Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favourited. Special thanks to Caldera32 for her hard work as a Beta.
I hope you like the next chapter. Feedback as always is very welcome.
Chapter 3 Little White Lies
The castle felt different at this time of night – eerie. Although he was king and free to roam where and when he pleased it seemed wrong to be creeping around the empty corridors when most of Camelot's inhabitants were tucked up in their beds asleep. Tonight such a simple pleasure eluded the royal; he could not sleep and it was his servant's fault. It was down to Merlin that he was wide awake and sneaking around his own castle like a naughty boy hiding from his father rather than the married and respected sovereign he was. The irony being that the dark-haired man would usually be at his side instigating such an activity, not the subject of it.
It was essential he spoke to his servant. Of course he'd tried talking before, but he never knew what to say. Despite all the insults, bravado, and banter which came so easily; getting information out of Merlin was like trying to prize a limpet off a rock. It had gone on long enough; he needed to know. He had to understand what it was that his friend could not tell him.
Three months had passed since he'd acquired a truth potion. Arthur had genuinely meant to give it back to Gaius, but somehow never got around to it and too much time had passed now for it not to be awkward. The royal could hardly leave something like that lying around for anyone to find, so he kept it on his person. He'd toyed with the idea of giving Merlin the tonic, but had dismissed such a dishonourable notion out of hand. He'd repeatedly tried to bury the noxious idea in the recesses of his mind, but it would not stay down. Every time his servant avoided a question or told a suspicious story he found his hand gravitating toward the little bottle he kept in his pocket. This had to stop; it was driving him mad.
After several hours of fruitless tossing and turning Arthur had gotten up, dressed, and was determined to sort this business out once and for all. It was the middle of the night, but Merlin had let slip Gaius was away dealing with a birth in the lower town leaving the servant alone. The royal wondered if it was too late for the visit, but his friend often stayed up into the wee hours; the frequency of barely-concealed yawns and half-lidded eyes was testament to that.
When the royal arrived at the physician's quarters the room was dark; Arthur could only just make out the array of bottles, books and apparatus lain on the table. He crossed the aromatic area and made his way up the stairs to the servant's room. No light escaped from under the door to indicate the occupant was still awake but the king continued regardless. He opened the door with every intention of waking the sleeping man by any means necessary but the bed was bare and unsullied - the room's usual resident was nowhere to be found. Arthur waited, drummed his fingers and paced about in the small space; he even considered looking over Merlin's sparse belongings to pass the time. He spied what appeared to be an ancient tome half stuffed under his servant's pillow, but there was insufficient light to even attempt to read it; besides, it felt like an intrusion.
Sleep was yet another one of those skills that came easily to the monarch; he would end his day tired from the arduous physical activity of training or hunting in addition to the mental fatigue from attending endless council meetings, reading official documents, and writing boring reports. Being a king could be exhausting, so he was more than ready for his bed when the time came. Arthur tried to be a good and just leader thus could slip into bliss easily. Seldom did his conscience keep him from slumber; usually he was so content in dreamland that he would resent his servant trying to separate him from his covers when the morning arrived far too quickly. The monarch smiled as he thought of the inventive ways Merlin had attempted to rouse him, only to dodge a goblet or piece of fruit for his trouble. The servant had been a little more cautious with his wake-ups following the royal marriage. Arriving unannounced one morning he'd been forced to retreat rather quickly, leaving red faces all around.
Many emotions assaulted the king; he was surprised, curious, and a tad annoyed regarding his servant's whereabouts. What was he doing at this hour? The tavern wasn't even open! As the time went by worry encroached. It was not unusual for Merlin to just disappear only to turn up with some tall tale but despite outward appearances he did not always return unscathed - or so the king had discovered recently. Arthur sighed; he knew his knights did not always remain in their own beds and he would not presume to pursue the matter, but the knights did not keep secrets - if anything, there was a tendency to brag about their exploits. Merlin, however, had always been a bit of an enigma and despite a mouth that was seldom without motion the servant could be surprisingly tight-lipped when he wanted to be. The royal's eyelids grew heavy and when he could stand the chill room no longer he inwardly admitted defeat and returned to his chambers, falling asleep shortly before dawn.
Things had been going well recently; three months had passed since the last incident and the number of magical attacks on Camelot had dropped (thanks to the warlock's vigilance and some of the wards he'd placed on the castle). Merlin still felt uneasy; he had been so sure there would be backlash after the fiasco with the truth potion. After all, the thief had died in captivity; the person who had employed him had to wonder what had happened. Surely all that planning would not go to waste? There must be more to it, an additional assault on the city and her king perhaps. There had been nothing. The servant worried; for weeks he'd stayed up late at night searching through his magic book for defensive spells and silent alarms that would alert him if anything was amiss. It did not ease his sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen; he knew it.
