Chapter 20: On Edge

A welcoming party, it turned out, was a rather grand affair. Along with the Prince and a couple of lords, there were twenty knights in fur-trimmed red cloaks, their armour polished to perfection. The horses' manes had been braided, their hair interwoven with red and gold ribbon, and some of the knights were carrying Pendragon banners. Several squires would be along as well, and there was a small wagon of tents and supplies, so the more important nobles would not have to sleep outside and arrive at the meeting point rumpled and weather-beaten.

The size of their train would slow them down, though Merlin understood that the old Roman road leading to Mercia made for decent travelling, even in autumn.

Samhain was now only a fortnight away, but there had been no rain for a week, which made for an easy journey, and Merlin had to admit, their group was a marvellous sight as it rode under the colourful foliage of Camelot's forests, passing villages and smaller clusters of farms as they made their way towards Mercia.

Luckily, they did not encounter any trouble and by the time the sun was setting, they had long set up camp near the border. Arthur gave some last pointers for the meet-up tomorrow, then told everyone to have an early night before he disappeared into his tent, Merlin in tow.

The Prince was quiet as he let Merlin help him out of his light armour, though he hissed when Merlin finally removed the riding leg. And no wonder – there were several wet, red spots scattered across the skin and the rest of the flesh looked bruised.

Merlin stared at the state of the leg for a moment, too stunned to speak. "How long has it looked like this?" he finally asked, voice clipped.

Arthur looked away. "It's fine. I can manage."

"How is this fine?" Merlin demanded. He pressed a thumb into the flesh to see if there were pockets of fluid or pus, making Arthur flinch. "You should've told me. I'd have brought additional supplies. All I've got is some basic wound salve."

Arthur did not reply. With a grim face, he watched Merlin patch up the worst of the damage and wrap up the limb in bandages for the night. As soon as he was done, he used the crutches they had brought to move over to the travel bed. They were cruder than the ones he used at home, but lighter and thus easier to travel with.

Arthur carefully sank down on the furs. "You'll sleep outside, with the squires," he said curtly.

Merlin frowned. He had expected to be allowed to move his bedroll into Arthur's tent – it was big enough for that and should Arthur require any help in the night, it would be practical, too. "Are you sure? I thought you'd like some company," he replied.

Arthur pursed his lips. "I can't have you chew my ear off. I need to focus on tomorrow."

Merlin could not help but feel hurt, but if Arthur really thought him a distraction, he would not push the point. After all, he did not want to endanger the plan. As he made to leave, Arthur spoke up again.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked.

Merlin stared at him.

"The pain potion," Arthur added gruffly.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Merlin fumbled through his bag until he found the potion he had brought for the journey, laced with some mandrake to take the edge off Arthur's discomfort.

He held out the phial and Arthur took it. For a moment, they both held on to the bottle, staring at each other, and Arthur's eyes were intense enough to send a shiver down Merlin's back.

Did he know something? Had he finally realised that the potion was little more than broth on most days?

But the moment passed, and Arthur looked away as Merlin retreated. "You can go."

It was a clear dismissal and Merlin, too spooked by what had just occurred, gladly fled the tent. He spread out his bedroll by one of the fires, camping as close to Arthur's tent as possible without growing cold, though it took him a long time to fall asleep, wondering if he had imagined things.

If Arthur had figured out the potion was fake, he would have said something by now, would he not? But then, his strange behaviour might just have been another symptom of nervosity. He had kept the true state of his limb from Merlin, too, after all.

At dawn, they broke camp, with Merlin returning to Arthur's tent to get him back into armour and strap on the leg. The Prince stoically endured the pain it had to cause. Merlin would have ordered a break in wearing the replacement, but as it was, Arthur could not take one now.

By the time the sun was fully up, everyone was back on horseback and they could see the Mercian banners in the distance.

Merlin dearly wished he could have ridden with Arthur up front, but a physican's apprentice had no business greeting a king and his son. Still, he managed to bring Moonblossom just close enough to hear and see what was happening, straining his neck to catch a first glimpse of the Mercians as they approached. Their party was smaller than Camelot's, but equally decked out, clearly keen on making a grand impression.

King Bayard was at the front, easily recognised by the golden coronet resting on top of his long, wavy hair. He was a tall man and looked to be younger than Uther. His diplomatic smile was framed by a well-trimmed beard and his blue cloak was billowing in the autumn breeze, the cloth intricately stitched with the white tower emblem of Mercia.

