Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but, sadly, nothing else belongs to me

The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Part 7

Arthur banged into Gaius' quarters, fizzling anger dowsed by a chill of fear when, despite being jostled by movement, Merlin's eyes remained stubbornly shut.

He brushed passed the elderly physician with a brusque, 'Head wound.'

Bedevere was following close on his heels.

'What can I do?' he asked.

It was only Gaius's aeons of experience that allowed him to swallow his own concern at the sight of Merlin's bloodied head flopping backwards against Arthur's shoulders, and immediately immerse himself in practicalities - opening the door to Merlin's room, whilst replying to Bedevere.

'Clean water and cloths, please.'

Arthur laid the motionless figure on the bed.

'He took a hit to his face and banged his head when he fell,' he said tersely.

Gaius nodded. The succinct explanation was all he needed.

'Light a lamp and bring it here.'

Arthur was back in seconds with a candle sputtering its illumination from inside a lantern.

'Closer,' Gaius ordered.

He bent over Merlin and pulled back each delicate eyelid in turn, his grunt of satisfaction somewhat soothing to Arthur's and Bedevere's frazzled nerves.

'We need to wake him,' he said, dismissing the lamp with an imperious wave of his hand. In the sick room he was undisputed monarch

Leaning over, he sharply called Merlin's name and was rewarded with flickering eye movement but no awakening. Gaius shook him by his shoulders, whilst Arthur fiercely commanded him to wake. The command hung in the air and was punctuated by a sharp exhalation as eyelashes fluttered in reluctant response.

With bony fingers, Gaius determinedly pinched at an ear.

This elicited an indignant, 'Ow!'

'Merlin? Can you hear me?'

'Stop bellowing at me,' Merlin begged, eyes finally opening and blinking hazily up at his mentor.

'Are you alright?' Bedevere asked anxiously.

'No. My ear hurts,' he complained, shooting an accusing glance at Gaius, who gave a relieved half smile.

His head sort of hurt, as well. Fidgeting as Gaius busied himself cleaning and binding the wound, Merlin could feel a sense of urgency thrumming through him but it couldn't penetrate the muzzy haze that clouded his brain. Something to do with collecting herbs for Gaius…. And then Gaius asked him to tilt his head, the movement snapped the thread of his thought as he fought the urge to throw up.

Fought. And lost.

Again, experience came to Gaius's aid, ensuring he was forearmed for such emergencies, and a bowl was placed in front of Merlin even before he began retching. Bedevere was immediately at his side with the clean water and cloth, but Arthur took it from him and personally ministered to his servant.

The small bedchamber was a little crowded.

'Do you need anything else?' Bedevere asked, feeling out of place now that he had no task.

'No, you may go. And thank you.' Arthur replied without taking his eyes off Merlin.

Bedevere looked at that bowed blonde head and the gentleness displayed in the simple task. Such a contrast to the cold, trained killer of the battlefield. There was something about Merlin that tempered Arthur's aggression and balanced out the Prince's black moods.

'You'll be as a right as rain soon, I'm sure,' he said comfortingly, giving Merlin a smile before he left.

Bandaged and cleaned, and feeling oddly content as Arthur stroked a cooling cloth over his face, it was impossible to pull cohesive thoughts from the fog inside his head. Tiredness broke over Merlin in waves, swamping thought and dragging it away in the undertow.

'Want to sleep,' he murmured.

'He needs to stay awake. Maybe you could attempt to keep him alert?' Gaius suggested softly with a look at Arthur, who was silent and stiff and wholly withdrawn behind the impenetrable mask of Royal Prince.

It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate that shell, but eventually he gave a nod.

'I'm bored, Merlin. Talk to me,' he demanded loudly.

Merlin frowned and squinted unhappily.

'What's the matter?' Arthur asked, the peremptory tone immediately disappearing beneath a wash of concern.

'There's something wrong isn't there? Am I dying?' Merlin whispered.

His eyes looked large and vulnerable against parchment coloured skin.

'Don't be ridiculous, Merlin,' Arthur replied sharply. 'As if I'd let you die. Who'd clean my chambers?'

But a glimpse of Arthur's eyes revealed everything he was trying to hide, and it dawned on Gaius why he'd withdrawn behind his stoic Prince façade. It was how the younger Pendragon concealed emotions. It was how he concealed fear.

'What even made you think that?' Arthur demanded.

'You always tell me to shut up,' Merlin pointed out with a slight wobble of self pity, 'so it must be serious if you're humouring me and being nice and wanting me to talk….'

The tension eased from Arthur's shoulders. The reasoning was almost logical in a Merlinesque way.

'Tell you to shut up? The blow has clearly affected your head. I would never say anything so boorish.'

Merlin cracked a small smile at the outrageous lie, and if only he could think clearer he'd have a devastating comeback.

'And before you say anything, I should point out that I am, in fact, completely charming. Everyone says so.'

He was rewarded with a weak snigger and Merlin relaxed again.

'What dya wanme to talk about?' His eyes were beginning to droop once more.

'Don't fall asleep,' Arthur commanded. 'Tell me about growing up in Ealdor.'

