Chapter 11: Into Thin Air
"Wash," Gaius said peremptorily, shutting the door of his chamber behind them and sliding the rarely-used bolt into place. "Even if the guards don't see you or hear you coming, they're going to smell you three corridors away."
Merlin propped his staff in the corner behind the door and obeyed; he removed his cloak and shirt to clean them, with a single spell removing dirt and stains, before dropping them on the patient's bed as he crossed to the washstand. "In the vaults," he said, pouring water heated with a glance of magic, "You said something about what Arthur wanted, when he came in this morning."
He turned to watch his mentor pluck the white petals of the dropwort flower with a delicate silver pincer, drop them down the narrow neck of a glass vial suspended on a tabletop tripod over an open candle flame. Gingerly Merlin began to unwrap the bandages on his left last finger, in preparation to wash.
"Evidently the prince transcribed part of your trial, and your testimony to Aerldan," Gaius said, lifting the glass mixing-vial with a hardier set of tongs to swirl the petals into the liquid inside without touching the heated glass with his fingers. "Three weeks later, Arthur is wrestling with questions concerning the nature of magic – good, bad, or neutral – and the morality of the ban. The subject of your magic, Merlin, as it relates to those two questions."
Merlin watched the last curl of bandage release his skin, half-lost in disbelief. Three years of hinting and hoping, looking for opportunities and fearing them at the same time – and three weeks after his 'death', Arthur was actively seeking enlightenment on his own.
"That's –" He swallowed against a rush of confusing and conflicting emotion. Triumph, irritation, relief, impatience – "That's good," he finished lamely.
Gaius returned the potion to the flame and moved next to him, taking the limp strip of soiled bandage to set it aside. He turned Merlin by his shoulders to face the room's candlelight and poked at the half-dozen marks on his chest left by the containment rune, unconnected and fading, with a satisfied murmur. Then the physician took Merlin's hand to examine the shortened finger; the skin had healed over the severed joint, though it was still pink, tender to the touch, and prone to throbbing when blood flow increased or quickened.
"This looks quite well, Merlin," he said. "Have you had any particular problems with pinpointed sensitivity? No? Let me see the other hand."
Merlin allowed him to unwrap the dirtied strips of cloth holding the fingers that had been broken to the willow-bark, a narrow curved splint that extended protectively from the base of his palm a bit past his fingertips. "You can move them with only minimal discomfort?"
"They're still sore," Merlin allowed. "But I can use them now." A bit. Carefully. He turned back to the wash-basin, using soap and cloth slowly, so as not to bump or jostle or press with those fingers unnecessarily, and the old man retreated to supervise the process of his potion.
"I am very proud of you, Merlin." Gaius' voice interrupted him washing out his hair; as his eyes were squinted shut and he was bent over the basin so as not to drip all over, he simply halted his movements to listen. "I do believe Arthur is well-started on his way to discarding the notion that magic is intrinsically evil and corrupts all those who use it, and instead admitting the use of magic for good. He is questioning what he believes, and he won't be satisfied with anything less than the truth."
Merlin shivered, and it had nothing to do with bare, wet skin. He'd made mistakes, he'd lied – the prince was a relentless hunter, what would he think when he found out those things Merlin himself regretted? Don't hate me… He reached for the towel to dry himself, for something else to focus on, and noticed that Gaius was watching him, perhaps simply waiting and timing the brewing potion for the possessed princess.
"That is partly your victory, Merlin," his mentor said, his tone half-scolding, as if Merlin had disagreed outright. "Your patience with him, your loyalty – even your daily service – it is beginning to pay off. Arthur wouldn't question the innocence of a stranger executed for sorcery. He wouldn't wonder about the goodness possible in magic if he didn't feel the truth of your care and sacrifice for him. His heart tells him, an innocent man was executed – and he is on a self-imposed mission of sorts, to see that it doesn't happen again, if he can prevent it."
"As prince, he can do little," Merlin reminded the old man, keeping his voice even with an effort. Keeping the hope that flared, wildly and almost painfully in his soul, in check with reality. "And he may not be king for years and years."
