Hidden Motives

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. There's a little bit of respite for the boys in this chapter and some bromance-esk chats (they are the best bits of the show!); it's hard to fit them in when they're constantly running for their lives! Anyway, let me know what you think!

Chapter 19

Arthur lost track of where he was and had no idea where he was heading as they raced through Camelot. His side was burning from the duel with Sythe, his hands were bleeding and his heart was raging against the utter injustice of the situation. How could his father not know who his own son was? How, after such a long time of being completely shut away from the rest of the world, could his father re-emerge only to turn against him?

And how could Sythe continue to do this? How could he orchestrate his moves so perfectly; how could he read people so effortlessly and take advantage of their weaknesses with such ease? Every situation they found themselves in was under his control. He had known that they would head straight to the King. He had known and had remoulded his version of events around it. Arthur felt so angry, so foolish and so utterly helpless; a sentiment that only increased as he looked at where he was.

It seemed vaguely familiar, but it was evident that they were in a part of Camelot that Arthur didn't usually frequent. It was probably best that they were there however; the streets were crawling with soldiers and by now they likely knew that they were looking for an 'imposter'. It was doubtful that they would search in this area, not yet at least.

Getting out of the castle hadn't been too tricky in the end. There was so much confusion anyway, that the Prince and two soldiers aiding an injured man hadn't looked too suspicious. Merlin, of course, had been their biggest problem. His helmet had remained in the throne room and all they had to disguise him was the chainmail hood that should have been underneath it. It obscured his face somewhat, but not enough, and he was forced to keep his head low at all times. Arthur suspected that Merlin couldn't have done much else; he was in a lot of pain with his leg and, even now as he looked at it, Arthur could see the blood seeping through the material of his breeches, dark and thick,

From the castle they had headed into the town, following Gwaine's direction. Arthur couldn't even begin to guess their destination, but Gwaine moved with such certainty that he soon became convinced that the man had a plan.

It was as the deep blue of dawn was seeping into the sky, however, that they finally came to a halt in a deserted street that was filled with rubbish and debris that Arthur didn't feel the need to inspect too closely. Gwaine stopped at last and gently slipped Merlin's arm from around his shoulder. Arthur quickly took his place, giving Merlin a questioning glance, which he responded to with a weak smile that did nothing to ease Arthur's concerns.

'Where are we?' Arthur asked him.

'The secret entrance to my hide out,' Gwaine grinned. 'Don't think you're the only person who knows about secret passages.'

'We're in an alley that is knee-high in filth,' Arthur argued through gritted teeth.

'No,' Gwaine told him matter-of-factly, walking over to a pile of rotting timber and feeling around in between it. 'We're right next to the door which leads to the cellar of The Midnight Moon Tavern.'

'The Midnight Moon?' Merlin asked, anxiously. Arthur couldn't help but agree; it didn't have the best reputation in the world.

'It's not as bad as everybody says,' Gwaine said, waving a hand at them.

'Regardless,' Arthur replied, deciding that it wasn't worth arguing the merits of Camelot's taverns, 'the first place the guards will look when searching a tavern is the cellar.'

'Not this one, Sire,' Lancelot said, his expression grim.

'Why not?' he asked, his eyes narrowing at Gwaine.

'Well, let's just say that this cellar is for more…specialised wares.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning, there are some things in here that you wouldn't want just anybody buying,' Gwaine grinned.

'A black market?' Merlin breathed. Arthur felt his eyes widen in shock and he looked across to Lancelot who was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

'Camelot doesn't have a black market,' he said slowly to Gwaine, his teeth gritted.

'And let's keep members of the royal family thinking that,' the knight grinned at him. 'Ah ha!' A clicking sound emanated from where Gwaine's hand was still buried in the woodpile and with effort he pulled upwards. The logs, which had seemed to all intents and purposes to be a rickety pile of dead wood, lifted up as one, evidently stuck together. Underneath were several thick boards of wood, which Arthur could now see did indeed make up the door to a cellar.