Arthur wanted to hear about his life? Merlin forced himself to focus on sharp, pale-blue eyes. Only to find Arthur was staring right back. He blushed and nervously picked at the cover.

'It's dull. Very boring,' he protested.

All hope of Arthur agreeing and allowing him to peacefully fall asleep vanished with the set of Arthur's mouth and his unyielding expression.

'You've done a lot of things, but never bored me,' Arthur responded.

'First time for everything isn't there? Don't blame me if you nod off half way through,' Merlin said, aiming for petulance but mainly just sounding tired.

He began slowly, jumping haphazardly through his memories without any narrative coherence - pigs that followed him around like dogs, harvest feasts, dances that depicted summer queens defeating winter kings, his first taste of ale, dens he hid in as a child. Every time he began to tail off, Arthur would prompt him with more questions.

So much of it was alien to Arthur, whose childhood games comprised of imitation warfare, his toys all weapons and his playmates were knights and guardsmen. Prince and son of a grieving, embittered king during a time of upheaval and conflict was never the safest of positions. Merlin's childhood had been a summer idyll in comparison.

But sometimes the narrative stumbled, suddenly changing tack mid-sentence or inadvertently revealing the darker side of his childhood as some people realised he was different, reacting to the unknown with distrust and fear. Merlin would attempt to backtrack as he realised what he was revealing, his forehead creasing in concern that Arthur longed to reach out and soothe away.

Instead, he nodded, as though oblivious to these slips. But it was a harsh reminder that, however much he ignored it, Merlin was a sorcerer.

Had he wanted to leave home or had it been forced on him for his own safety, Arthur wondered.

During their defence of Ealdor there had been little sign of antagonism towards Merlin, but then the circumstances had been extraordinary and Merlin himself under the aegis of the Prince of Camelot. Who would have dared challenge him?

Yet even if the villagers did suspect, their reaction would be mild compared to Camelot, where Merlin would be denounced as evil by decree of law. What possessed Hunith to send her only son here?

Arthur had already indicated to Hector exactly where his own allegiance lay if Merlin's secret were revealed. At the time, it had been a calculated, if veiled threat to ensure Hector held his tongue and kept the deadly secret. Merlin was so damned good-hearted and loyal, it made Arthur's eyes sting to think that the law he and his father embodied would judge him so harshly. From the flotsam and jetsam whirling in his head, one thought coalesced; his words to Hector had been no idle threat. Merlin would be led to the executioner's block over his dead body.

'Arthur? Are you all right?'

He realised that Merlin had stopped talking, had his eyes open and was observing him closely.

'The things I'd do for you scare me sometimes,' he said, his voice gruff and low, and his eyes distant.

Merlin blinked at the echo of his words in Arthur's mouth. The depth of feeling behind them.

'Arthur?'

Gaius must have heard the lull in the conversation, and ambled in to examine his patient, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension in the room.

'Sit up.'

Obediently, Merlin slithered back up the bed. Gaius took his head gently and turned it this way and that.

'Do you still feel sick?'

He shook his head.

'Headache?'

'Not really.'

'Okay. That's good. Eyes are fine, sickness gone, bleeding stopped. You've done well,' he gave a gentle smile. 'You can sleep now, Merlin.'

He turned to Arthur and put a hand on his shoulder.

'Thank you for staying with him and keeping him talking. It was kind of you.'

Arthur looked uncomfortable at the compliment, so Gaius gave his shoulder a final pat and left.

'What are you going to do to the boy that hit me?' Merlin asked, before any uncomfortable silences could descend.

'I haven't decided yet.'

His eyes turned grey and flinty, and Merlin found he was grabbing his arm.

'Don't hurt him,' he said impulsively.

Arthur's mouth tightened.

'He's got to learn.'

'And beating him black and blue is a lesson?'

'It can be,' Arthur maintained stubbornly. And shifted uncomfortably as Merlin continued to regard him intently. Whatever Merlin observed must have satisfied him and he released his grip on Arthur's arm.

'You'll teach him. Like you did Bedevere and Hubert and all the others.'

'He's not getting away with it, Merlin. I won't, can't tolerate it. How would you react if I was the one who was lying there?'

Merlin thought about that for a second.

'But I'm allowed to be petty. I'm just a poor servant….'

Arthur almost rolled his eyes at the just a poor servant line. One day, when he was free to acknowledge Merlin for all that he was, Arthur would mock him mercilessly for his exaggerated I'm just a humble servant act.

'You are, indeed, a very poor servant,' he agreed pleasantly.

'Whereas you are going to be a great king,' Merlin said, graciously ignoring the insult to his servanthood.

'King? Your ambition astounds me. Serving a prince is not enough?' he asked a trace of mockery in his voice.

Merlin was yawning wide enough to crack his jaw, and settled back comfortably into his pillow.

'No, serving a prince is not enough.'

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

'Serving you is. And you're going to be the greatest King that Albion has seen.'

Arthur narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and then realised that Merlin was so close to sleep that his answer was entirely guileless. He made a mental note of how loose-tongued Merlin became when he was tired. It might come in useful one day.

'So, King of Camelot will not satisfy you, either? I must be King of all Albion?'