Right next to him rode whom Merlin assumed to be Prince Edwyn, given the silver circlet. He looked to be shorter than his father, but with broad shoulders and a muscular built underneath his armour. His hair was dark, his face edgy, with a sharp nose and strong jaw, though he looked comely enough. However, if he, too, was aiming for a diplomatic expression, he was failing miserably at it. His thin lips gave the impression of a sneer rather than a smile.

Perhaps he was biased, but Merlin took an immediate dislike to the man. And so, with great satisfaction, Merlin watched Prince Edwyn do a rather undignified double-take when he realised who the blond man with the golden circlet leading his entourage had to be. King Bayard, at least, controlled his reaction better, though he also looked taken aback when he brought his horse to a halt.

"King Bayard," Arthur greeted him and dipped his head. "Welcome to Camelot. I hope you had a safe and pleasant journey?"

To King Bayard's credit, it only took him a moment to collect himself. "Prince Arthur," he said. "I thank you. The roads have yet to turn to mud and we made good time."

There was a pause and though it was hard to judge from the distance, Merlin thought the King had just laid eyes on Arthur's leg. They had never fitted it with a boot, unwilling to mess with a design that worked, and so it was easily spotted.

King Bayard did not comment on it, though he did add a pointed, "I must admit, I didn't expect you to be the one to greet us."

"It only seemed proper, Your Majesty," Arthur replied, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, then turned his attention to Prince Edwyn. "Your Highness."

"Your Highness," Prince Edwyn returned. His voice seemed to have gone a little high-pitched with surprise. He cleared his throat, then added in a more dignified tone, "Thank you for welcoming us. We assumed you'd be… indisposed."

"No, I'm quite well, thank you," Arthur returned evenly. Some more introductions were made, then Arthur looked back at King Bayard. "I would suggest merging the trains and leaving right away, Your Majesty. The roads are dry and if we do not encounter any trouble, we should make it to Camelot well before nightfall."

The King agreed and soon, blue cloaks mingled with red ones as the Mercian party joined up with Camelot's men. Unfortunately, this meant that Merlin had to fall back much further than before to make space for the foreign knights. He could still see Arthur from the end of the train, but there was no hope of him catching a single word of the conversation the Prince was having with the Mercians.

From what little he could see, Arthur was keeping his attention on the King, only exchanging the occasional sentence with Prince Edwyn. Whatever it was that Arthur was saying, it seemed to be entertaining King Bayard well enough, as the occasional laugh made it to the back of the train. Prince Edwyn, however, seemed annoyed. He was throwing some dark looks into Arthur's direction and Merlin did not like the sour expression on his face one bit.

In fact, it made his skin crawl.

Suddenly, he regretted not approaching Morgana about her dreams, if only to try and ask her what exactly it was she had seen. Was Arthur to be attacked at Camelot or in some forest? Was it night or day? Was he dressed in armour or regular clothes?

Merlin spent the ride home anxious and tense and was never happier to be riding Moonblossom, who was docile enough to simply trot along and follow the lead of the other riders, paying no attention to Merlin's fidgeting.

By the time the white turrets of Camelot came into view, Merlin's nerves were taut as a bowstring.

They rode through the lower town in the late afternoon to much staring by the common folk, with children cheering and waving as they saw even more splendid knights return. When the train entered the courtyard, King Uther was already descending the main stairs, along with Morgana, the councillors and some other nobles of importance.

By the time Merlin was getting off Moonblossom, King Bayard and Prince Edwyn had dismounted and Tyr and Morris were approaching Llamrei to assist Arthur. While the people of Camelot were by now well used to the sight, the Mercians promptly started staring, with some of the knights in blue leaning in to exchange quiet comments when they saw Arthur accept a crutch, then wait as Morris switched out one leg for the other with practised movements.

Though he was not needed, Merlin handed off Moonblossom to a stablehand and surreptitiously moved closer until he was lingering nearby, unwilling to miss anything, especially where Arthur and Prince Edwyn were concerned.

King Bayard and Prince Edwyn were still so engrossed in the sight of Arthur and Morris that King Uther had to clear his throat to get their attention.

"Uther," said King Bayard after tearing his eyes away and met Uther half-way for an arm clasp. "Thank you for such a warm welcome."

"Bayard. I trust your journey through Camelot was without issue?"

"Quite so," King Bayard replied. "Your son made sure of it."

