Chapter VIII: Of Beetles and Brains

Lancelot ended up taking that job as a guard.

It wasn't the knighthood of which he'd dreamed for so long. It wasn't even a particularly prestigious position within the guard, though Leon, with whom he'd struck up a friendship, and Arthur assured him that a man with his skills and dedication would move quickly through the ranks. They predicted that he'd be off the night shift (widely regarded as the most miserable position, reserved for men just starting out unless they bribed the Head of the Guard for something better, which Lancelot had refused to do) within the month.

The would-be knight's days quickly settled into a routine. He would rise at dinnertime and head up to the palace, where he would eat with Merlin and Gaius. They would chat about their days, stories from their pasts, Merlin's magic, anything that came to mind. Then, after helping Merlin wash dishes, he would head to the Head of the Guard's office, where he would receive his dispatch for the night. They usually had him patrol the castle walls, but he occasionally served in the dungeons. Merlin would usually appear and keep him company for a few minutes after he'd set Arthur to bed but before retiring himself. Lancelot thought that the warlock was a bit lonely for someone his own age with whom he could share his true nature. It was a pity because Merlin was such a likeable young man. They had befriended each other easily, despite the fact that a would-be knight and a warlock really ought to have been mortal enemies.

He put his foot down about meeting Kilgharrah, though. He liked Merlin, he really did, but he wasn't certain if he could handle a dragon.

It was a decent existence, but it had its share of problems. For one thing, his coworkers had absolutely appalling standards. He'd caught them sleeping and playing at dice on the job! Once, he'd even come across a fellow guardsman making out with a kitchen maid in the middle of his shift. It was almost enough to drive him to tears.

He tried complaining to Sullivan, the Head of the Guard, but the lazy man just told him to shut up or resign. Lancelot had replied by going directly to Arthur, who brought it to his father, who threatened to demote Sullivan to the night shift unless he did something about his men. That did lead to increased discipline, but it also led to the other guards resenting Lancelot even more. They hadn't liked him from the start, grumbling that he was putting on airs by aiming for knighthood, not to mention that his diligence made them look bad. This, though, constituted a betrayal.

His second major problem was his longing for Lady Morgana's maidservant, Guinevere, who was (at least to Lancelot's besotted mind) a lady in her own right. He felt a strong attraction to her and she to him, but it was difficult to spend time together when they had such different schedules. Lady Morgana, thrilled that her friend might have found love (or, at the very least, something that could develop into love), started giving Gwen time off in the evening, but she couldn't change the fact that one half of the couple was nocturnal and the other diurnal. Not that Morgana wasn't trying—according to Guinevere, she was taking a personal interest in Lancelot's advancement, which of course made his fellow guards even more disagreeable—but for the moment, their duties kept them apart. He imagined that their duties would keep them apart for a while yet. Sullivan's grudge against him made promotion from the night shift unlikely for the forseeable future.

But routine was routine, and Lancelot found himself settling into Camelot life without much difficulty. It was a good life, Merlin and Gwen's companionship offsetting his disappointment with his job. His belly was full, his dwelling warm. It was not the life he had dreamed of, but it was better than wandering the dusty roads with no guarantee that he'd get another meal or avoid bandits for the night.

And then Morgana fell ill.

"I have in my possession a remedy to cure all ills. Perhaps I can help Lady Morgana where your court physician could not."

Merlin told himself that he was being paranoid, that it could simply be coincidence that this robed, scarred man with his oily smile and silk-smooth words had appeared mere hours after Morgana's affliction. Coincidences happened, right? Besides, how would this man have hurt Morgana?

Actually, that was a silly question. The guards had improved somewhat under Uther's watchful eye, but they were still pretty easy to sneak past. He knew. He'd certainly snuck past them often enough.

Why, though, would anyone want to hurt Morgana? She probably had a few enemies somewhere—most nobles did—but none of them were stupid enough to try anything while she lived in Uther's court. After all, the king was not known for his restraint or squeamishness.

But, Merlin reminded himself, just because he couldn't think of any reasons for Muirden to go after Morgana didn't mean that there weren't any. Also, it looked as though the man was trying to depose Gaius, and he didn't particularly want that. With that in mind, he snuck away from Arthur and secreted himself in Morgana's chambers behind the changing screen.

