—

The Purge Trial
The Ides of March

Dawn rises on a Camelot quiet except for the crack of wine-red pennants and warble of bush crickets. That quiet breaks in ringing peals from the bell tower, and with it, life hums above the town roofs, drifting echoes of door slams and mother's shouts to the castle's front steps.

In this courtyard, the first to arrive are young boys who inch closer in giggling dares. Fresh-faced guards come next to chase them away, and following that come the servants. They're in their best clothes, some girls with flowers woven into their braids, and a hook-nosed man swings wide the front doors to let them in.

Gossip and breakfast waft from their wake, and not long later come the nobles in pungent silks. The King's Council in their entourage usurp the attention, Mistress Vanora in peacock blue, Lord Savile in luscious red, the merchant Grenfell in an olive doublet, and the others just as radiant.

When they pass, the guards cross their pikes over the doorway, and soon the courtyard is filled to bursting. It's a rock and roar of lye-fresh villagers with toddlers on their shoulders, the raw-pine of Druids bubbling with excitement, and the cloying sweat of a crowd waiting under a cloudless Camelot sky.

In that swarm an old crone is hardly noticed, and Merlin, as the Dolma, curls his hand tighter around his staff and settles in to wait with them.

Nearby Iseldir, finally breaking from the waves of a shifting crowd, ignores the scattered whoops that dog his climb up the stairwell.

"On your left!"

A green-capped messenger barrels towards him, and Iseldir ducks and dodges, spinning around an emissary and landing heavily on the opposite wall of the hallway. People surge past him in both directions, and suddenly he's a fish gaping from the riverbank.

It's these wide-eyes that meet Ruadan when he steps in. Ruadan's black cloak is already swung over his arm, and his leather jerkin is fastened all the way up to his short beard. As always, the man stands like a general.

Happy to see a face he knows, even if it's not a friendly one, Iseldir waves him over. "Ready?"

There's a pause as Ruadan huffs. "Of course. I've only thought the words every night for decades."

"You know what they say about best laid plans, Ruadan," he replies jokingly as they slip into the current. It rushes them around the next corner, widens, narrows, then spills out into the Throne Room.

There are two rows of seats facing the thrones, but also lines of cushioned chairs along the left and right walls. Arthur had said they'd have a seat, but he hadn't specified where, so Iseldir chooses an open chair in the second row. The nobles clustered to his left and the foreign servants to his right proved those seats were reserved for fancier bloods.

This is a good one, he thinks. Close enough to see the dais, but far enough away that he won't be the center of attention. Ruadan takes the seat next to him when a knight approaches.

"Just a second," the knight says.

He's the one with the long brown hair, and his name is just on the tip of his tongue...

The knight grins. "It's Gwaine."

"Ah yes, apologies." Putting his hand on the back of the seat, "We can sit here?"

"Of course, you're the invited guests. At your service. Well, will be after you answer something for me."

"I knew I should have studied."

"Don't knock improvisation," he replied, then asked with his eyes darting warily to Ruadan, "Have you seen… Emrys?"

He thinks, and thinks, then thinks again in growing confusion. "No, not anywhere." He's worried now, but doesn't want to ask more where others could hear him. Fortunately, Gwaine reads his mind again.

"He'll turn up. He just likes his secrets," Gwaine says, then looks back and pouts in the direction of Gaius, who slumps and turns worried eyes into the standing crowd in the back of the throne room.

Gwaine nibbles at a fingernail. Could Merlin turn invisible? Probably. It sucked to be left in the dark, but whatever. Merlin would likely teleport into the middle of proceedings with lightning shooting out of his nostrils, and the drama would make up for the anticipation.

He moves back into line with the other Round Table members, facing the audience in a visual show of camaraderie. To Percival, he mutters, "I may not have gotten as much sleep last night as I'd hoped to."

Percival raises a brow.

"So if I look like I'm going to yawn, elbow me or something."

And then Percival, the unreliable nuisance that he was, proceeds to jab him so hard he gets the hiccups.

"Ow."

The back of the room surges with motion, distracting him, and lesser nobles, castle workers, and a chosen few Druids ripple to the side until the Sarrum stands framed by the crowd.

He wears a brown cape, brown shirt, and a wide leather belt in a third meticulously chosen shade. With the same fine-lined control, he strides for his seat. The advisors, scribes, and retinue of servants bustle to keep up, and from the catwalk above, onlookers gossip with excitement. Meant to only be guards that high up, enough money had slipped into the bottoms of beer mugs to form a second gallery of spectators just as eager for the show.

From the opposite end of the room, hidden like a nosy old woman in the Solar, Arthur watched the room coalescing and thought, Guh.

This was really happening. Any minute now King Bayard would get here and they wouldn't be able to wait any longer. He should have gone over his speech one more time. He hadn't expected this many people. Someone would notice Merlin wasn't with him and they'd figure out that there'd been a mole in Camelot all this time—

Actually no, maybe some of the Round Table would find it odd, but it would hardly be a blip in the citizen's minds. And the foreign kings couldn't pick Merlin out of a line if their kingdoms depended on it. No, no one would notice. His best friend could disappear off the face of the earth and the world wouldn't skip a beat.

On further reflection that just seemed so wrong.

"Enough brooding, Arthur," Guinevere tugged at his sleeve and turned him away from the window, measuring him with her eye. She herself had gone with a gown so red his own cape seemed dull, and it formed perfectly around her strong arms, perfect breasts, and trim waist.

"Did we miss anything?" he asked.

