—
Let's Play Telephone
7 - 4 Nones of November
The bugs are eating her alive.
She feels a tickle under her nostril and slams a hand into her face, coming away with a smear of white and tiny crumpled legs. She grits her teeth and prevents a shriek of frustration. This isn't the first small spider she's seen taking residence in her hair, and she knows they all come from the tree-freak.
She flicks her green eyes to the side and glares at the thing, blaming it while she believes it cannot see her. They are on another one of its terrible walks, and they've traveled through looping trails going nowhere, and she's sick of the slow pace and conversation about plants. It doesn't help that the winter iris' are starting to bloom, and they remind her of her childhood.
The Leshy - she knows its name now, it doesn't help her bitterness - is more troublesome than she's expected. While in its lair it is taller than the tallest trees, and as they move away it shrinks into a faerie no larger than her palm. When she'd first learned this, she had sneered and thought it a fool for trusting her. She had thought she could simply crush it in her palm, or even escape it with long strides. Instead, she'd wasted magic blasting fruitlessly at somehow empty branches, and then many hunger-filled days walking dizzying paths only to arrive back in its prison. The thought of its smirk still made a war's drum pound through her skull.
Maybe they're finally on their way back, she thinks bitterly. Her head now comes to its shoulder, and she's certain they'd shared the same height not long ago. But as she's watching, its arm snaps out with bramble fingers and snares her bicep in a monstrous grasp. It tugs her closer, and she puts a palm out to its chest, then watches a beetle skitter across her hand as she fruitlessly pushes against its strength.
Fire is sounding good, again.
Branches rapidly take root around her, and she rears back with her magic, ready to blast a wave forward, and the Leshy speaks in its gravelly voice. "Peace, little witch."
She would fight just to spite it, but she hears the echo of something in the forest a moment after, and her heart leaping in exhilaration shuts her up. No matter who or what it is, it has made the Leshy hide her, and that only belies an opportunity to exploit. "Hallo!" She yells, then grins blindly at her captor, "Over here!"
She hears an answering call, and her smirk grows wider. Instantly the Leshy's grip on her tightens. "You can't escape me here," it says. "I rule this forest."
"I just want human company," she replies, but she's gloating so obviously that she's proven disingenuous even as the words leave her mouth.
"I don't grant wishes," it rasps, "I trade." It's long fingers uncurl from her body, and the Leshy steps backwards, its grotesque features blending into the shadows of taller trees. "If I allow you this, then you will be in my debt."
Her eyes narrow at the challenge, but underneath a wariness takes root. She's left alone, as alone as she can be with a forest creature watching her from out of view, and she's just lifting a hand to lilt over growing bruises when a girly call puts her focus on her guests. A wide-eyed, wispy-haired female peers at her from behind foliage, and Morgana almost blasts her stupid face away. Despite a lack of proper human contact for months, she nearly can't abide an ugly, innocent fool.
An elder man comes into view soon after, though, and his sharp eyes scan her without pausing in his stride. He's before her, silvered beard and black cloak, then respectfully inclining his head before she's able to read that he's a sorcerer. "It's an honor, High Priestess."
How to treat a vassal comes instinctively, "Rise, friend." And then, trying not to seem eager, "Who are you? Where are you going?"
"We are Ruadan, a leader among Druids, and Sefa, a daughter," he replies. "We go nowhere but West."
"What's west?"
"The only partially free Druid camp in Albion."
The daughter speaks up, and again Morgana has an urge to blast her away. "King Arthur has opened the borders for us."
"It's a ruse," she snaps immediately. "He's a cheat like his father."
Sefa looks hurt. "But where will we go?"
"You may temporarily borrow my living space," she answers, gesturing magnanimously. Her disdainful turn ruins the effect, though. "I'll provide food and shelter, but in return I'll hear more on this year's events. I'm curious now on what brother-dearest has been up to."
Morgana saunters away, not truly in any known direction. It's disgusting, but true, that she can't yet escape the Leshy. She knows its maze magic will lead her back to her jail, but now she knows at least these Druids will be there with her.
She hears silence from behind her, but she expects it's due to the girl looking stupidly at Ruadan while he makes the decision for both of them. A moment after she hears their footsteps following, and a wicked smirk worms comfortably home on her features.