"We shall see," Gaius allowed. "Perhaps I have been waiting so long I've gotten ahead of myself. For now, I have fresh bandages for you – those fingers need to be protected another couple of weeks. Get dressed – this potion will be ready before you are."
Merlin ducked into his newly-cleaned shirt, leaving the laces at his neck untied – difficult and time-consuming, doing that either by hand or with magic, and awkward to ask for help. It was a moment more to use his magic again to clean trousers and boots, and he swirled his cloak around his shoulders as Gaius decanted the potion into a dose-bottle.
"Well," the old man said, tying a scrap of oiled leather over the mouth to prevent spillage along the way, "let's hope your luck holds, Merlin."
He gave his mentor an encouraging grin in response, grasping the staff again – to which Gaius raised a forbidding eyebrow, before leaving out the chamber door. Merlin trailed him at about ten paces, give or take. Gaius knew the citadel better than most of its inhabitants, probably, he knew when to use the hidden servants' shortcuts, and when to stalk right up to a guard and distract him with a stern query or implied reprimand. His magic only supplement the physician's stealth twice.
Merlin found himself hoping, as they reached the guest wing of the palace, that this could be done quietly, for Gaius' sake. He knew without a doubt the old man was skilled at prevarication when he had to be, to protect a patient or other loved one, but to face two kings over an unsolicited midnight excursion to a princess' bedchamber – it was lucky Gaius was an old man.
Slipping inside the door, he pushed it shut behind him, and nearly ran into Gaius' back in the dim light. A moment later and he knew why the physician had paused – Elena was whimpering in her bed, and further sounds indicated physical as well as mental unrest.
"A nightmare?" Merlin whispered into Gaius' ear.
"Light a candle, if you please," his mentor returned.
Merlin focused and spoke, "Bryne," and a tall taper on the bedside table flicked to life, revealing the girl – sleeping anything but peacefully.
As she lay on her back, her hands were fisted in the pillow to either side of her head, curly blonde hair spread in disarray. She twisted, giving a little cry – and her features were momentarily distorted, showing pale white-blue skin and pointed teeth. Merlin - just behind Gaius's shoulder as they advanced hesitantly toward the afflicted princess - jolted, taking a long step sideways to spin the staff defensively horizontal, stabilizing his hand's tentative grip with the shaft between elbow and ribs.
"What is it?" Gaius whispered; Merlin envied him his calm nerve.
"I saw it – I just saw it, the sidhe," he hissed back.
"Quickly is best, then," Gaius decided. "Be prepared, Merlin – she's been the fairy's unwitting host her whole life. It will retreat back inside her as quick as blinking if it can."
The physician hurried to the bedside; Merlin circled toward the foot, staff ready to focus his power in a strike of deadly lightning, suppressing the urge to caution his mentor. Gaius uncapped the dose-bottle, shook back his sleeves, and gently raised the princess with one hand around the back of her head and neck. Elena opened her mouth to moan again, and the physician – with decades of experience treating unconscious or uncooperative patients - poured the potion down her throat.
Merlin watched her swallow convulsively – then jerk out of Gaius' grasp to fall stiffly and heavily among the pillows. He steeled himself – he did not enjoy acting as judge for the magical threats that arose against Camelot, and even less as executioner – but needs must. There was no one else, and Merlin's sensibilities must come second to his king, and Arthur's kingdom, its citizens and allies.
A tiny blue light popped up above the princess' head – he wasn't fast enough to see if it had come from her open mouth or just coalesced from her skin – he aimed his power and released. Gaius jumped as a bolt of blue lightning zipped across the bed, mere inches from where he sat, to explode the sidhe in a scatter of sparks that dissipated instantly into the air. Merlin jumped too, as the concentrated power sent sparks of momentary pain through his still-healing fingers.
"Oh, my!" the princess gasped – and Merlin thought it best to spin and dash for the shadowed alcove by the door before she saw him.