"If we did, is it really going to ruin everything?"

"It could. Maybe I should have Leon reorganize the guards."

She sighed. "If Leon needs to do that, he won't ask your permission."

She brushed her long brown fingers over his shoulders, not that he felt it through his chainmail, then slipped them around the back of his neck and tugged him down for a gentle, lingering kiss. Gods, he loved her so much. He couldn't do this alone.

"Oh Arthur," she whispered, "everything is going to change after today." Her almond eyes searched his face, and he caught worry and sadness in hers. "No matter what happens, I love you." She kissed him again. "Let's go."

Guinevere led him out, and the crowd looked no smaller from the dais. Sweat beaded under his shirt. Did he seem normal? Don't walk so fast.

His eyes darted to Emrys' empty chair, but he pulled them away quickly. Stop that, he berated himself, you'll look nervous. Nod to the kings, the council, the knights. There's Gaius - ergh - he's not happy with me. Maybe don't look at Gaius.

The servants had dug a pair of old podiums from storage, and both now sat on the ground before the thrones. They'd needed some dusting, but the wood looked strong. A few sturdy steps led upwards to a flat, walled booth that had once had additional chains for the most dangerous of prisoners. Luckily someone had the foresight to remove any traces of entrapment. Though, they'd not have stood much chance against Emrys anyways - he was a man who could create windstorms and disappear into thin air on a whim. You know, just the sort of rational, reasonable traits he'd expect Merlin to trust.

Gwen nudged him. Right, he was just standing here staring at everyone. That was a bit weird. Were his eyes too wide? His neck was tingling, was that normal? It itched, he rubbed at it. Was it swelling? He couldn't feel anything with his fingers, but it certainly felt like a bubble was growing within his throat.

Work past it, Arthur. You're panicking. What were the first lines of his speech? Welcoming everyone. I can do this. He cleared his throat, spoke loudly, said "Camelot," and nearly clapped his hands over his ears at the almost deafening "CAMELOT" that blasted through the room.

"Guests," he tried, and it happened again. His voice blew out of proportion, vibrating through the bubble in his throat, so loud that even the courtyard could hear him clearly. Sure, he'd made speeches his entire life, he was used to projecting, but this was just abnormal. Even if he'd roared, he could never have been so loud. This was either a terrible dream, or the work of sorcery.

He had an urge to clutch his throat, as if that would muffle the magic. He looked around for someone muttering spell junk from under a dark cloak and started to panic. Even his problems had problems.

"Welcome," he closed and darted a helpless glance at Leon. He was going to have to go with this. He couldn't show that he'd already lost control of the room.

"Welcome to Camelot."

The crowd exploded with cheers, and he could do nothing but wait it out. Half the people cheering couldn't see him hold out his arms for quiet. Maybe he should keep talking? They'd have to stop then. Yes, he'd just have to plow onward.

"I've got questions. And I'd bet many of you are here looking for answers."

Yes, that seemed to work. He continued on with more confidence.

"I stand here knowing that my story is part of the larger Camelot story, that I owe a debt to the people who came before me, and those who stand here in this room. I want to know your story, and I want to give you justice, but I understand that ethics change and we must beware revenge. More importantly, I need to know how to move forward. My children… well, all of our children... should, and will, remember us with pride.

"I don't say that with blind optimism. I have hope because of you, because of all of the people in Camelot who have taught me what hope is." He gestured, gaze on his own memories, "It's a mother warming a meal for a son late in returning from battle. It's eight friends in a night-lit cave after Morgana has won the day. It's every castle-worker, villager, and Druid who has looked at the ashes and rebuilt.

"This is what has brought us here. Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope. We're all here, hoping together, believing in things not yet seen— believing that there are better days ahead.

"It unites us. And only together will we make Camelot better than any one of us could imagine."

Arthur blew out a breath, and as the echoes of his voice bounced through the rooms, down the castle's halls and into the courtyard, an applause rose that deafened all those before. Relieved, he lets the swirl of Gwen's skirt usurp him as she steps ahead.

"Iseldir," she says, her clear voice ringing just as loud as his, "If you please?"

Iseldir wore a loose shirt buckled at the waist, and he adjusted the ends to ensure they were snugly about his hips as he stepped onto the first wooden stand.

"Sire," he bowed to each of them, "your Grace. Thank you for inviting me to speak. To be honest, I agonized over my words. My people requested both tales terrible and tales friendly. I believe either desire, or fear, for reprisal played a role." He had a slow way of speech, as if he tasted the words as he spoke them. "After their much appreciated council, I've decided to tell a story very singular to my own life."

His bright eyes darted to the side, "It has to do with you, Sir Leon."

Leon hid his surprise in movement, looking to Arthur for an unnecessary nod of approval. The second witness stand stood empty, and Iseldir had just called him to fill it.

He was already tall, but from atop the wooden stand he stood half a man above everyone in the room.

He could feel every eye.

"Sir Leon," Iseldir said, with a twinkle and a smirk Leon could not read. "We have some history, eh?"

Sure, their relationship had improved alongside Camelot's, but there was bad blood to draw out, and it made him wary. "Yes, we've known of each other for many years."

"How many raids have you led against my previous camps?"

"As Captain of the Guard, none." Leon said plainly. "As a knight under Uther, I participated in two raids against you."

"And one more question," Iseldir murmured. "Were those before or after I saved your life with magic?"

Leon remembered this, at least. The hot feeling of his blood pounding out of him in rhythm with his racing heartbeat, the cold that consumed him below the wound. The smell of his men dying around him. He'd lost them all, he'd failed, but maybe he'd be able to scratch a warning for Camelot in the dirt….