Soon, she reminds herself.
My throne is waiting.
Arthur did not find the throne of Camelot an extremely comfortable piece of furniture, but, then again, he figured it wasn't meant to be.
He curled his hands tighter around the metal arm rests, and the condensation built up from his own skin made his palms feel clammy. He didn't usually sit here while waiting for the Round Table to show up, but he had the time, and he thought it might help him think like a king.
What did 'a king' think like? Arthur wasn't sure where the line blurred between the kings he'd met himself, and the faceless man he sometimes saw in his mind's eye. Ideally, he thought, that king would be objective and selfless in the turning points of his reign. Unfortunately, Arthur felt like he'd had more success leading from his heart, and he wasn't sure how many of his heart's current desires were truly the best for Camelot.
He did know this, and he was loathe to admit it: he was afraid. He knew the decisions he went with after today could be just as disastrous as when he'd swung his sword down onto Caerleon's neck. If he didn't make the right choice, half of his knights could end up dead in another explosion of tensions with Druids he'd already freely invited into his borders. Sitting alone in this stiff, high-backed chair and looking down the long hallway to the wide doors of the throne room, it was easy to imagine Camelot spread out before him - a reminder of everything that hung in the balance.
And because he wasn't so wonderful at being objective, he saw that balance as somewhere between the black-swathed funerals after Morgana's attack, and Elyan's easy smiles with the Druid teen who loved him like a brother. It tilted precariously between the memory of Dragoon's back as he called lightning from the sky, and the genuine emotion when his best friend had said "I'm proud of you". Eventually, everything was going to fall one way or the other.
A door clicked behind him, and he recognized Guinevere's footsteps as she approached unhurriedly. When she reached his elbow, he titled his head to see her arching an elegant eyebrow at him. "Am I interrupting anything?"
"Just me chasing my own tail," Arthur relaxed at her coy smile, standing and stretching. "I'm trying to decide what to do about the Druids."
"You don't have to decide right now," Guinevere responded calmly. "That's why you called the meeting. We'll find out what's best, together."
He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek; she immediately giggled, and Merlin's unmistakable voice said, "Get a room."
Merlin was entering the throne room with his guardian in tow, and Arthur sent him a flinty glare with promise of retribution. But then, with perfect timing, Gaius slapped Merlin in the back of the head.
"Ah, Gaius," Arthur grinned at Merlin's look of betrayal, "I've missed your council."
The four knights arrived not long after, and they all gathered at the Round Table, sans Merlin per usual, who stood off to the side. Arthur cleared his throat.
"I've called this meeting because we need to discuss the riot in Essetir, and how we can prevent similar tensions from arising here in Camelot." He turned to Leon. "You've been gathering reports since my birthday. What do you know about the general mood of the kingdom?"
Leon steepled his fingers. "Most of those reports were from before Samhain," he warned. "Villages range from a strong hatred of opening their businesses to traveling Druids, to an apathetic outlook. They don't believe the Druids affect them. I rarely heard rumors about violence, like the burning of the witch. As for the Druids themselves…" he trailed off. Almost guiltily, he glanced to the side. "Forridel gave me the best insight on accident. I believe the Druids trust you, but not whole-heartedly. They are likely waiting, and perhaps even prepared, for you to go back on your word."
Arthur nodded, accepting the facts for now without comment. He shifted his gaze between Gwaine and Merlin. "I want a better explanation of what you both saw while we were separated. Try for details this time."
Merlin began, re-explaining for the table what he'd already told Arthur about how long the Druids had been held like criminals, and the argument that had resulted in a Druid woman's injury and the death of two of Lot's guards. Again, though, Merlin ended his story abruptly with, "then I lost sight of Gwaine and started looking for you."
Arthur held up a hand to temporarily stop Gwaine from filling in his own gaps. "Whenever I hear this story, I think that deaths could have been avoided. But Lot was insensitive, and the Druids aren't going to soon forget history." He hoped the fatigue didn't show on his face. "One day I'll make a similar mistake, so how do I prevent Iseldir's camp from causing the same violence?"
