Chapter 4: Willing and Able
Arthur made his way from the private dining chamber to the physician's quarters. Slowly, and deliberately, and unseen.
It was a game he'd played with Morgana, when he was a boy - or against, rather. Moving about the citadel from one point to another, without being seen. Passing courtiers or hurrying servants or stationary guards or unexpected knights. If you were seen, you had to go back to your starting point and begin again.
Morgana, hm. He mused a bit to himself as he circled a column to avoid two off-duty guards. He would have expected her to be frothing at the mouth, denouncing Uther and Aerldan as heartless and unjust, demanding Merlin's freedom – first from Uther, publically, then from him, privately. She felt strongly about the subject, he could tell from those flashes of feeling that escaped her façade of calm, but otherwise she simply ignored the situation.
Something to think about later, perhaps.
Looking back, he could see that the game had two very real and beneficial effects. Getting good at this game as a child in citadel corridors, prowling unseen and unheard, avoiding notice, was a skill that made him also a very good hunter, whether he was after dangerous criminals or just dinner. The other was, he knew the citadel like the back of his hand - every alcove, every shadowed doorway, the routes favored by the servants as shortcuts at different times of day, the corners where guards could be distracted by a trick of sound and echo.
Tonight, it served two purposes as well. First, to get him to Gaius with no one the wiser that the prisoner's two masters were meeting in private; there were guards and knights both who took their loyalty to their king rather than his heir just that seriously. Normally he didn't grudge them that – much – it kept him accountable for his behavior, if anything could be observed and reported back to his father. It was part of a king's training, wasn't it – the awareness that someone was always looking, and anything could become gossip, and a king's rule rests on the confidence of his people. And when he was king, he rather hoped his guards would keep him aware of what was going on in his own home.
Second, it used up the time until midnight, and gave Arthur a chance to think.
Aerldan did not have the authority to execute Merlin. Only Uther could give that order – and if that was what he decided, it would be a spectacle when all the people could attend. Daylight hours – noon or just before sundown, he thought he could safely guess, from the few times he'd witnessed an execution. So Merlin's life wasn't in danger – Aerldan had been employed by Uther before, and was evidently thought highly of; he wouldn't lose Merlin through carelessness.
Beyond that, to the specifics of questioning, Arthur couldn't bear to think. That sort of speculative fear – what could be happening, what might have already happened – could cripple a warrior as surely as an ill-placed blow. He'd been taught to deal with the known, and not let his imagination run wild.
Firstly, he needed to be sure that Merlin was able and willing to escape. Which meant getting into the dungeons to see him. And that probably wouldn't happen until after Aerldan was through with Merlin at midnight. Arthur could persuade a few guards, probably, to let him have a private moment with his servant. Aerldan would undoubtedly resist, resent, and go straight to Uther with the tale.
Then, a plan. Simplest was best, but even the simplest required at least two men. The tunnels were the best escape route, but it needed one man on the inside to open the cell and one man on the outside to open the hidden grate in the forest. He thought he had someone in mind – or Gaius himself, if the old man was agreeable and confident he could manage it – but that left the other guards on duty.
Simplest to drug them. Sure there would be trouble when the escape was discovered, there would be punishments for sleeping on the job. If the drug was also discovered – either a liquid mixed with a jug of watered wine, or set alight and inhaled as smoke – there would be an investigation for collaborators. In that case, Arthur determined to confess to his father in private; there was only so much Uther could do to punish his heir, after all. Discomfort and boredom, and he could suffer that for Merlin.
He'd often suffered that with Merlin, he thought, allowing a cynical smirk as he ducked behind the curve of a stair to let two servants descend and hurry past.
Still, drugging them was preferable to clobbering them from behind. Which was far different from clobbering them from the front, on the training field – when they could see an opponent coming, and had the training and arms to defend themselves. And they knew that. He did not want to lose the goodwill of the loyal soldiers of Camelot – because he would be implicated in his servant's escape as a matter of course, no matter how it was done - that sort of thing would spread. Only as a last resort.