He cleared his throat, and it had the added benefit of quieting the muttering that had vaulted through the room. "That was after the worst of the Purge. Only a few years ago." He paused, "Why did you save me?"

"Why did you trust me?" Iseldir countered. "It was late evening, if I remember correctly. Cecht, he handles the security of our perimeter, told me some Camelot knights were traveling quietly nearby. I'd believed it was another raid."

"It wasn't," Leon answered. "King Uther had sent us to scout Cenred's lands."

"Ah," Iseldir nodded. "That explains the fight. They surprised you?"

They'd swiveled out from trees and killed half his party before he'd even had eyes on them. "Yes."

"Out of curiosity, did you hide our location from Uther? We were expecting a third raid that never came."

"I never told him precisely, no," Leon frowned, "but I believe your safety has more to do with Morgana's betrayal than myself."

"Ironic," Iseldir murmured. "Why did he attack us so often? What did he have to fear from me?"

It was the law, Leon wanted to answer, but that wouldn't carry far in this room. "He passed the laws because magic was dangerous. We couldn't go a fortnight without some new attack." His eyes flicked to Arthur, suddenly worried he'd overstepped the rhetoric.

"Revenge on revenge on revenge," Iseldir said, "I expected so. Why do you think I saved you?"

Before that night in the forest, they'd not had a single positive moment. He'd never watched a Druid running and turned a blind eye to his escape. He'd been the perfect soldier, and he really could not fathom why Iseldir had chosen to save him. It made him quaver to think he hadn't deserved it, not from Iseldir's perspective, at least. "I can't fathom."

"It wasn't a grand plan, I can tell you that." Iseldir chuckled. "I had the magic ready in case you were going to attack us, and then we found you there. I think it would have been easy to let you die. It would have felt a little like justice."

Iseldir smiled softly. "But we didn't. Maybe that night I broke the chain of revenge, inadvertently." His smile grew wider. "I hear congratulations are in order."

"Pardon?"

"A dear friend," Iseldir said, addressing the crowd, "escaped from Camelot during a raid and came to live with us. Now she's returned to Camelot. How is Florridel?" He asked, turning back to Leon.

He hoped desperately this wasn't some ploy. "She's as strong as ever."

"That's wonderful," he beamed. "You'll invite me to the ceremony?"

"Of course," Leon replied stoically. "She's made a gift for you as well, if you have a moment to stop by."

"Ah thank you," he whispered, and with a small smile turned back to Arthur. "Sire, I believe that's all I had to say."

Gwen smiled through the smattering of applause. No question, that had ended in the Druid's favor.

The crowd seemed swayed, but crowd's usually were. The King's Council, however, were less so. Part of her job presiding over this trial was to keep the fragile peace intact, and to do that she needed a balance between bias.

There were a few cards she could play, and she compared them swiftly as she rose in Leon and Iseldir's wake. "Next we'd like to call a man who fought as an equal alongside King Uther during the Purge." She gestured. "The Sarrum of Amata."

The nearby crowd clapped politely as the Sarrum's bald head bobbed towards a stand. "Greetings, court," he said with small amusement, making a show of marveling at the magic that amplified his voice.

"I have a question I'd like to start you off with," Gwen said, watching as his small eyes danced at her, as if she amused him too. "Tell me the reasons you joined Uther Pendragon in the Purge, and what benefits you believe Albion has gained from it."

He face stilled into an emotionless desert, and as an empathic person this threw Gwen. The longer he stood there the more she wanted to fill the silence, and she waited, unnerved, until his eyes finally slid to Arthur.

"I enjoyed your speech. Hope and dreams - it's a nice thought." His hands folded behind his back and his chin tilted upwards. It thinned his gaze into a snake-like sliver. "I believe in hope, but I'm a realist. Do you know what happens when hopeful people don't get what they want? They feel slighted. Hope, almost always, turns to rage."

Offhandedly, "Do you have a historian? Yes?" He turned his head to Geoffrey the librarian, "No, no, stay there. I only have a few facts to check. Tell me, how many magical attacks on the crown since the Purge?"

He paused to listen, "At least a hundred, he says! I didn't expect so many more than Amata. And how many peasant uprisings?" Another pause for Geoffrey, "None? Let's be a bit broader. How many incidents of peasants killing their noble overlords?" He laughed. "Three? Stunning."

He turned to the court. "Do you see? Surely the peasants have hope for a wealthier future, but we don't see them lashing out in fury when they don't receive that future. Why is that? Their dreams are just as important as any Druids."

"I'll tell you why. Magic is power, and it corrupts those that use it. It only takes one deranged magic-user to kill good people. Many good people." He scoffed. "What is the alternative? Everyone learns defensive magic? A battalion of witches? And why exactly should those witches follow orders when they could slip a potion in your meal and make you do whatever they want?"

He shook his head, and his expression seemed to scream it's so obvious, but I'll deign to explain for you. "As the leader of my country I have to keep my people safe. Restrictions on the use of magic will only continue to reduce unjustified killings, just look at the numbers! Mark these words, those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. A ban on magic was only common sense, and still is the right thing to do. It has brought peace—"

Ruadan vaulted upwards, chair squealing. "Your majesty," he said, despite his glare never leaving the Sarrum's head, "May I take the other stand?"