"Be at ease, my dear," Gaius soothed, in his best handle-everything physician's manner. "There is nothing to fear, I am Gaius the court physician here in Camelot. You had a nightmare, do you remember?"
"A nightmare?" the princess said; Merlin couldn't see her from his hidden position, but her voice sounded stronger, more confident – not a trace of the uncomfortable whimper he'd first heard. "You must be mistaken. I feel amazing – I haven't felt this good in years."
"Ah," Gaius said. "Well, I have had several years treating the Lady Morgana for nightmares – if I haven't perfected the recipe by now, it is not for lack of trying. I am sure you will sleep better now, your highness."
"Yes, I suppose. Thank you, Gaius – where is Grunhilda?"
A mild shock of anxiety shot through Merlin, til he heard Gaius' comfortingly placid response. "I'm sure she's about here somewhere. Best to sleep now, and the morning will come soon enough."
They exchanged a wish for the other to have a good night, and Gaius joined Merlin in the doorway to the sound of bedclothes shuffling as the newly-freed girl made herself comfortable.
"You can take this back with you, hide it under my floorboards again?" Merlin whispered, passing the staff to Gaius' hand.
"No one should notice an old man needing a walking stick," Gaius returned in the same quiet tone. "And you're straight on to the vaults to deal with the pixie? I will see you in three days' time at the twisted oak north of the clearing outside the lower town. Unless I have a message for you before then."
"Gwaine or I will check the hollow every day," Merlin promised. Deliberately avoiding answering the old man's first question. No, not straight on to the vaults.
"Be careful," Gaius told him, as they shut the door of the guest chamber behind them, and prepared to part ways.
He bit his tongue on a flippant, what could go wrong, and instead responded with a smile. "I will."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur eased himself down in the hot water, willing the tension to relax from his body as he leaned against the towel positioned for his comfort. Focusing deliberately on releasing each muscle – and then having to do it all over again.
It wasn't that he needed the wash. He'd cleaned himself quickly but adequately, after the day's ride and before the grand banquet. And near the height of summer, it wasn't because he welcomed the enveloping heat. The banquet was over. The marriage proposition declined without offense, the alliance remained secure.
He'd stood in his place at Elena's side to capture the attention of the entire hall. And for two minutes of silent attention, his father had worn an expression of contented satisfaction, believing that Arthur had resolved himself to obey, and to please.
Elena, you are a wonderful woman, but…
She'd known what he was going to say. Their private picnic had been awkward at times, but once the topic of betrothal had been broached – Elena as keen on marrying a stranger as he was, but resigned to make do with security and respect in a relationship instead of love – they'd managed to reach an understanding. We are both here out of duty… I hope one day we both find the love we deserve. He felt sure their fathers' agreement and cooperation would endure for the term of his reign, and Elena's. Only, not together.
Godwyn had worn an expression of benign surprise. Sighed, and tilted his head to share a loving sigh with his daughter, before lifting his goblet to Arthur in return. Uther had not been pleased to accept what he could not change, but diplomatic enough to mimic Godwyn's benevolent acquiescence.
At least, while they were in company with the visiting royals.
Arthur planned on making an extended hunting trip after Godwyn's departure in a couple of days – it would do both him and his father good to be apart for a week or so. The king could adjust to his son's minor act of rebellion – the incident itself not resolving according to plan, as well as the ramifications of Arthur's attitude – and chose whether to address it more seriously, or ignore it entirely, when Arthur returned.
He shifted, feeling the water make lapping ripples against his skin – chest, upper arms, and knees. The air wasn't hot and moist as he inhaled, anymore, the water slowly cooling.
Too bad it wasn't as easy to coax mental relaxation. Now that the issue with Elena and his intended marriage had been settled, his mind returned to a deeper and less time-sensitive matter.
The more important reason for Arthur's planned absence from Camelot. The answers and half-answers, hints and incredible claims he'd heard from Gaius this morning were tying knots in his thoughts that the hot water couldn't ease.