'And beyond.' Merlin breathed as his eyes drifted shut, aware of Arthur watching over him, the knowledge spinning a cocoon of safety and warmth that was irresistible.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He had never shared his dreams of Albion with Merlin, and yet Merlin shared them anyway.

There was no sudden thrill of destiny, no guiding hand of fate. All Arthur had ever had was his dream and his own will to achieve it. He cared nothing for destiny or fate. Any future worth would have to be worked for and won. Somehow, Merlin had become part of that future, and indelibly inked on the list of things to be worked for and won.

'Your highness?' Gaius interrupted his train of thought.

'Yes?'

'Willard is here. He's concerned because no one has seen Sir Kay all day.'

Arthur roused himself with difficulty. He would have been content to sit and just watch Merlin breathe.

'He didn't attend practice. I thought he was running errands for you?'

'I did suggest that he could catch up with Merlin….'

They exchanged a glance. Tenderly stroking Merlin's hair from his forehead, Gaius gently called him from his slumber.

'Merlin…. What became of Kay?''

The query seemed to get through because suddenly Merlin was murmuring Kay's name, brow creased, rising anxiety disturbing his rest. His breathing became heavier.

'Kay…. Arthur!' His voice was panicked.

'Shh. Hush. I'm here. I'm here,' Arthur said reaching for his hand.

'He needs you…. Bandits….'

'Bandits have Kay?'

'No, no. Kay tracking them. Leaving trail for you.'

Arthur kept his voice calm but was silently cursing the boy that had hurt Merlin and now endangered Kay.

'Okay. Good. You've done well. Sleep now.'

Merlin calmed to Arthur's words and tone, trustingly he fell back into sweet oblivion.

But Gaius was staring at Arthur. And Arthur realised that he was still comforting Merlin, long narrow hand wrapped in Arthur's rough calloused ones. He couldn't bring himself to care.

'If Willard is still there, tell him to gather my men, he'll know who I need. We ride as soon as possible.'

…

Despite the drama of the morning, Operation Falcon was meeting as planned. Romford and Caradoc were quiet and subdued, their desultory discussion merely killing time until Bedevere appeared with reassurance that Merlin seemed fine. The oppressive atmosphere immediately lightened and they readily returned to the original order of business.

'I'd say that the plan appears to be working. Arthur is becoming a little jealous….,' Bedevere reported.

'A little?' Caradoc asked fingering a cut on his face, received the previous day.

'That's nothing. A mere scratch' Romford assured him. 'I've seen men duel to the death for the sake of love.'

'And you didn't think to tell me that before I was cast in the role of rival?'

'As I was saying,' Bedevere continued before their bickering could snowball further, 'all is going as planned. I nudged Willard to push himself forward and encouraged Montague to offer his services….'

'A bit forward, don't you think?' Caradoc frowned.

'Dancing services, Caradoc. Anyway, Percival is also in hot pursuit, and Gawain and Kay, well they're doing fine by themselves.'

Caradoc gave him an enthusiastic and a round of applause.

'My sincere thanks, Bedevere, best of fellows, dearest friend, for providing fresh meat for our Prince. Did you see Montague limping from the field earlier?' he grinned.

'I'm shocked at your glee in a fellow knight's misfortune!' Romford said sternly.

'I'm very sorry for Montague. But you have to admit, it could have been worse. It could have been me.'

All things considered, Caradoc had actually come off lightly, only a few bruises and the small cut to his cheekbone to show for his supposed interest in Merlin. He held no ill-will towards Arthur. On the contrary, Arthur had done him a favour.

Just yesterday, fresh from the practice field with orders to see to his cut, he had been making his way to the Physician's rooms. Only to bump into Lady Jemima. He'd ducked his head, dismayed that she should see him like this. Bloodied and bruised, he hardly looked his dashing best.

But the dear lady had cried out in distress and sent one of her maids for water. There she had pulled out her own perfumed 'chief from her bosom and dabbed at his cut, telling him how brave he was when he hardly flinched at all. She had looked kindly upon him and allowed him keep the bloodied scrap of lace and linen.

'I shall treasure it always as a reminder of your kindness,' Caradoc had said, bowing deeply as he kissed her hand.

Blushing prettily as she took her leave, she had bestowed a gracious smile upon him and Caradoc had all but floated up the steps to Gaius' room.

This was the story he now shared with the other Falcons.

'That's all very nice, but how is it relevant to Merlin and Arthur?' Bedevere asked impatiently.

'It's a pithy moral and an ode to self sacrifice,' Caradoc informed him. 'I was prepared to snub darling Jemima to woo Merlin. I risked all for my Prince, and instead I gained all.'

'You realise there's a connection there, right?' Romford pointed out. 'She only reeled you in once your attention turned elsewhere?'

But Caradoc turned a deaf ear to any criticism of his lady.

'Ah, if only Merlin and Arthur were as happy as Jemima and me,' he replied with a sigh.

'Well, yes. That's the whole point of what we're doing, isn't it? Trying to make Arthur and Merlin happy?'

But Caradoc's head was clearly elsewhere.

'Have you noticed how sweetly she smiles?'

'Oh I give up. Bedevere? Promise that you'll put a sword through me and put me out of my misery if I ever become such a moonstruck idiot.'

Bedevere's gaze was also disparaging.