The crowd held its breath, but Arthur and Gwen agreed, and so Ruadan walked forward. From the second-story gallery, which Merlin had wiled his way onto, both Ruadan and the Sarrum looked very small. A strange perspective, since the problems they represented had loomed so large in Merlin's life for so long.

The Dolma's body was more squat than his own, he had to bend to see through a window in the audience, and he had a crick in his neck from tilting past a guard's armpit. But in tune with Ruadan's stomp the guard muttered, "This will be good," and shifted just enough for Merlin to catch sight of Iseldir's profile. Half-lidded eyes, a slack mouth, hands loose in his lap - all clues that Iseldir's brain was far from here. What could possibly be distracting him now of all times?

Something magical was his first guess, and as he expanded his vision to see the spellwork around them, he knew he'd guessed it in one. Overtaking the room in a flurry of jittery movement were tiny crystals of magic, doing their best to coalesce around Ruadan's throat. Clunky, he thought, and probably some kid's idea of rebellion. This must be the voice amplifying spell.

Too ill-formed to be Iseldir's work, Merlin focused more on the elder man, and saw instead a thin rope of gold extending from Iseldir back through the crowd and out where Merlin could no longer see. Was that…? Hmm. He spun a bit of magic and extended it towards the rope, tentatively curling around it, and caught Iseldir mid-sentence.

Mid-sentence with… he listened… Bleise, Iseldir's master of histories. He felt Bleise's calm surety, Iseldir's concern, and how did eavesdropping on your allies fall on the scale of morality?

Who were his allies, though, really? Sometimes Merlin felt he was an island alone.

Iseldir, pensive: "It feels sad, lonely. Deep."

And a dubious Bleise, "You're sure it's magic?"

"No," Iseldir paused thoughtfully, "It could be a presense. As you know, my good judge of character isn't always due to gut-instinct."

"That's not much for me to work with, Iseldir. Is there a person that stands out to you?"

He sighed. "Ruadan, perhaps. Though he usually feels off to me. Whatever this is, it's worse."

"Can you tell me from where it's coming?"

"I'm having trouble pinpointing it. You definitely don't feel it? It's large, and consuming; oppressive."

"No, Iseldir, I don't feel that at all."

Merlin pulled back, looking at the room with new focus. If Iseldir could feel something so large, why hadn't he plainly seen it? There was no overt gold, nothing he could see or feel himself. What was this, what was going on? What had he missed?

Ruadan hated the Sarrum. Hated his thin-skinned face and smug little smirk and holier-than-thou attitude. Oh little Druid, you couldn't possibly understand the complexities of governance. You couldn't hope to challenge me and win. I could crush you and no one would blink.

The Sarrum had last claimed that the Purge had brought peace. Ruadan wasn't going to let him get away with that propaganda. "Your definition of peace is very skewed," he sneered. "You've silenced voices, not brought peace. To be specific, you've silenced my daughter's voice by hunting her, and my wife's voice by murdering her."

"I don't believe I've personally murdered your wife, and I am very sorry she's dead."

So he was going to take the high road, this slug of a man. "You're sorry? How does that help what your people have done to mine?"

"Did you know one of your kind snuck into my castle and killed one of my women only a few months ago?" His eyes rolled. "I can't help you Druids. And I don't see you jumping to help me. Unlike you, I don't expect it."

Incandescent rage gripped him, and he squeezed words tight from his throat. "So there is your definition of peace, for our people to leave each other alone?"

"I prefer a more positive outlook, but that's a very realistic answer."

He snapped, "Then why do I know for a fact you kidnapped a witch only last year, and imprisoned her in a well?"

"A witch, Ruadan? But who was she really?"

"You degraded and starved her for no reason other than her magic. Deny that you haven't done that throughout and since the Purge and I'll start pulling witnesses from the crowd."

"Oh Ruadan, loyalty is an overrated virtue. Championed by the bovine. Dignified by the weak to justify their weakness. It's not worthy of you." The Sarrum sighed, disappointed. "King Arthur, you'll agree when I say the witch deserved it. Your sister is an enemy to us all."

Disbelief, confliction, and then acceptance took Arthur's features. "You've captured Morgana?"

"No," the Sarrum said wistfully, and then with relish dropped the bomb he'd been waiting for all along, "Emrys broke her out."

No, Merlin thought, denial about the best he could do.

I couldn't leave her there? There was a small chance she might change? She's still trapped in a different prison regardless? He felt sick. Gaius, Gwaine… he couldn't see them from here. Maybe that was a blessing.

Arthur had launched to his feet. "I've heard a lot of things about Emrys. That he's all powerful. That he's some sort of messiah. Now, I hear he allies with Morgana." He was shaking. "I think it's time he start speaking for himself."

Merlin pushed his way forward, getting grumbles in response. He practically fell at the railing, and saw what he had hoped he had misheard. There, beneath all the anger on Arthur's face, was simple pain.

And Arthur was walking for one of the witness stands, and this was it. He hated to cry, but he felt the tears burning him. He had never wanted to hurt Arthur this much, couldn't have fathomed that he would ever.

"Well," Arthur said, when he stood alone. "Are you coming or not?"

"I'm," he said, but it came out hoarse and too hard to hear. He sucked in a breath, tried to hold everything back. To keep that emotion in and the smile on his face. Do his job, what he was supposed to do. He was here for magic, wasn't he? Not for himself. "Hold your horses," he yelled.

Vanora from the Council pointed, "There!"

The crowd turned in one horrifying moment, against him. Flipped and stared, like a nightmare. The people who had been pressed shoulder to shoulder on the catwalk just moments ago moved away, leaving him in an island alone.