Even though answers wouldn't change anything for Merlin. Even if Arthur understood his servant's past, his secrets, his abilities and achievements – achievements, he snorted to himself; a month ago he would have considered it an achievement for Merlin to arrive on time in the morning, or carry all his armor back from the training field without dropping something, or muck the stables without getting it in his hair - it couldn't bring him back. It couldn't change what happened.
But if Merlin had worked and sacrificed, and risked, for Arthur… He felt that he was bound to honor that. If he owed a debt, he should pay it back however he could. And, justice was the duty of a king.
He rather wished he could have talked to Merlin before all this. Would you have listened to him? Would you have believed him?
The water was cooling. And he was beginning to wonder if investigating the truth of the matter was going to finally put his mind to rest, or only raise more unanswerable questions to plague him the rest of his life. Arthur sighed and gripped the sides of the tub, pulling his feet under him to stand up from the water, and reached for his towel.
To his surprise, the length of thick cloth crossed the distance to his hand, and his jerk of reaction almost caused him to trip or tip the tub.
"Oh! I'm sorry, sire, I didn't mean to startle you!"
"Orryn," he said. "I told you I could manage on my own, you were dismissed for the night."
As Arthur stepped to the rug and wrapped the towel around his waist, reaching for the second to dry off with, the servant clenched his jaws around an unseemly yawn, and any possible answer. Merlin would have let it crack his face in half to remind Arthur of the late hour and make him feel guilty for keeping him up. Merlin would have been out the door before Arthur had spoken the last syllable of dismissed.
"I've hung your nightclothes there by the screen," Orryn said perfunctorily; Arthur heard the unspoken addition, where you prefer them. He'd learned not to try to actually put them on Arthur, either.
"You really didn't have to stay," Arthur told him, padding across the stone floor. If he'd know the man was just going to stand unnoticed in the corner while Arthur soaked and thought…
"I prefer to empty the bath immediately," Orryn said, hurrying to reclaim the buckets he used for carrying water.
Arthur scrubbed the towel over the back of his neck to cover his cringe. He'd forgotten how this master-servant familiarity worked both ways; he'd need to make more of an effort to learn Orryn's quirks also. After tonight, he'd have all the palace staff pitying Orryn having to lug unnecessary water up and down stairs so late at night.
Three years ago, it hadn't occurred to him to care how his whims might affect anyone else. It hadn't occurred to him to mind the impression he made on commoners and menials; he'd assumed respect would come with his rank and title, his ability to demand it. Merlin had taught him in surprising and abrupt ways, true respect was earned. And, that the respect of all his people was important, not just those of higher rank or power.
He was dressed when Orryn returned after his first trip, trousers only on a midsummer night, the cool stone pleasant under the soles of his bare feet as he leaned on the ledge to gaze out the open panes of the window into darkness. Waiting for a stray breeze, and mostly in vain.
"Might I bring your highness anything on my return?" Orryn asked, setting one bucket down to close the door carefully and correctly. "Something to drink, or a fresh fruit, perhaps?"
"No." Arthur turned, still leaning on the wall, to watch the servant refill his buckets.
Merlin would have left the door swing open, or kicked it shut behind him without worrying about the noise. Merlin would not have offered to do more work. He would have said something stupid and random which Arthur would mock – and then find himself responding honestly to an unexpected, What's wrong, Arthur? Merlin would have offered advice unasked and it would have been surprisingly sound.
He would have chattered and snickered with Gwen at the banquet, half-attentive in his place by the wall behind the high table – he'd known that Arthur quite liked Morgana's maidservant, in spite of the strictures against pursuing an official relationship. He'd even encouraged Arthur in pursuing an unofficial relationship. He'd give Arthur that look of derisive agreement and Arthur would tell him off or throw something, even recognizing how Merlin's approval solidified his confidence that he'd done the right thing.
And he had to stop comparing the two servants, for his sake as well as Orryn's.
Arthur was suddenly and inexplicably curious to know what Orryn thought. "You probably think I'm an idiot," he remarked.
The servant nearly spilled his bucket of bathwater, and couldn't quite hide his look of horror at Arthur's suggestion. "My lord! Of course not!"