More uncertain, was the question of gaining their cooperation. Any form of bribery – whether actual or promised – could have unforeseen consequences. As a king, favors bestowed were one thing – favors asked, dangerous.
Finally, the physician's quarters. To avoid attention from the guard at the base of the stair, he opened the door without knocking on it and slipped inside, the greeting already on his lips as he closed it again behind him, "Gaius?"
At the same time the lone occupant of the room, at the table before the single-lit marked candle, bolted up and said, "Gaius?"
Arthur blinked. Sir Leon, out of armor for the night.
"Oh," the knight said blankly. "Prince Arthur. I thought you were –"
"Gaius," Arthur finished for him, glancing around the darkened room. "Where is he?"
Leon shrugged. "No one has seen him since the trial."
"That's ridiculous," Arthur growled, stalking further into the room and kicking the three-legged stool – mostly by accident; it was dark. "One guard told me, he was going on his rounds, another one told me he was harvesting plants in the forest."
"I wondered if maybe… he just left."
Arthur swung around to see the slight grimace on the knight's face. "You mean, left Camelot entirely? He wouldn't do that, not with Merlin on trial for his life."
"Maybe he was afraid of what Merlin might say."
Arthur moved closer, the better to see Leon's face in the dim light. "What do you mean by that."
"That spell he did." Leon thrust his hands behind him in a relaxed-respectful posture, probably unconsciously. "Sire, I testified that I saw Merlin's eyes turn gold, I saw his gesture and its effect, though I didn't hear the spell. But…"
"But what?" Arthur demanded.
"You didn't see him." Leon's voice lowered, troubled and intent. "Sire, he was confident. And he said nothing at all, he spoke no word. Of course, I'm not an expert, but I assume that means stronger magic, rather than the alternative."
Arthur opened his mouth to argue, and found he had no words.
"I spoke to a few of the others, this afternoon and tonight," Leon continued. "Some that tell stories, that… get repeated, on the field, around the campfire. You know. Close scrapes, lucky accidents… You've had them yourself, haven't you, sire? Turning around to find an enemy at your back – but inexplicably weaponless? Or, with one of his own fellows' arrows in him, or having just been rendered unconscious by a falling damn tree branch!" Leon calmed himself visibly. "I'm sorry, sire. Nobody's said anything because there's no proof, and you hate to spit in the eye of good fortune, if that's really all it is, accusing someone of saving your life illegally. But – what if he's been doing this sort of magic for years, and Gaius knows?"
Worse. What if Gaius taught him.
Arthur shuddered. What a horrible thought, that the old man would encourage a farm boy with obvious weaknesses – determined to protect Arthur though he couldn't balance a blade worth a damn, and ready to believe his boyhood friend untainted. To irreversibly sully his soul, risk the crimes that would inevitably come, when Merlin's natural innocence was overcome by magic's evil influence.
"I don't believe it," he said slowly. "Gaius wouldn't sacrifice Merlin to magic, like that." Though perhaps, since Gaius had dabbled, before he swore off sorcery, maybe he thought Merlin could do the same?
"Not even to protect you?" Leon said meaningfully.
He looked around the room again. A physician, a healer – dedicated to fighting corruption and saving lives. It didn't make sense.
"I came here to ask Gaius for a sleeping potion," Arthur said.
"For yourself?" Leon asked, with a subtle smile and a raised eyebrow that said, he understood his prince completely.
So Arthur finished, "And his help freeing Merlin from the cells."
"Do you know if he keeps extra doses of that potion, and where they are, sire?"
Both of them glanced around; if there was any organization to any stage of the portion-formulating process, it was lost on Arthur. He snorted. "Never mind. I guess I'll have to render the guards insensible with a length of tree branch, instead. Or something."
Leon looked faintly alarmed. "Right now, Arthur?"
"No." He gave the knight a disappointed grimace. "It needs two – one to get Merlin to the tunnels, the other to open the grate in the forest."
Leon looked past Arthur's right shoulder. "If I may say, sire, you ought to be the man on the outside. Make an excuse to leave – hunting, perhaps – so you are above suspicion when the escape becomes known. And…" His glance back to Arthur was almost shy.