'Well, I would, but unless you lose the use of a limb or a couple of eyes, then I'm not duelling with you.'

'Come now, I didn't teach you to be a coward,' Romford said heartily.

'No. You taught me to realistically assess a situation,' Bedevere said.

'Well… you could always cheat.'

'You know that won't cut it. You taught me every cheating move I know.'

'I'm doomed,' Romford mourned with a shake of his head.

'Ah, but when you fall in love you won't even care,' Caradoc informed him with a besotted smile.

Romford started to look a little ill.

'In fact, just stab me now. I won't raise a finger to stop you.'

'And leave me alone with him? Not a chance. Supposing he starts spouting poetry?'

'Funny,' Caradoc told them and was glad he'd decided not to share the verses he'd penned for dear Jemima. Even though they rhymed and everything, he suspected Romford and Bedevere would be unappreciative. Maybe he'd seek out Willard later.

'Returning to the subject in hand, if our plan is doing so well then why aren't they together?'

'Is it the servant thing?' Romford wondered. 'Maybe we need to show that Merlin is more than a servant.'

'Surely Arthur realises that? It's Merlin who keeps saving his life and it was Merlin who devised a plan that routed the bandits. He'd make a pretty good advisor, the way he keeps his own judgement and opinions. Maybe we should hint to Arthur that a change in status might be advisable.' Bedevere suggested.

'He doesn't exactly keep his own opinions. It seems to me that he's more than willing to give them away. Especially his opinion regarding the prattish nature of certain princes.'

'It's a defence,' Caradoc explained in his self-appointed role as expert in the strange ways of love. 'A way of hiding the depth of his feeling.'

'So Arthur calling him the worst servant in the entire world is also a defence?'

'Yes. Uh. Well. Merlin's just not the serving type, is he?'

'I think Arthur has only recently thought about what he's feeling. You know, he's a bit emotionally re…,' Bedevere began.

'Retarded?' Romford supplied thoughtfully. 'Yes, I suppose he is.'

'I was going to say reticent, although retarded works, too. However….'

'I knew there was a but coming,' Caradoc said knowledgeably.

'It's not a but, it's a however,' Romford corrected.

'Don't worry,' Caradoc patted his arm patronisingly. 'We like you, even if you are unbearably pedantic.'

Any reply Romford was about to make was overridden.

'However, we all saw him fly to Merlin's aid this morning and the look on his face when Merlin hit the ground. Maybe it's time to just let things run their course.'

'Run their course?'

'Not interfere anymore? Why ever not? If I remember correctly, this was your idea.'

'And I'm not saying I was wrong.'

'No. Somehow we never thought you were.'

Bedevere, intent on making his point, nobly ignored the goading.

'But it's not a courtly kind of love of sweet sentiment and romance, no offence Caradoc. It's painful and raw, and I don't feel comfortable manipulating them,' he admitted.

'In truth, I could not play my part any more. My eyes turn only to Jemima,' Caradoc confessed.

'Doing nothing is also a tactic,' Romford said reluctantly. He was a man who preferred action. 'But I still feel we need to prove that Merlin isn't really a servant and should never have been made a servant. I vote for him becoming an advisor or counsellor. He can read. He proved to be a natural tactician and he has integrity….'

'A counsellor with integrity. Novel,' Caradoc commented.

'Hmm. I suppose I can go with that. I mean, it's not exactly like manipulation, is it?' Bedevere asked, still obviously concerned.

'Not even a distant relative of manipulation,' Romford assured him. 'So, stage two of Operation Falcon is agreed?'

'Indeed. We prove to Arthur that Merlin is more than a simple servant and they live happily ever after,' Caradoc outlined, somewhat simplistically Romford felt. Still, he had to admire his blind optimism.

'Well, if that's all?' Caradoc seemed anxious to leave.

'Let me guess. Lady Jemima?'

Caradoc blushed.

'Awaiting me in the arbour,' he confessed. 'I just need to wash and change my shirt.'

A heavy knock made them all jump.

'Should I answer it?' asked Caradoc, eyeing the oak door warily. 'I mean, this is a secret meeting...'

'Caradoc? It's Will. Merlin said that Kay has been tracking the bandits. He might be in trouble. Arthur said we're to ride out immediately.'

Caradoc immediately flung the door open, with Bedevere and Romford peering anxiously from behind his shoulders.

'Is Merlin alright?'

'Gaius said he's sleeping. And why are you all gathered in Caradoc's room?' he asked suspiciously.

'He was showing us his new….'

The slight pause gave a chance for all three of them to simultaneously blurt an answer.

'Weapons.'

'Armour.'

'Etchings.'

And two pairs of eyes cast incredulous looks at Bedevere.

'Whatever,' Willard replied impatiently. 'Just get a move on.'

He hurried off to rouse the others.

'Etchings?' asked Caradoc his voice tinged with disgust. 'Do I look like the sort of man who has etchings? He probably thinks we're in cahoots planning to overthrow the monarchy or something.'

'Well we are in cahoots. And it's not my fault! If we'd met somewhere secluded like I originally arranged….'

'Right. And when we wake up smothered by giant spider webs?'

'I wouldn't worry about that. If we've been smothered then we're not likely to wake.'

