Chapter 13: Evasion and Observation
In Arthur's dream, he lay on the floor of Hunith's hut and listened to mother and son speak in low serious tones, seated on a bench by the firelit hearth. In Arthur's dream, it was the occasion of his first visit to Ealdor, preparing to defend against a bandit's raid.
Only, in his dream, Arthur already knew of Merlin's magic.
The vision shifted, and he tightened his own bracer around his servant's thinner forearm. Whatever happens today, please don't think any differently of me… Please don't hate me. In the dream, Arthur knew very well that Merlin was trying to say, magic. Not fear. Because Merlin's fear was rarely for himself and what the enemy might do to him, but for his friends in danger – and for their reaction to his secret.
He grinned full into his servant's face and clouted his shoulder and tried to find words to explain a rather simple but profound feeling. Confidence. Look what we've got – you and me.
The door of the hut slammed open in interruption and Morgana was there, dressed in a man's armor, shaking long black curls from a helmet she'd only just removed – in a motion he thought he ought to recognize – but in the dream, she had not come to warn them of another approaching enemy.
In the dream, Merlin tensed and raised his hand in a silent warning gesture of his own – prepared in an instant to protect Arthur from Morgana. Only, why would he need protection from –
Her green eyes sparked with hate, and she raised her hand –
And the vision shifted, to the road outside the hut. Arthur watched the same motion of a hand raised, palm-out. Only this time, he watched Merlin from behind, standing next to his village friend as a whirlwind, called by wordless magic, dispersed the rest of the bandit mob.
Finishing the battle. And, without further bloodshed.
Except for Merlin's own friend, who'd saved Arthur's life at the cost of his own. And had taken Arthur's blame of the magic performed, dying for a prince not his own, in any sense of the word.
Arthur remembered the dream abruptly, as he and Leon rode across the meadow in the early morning dew – having broken their fast with and said their goodbyes to Hunith and Gwaine – heading back to the border and to Camelot. He reined in just as abruptly. "Hells."
Leon did the same beside him, polite curiosity. "Sire?"
"Right here," he realized, glancing about him to recall more surely. "It was right here. Merlin had a friend – I thought he was a sorcerer – we gave him a knight's funeral. For saving us all with magic." The gelding stepped restlessly sideways, and Arthur took a firmer grip on the reins. "We stood just here, just after his friend had died, and I told him magic was evil."
There was understanding on Leon's face, though he hadn't been there, and the story had not circulated among the knights, for obvious reasons, and Arthur's scattered sentences didn't half do it justice. The gelding shifted again, and Arthur looked back at the village, thatched huts and stake-fences and fields surrounding, where Gwaine stood watching them depart, and life was hard but simple. And at that time, maybe three seasons after he'd been in Camelot, safer for Merlin?
"He came back with us anyway," Arthur said. And still, couldn't understand it because he knew well how little he deserved it. "Like some… damn foreign emissary of magic, waiting for me to pull the wool off my eyes and start thinking for myself."
The gelding was impatient; Leon hid it better but Arthur figured the knight was impatient, too, to get his prince back on the legal side of the border. He pressed his heels to the chestnut flanks to get their journey underway, again.
"Just like he came back with us from that damn patrol," Arthur added. "I still can't figure that. He had to know exactly what he'd be facing." Even if Arthur himself had been sanguine in a juvenile way about the possible outcome of a trial. Self-deceptively hopeful. "If he was as powerful as I keep hearing, why –"
"Riders, sire," Leon said shortly.
Arthur twisted in his saddle to see his knight just facing forward again. And across the open ground, two hundred paces maybe, a couple dozen riders, spaced unevenly, broke from the forest beyond to set spur to their mounts.
Cenred's men. It took half a second to see that he and Leon were the quarry – and a fool to think that a double patrol would come here, today, to ride down a pair of horsemen outside a village that boasted zero equine resources, for curiosity's sake.
Arthur cursed, and kicked his gelding to a gallop, leaning low over the lashing mane to urge his mount to the fastest speed possible, over this terrain. Hoping they wouldn't meet with accident or delay – hoping this patrol had the sense to stay on their own side of the border, once crossed – hoping they two could outrun Cenred's men long enough to make them reconsider the risks of chasing them deeper into Camelot's territory.
He panted. The horse puffed great bellows of air. Next to him, a stone's toss and making his own way, Leon's beast crashed through undergrowth. They leaped a fallen tree trunk with a heart-stopping pause and jolt of landing, the leaves and twigs slashing against Arthur's face.
