Chapter 14: News of a Brother

For two weeks, Arthur tried to answer the question, Why would it be better for Merlin to go to his pyre, than to break out of the cells?

If he had escaped from imprisonment, Arthur was quite sure his father would have expended every resource, to catch him again. Double and triple patrols, searches and questionings and probably even a strike into Cenred's land for Hunith in Ealdor, even at the risk of another war.

Would Merlin really allow his own death to prevent that? Possibly. But surely he could have guessed that there would be those who could assure her safety if he couldn't, himself – Gwaine an obvious choice. Already he was performing the work of a son, evidently.

For two weeks, Arthur also watched the king's ward.

Morgana had changed; he thought those who had known her best felt the truth of that, except perhaps Uther, who was too happy to have her back, to go looking for trouble. Arthur tried to tell himself, it would be more surprising if she hadn't changed – but the question was, how much.

A year was a long time, and Morgana would not have been the first person to fall victim to enchantment, or even break under the understandable strain of the trials she'd been through, and agree to conditions she normally wouldn't consider. But how much of the changes might be due to the time she'd been gone, and how much might have happened before then?

Thinking of escapes and how they could be accomplished had set him to wondering about the circumstances of Morgana's. Kept for a year without a whisper of her whereabouts while an entire kingdom was looking for her. And then, they didn't have to fight through rows of mercenaries or sorcerers to break her out of a cell or locked room. They'd simply killed a dozen ill-trained bandits – and there she'd been, wandering.

What if, like Merlin, she hadn't escaped? What if she'd been allowed to slip free? Perhaps released when she finally agreed to keep eyes and ears open and pass information?

Leon's questions had resulted in an incomplete picture of the battle earlier that spring. Evidently Morgana had been busy in the makeshift infirmary, alongside Gaius and Merlin himself – though Arthur's servant had been in and out, sometimes joining Arthur in the middle of the fight as if he couldn't quite obey the order to stay in safety. Or as if he were guarding two people in two different places. And then, the king's ward had slipped away – no one had seen where, no one had noticed when – to emerge from the crypts with a strange splintered staff, claiming she'd single-handedly destroyed the enchantment that had raised a second army within Camelot's walls. The connection could not be made – what had alerted her to the fact and location of the magic – while Cylferth the peddler-sorcerer had been witnessed moaning and cowering among the other refugees throughout.

Arthur found himself in Gaius' chambers once again, asking questions that edged treason which he couldn't fairly discuss with any of the knights, even Leon. Morgana couldn't be trusted to answer honestly; Gwen shouldn't be asked to bear tales on her mistress; Merlin was gone.

"I realized something the other day," he said conversationally, closing Gaius' door behind him and beginning to stroll through the chamber. Picked up various vessels or utensils absently, to turn them over in his hands and set them down again.

"And what is that, sire?" Gaius glanced up from his desk, the curved glass he used to see more clearly the pages of the book on the desk in front of him hovering in his hand.

"I wondered, why Merlin didn't escape, if he could have," Arthur said. "What I ought to have asked you was, did you think he could have? In your opinion, was he capable of overcoming that block?"

Gaius sat back, placing his glass carefully on the open book, lacing his fingers together over his ribs. "Yes," he said simply.

Arthur set an empty dose bottle down deliberately, meeting the old man's gaze. Feeling very much like he walked a cliffside blindfold. Am I crazy to hope. "Did he overcome that block?"

Gaius did not answer the question. "Your father watched a sorcerer burn, thought it good riddance, and gave it no more thought. He was not Merlin's only enemy."

Arthur straightened, feeling offended, though he was sure the old man hadn't intended it. "I was not Merlin's enemy. If he had escaped, why keep it from me? Surely you don't believe I would've told my father?"

The old man's gaze was keen. "If you had known such a thing, at the time, who would you have told?" he asked.

"Guinevere," Arthur said promptly. Possibly Sir Leon, but then that was asking the knight to hold back information on a criminal, from his king. If he'd asked, Arthur would have told Sir Leon, trusting him to keep it confidential. But also… Morgana. If he hadn't, Gwen surely would have. Two weeks ago, maybe he hadn't been ready to hear what the old man might say about the girl who used to be his friend. Who still would be, had she chosen to remain so. "Facts, only," he said, leaning over the table toward the old man. "Why would Morgana be Merlin's enemy?"