'Bedevere? Please tell Romford I hate him.'

…

Geraint kicked around disconsolately. The other knights were gathering and he skirted outside the main group. Until plucking up courage to ask one of them what was happening.

'The man you knocked out? He was returning with an important message for the Prince. Sir Kay is following bandits we defeated last week. He was requesting that we followed his trail, and we've now been delayed a couple of hours, thanks to your actions.'

Geraint hung his head. This was so different from Pembroke, where everyone hung on his every word. Always at the hub of everything, everyone agreeing with him and indulging every whim. He felt as if he outgrew his home years ago, as though it had shrunk as he had grown, until it was too small to hold him anymore. But at this moment all he wanted to do was crawl back to his castle and blanket himself in Pembroke's familiarity.

But he couldn't.

Father had sent him to build relations with Camelot and advance their family at court. It would be the ultimate disgrace to go home now, after knocking the Prince's servant unconscious and imperilling a knight through his actions.

He raised his head.

'What can I do to help?' he asked.

'You've done quite enough, don't you think?'

The voice came from behind and made Geraint jump. He twisted quickly , only to find himself facing the Prince. The Prince who had the blood of his servant still smeared on his shirt.

'I… I'm sorry…. I didn't mean to….'

'What? Murder my servant?' Arthur said ruthlessly.

Tears sprang to Geraint's eyes and there was a harsh intake of breath from the surrounding knights. Geraint wanted to say something but couldn't speak.

'My Lord? Sire? He's not…?' It was Bedevere who spoke. His face blanched white and looking confused. Merlin had been recovering when he'd left.

This wasn't the person Arthur wanted to punish, so he shook his head.

'No, Gaius was worried for a while, but Merlin's sleeping now.'

And everyone breathed again.

'We're riding out after Kay. Prepare your horses. We've already wasted enough time.'

'May I come with you? I can help.' Geraint pleaded.

Arthur's lips curled.

'You may saddle your horse and return to whatever pit spat you out.'

'Your highness….'

'Go home, Geraint,' Arthur said coldly.

'I can't,' he whispered. 'My father will never forgive me.'

This struck a sympathetic chord with Arthur. But he refused to let the whelp off the hook. He considered his options and was suddenly struck by an idea. A brilliant idea. One that Merlin would thoroughly approve of. And one that Geraint, with his prejudices and bias, would loathe. Win-win all around.

'I don't require any more knights,' Arthur informed him with a calculating look. 'But if you wish to stay, it seems that I do find myself in need of a servant. Whilst we're gone you may clean the stables, exercise the hounds, polish my boots and scrub the floor to my chamber.'

Geraint began to smile before realising it wasn't a joke. Well, if Arthur expected him to storm away in a childish huff then he was in for a shock. Geraint swallowed his pride, held his head high and gave a nod.

'I'm sure it will be nothing like the standard my usual servant would attain, but do your best,' Arthur said, making his tone insulting as possible. He was grateful for the self control of his knights when they all managed to suppress the urge to snigger, each of them perfectly aware of exactly what sort of job Merlin usually made of these tasks.

Within an hour of Merlin passing on the message, the knights were armoured and saddled and riding out of Camelot.

And as they rode out, Merlin was swinging his legs out of bed feeling a million times better. He dragged on his clothes and padded through into the main room

'Do I have to wear this?' Merlin asked and tugged at his bandage.

Gaius was standing, mixing potions at the table. He turned in surprise.

'Yes. Hmm, I thought you'd sleep a bit longer. How are you?'

'I'm fine. I mean, I can feel the cut on my head throbbing a bit, but it's nothing. Where's Arthur?'

'So you remember he stayed with you until you fell asleep?'

Well he did now. The reassurance of Arthur's presence, the comfort of his hand on Merlin's own. His words…. The way he had looked at Merlin….

'Do you remember telling him about Kay and the bandits?'

Merlin slowly shook his head.

'He's gathered the knights and rode out after him.'

'But… he can't! He needs me with him….. The sorcerer!'

'The what?'

'The remainder of the bandits were led by a sorcerer,' he explained.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure! I have to go after him.'

'Merlin….'

Merlin turned, and by the determination on his face, Gaius knew he wouldn't be able to dissuade him. It didn't prevent him from trying.

'You don't even know where they've gone.'

'Kay was leaving a trail.'

'And do you know how to read it?'

In truth, Merlin still didn't have the hang of hand signals never mind trail signs. He headed for the door anyway.

'No, but I'll find someone who does,' he called, leaving Gaius shaking his head in concern.

Not a particularly keen rider, but knowing there was no other way to catch them up, he headed to the stables. He had a slight advantage in that they only knew the general vicinity of where he had been, whereas he knew the exact path Kay had followed. And at least the bandits hadn't appeared to be in any hurry.

Jogging towards the stable, he was disappointed when not a single knight passed him. It seemed like for weeks he couldn't shake them, and now, just when he needed one, there was neither hide nor hair of them.

He began inexpertly saddling a horse that Arthur allowed him to ride when attending him on hunts. Suddenly there was another pair of hands on the other side of the mare, helping him to tighten the girth. The stable lads were a good bunch.