Did he even know what Arthur was referring to? "Elena, I mean," he added. "A beautiful blonde princess, and I declined to ask for her hand in marriage." Did Orryn know that Arthur occasionally daydreamed about what Guinevere might say, if he ever… And if he was aware, would he approve?
Orryn stared at him, mouth opening and closing in a very close though unintentional imitation of a fish. And if he had been Merlin, Arthur would have… No, he told himself sternly. Stop it.
"The…" Orryn hesitated. Arthur waited. "The choice was yours to make, was it not, my lord?" The servant nodded to himself, to answer his own question or reassure an uncharacteristic boldness. "Then I trust you had good reasons."
Arthur could hear Merlin's voice quite clearly in his head. I think you're mad, I think you're all mad. People should marry for love, not convenience. Though Merlin had never shown more than a passing appreciation for a pretty girl, he'd had definite romantic – girlish, Arthur would've call them to his face – tendencies.
He said slowly, "I don't have a choice, whether or not to rule Camelot, but by heaven, I do have a choice as to how I'll do it."
Orryn processed that, gave a little bow as he turned with two refilled buckets for the door again, whether in agreement or simple acknowledgement, Arthur couldn't tell. Yet.
He added, "Thank you, Orryn, I appreciate you staying late tonight."
"My lord." Nothing more than doing the best job he could, for the fuzzy-haired servant.
A flash of movement caught the corner of Arthur's eye and he turned instinctively to identify it. His mirror, hung over the washstand, and at this angle it reflected the doorway to the antechamber, opposite the main door to the corridor, where Orryn was heading.
It reflected the figure of a man, leaning casually against the wall just inside the door, dressed in dark trousers and a dark cloak over a plain white shirt, hood down around the shoulders.
It reflected Merlin. Absolutely beaming with pride.
Arthur's throat closed with a feeling that was nothing like fear or sorrow. Even guilt, or a momentary uncertainty of sanity.
Hope.
Hope? what?
He felt an answering smile begin to form – uncrossing his arms, he strode forward before logic could catch him, moving where he could see that antechamber doorway, and not just a reflection.
There was no one there. Not a hint of sound, not a breath of movement disturbed the empty air.
"Did you see that?" Arthur demanded, hurrying his steps to glance down the passage, around to the other room – which was deserted.
"See what, my lord?" Orryn turned in the open doorway with difficulty, burdened as he was.
"Nothing, I suppose. Never mind." Arthur returned to his bedchamber as Orryn closed the door carefully behind him again.
He sat on the edge of his bed, leaving the curtain and window open. It probably ought to bother him, the thought that he was seeing things; the secondary option that a spirit might have been present, in some way.
But it didn't.
He sprawled across his bed and closed his eyes to sleep, still feeling that hint of a smile. And if he dreamed, it didn't disturb him, and he didn't remember it.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
"If you unlock the door," the pixie said, grimacing in a way she undoubtedly thought would be appealing, "I'll forget your part in this cruel deception. I'll forget about you entirely, and my esteemed majesty never has to know. He can be downright dangerous when he's angry, and believe me, nothing makes him angrier than not getting his own way."
"You're sure he's not a distant cousin of the Pendragons?" Gwaine returned flippantly.
She shook the bars and screwed up her face in expression of offense. He hefted his sword and she stepped back, swiftly for her round bulk, beyond reach of the blade, though he hadn't been menacing her, exactly.
"Look, here's the deal," he added. "You and me, we've been left out of the action for tonight. I'd prefer it to go another way – I like to consider myself indispensible in a fight – but I know not to join one I haven't got the weapons for, right? You'd be wise to admit the same, don't you see. My friends deal with your changeling – we wait it out – and you can be free to run and hide and avoid your angry, dangerous king finding out your failure. That sounds reasonable, doesn't it?"
The pixie glared at him, then focused on the lock, opening her mouth to spill out a phrase - that Gwaine knew for a spell when her eyes flared a brief gold.
"What are you doing?" he asked unnecessarily.