Moments passed. A league, maybe, to the border. The landscape passed, blurred into brown and green lines by the wind-whipped tears blurring Arthur's vision. The border ridge, finally – and down.
Quick glance back. Cenred's riders following, bearing down on them. Possibly the men in the lead more familiar with this territory than he or Leon.
Urge the mount across a stream – up the next hill at an angle, slowed by the need to climb. Arthur's gelding shied inexplicably – the next instant he saw an arrow still quivering in the tree it had struck, instead.
Hells. They were within range. Again he thumped the gelding's ribs with his bootheels.
Zip – startled, he ducked. That arrow had passed close enough to his ear to hear, to feel the whisper and heat on his face –
Heat, what?
The arrow struck another branch, glanced off – a flaming arrow. Why were Cenred's men bothering to set their bolts alight, that was a besieging tactic and hindered accurate aim –
Whoosh – another one, very close – this arrow tore right through a thorn-bush, just ahead and to Arthur's right, and – in the height of summer – it blazed into flames so suddenly Arthur's gelding shied again. Spread so suddenly he felt the heat like a gust of wind at his back.
He risked a glance over his shoulder.
Then wheeled and reined in so abruptly the gelding danced on back hooves, as Leon shot past him.
Arthur could still see Cenred's men. Clustered in a collective halt, desperate to control panicking mounts getting in each other's way. And separated from him by a veritable wall of flame, licking a line swifter by the moment – curving, unless it was his imagination - back around either side of the enemy pursuit.
Do not look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if he had an absurd notion to open his mouth and holler a thank you to – no, he wouldn't even think the name. Because it was impossible. And in any case, the response would be, get moving, clotpole!
Turning his head and the gelding's back toward Camelot, he again spurred to a gallop, catching Leon up and racing away without mishap. Slowing after several moments to look back – no sign they were being followed. No sign of the fire spreading, though there was little they could do about that if it did, except outrun that, too.
"Hold up – sire," Leon gasped, and Arthur, agreeing, pulled the pace back to a slow canter. "What happened, did you see? We've lost them, haven't we?"
"I think we have," Arthur answered. Though probably it was wise to push their pace and maybe hide their tracks also, if they reached water or stony ground. They were still at least a day's distance from Camelot, though it would be sooner than that, they might expect to meet and join a patrol.
"What happened?" Leon said again, looking back for himself.
Arthur reduced the pace yet again, to a fast walk they could maintain for a couple of hours – and still keep the horses able to leap to an immediate and sustained gallop, if need be. "I think they were using flaming arrows. Maybe to try to trap us, setting fire ahead of us. But the fire broke out too late – it was between us." Allowing them to get away.
"Flaming arrows?" Leon said incredulously. Arthur shrugged and the knight faced forward, adding, "That was lucky."
Lucky. Was it really.
Like facing down a poisonous monster in the Camelot cisterns, his sword doing no good – like it hadn't done any good against the griffon, or the stone gargoyles of the citadel brought to life, or the questing beast – but the torch suddenly billowing flame outward in a gust of air that did the opposite of extinguishing it?
Like a blast of hot air lifting Arthur right across the room. Just after Merlin had said, Gaius get him away from me before…
Tool-shed and grain-field, dropped lantern and struck by lightning – whoosh, cold and dark and unharmed. It'll be all right, I'll think of something. Trust me.
"Leon," he said. "Did you watch Merlin's execution?"
The knight grimaced, without facing him. "I saw it, my lord, yes."
"What happened, exactly?" Arthur said.
Leon took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes ahead of them but distant. "If you're sure…" Arthur grunted an affirmative, very sure. "They put him on the pyre, chained his hands together behind his back, around the post. Your father made his proclamation, Merlin was shouting for you, but…" Leon's mouth twisted. He glanced at Arthur and went on without finishing, which Arthur was glad for; he knew very well that Merlin's shouts for him had gone unheeded. "They laid torches to the kindling. He was coughing, still shouting. It looked like, maybe, the smoke got to him."
Arthur remembered seeing that, before. If there was anyone present who felt sympathy for the convicted magic-user, they prayed for asphyxiation from smoke as the cause of death, rather than the consuming fire itself, which was pain far more excruciating.
"Then the fire caught, all of a sudden, and blazed up, the whole pyre at once. White-hot, too bright to look into. Quarter of an hour, maybe, before it died down, and… it was over."
"Could you still see his body?" Arthur asked, quite calm.