'Thanks,' he said, ducking his head under the mare's neck to grin at his helper.

'Oh. You,' he said with markedly less enthusiasm. 'You're not going to hit me again, are you?' Merlin asked warily.

'Wasn't planning to.'

'Oh. Good. What are you doing here?'

'Mucking out the stables, it seems,' Geraint replied tonelessly.

Arthur was making a knight clean out the stables? Merlin caught his jaw just before it dropped to the floor.

With a nod towards his spade and the barrow of stinking manure, Geraint continued, 'Wasn't sure what to do with it. The stable hands and servants seem to go deaf when I speak to them.'

'Maybe they're too busy keeping out of arm's reach to hear properly?' Merlin sniped.

The boy looked like he was going to protest being spoken to in such a manner, but then dropped his eyes. Merlin guessed that he'd caught the rough side of Arthur's tongue and felt a momentary stab of pity for him.

'It goes to the kitchen garden. There's a manure heap there.'

'Okay. Thanks.' Eyes kept sneaking a guilty sideway glance at the bloody bandage around Merlin's head. 'And, uh, sorry. I'm glad you're….' He'd been about to say not dead but that seemed a bit blunt, 'recovered.'

'Yeah, well. Arthur always says I have a remarkably thick skull,' Merlin joked.

Geraint attempted a weak smile and then picked up the handles of his manure loaded barrow.

'Hey. I don't suppose you know how to track? You know, follow signs that a knight might lay for other's to follow?'

'Of course,' Geraint shrugged. It had literally been child's play at home, and a favourite game of his.

'I need you to come with me.'

'If it's to follow Sir Kay then the others are already in pursuit,' Geraint told him.

'I know, but it's important that I catch up with them. I can't do it by myself. I need you.'

Geraint was in a bit of dilemma.

'But Arthur said….'

'Yeah, I know. Muck out the stables, polish my boots, scrub the floor, prepare my bath.'

'So everyone's gossiping about it, are they?' Geraint asked in humiliation.

'No…. This is standard punishment duty,' Merlin explained.

'For knights?'

'Well no. But it ought to be. Far better than taking his aggression out on them on the practice field.'

Geraint's expression made it plain that he would have preferred the cuts and bruises, possibly even a broken bone or two.

'But the point is, the Prince needs you. I was slightly addled earlier and he didn't get the whole message.'

The boy looked uncertainly at his wheelbarrow.

'Look, I haven't got time to argue. Prince Arthur and the others are in danger so get your sword and saddle your horse! I'll talk to Arthur and make sure you don't get into trouble.'

Geraint finally shrugged and moved towards where his horse was stalled.

'What the heck, eh? It's not like I can fall any further in his estimation.'

With those gloomy words he actually seemed to cheer up slightly, some of his old reckless nature returning to him.

'This place is big and intimidating, and I needed to make an impression,' he explained later as they trotted out towards the marsh.

'Well you certainly did that.'

'Yeah. Sorry. We were tired and travel weary and then you wouldn't help us. And when I awoke everything was strange and I missed watching the first practice because my baggage had gone astray. And there was no breakfast left. And where I'm from servants aren't….' He wasn't sure how to phrase it inoffensively.

'Aren't people? Don't answer back? Put up with being beaten?' Merlin supplied helpfully.

'We do not beat our servants!' Geraint proclaimed fiercely, turning a bright red.

Merlin let him off the hook.

'Don't worry about it. Arthur's reaction to me wasn't that dissimilar.'

'He hit you?'

'Of course not!' Merlin looked shocked at the suggestion. 'He attacked me with a mace,' he said, as though that were infinitely better. 'Eventually. You know…. After sending me to jail and then the stocks. To be fair, I did tell him that I could beat him, and might possibly have called him a few names which he may have interpreted as insulting.'

'So he put you in prison, put you in the stocks and then attacked you? With a mace?'

'He gave me one, as well.' Merlin replied, quickly leaping to Arthur's defence.

Lucky that Geraint's great warhorse was watching the path, because his rider was staring dubiously at Merlin.

'Right. And then he made you his manservant,' he said sceptically.

'No. That was Uther, After, I saved Arthur's life. The first time.'

'I hit someone who has the King's favour?' Geraint was growing paler.

'Making me Arthur's servant was a favour? I don't think so! I walked into Camelot a freeman, cheerfully looking forward to the future, and ended up as Arthur's slave.'

But Geraint was beginning to get an impression of Merlin and exactly what kind of servant-cum-slave he would make.

'Poor Arthur,' he commented with a ghost of his first genuine smile since arriving in Camelot.

Merlin quirked a grin in his direction.

'Ah well. We rub along somehow, providing he's not being too much of a prat.'

'You… you can't call him that!'

'Funny. That's what he said. This is it.'

'Pardon?'

'This is the path the bandits were on.'

Geraint trotted forward, and didn't even need to dismount to immediately spot the first sign.

With Geraint's back to him, Merlin quickly muttered the enchantment to conceal them from the prying eyes of the sorcerer.

'Okay. Let me lead so that you don't trample anything important,' Geraint said, relieved to settle into such a familiar task.

'Okay. But I should warn you, I don't do hand signals.'