"Morgana's mother had another daughter," Gaius said, a startling tangent. "A few years older than you. She showed signs of magic – I helped smuggle the little girl out of Camelot for her own safety, when the Purge began."

"What does that have to do with Morgana?" Arthur said.

You think as he does, then, that all magic-users should die? How vehemently Morgana had opposed Uther for Tom's sake, for Mordred's, years ago! When Gwen was accused, she'd come to Arthur for help, with the story of a creature in the cistern fouling the water. And now, she could stand quietly beside Uther and watch Merlin – after risking her life for him and his village – watch him burn, without a single syllable of protest?

Another tangent. "When you and Merlin returned from investigating Idirsholas, everyone was asleep."

Everyone except Morgana.

"Merlin said you'd given her a potion, a cure, before you'd fallen ill yourself," Arthur remembered.

Gaius shook his head. "I never saw her that morning. Gwen came complaining of aches and fatigue – and I felt that, myself – but I gave nothing to Morgana."

"Why did he lie, then?" Arthur said abruptly. "Why did he make up the excuse?"

"I imagine he thought he was protecting her," Gaius said mildly. "There are documented cases of the strongest magic-users able to resist the effects of enchantments like this sleeping spell."

Arthur found himself facing Gaius' book-shelf, and turned to pace the other direction. "But you said Merlin was a strong sorcerer," he said. "And he was getting sick, too."

Gaius made a noise of agreement.

Arthur kept pacing. Who could have betrayed his presence in Ealdor to Cenred? Who could have given information on the patrol? Who could have placed an enchantment on the king before the invasion began – and then raised the very bones of their ancestors to attack Camelot?

"But why?" he said to himself, bewildered.

Why did that witch's spell pass her by, out of everyone in Camelot?

He rocked to a stop, the feeling of stone floor faint beneath the soles of his boots, the sight of the physician's quarters vague in his vision. Two memories presented themselves.

The first, Morgana clasped in the arms of the blonde witch, as she loosed the magic – the knights of Medhir falling as the knights of Camelot rose up – the look on Morgause's face. Was not vindictive triumph, for the success of a mission to steal the king's ward. But terrified determination, and overwhelming concern for the woman she held. Almost tenderly.

The other was from a dream now more than two weeks old – Morgana tipping off that helmet and shaking out her hair. Exactly as Morgause had done after issuing a challenge to him according to the knights' code, just before luring him away from Camelot…

Morgana's mother had another daughter. Gaius thought they were… he thought they had a connection. That Morgana would turn traitor against her foster family, her friends – for the sake of a possible blood-bond with a stranger?

"It doesn't make sense," he said, frustrated.

"It would seem not to," Gaius agreed reservedly.

"She has no reason to –" Morgana, shaking her hair from the helm, raising her hand toward them – did her eyes flash green fire in hate, or gold? "She… she doesn't have…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, but felt his way to the three-legged stool before collapsing. "Does she have…"

"How many times did she warn you, not to do something because she was afraid for you?" Gaius pressed gently.

Just before the final tournament bout with Valiant. Just before his outing with Sophia, one of the last clear memories of those days. Before the hunt for the questing beast, she'd come down the steps of the courtyard barefoot and in her nightgown, to plead with him not to go.

"Her nightmares held visions of the future," Gaius said. "An inactive form of magic. But, among other incidents, enough to make her terrified of discovery."

"Why didn't she say anything to me?" Arthur said aloud. "Why didn't she trust me?" You will be just like him… "But then, why turn on Merlin? If it wasn't because she blamed him for her abduction…"

"If her sympathies lay with the magical community Uther had declared enemy under sentence of death. If she cooperated with Morgause, to bring the knights of Medhir, hunting Uther," Gaius suggested. "If Merlin did what he had to, to defend us all…"

To defend Uther, the man who'd sentenced him to death. To defend Arthur, who hadn't saved him. To defend Camelot, who'd watched his execution.

In his memory's eye, he watched those two doors swing open, saw Morgana pale and unconscious in Morgause's arms – saw Merlin collapsed and stoic barely out of arms' reach… He killed Morgana as well, evidently…

The witch hadn't retreated to torment Uther with her capture of a hostage dear to him. Morgause had traded her chance to kill her enemy, for a chance to save her… ally.