Leon's jaw clenched; he shook his head. "There was nothing left but ash, and the metal chains," he said.
And a boot buckle. But it was far too late, Arthur knew, to sift the ashes for any other evidence of confirmed death. Those would have been disposed of immediately, buried deliberately or scattered on a refuse pile and covered long since. He supposed he could find out who'd done the job, ask if they'd noticed… what, bits of bone and charred flesh that had once been the bright, lively person of his servant, his friend?
If they hadn't, what then?
But if they had? Was he brave enough to hear that? To have that last irrational painful vital hope that somehow - because he hadn't seen it, experienced it clearly – there was some other explanation, smothered?
"Hunith seems to be taking this quite well," he commented. "And Gaius."
"May I speak plainly, sire?" Leon was watching him, now, between alert glances fore and backward.
"Of course."
Even with permission, the knight didn't continue immediately. "I know what you're thinking, Arthur." Another long pause; Arthur neither encouraged nor discouraged continuation. "When I was a squire, years ago, early spring it was, we were given a rare afternoon off, most of us boys at the same time. We went down to the river about an hour's distance from my family's home. It was cold from the winter run-off, high and swift and full of driftwood, snags. We weren't allowed to swim, just playing, throwing stones and so on. Daring each other to walk out on the trunk of a tree that had fallen, half in and out. My friend Caedfyll, went further than any other. And he fell in…
"Some ran back to the estate for help, some of us ran along the bank to try to help. The water was faster than we were – he was still trying to keep his head above the surface when the current swept him out of sight."
They rode for a time in silence. No indication of pursuit, but they weren't lagging at all, either. Arthur said nothing, only waited to listen further.
"To my knowledge, his body was never recovered," Leon finished. "For the longest time, I let myself believe that he'd somehow survived. Far downriver, maybe, some peasant family rescued him and cared for him. I told myself, they were poor, they couldn't pay a messenger, they couldn't afford to travel to bring him back. Maybe he'd hit his head, and didn't remember his name or where he was from – but Caed was alive and well and happy, somewhere. I missed him, but I could picture his life where he was, and someday, I was resolved to ride downriver and find him. And he would be all right, my friend, maybe just waiting for me to come.
"When I remember Caed today, it still catches me by surprise, that hope. I still find myself thinking, he's only probably dead. But possibly, he's a farmer somewhere who can't remember his childhood before being pulled from the river by his new family. But he has a wife and children and he's happy…"
"Why are you telling me this?" Arthur's mouth and throat were dry; he recognized that hope. And reached for the water-skin tied to his saddle to cover his consternation.
"Perhaps it hurts no one if you half-believe Merlin isn't really dead. Just gone, drifted past your reach, alive and happy in a better place. Waiting, maybe, for you to arrive and see him again, but still okay til then." Leon said gently, "Perhaps it hurts no one for you to feel like he can still see you and is watching over you, somehow."
Arthur remembered several years of childhood, believing that very thing about his absent mother.
"But –"
"I know," Arthur interrupted. "I know he's dead." Probably. "I know he's not coming back." Except, I saw him, just by the antechamber door.
It might not do anyone any harm to think of Merlin escaped from the pyre somehow and living in some faraway land by now, a quiet calm life and meeting a quiet calm girl to spend it with. Maybe hearing stories of Arthur Pendragon that filtered in with travelers, and wearing a brilliant secretive smile. Waiting, always, for the right time to return – and the time never right, until at last so much time passed that it no longer mattered, whether an old friend was dead or alive and living a new life. Even, suspecting that Hunith and Gaius knew of it, and therefore didn't grieve, though they missed him too.
It might be a bit more dangerous for Arthur to expect Merlin to be doing just that, close by. For Arthur to start looking in mirrors and around corners when he was alone, sneaking up the storeroom stairs in the physician's chamber to call Merlin's name and wait and wait. Even, to engage in skirmishes of any kind, relying on the false assurance of an unseen sorcerer secretly ensuring his safety.
"It's just… I'm not finished asking questions, yet," Arthur said.
"Even if the answers change nothing?"
Arthur did him the courtesy of thinking before he answered, unoffended. "When I believe that the answers will change nothing, Leon –" not me, nor the future of Camelot – "I will stop asking. I promise."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Gwaine watched Leon and Arthur ride across the meadow toward the forest beyond. His pack – readied after prince and knight had taken their leave of Ealdor – waited out of sight behind the fence at his feet. He planned to follow them back to Camelot as soon as they couldn't see him following, and meet up with Merlin; he figured the sorcerer was already waiting somewhere further along the way.