"Go on," Arthur said, pulling back a smile. "I was thinking about sounding you out on this, but I hate to ask a man to commit treason." What was the kingdom coming to, when doing the noble thing was treasonous?
"Perhaps if I asked?" Leon was still uneasy about it, but Arthur trusted him. "These few of the lads, might be amenable to swearing that the prisoner used magic to vanish right out of his cell."
Arthur stared. And if the situation they were discussing were not so dire, he might have laughed. That was the best story, right there. Merlin free, and no one having to face punishment for even the slightest dereliction of duty, or suspicion of involvement. Aerldan might even be in trouble, for the failure of whatever he'd done to block Merlin's ability to cast a spell.
"Who?" he said. "And how soon?"
"Best if I keep the names private?" Leon suggested. "As long as you're on the outside to open the grate… I'll let you know, once we've organized the guard schedule?"
"Excellent." Arthur loosed his smile, then, and looked back to the marked candle on the table. Half of an hour, maybe, til midnight. Perhaps it would raise suspicion – or lower it, maybe – but… "I want to see him, tonight," he said. "Merlin. Whatever the questioner did with him, he's had a helluva day and a night. I want to be sure he'll go willingly, and that…"
"He knows he hasn't been abandoned," Leon agreed. "Only – see to it that he swears off magic? For the sake of all our consciences, helping him to escape."
"Yes," Arthur said grimly. "For the love of Camelot, yes."
..….*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
He was nearly drunk. One more tankard of ale… He puckered his lips and squinted toward the bottom of the vessel in his fist – or maybe two. It was hard to tell; Mercian law didn't regulate the watering of ale the way Camelot did, and these border towns were the worst.
It wasn't working the way he wanted it to. The way it always had before, up until a fortnight or so ago.
The tavern had always been fun before, he mourned. Noisy and full of friends; now something was lacking. He was aware that he was bordering on maudlin.
Maybe he should quit drinking alone in a corner. Go look for a game of chance to play, or at least to bet on. Go look for a fight.
Before he could make a move, someone else sat down across from him, with a huff of extra weight and age. A man with shoulder-length white hair, and lines of exhaustion marring his stern expression. He wanted to say the man was familiar, but –
"Gwaine," the old man pronounced. "I have been looking for you."
He looked his companion over. Long brown coat, fully buttoned down the front and split for riding at the sides over his trousers, which were filthy with road dust and muck. He slurred a question which might have been, Do I know you? or Do I owe you?
"I must say, I hoped to find you a bit more sober," the old man said with a grimace of distaste. "Merlin is in trouble; I need your help."
That sobered him up in a hurry. And then he knew the old fellow's name.
"Gaius," he said. And gave him a twice-over. The physician's quarters were a good five hours' journey at a steady pace over good roads. Which meant that the old man was desperate – and yet couldn't ask anyone in Camelot. "What happened?"
"He's been arrested," Gaius told him. "It's only a matter of time til he's sentenced to execution."
Gwaine felt his eyebrows lift, and shoved his half-empty tankard to one side. "What did he do, insult the wrong noble?"
"No, he-" The old man checked himself, giving Gwaine a keen glance. "Suffice to say, he did the wrong thing at the wrong time."
"With the best of intentions," Gwaine guessed. "But the wrong people saw?"
"Something like that. He can explain more fully if and when he is so inclined." Gaius leaned his elbows on the table between them. "I have a plan for his escape, but I need you to – meet him. Care for him, whatever condition he's in, make sure he leaves the territories where Uther's influence reaches."
"Condition?" Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "You mean he's injured?"
"Possibly. I don't know for sure. Uther handed him over to a questioner."
"Anyone I know?" Gwaine said.
"Aerldan?"
"Bastard." Gwaine didn't bother clarifying whether he meant the king or the questioner - both equally, probably.
"I don't have much time," Gaius said. "I'm riding back tonight, if you agree to help."