And a year later had released and returned her… within the week, Uther was so ill he couldn't leave his room or hold a coherent conversation. Within the week an army besieged the walls of Camelot, and another arose within those walls… Morgana had not defeated the enemy who'd used magic that night – she was the enemy who had used magic that night. And perhaps, Merlin the reason it failed. That might explain the animosity between them, that neither would discuss.

"What does that have to do with Cenred?" he said aloud. "We defeated his army, yet he keeps sending men against me?"

"My guess," Gaius said, "is that they believe, with Uther removed, Camelot is vulnerable. Perhaps they seek your capture to torment and provoke Uther as happened when Morgana was lost." Arthur remembered, his father had been cold and hard, turning obstinately from all advice to insist upon her rescue at all costs. "With you removed, Uther is vulnerable, and therefore Camelot." He hesitated, gave Arthur an oddly keen, almost wary glance under white eyebrows. "And with Merlin removed, perhaps they consider you now uniquely vulnerable."

Arthur took a deep slow breath, and let it out. If Merlin knew there was a traitor in Camelot – if he knew, and couldn't say – You don't know Morgana as well as you think you do – yes, he could see now why the idiot had refused to leave. But how did his death protect Arthur?

Unless, the illusion of his death protected Merlin, and his unseen presence protected Arthur. He opened his mouth to ask, Is Merlin alive?

The door opened with enough vehemence to bang into the wall, startling them both, and Morgana's voice exclaimed, "Gaius!" and then, "Oh, Arthur, you're here, too – good."

He stood from the stool with a sharp retort ready – and swallowed it at the sight of Guinevere. In front of her mistress but only because Morgana was escorting rather than leading, her hair was disheveled and her face drawn and her eyes reddened. She looked terrified to see him.

"No, no," she mumbled, trying to turn away from Morgana, retreat back through the door. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Morgana told her, and gave Arthur a triumphant glare. "I told you."

Arthur cursed himself. Yesterday morning at breakfast Morgana had been late, and preoccupied, telling Arthur and his father that her maid hadn't come to work. Arthur had been rather preoccupied himself, and rather impatiently assumed Morgana was trying to gauge his level of worry at the mention of Guinevere's absence. Uther hadn't been worried – of course – but had allowed Morgana to send a guard to the lower town to investigate. Arthur hadn't heard more, after that, and had forgotten the incident entirely til now.

"Guinevere!" he said, reaching the two girls faster than Gaius did. And couldn't miss the concern that had brought them to the physician's chamber, as Morgana thrust her maid's hands forward for inspection.

Two inches of flesh around Gwen's wrists was chafed, bruised and scraped. Arthur had seen marks like that before. On prisoners who'd been tied to restrain them.

"Dear girl," Gaius said, emerging from behind his desk. "Come and sit."

"Who did that to you?" Arthur demanded. Guinevere ducked her head, allowing Gaius to lead her to the bench beside his work-table. He turned to Morgana, who looked far happier to be vindicated in her earlier worry, than concerned for her maid's current suffering. "You said she might have been sick."

"Well, how should I know?" Morgana snapped. "I was only guessing."

He stared at her for a moment. Hoping to high heaven that it was the truth.

A hiss of discomfort distracted him, and he returned to the bench where Gwen sat, her hands extended so the physician could bathe her wrists in a cloudy-liquid solution. Arthur eased down to sitting at her side, though her knees were tucked under the table, and his remained to the outside of the bench. Leaning on his elbow on the table, he tried unsuccessfully to catch her attention.

"We can't help you if we don't know what happened," he said.

Tears glittered in her eyes, escaped to roll over her cheeks, and he wished they were alone, that he might catch them with his own fingertips. Instead she shrugged them away on the shoulder of her dress – the lavender one that was his favorite.

"I can't tell you," she whispered, darting him a glance from dark eyes. "That's what they want me to do."

"Gwen, you have to tell us," Morgana said commandingly, closing the door to give the four of them privacy; Arthur wondered if he imagined Guinevere's cringe of response.

"Please," he said in a low tone.

She bit her lip and glanced at him again, as Gaius patted the abused area dry and turned to retrieve another bottle from a cabinet against the wall. "Two men," she said, speaking just to him, but in the quiet of the room Morgana and Gaius could hear clearly, also. "They were waiting for me when I got home. I tried to fight, but – there was a cloth that smelled strange, they put it over my face."