Merlin listened impatiently as Gaius, Uther, and Edwin chatted about medical things and possible diagnoses. The new physician seemed legitimate so far, but Uther was in the room. Merlin had to wait and see if he tried to get Morgana alone.

He did.

Muirden requested permission to carry out a private examination—not, he hastened to add, because Gaius was incompetent, but because his eyes were younger and he might be able to see something the older man had missed. Gaius didn't seem to buy it—Merlin could practically hear him raise his eyebrow—but Uther agreed.

Merlin crouched, his heart hammering in his ears.

"Bebiede—"

Merlin charged.

Edwin Muirden clearly had not anticipated being tackled to the ground by a scruffy manservant. Merlin knocked the older man down; they skidded against the floor at the side of Morgana's bed. The woman in question remained unconscious despite the ruckus around her.

"That had better be a healing spell," Merlin snapped.

Muirden goggled at him, jaw agape.

"Well?" Merlin hissed.

"Who the hell are you?"

"That's not important. Was that or was that not a healing spell?"

"…Do you truly think me fool enough to murder the king's ward when he thinks that I and I alone am with her?" He smiled bitterly, absently raised a hand to his scarred face. "My parents perished in his flames. I too know fire's touch, and I have no desire to feel it again."

Edwin's lack of resistance and his words inclined Merlin toward trusting him. The warlock pushed himself from the other man's prone form, stood. He offered Muirden a hand. The man's eyebrows climbed in a manner reminiscent of the other physician at court. "I'm Merlin."

The other sorcerer stared at the outstretched hand for an eternal moment. Then he extended his own hand, clasped fingers, let Merlin pull him to his feet. "Edwin Muirden."

"Good to meet you."

Edwin, his eyes still on Merlin's face, returned to his position by Morgana's side. "I am going to use the healing magic of the Elanthia beetle," he explained. "They are creatures of magic that act as carriers of spells. Their small size allows them to enter the body and convey healing spells to internal organs and the like without the dangers associated with surgery."

Now that Morgana wasn't in danger, Merlin's natural curiosity reasserted itself. "Can I watch?"

"A lifetime of hiding and persecution has made me… uncomfortable… using my gift when others can see."

"Right." Merlin turned his back, stared at the wall.

"Bebiede þe arisan áblinnan," Edwin intoned. There was a noise like the rustling of wings and another sound, a box snapping shut. "It's done."

Merlin turned back around, looked down at the sleeping Morgana. She was still pale, still unconscious, but Edwin's spell hadn't killed her. Merlin smiled. "Thank you."

Edwin turned that unblinking gaze onto Merlin. "You are very accepting of magic for a man of Camelot."

"I'm actually from Essetir," Merlin corrected.

"Cenred's lands? He's not much better."

"…My father was a sorcerer. My mother saved him and they fell in love, but Uther's men were hunting him. He had to leave before either of them knew Mother was pregnant."

It was the first time he'd ever told that story to anyone. He had no doubt that Gaius knew—the man had, after all, been present at his birth—but they'd never actually talked about Merlin's paternity, and he hadn't broached the subject with Lancelot either. But the man before him had entrusted him with his family secrets. It felt right to return the favor.

Sure enough, the scarred face softened. "I'm sorry."

"As am I." Merlin looked back at Morgana. "So how do the… Elanthia beetles?" Edwin nodded. "So how do they work?"

"As I said, they act as vessels for spells. They're used for internal medicine. They can stop internal bleeding, destroy blockages, even purge infections. Useful little beasts."

"They sound like it," Merlin replied. Oh, he hoped that Edwin's appearance so soon after Morgana's illness really was a coincidence. Gaius was very knowledgeable, but he refused to teach Merlin any spells that didn't appear in his spell book. Kilgharrah knew a surprising amount of spells for someone who didn't use human magic (Merlin supposed that was a side effect of a millennium of life), but they couldn't meet as often as he would like. Someone not much older than himself who was actively using magic….