Uther glanced at Arthur, who was by now fitted with the other leg and had walked up to the group to stand by his father's side. "I am glad."

King Bayard gestured at his own son. "This is Edwyn, my youngest."

Prince Edwyn bowed to the King. "Your Majesty."

Uther gave the Prince a long onceover and the Prince endured it without fidgeting, knowing he was being assessed. Finally, Uther offered him a diplomatic smile. "It is a pleasure, Prince Edwyn. Let me introduce you to my daughter, Princess Morgana." Uther stepped aside, clearing Merlin's line of sight so he could look at Morgana.

Merlin winced when he lay eyes on her. Morgana's face had gone white as a sheet. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and there was a wide look in her eyes, as if she had just seen a ghost. Merlin's stomach twisted itself into a tight knot. Poor Morgana must have recognised Edwyn as the man from her dreams, confirming her worst fears.

"My lady," Edwyn said, voice oozing with courtly charm. Oblivious to what was happening, he reached out to take Morgana's hand, clearly intent on gracing it with a kiss, but Morgana retreated as if she had been burnt.

Edwyn's face fell at the insult and King Bayard frowned, too.

"Forgive my daughter," Uther said quickly after throwing Morgana a dark look. "She's not feeling well today. I shouldn't have made her greet you out here with her so under the weather."

"I'm sorry to hear it," King Bayard said diplomatically.

"I had hoped you would sit by my side at dinner tonight, my lady," Edwyn pointed out, sounding wrong-footed.

Morgana only gave him a tight nod. She seemed to be swaying on the spot and Gwen, who was standing right behind her, placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"I'm certain she will be attending," Uther replied, then turned towards Morgana. "Go and get some rest, my dear. We will see you at dinner."

The royal party soon moved inside, with the rest of the Mercians being shown away by servants. Merlin, after a quick detour into the physician's tower to get rid of his bag and change into some fresh clothes, hurried up to Morgana's chambers. He was about to knock when Gwen opened the door to step out.

She took one look at Merlin and sighed. "You saw, then," she murmured and closed the door behind her.

Merlin glanced at the handle. "How is she?"

"Freaking out," Gwen replied in a low voice. "She says Edwyn looks exactly like the man in her dreams."

Merlin had already known this, but the words still made him feel sick. "She still thinks it's…?"

"Yes," Gwen whispered, then bit her lip.

Merlin nodded stiffly. "What now?"

Gwen grimaced. "I don't know. She's resting, but the King expects her to attend dinner. I doubt she can get around it. Besides, Arthur and she have a strategy and need to present a united front during the entire Mercian visit."

Merlin glanced at the door again, then said, "I hope she feels better soon."

He returned to the infirmary with weak knees. Gaius was still out on some rounds, which left Merlin to despair on his own. He sank down on a bench and buried his face in his hands. Clearly, there was every reason to believe that Morgana's vision showed the future. That meant Arthur might die at Prince Edwyn's hand, unless Merlin prevented it. Only, there was also the very real chance Merlin might make things worse by meddling or that he would be the reason the vision came true in the first place.

Gods, but this was a mess!

Should he return to Morgana's rooms and try to catch her alone? Ask her about the vision to find out more? There was no way he could stick to either prince's side all day to keep an eye on them, especially with Arthur being so stand-offish as of late.

He supposed he could tell Morris to be vigilant, though as a mere servant, there was hardly anything he could do should he suspect Prince Edwyn of foul play.

As it was, Merlin was doomed to wait and see. He cooked supper while he fretted about Arthur being stabbed by Edwyn with a dinner knife, then shared the stew with Gaius when the physician returned. Merlin had yet to tell him about his latest visit to Kilgharrah or Morgana's magic, knowing Gaius would only reprimand him and warn him not to do anything foolish. He dodged his mentor's questions as for why he seemed so agitated, then picked up Arthur's potion and left around the time he expected the royal dinner to be done.

When Merlin slipped inside the chambers, Arthur was there, sitting at the dining table, and so was Morgana, standing in front of his chair, gesticulating wildly. Neither Morris nor Gwen were anywhere in sight.

"… telling you to be careful!" Morgana was saying when Merlin quietly closed the door behind him. She sounded honestly upset.