And then the riders came.
He hissed two words he was glad Hunith was not around to hear, snatched up his pack, and leaped the fence, sprinting in pursuit of the mounted party – Cenred's men, he guessed, and sent on purpose to capture the prince they already knew had crossed the border.
Not a man of them lost focus on their quarry to check their rear – not that a solitary man on foot would have given them much pause. Gwaine knew he had no chance of catching up or keeping up over long distances, but the border wasn't far, about a league distant. Cenred's men would want to catch Arthur before he reached it; the enemy king would be in a much stronger position politically with that sort of situation, than if his men crossed into Camelot's territories to take the prince.
And, Merlin wouldn't want too much distance between himself and Arthur, especially as this was the most dangerous part of the trip for the prince; closer to the citadel they wouldn't need to worry so much. But Gwaine had a feeling his friend wouldn't let Cenred's men simply chase Arthur past him; where Merlin was, that was where the front line of this skirmish would be – and he had no one to watch his back.
Gwaine scrambled, panting, as fast as he could over the rough ground of the forest, alert to any sign of fighting ahead of him – and therefore had sufficient warning to duck down between a pair of roots protruding from the base of an immense gnarled oak as the enemy horsemen came into sight.
Once hidden, he couldn't see them either, anymore, but he could hear them. Crashing back through the undergrowth in retreat both careless and resentful. Unhurried.
"Still say we ought to have found a way around."
"Shut your noise, you fool, anyone could see that fire weren't natural."
Scoff. "You superstitious ninny, one of 'em must've dropped a tinderbox or something."
"Lucky we only lost three. Damn fool horses spooking – and that prince long gone on his own side of the border."
"Cenred ain't gonna be happy we come back without 'im."
"He ain't got men to waste on failure, either. An' if we cross over and tangle with another patrol he'll pick one of us to feed to his witch."
Gwaine smiled, satisfied to wait until he could no longer hear them. Then he stood – making sure he could no longer see them – and jogged toward the border, easily following their tracks. Three bodies he noted – one flung hard enough against a solid tree-trunk to break back or neck or both, two trampled by the patrol's passage and he did not look closer. Beyond was a wide blackened strip of forest, perfectly cool now – his grin returned.
Casting about, it wasn't hard either to find the tracks of two mounts, headed straight for Camelot at a hearty gallop which would, he expected, last long enough that he and Merlin would have little hope of catching up. He slowed to a steady hike – they'd return, regardless.
"Here," someone called, and he recognized Merlin's voice, halting to scan the forest.
Merlin sat on his heels at the base of a black hawthorn, in an attitude Gwaine had grown familiar with – elbows tucked to his chest, hands elevated to ease the pain.
"That was you, I expect," Gwaine said, joining him. "The fire?"
Merlin gave him a rather wan smile. "They took a bit of persuading, to turn back."
"We'll never catch up to Arthur and Leon, now," Gwaine commented. He'd rather liked Sir Leon – another decent man, for a noble. Perhaps Camelot would turn out to be a place where the men called by that word acted like it, too.
"I think he'll be safe enough on our side of the border."
Gwaine watched him a moment, watched his hands tremble slightly. He wondered if that was because of the sorcerer's physical exertion, or magical. "You figure this was another abduction attempt," he said, "like that patrol last week?"
Merlin rubbed his forehead carefully with the heels of his hands. "Yeah. I'd guess he told Morgana where he was going, and she sent word to her sister, and she told Cenred, and…"
Gwaine sighed. "And they'll try again."
"Someday." Merlin lifted one hand, and Gwaine grasped his forearm to help lift him to his feet. "Come on. We've got to get back to Camelot in time to stand in the way again."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur and Leon reached the citadel mid-afternoon of the second day.
"Your orders sire?" Leon asked, as they passed the gate and the guard and entered the courtyard, their mounts' hooves clattering placidly on the cobblestones.
"Assume regular duty in the morning," Arthur said. "But, Leon –" he'd done a bit of thinking on the ride back, the questions he still wanted answers to, before he could resolve to leave the past in the past – "I'd like you to ask some questions, too." People would say things to a knight like Leon that they'd think twice about saying to the crown prince.
"About?" Leon said, with a hint of curiosity.
"The battle with Cenred's men, and our own ancestors' bones. I'd like you to speak to the other knights, guards, servants – as discreetly as possible – get as clear a picture as you can, where that sorcerer Cylferth was, what he was doing, saying, and so on, that night. The same for Merlin."
