids to end. As soon as the druids nodded their farewells, he approached.
"Erik is waiting for you in the garden," he said.
"Thank you, Captain," Anna said, and with a tilt of her head dismissed Caradoc and Bors. A servant appeared at Anna's side to take her horse, and she handed him the reins. She laced her arm through Arthur's and together they walked toward the castle, Anna smiling and nodding to passers-by.
"Erik bores you," Arthur stated.
"Erik is kind and courteous," Anna said, waving her fingers to a young girl who curtsied with an apron full with apples.
"He would have been good for Cameliard," Arthur said.
"'Would've been'? You've been talking to father."
"He thinks Erik will withdraw his suit."
Anna sighed as they entered the castle. "I can't give Erik what he wants—a lovely princess to end his story happily."
They ascended the stairs. "What do you want?" Arthur asked.
"What do I want?" Anna repeated slowly after a moment's pause. "I want my kingdom safe and my people happy," she said neutrally.
Arthur sensed she was holding something back, but he was not so deep in her confidence that she would say more. "Don't we all," he said. It was true enough—a goal he himself coveted and a failure he feared. They continued in pensive silence to Anna's chambers and Arthur held open her door. As she entered the room, she untied her hair and loosened her braid, still deep in thought. She scratched her head and opened her wardrobe, unwinding her long tresses with wiggling fingers and staring at her clothes.
"I'll send for Rhona," Arthur said.
"I'm not my servant's doll," Anna said curtly. And then caught herself. She closed her wardrobe and her eyes—Arthur heard her sigh.
"I can dress myself," she said, invoking a lighter tone as she approached him. "You, on the other hand look like you need all the help you can get. Or is Merlin the one making this mess?" she ruffled Arthur's hair.
"No," Arthur said, playfully batting her hand away. "When he did it, it looked much worse."
"I'm sure," she said, pushing Arthur towards the door. "Now, unless you'd like to start a scandal with me, it is time to leave."
"But a scandal is all I've ever wanted," Arthur protested, pretending to resist as Anna pushed.
Anna laughed, and for one second they stayed there, Anna's hand on Arthur's shoulder, Arthur leaning—smiling and open. And then the smiles faded, each a mirror to the other.
"My Lady," Arthur said as he bowed his head and left.
Torches flickered sporadically in the throne room, and deep shadows hung with the tapestries, competing with the night. Most of Cameliard had retired. Yet Lady Julia's footsteps echoed across the floor as she proceeded to the throne where King Leodogran sat slumped and contemplative—he sat in darkness, though his lined features were clear enough in the meager torchlight. In one hand he grasped the goblet meant for his daughter; the other held the mug meant for the Captain of his guard.
"One gives you love," Leodogran said as Julia stopped in front of him, "and the other takes it away. Choose."
"Does this game have a point?" Julia asked. The room seemed empty, even of the two of them.
"Don't worry, Julia—I know you have never resorted to such measures—you think far too highly of yourself."
"Does this game have a point."
Leodogran circled the goblet's base on the arm of his throne. "I know why someone tried to enchant Anna. Again." He stopped the motion and looked at Julia. "But why the Captain?"
"How would I know?"
"Your web covers many walls."
"Maybe not everyone is stupid enough to ignore the Captain's secrecy."
"They are stupid enough to ignore his deeds. He has served Cameliard honorably."
"And you were hoping your daughter would notice?" Julia said. "She has noticed, Leodogran. She has noticed what you have trained her to notice, and she has noticed what only a woman could notice. But even if the Captain were to court her, she would never accept him—you've made damn sure of that."
Leodogran stood suddenly, and the goblet hit the floor, rolling with a tinny, grinding sound.
"Anna is my legacy," Leodogran said, "why should she not be my heir?"
"She is your heir."
"And yet it is her husband who will rule after me. But all you have presented to me—"
"To Anna."
"—are spoiled twits who think they know everything."