Gaius turned with a look of sudden understanding, and sympathy, but said nothing, only began to smear ointment carefully onto her left wrist.

"When I woke, I was in a castle," she continued. "There was a man – a cruel man, with long dark hair and a beard, and two swords he wore crossed over his back."

"Cenred." Arthur closed his eyes briefly, sick to his stomach at the thought of Guinevere at the mercy of that man. She shivered, and Gaius wordlessly unrolled a bandage to begin binding her wrist.

"He has my brother," Gwen said, bowing her head to avoid looking at any of them. "Elyan said, they took him right from his forge even though he fought to get away. They said – they said I had a week, before they would kill him."

"A week for what?" Arthur asked, then had to prompt her again gently, "A week for what, Gwen?"

"To bring you there," she said, and he could see enough of her face to know that her expression crumpled toward involuntary tears again. It twisted his heart – and provoked his temper.

"Where?" Morgana spoke before he could. "Do you know where they were? Where they're holding your brother?"

"It was a great castle, by the sea," Guinevere answered dully. When Gaius tucked the end of the first bandage under, she freed her hand from his grasp to wipe her face and lift her head. "It was in the sea. I looked back when they took me away. Almost like an island, a great rock with the castle on the top. And cliffs by the land's edge."

Arthur shook his head, an image springing to his memory's eye. He'd been to such a place before, years ago when he was young. Old enough to be brought along when his father went to battle, not old enough to be allowed a place in the fighting.

"The Castle of Fyrien," he said. "I'm sure of it." He went on, answering her questioning look as Gaius turned his attention to her other wrist. Storytelling to distract himself also, from examining other implications of the incident, just yet. "Fyrien was a merchant. He built a castle on the sea of Meredor as an outpost for trade routes to the east. But when war broke out with Caerleon, the trade dried up and the castle was abandoned. It was built to withstand anything – for Cenred, it's the perfect hide-out. It isn't an easy place to get into, and it'll be well-defended." Beside him on the bench, her clothing brushed his as she deflated with a sigh of quiet despair.

Morgana demanded, "So what are you going to do?" Arthur acknowledged her with a quick glance, but didn't answer her question, instead turning back to Guinevere.

"Your brother will come to no harm, I promise," Arthur heard himself say. Before he intended to, but he found no inclination to retract.

"How can you be so sure?" She turned her eyes on him – and there was the reason he was sure. He smiled back, trying to instill some of the confidence he felt.

"Because we're going to rescue him."

"Cenred wants you dead," she argued, shaking her head. "That's why he's doing this."

"I know." Arthur pushed himself up from the bench and began to pace in slow, measured steps. "Cenred's wanted Camelot's throne for as long as I can remember." Earlier this year, he very nearly had it – the closest their enemy had ever gotten to defeating them. As Gaius had said, Camelot was vulnerable without Uther, and Uther was vulnerable without Arthur. And Arthur was vulnerable without…

"Then we'll be walking into a trap," Gwen said, glancing at Gaius, and then at Morgana.

Arthur gave them all the cockiest crown-prince, trained-to-kill-since-birth grin he could summon. "Not necessarily. I have a plan." History could simply repeat itself, something he was sure Cenred was not aware of. A flaw in his perfect hide-out.

The one possible flaw in his plan said, "What are you going to tell your father? The truth?"

"If the king knew Cenred was there," Gaius spoke, "he would send half the army."

"But not to rescue Elyan," Guinevere corrected softly, as the physician finished the second bandage.

"I'll tell him you lost a bet to me," Morgana invented. On the spot, it might be. "I'll tell him you owe me something that cannot be obtained in Camelot. Silk enough for a dress – two dresses."

"Let's not get greedy," Arthur said evenly, and she tossed her head.

"That way he won't question it when the two of us come with you," she finished.

Arthur breathed deliberately, to ease the invisible fist that tightened around his heart – and did not look at Gaius. "Very well," he said only. "We'll leave tomorrow at dawn."

"Come, Gwen," Morgana said, "we have preparations to see to." Guinevere rose obediently from the bench.

"Don't get those bandages wet," Gaius told her as she crossed to the door Morgana opened. "Leave them on two days – three if you can – then clean the wounds carefully and they should be fine."