Lancelot was wonderful, but he didn't—couldn't—understand what it was like to have magic. He tried very hard, but some things must be experienced, and magic was one of them. Merlin had dreamt his entire life about finding someone with magic, a friend with whom he could explore it, grow into his gifts. Perhaps—he hardly dared let himself hope—perhaps if it were a coincidence, Edwin Muirden could be that friend.

But, he reminded himself with a sinking heart, he had to make sure.

With that goal in mind, he made his way toward the physician's rooms. "Gaius? Are you in here?"

The physician and the king turned the full force of their attentions to him. Merlin blanched, told himself not to panic. He would just have to wait a little bit before questioning his mentor. So, after babbling out a half-coherent excuse for his interruption that probably made him sound like an utter moron, Merlin fled.

The sight of Uther had planted a nasty suspicion in his head. Edwin had said that his parents died in Uther's fires. He'd strongly implied that his facial scars came from those same flames. So it was probably a bit fishy that he was anywhere near Camelot in the first place.

But if he was only here to kill Uther, shouldn't Merlin just leave him to it? After all, the tyrant of Camelot was a genocidal monster. He had betrayed Kilgharrah's entire species, consigning the dragon race to extinction. He hunted druids like mere animals. Any citizen could strike down a sorcerer—or really anyone unfortunate enough to be accused of sorcery—without repercussion. He sought magic users out, burning them for healing dying children or repairing pottery. He was an evil man, and the children of magic—not to mention the world in general—would be better off without him.

So he should turn a blind eye. Gods knew that Uther would kill him if he had half an opportunity. This was a war, not one Merlin had volunteered for but one which had swallowed him anyways, and he had to fight—to kill, even—to survive. If Edwin was indeed seeking revenge on the man who slew his parents, who was Merlin to stop him? If the man, the murderer hadn't been Uther, he would have. Since it was Uther, he should probably help.

Except he couldn't bring himself to walk up to Edwin and say, "I know you're here to kill the king and I want to help."

It was irrational and ridiculous. He didn't like Uther at all, feared and hated him and everything he stood for. He should be glad that the butcher now had to reap what he had sown. He should go back to Edwin and tell him that if he was going to kill the king, Merlin would turn a blind eye.

Wait. Had he just decided to stand aside and let one man kill another?

Merlin shivered slightly. Camelot had shown him a ruthless streak he had never known, never even suspected, existed. When he'd dropped that chandelier on Mary Collins, he hadn't felt anything until that night, when the realization that he had crushed a grieving mother to death overwhelmed him and he trembled in his cot for hours, tears falling from his eyes. But even as he'd wept, he had known deep in his bones that he would do it again if he had to.

He had always known he had a strong protective instinct. It had driven his poor mother half-mad whenever he brought home another wounded animal or defended her against those who snickered about her lack of husband. He just hadn't known how deep it ran. This new depth frightened him, made him wish he could just go back to Ealdor and work the fields.

But the past is the past. He was here in Camelot, he had things to do, and like it or not, he was in the center of a possible attempt on Uther Pendragon's life.

A possible attempt, the warlock reminded himself, just a possible one. If Edwin Muirden was here to kill Uther, then he would do nothing. He still didn't know, and it wasn't like he could just go up and ask the man if he planned on committing regicide.

So what he needed to do was figure out if the Elanthia beetles were really vessels of healing. Even if Muirden had come here with good intentions, he may or may not have put Morgana's life in danger, and while Merlin was willing to accept Uther's death (the coldness made him shudder), he would not tolerate collateral damage.

Ruthless he might be, but he had his limits.

Finally, after long hours of polishing and running errands and whatever else Arthur could dredge up from the depths of his imagination (Morgana's illness had made him afraid, which had made him angry, which meant that he was taking his frustration out on his poor helpless manservant), Merlin made his way back to the physician's chambers. He hadn't gotten to eat supper or even visit Lancelot. His body ached like that of an old man. He wanted more than anything to just sleep, but he had to talk with Gaius and deliver Kilgharrah's latest sheep before collapsing into bed.

Except that Gaius was already asleep, his soft snores filling the room.

Merlin groaned. Typical. Just typical. Should he wake the man up? No, the warlock decided. He was meeting Kilgharrah tonight anyways. He'd just ask the dragon about Elanthia beetles.

