Chapter 21: Challenged

Merlin did not tell Gaius about his suspicions that Arthur was using theriac again. He was already hiding his knowledge of Morgana's magic and visions from him and feared that, if they had a lengthy talk, Gaius would see right through him and have him reveal more than he should.

It was hard, though, not being able to confide in his mentor, especially after another mostly sleepless night of tossing, turning and fretting.

"It's not like you to skip breakfast," Gaius observed, eyeing Merlin's hardly touched gruel.

"Just not hungry," Merlin replied evasively and pushed the food away.

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, but reached out for the bowl to eat the gruel himself. "In that case, you can get started on the deliveries," he said between two spoonfuls. "There's still some cases of lung fever going about the lower town and I've made potions for all of them. I've labelled the phials. And make sure to change the bandages on the stonemason's ankle! Look in on the cobbler's wife, too, would you? I don't like the look of her sore hands."

Merlin cast a worried glance at the bottles and supplies lined up on the workbench. Those deliveries would keep him away from the castle for most of the morning, which meant he would be too far away from Arthur to protect him from Prince Edwyn. "Don't you have rounds in the castle I could take over instead?" he asked.

"I wasn't aware an apprentice was free to pick his duties," Gaius said drily.

Merlin's shoulders slumped. "Sorry, Master Gaius."

Gaius waved his spoon at the workbench. "And make sure to collect any empty bottles, will you? I seem to be running out…"

"Yes, Master Gaius," Merlin replied distractedly, his mind already back with Arthur.

He spent the morning running about the lower town and rushing through the visits, skipping his usual small talk with the patients and games with the children, and hurried back to the castle as soon as he could, all the while fearing that he might return to the sight of Arthur, bleeding out in the infirmary.

But to Merlin's relief, he spotted Arthur in the courtyard as soon as he had passed the drawbridge. He was standing at the bottom of the grand stairs with King Bayard, Prince Edwyn and Leon, conversing.

Seeing Arthur whole and alive eased most of the tension he had worked up while hurrying about the lower town, and when Arthur happened to turn his head to look at him, Merlin could not help but send him a bright smile.

To his surprise, Arthur waved at him. "Merlin," he called out. "Come here for a moment!"

Merlin slowed down and dutifully redirected his steps towards the group. Mindful of the royal company, he bowed at Arthur. "Was there anything you needed, Your Highness?"

"King Bayard wanted to meet you," Arthur replied and gestured at the King in question.

"Me? Why?" Merlin exclaimed, promptly breaking protocol.

Luckily, King Bayard did not seem bothered by Merlin's misstep. He gave a nod and said, "Prince Arthur tells me it was you who came up with the, ah, equipment he's using." In spite of his hesitation, the words did not sound condescending, but rather like he had taken a genuine interest.

Still, Merlin glanced at Arthur for permission before he replied, "I was involved, yes. But I've had plenty of help, Your Majesty. I couldn't have done it without the smith's daughter and the royal carpenter as well as the approval of my master, the physician Gaius."

King Bayard smiled at him. "Your humility is a credit to you, young man. But Prince Arthur assured me you were the driving force behind all of it."

Merlin threw Arthur another look, but he had put on a diplomatic expression and gave no clue as to what he wanted Merlin to say. "His Highness is very kind," Merlin replied vaguely, unwilling to offend and ruin whatever progress Arthur might have made with his plan.

"I must admit, I'm rather curious about the design," King Bayard went on. "I have never seen anything like it. I have lost a good knight or two to a missing limb, but now I feel I might have been too hasty to release them from their duties."

Before Merlin could reply, Prince Edwyn had let out a derisive snort. "Too hasty? Hardly, Father. It's not like Prince Arthur here is ever going to wield a sword again."

Merlin immediately bristled at the snide words. "I'm afraid you're wrong. The leg's design allows the Prince to fight as well as to walk," he said, not bothering with an honorific.

Edwyn seemed too surprised by Merlin's words to notice the disrespect. He raised an eyebrow at Arthur's leg. "Is he serious? You can fight with that thing?"

Merlin winced at his tone. Perhaps he had just revealed something Arthur had not wanted to reveal just yet.