"Yes, I got that," Arthur replied, voice tense. "I just don't understand where this is coming from, Morgana! Believe me, my first impression of Edwyn is every bit as unfavourable as yours and the idea of him anywhere near you, let alone Camelot's throne, makes me sick, but—"

"He's dangerous," Morgana cut him off, sounding just shy off hysterical now. "You must stay away from him, Arthur! Please! Don't let him provoke you."

"How? He's already doing nothing but provoking me," Arthur retorted. "You heard his little comments and jibes at dinner. He might as well have called me a pathetic cripple to my face for all the subtlety he possesses!"

"All the more reason to stay away from him!" Morgana's voice broke as she added, "Please, I'm begging you."

"I can't!" Arthur exclaimed, looking more and more bewildered at Morgana's agitation. "You know I can't. The plan is to show that I'm a force to be reckoned with. How can I do that if I hide away from Edwyn, simply because he's being insufferable? I need to show the Mercians that I am still capable, that I have support amongst the nobility. We want to make the treaty undesirable. We can't do that if I keep away from them!"

"Please," Morgana begged again. "Please avoid him. For my sake."

Arthur reached out to take Morgana's hands, holding both of them in his, and his voice gentled. "I appreciate your concern, but where is this coming from? Have you heard anything? Are there whispers amongst the knights or…?"

"No, it's just… a feeling I have," Morgana said evasively and abruptly pulled her hands away.

"I'm sorry, but we can't throw away months' worth of work for a feeling," Arthur said firmly. "Edwyn may be behaving despicably towards me, but that means he sees me as a threat. You didn't see him on our ride to Camelot. He was throwing daggers at me. And King Bayard, he struck me as a reasonable man. I don't believe him to be the kind of person to see a treaty through, simply because it has been drawn up. We have a real chance here, Morgana! Don't you see?"

Morgana stared at him for a long moment. "Please be careful," she whispered. With that she turned, brushing past Merlin without acknowledging him as she left the chambers.

But Arthur noticed him. "Eavesdropping?" he asked darkly. "Has nobody taught you any manners?"

Merlin ducked his head and held out the potion. "Sorry. I brought your medicine."

"Put it on the table," Arthur said gruffly.

"What did Morgana say about Edwyn?" Merlin dared to prod as he set down the phial.

Arthur huffed, but relented, "She thinks he's out to kill me." He shook his head. "Must be the nerves. I think seeing Edwyn made her realise just how close she is to being forced into a marriage she doesn't want. I don't blame her for not wanting to wed the man, either, even without the succession issue. He's horrible. There's something sly about his eyes and the way he boasts… I can't believe my father would rather see someone like him on the throne than consider the possibility that I am still fit to rule!"

"Maybe he will come around if he sees what a horrible person Edwyn is," Merlin said, knowing fully well it was unlikely.

Arthur scoffed, "I doubt it," then waved at Merlin. "Off you go. Morris will soon be here with my bath and then, I will retire."

"Let me take a look at your leg again—"

Arthur's face darkened. "What part of go did you not understand?"

"But your leg—"

"Morris can smear on some salve just as well as you," Arthur interrupted. "Leave."

But Merlin did not. Arthur was being unreasonable and his continued rejection was starting to get distressing. "Why are you being like this?" he demanded quietly. "Have I done something? Are you upset with me?"

Arthur immediately averted his eyes. "Leave," he repeated.

"Not unless you tell me what is going on," Merlin pushed.

"I don't have time for this," Arthur replied roughly. "I must focus on the Mercians. Now obey your Prince and go."

It was not a real answer, but clearly the only answer he would get. Merlin wanted to push again – he hated when Arthur and he were at odds – but Arthur was clearly in another one of his moods and Merlin knew he would never budge now.

So he left, only to nearly walk into Morris, who was leading a train of pages and hall boys down the corridor, all of them carrying buckets of steaming bathwater, except for the two hauling along the bath tub.

"Can I talk to you?" Merlin asked on a whim.

Morris nodded, handing off his own bucket and gesturing at the servants to go inside and set up the Prince's bath without him. "What is it?"

Merlin glanced up and down the hallway. "Listen," he said, leaning in. "I can't tell you the specifics, but you must keep an eye on Prince Edwyn. I've got reason to believe he means Arthur harm. Serious harm."

Morris immediately looked alarmed. "How do you know?" he asked, then added in a whisper, "Because of your… you know?"

Merlin could not very well tell him about Morgana, so he nodded. "I can't hang about Arthur to watch out for him. So, please, if anything out of the ordinary happens, even if it's just a subtle threat, get a message to me. Would you do that for me?"