"Yes, my lord."
"Arthur?"
Both of them turned at Morgana's call, as she came striding out of the covered walkway to one side of the courtyard, the white silk of her gown billowing behind her, nearly obscuring the figure of her maidservant – warm and sweet, to Arthur's eyes, in a plainer apricot-colored dress.
"You're back," Morgana added, as she neared, giving both of them scrutinizing, all-over glances. "Safely." Her tone was odd – not the relaxed teasing he'd been used to from her, not yet the stark relief she'd sometimes shown after desperate if illogical worry. Her expression also – it was as though she struggled not to show inappropriate feeling.
But Morgana never considered her feelings inappropriate, no matter what they were – always she bared them for the world to see, defying any to try to correct her.
"Yes, as you can see," he answered, giving his attention to stripping his riding gloves off his hands.
"Arthur." All four of them turned at yet another call of greeting; Leon and Guinevere a moment later took an instinctive backward step, bowing their heads respectfully, as the king stood at the top of the main stair overlooking the courtyard, fists on his hips. "You have returned unharmed, but… unsuccessful?"
"Not at all, Father," Arthur responded. Hoping that the king had decided to let the unpleasantness with Godwyn and Elena's visit slide ignored. "But we met a village woman who needed the deer more than we did."
Uther nodded in acceptance. "Generosity is a noble character trait." A moment more he surveyed them, then turned to stride away.
Arthur let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.
"You had no trouble?" Morgana went on. "No bandits, or…" She caught herself momentarily, then gushed, "I've been terribly worried – we've been terribly worried, haven't we, Gwen? It's so good to see you back. Safely." Over his quiet, thank you, she added, "Come, Gwen." And stalked away without so much as an excuse.
Guinevere lingered a breath longer to exchange a quick conversation with her dark eyes – How did it go? You look fine, are you all right? Merlin's mother was all right? He answered with a smile, and she brushed against him in following Morgana, her hand at her side finding his hand at his side for a brief but caring squeeze.
Arthur and Leon watched them go.
He killed Morgana as well, evidently, and now she wants to kill us.
As far as I'm aware, it's all true.
You don't know Morgana as well as you think you do.
"And Morgana," he said to his knight, speaking almost before he thought. "I want to know where she was and what she was doing during that battle also."
"Sire." If Leon was surprised, his voice did not give it away.
Arthur took the time to change and wash in his chamber – neat and clean and everything in fresh readiness, though Orryn was not present – before he headed for the physician's chambers.
Gaius was occupied with his drying-rack – evidently cataloguing needs or excesses or some such – scroll, quill, and ink on the table behind him for ease of notations. "My lord," the old physician greeted Arthur. "I am glad to see you have returned safely. I trust your hunt was successful?"
"I found what I was looking for," Arthur answered. There was something about Gaius' tone that made him suspect that the canny old man knew exactly where he had been, and why. He let some moments go by in silent, each adjusting to the other's presence. "When I spoke to you last, Gaius, you told me the things Merlin said during his trial and interrogation were true, as far as you were aware. You gave me answers on what you'd witnessed personally, but said if I didn't believe Merlin, I wouldn't believe you for the rest."
"That is so," Gaius returned. Evidently coming to the conclusion of his task, and doing Arthur the courtesy of giving him his full attention, hands clasped in front of him nearly hidden by his sleeves.
"I would like to know more." Arthur was careful to neither commit himself to a declaration of belief, nor to give conversation-ending offense. "What did Merlin tell you, about the dragon? He said he freed it?"
"Yes, my lord. I understand that the beast had called to Merlin in the early days of his arrival here, from his prison beneath the citadel. Perhaps from curiosity – I am certain it could sense him as another creature of magic – perhaps for its own purposes. I am unaware of how many times Merlin ventured down to speak to it."
"For the love of Camelot, was the boy completely witless?" Arthur exclaimed impatiently. To befriend a chained monster and sneak away occasionally for a chat?
Or just… completely lonely. The thought struck Arthur cold, as he recalled his reaction to the idea of residing hidden in an enemy court.
Gaius drew himself up sternly. "I understand that several times the dragon gave Merlin insight or advice or ability, in return," he told Arthur, very nearly scolding him. "Merlin told me, at one point, he'd given the dragon his promise to free him, for a piece of information vital to the saving of your life, and Camelot – though he was unable to gain the creature's promise for a peaceful escape."