But Arthur only lifted his chin. "I can," he confirmed.

"Really?" Edwyn sounded more than sceptical. He turned his eyes on Leon. "He trains with you and the other knights?"

Leon inclined his head. "He does, Your Highness," he said and though the words were respectful, Merlin thought he could detect a challenge there as well. Clearly, Merlin was not the only one bothered by Prince Edwyn's attitude.

"I see," said Edwyn and focused back on Arthur. "Well, as I understand it, the Mercian knights are due to train with Camelot's men this afternoon. Why don't we both join them and you can give us some proof of your prowess?"

"Edwyn," King Bayard spoke up, a hint of warning in his voice.

"What?" Edwyn replied. "I'm just curious about the design, same as you, Father. Surely, Prince Arthur is only too happy to demonstrate."

Arthur's mouth went a little tight, but all he said was, "Of course. An hour after lunch. Light armour should suffice."

"Looking forward to it."

With that, King Bayard and Prince Edwyn took their leave, ascending the stairs. As soon as the Mercians were out of earshot, Merlin turned towards Arthur. "I'm so sorry, Arthur, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it," Arthur cut him off. "It's all fine."

But it was not all fine to Merlin. In fact, his stomach was doing somersaults as he thought over the implications of what had just happened. Arthur and Edwyn would meet on the training grounds this afternoon, where there were plenty of weapons around – a perfect opportunity for Edwyn to slay Arthur!

"You won't fight him, will you?" Merlin asked urgently. "Please, you must be careful!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're starting to sound like Morgana."

"He's not wrong to be worried, sire," Leon spoke up. "Your fighting skills have improved immensely, of course, but…"

Arthur grimaced. "Yes, Leon, I know. You don't need to remind me that I'm still lacking."

"It doesn't mean you haven't earned the men's respect—" Leon stopped when Arthur held up a hand.

"Please, spare me," he said gruffly. "Inform Sir Geraint that Prince Edwyn and I will join training this afternoon, would you?"

Leon pursed his lips, but obediently inclined his head and left.

"Arthur—" Merlin tried again.

"Don't you have work with Gaius?" Arthur brushed him off. "I have to get back to my duties as well." He turned and walked off.

Merlin did return to the infirmary, but begged Gaius for the afternoon off. Fortunately, Gaius indulged him this time and so, after lunch, Merlin made his way to the training grounds, where he lingered at the fence and chewed at his lip. He was full of restless energy and his magic reacted to it, prickling across his skin.

Was this it? Would Edwyn try and slay Arthur right here, right now, with everyone watching?

The Mercian knights had already arrived, as had most of Camelot's. The groups had mingled a little, exchanging whatever pleasantries nobles were taught to fall back on, and Merlin's nerves only got worse at the sight of Sir Bors, his scar still bright red in his face. Had Morgana not dreamt of him, too?

Neither Arthur nor Prince Edwyn had yet to make an appearance, though the latter soon strode onto the training fields, clad in a full set of shining armour, a mighty longsword tied to his belt, looking for all in the world like he was about to go to war.

He made a show of looking around, then said loudly to one of the Mercian knights, "Seems like Prince Arthur has begged off training after all. I can't say I'm surprised."

The mood on the grounds immediately shifted. Leon, one of the Camelotian knights to have already arrived, immediately took a step forward. "His Highness is a man of his word. He will be here."

"Delayed, then," Edwyn replied. "I suppose it's understandable. I'm sure it must take him forever to get anywhere, given the state he's in."

Merlin watched with growing dread as most of Camelot's knights tensed at the Mercian prince's words. A few of them even went so far as to move their hands to their sword hilts.

"I assure you, our Prince is quite capable," Leon responded and there was an edge to his voice now, belying his calm face.

Edwyn smirked. "Such a shame, though, that he doesn't make for a capable King."

Hisses and murmurs rose from the knights of Camelot and Leon's face darkened. He took another step forward, but before he could speak again, he was interrupted by a firm voice. "Is there a problem here?"

Everyone turned to see that Arthur had arrived, wearing his hauberk and a few choice pieces of armour. He had one crutch tucked under his armpit and was making confident use of it as he approached. Fortunately, the dry weather had been holding up and so, he had no trouble leaving the paved path to make his way across the grounds. Mud, they had found, made training almost impossible for him.