"Of course. You can count on me," Morris replied and made for the door.

"There's something else," Merlin said, holding him back. "Arthur, he's—I don't know. Been off."

"Off?"

"Stand-offish. With me."

Morris bit his lip. "Yes," he agreed. "I've noticed."

"Do you have any idea what is going on?" Merlin pushed. "I don't know what I've done. We haven't argued, I don't think, but he hardly lets me near him."

Morris looked at the door. "I don't know if it's you. He's been acting strange with me, too. I thought it must be the Mercian visit, but…" He pursed his lips, then said, "I think he's hiding something. Earlier, I walked in on him poring over a drawer in his desk, but when he saw me come in, he hurriedly shoved it closed and locked it with his key. What His Highness does at his desk is none of my business, of course, but I thought—well…"

"What?"

"That I heard a sort of clinking sound. Like bottles or flasks rubbing against each other."

Merlin tensed. Arthur, hiding bottles in his desk? "Gods. Do you think…?" He swallowed as the pieces fell into place. "Theriac. It must be."

"I don't know where he would have got any," Morris replied. "I've been keeping a careful eye on him."

They both startled when the boys who had fetched the bathwater came back out, empty buckets in hand. Merlin looked after them until they were out of earshot. "He's not hiding away anymore. Any of those serving boys could have got him some. The apothecary knows not to deliver any, but I'm sure there are other means. A letter from the Prince and some pieces of gold…" He rubbed a hand over his face, hand trembling a little. "Gods, I'm so stupid. He's been complaining about the pain from the sores for weeks and I was so busy worrying about him finding out the potion he's been taking is fake… Of course he'd go back to using." He let out a shaky breath. "This is my fault."

"You mustn't blame yourself," Morris murmured, eyes compassionate.

"I should confront him," Merlin said and made for the door. "We can't have him go back to the way things were, not after he's fought so hard."

This time, Morris was the one holding Merlin back. "Now? With the Mercians here? Do you think that wise? It's not like we can wean him off again while King Bayard and Prince Edwyn are visiting…"

Merlin bit his lip. Morris was right, Arthur could not go through withdrawal right now. And with the mood he was in, he would probably deny he was taking theriac anyway and only push Merlin away further, making it even harder for him to protect Arthur against Prince Edwyn.

But Merlin knew better than anyone else how dangerous theriac could be when too much of it was consumed. If Arthur had slipped back into deep addiction, he likely possessed little impulse control and might be tempted to drink too much of the potion.

"You're right," Merlin said to Morris. "But you must look out for him. He might overuse the theriac and you know what happened the last time he had too much of the poppy tears. If anything is amiss, you must tell me at once. If you feel he is taking more than a bottle a day, hide away the keys to his desk. I mean it."

Morris nodded. "I'll try my best." He grimaced, then added, "Merlin, I'm so sorry I didn't notice—"

"No," Merlin intercepted. "You couldn't have known. He deceived us. It's what addicts do." He waved at the door. "Go. He must be wondering where you are."

Merlin watched Morris disappear into Arthur's rooms, then let out a long breath and allowed himself to lean against the nearest wall, seeking support.

Arthur was back to using theriac. It explained his strange behaviour. Of course, he would not want Merlin close, afraid he might find out and take the medicine away. From what Gaius had told him, these sort of relapses were not uncommon. Arthur might be tempted by poppy tears for the rest of his life.

Arthur was strong, but even the strongest man could break if it all became too much. The sores and bruises on his legs had looked exceedingly painful when Merlin had last seen them in the tent. Of course he would seek relief from them. On top of that, Arthur was under immense pressure from the Mercian visit.

There was only so much stress someone could endure before he would crack, a feeling Merlin was starting to get very familiar with himself.

Arthur's relapse was yet another complication piled on top of a whole mountain of problems Merlin was dealing with.

He brought up a hand to run it through his hair, but ended up hiding his face in it instead. For a moment, he felt as if the weight of it all would crush him. Why him? Why was it his destiny to guide Arthur on his way to greatness? Why was it Merlin's responsibility to keep Arthur safe and make sure he would become King? Merlin was a nobody, just a boy from a small village with a bit of magic at his disposal. Surely, he could not be expected to do all this?

But this was not about destiny alone.

Above all, Arthur was his friend and the next days were crucial for his future.

Merlin would not let him down.