'See: safe and sound,' Gwaine muttered. Arthur moved forward, dragging Merlin with him, but his friend seemed just as interested in the truly illegal entrance in front of them. Arthur turned to Gwaine and opened his mouth to deliver a speech, but the knight beat him to it. 'Just so you know,' he began, 'the owner happens to be a good friend of mine and I promised him that if he let me use his cellar nothing bad would come of it.'

'He is running a black market in Camelot, selling who knows what to who knows who,' Arthur said fiercely.

'Yes, that is true, but he is also keeping a certain young lady safe from harm and sheltering several wanted fugitives, including, Sire, you,' he pointed out cheerfully. Arthur opened his mouth to argue once again, but found his reply sadly lacking. 'Just as I thought,' Gwaine said, clapping him on the back.

They climbed down the ladders to the cellar –Merlin with difficulty- and made their way down a short sloping tunnel which was boarded with panels of wood. The tunnel was too narrow for them to walk three in a row and so Arthur told Lancelot to walk ahead. The knight offered to help Merlin, but Arthur shook his head; helping Merlin was the least he could do. As they got to the end of the shaft, the glow of candles whispered up the tunnel to meet them and, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Arthur felt himself begin to relax. Beside him, Merlin's reaction seemed to be a similar one and he suddenly let more of his weight fall onto Arthur's shoulder.

They struggled forward and found themselves in a low ceilinged, but large room. Piled up on all sides were crates and barrels that Arthur guessed it would be best for him to ignore. The floor was covered with old, worn flagstones, while the walls were framed with thick timber which created a support for the wood panelled ceiling. The walls in between the timber pillars were nothing more than compacted earth. Arthur couldn't think of another time when he'd been in a place that could so easily collapse on him.

But despite all of the things around him, there was one thing that Arthur's gaze was drawn to…one person.

Guinevere. She was lying on one of the old fraying mattresses that had evidently been lugged down here for the guests. She looked peaceful as she slept, her dark hair flowing out behind her and a few curls escaping to frame her face. A thin blanket was spread over her and a candle was on the floor beside the bed. In a rickety old chair next to her sat Gaius; his stance protective, even with his eyes closed as he drifted.

'Go on,' he heard Merlin whisper. 'I can stand.' Arthur nodded gratefully, but still moved over to the wall so that Merlin could support himself; he didn't trust Merlin's opinion on whether or not he could stand up; Arthur had seen him fall over enough times when there was nothing wrong with him, let alone when his leg had been sliced open.

Happy that Merlin wouldn't crash to the floor, Arthur laid a hand on his shoulder and then moved over to where Gwen lay sleeping. Gaius woke and smiled in relief and welcome as he saw him approach. Arthur's frustration and anger eased by the tinniest amount at the simple gesture; there were still people out there who believed in him and knew him for who he was.

As Arthur gently sat on the mattress, the old physician headed over to Merlin, his medicine bag already in hand.

But Arthur's focus was entirely on Gwen. He saw her stir and an expectation filled him. He felt his heart race and his chest tighten at the thought of seeing her eyes open; looking at him. How he had missed her. How he had needed her in those darkest of moments: her counsel, her steadiness, her faith.

Her eyes opened and met his own easily. For a moment she just smiled, as if it was a normal day and Arthur had come to visit her, but then the shock registered, the disbelief. And then the understanding and joy. She sat up quickly, her hand reaching up to touch his face, and then she threw her arms around him, pulling him tightly to her. Arthur's arms slipped around her waist as he buried his head in her hair, kissing the side of her neck and breathing her in.

'I'm sorry,' he heard her murmur into his shoulder; her voice shook slightly and Arthur pulled her tighter.

'Don't,' he breathed.

'I should have known,' she whispered, pulling back and looking at him. Her hands stayed on his face, her fingers gently brushing through his hair. He moved into her touch, the familiarity and tenderness of it soothing the roughness that had formed in him during his imprisonment.

'No one knew,' he told her, kissing her forehead. 'Sythe is clever, an expert. He fooled everyone.'

'I should have known.'

Arthur lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips.

'It's alright.'

She gave him a sad but genuine smile and then locked her hands in his, but at his wince she frowned and then looked down.