"No problem," said Edwyn, still smirking. "We were just wondering where you were."

Arthur glanced around. "Really? The First Knight has yet to arrive, so I'd say I'm well on time."

"The First Knight," Edwyn repeated. "One would think that would be you, no? You don't lead the training yourself?" His tone could not have been more condescending.

"No," Arthur replied evenly. "The knights have been entrusted to Sir Geraint, who has earned his rank with skill and honour."

As if on cue, Sir Geraint appeared at the edge of the field, a group of squires with training swords in tow. His arrival was enough to defuse most of the lingering tension and soon, everyone was in formation and busy going through drills.

Arthur had started to join in some of the regular training exercises weeks ago, but had had to modify many of them, as he could only use one hand for the sword and relied heavily on his crutch. In Merlin's opinion, he still did a better job than Prince Edwyn and many of the Mercian knights, who seemed unfamiliar with some of the drills and looked less than elegant trying to imitate them.

Edwyn, especially, had made the mistake not to heed Arthur's advice to wear light armour, and by the time Sir Geraint called for a water break, his head had turned bright red in spite of the cool autumn air.

Nonetheless, he seemed determined to provoke. After everyone had gathered at the side lines for a drink, he turned towards Arthur and said loudly, "I must applaud you, Your Highness. You are making a valiant effort to try and keep up with the other men."

Arthur remained calm in the face of Edwyn's thinly veiled insult. "As are you," he replied with a polite smile. "I hope you don't find Camelot's training regimen too taxing?"

Edwyn wrinkled his nose and scoffed, "Please! We train much harder in Mercia."

"In that case, I'm surprised you have worked up such a sweat already," Arthur replied and took a sip of water. That was when he caught sight of Merlin, who was still lingering at the fence, shamelessly listening in. Before Edwyn could come up with another snide response, Arthur excused himself and approached.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Merlin plastered an innocent smile on his face and patted the medical bag slung around his shoulder. "Standing by," he said. "In case anyone gets injured. We can't have a Mercian bleed out and cause a diplomatic incident, now, can we?"

Arthur did not seem happy with his flippant response, but just at that moment, Sir Geraint announced it was time for round two and Arthur turned away without saying anything else. As he had not ordered Merlin to leave, he saw no reason not to stay.

Sir Geraint had brought out several targets and soon, all of the knights were back out on the fields. They each took their turn shooting arrows and throwing daggers while the others watched, with particularly good or bad performances met with either rounds of clapping or teasing.

As far as Merlin could tell, Prince Edwyn seemed to be a decent shot with the bow. He threw Arthur a challenging look after hitting the bull's eye more often than not, clearly convinced Arthur was not up for the task. But Arthur had quickly adapted to shooting in a kneeling position, no crutch needed, and evenly matched Prince Edwyn's score before accepting Leon's help to get back to his feet.

Merlin was too nervous to appreciate the small victory. He was digging his nails into his palms at seeing Edwyn wield dangerous weapons in Arthur's proximity. Any minute now, he feared, Mercia's Prince might turn on the spot to shoot an arrow in Arthur's direction.

The knives were next, though Edwyn seemed less skilled with the daggers than with the bow. He never missed the target, but not many of the knives ended up at the centre.

"My turn," Arthur said eventually and knelt again, spreading the daggers on the ground next to him.

Each and every one of Arthur's daggers met the centre of the target, with the last one precisely hitting the hilt of another to form a stack of two knives. That particular trick earned himself appreciative hoots and claps, even from the Mercian knights, whereas Prince Edwyn looked like he had just smelt something foul.

On any other day, Merlin might have rolled his eyes and called Arthur a show-off. Now, Merlin was only too glad he was holding his own and above all, relieved to see the training session finally come to an end. Clearly, whatever Morgana had seen, it was not meant to happen here.

As Merlin returned to the physician's tower, he could not help but wonder again if Morgana's vision truly showed the future. If Edwyn really was plotting, he had just missed the perfect opportunity to make attacking Arthur look like a training accident.