Arthur's eyes skirted him. "You're not Emrys."

"I am," he said. "Wait a minute, will you? Learn something." He closed his eyes, concentrated very hard on shifting his glamour directly from the Dolma to Dragoon. A lengthening in torso, the tickle of a beard. Steadfastly keeping the wrinkles and then one sudden leap, teleporting to the second witness stand in a slip of breeze.

And here they were, just two men, but with a crowd on one side and their family on the other, and between them, everything that was and would be.

"Let's start with Morgana," Arthur said acidically. "Where is she?"

Of course he wanted to give Arthur what he wanted, but in front of the Sarrum? In front of possible enemies of Camelot? And Morgana had been getting better; maybe with more time on her own, unhunted, she could make a turn for the better. Or did he only trust her because he'd trapped her?

"Can you speak?"

Relax, Arthur. "The particular location is something I think we should discuss privately."

"Privately," Arthur barked. "Will that be your bargaining chip? Her location and the subsequent safety of Camelot in exchange for, what, exactly?"

"I wouldn't trade someone like livestock, even if that person was Morgana." He'd watched Uther put silver in the hands of bounty hunters in exchange for terrified Druids, for confused children.

"If you ruled a kingdom, you'd think differently. Say bandits are hiding in the woods, and a group of men round them up. Of course we should reward them for it." Arthur shook his head. "I assume you think she deserves to be defended because she has magic. She's dangerous and is a proven enemy to us. She's a criminal. You protect her, then you're a criminal too."

"Oh, when have I not been a criminal to you anyways?" He rolled his eyes. "Look, where she is now, you're all safe from her. But at least she has some small freedom compared to the Sarrum's torture pit. Nobody deserves that."

Arthur looked disconcerted at the mention of torture, but he trudged on. "Even if I didn't agree with another kingdom's laws, I would follow the proper channels of communication to fix them. If we're going to trust each other, you can't just blast lightning whenever you want to change something you don't agree with."

"Fine, but if someone starts rounding up magic-users or raiding campsites then I'll be much less agreeable."

"Well, good. We're not doing that so… good. We're agreed."

Arthur started drumming his fingers and the silence stretched on. Their conversations weren't usually this awkward. Was that all Arthur had planned on asking?

"You prefer Emrys or Dragoon?"

Oh, boy. "Either is fine. Emrys is probably less confusing."

"True."

Maybe I'm supposed to do my speech now?

"Well I've got some questions for you," Arthur said.

Thank the gods.

"I've heard different sorts of legends from multiple people. I suppose you're not really a Druidic god, you seem too much like a man."

"I feel like a man too. I'd bet on that."

"So what's true then, in your own words?"

"I don't make the legends, but…" he did believe Kilgharrah's prophecy. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it was attainable. "But I'm going to bring magic's freedom back to Albion. And I'm going to do it by your side."

Gwen had stayed quiet till then, preferring to watch. And now she had even less doubt that Merlin was Emrys. They both tilted their head that way, spoke like that, had the same earnest love for Arthur. They even looked similar; it was almost glaringly obvious.

"That's presumptuous," Arthur said. "Quite an idea, considering our history."

She was fairly sure Gaius knew too. He'd looked too relieved.

"I know your dream, Arthur. Peace in Albion. Is it really so different?"

She'd never much believed it had been magic itself that had corrupted Morgana. Long before her magic, Morgana had been selfish. When Gwen's father died Morgana had made it about herself, and her everlasting trials against Uther.

"It may be the exact opposite. My father said peace had come at the hands of the Purge."

Oh, she thought, reading the crowd. That was a dangerous opinion.

"Your father is the last person you should believe about the Purge."

"Is that why you killed him? You couldn't sway him? Revenge?"

If Merlin had wanted to kill Uther, he could have done it any night of the week. She'd never really seen him hurt anyone, ever, honestly. It must have been a mistake. If not, then she didn't know him at all.

"We can go there, Arthur, but I thought you wanted to fight the battle ahead, not behind. And I'm here to talk about magic, and it's rightful place here."

"This trial is about the Purge."

"To what pointless end? To trade blow by blow its atrocities?" Emrys' hands curled into fists. "Face it, King Arthur. The heart of the Purge is about magic, and your father's very suspicious hatred of it."

There was an angry tilt to his voice, Gwen noticed, but she was glad Arthur didn't stop him. It must be some form of release to finally say what had been bottled up for years. And it was fascinating to hear how Merlin really felt.

"You know the story. It's the worst, best kept secret in Camelot. You didn't want to believe it. He makes a deal with Nimueh. He knows the rules. In exchange for a son anyone is expendable but for his wife—"

"That is hearsay—"

"I saw it with my own eyes!"

Impossible… but then, the detail. The way Nimueh slips away under a crescent moon. Uther's rage, the way he calls in another healer that day then kills them on the spot when they can do nothing. How he stalks the halls, white-faced.

"I think everyone thought the anger would pass with his grief. But it didn't. They waited quietly in their homes, and then walked willingly into these halls for the first slaughter."

He said Nimueh was a traitor whom had fled punishment. The knights knocked on the doors of anyone whom had ties to the Priestesses. But they didn't know where she had gone. They must have been lying, protecting her. A night in the cells would loosen their mouths. Maybe a few nights, and this time without food. Start killing the men, start burning the women. One a day. It's a sign to her - come back, look how your people are suffering when you hide.

But there's no word, and people are fleeing to the Druids, to other kingdoms, and it's been too long. She could be anywhere by now.