In a rush Gwaine said, "I don't think it's fair to say it's all the Druid's fault."
That's not what I'm saying, Arthur scowled mentally, but Elyan interrupted soon after with, "We were proven wrong again about Druid culture essentially being peaceful. If we're wrong about Iseldir, or anyone that joins him, there would be an army just half a day's ride from here."
"I believe, sire," Gaius said, "that it will only cause tensions if you were to impose restrictions on Iseldir's camp."
Arthur frowned. He had been toying with that idea, but now he realized that limiting the camp's size would require sending knights to enforce the change, which would result in nearly the exact same problem. "So what do I do? I can't do nothing. Everything will explode in our faces."
"This is like the war we almost had with Caerleon," Percival said intuitively.
Arthur looked at him with surprise, and Guinevere gasped in excitement. "He's right. Things escalated until you and Annis publically came to an agreement. Perhaps you and Iseldir—"
"Iseldir is highly respected," Gaius agreed.
He puzzled over this, slowly shaking his head. "He is respected, but he isn't extremely well known. Ruadan - he's a Druid leader I met in Essetir - didn't know of him." Guinevere deflated, disappointed that her idea hadn't helped. "But, they all seem to know an Emrys."
Merlin sucked in an involuntary sharp breath, and Arthur misinterpreted it. "You noticed too?"
Merlin didn't look like he would be answering, in fact he looked a little pale, and Gwaine muttered in his stead, "Yeah, I noticed."
Arthur flicked his attention to Gaius, figuring he'd have the best knowledge of Druid culture. He usually had the answers to most things magical. "What's Emrys?"
The elder physician looked supremely uncomfortable. "I only have secondhand knowledge, sire," he started, but Arthur waved him on. "Emrys is a man…" Gaius faltered. "He is a legend. During the Purge, stories of his rise began to circulate." When no one stopped him, he continued carefully. "Many Druids believe he will be the most powerful warlock to ever exist."
"Most what?" Gwaine barked, then slammed a hand over his mouth.
Gaius looked nervous again, and Arthur observed, "So, Emrys is their hope."
Arthur's features rearranged, and he seemed to forget where he was. He focused intently on the pattern of the table's wood and pondered his thoughts silently and alone. It was these moments that one remembered that Arthur - the man loved as a husband, a friend, or a brother - was a king. He was a king perhaps already worthy of legends of his own.
"What stopped the war with Annis wasn't just our deal. I paid for my sins by fighting to the death. I began to earn her respect by sparing her champion." He quickly squeezed Guinevere's hand and then pressed his palms to the table and stood tall. "I have made peace with Iseldir, despite our history. Still, as the King of Camelot, I have my father's sins to pay for as well." Arthur paused, and his thoughts were hidden from them for another while. "We are going to announce a trial."
"Surely not for yourself, sire?" Gaius said, aghast.
"No," Arthur corrected. "For the Purge."
The room lurched. Expressions were thrown around the table, met with various reactions, but it was Leon who eventually said, "And what will that entail?"
"I'm not certain," Arthur replied. "But I know I have some questions for Emrys, and I'm sure he has questions for me."
"And you're sure he exists?" Elyan asked dubiously, with a nod of equal confusion from Percival.
Arthur nodded sharply. "I'm sure of it."
Details were discussed, and plans hesitantly finalized. It was decided that the trial would take place on the Ides of March - it seemed a good a date as any, and it would likely have warmed by then. Plus, it gave them an abundant amount of time to get word spreading.
Merlin, from his position slightly behind Arthur, remained mostly silent. It was not because of a fear for his own safety, or even so much Arthur's potential reaction to his manservant's countless secrets. He had been blindsided by a truth he hadn't properly faced before.
Regardless of his own or Arthur's feelings, he had realized the real question would always be: Was Albion ready for magic?
The answer: Not yet, was a shock to his system.
Sooner than he was ready for it, the meeting was over and a hand had latched onto his forearm. Merlin looked up to see Arthur acting like it wasn't him doing it, and then Arthur let him go and strode away. Still disconcerted, Merlin muttered an excuse about polishing shoes and slipped off after him.