"Hells," Arthur moaned, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He could just see his skinny naïve peasant servant trying to bargain with a large angry cold-blooded carnivore possessed of magic and the experience of dealing with mankind for centuries. "He never had a chance, did he? Idiot."
No wonder Merlin had tried to apologize for the dragon attacking. No wonder he'd been so upset that the last man to control them had been killed by bandits before reaching Camelot. No wonder he'd been determined to fight at Arthur's side, the night they'd ridden to face the beast in the clearing - to protect Arthur's armor, of course. Or die trying.
He blew out a sigh of frustration. "You know what I wish, Gaius?" he said. "I wish he'd been able to come and tell me these things, I could've–"
Oh, wait. Merlin had told him, the snakes in Valiant's shield came to life. He had told him, Lady Catrina was a troll. Arthur hadn't listened, had rather threatened him to mind his own business.
"Could've what, sire?" Gaius inquired mildly.
"Yes, I get it," he said angrily. "I was arrogant and foolish and blind. I didn't understand magic, and I didn't understand Merlin, and now it's too damn late!" His vision blurred, and he wiped his eyes angrily with the heel of one hand – one, then the other. Which was why he might've been mistaken, thinking he saw the twitch of a smile on Gaius' face.
"It is never too late to change, Arthur," the old man said. "To make amends for past wrongs. I still find myself doing that almost daily, and I am a very old man."
"How am I supposed to make amends to someone who's dead?" Arthur said intently. The physician didn't answer, but he didn't look away; he simply waited, and another of Arthur's questions occurred to him again. "Gaius," he said slowly. "In the dungeon, when you released Merlin from that chair Aerldan had him strapped into, what happened?"
"Truly?" Arthur watched Gaius consider whether to tell him, or not. "The rune cut into his chest was meant to block his magic – most sorcerers would have been unable even to sense its presence. But Merlin is different, it could not hold his magic back entirely, though I assume it greatly interfered with his control. And in the pain of removing the thumbscrew, he probably lost what little control he had."
And his magic had been strong enough, even through a block, to toss three grown men across the room. Killing the only one who meant him harm – was that luck again; Arthur didn't think so.
"But surely, the pain of a burning pyre would have been far greater?" Arthur suggested. Leon had mentioned a bright and lasting flare, as the whole pyre ignited and burned hot and furious for a while. But he'd also said, it looked like Merlin succumbed to the smoke, just before.
"You wonder why he didn't escape," Gaius guessed.
Arthur wondered also, why Gaius hadn't allowed him to help Merlin escape.
"Perhaps that is a question you should answer for yourself," the old physician hinted. "If Merlin was able to, why didn't he."
Another question trembled on the tip of Arthur's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. If Merlin was dead, Arthur needed to carry on, seeking answers and discovering the truth. If… if somehow, his friend's fate was not so absolute… in that case, wasn't it a fair assumption, Arthur would find out sooner or later? But for the sake of sanity and safety, he couldn't count on that.
Arthur sighed, and asked a different question, dully and with only faint curiosity. "Sophia?"
"Her father had magic – that I did see for myself," Gaius said, almost cautiously. "I was warned that the girl would try to drown you."
He killed Sophia Tirmawr in a lake. Arthur himself remembered nothing of that night ; Merlin had followed him into his room to tell him – something, Merlin had always been nattering on in that irritatingly earnest tone that expected and persuaded Arthur to do the right thing, even as he resisted. Then, nothing until he was waking up, still in his room, with Gaius and Merlin next to the bed, and a herd of untamed horses loose in his skull.
"Merlin warned you?" Arthur said. And looked more closely when Gaius hesitated. "Who warned you, Gaius?"
"Was that the last of your questions, my lord?" the physician said only, turning to putter at his work table – mindless busy work, Arthur saw, straightening and organizing, only.
"One more question. Morgana."
A vial slipped from old fingers – but the bench beside the table broke its fall, and it simply clattered and rolled away under the table. Gaius exclaimed in impatient annoyance, kneeling awkwardly to retrieve it.
"Merlin said he killed her, and therefore she now wants to kill us," Arthur said. "You don't have any firsthand information on whatever incident he referred to, and Morgana said she had no idea, when I asked her –" the old man shot him an anxious look, which roused suspicion still further – "and I want to know what you think. I need to know."
"Need to know?" Gaius echoed.
Arthur wouldn't be side-tracked, but perhaps the old man would be more helpful if he knew what was at stake. "When Leon and I left Ealdor two, almost three weeks ago, twenty of Cenred's men were on our trail." A sharp look, but not one of surprise – Arthur wondered at that, but perhaps Leon had mentioned it. "Only Morgana and Guinevere knew I would be there – unless others guessed and gossiped?"