"Is that what you think of Erik?" Julia said, wounded.
Leodogran sat down heavily. "Erik is a noble young man who does what he is told and follows whatever plan somebody has laid out for him. This makes him a good soldier. He is an excellent fighter; he has no idea what the crown brings."
"Well he certainly won't learn what nobody teaches him. You don't know what Erik could become. Not even Blaise can see the future."
Leodogran smiled weakly. "It does not matter now—Erik has withdrawn his suit."
"Anna would not have chosen him anyway—she will never choose a husband so long as her head is filled with your empty promises."
"She can do the job, Julia. You know it, the council knows it, the servants know it—every man, woman and child in Cameliard knows it."
Julia sighed and pinched Leodogran's chin with her thumb and forefinger, lifting his gaze to hers. "Anna will make an exceptional Queen, Leo. You are the only one who sees something wrong with that."
Leodogran pulled his head away from her hand. "Not even Blaise can see the future," he said quietly.
Merlin carefully studied the book, barely conscious of the three orbs of light floating stationary above him—he had long ago mastered that spell and could conjure it in his sleep. Several candles were lit around the small room, and both his and Arthur's beds had been turned down for the night. Merlin heard the door open behind him, but was glued to his book.
"Just put it beside the basin," Merlin said.
"What?" Arthur demanded. Merlin jerked around; Arthur stood in the open doorway.
"Uh . . ."
Arthur made an exasperated sound and almost shut the door on the servant just arriving behind him. The servant recovered, managing to keep the ewer of water he carried from spilling. Merlin indicated a small table between the two beds where an empty basin waited. Neither Merlin nor Arthur budged until the servant had gone.
"I see you've gotten used to ordering servants around," Arthur said.
"Have I?" Merlin returned to his book.
"Yes, Merlin, you've . . ." Arthur said, losing interest in Merlin, drawn instead to the three hanging orbs of light. He approached them, as if they called him forward—they seemed so familiar . . . Merlin felt Arthur's closing presence; his eyes flicked up to the lights that absorbed Arthur's attention.
Merlin slammed the book shut and cleared his throat—the orbs vanished.
"Have you conjured that before?" Arthur pointed up at the empty air.
"To read on a horse."
Arthur glowered in annoyance. He tore off his belt and tossed it to the floor. He moved to the ewer and splashed water into the basin. He plunged his hands in and soaked his sleeves. Accidentally. The scarlet fabric changed to dark brown beneath the water.
"Is that light easy to do?" Arthur fidgeted with his sleeve-ends underneath the water as candlelight flickered with the ripples.
"Easy enough, I guess—I'm still learning." Merlin watched Arthur.
"Were you learning in Camelot?" Arthur said to the water.
Merlin made an uneasy attempt at laughter. "You'd have had my head."
Arthur swung around, rocking the basin and sending water over the side to pool on the wood. He glared at Merlin as drops trickled down his fingers onto the floor. "You think so?" He looked at his hands in frustration and flicked water off before reaching for a towel. "I guess now we'll never know."
"Arthur . . ."
"I'm not mad," Arthur insisted. "You were protecting yourself, that's only fair. It would've been wrong for you to endanger others—Gaius knows, doesn't he?"
Merlin didn't answer.
Arthur sat heavily down on the bed. Slowly, idly, he removed his boots.
"Arthur, when we go back to Camelot—"
"You're not going back to Camelot. You have to stay in Cameliard—or a powerful sorceress might get mad and destroy the kingdom," Arthur scoffed—a hollow, mirthless chuckle. "It's hard to see my father as entirely wrong," his pressed his hands against his face.
"Do the knights know?" Merlin asked apprehensively.
Arthur spoke into his fingers. "They know Ninaeve threatened Blaise into taking you as his apprentice—they think you're learning medicine."
"And if they don't, we can blame Ninaeve?"
"Merlin . . ." Arthur lifted his head.