Geraint raised a hand. 'Stop.' Lifted his right. 'Go right.' Lifted his left. 'Go left. Got it?'

'Well it's easy when someone actually explains it to me.' Merlin huffed. 'Although I still don't know why Arthur cuts his throat with a finger.'

'Silence.'

Merlin immediately shut up.

Geraint looked back and observed the cocked head and wide eyes. Merlin began mouthing something at him and Geraint sighed.

'I meant, cutting your throat with a finger means silence. Kill the noise.'

'Oh,' Merlin replied, trying to feel less like an idiot.

As they emerged from the marshes Geraint pointed out trampled grass.

'It looks like the others found the trail about here. It's off the main track so they probably took a while to pick it up.'

'How long ago?' Merlin asked.

'About… how the heck would I know,' Geraint replied placidly.

'Arthur would know. Can't you tell from the horse dung or something?'

Geraint pointedly ignored him.

'The path is smooth and the undergrowth high on either side. Even you could spot if they veered off track. We could make up time here. Are you up for a gallop?'

He didn't wait for an answer but spurred his horse forward, forcing Merlin to do the same. And whilst Geraint took joy from letting his horse have his head, Merlin hung on for dear life and concentrated on keeping his seat. After a while he caught the rhythm of the horse's movement and was almost disappointed when Geraint motioned the stop signal and pulled up abruptly.

'Something happened here.'

They both stilled.

'Do you hear that?' Merlin whispered.

A faint noise made even the horses prick up their ears.

'Follow me,' Merlin said softly.

The tall grass and brambles held traces of someone passing.

'It might be a trap,' Geraint whispered.

There was a snicker and a noise in the undergrowth. They both froze. And breathed again when a horse pranced forward.

'It's Sir Caradoc's steed.'

Merlin felt something strange ahead of them. A tingle in the air. Some lingering evidence of sorcery. He thought his concealment spell should hold but wasn't keen to risk alerting anyone to their presence.

'Hold still. I think you could be right about a trap. Let's go around this section.'

Geraint didn't understand why they were making a fresh trail but went along with it.

'Over there,' Geraint pointed.

They rushed to where a figure was slumped.

'What the…!'

All that could be seen of Caradoc were wide, frightened eyes. The rest of him was swaddled in a sticky, grey mess. Merlin started pulling at it, clearing it from his mouth and nose.

'Stand back.' Geraint drew his sword and began to carefully cut through the morass that swathed him.

'Behind you!' Caradoc shouted.

Whirling around, they saw a creature skittering towards them. A creature that looked not unlike a spider. If spiders were four feet wide.

Geraint slashed at it. Whilst, Caradoc frantically tried to shake free from his sticky bindings.

The thing tracked Geraint as he backed away. With its attention wholly on the boy, Caradoc snuck up behind and flung himself at the body of the spider, sword firmly in front of him. It pierced the through the leathery skin and green ichor oozed from the wound.

Geraint took opportunity to dart forward and stab through a glittering eye into the brain.

Caradoc was screeching and kicking at it in a frenzy, whilst Merlin pulled at him making calming noises.

'It's dead. Hush, it's dead, Caradoc. You're safe. It's gone.'

It took a few minutes, but eventually Caradoc was sitting with his back against a tree, catching his breath, whilst removing the worst of the web that had cocooned him.

'It looked like someone had recently gone off trail, so I went to investigate. And from nowhere that… thing appeared. It shot out a string of silk around my ankles and I fell. It bound my arms, gagging me with that stuff when I tried to shout out. Then it crawled over me, spinning its web….' A shudder racked his body. 'I really, really hate spiders.'

'Do giant spiders normally inhabit this forest?' Geraint asked, fear colouring his voice.

'Not that I know of,' Merlin replied, wondering whether to reveal its magical origin. But was saved by Caradoc.

'I think it was sorcery,' Caradoc said. 'I was talking of giant spiders earlier, so they were already on my mind. Then suddenly it was there.'

'There is a sorcerer with the group,' Merlin confirmed, 'but I didn't get a chance to share the information with Arthur. We need to keep moving.'

'Should you be out of bed?' Caradoc asked with a pointed look at his bandage. 'We can carry on now, why don't you go back?'

'Do you really think I'd leave Arthur in danger?'

'No, probably not.'

And nothing more was said. Merlin made a gesture and expanded his spell so that Caradoc was also hidden from the sorcerer so that his fears couldn't be played on again.

There was a sense of urgency now, and Merlin geed his horse into a gallop without complaint, watching carefully for any signs of the other knights. Gradually, the path opened up in front of them, bright emerald grass verged one side, and in the distance the azure sky laid its reflection gently upon the surface of a giant lake. If it wasn't for the pressing nature of their quest, Merlin might even have called it beautiful.

But their attention was caught by a figure some yards from the path. It was half a figure really. The bottom half of his body was sunk in the ground. Next to him, his poor mount was wild-eyed and tossing it's head, and also steadily disappearing into a section of marsh.

'Stay back!' the figure shouted.

'Gawain!' Caradoc called. 'What are you doing in there?'

'Sinking,' Gawain shouted back.

Which Merlin felt was very much to the point. The other two dismounted and scrambled towards the marsh. But Merlin raced into the trees on the other side of the path.