It was nearly midnight. Almost dawn, when the old man reached his home, having given up all sleep to make this trip. So did it matter that he was risking execution himself, if he were caught on Camelot land? It didn't; Merlin would do it for him, he knew after only a few days' acquaintance with the young servant. The only one he'd ever entrusted a secret to. He still didn't know why he'd chosen to make that confidence, but he didn't regret it.
"I'll come," he said, shifting his left boot to feel the reassuring weight of his pack under the bench he was sitting on. "Only – why not Arthur? He seemed half-decent at getting his own way with his father." He seemed more than half-decent otherwise, also.
"The nature of the crime," Gaius said cryptically.
Gwaine twisted sideways on the bench, reaching for his pack and setting it between his knees in preparation to depart. He probably shouldn't ask, but… what the hell.
"Is he guilty?" he said casually.
The old man's eyebrows rose. "Does it matter?"
Gwaine did him the courtesy of considering his response.
Before he'd known who they were – crown prince and manservant – he'd seen a cocky young man picking a fight, and his lightweight friend willingly facing a mob at his side. When presented with a tavern bill as long as his arm and Gwaine himself falling-down drunk, Merlin had laughed and offered to pay – the inability to do so an afterthought, and never even a worry. Looking down the row of filthy soldiers' boots, he'd shrugged and grinned and said of his punishment with perfect good nature, I think it's fair.
Of his master he'd said, he's a noble, but a good man. And because Gwaine had believed Merlin, had risked his life – but gained the experience of a fine fight – entering the melee to watch the prince's back against would-be assassins, he'd learned for himself that a lifelong cynicism might be wrong.
Which meant, there was room for hope in Gwaine's philosophy, for the first time in… ever. Perhaps he'd saved Arthur's neck, but Merlin might arguably have saved Gwaine's life from utter uselessness, at the same time.
And. If Merlin was guilty, whatever it was, he had done it with the best of intentions, that Gwaine believed.
"Not a bit," he said easily. "Where do I meet him?"
"Up the hill from the tavern where you first met him," Gaius said, shifting as if preparing to leave, himself. "And Gwaine, I hardly need warn you, you'll both be fugitives, at that point."
"I'll be careful," Gwaine protested with a grin.
That eyebrow rose ominously.
"I'll be careful with Merlin," Gwaine amended.
"You had better be."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur closed Gaius' chamber door behind them.
"Sire, you may want to consider…" Leon hesitated, joining Arthur in descending the stair. No longer trying to avoid notice; the crown prince strolling and chatting with a knight was not an incident worthy of report to the king by anyone. "How far, you are willing to take this."
"I don't take your meaning," Arthur said, a bit impatiently.
"If something goes wrong. What are you willing to do, to –" Leon broke off what he had been going to say, as they rounded a corner to take a corridor that was not unoccupied. "To achieve your goal?" he ended, glancing at a passing servant.
"If something goes wrong," Arthur repeated.
"If we're betrayed, or caught," Leon answered, lowering his voice. "There are knights who would die upon your command. There are also men whose loyalty to their current lord is unquestioned. Would you set them at odds?"
Arthur recalled a time, almost two years ago now, waiting for Merlin as the outside man at the grate, preparing to defend a child in the same predicament as his servant now found himself. Wondering, if the knights came down that dark tunnel, would they fight him. Would he fight them. Would they be willing to hurt each other – kill each other -
"Kingdoms have split over such issues," Leon ventured. "The heir's defiance of the crowned ruler?"
"You're asking me, am I willing to kill my father's men, for Merlin's life," Arthur said, as they rounded another corner and started down to the lower levels, more certain now that there wouldn't be anyone to overhear them. "Whether I'm willing to ask anyone else to die, to accomplish his freedom?"
Leon shrugged uncomfortably.
"I can't say," Arthur said.
Remembering, for a surreal moment, one day when he had confronted – challenged – his father. How wrong it felt, once he'd calmed down again, how grateful he'd been to Merlin for saying – hm, something against magic, interestingly enough, but in any case, whatever it took to get through Arthur's hazy battle-rage.
"I can't order that, I can't ask that – for anyone to disobey the king, or risk his life. I won't split our ranks. But… damn, let's hope it doesn't come to that. I don't want to see Merlin dead, either."