Perhaps, Merlin mused hopefully, it was not meant to happen at all. The dragon had said that visions of the future did not always show the whole truth. Maybe the future had already changed for some reason or the other, and Edwyn would never kill Arthur at all.

Merlin should have known, of course, that things could not be that simple.

That night, there was a great feast. Merlin, naturally, had not been invited. But Gaius had been, and so Merlin was left to his own devices in the tower. He spent the evening studying the grimoire by the fire, wrapped in a warm blanket, hoping Arthur's and Morgana's plans were progressing well.

From what he had heard from Gwen, Morgana was doing her very best to snub Edwyn without outwardly going against court protocol. The Prince, however, seemed to be taking it as Morgana playing hard-to-get and appeared to show no signs of losing interest in the match.

Merlin almost fell off his chair when, a good two hours into the feast, the door to the infirmary suddenly flew open. Merlin hurriedly closed the book and hid it under the blanket, then turned to see that it was Morris, his expression wild.

"Merlin!" he exclaimed. "Quick! It's Prince Arthur!"

Merlin scrambled to his feet. "What? What about Arthur? What happened?" Images of Arthur lying in a puddle of his own blood flashed before his inner eye, almost making him feel faint.

"He's been challenged by Prince Edwyn!" Morris cried. "A duel, tomorrow at noon!"

Merlin reached for the back of the chair to steady himself. "A duel?"

"Yes! A challenge was made, before the entirety of the court!"

"Where is he now?" Merlin demanded. "Still at the feast?"

"He's just gone back to his chambers, with Princess Morgana and Gwen."

They hurried to Arthur's rooms together, where they were met with the sight of a still weeping Morgana, collapsed in a chair. Gwen was hovering near her with a goblet of wine, trying to get her to drink something, though she looked almost equally upset herself.

"You'll die," Morgana moaned, just as Merlin closed the door behind him. "You'll die, Arthur! I know it!"

"You don't know that," Arthur replied. He was pacing about the room, his wooden leg and crutch thumping loudly against the ground. "It's not a duel to the death, Morgana. One party must yield, that is all."

"It's true, then?" Merlin intercepted. "You accepted a challenge from Prince Edwyn?"

Arthur looked at him and grimaced, though he never stopped his pacing. "I had little choice in the matter. The challenge was made in front of the entire court. The Knight's Code is clear. I could not have refused him without losing my honour."

"Why on Earth would he challenge you like this?" Merlin asked.

Arthur made a waving motion with his hand. "Because his pride was wounded on the training grounds today, most likely. Bested at the targets by a cripple! Clearly, he could not bear the shame."

Merlin shook his head. "But doesn't he need a reason to challenge you?"

"Very little reason, I'm afraid," Arthur replied. He had finally stopped pacing, though he looked no less agitated as before. "He was rude to Morgana after she had turned down his offer to dance. When I defended her, he purposefully misinterpreted my words as a slight to his honour and threw the gauntlet. No more is needed than that. The challenge is valid."

"The challenge is a farce!" It was Morgana who had spoken. She had straightened in the chair and was running a sleeve over her face, brushing away the tear tracks. "If anything, it should have been you to challenge Edwyn, that insufferable little…" She cursed, rather unlike a princess, then added, "I can't believe neither King told Edwyn to back off!"

"Bayard tried to make him see reason, but the challenge had already been made, and before plenty of witnesses, too," Arthur replied. "Kings are bound by the Knight's Code, same as anyone. Unless Edwyn himself takes back the challenge, we must fight."

"Then you have to pick a champion," Morgana said. "It's the only way. You cannot duel him yourself. Choose one of the knights and have them fight for you!"

"You can do that?" Merlin exclaimed hopefully, but his relief was short-lived.

"No, I cannot," Arthur denied. "If I do that, it'll only confirm I'm weak. Unfit to lead. I won't convince Bayard to abandon the treaty if I let others fight my battles for me. I must duel Edwyn myself and prove my worth."

Morgana shot up from her chair. "Have you gone insane?" she demanded. "It might not be a duel for life and death, but that doesn't mean you cannot die. You know how these things go! Plenty of men have died in a friendly match and Edwyn is hardly going to hold back. Pick a champion!"