'Hold on,' he yelled.

As soon as he was out of sight, he looked around for an appropriate length of branch. A flash of golden eyes and it was crashing at his feet. Sturdy and long, he decided it would do. He dragged it back to the others, where Caradoc was already on his stomach, Geraint holding his feet, as the older knight fruitlessly reached for Gawain.

'Try this.'

He slithered next to Caradoc and passed the branch to him. Together they fed it out to the beleaguered knight. Gawain got a hand to it and held on for dear life.

'Leave go. I have it,' Caradoc said. 'Help Geraint hold my legs. I feel myself slipping.'

Merlin rushed back to aid the struggling Geraint. Taking one leg each they slowly tugged both men free. Struggling to catch their breath, the shrieks of the horse filled the air. The mud was closing over his shoulders.

'We need to save him!' Gawain panted.

Caradoc looked towards the poor animal and shook his head. They wouldn't reach him in time.

'Please….' Tears filled Gawain's eyes.

Merlin could get him out if they would just all go away. He walked to the edge of the lethal bog.

'Have we any rope? We could wrap it around his haunches and then use our horses to pull him out….'

The horse had already given up and had ceased struggling. Nevertheless, the others went to their saddlebags to see what they had. And whilst their backs were turned, Merlin made a gesture and firmed the ground immediately below the hooves. Once the horse had a footing, Merlin slowly raised the level of solidity, laying a path beneath the marsh to the firm edge.

'It's not long enough.' Gawain sounded near despair.

Merlin turned to his own horse. If they could attach a rope it would make it easier for Gawain's poor steed. It may have a footing but it was exhausted. The other two were examining the length of ropeand were oblivious as Merlin magically produced a length of rope from his own saddlebag.

'Here.'

He tossed it towards Gawain and watched the knight's face light up with hope. A quick discussion soon had the middle of the rope weighted with Gawain's chain mail. With Gawain and Caradoc each holding an end of the rope, the heavy mail was thrown above the horse, pulling the rope with it.

As the weighted rope sank the two knights began to quickly tug until the rope was taut. It had worked.

"Thank the gods!' Gawain breathed.

The two men began heaving in earnest; muscles straining, sweat glossing their skin and harsh grunts punctuating the silence. The extra push from behind was enough to help the tired horse to take a step. And then another.

'Gawain, look.' Caradoc cried.

'I think he has found a solid path,' Merlin said.

The stallion now had his shoulders free from the oozing mud and was making slow progress along the route that Merlin had made for him.'

'But there was no solid ground...' Gawain looked at Merlin in confusion, his mouth open as if he were about to say more.

The neighing of his horse had him turning back. The fire was back in his charger's eyes, burning out the hopeless despair. He called gentle encouragement, and the horse gained a second wind from his success.

'You're the bravest, the best horse, in the world,' Gawain told his bone-weary, shivering stallion as it finally struggled free. His arms wrapped around the proud neck, and the horse nuzzled into his shoulder.

'And thank you,' he said to the others. 'I owe you a debt. We would have been lost without you.'

'So what happened?' Merlin asked. Of all people, Gawain would have been the last to be careless.

'I hardly know.' Gawain looked back in genuine confusion. 'I'm always cautious of marshland, but the ground was solid, I swear it was. The others were ahead and I was bringing up the rear. It just crossed my mind that it would be dreadful if I suddenly slid into a bog and they didn't even notice. You know how baseless fears flit through your mind at the oddest of times? Then it happened. I was off the path and we were sinking. I shouted, but they were already too far ahead. The really strange thing was I felt like there were eyes watching me. But there was no one around….'

'Magic?' Geraint asked.

'I think so,' Merlin replied.

'It sounds familiar - picks up on your fears, and makes them come true,' Caradoc said.

'It happened to you?' Gawain asked.

'Sort of. I got a giant spider.'

'Well at least you could squash it,' Gawain said dismissively.

'No. I got a GIANT spider.' He swung his arm wide to indicate its size.

'Ohhh. I wish you hadn't told me. I now have a new worst fear.'

'I really hate sorcerers,' Caradoc shuddered.

'May they all burn,' Geraint agreed, still haunted by the spider and the shrieks of the terrified horse.

Merlin bowed his head at this reminder of how tenuous his position was here. Even those whom he regarded as friends would hate him, if they knew what he was. But there was no time for self-pity. Arthur needed him.

'Come on, we have to carry on.'

'I don't think my horse carry me any further,' Gawain said with some reluctance.

'And nor should he. 'We will continue. You look to yourself and your noble steed,' Caradoc replied.

The horse nickered and Gawain nodded wearily as they all returned to the saddle.

'We were only caught in the bog for ten minutes or so, but I'm afraid helping me has held you up. They will be well ahead by now and they were moving fast.'

As they began to swing around Gawain caught Merlin's reins.

'Arthur always said you were lucky. I think I now understand what he means. So thank you. Whatever happens, remember you have a friend.'

Merlin looked uncertain but nodded and wheeled his horse around to catch up with the other two.

'Goodspeed,' Gawain called as the sound of hooves faded away.

As it happened, Gawain was wrong. The others weren't so far ahead after all.