She ignored him to speak again, and her eyes flared, though the door held. She made to step forward, hand reaching as if to grasp a bar, but halted when he raised his sword again in clear warning, and growled in frustration.
"I wonder if Merlin knows you can do magic on your own," he said.
"You best run and hide, little knight," she spat at him without taking her gaze from the lock.
"Oh, I'm not a – right, then," he said. Abruptly he changed tactics to dart down the corridor, out of her sight, before she could use magic on him – he had no defense for that. More than one man had learned too late that Gwaine did realize, discretion was occasionally the better part of valor.
He slipped past a break in the wall, hearing a whooshing boom! and the clatter of the door; he guessed it had been blasted off its hinges. The pixie gave a cry of victory and temper; the guard at the head of the stair raised no alarm.
I must remember to compliment Merlin on that sleeping spell, most effective.
Gwaine readied himself, listening to the fast shuffle of footsteps – she thought he'd taken to his heels, long gone – risked a peek to see her take the first step of the upward stair, avidly focused on reaching her destination and charge. A second step later she was out of sight and his blade, enchanted by Merlin, was bare in his hand. He rounded the corner, sprinted back on silent tiptoe – and leaped up the few stairs she'd gained to ram his sword through her body almost to the hilt.
She arched – she shrieked – she shimmered and shivered, transparent and then invisible and then gone, a pattering pile of dirt forming on the step from seemingly nowhere. There wasn't even any blood to be wiped off his blade.
"Hells," Gwaine uttered into the silence, taken aback.
Well, at least there wasn't any body to be gotten rid of – though he was glad it wasn't his job to explain how that door had come off its hinges. He sat on his heels with his back to the wall, just out of sight of the guard, if he woke, and waited.
A little over an hour, if he was any judge. Then he heard soft, hurried footsteps approaching downward – Gwaine took a chance, straightening and leaning out to stop Merlin's descent with an upraised hand.
"Don't step in the pixie," he said lightly, and Merlin's eyes dropped to the strange little pile of dirt, pebbles and dust.
"What happened?" he said, placing his foot next to the wall on that side to continue down, peer around the corner at the grate door, propped crookedly in the back corner of the corridor.
"She had magic," Gwaine said. "Blasted through the door. I took her from behind with my sword. How'd it go with your end of things?"
"Fine I guess." A smile lurked in Merlin's blue eyes, and he seemed happy, as he hadn't been since Gwaine found him. "The sidhe is gone, the pixie is gone, and Arthur is fine."
"Job well done," Gwaine agreed. But maybe, enough excitement for one night? "Let's get out of here before the guard wakes up, yeah?"
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"Hunting?" Guinevere said blankly, half-hidden by the door of Morgana's bed-chamber.
"Yes, can I come in?" he said. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to talk to the king's ward and her maid all day, but the conversation he intended – as that with the court physician - bordered on treason, and couldn't be held just anywhere. "Leon and I will be leaving at first light, and I wanted to talk to – to Morgana, and to you, before we go."
She glanced over her shoulder – presumably at her mistress, unseen by Arthur – then nodded, and held the door open for him. Morgana was seated before her dressing-table, occupied with her hair or her jewelry or some such; at least she hadn't started the process of readying herself to sleep yet.
"We've only just bidden Lord Godwyn and Elena farewell," Morgana said without turning to face him, "and now we have to say goodbye to you as well?" She pretended to pout.
"It's only for a few days," he assured her, then ventured, "as long as it takes us to get to Ealdor and back." Both girls were startled into looking at him; Gwen covered her mouth with one hand, dark eyes shining with sympathetic emotion.
Morgana frowned. "Why are you –" she said sharply, the finished on a sigh, turning back to the baubles on her dressing-table. "Oh, because of Merlin."
"I suppose, if you wanted to come," he said, mostly to Guinevere; she was the only one meeting his eyes.
She brightened, but Morgana said, shortly and negligently, "We can't. There's no way we can explain our presence on your hunting trip to Uther."