Not long later, Merlin inched open the door to the Hall of Ceremonies and then paused. A tall pane of stained glass forming the Pendragon crest hung over Arthur's golden head, and the king's blue eyes were focused directly at it. But when Merlin let the door click shut behind him, those eyes turned to him.
"Merlin, sometimes I think you're the only one I really trust."
If he'd ever wondered what pain and pleasure slammed together felt like, now he knew. "Gwen and the knights would do anything for you."
"This is going to sound crazy," Arthur frowned, "well, I can't really explain it. But I don't think you're understanding what I'm thinking."
"Thinking, Arthur? That's fresh," Merlin replied without any bite. He wasn't even close to certain, but he thought perhaps Arthur was thinking something similar to what Merlin had realized in the throne room. All that talk about sides of coins and legendary titles had helped him know that they could bring a golden age, but he had finally felt what that meant. This prophecy wasn't just on his shoulders. He and Arthur had carried that burden together, and they always would.
"You didn't say much," Arthur said. "I need to know what you think about my decision."
"I think you're incredibly brave," he answered immediately, and with total honesty. "You thought of something that I don't think I ever would have, at least, not exactly." Merlin hesitated, but decided to just come out with it. "Magic deserves a right to defend itself."
Merlin had known Arthur long enough to recognize his relief, even if it was well suppressed. Arthur's immediate worry faded away, but in its place grew the second that Merlin had relit. Abruptly, Arthur said, "Magic has taken my entire family." He reiterated, "Emrys killed my father."
Merlin's body tensed, but then he realized Arthur wasn't angry. He was stating what he believed were facts, and he was looking to Merlin for interpretation. "Is that why you're goading him here?"
"I've been told enough times that he didn't do it on purpose," Arthur said. "Gaius showed me some amulet and explained something about magic reversal after the funeral."
Merlin jolted, he hadn't known Gaius had defended him.
"I've had his face burned into my mind for over a year," Arthur said again. "Ample time to demonize him. But when I saw him in Essetir…" Arthur took a deep breath and turned his eyes away. In a rush of truthfulness he professed, "he didn't hate me. Now I believe he did try to help my father. But…" Arthur paused, and then his face hardened minutely. "Do you think he regrets failing?"
"I…" Merlin started and then stopped short. Do I regret it? His stomach twisted in a regretful knot and he swallowed his defense. He had been glad to see Uther go; he was just upset that it had to be by magic's hand, and that Arthur had been there to see it. "I guess you'll find out on the Ides."
"I guess I will," Arthur agreed absently. Then returning his trusting gaze to Merlin he said, "I haven't told anyone that Dragoon is the Druids' Emrys." Merlin's mouth opened, unsure what he was going to say, but Arthur continued before he had a chance to decide. "I also know that there is a Druid spy in Camelot."
Merlin balked, mind whirling. "Who?"
"I don't know who," Arthur snapped, but then softened, "I was hoping you could watch for me." He cleared his throat. "The trial has to go through, but, I don't want to be caught too far off guard in March."
This was surreal. Emrys and Druid spies, and Merlin steadily recognized that it was he that fit both categories. This was almost ridiculous. He should tell the truth - immediately. This was his opportunity. No one was around to overhear, and he and Arthur could decide how to handle the trial together, and he would no longer have to watch Arthur worry.
Something held him back, though. Thin, yet unbreakable strands of… responsibility. Arthur was right. Merlin's, Uther's, Morgana's, everyone's failures had to be faced. They couldn't sweep them under a rug with one hand and wave in an era of gold with the other.
A part of him wanted to be held accountable for his actions, without a shared history to color the argument, and even deeper down, Merlin wanted to defend magic. He didn't want to apologize for something he considered an extension of his own soul. He didn't want to make a farce out of a fight that he and Arthur needed to have - regardless of destiny, regardless of friendship.
"Arthur," Merlin said steadily, "I will help you however I can, but in March—" He held out a hand for Arthur to shake, and Arthur did grip his forearm tightly. And even if Arthur's reasons were completely different, Merlin only tightened his hold. "In March, you are going to represent Camelot alone. Defend her with your whole heart."
Their gazes locked, and the wordless something that they both had only begun to fully recognize passed between them.