She nodded and gave him a smile. "Thank you, Gaius." Shy glance at Arthur, and then they were gone.

Gaius rounded on him. "Arthur –"

"I know," Arthur said. "I know what you're going to say. You think Morgana passed information on my feelings for Guinevere, and the whereabouts of her brother, to lure me away from Camelot." It wasn't really a question. He found it easier to think, and to say, when she wasn't in the room. Easier to control the impulse to shout out his suspicion and demand explanation – why, why, why. If Merlin, who had known them all for three years only, could forgive and protect and stay loyal – why had Morgana chosen their enemy?

Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me there's an explanation for all of this… tell me you weren't involved and didn't know a thing when two men, strangers, grabbed Guinevere. Morgana's maid and best friend for years, someone whose safety and wellbeing she was responsible for, someone she couldn't possibly blame for anything… But. How else could they know where to find Gwen's brother? Or which home in the lower town was hers, even if they had chosen her at random?

"They've made attempts to capture you before now," Gaius said. "Which have come to nothing."

What happened when a hunter sought a quarry too canny – or lucky – to expose itself to a straight shot? A baited trap.

It was effectively done, he could admit that objectively. Guinevere was still emotionally sensitive after Merlin's… loss. It was probably too much for her to bear right now, the thought of possibly losing her brother, even if they were estranged. Arthur didn't think he'd been aware she had a brother - that made him feel like he'd let Gwen down, somehow – but he'd do anything to spare her another loss.

"The question is, how do I keep them from succeeding this time?" he said aloud. "If you're right about Morgana –" the old man quirked a stern eyebrow, but Arthur preferred tangible proof; he was afraid he'd get it, at some point on this venture – "I can't take Guinevere alone with her. Not to face Cenred and his men and maybe Morgause." Not to spring the trap for Morgana to show her treachery openly, and then hope he could still escape with Gwen and her brother to return to Camelot safely.

"That would be foolhardy," Gaius said, and Arthur heard an unspoken, even for you, sire. "Might I suggest bringing someone else, to offer additional protection?"

"I can't ask any of our men to lie to the king," Arthur said slowly. Even if there were others like Leon, who would, it wasn't fair to ask it of them.

And then, perhaps Morgana would not be sure enough of success to expose herself. Arthur would be satisfied with rescuing Elyan without bloodshed, but in that case, he'd simply continue watching and waiting for his former friend and almost-sister to make another attempt on his life. And he didn't think he was so good an actor he could keep her from realizing his suspicion, eventually.

"Perhaps someone who is not one of your father's men?" Gaius said. "Someone whom Morgana might underestimate, or discount entirely? Someone you already know and trust?"

Arthur stared at him, finding breathing difficult. The room seemed to rise a bit around him and float – or maybe that was just his heart. He began slowly, "Do you mean…"

The old man pronounced, "Gwaine."

His world dropped back into place with a thud he felt, rather than heard. Disappointment and hope was an odd mix to feel at once, and he laughed – but it was short and had a bitter edge. What did he expect Gaius to say – Merlin?

"Gwaine's in Ealdor," he said. "Looking after Merlin's mother. Didn't you know that?"

"Oh, no, sire," Gaius told him, with absolute certainty. "He is far nearer than that."

"But he's been banished from Camelot's territory," Arthur said. "On pain of death."

"They'd have to catch him to carry out that sentence," Gaius said, unperturbed.

Arthur huffed. Yet another lawbreaker the old man was prepared to harbor in secret, even if only by keeping silence on the knowledge. He moved behind Gaius' desk, selecting a clean sheet of parchment, and dipping a quill. "I assume you know how to contact him, then," he said wryly. "How much does he know about the current situation here in Camelot?"

"You mean, before this new development?" Gaius clarified. "He knows who is an ally, and who is not."

And how had Gwaine come to call Camelot's allies, his own? That was an odd sort of loyalty from someone who'd be killed for setting foot on… ah, hells. Of course; because Gwaine had been first Merlin's friend. It was catching, by damn, this suicidal allegiance. But Gwaine had been in Camelot a few days only. Long enough to form ties that close, bonds that tight?

Had the block failed? Was Merlin alive? Once again, he didn't ask. What he felt was a precarious balance between hope and grief - and either one might be dangerous when they were heading into danger and intrigue once again.