"So he writes a letter, but it's not just about her. It's about the defiance he's faced, a subtle rebellion they should be warned of occurring in their own lands." And, lo and behold, how right he is. Haven't the magic-users lorded their powers over their own lords for too long? Choosing who they would assist, picking favorites? They benefited from their economy and the safety of their walls, and now it was time to return the favor or leave. Or die. Because if you're not with us you're against us.

Gwen can't tear her attention away as Emrys' cold retelling bleeds into anger. Camelot is silent for the telling of the first battle, and the second. And then come the wins at Arderydd and the Isle of the Blessed, and she can feel his pain. A low moan rises from the Druids. The Eancanah ate magic.

He's hurt, but he's determined, and his voice rises in a crescendo. "There is magic in everything; in the water, in the air, in your clothes and it's all in chaos. Albion is broken. And for what? The entire Purge was a lie, a coverup, for the revenge Uther wanted on a single woman. If you're searching for injustice, there it is. You want to fix it? Release the ban."

The words he spits. His face is etched with opposition, his knuckles white, his spine rigid - proof upon proof upon proof that he would not yield this, would not budge. And it's like the words change people. What was unsaid, buried, now open to be yelled in the face of their rulers.

The Druids, usually so peaceful, shout words she can't understand. A chant maybe. A spell? Half of the crowd screams, pushing away from them, and Leon is just in time to stop the guards from charging forward. The King's Council is standing, she's standing, do something Gwen, think think think.

Arthur's response is in his snarl, and in his fear: What are you trying to do, start another war?

And from the corner of her eye she catches Ruadan between the bodies. He's seated, smiling. Smug.

In sudden clarity she knew. Arthur's credibility would be lost. This would be the beginning of our decline. There would be a rebellion, a massacre. They weren't all going to make it out of here alive.

But she'd underestimated Merlin. When his amplified voice echoed over them all once more, defeat lay thick over it.

"King Arthur, I trust you," he said, and Gwen flinched at the crack in his voice. She couldn't watch, head bowed, but heard him grow quieter until he whispered. "For that, I forgive this kingdom, and you, for all of your father's sins."

That must have broke him, because a moment later he was gone.

And the crowd, all the hundreds, silent. Shocked, pained, breathless, as if he'd sucker-punched each Druid on his way out.

But as Emrys left to lick his wounds, he left Arthur alone, confused, reeling, and Arthur hoped it didn't show on his face. Did he - I don't - I can't repeal the ban —

He'd forever remember the heat of this moment, the way it prickled along his skin, how he was more sense than thought. He'd be able to return to feel the wood of the witness stand, creasing rough lines into his palms, his cape curled around his knees, and the heavy weight of his chainmail. He'd remember the strangeness of turning to the crowd and not being able to see their faces.

"Trial's over," he choked out.

It was a testimony to the people he loved that he didn't embarrass himself further. In the muddle Emrys left him mired, he had focused only on the steps of the witness stand as they led him to the ground, where Guinevere suddenly waited with a hand at his elbow. "Wake up," she whispered.

She took him back to the dais, where they watched the room trickle empty under Leon's command. Later, he'd remember to be grateful that the Druids had complied, even if it were likely a temporary passivity. They did not have the manpower for a large-scale magical riot. Ugh, the original reason he'd called for the Purge Trial had been to avoid a revolt!

"We need to call the Round Table," she hinted again, just under her breath. "But there will be eyes and ears in this room."

"Right," he said, and turned for their bedroom. He saw Gaius, waiting quietly where he'd been the entire time. Just another shadow in the King's court; another man who held the King's ear. How much had he seen over the years? Had Emrys lied, or was it true? It had sounded true.

"Sire," Gaius prompted.

"Please bring the others when they get back."

Gaius responded with a slight bow as they walked away, ever the respectful court physician. Emrys had left him entirely out of his retelling of the Purge; was that some form of protection? It was more likely that Gaius had not yet held the position of trusted advisor. Or perhaps that trust had been misplaced, as his trust for Merlin had been misplaced. Was it Gaius' past ties to magic that led Merlin to ally with Emrys?

He was more troubled than he'd been this morning, but he couldn't say he hadn't gotten what he wanted. He'd asked for the truth behind the Purge, and Emrys had given it to him.

Arthur unlocked their bedroom door for Guinevere, scanned behind them for any prying ears - none, good - then shut the door behind them. WIth a sigh, he leaned back and clunked his head on the wood.

Guinevere came and lay her head on his chest. "You did good today," she said. "But whether we trust Emrys or not, our people believed him, and we need to respond to that." He gave her a small kiss on her hair, his way of thanking her, but she tilted up with a frown. "What's going on in that head of yours, Arthur Pendragon?"

"It's hard to accept that so many people hated my father, is all." Had Uther had an uncommon bias? When he'd met his father's ghost he'd experienced the extremes he'd never quite believed Uther capable. That was partly why he'd wanted the Druids to live in peace within Camelot's borders. But were magic users dangerous? Certainly.

Today proved that a forest village wouldn't be enough for the Druids, yet the fear of magic had nearly chased half his people from the room. He hadn't expected the response to be so raw. Just the thought of magical freedom had nearly thrown them all into another bloody battle.

Freeing magic just didn't seem like the right thing to do. It seemed far more dangerous than beneficial. Emrys had been wrong to ask it of him.

A knock, then Leon's voice. "The courtyard is clear, and the guards are spread throughout the city."