"Maybe we could tell him…" Guinevere subsided at a single glance from her mistress, and gave Arthur a rueful and rather teary smile. "Give Merlin's mother our love, then, sire?"
"I will," he said. Perhaps another time in the future, on another excuse – though the lack of one wouldn't have stopped Morgana, before. Perhaps she was nervous about leaving the citadel.
"What did you want to discuss before your little hunting trip?" Morgana prompted, rubbing the engraved back of a silver hand mirror absently.
"A few days ago, I had quite a conversation with Gaius," Arthur said, and caught a flash of something from Guinevere – remembering that she'd made an effort to spend a little more time helping the old man. It had been Arthur's impression that Morgana had generously released her from the duties of companionship, when actual chores were finished. "What is it?" he said to her.
"He's told me a few things also," Guinevere admitted, looking to Morgana nervously. "I asked him, if it was true Merlin healed my father."
"And it was," Morgana returned, not really a question. Guinevere nodded; Arthur reminded himself that Gaius hadn't actually been there to witness. The blacksmith himself hadn't been aware of sorcery worked on him, as Arthur recalled, had shrugged off a miraculous healing as simply, the way things go sometimes. "Hm." The king's ward flounced a bit on her velvet-padded cushion. "That long, he'd used magic. And didn't tell any of us."
"Can you blame him?" popped out of Arthur's mouth unintentionally. "It's illegal, punishable by death – look what happened when he admitted to one defensive spell to save my life when half a dozen knights had already seen him!"
He was well aware that he'd said illegal, not evil. But that was probably not a relevant differentiation to anyone present except him, as the future administrator of the law.
Morgana was not pacified. She bristled, setting her face into a cold lovely mask while green fire sparked from her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he relented. "I didn't come to argue. But to ask, of those things that my father mentioned the questioner had reported to him, do either of you know any more details?"
"What do you mean?" Morgana said haughtily.
"For instance, you know that Merlin did in fact help free the druid boy," Arthur hinted.
"He did trap the goblin," Guinevere mentioned, after a moment's silence. "We – had to give Gaius a poison, so he'd be dying and the goblin would leave his body."
"Merlin poisoned Gaius?" Morgana demanded, spinning right around to face them.
Guinevere nodded, twisting her hands together. "We had an antidote ready – I was supposed to give it to Gaius while Merlin got the goblin into that odd canister."
"Antidote," Morgana said sarcastically. "Lovely."
"What about you?" Arthur said. Maybe she had another headache; she could be very ill-tempered when she had a headache.
"Arthur, that was weeks ago," she said, once again finding the contents of her dressing-table more interesting. "I don't remember what he said."
Arthur began to pace in a slow amble. "Gaius said he saw Merlin practice the spell that helped kill the griffon – and the same spell might well have been used to kill the questing beast after it wounded me and I was unconscious. I believe what Merlin said about not doing something, like freeing that renegade druid."
"Or my father," Guinevere added softly. He remembered how upset she'd been at the time, trying to reason why her father would try to escape before a trial. Morgana tossed her head, shifting as if uncomfortable.
"You said something to me about Sophia Tirmawr, didn't you?" he added. "You warned me… I didn't listen to you, I think, but it's not very clear in my memory."
"And you expect it to be clear in mine?" Morgana returned sharply. "I don't know. I don't remember, either."
He stopped a pace and a half from her seat. "Do you have any idea what he might have meant, when he confessed to killing you? Why he might have said anything resembling you wanting to kill anyone in return, maybe even something Aerldan or my father misunderstood?"
"No, I've no idea," she said immediately. "Arthur, both of them said he was babbling nonsense – and you know how difficult he was, all the time."
Her attitude troubled him. He asked in a low voice, "What happened, between the two of you?"
Morgana twitched her shoulders and didn't look at him. "What makes you think something did?" she said.
Arthur glanced at Guinevere, now clasping her hands together in front of her chest, recognizing that she knew what he was getting at. The year Morgana had been gone from Camelot had changed her, but she categorically refused to discuss anything that had happened with anyone, even Gaius or Gwen. It was horrible, was all she'd said, with a shudder, I want to forget it.