"Gaius," Arthur paused, watching the quill-tip carefully so the ink didn't drip on his message, "why is Gwaine here?"

"He came because I asked him to," the old physician stated.

Which didn't exactly answer Arthur's question. "And how did you know I was going to need someone like him for a job like this?" Arthur said narrowly.

Gaius shrugged rounded shoulders. "It seemed safe to assume, a situation like this would arise sooner or later."

Arthur sighed, and continued writing.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

To a certain common-born warrior, who may or may not have been granted victory in the melee by the writer of this missive, greetings.

I am informed by a mutual friend that in defiance of royal order and in the face of my generous intervention on your behalf, you have ventured close enough to the king and court who banished you with enough spirit of daring defiance to serve the need I now find myself facing. Therefore, should you be interested in an opportunity of employment including but not limited to travel and danger, I should offer in return substantial reward, renewed pardon for your offenses, and my thanks. Contingent, of course, upon our success.

We travel east at dawn.

"What are you grinning about?" Gwaine startled Merlin from his thoughts, coming around the twisted oak from the opposite direction, moments after Merlin's arrival. "Oh – we've got another message from Gaius? What's happening at court these days?"

Merlin turned, but didn't lift his eyes from the page, or offer it to his companion. "Arthur wrote it."

Gwaine stepped close enough to read it over his shoulder. "Arthur wrote to you?"

"Arthur wrote to you," Merlin corrected, relinquishing the scroll. The sight of the prince's handwriting had put him, for a nostalgic moment, in Arthur's bedchamber at the end of a tiring day, lit perhaps by two candles – one at the desk for Arthur to write by, one at the table while Merlin mended or polished armor. A rare moment of quiet and calm and companionable solitude when the roles of master and servant were discarded by mutual and unspoken consent. "Gaius wrote to me."

Cenred holds Gwen's brother at Fyrien Castle. She was given a week to fetch Arthur there – he goes to rescue the captive at Morgana's prompting and in her company.

"What the hell does this all mean?" Gwaine complained, half-serious, shaking his hair out of his face. "Being prince means you can't write a simple, straightforward sentence?"

Merlin grinned and handed him Gaius' addition, which Gwaine read swiftly, and made a noise of enlightenment.

"They're trying for Arthur again," he said. "And Arthur's going to spring the trap. Good, I'm tired of waiting for something to happen. How about you, Merlin? Get that witch and her spy out in the open and finish this."

"Honestly?" He felt more than a little nervous. "The last time I saw Morgause I'd just poisoned her sister. The last time I saw Morgana they were lighting the fire for my execution and she was smiling. I can't say I'm eager to stand in the same room as either one. Cenred, I've never met."

"Can't be as bad as Uther," Gwaine said, re-rolling the scroll and stuffing it in his pocket. "Come on, mate, it'll be fun." He gave Merlin a grin and cuffed his shoulder. "They'll never see you coming."

Merlin huffed a rather wry chuckle. "I have a feeling they're going to realize, I'm not dead after all, before this is over."

"Three cheers and a mug of cider to that," Gwaine said merrily. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …*…..

Gwaine had been waiting half of an hour, when the trio from Camelot rode into view through the forest heading east from the city toward the sea.

Prince Arthur was in the lead, armed and armored, oozing confidence and on the lookout, it seemed to him, for Gwaine to join them. His gelding, light brown with darker mane and tail – unremarkable coloring, but the conformation spoke unmistakably of speed and stamina, and Gwaine could assume near-perfect training and reliability, for Arthur to bring him on this trip – walked beside the first of two milk-white mares. The better for the prince to be able to hold conversation with his chosen maid, pretty and practical in dark trousers and plain white shirt.

Gwaine sighed, then grinned. His royal highness had more perception than Gwaine generally gave credit to one ranked so high, and not only in horseflesh. Not the princess with curly blonde hair and a kingdom to offer, but this girl. With ordinary beauty and humility, no stranger to hard work – and even a sense of humor.

Did he know how lucky he was? Gwaine hoped so; he'd volunteer to tell Arthur that, any day of the week. He hoped the prince would be a king someday who deserved the love and devotion of a girl like Gwen. A sorcerer like Merlin.

He shifted around the beech tree that hid him temporarily, to study the third rider.