"Defend her as the Once and Future King that I know you are."
Gwaine left Percival and Elyan with the promise of joining them shortly. Their job was to grab seats at the Rising Sun tavern and inn, while his was to track down Merlin and drag him there to join them. These first few days of winter had been stressful enough, and he direly needed a break. And if he felt that way, then surely Merlin was even worse off.
After quickly ditching his heavy chainmail in the barracks, he stalked through the castle half wishing he had a Merlin-tracker akin to his friend's Arthur-tracker. He had been blown away on Arthur's birthday when Merlin had taken off unerringly towards the barrows while casting some magical hoopla on his sword, but now he wanted to snort at the old-Gwaine who had been impressed by what were apparently party tricks. Merlin could pull lightning down from the sky, and he could probably do a lot more if it weren't for the kicker - Merlin had no desire to throw his weight around.
Gwaine heard voices coming from the Hall of Ceremonies, and he veered towards it. Merlin was probably in there right now, supporting Arthur, and not caring that the trial could potentially result in a call for his own execution. Well, Gwaine realized derisively, perhaps the threat of execution is old news for him.
He knew it would be better to knock, but he shoved the doors open without preamble because he knew it would be out of character not to. He had guessed right, and Merlin and Arthur were the sole occupants, and currently they looked quite pleased with each other. Gwaine slouched against the doorframe, stuffing his hands into his pockets and feeling the crinkle of paper. It reminded him of something else that had been subtly bothering him, and he took a moment to sulk as he realized that his misery likely wouldn't have any company.
He hid it quickly, though. "You lovebirds done? Round Table afterparty at the Rising Sun."
Merlin reacted instantly, smiling winningly. "We'll be done after I get my goodnight kiss." He barely leaned in an inch before Arthur had bodily shoved him away.
"Never do that again," was all the wit Arthur could manage.
"One of these days he'll give in," Merlin sighed with a wink in Gwaine's direction.
"I'll take that bet," Arthur muttered, "and I'll win it."
Not much later, Arthur echoed those words over a cupful of dice.
The Rising Sun was boisterous, and though the King of Camelot frequenting the tavern had initially caused a stir, now the knights blended into the scenery of the dim, loud, ale-filled room. They'd found a new round table to while the hours away at, but this one resulted in far less productive discussions. Instead, Percival had started them on a game of Liar's Dice, and the competitive spirit between them all found something new to fight over.
At first Merlin had sat out, saying he didn't have the coin to risk it in a bet against them, but Gwaine had succeeded in convincing him to play as his teammate. Gwaine would sponsor the round, and Merlin would supply the luck. Gwaine grinned to himself and chortled at not having thought of this before. He was raking it in. The confused look on Elyan's face last game had been priceless.
"There is no way," Arthur was still saying, "that there are twelve rolled threes. We only have twenty die!"
"If you're so sure, call me on it," Merlin said guilelessly.
"You're a horrible liar," Arthur continued, perhaps trying to convince himself. "You have to at least be believable. You're just being preposterous right now."
"But I really do believe there are twelve threes on this table," Merlin smiled, and Gwaine barked with laughter. Arthur had narrowed his eyes, trying to catch a tell on Merlin's face but was obviously coming up frustratingly empty.
"Only an idiot would believe that!"
"Then call his bluff," Elyan chuckled, "or give in and start the round of fours."
"I'm not giving in," Arthur grumbled. His head snapped to Percival. "How many threes do you have?"
"I'm not going to tell you," Percival grinned, and then did a fair job of not flinching as Arthur focused intently on him while guessing amounts.
"Two," Arthur settled on with a smug expression. "And I know how many I have, and I'm fairly certain about Elyan." His eyes traveled over Elyan suspiciously before returning to Merlin and Gwaine's cup. "Which proves that you are absolutely wrong, as usual!"
"Not if all his die are threes," Gwaine said cheekily. While not playing, he was thoroughly enjoying egging on the strife.
"Then why did he bet there were so many ones earlier? There's no way he had threes all along!"
"It's called a long con," Elyan laughed.
"Merlin can't plan that far ahead," Arthur snorted, "he barely plans breakfast."
"I do so," Merlin scoffed. "I plan not to give you any."