'Arthur, your hands!' she said in alarm.

'Yeah,' he nodded, grimacing.

'Gaius,' she called, looking up, but Arthur saw her face fall as she caught sight of Merlin. 'What happened?'

'Just a little accident with a sword,' Merlin winced, from where he now lay on his stomach on a second mattress, Gaius treating his injuries deftly. There was no hesitation in the way he administered the salves and wrapped the bandages. In a matter of minutes, Merlin was sitting with his back against the wall, his leg bandaged and his eyes closed in exhaustion. It was only then that Arthur realised how little Merlin had eaten or rested in the last few days. He had been in the dungeons, then on the run, then carrying out the rescue and finally going to see Uther. Arthur was surprised he'd made it this far without collapsing in exhaustion.

'Arthur,' Gwen said gently. 'What happened with your father?'

Arthur took a deep breath and then realised that he had nothing to say. He shook his head. Gwen understood instantly; she hugged him once again and Arthur let his whole existence come down to the sensation of feeling her close to him.

Merlin couldn't sleep.

It was ridiculous really. He felt completely exhausted, but no matter how long he lay there with his eyes closed imagining being asleep and blissfully unaware, he couldn't quite manage to make it a reality. It wasn't as if he even had the excuse of being uncomfortable. His injury had meant that he was one of the privileged few who had managed to get a mattress, the others being Gwen and Arthur –Gaius having treated his injuries again-, who had accepted it under duress from everyone except Gwaine who instead decided to tease Arthur about special treatment. A glare from Gwen, however, had soon shut him up.

But mattress or no mattress, Merlin still wasn't able to sleep. The conversation that they had all had earlier was playing on his mind.

There was no doubt that hope was beginning to fade, along with any ideas as to how to bring it back. Arthur had said very little, leaving the talk to Lancelot, Gwaine and Gaius for the most part. Their conversation went round in circles. Merlin felt his own frustration building as it went on, but soon that frustration turned into a terrible sense of inevitability. A plan was beginning to form in the back of his mind, a plan that he wasn't sure would work, but was fast becoming the only option that Merlin could see. Frequently as their planning reached dead ends, Merlin had seen Lancelot and Gaius glancing over at him, trying to be subtle, trying to remain unnoticed, but Merlin had seen them nonetheless.

And he understood why he was on their mind. Their usual tactics would not work now. Arthur could, possibly, convince many knights and soldiers that he was the true Prince of Camelot. Certainly the fact that Merlin, Gwaine, Lancelot and no doubt the other Knigths of the Round Table were backing him would cause many of the fighters to question who their allegiance was currently to. But then again, that depended on what tale Sythe had spun to them.

But even if Arthur managed to muster a small force, they would still have to fight against the King of Camelot, which amounted to treason, and no doubt Uther's force would be much bigger, not to mention the fact that Sythe was a very powerful sorcerer who had yet to unleash his true magical potential. If anything, a battle would be the perfect opportunity for him to complete his takeover. He could ensure that Uther was killed in the fighting, use the rest of his force to track down Arthur and any supporters and then he would be home and dry to begin his tyrannical reign over Camelot. Nobody would ever find out that he was an imposter and the royal line would then continue through him.

Another attempt at convincing Uther seemed like foolish plan, one that was bound to end badly, and taking on Sythe individually was considered, by the group, to be a sure way to die quickly. Merlin wasn't completely convinced that the outcome would be any different for him. He hadn't had chance to speak to Gaius yet to see if he'd discovered anything that could help against Sythe.

No, things were not looking good and Merlin had watched Arthur grow more and more withdrawn as time wore on. Merlin could almost see what was in his mind, could see him watching his family line disappear, his own father die believing that a sorcerer was his son, saw his people's dark future stretching out ahead. Arthur was fine if he had a plan; if he didn't, he struggled not to sink into guilty recriminations and bleak despair.