The warlock moved through the castle and its tunnels like a sleepwalker. Oh, why oh why did Arthur have to work him so hard? Didn't he realize that it was physically impossible for a single man to complete all those chores without magic unless he didn't need to sleep? Probably not, the great prat.

He told all these things and more to the sheep he was escorting to Kilgharrah. The sheep was a very good listener, which meant that Merlin was feeling a little bit better by the time he reached the dragon. Still, he was irate enough that his scaly friend noticed. "Did you have a bad day, young warlock?"

"Yes," Merlin sighed. He flicked a hand at the sheep, which fell unconscious without further preamble. "A lady who's probably the most decent noble in the entire kingdom was sick. Gaius couldn't cure her, but a man showed up who claimed to have a remedy to cure all ills."

Kilgharrah frowned, his brow furrowing. "There is only one remedy to cure all ills."

"There is? I thought Edwin—that's his name, Edwin—was exaggerating. What is it?"

"Death."

Merlin pulled up short. "Oh."

"Did this kindly noblewoman survive?"

"Yes. She's conscious again. I was there, though, when he healed her. I heard him start a spell, so I confronted him, asked what he was doing. He said that he was using the healing magic of the Elanthia beetle, but…. He didn't let me watch. He had me turn away. Kilgharrah, is that what Elanthia beetles do?"

The look on the dragon's face was answer enough, but he still spoke. "No. Elanthia beetles are creatures of dark magic. Sorcerers have used them to kill their enemies discreetly. The creatures enter through the ears or nose and make their way to the brain. Then they eat it."

Merlin blanched. "They eat brains?"

"Yes."

"Oh," the warlock squeaked. Oh, that was so gross. Disgust overwhelmed him for a few moments before his brain started working again. Morgana had been sick in the brain. Gaius and Edwin had agreed on that, though they hadn't agreed on what, exactly, had been wrong. "Oh."

Yeah, 'coincidence' was looking less likely by the second.

Disappointment panged in his chest. Merlin flinched. He'd hoped so much that Edwin could be his friend, but if the man was willing to risk Morgana's life….

"I thought," he confessed, "that there was something fishy about him just showing up like that, but…. I think he's the one who hurt her in the first place. I had wondered, but now I think I know." He sighed heavily.

"You must watch this Edwin carefully, young warlock," Kilgharrah cautioned.

"I had planned on it," Merlin told him. "I had hoped that maybe it really was a coincidence, that the Elanthia beetles really were the healing magic he said they were. But…." A low groan escaped his throat.

Anyone who would send beetles to eat a woman's brain should probably not be trusted. The last of his dreams of friendship went up in smoke.

It was with a heavy heart that Merlin returned to his hard pallet, curled up, and fell asleep. He didn't feel any better when he awoke, because that meant that he had to confront Edwin.

But, the manservant reminded himself, he had manservant-y things to do. He wasn't delaying the inevitable 'discussion.' He was just… um… taking care of other duties beforehand so he could devote the entirety of his attention to their encounter. Yes, that was exactly what he was doing.

He threw himself into his tasks with such devotion that Arthur started to worry that his servant was becoming competent.

But though Merlin had intended to wait until evening before speaking with Edwin, it was not to be. Gwen and Morgana, now fully healed, came marching towards them. The lady looked angry, the maid worried. The warlock's heart sank. Why did he have the feeling that this had something to do with Muirden?

Perhaps his childhood gift of prophecy was returning, because his premonition held true. "Uther has fired Gaius," Morgana announced.

"What?" Merlin squawked.

"Yes," Morgana growled, "he's fired a man who served him loyally for decades over just one mistake. I admit that it was a serious mistake, but that's still no reason to throw—"

But Merlin couldn't hear her anymore. He had already run out of earshot.

Gaius was sitting in his chambers, staring blankly at his possessions as though wondering where to start, what to do. He started as Merlin flung open the door. "Merlin?"

"What's happening?" the warlock demanded.

"I have to leave," Gaius replied, his voice strangely blank. "I have been replaced, it seems."