No response. Arthur continued.
"The morning Godwyn and Elena arrived, I was due to ride with a patrol that was attacked – probably by mercenaries – and quite close to Cenred's border. Who earlier this year tried to take Camelot by siege and by treachery – the very week we found Morgana wandering alone in the woods. I have to tell you, Gaius, I hate to suspect a friend, but when it comes to the safety of my father and my people, I'd like to think I'm not always a brainless fool!"
Gaius stared at him a moment longer, turned absently to stare toward the window another moment, then nodded thoughtfully and lowered himself to a bench. "I cannot speak as plainly as I would like, Arthur," he said. "For the sake of promises I've made, and to protect other innocents involved. And, most again is hearsay."
"Go on," Arthur said. It would be for his enlightenment only, not for official report.
"Your father's illness, days prior to the attack," Gaius said, "was caused by an enchantment. There was an ensorcelled object in his chamber – found and burned, the enchantment on his mind was broken."
"And just in time," Arthur said. He remembered how Gaius had suggested he might be needed to assume his father's throne – and how glad he'd been that he hadn't, when Uther recovered. "But… that was before the refugees came," he realized slowly. "Before Cylferth would have had access anywhere in the citadel." Gaius nodded. "You think the sorcery that called the army of skeletons from our crypts was not his fault. But then, who?"
"When I examined the king's ward, upon her return," Gaius said slowly, carefully, "I found no injury, old or new. No evidence that magic had been used on her. No evidence of physical restraints, nor nutritional deprivation, nor even confinement – no loss of weight or muscle tone, no dulling of hair or eye."
"She'd been well-treated," Arthur said; it wasn't a protest.
"For what purpose?" Gaius returned. "We never received a ransom request."
"Why else would she have been taken?" Arthur said, frustrated.
"Why else indeed."
Arthur pressed his lips together and pointed his forefinger at Gaius. "You know, don't you," he said.
"Are you certain," Gaius paused, "that you're ready to hear this?"
Arthur pulled back. Reminding himself, this old man was not simple, nor completely open. Reminded a bit, of Merlin speaking to the great dragon - had he simply trusted what he was told? The old man wouldn't lie, he was fairly sure, but what about shading the truth, or deliberate omissions?
Only – what purpose could there be, in rousing suspicion in Arthur against an innocent person?
"We will talk again," he said only, walking to the door.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin stood from his resting place and stepped to meet Gaius, sorry once again that the old man had to make this journey. Even though sacrifices had to be made – and by more than just the three of them – for the sake of the crown prince.
"Ah, Merlin," Gaius greeted him with a brief hug.
Merlin patted his mentor's shoulder with his left hand – lightly, and without using his small finger – as his right was occupied with the full basket he'd brought to exchange for the physician's empty one.
"I've got the feverfew, lavender, and sage you needed," Merlin said. "Also some boneset and willow bark."
"Well done," Gaius said, shuffling through the tied bundles of greenery, letting Merlin relieve him of the empty basket. "How are your hands?"
A rote question now, but one Gaius never neglected. "It's been five weeks," Merlin answered, knowing that the physician had noticed, no more bandages. "I'm being careful. Only an occasional twinge."
"Good… good. No other complaints?" Gaius glanced over Merlin's shoulder toward the stream below the clearing. Gwaine stood there in water halfway to his knees, boots on the bank and trousers rolled up, the sharpened stick in his hand intended to spear fish for their supper – so far only marginally successful.
"Boredom," Gwaine answered over his shoulder, still intent on his task.
"Would you honestly prefer the alternative?" Gaius returned.
"Don't ask him that," Merlin said quickly, with a grin. Gwaine was like Arthur, preferring action to waiting, but even Merlin rather wanted their hand-to-mouth rough living to have purpose, after all.
"You might want to consider taking your petty thievery further afield," Gaius said, loudly enough that Gwaine could hear. Over Merlin's quiet protest that it was trade, not outright theft, he added, "There are rumors beginning to circulate, enough people have noticed, and have similar stories to tell."
"Is Morgana suspicious?" Merlin asked.
"Gwen seems curious," Gaius said, "though she hasn't made any connection between these rumors and you. But I don't think she chats over gossip with Morgana like she used to, either."