At least Gaius had destroyed the potion immediately. The old physician had been enthralled by the craftsmanship, but he knew how tempting and dangerous such a thing could be. It would not do for something like that to get into the wrong hands – the consequences for Camelot would be dire. Merlin gave an involuntary shiver; too much knowledge never bade well. Morgana was a seer and look where that got her; all those glimpses of the future made her demented and desperate. Prophecies and visions in crystal had tormented him too. He was told Mordred would kill Arthur and he let the boy go – he could not have destroyed an innocent child. Should the druid ever return with ill intent, Merlin would be forced to live with the knowledge he could have prevented it. He had been shown the havoc the dragon would cause, but his hand was forced and he released Kilgharrah anyway - then he had to watch the same scenes play over and over, like fate was taunting him as a sick joke. No, being blind had its benefits and he envied Arthur because the king did not know half of what went on; it was better that way. To just live your life as it was and not have destiny pull strings, highlight mistakes, and dangle dreams that were out of reach. Yes, sometimes he wished he was oblivious to what was happening because then he could wallow in the bliss of ignorance.
On a positive note, Arthur seemed to be asking for his opinion a bit more frequently. Merlin felt valued in his own right - that maybe his thoughts were worth something to his friend. The king had even discussed the old druid clans with Geoffrey the librarian, and it would appear the royal really was going to act on the promise he made to pardon the people - opening up discussions with their communities. Perhaps it was time to confess about his magic, but he could not bring himself to do it just yet. The tide finally felt like it may change and he did not want to spoil it with a rash decision. Before he revealed his secret he wanted to make sure the castle and those he loved were protected in case he had to leave suddenly.
Thoughts kept churning around his head to the extent he was dizzy with them. The warlock yawned and rubbed his eyes; he was drained. He'd already splashed water on his face to keep himself awake but to no avail. It had just caused him to be late and he barely made it to the kitchens in time to collect Arthur's breakfast. He contemplated pinching some of the food but suddenly felt nauseous. Merlin wanted to crawl into bed but couldn't; if only he hadn't been up all night. He hoped the royal wouldn't notice how tired he was and ask questions because the sorcerer could hardly tell him what he'd been up to. Trouble was, Arthur was noticing things and quizzing him more lately - he would just have to pretend nothing was wrong.
The curtains were thrown back enthusiastically, welcoming bright sunshine into the king's chambers. The servant performing the task was equally cheery.
"Wakey, wakey, lazy daisy," the skinny man bellowed, beginning to organise the room.
Arthur was bad-tempered and launched a pillow in the direction of his seemingly joyous employee. Merlin's happy demeanour irked him no end.
"How, in the name of sanity, can you be so happy at this time in the morning?" He snarled, diving back under the covers.
The dark-haired man smiled smugly (Arthur could not see his face but could hear it in the tone and knew the expression that went with that voice).
"Without Gaius' snoring to keep me up I enjoyed one of the best night's rest in a long time," the servant crowed.
Arthur froze, livid. He threw back the sheets ready to challenge the younger man and catch him out in his deception – but the king stopped himself. Anger at being constantly misled fizzed beneath the surface. To think, he'd actually been concerned about his friend's whereabouts. He watched, stunned, as Merlin continued his chores in an easy manner. He took in the creased clothes, unkempt hair, telltale dark circles under the eyes, and the slight stiffness of his movements. How did his servant have the gall to pretend he wasn't up all night when he looked like that? What the hell had he been doing? Merlin had stood before him and told a blatant lie; how it had slid as smooth as honey from that sharp mouth amazed and infuriated the royal as he'd always considered his friend honest.
That was the beginning of the end; no one made a fool of Arthur Pendragon. He would have his answers regardless of whether Merlin wanted to give them; he had the very means at his disposal and what had been so abhorrent suddenly seemed necessary. It would be easy, painless, and his servant would be none the wiser until it was all over. He was slippery and evaded questions like water through open fingers but Arthur was the king of Camelot and his subjects did not keep secrets from him. He was furious at Merlin. He felt no guilt at his plan of action, on the contrary, he was indignant and righteous. The royal struggled to keep his testiness in check; but his servant did not suspect a thing since such behaviour was commonplace in the mornings.
The easiest way to get Merlin to drink the potion would be to make him thirsty; that evening he would open the potion and pour the contents into a water-skin. Arthur informed the servant they would have an extra sparring session at the end of the day. If the king noticed the slight sag of the shoulders and huff this news elicited he said nothing – if his servant was tired, that was his own fault.
Merlin stifled a yawn and pressed on with his chores. I just needed to keep going for a couple more hours – then I could have slept and recovered. Now that wasn't going to happen. The harmless fib designed to avoid a tricky situation would be his undoing – the catalyst that would plunge him head-long into his worst nightmare.