"Gaius, you can't. Edwin made Morgana sick with his Elanthia beetles. I don't know how, exactly, only that he did and—"

"Merlin," the physician interrupted, "did you not hear me? I have been fired. There is nothing I can do." He placed a hand on the table, stared blankly at the room he'd called his own for longer than his ward had been alive. "I cannot stay where there's no longer a use for me."

"So you're just going to give up?" his ward hissed. "You're just going to give in without a fight?"

"Uther has made up his mind."

Merlin could have torn out his hair in frustration. "I won't let this happen," he vowed, and stomped out the door.

Morgana and Gwen were taking care of Arthur. If they couldn't persuade him to intervene (and they probably couldn't. Arthur was something of a Daddy's boy), Merlin would have to find another way. That meant persuading either Uther (not likely) or Edwin (again, not likely) to retain Gaius or not become Court Physician, respectively.

He would start with Edwin. Perhaps the man could be blackmailed into leaving. Yes. That's what he'd do.

Except that Edwin proved very difficult to find. Merlin wandered the castle for about two or three hours, but he might as well have been chasing the wind. Was he avoiding him?

No. It turned out that Edwin had been with Uther the entire time, going over arrangements for his career as Court Physician, whispering poison in the king's ear. While Merlin had no desire to see Muirden triumph, not at Gaius's expense, he definitely didn't want to attract Uther's attention. The man had a nasty habit of throwing anyone who displeased him into the dungeons or the stocks. With that in mind, Merlin decided to tail the king and his new physician until he could get the latter alone.

But that, too, was not to be. Arthur, angry and guilty after Morgana's chewing-out, found him after only a few minutes and literally dragged him by the ear into the training fields, where he was forced to hold the jousting ring for the remnant of the afternoon.

By the time he returned to his chambers, Gaius was already gone.

Anger surged. Scowling, his visage thunderous, Merlin stomped to Edwin's guest chambers, pounded on the door as hard as he could.

The physician's face broke into a cold smile when he saw his visitor. "Merlin. Come in."

Merlin came in. Before the door was even closed, he growled, "Why are you here? And don't tell me you were just passing through. I know you sent the Elanthia beetles to attack Morgana."

The smile widened. "Tell me, Merlin. Why is it that Gaius, who half the kingdom knows used to practice sorcery, survived the Purge? Why was he and he alone spared?"

"He gave up sorcery," Merlin snapped. "So don't—"

"He did worse than that!" Muirden cried. "He did nothing! He just stood there watching, still and silent and cowardly, as those around him burned! He saved his own sorry hide by betraying his kin!"

"You're lying!" Merlin yelled even as doubt took root in his heart. He always had wondered….

"Oh?" Muirden sneered. "Am I, Merlin?"

"You are." He hoped. He really hoped. "And you have to leave now. I know what you did to Morgana. I will not let you hurt anyone else!"

"Not even the man who drove away your father?"

The warlock froze. He couldn't even remember how to breathe.

Kill Uther, let him die. Let the tyrant reap what he has sown, let the suffering end. Out with the old and in with the new. Let Uther's reign end; let Arthur's reign begin.

And one day, when all Merlin's secrets were revealed and his innermost self laid bare, he would have to explain to Arthur that he had chosen to let his father, whom he loved, die.

Merlin groaned.

Muirden took that as an admission that Merlin would indeed stand aside. "That's what I thought."

"Leave Camelot or I'll tell both Pendragons you're a sorcerer. I want you gone by sunset tomorrow."

The scarred face twisted into a sneer. "No, Merlin. I think not. Forbærne yfel!"

The stone around Merlin's feet burst into flames. They surrounded him, licking at his boots, threatening to devour him.

Counterspell, counterspell, he didn't know the counterspell! He'd have to make one up. Yes, here's something that might work. The words rose to his tongue. Merlin opened his mouth.

Muirden's door burst open. "Edwin!" Arthur shouted. "My father—"

That was when he noticed the fiery death attempting to consume his manservant.

Merlin stifled a profanity. Great. Now what was he supposed to do?

Muirden and Arthur faced each other, still as stone. The prince's eyes had gone very, very wide. Apparently, the realization that his father had accidentally hired a sorcerer was too much for his poor overwrought brain.