Merlin wondered if it would be inviting trouble to wish that whatever Morgause was plotting with Cenred – because he was certain she wouldn't simply give up, and only slightly less sure, Morgana took orders rather than initiating action – they'd just get it over with, already. He wasn't used to this sort of game – move and countermove and retreat to try again. He was more of an all-or-nothing gambler.
"Arthur's been keeping pretty close to home," he ventured. One patrol in the last fortnight since they'd returned from Ealdor, nothing more than a wide circuit around the citadel, visiting the closest towns. Perfectly peaceful.
Gaius made a noncommittal noise. "He's been busy," the old man said. "I had a very interesting conversation with Sir Leon, though, the other day."
"Oh?" Gwaine abandoned the stream, coming to join them with two brook trout twitching on the end of his makeshift spear.
"He used the pretext of a wrist sprained in a training session," Gaius told them. "He stayed half of an hour, though, casually discussing the events of Cenred's siege of the citadel. Specifically, my knowledge of your whereabouts through the course of the battle, Merlin. And Morgana's."
He stared blankly at the old man, who cocked an eyebrow as if he expected Merlin to catch on a little quicker. "Oh – you think Arthur has suspicions? Of me – or her?"
"Both," Gaius answered. "Although, if he does reach the truth about that night, she has far more to fear than you do."
"But still no proof," Merlin said. "Can you – I don't know – tell him to be careful, Gaius? If she thinks he suspects her, she'll act quickly to stop him going to the king, even if Uther won't want to believe it, maybe too quickly for me to be able to help."
"I have an idea," Gwaine said. "Why don't we abduct her in fact and make it look like she's left on her own? We'll plant evidence – leave a signed confession – I betrayed you all because I'm a scheming –"
"Gwaine," Merlin warned. Gaius' eyebrow was up, also.
"Witch," Gwaine finished, far too innocently. "We could ransom her back to her sister – they won't have their spy in Uther's court anymore, and I bet we could get them to agree to leave Arthur alone…"
Merlin shook his head, amused in spite of himself. "That could go wrong in so many ways."
The outlaw shrugged. "At least it would be doing something."
"I have a feeling we won't have long to wait before they try again," Merlin said, glancing from his old friend to his new one.
"Why's that?"
"One thing I've learned about Camelot," he told them with a wry smile. "Things are never quiet for long."
…..*…..
A/N: Almost entirely unrelated – and normally I'd post a note like this on my profile, except people don't read those often. NaNoWriMo 2014, several people expressed interest in reading what I'd written. For the last two or three months, I have been trying to interest literary agents in my original story – only to find out, it's too long for a first-time book by an unpublished author. I could split it into a trilogy with a little judicious editing, but I feel like publishers/agents probably don't want to take a 3-book risk on someone unpublished. I could hang onto it, like all my other original works, for the 'if someday' when I publish something, and they asked for other things I've written. But it just seems to me like, keeping a painting hidden in a closet for just in case you ever have a gallery showing. I mean, at least hang it on your living room wall, for your own company and family to enjoy, even if professional success never comes.
So. All of that to say, I'm giving up trying to sell "The Tune-Tinker" to the pro's, and have started uploading it on fictionpress. It's under the fiction-fantasy heading, same author-name (wryter501), probably updating once or twice a week. I would love to hear from any of you in reviews, if you've liked it – the themes, etc. are quite similar to my Merlin'verse stuff…
Also, catherine10:I'm sorry to say this won't be freylin, as it's in-canon and past season 2 already. And, romance isn't really one of my considerations for this story. The arwen is only incidental, and already established at this point, though it's not fully rooted yet (in-series Arthur did almost marry Elena around this time; my Arthur declined a few days earlier, but he and Gwen are not ready to try to buck the system or become secretly engaged or whatever). The epilogue won't go more than a year out, either, but hopefully the way I leave it is wide open for romance and adventure for everyone!... As far as other oc magic-users, that wasn't factored into the plot, either – though it would have been a good idea if I knew I wanted to include it from the beginning. Just now, though, I'm afraid it's going to detract from Arthur's journey to enlightenment and rolling the action toward the finale… but if it helps, head-canon for the future of this fic might include Gilli, Alice, Sefa, etc. in new and non-confrontational ways… (only, don't expect a sequel.)
OC's in general: I used a lot in my modern trilogy, b/c I only reincarnated our core Round Table cast. Otherwise I try to keep the named oc's to a minimum (in my 'Towers' series I added a few knights from legend, etc.) and only incidental, like Arthur's new servant here…
Kirsten: thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked Arthur&Hunith, and Arthur's progression!