Reprieve over, he and Guinevere pulled apart. He was glad she called the Round Table - he selfishly needed more friendly ears. And as he swung wide the door, he found all those ears waiting. Leon, Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, Gaius, and in the rear trying to blend into the background, Merlin.

Well, he thought, Merlin had promised to come clean, and there would be no place better than in front of them all.

For as much as he loved his friends, Merlin wanted to be anywhere else in the world right now.

Just ahead of him was Gwaine completely ignoring him, and Gaius, whose shadow he hid within, radiated disappointment. Despite a lifetime with magic he'd rarely felt so isolated.

He inched last into the royal chambers and slowly shut the door behind him, wishing there were more chores he could busy himself with. A quiet gone too long became an oppressive silence, and tension strung them tight—

And snapped them like bowstrings when— wow, that was forceful— Percival let loose— long too, how was that possible?— the loudest fart he'd ever heard.

Percival's laughter boomed over the end, tears coming to his eyes as Leon walked away in a flurry of sputters. "Whew," he explained finally, "do you know how hard it was to hold that in all morning?"

"Are you kidding me!?" Elyan yelled.

"And I have to live with this guy," Gwaine muttered.

Arthur waited patiently for Percival to calm down, then jabbed a finger at Gwen, "There's a lady present!"

She tossed his words away with a wave, "Oh, it's no worse than Elyan's."

Percival burst into renewed giggles, and Elyan drug his hands down his face. "Gwen, you are so lucky I'm a true knight, because I could tell so many stories about you."

"Try it, brother dear. You'll find I know all your deepest, darkest secrets." As her eyebrow quirked up, her eyes flicked involuntarily towards Merlin, and his stomach couldn't help but flip.

"Let's hold off on those," Leon interrupted, "I've heard enough intense stories for one day."

"You can say that again," Gwaine agreed.

"I'VE HEARD ENOUGH—"

"When did Percival have time to drink a tavern out of business?" Leon groused.

"An afternoon at the tavern is tempting, isn't it?" Arthur mused.

Elyan's mouth dropped wide open. "When did you go blonde, Gwaine?"

Merlin leaned back against the door as the knights traded their tension for a giddy relief. He could feel it bubbling away in his chest too, maybe excess adrenaline, but it put a grin on his face irregardless.

Even if they threw him out on his arse, he'd still protect them from the eaves until they invited him back. Because they would invite him back; he was just as much their family as they were his.

And then, like Fate had heard him, Gaius walked close and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He murmured, "If I did not defend you today, and all days hence, then I would no longer know who I am."

Thank you, he wanted to yell, his blinding smile likely enough, and he was tempted to jump forward and embrace him but — Oof.

Ow, the doorknob… He thought he had locked it.

He shifted, and the door swung further open, catching his ankle but then going far enough to hit the back wall. It was Sefa's nervous gaze he caught first, but then her father pushed her forward.

You'd never know the knights had been anything but eternally suspicious. Leon even stepped to the center, hand on his sword, and Arthur said, no hint of a smile, "This is a closed meeting."

Merlin sucked in a breath. I can feel it. Iseldir was right; it's deep. Gods it's deep. Where is it?

Ruadan held up his hands in surrender, "Apologies." He bowed slightly, opened his cloak to show he was hiding no weapons. "We're leaving shortly, and I came to pay my respects."

Arthur frowned, and Leon wavered, but eventually moved aside. Ruadan's cloak fluttered closed as he stalked forward, and Sefa unfurled her own. It was a forest green that didn't suit her—

And Merlin's buried. Cold Iron circles his wrists and he can't move from Arthur's doorway. Aithusa's at his feet. The air smells of pigs and when he breathes he falls deeper into a stench of mold and decay and human sweat. He's floating on the edge of an endless nightmare, drowning in darkness, deep, damp, buried—

Ruadan's got Arthur trapped in a treacherous handshake, and he turns eyes-flashing to Merlin, who's suffocating. "I came to Camelot seeking righteousness, but I'll have to accept revenge. You had no right to speak for all of us."

I can't move. Ruadan and Arthur disappear in a gale, and the cloak vaults from Sefa's grip, heading straight for him. It gets closer, and the magic gets worse. I can't breathe.

And then he's on the ground, and he's free.

And Gwen lets out an inhuman shriek.

The cloak swarms her like a living being, swirling and tightening and covering like a shroud until all they know of her is the dark fabric stretched taut over her silent scream, the spider-crawl of her fingers, and the blood pooling at her feet.

"Did she push me aside?" Merlin's screaming, "Did she push me!? GWEN!"

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Elyan roars, hand at Sefa's throat. "Stop it!"

"Cut it off of her!" Gaius commands, but the other knights are already there, trying. They rip at it as she writhes, and it rips back at them.

"It's cursed, it's cursed!" Sefa starts sobbing mindlessly, "I didn't know, I didn't know!"

Galatine pierces into the hole of Gwen's mouth, and Percival and Leon plunge their hands into the tear, straining.

They free her face, and Merlin stumbles forward to hold her. She moves so easily, flopping onto her back. The knights struggle against the cloak, but now they're winning.

Short croaking breaths stutter past a thin film of saliva building on the crease of her mouth. He pillows her head on his knees, it doesn't help, and her hot sweat coats his fingers. Her hair is drenched.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, I'm sorry," Sefa moans.

"Her heart is fluttering," Elyan chokes, hand on her chest. "Gaius, help her."

Merlin stares into her eyes, lidless and bulging, and she doesn't stare back.

"She's dying," Leon says.

"Gaius, please!"