"I can't," Arthur insisted.

Morgana's eyes were fierce, but she made a visible effort to calm herself. "Arthur," she tried again, gentling her tone. "Any of Camelot's knights would gladly fight in your stead, I'm sure of it. They admire you and on top of that, they detest Edwyn. You've seen how they look at him. He's not their future King, you are."

"Leon already offered to take my place," Arthur admitted. "But I refused him."

"Arthur, please think about this—" Merlin spoke up, unwilling to stay silent any longer.

But Arthur cut him right off. "Don't bother, Merlin. My decision is final."

Gwen, who had also been holding herself back until now, chose that moment to move forward and grasp Arthur's hand. "Please, Arthur," she begged. "I could not bear to see you hurt. Please, for my sake, pick a champion."

Arthur lifted Gwen's hand and kissed it. "If I could I would, Guinevere," he said roughly. "But this is something I must do myself. If I don't fight him, I might as well abdicate now."

Gwen sniffed loudly, but when Arthur tried to pull her close with one arm, offering comfort, she took a decisive step back.

"There is brave and there is foolish," she said and rubbed a hand over her glistening eyes. "I never thought you the latter, but clearly, I was wrong."

Arthur recoiled a little at her words, but his voice remained firm when he replied, "You can't expect me to let Edwyn win at his game! He wants to present himself as the superior choice before all eyes in Camelot. If I don't fight, he's got his proof!"

"You are letting him win at his game if you fight him yourself! You are not good enough to defeat him and there is no shame in that." Gwen made a slashing gesture with her hand when Arthur tried to interrupt her. "Let me finish! Edwyn isn't stupid. He knows you can't beat him with a sword, and he won't hold back, either. He counts on you getting severely injured or killed, leaving him free to take the throne without any further opposition. That is his plan, clear as day!"

"If I don't take his challenge and send a champion in my place, everyone will think me weak or a coward!" Arthur argued.

"No, they won't!" Gwen vehemently shook her head. "They will think you wise. They will think you a man who knows to pick his battles and who accepts that he has limits, like everyone else. We all know things have changed since you've lost your leg. Nobody expects you to be able to do everything!"

"Nobody," said Arthur bitterly. "Except my father."

"Oh, is that it?" Morgana spoke up, voice harsh. "You want to impress him, after all he's done? After how he's cast you aside?"

"It's not about impressing anyone. It's about proving my worth as a prince!" Arthur told her.

Morgana opened her mouth to argue further, but Gwen's hand on her arm had her back down.

"Come, my lady," said Gwen. "He's too stubborn to see reason."

They threw Arthur matching looks of hurt and disappointment, then left, walking hand in hand.

Arthur stared after them, a pained expression on his face. Then he turned abruptly and moved towards the side room. "Morris," he said roughly. "Go and fetch some more wood. The fire is burning low."

"Yes, my lord," Morris replied quietly and threw Merlin a sombre look before leaving the chambers.

Reeling from what he had just witnessed, Merlin needed a moment to collect himself before he followed Arthur to his desk, where the Prince had sat down. He was hunched over and rubbing at his left leg, grimacing.

When he saw Merlin approach, he scowled. "Can't you take a hint? I want to be alone."

"Gwen and Morgana are right," Merlin replied, ignoring Arthur's words. "You cannot do this."

Arthur glared at him. "I will not discuss this with you. I will fight Edwyn and that is my final say on the matter."

"You don't think Gwen is right, then?" Merlin pushed. "You think you have a real chance of defeating him?"

"I've been training hard," Arthur replied curtly. "But even if I must yield in the end, it is better than not to have fought at all. If I can hold my own for a few minutes, it might just be enough to convince Bayard that I'm a force to be reckoned with. That's the plan, and I'm sticking with it." He looked away and reached for some parchment, clearly set on brushing Merlin off, as he had done so many times in the past days.

But Merlin would not back down today. "You truly believe you can hold out for that long?" he pressed. "I saw you at training today. You hid it well from the others, but I know you. Your left leg is bothering you more than you let on. The end must be rubbed raw and bloody at this point. The pain alone will be enough to distract you from the fight."