Merlin sighed. At least one good thing had come out of Arthur's intervention. Muirden had lost his concentration when the prince burst in. His flames were small now, small enough for a long-legged youth to jump over.

The warlock crouched, leapt. His lanky form collided once again with Edwin's body, knocked the older sorcerer once again to the floor. This time, though, Merlin had no intention of letting him get up.

Edwin swore. He grabbed at his attacker, magic forgotten in his anger.

Merlin was utterly useless with a sword. He admitted that freely. But that didn't mean he lacked experience in fighting. Far from it. As the only bastard in Ealdor, he had been the local bullies' favorite target. He'd had to learn to defend himself with only a stick or, more often, his bare hands. So while he couldn't hold a candle to a half-trained guardsman in a swordfight, he knew exactly what to do in situations like these.

The warlock's knee jerked up, colliding with Muirden's groin with enough force to make the man shriek girlishly. Taking advantage of the other man's pain, Merlin grabbed the physician's head. He slammed it against the floor.

Muirden went still.

"Merlin!" Arthur jerked his servant to his feet. "What the hell?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Bully for you. But what the hell is going on?"

"Muirden's parents were killed during the Purge, so he's here to avenge their deaths," Merlin blurted. "I think he's trying to kill your father."

That snapped Arthur out of his shock. The prince's jaw hardened. "Father has Morgana's illness. With Gaius gone, I thought Muirden—but he can't. Won't." Blue eyes went wide. "Gaius has been training you. Do you know how to cure this?"

Merlin blanched. "I…."

It would be so, so easy and so, so satisfying just to let Uther die.

"Answer me, Merlin. Please."

It was the please that did him in, because Arthur was begging and Arthur never begged. But his eyes were wide and desperate and terrified and Merlin might be frighteningly ruthless at times, but that cold-bloodedness was nothing to his compassion.

Was he going to regret this later? Yep. Would he curse himself at night? Undoubtedly. But on that far-off future day when he left the lies behind, he would not tell Arthur that he'd just let his father die. For his own sake, for their friendship's sake, for magic's sake, for what would the king do if he found that the only magic user he had ever trusted had collaborated in Uther's death? The resultant loathing would make things a lot more difficult, that was for sure.

"I can try."

"He's in his chambers. Grab whatever herbs you think will help, then go to him immediately. I'll get some guards and take care of Muirden."

"Right."

Merlin did not get herbs. He knew quite well that he didn't need them. All he needed was the counterspell, an incantation he had only heard once.

The warlock stared at the unconscious king who had caused him and his kind so much pain. If he did die…. If he did die, he would die because of incompetence and not for revenge, and Merlin could look Arthur in the eye come morning.

The sorcerer swallowed hard and laid a trembling hand across Uther's ear. "Bebeode þe arisan ealdu. Áblinnen."

Gold flashed behind his eyes. Magic surged through him like the blood in his veins, flowed through his hand into the king's skull. The power collided with a dark foreign presence, something that did not belong. The Elanthia beetle.

Merlin pulled his hand away.

So there was a bit of character-building with Merlin (or perhaps exploration would be better) and something more important: he made his choice. By helping Uther, he pretty much dedicated himself to creating a future where Arthur would voluntarily free magic. You all see how that works, right? He's doing something bad (at least to him. Arthur might disagree) for the sake of the greater good, so now he's more invested in fulfilling the greater good so that the bad thing he did can be justified.

I messed with the episode's timeline a bit and also with Morgana's reaction. In canon, she wasn't too happy about Gaius failing to diagnose her. Here, she has reasons for distrusting Muirden.

You'll notice that Merlin never mentioned Morgana's name to Kilgharrah, just that she was the nicest noble in court. That's why he was being so cooperative (for him, at least).

Next update: September 25. Merlin plays court physician, Arthur learns that thinking too much makes him grumpy, and a hunt goes wrong.

Alternate chapter title: "Wherein a Creepy Scarred Dude Whose Entire Being Radiates Villainy is Promoted to an Important Court Position and is Allowed to Drug the King Instead of Being Immediately Thrown Into the Dungeons"