Behind him, Merlin heard Arthur stir; he had done that a lot over the past few hours and Merlin wasn't sure if his sleep was restless or if he too was finding it hard to come by. More movement confirmed that his second theory was the correct one. There was the sound of the blanket being pushed back and the mattress rustling as Arthur got up. Merlin peered over his shoulder and saw Arthur looking around the dark room. All but one of the candles had burnt down and it gave the room a strangely comforting cosiness. It also gave the illusion of night which, of course, it wasn't. It was hard to guess, but Merlin thought that it could be as late as mid-day by now. Camelot would be awake and alert, which meant that they were all stuck here for the time being.

Thankfully, Gwaine's friend, Old John, had been supplying them with a steady stream of food via a tunnel opposite the one they'd come through to get to the room. Merlin assumed that the other passageway led to The Midnight Moon. The innkeeper had been understandably concerned when he saw the Prince of Camelot standing in his illegal storehouse, but Arthur had –with difficulty- accepted the help graciously and agreed to turn a blind eye for the man's services. The man in turn had agreed that Arthur was in fact the true Prince and had sworn that he wouldn't turn any of them in. It was a small relief.

Merlin watched as Arthur made his way towards the passageway that led out to the door of rotten logs. He doubted that the Prince was so far gone as to make a rash attempt at speaking to Uther again, but Merlin wanted to make sure that was the case and so, once Arthur had disappeared down the tunnel, Merlin followed, limping slightly, leaving the rest of the occupants sleeping.

As he headed towards the exit, Merlin met Lancelot coming the other way, evidently having agreed to swap watch duty with Arthur.

'How is he?' Merlin whispered.

'Lost…' he murmured after a few moments. Merlin nodded; there was no better way to describe Arthur's current state of mind. 'Merlin...Sythe is…' he began hesitantly.

'I know,' Merlin nodded. 'I know.'

Lancelot pressed a hand against his arm and then headed back to the room. Taking a deep breath, Merlin moved on.

A candle was still burning brightly by the tunnel exit and Arthur had lowered himself onto the floor next to it, his back against the wall. He ran his fingers quickly back and forth through the flame, not even looking up as Merlin approached. With difficulty –his leg having stiffened considerably over the past few hours despite the pain easing- Merlin slid down the wall as well until he was next to Arthur, the candle in between the two of them. There was silence for several moments. That was always the way he and Arthur began these conversations; ones that would mean something; ones that broke through the social barriers that they were constrained by the rest of the time. Well…some of the time anyway. It was as if they both needed to take a moment to shed their master-servant relationship and make sure their friendship was leading them forward.

'How's your leg?' Arthur asked eventually. He looked up briefly.

'No worse than what it's like after a day picking up after you.'

'I don't remember ever attacking you with a sword.'

'Really? Then I think your memory needs seeing to because I remember plenty of times.'

'Well I don't remember ever landing a blow,' he said instead.

'It's because my battle reflexes won't let you.'

'Merlin, you don't have any battle reflexes. You have run away reflexes.'

'I only ever run away when you do,' he countered smoothly.

'I don't run-'

'What do you want to call it then? When you graciously withdraw from a situation?'

Arthur paused for several seconds. 'No,' he replied, 'when I strategically manoeuvre.'

Merlin let out a small laugh which, he was glad to see, brought a smile to Arthur's face. It evaporated quickly, but Merlin was glad that at least a part of Arthur still felt something akin to happiness. They fell silent once more and Arthur stopped playing with the candle flame. He put his hands up to his face and rubbed it, sighing as he did.

'I don't understand any of this, Merlin. I don't understand Sythe or why he's doing this.'

'Gaius says that he likes to play games… to manipulate people,' Merlin said with a sigh. 'I don't think he's in this just for the power; he's drawing out the takeover…enjoying it.'

'Why would a person do that? How terrible must magic be that it turns people to such evil?'

Merlin felt the usual clench in his stomach whenever Arthur spoke of magic in that way. He hated the feeling; it felt like his insides were being twisted and turned. The words of denial and defence always sprang into his mouth and he had to swallow them back, pull them in; he had to ignore the terrible ache in his chest at the thought of what Arthur would do if he ever found out.

'Why did he use magic?' Arthur continued.

'What do you mean?'