He remembered, now, that moment when he'd seen her last, clasped in Morgause's arms, as the knights of Medhir collapsed lifeless and conversely the king and everyone else in Camelot began to wake. He'd been fighting the undying knights, but Merlin had been right there beside Morgana when she'd been taken.
"Do you blame him for what happened to you?" he said gently. And she stiffened perceptibly. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend – you should be angry with me, Morgana, I failed to save you, or find you that year. It wasn't Merlin's fault, what could a servant do against a sorceress?"
"But he wasn't just a servant, was he?" she spoke with a bitter venom that startled him. "He had magic even then, didn't he."
Yes, Arthur supposed that was true. Though he still didn't blame Merlin for not challenging Morgause – he remembered that dragging lethargy of the enchantment on the whole city. Felt like brain and hands and tongue were all wrapped in wool, the tug of slumber so insidiously insistent he could hardly think straight.
Was that was Merlin meant, maybe – they thought Morgana might be dead, when they couldn't find her that year, vanished almost literally into thin air, and maybe he felt guilty for not saving her.
Only – Morgana hadn't known about his magic then. Or when she returned, until the rest of them had found out, she had been cool to him several months before that fateful patrol.
"There must be –" he began. Something else, but she didn't let him finish.
"Arthur, do you mind leaving me in peace from your questions?" she said impatiently. "It's late and I'm tired and I don't see that anything he said matters at all anymore. I don't want to think about him or talk about him, I want to forget!"
It was horrible, I want to forget. And yet, she'd stood on the balcony of her own free will to watch Merlin burn. Which made him wonder if she was really saying, I will never forget.
"Of course, Morgana," he said. "I apologize for bothering you. I will see you when I return."
"Until then," she said sarcastically.
No, Have a safe trip. Not even, Good night. Guinevere frowned at her back, following as Arthur retreated to the door.
"Take care of her," he said quietly to Gwen, the door again halfway between them.
Her dark eyes were sad, and it gave his heart a pang. "I will," she promised, then called him back as he turned away. "Arthur. When the goblin, inside Gaius, accused Merlin of sorcery, and gave your father that book of magic, do you suppose it really was Merlin's?"
He pressed his lips together and shook his head to convey, I don't know.
"But Arthur," she went on, picking a bit at the wood-grain of the edge of the door. "He was locked in a cell to await execution then, too… And that night, he came to my house in the town to ask for help." Arthur nodded; he suspected he knew where she was going with this. "I didn't… ask him, then, if the charge was true," she admitted. "Gaius was acting so strangely, I just believed Merlin that he was possessed, and thought the accusation was only to get Merlin out of his way."
"That's what we all thought," Arthur said.
"But – he still escaped the cells. What if – what if he used magic then, too?"
Arthur felt something like a smile tug at his mouth. "I wouldn't be surprised," he told her.
"Then… why didn't he do that again? Why didn't he use magic to escape the cells last month?"
"I think he wanted his trial," Arthur said. "He told me, he hadn't done anything wrong." Disconcerting thought – had he meant for Arthur to judge him, then, rather than Uther? When they tell you what I said, don't hate me.
"Yes, but – after that. When the trial went wrong and that horrible man had him. When he was sentenced, Arthur, why didn't he do something to escape?"
"I think he couldn't," Arthur said slowly. "There was a rune, I think it blocked his magic." Except for that one explosive flash that freed him from the chair? "Aerldan – hurt him, quite badly…" An echo of a memory, Gaius' voice saying, Sometimes it is best to leave the action to others…
Two tears rolled down her round cheeks, and he released the thought. He kissed his fingertips and touched them, gentle and brief, to her lips.
"Please be safe on this trip," she whispered. "Ealdor is in Cenred's land, and it's been only four months since his army attacked Camelot."
He gave her a smile; her concern made him feel both warm and strong, somehow. "I'll be careful," he promised.
A/N: Some dialogue from ep.3.6 "The Changeling".