But perhaps… if something went wrong and their plans were discovered, if Uther saw Arthur's determination, perhaps he would not risk the same civil unrest? If he himself understood that he must not unduly undermine the authority of the current king, might he not be able to count on Uther's disinclination to undermine the future king? Possibly…
Arthur followed Leon, down the stairs that turned twice before they reached the open area where the prison guards had a small table and several chairs, and were accustomed to dicing and drinking while they served this duty.
He descended the last six steps slowly, while Leon spoke to the three soldiers. He didn't hear what the knight said, but as one, the guards turned back to their game, affecting not to notice Arthur. That's the way we're going to play it then. Everybody pretend it never happened. Without looking at him, Leon motioned Arthur to pass, and he headed for the further stair, down into deeper darkness.
There were only two cells on the lowest level, along with the interrogation chamber, with bars on the front of the cell and a stone wall separating the two. The door of the first stood open, the second was closed, but both were empty. The thick plank door of the interrogation chamber was closed, also. Arthur heard nothing; he didn't know if he should be glad for that, or not.
Not wanting to be seen by Aerldan, he slipped into the first and open cell to wait.
It was quiet, and dark – the light of the solitary torch in its sconce by the stair didn't reach far – and absolutely foul. Arthur gagged, then tried to continue breathing without risking his sense of smell. No cot, no pallet, no straw. No bucket. Simply, filthy stone.
As cluttered as Merlin's room had been the few times he'd glanced through the open door, it had always seemed clean, at least. Merlin's clothes always clean as well; he wasn't half bad with laundry duties. Unless he had one of the laundresses sweet on him, or –
Arthur shook his head. Ridiculous. The thought, and him thinking it to avoid the reality of the situation.
He alerted to the sound of a door, the sound of a man's high-pitched voice. The noise of boots, and a scraping he recognized from Merlin's arrival and departure from the trial, this afternoon. He was being dragged again – though whatever Gaius had given him to keep him safely unconscious had surely worn off, long since.
The threesome came into sight as before – the same guards? Arthur didn't know – turning sideways to enter the narrow cell door.
The first guard startled a bit to see the crown prince, but didn't pause in his task. Merlin was limp between them, making no obvious move to lift his head or move his feet.
"He's unconscious?" Arthur demanded.
The first guard glanced about the shadowy floor as if deciding where to place the prisoner. "Not quite, my lord."
"Let me take him." The words were out of Arthur's mouth before he even realized his intention, his feet moving him forward, his arms reaching for the lanky form of his servant. The two guards stopped, shifting to allow him to pass his arms around Merlin's ribs.
"Watch his arms and hands, my lord," the other guard said neutrally.
"I've got him," Arthur said, bracing himself to accept Merlin's full weight. He could feel the boy breathe and shudder, his head lolling on Arthur's shoulder. "It's all right – you're dismissed."
"Thank you, sire," the first said.
They left the cell door open as they departed; the second added, "Our post is the foot of the stair if you require us, my lord, simply call. We'll lock up when you're finished?"
Arthur jerked his head in impatient response. Then, quieter and preparing to lay his burden down, "Hey, Merlin."
The servant moaned, and slurred Arthur's name. "Don't… don't look at me," he went on, thickly.
"I should close my eyes, and just drop you anywhere?" Arthur said. His own throat felt half-closed, and his eyes stung – probably from the stench of this place. He twisted so he could lay Merlin on his back, and lowered him slowly by degrees. Carefully. His servant moaned and grunted, though it seemed to Arthur that he was trying not to. "What did he do to you?"
"Hit me with a stick." Another soft pained gasp.
"On your back?" Arthur said.
"No. My arms and… shins. I want to… be on my side, though… Arthur?"
"All right," he soothed the boy, helping him shift on the hard and filthy floor.
Merlin moved stiffly, and bit his lip to keep another moan quiet, drawing his arms into his chest, hands near his face. Arthur squinted down in the gloom as he crouched at Merlin's side; he couldn't see clearly but he thought the bruises on the side of Merlin's face had swollen his eye shut.