"I'm not leaving you. You're a prat, but I'm not leaving you."
"What about Cameliard?"
"I don't think Ninaeve would really destroy it. Blaise can still teach me—I can borrow his books—"
Arthur stood abruptly and paced the room.
"You didn't tell Leodogran who you are," Merlin finally said.
"This isn't about me."
"What about Cameliard? Uther is—"
"I know, Merlin," Arthur said, still pacing. "I'll have to leave soon." Arthur stopped. "But what about magic?" Arthur stared—an awkward supplicant—at Merlin in his chair, who didn't answer. "Blaise says there's a record of the Purge."
"You didn't know?"
"Stupid, isn't it," Arthur paced the length of the room again. "I grew up with the Purge, but . . ."
"Do you remember it?"
Arthur shook his head. "I was a baby. And even when I could to fight—the Purge was too important. I was a nuisance, getting in the way." Arthur sat down on his bed again, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring through a distance only he could fathom.
"It wasn't your fault," Merlin said quietly.
"I wanted to be a part of it—to make my father—"
Silence.
"You're not responsible for your father's actions, Arthur."
"An heir is responsible for a legacy, Merlin."
"Arthur?" Merlin moved from the desk to his bed, sitting down across from Arthur. "How do you feel about magic?" They stared eye-to-eye, Merlin afraid to look anywhere else.
Arthur broke the contact, regarding instead his hands, the floor, his feet; Merlin held his breath.
"You saved my life," Arthur said quietly, staring at his fingers. It was not a question but Merlin nodded nonetheless. Perhaps Arthur saw the movement, or maybe he came to some internal decision—he nodded his head also, a small, half-conscious motion. He looked at Merlin.
"It's going to be all right," he affirmed.
Merlin allowed the vaguest of smiles to find his lips—he knew he needed to believe for the sake of Arthur's conviction. And he did believe—he believed in the depths of his soul; he felt only certainty, as if Destiny were filling him in. Merlin wished there was some gesture or word he could give Arthur, to assure him, but it all felt inadequate. He felt the emptiness of the space between their knees as Arthur's gaze again wandered—he turned it into supportive closeness, willing Arthur to realize he was not alone.
"You actually trust him?" Cole said to Sagremore.
"He has acted on Cameliard's behalf at great risk to himself," Sagremore replied to the fire in front of him. His tone was noncommittal and he acted only partly aware of Cole standing nearby.
"What about Uther?" Cole persisted. He felt restless and started fidgeting with a tapestry hanging on one of the walls of Sagremore's chambers—it depicted an irrelevant scene.
"Kings die," Sagremore said. "New kings forge new orders."
Cole turned impatiently to stare at Sagremore's fire-lit profile. "Is that your way of saying that Arthur is different from Uther?"
"He has already shown acceptance of magic—so yes, I think he thinks for himself."
"Uther tolerated magic once, according to the stories."
Sagremore gazed into the flames. "Uther declared war on something that's a natural, vital part of the world. It's amazing he survived his own folly for so long."
Cole strode, weight on cane, to the other side of the room, saying, "You should be worried that he succeeded so well with impunity. If ever there were a warrior to fear, it's Uther."
"And yet his son defies him—does that mean Uther has grown weak, or that Arthur is strong?"
Cole stared at Sagremore a moment, perturbed by his studied lack of emotion, but Sagremore did not turn to Cole for an answer to his question. Cole looked to the mundane fire, then let his eyes lose focus over Sagremore's head. Finally, he turned around to gaze into the window glass. Sagremore finally glanced at him.
"Don't let Alaric worry you, Cole. No one man can wipe out magic; and if Uther used it in the past when it suited him, don't assume that means he understood it. And don't assume impunity—magic is patient. As for Arthur, we'll see his true nature soon enough by how he deals with Uther's search for him. Why are you so paranoid?"
Cole stared into the space between the glass and the night. "Because Arthur is not the only one playing a dangerous game."
-end-