Lady Morgana, on the second white mare. Beautiful, pale, and poised, the both of them; the lady's red lips pressed together as she watched around her almost as warily as Arthur himself. And then glared at the pair ahead of her, thinking herself unobserved. Her wavy black hair was bound tightly in a long braid down her back, and she wore a shimmery silver shirt over dark trousers, silver-glossed girdle around her slender waist.

He wondered for a moment - running his thumb between the bowstring that crossed his chest and the leather vest – if he could possibly get away with simply shooting her out of the saddle. Nah, probably not. Gaius and Merlin might be the only ones who knew what she'd done, what he was capable of, and they wouldn't approve. As far as the rest of the kingdom – and her gentle maid Guinevere - was concerned, she was the king's ward. Gorgeous, loving, and loyal. Banishment would be upped to beheading, if he was ever found out.

And… he relented. Probably his conscious would twinge, also. At least once.

How to play it, though? Dumb as the rest, or wholly onto her? Make her overlook him, or overlook everything else – and Merlin – watching him?

Or… keep her guessing.

They were close enough now, that he could hear them talking. The prince commented, perhaps to explain why he kept looking around them, "I used to be afraid of these woods."

"I find that hard to believe," Gwen said, mild sarcasm.

"My father would bring me here when I was a boy," Arthur added. "It seemed every falling leaf was a bandit, every puff of wind was a ghost."

Every snapped twig was Gwaine escorting them on the flank, before revealing himself.

"You just get used to it in the end," the prince concluded.

"Don't think I'd ever get used to it," Gwen remarked.

"You don't have to," Arthur told her confidently. "You've got me."

Gwaine rolled his eyes to himself – enough was enough. He stepped out from behind the last tree, a stone's easy toss forward and to the side of Gwen's horse, giving a grin and a casual salute to the prince, whose eye caught his movement right away.

"Oh!" the maid exclaimed, a bit more startled – but she recognized him, and in glancing at Arthur, recognized also that Gwaine was expected. Behind them, Morgana's face was a study of narrow concentration. Gwaine grinned and tossed her a salute as well.

"Might I beg your protection also, noble prince," Gwaine teased, "a solitary traveler in these frightening woods."

Arthur grimaced at him. "What I mean is, in the event of an attack, we'll all watch out for each other." Gwaine fell into step beside Gwen's horse, and Arthur added, "Morgana, I think I can rely on your protection."

Gwaine shot him a glance – the tone was right, but there was something about the way his jaw was set – did the prince know, or at least suspect? That would make Gwaine's job easier.

Half a heartbeat later, she answered lightly, "Of course."

"And Gwen," Arthur said – meeting Gwaine's gaze with a superior sort of deliberate levity, "you'll look after Gwaine, won't you?"

She giggled, and gave Gwaine an apologetic glance; he shrugged to show he hadn't taken offense. "Are you coming with us, then?" she asked. "You didn't bring a horse."

He grinned up at her. "I didn't steal a horse," he corrected.

"Are you sure you won't have any trouble keeping up?" Arthur asked with a touch of arrogance, leaning forward so he could see Gwaine past Gwen. "What if a faster pace is necessary?"

"I'll just hop up behind one of the ladies," Gwaine said. "Anyway, I haven't had any trouble keeping up so far."

He wasn't really concerned about the faster pace, or its necessity. He knew who their rear-guard was, and what he was capable of. Gwaine glanced over his shoulder at Morgana – who hurriedly pasted on a look of disinterest. Over her shoulder at the forest behind them – and the cloaked figure just stepped out of sight behind a tree, thirty paces distant. Gwaine sighed to himself and faced forward – it really was too bad his young friend couldn't join them openly.

Arthur was still watching him, a faint frown on his face. "We're not going that fast, this morning," he pointed out. "Or are you referring to other times?"

Gwaine shrugged. "All I'm saying is, don't worry about me. Run if you have to run." I'll set a fire in the brush, or something, he didn't say. Too broad a hint, that, probably.

Gwen glanced at Arthur, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of leaving even such a companion as him, behind to face his fate. Arthur twisted suddenly to look behind, startling Morgana – but he wasn't looking at her, but past her.

Gwaine grinned to himself and whistled a piece of tune as he tramped beside them. This was going to be fun.

A/N: Some dialogue from ep.3.7 "The Castle of Fyrien."

And, I'm nearly positive next chapter will have Merlin&Arthur!