Gaius yells a spell, hands pushed out, spraying a jet of cold water.

"She's cursed!" Gwaine yells in sudden comprehension, and grabs for Merlin's neck. He yanks the necklace and the leather snaps, then he slams a ring of icy glass back into Merlin's chest. "You told me it was a cursebreaker. In the caves, you said so! It can fix her!"

Freya's wedding ring falls into Merlin's palm, and in an instant he's pushing it onto Gwen's finger.

It bursts in a thunderous drumbeat of gold, shimmering over Gwen in rippling sound waves, disintegrating Morgana's dark magic in its wake.

Gwen's eyes slide closed, her staccato breath slows, then slows too far. She cools then grows cold. She's still dying.

Elyan pulls her into his arms, muttering a stream of No's and prayers.

She can't die. I can't let this happen.

Last night he'd gone with Morgana to the beginning of the Purge, to Nimueh in these chambers, trading Ygraine's soul for Arthur's. The Cup of Life had built a tornado of gold. He could do that. He could create that spell.

Merlin's head falls back and his vision goes a gold brilliant enough to brighten the room. He walks out into the void, the cold chaos of Albion's magic surrounding him, and then he invites it in. Rips it through his own magic, expels it twisting, then pulls it in again, accelerating into shrieking bolts of swirling lightning.

The point is in her chest but the top expands into the ceiling, covers it, then pushes up into the sky. The winds fight him, and the clouds flee. Nature suffers no crimes in peace, and it wars against a soul pulled from its grave.

There are no pretty crystalline shapes bringing order to disorder, only this massive storm of raw power, and it consumes him, utterly.

Outside, Gaius can only grip Merlin's trembling shoulder and wait through the aching beats. The remnant of his feeble magic shivers, but he can not see what Merlin does. No one witnesses the snap, the instant cracking bend, as the tornado folds in half and sucks away a baby's precious life, but they do see Gwen shudder and cough.

She gasps, "Arthur?"

Merlin falls back to earth, and he can't feel his limbs. "It's done."

This his eyes roll into the back of his head and he faints dead away.

Love & Hate sung by Michael Kiwanuka

Footnotes:

(1) Iseldir - The leader of the Druids living within Camelot's borders, specifically within the Forest of Brecffa. Most recently seen at Arthur's dinner table (P2.16 Never Again, Again).
(2) Ruadan - Previous leader of a tribe of Druids from Essetir. Sefa's father. Witnessed Samhain's Riot and spent winter with Morgana (P2.7 The Audacity of Hope, P2.16 Never Again, Again).
(3) The King's Council - the Clue characters in another form. Mistress Vanora / Mrs. Peacock - a widowed older noble (P1.6 Put a Ring on It, P1.13 Cinderella). Lord Savile / uncle of Lady Lyvieve / Miss Scarlet - older noble (P1.7 Lack of Study in Scarlet, P1.13 Cinderella). The merchant Grenfell / Mr. Green (P1.13 Cinderella, P2.11 Alpha Bitch).
(4) King Bayard - King of Mercia (P2.3 The Betas, P2.16 Never Again, Again).
(5) The Sarrum - King of Amata (P1 Two Can Keep a Secret, Centuries, P2.16 Never Again, Again).
(6) Arthur's speech - I listed and read Obama's 2004 DNC Keynote address before writing this speech; if you haven't heard it, it's beautiful; when you see similarities in my writing I own none of it.
(7) The Cup of Life - the story of the Druids saving Leon's life with the cup refers to the canon S3.12 The Coming of Arthur.
(8) Florridel - Leon's fiancee, former Camelot citizen, escaped to live with Druids, occupation: tanner. Most recently (P2.17 House of Cards).
(9) Morgana's well prison - canon, the Sarrum trapped her there after Series 4 ended. (P1.26 The Sound of Silence).
(10) The truth of Arthur's birth is revealed in canon by Morgause summoning an apparition of Ygraine (S2.8 The Sins of the Father).
(11) Sefa's dark magic forest green cloak - Morgana puts a dark curse on this cloak and gives it to Ruadan (P2.11 Alpha Bitch).
(12) Merlin seeing the Purge and the golden tornado with Morgana (P2.18 Eve). This is a reference to a legend where Merlin hid in a bardsey tree grove, went mad, and became a seer.
(13) Freya's ring, the cursebreaker (P1.13 Cinderella, P2.16 Never Again, Again).

Author's Note:

First off, thanks to Jewelsmg for offering this song to me months ago and breaking me out of a rut. I knew almost instantly where I wanted to use it. Thanks to the beta of betas Linorien for pushing me over and over again and brainstorming to help me get this chapter done. Dmarie1184, I always enjoy hearing about the campaign you're playing, thanks for that bit of joy in my life. Thanks to them all my verbosity is clarified, my nerves are soothed, I can finally publish this chapter.

Andreki and Leannie, I kept quotes from each of your reviews at the bottom of the Purge Trial's writing document, because when you first said them they made me think very deeply about what I needed and wanted to show this chapter, so extra thank you for your past reviews.

I spent too much time worrying that this chapter wouldn't live up to expectations. I'm glad I pushed through, but I'm also glad it's behind me. You'll have to tell me how it stacked up, and PMs will be inbound for you all soon.

During a family reunion a far-removed uncle had a heat stroke and died in my arms in the process of writing this chapter. I tried to channel some of what that felt like with Gwen and Merlin, though now I feel guilty for it. It was nice to have magic and save Gwen.

Next time: Hi. It's nice to finally meet you.