Arthur's scowl made the quip all the greater, and tears began to leak from the corners of Percival's eyes as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Just admit you're lying, Merlin, so we can move on!"
"Why can't you just trust me?" Merlin asked innocently.
"You're not tricking me again," Arthur growled. "I'm not going to guess thirteen. That's even more ridiculous than twelve." He threw a hand up in contempt. "That's it. You're a liar, Merlin, and I say there are not twelve threes. Everyone lift your cups!"
Arthur lifted his cup and slammed it ferociously out of the way, Elyan and Percival following suit with a lot more restraint. The seven threes he had predicted gleamed in the low light.
Merlin toyed with his cup, eyes twinkling. They had all made the mistake of not watching him for a moment, and Merlin enjoyed riling Arthur up too much not to let his magic perform a small assist. Gwaine was already cackling before he had raised his cup the entire way, revealing his sweep of threes.
Elyan and Percival accepted their loss with good humor, and for a moment the table was quiet. Then Arthur calmly picked up one of his dice, and chucked it like a javelin at Merlin's forehead.
Merlin toppled over backwards, feet flying into the air with a stroppy yell of surprise. Arthur raged, shaking a fist. "You're a cheat, I know it!"
The argument continued with louder shouts from the king, and Percival had to hold him by the back of his tunic while Merlin hammed up his performance as the injured, put-upon servant. Gwaine ignored it to divvy up this round's winnings between he and Merlin, and the grin etched onto his face was now far from fake.
Sure, he may be finally coming to terms with all of Merlin's talk about destiny, and there may be a letter from his sister burning a hole in his breeches, and maybe this all was the calm before the trial's storm - but none of those oppressive responsibilities made this moment any less real.
This - Merlin dumping a cupful of dice down Arthur's pants while Elyan was hit by a stray projectile - epitomized why he would lay down his life for any of the men here. They were more than his brothers; they were his real family.
Footnotes:
(1) I'm sort of referencing the irises Merlin gives Morgana in canon. I thought, maybe he knows she likes irises, and maybe she likes irises because they were a birthday gift as a child. (She's a November baby, and Algerian irises begin to bloom in November). Pure #ArtisticLicense, because they're not native to England.
(2) Sorry guys but the Ides of March? It was too perfect. (Caesar deathday, in case you haven't heard that particular prophecy. Beware the Ides of March!)
(3) Hall of Ceremonies is a real location from the set - check it out on the Merlin wiki!
(4) I think it's season five where Merlin cheats at dice. I wanted to throw in another cameo.
(5) Gwaine is referencing a letter from his sister, Ari. We meet her in P2: The Betas, and Merlin tries to convince Gwaine to talk to her during P2: Tramp Stamps.
Author's Note:
Just so everyone knows, Forridel has so far delayed her return to Iseldir's camp. She keeps finding excuses to stay a bit longer. Perhaps unrelated, but Leon wasn't invited to the afterparty. I don't know if I'd say 'poor Leon' though. Maybe they knew he was busy. ;)
Huge thanks to the reviewers for being extra amazing this last week - three new people who read all of Part 1 extremely quickly and that just amazes and blows me away. But of course, the rest of you who have been here since the beginning I can't give enough thanks to. Then I repay you all by destroying Merlin's hope last chapter. As one reviewer said, "How cruel Requiem. How very cruel." :) I liked destroying it to rebuild it this chapter, in this completely different way. I hope you're all as hyped for the trial as I am.
I want to thank Jewels for calling Arthur a clotpole last chapter. It made me laugh, and then it made me realize how absolutely important it was for me not to go backwards. The characters are strong enough to push on, and not fall into familiar habits, and I have to respect that. Plus, she was a huge help keeping me canon as I was brainstorming about Uther's death. Linorien, you all have to bow down because she beta'd this for me in less than 24 hours. I was already late, so I'm so thankful Linorien will push things aside for me!
Finally, I'm living all my Merlin fanon fantasies. It's so fun writing this story...I highly recommend everyone try this out.
Next time: Wishing on Trick Candles. It's Morgana's birthday, Merlin owes Gaius an explanation, and Gwaine gets to meet the dragons properly this time.