"I can manage," Arthur said, eyes still on whatever letter he had grabbed. "I have handled it so far."

"Because of the theriac?" Merlin demanded, before he could help himself.

Arthur's head snapped up. "The what?" he growled.

Merlin's heart skipped a beat, but he ended up standing his ground, crossing his arms. He had not wanted to bring up Arthur's relapse, but he might as well confront Arthur now. "I know you're using again."

"What in all hells are you talking about?" Arthur exclaimed, eyes ablaze. "I haven't had a single drop of theriac since I've been weaned off!"

"Morris found you out," Merlin retorted, gesturing at the desk. "He knows you're hiding the bottles in your drawer."

Arthur's face darkened further. "Oh, does he now? He's your little spy, then, is he?"

"You should have told me," Merlin said. "I wouldn't have judged you for it, I would have helped you."

Arthur glowered at him for a long moment. Then he reached for his belt and retrieved his key ring, leaning over to unlock a drawer. From there, he retrieved a bottle.

And another. And another. And another.

Merlin's mouth went dry as he watched Arthur neatly line up what looked to be at least ten bottles on the desk. They were not theriac. They were the nutritious potion Arthur took every night, except he clearly had not been taking them. It was in that moment that Merlin realised that he had neither seen Arthur actually take the potion, nor collected the empty bottles from him in weeks. He had been so busy fretting about Arthur being stand-offish and the Mercians that he had not even noticed something so very obvious. Gods, he was stupid!

"Not theriac, as you can see," Arthur said. His voice had gone deceptively calm, but his face was hard, his gaze challenging. "Not some miracle potion, either, I've come to understand. After all, I haven't taken a drop of this in a fortnight and yet, it made no difference." He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Merlin's. "No episodes. Not a single one, even though I've been lead to believe that, whatever it is you and Gaius are filling in these bottles, it is preventing them."

Merlin's knees abruptly went weak and he had to reach out with a clammy hand to steady himself against the desk. "Arthur," he croaked, "I—" But nothing else came out.

"I was going to wait with this until the Mercians were dealt with," Arthur continued. "I didn't want to have to handle this on top of everything else. But now that the cat is out of the bag, I suppose it's time."

"Arthur," Merlin croaked again, and nothing more.

"You've been lying to me, you and Gaius," Arthur continued. "I don't know why, but you have. Now, you will quit lying. And I will remind you that I am the Prince of Camelot, and I will have you thrown in the dungeons if I feel you are not telling me the whole truth. This is not one of my idle threats, either. Lying to the Prince is a serious crime, not to mention slipping him suspicious medicines. You will answer my questions, and you will answer them truthfully. Is that understood?"

By the end of his speech, Arthur's voice had gone hard as steel and his eyes were void of any kindness or warmth. This was the Prince of Camelot and he would be obeyed, or else.

There could be no more hiding. There could be no more secrets. Arthur had made that quite clear.

Merlin slowly let go of the desk, wavering for a moment before he managed to stand up straight. "Yes, sire," he said hoarsely. "Understood."

Arthur stared at him, long and hard, then gestured at the phials. "What's in these bottles?"

"Bone broth, fish liver oil and whatever strengthening herbs Gaius has at hand when he's making it," Merlin replied quietly.

"So it's not any kind of medicine?"

"It's a nutritious potion," Merlin explained. "Gaius gives it to children who have trouble growing or fattening up."

Arthur's lips were pressed into a tight line as he thought that over. "Nothing else?"

"Sometimes, we add willowbark or mandrake, to ease your pain a little, but on most days, it's little more than soup," Merlin admitted. He found that, with every piece of truth that slipped of his tongue, he became calmer.

"Why?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin hesitated, unsure where to begin, but Arthur showed no patience.

"Why, Merlin?" he repeated, voice rising in volume. "Why have you been feeding me broth for months, pretending it was some miracle cure?"

"Because we couldn't tell you how I actually cured you of the episodes," Merlin said roughly.

"How you cured me?"

"Yes."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "And how did you cure me, Merlin?"

A tremor ran through Merlin's body. This was it. This was really it, the moment he had simultaneously been fearing and longing for.

He would tell Arthur the truth.

"With my magic."