'Which bit of magic from the last few hours or so do you think I'm talking about?' he asked incredulously. 'The black smoke in the room. Why did he do that?'

Merlin waited to see if Arthur actually wanted him to reply. Sometimes it was best to listen to the Prince's theory and just agree with it; he was much easier to convince if he thought his idea was correct.

'Merlin?'

'I don't know.'

'Why would he risk exposing himself? I mean during the fight I was…I mean, he…I was-'

'You were losing, Arthur,' Merlin finished for him.

'Yes, thank you, Merlin.'

'I mean, you were really losing,' he continued in a matter-of-fact voice, knowing that it would wind Arthur up and hopefully distract him from his thought process.

'Well next time, by all means, you can do the fighting.'

'Wouldn't want to show you up.' Arthur didn't even bother reply to him this time, just rolled his eyes, but he soon frowned in concentration again. Merlin decided to throw in the suggestion that he'd come up with as a cover.

'Maybe, he knew that you were going to lose and he wanted to draw it out for longer. Or maybe he wanted to convince Uther that you really were the sorcerer.' Arthur looked up at him and Merlin shrugged. 'Sythe knew that we'd run if the opportunity came up; he just made sure that we looked like the sorcerers when we did.'

'But he attacked you.'

'Well, he needed to play his part didn't he? That's all he does at the moment.'

Arthur considered the words for several seconds before nodding in agreement. He disappeared into a brooding silence that Merlin wasn't sure how to break. Pushing Arthur too soon wouldn't end well, but if Merlin didn't prompt him, there was the possibility that the Prince would sit in silence for hours. As it turned out, Arthur opened up of his own accord. Merlin saw the change on his face, saw the fear and the uncertainty.

'What do I do, Merlin? What can I do?'

'We will think of something,' Merlin tried, but Arthur just shook his head.

'We're hiding in here, waiting to be found. It'll happen eventually. And when it does-'

'It won't come to that. We've never let Camelot fall before. We're not going to start now.'

'I don't see how we can prevent it,' Arthur said, his voice filling with anger. 'My own father…' he tailed off, shaking his head and Merlin saw the way he steeled his face, the way he bit down on his emotions. 'The first time I see him like his old self again,' he began quietly, 'and he doesn't even know who I am; he believes I'm a traitor to be executed.'

'That's Sythe's lies. Your father loves you, Arthur,' Merlin told him firmly. 'And when this is over, he'll still be back to his old self. He'll see you again. Really see you.'

'How can this be over, Merlin? How do I end this? Do I…?' he stood up and began moving in the small space. '…do I lead the men loyal to me into a suicidal battle? Do I try and make my father understand? Do I engage Sythe directly? What do I do?' he asked, turning to Merlin.

And for once, Merlin had no words of wisdom for him, nothing he could say to make him feel better, no solution that he could give.

'I don't know,' he whispered. Something in Arthur faded at Merlin's words. Perhaps he had been hoping for some wisdom on the matter. He knew that Arthur frequently mocked him for his attempts at counsel, but he also knew that the Prince took them on board more often than not. Now, though, Merlin had no advice to give, no suggestions. None that Arthur could hear.

He sat back down, head in his hands.

'Arthur,' Merlin tried again.

'Merlin, don't…' he sighed.

'Listen,' he told him more firmly. He sighed again, but made no further objections. 'I don't know what we can do. I don't know how to get out of this, but I do know that no matter what happens, we will follow you to the end. Whatever you decide, you're not on your own.'

'At least if I was, it would spare the rest of you,' he muttered, characteristic recriminations resonating in him.

'You know as well as I,' Merlin told him with an edge of scolding in his voice, 'that none of us would be anywhere else but by your side.'

'Do I even deserve that loyalty?' Arthur asked him, a real vulnerability showing on his face; the weight and guilt of seeing friends sacrifice themselves for him.

'Most days,' Merlin told him with a grin. 'And today just happens to be one of them.'

Arthur stared at him for several seconds. His face showed little change, but Merlin could tell that it had been enough for now.

It would steel Arthur for a little longer and a little longer was all Merlin really needed.

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