"Why," he said softly. "Why did he do this?" He felt like dragging Aerldan to the training field and making him stand a training dummy to have the stuffing knocked out of him. Midnight or not.
"Because I wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know." Merlin's eyes – or eye, rather – opened again, to stare unseeing at the toe of Arthur's boot.
"Merlin," Arthur said softly, putting his hand oh-so-lightly on his servant's thin shoulder. "You have to cooperate. You have to answer him. You have to tell the truth."
A tremor rippled through Merlin's body, and it took Arthur a minute to realize his servant was crying. As much as he teased him about being soft and rather girly, he'd never witnessed more than a suspicious gleam, a hastily-wiped cheekbone as Merlin's back was turned.
It shook him, to feel Merlin's quiet sobs, to hear the dry gasp for breath, over and over, as he couldn't turn his back, this time. "Please don't… look at me."
For answer, Arthur shifted so he was seated on the cell floor, disregarding the filth and the trousers suitable for dinner with the king. He wanted to clap Merlin's shoulder in a comradely-sympathetic way, but didn't know if he'd hit a sore spot, so he settled for rubbing Merlin's black hair, just briefly. "I'm so sorry," he said in a low voice. "This is my fault."
Merlin gulped a protest. "No, Arthur… it was my choice."
"If my father," Arthur went on, troubled, "won't change his mind about… execution. Merlin, you have to be ready to take your chance." He felt his servant still slightly, attentively. "Do you understand me? You have to go, you have to be able to go." He bent closer to Merlin's ear. "You have to cooperate with Aerldan, til then. You have to tell him the truth. Can you do that? For me, Merlin?"
Even if Leon was right, and they found out Merlin's exposure to magic was more extensive and serious than the single spell. If anyone could resist that corruptive influence and retain relative purity of soul, it was Merlin. And he did not think he could bear that his servant should suffer for caring about him and trying to protect him, any more.
"For you," Merlin whispered. "Yes."
"I can't stay," Arthur told him regretfully. "I'm not supposed to be here at all – if my father found out, it could be very bad for both of us." He meant to say it lightly, but Merlin didn't respond right away. And he thought, as he moved to get to his feet, looking down at his servant – body beaten limp and unresisting, face marred by bruises and tears – it was already very bad for Merlin.
"S'okay. 'M glad you came."
He thought it safe to touch Merlin's elbow, and whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Please don't hate me." Merlin's voice was a fraction louder, stronger, clearer, as if to hold Arthur there with him a moment more, impress upon him the importance of what he wanted to say. "When they – if they tell you. What I've said. Please don't hate me, Arthur?"
"Merlin, you're…" What was he supposed to say to that? You're an idiot, I could never hate you. Or, what do you suppose you've done that's so bad you're afraid I will?
"No, please. Don't." Merlin didn't even turn to meet Arthur's eyes, didn't move a bit, even to pillow his head on an arm, softer and at least marginally cleaner than the ground. "You're better than that. Don't… don't hate. No matter what?"
"I don't hate anyone, Merlin," Arthur told him softly. Still Merlin didn't move, but he seemed to relax, at that.
Down the corridor, a voice called, and another answered. Arthur imagined it was someone – Leon maybe – checking up on him. Impatient not to be discovered, themselves.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he promised. Somehow, some way he'd make it happen. "You'll be all right, you hear me?"
"Yes… my lord."
It made his heart ache, a bit, when Merlin used his title and meant it. Tonight, it made him feel guilty, as though it had been Arthur's duty to protect his servant, and he had failed.
He'd make it up to Merlin. He would be free, and fine, sooner or later.
A/N: Bonus – now with added Gwaine pov! Ask me why not Lancelot? Because Gwaine did mention he might go to Mercia – therefore he would be easier to find - as far as I remember, Lancelot didn't mention any concrete plans. And, Gwaine is my favorite. Cheers!
A bit shorter, this chapter, but the next picks up with the next day, so it seemed a natural break…
Kirsten: Thanks for your reviews! (since I can't say it in a PM…)