A Good Man is Hard to Find
Three
"How do you even know where the refugees are?" Tristan demanded.
I asked my friend the dragon, Merlin thought. "It's part of our emergency plan," he said. "You know, you have to have plans in place for this sort of situation."
"For when the king is kidnapped by his long lost sister who also happens to be a witch? Exactly how often does that happen where you come from?"
Merlin ignored him. "They'll be camping in the valley, hidden from the road. Use my name to get in, and ask for Sir Leon. Tell him what happened here. Bring them to the lake, three miles north of Camelot. I will meet you there at sunset in three days."
"What are you going to do?" Isolde asked him.
"I'm going to the city. I'll look for loyal citizens who can help us from inside the walls. And I'll keep an eye on the castle – stop them killing Arthur before we're ready to topple Morgana."
"Alone? And unarmed?" Tristan looked sympathetic, but sceptical.
"Merlin..." Isolde murmured. "He may already be..."
"He isn't. I would know."
She looked at him with her eyes full of pity, but did not argue.
Merlin turned to Gwen. "You should stay here. You'll be safe here."
"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," she shot back immediately, as he had known she would. She had that look that she and Morgana used to wear when Arthur told them that fighting was not for girls. Her eyes were more dangerous than he'd ever seen them.
"With me, then?" he conceded, grudgingly.
~/~/~/~/~/~
Gwaine was fully alert as soon as the guards' footsteps were heard outside. From the brief glimpse as they came through the door, Arthur seemed to be still on his feet. They shoved him back into the cell with more force than necessary, but, mercifully, they left quickly.
As soon as the door closed, Gwaine spoke. "How was the lady Morgana's hospitality today?"
A groan, from the next cell. "A pleasure, as always. They broke three of my fingers. Nothing life-threatening."
Morgana had lost interest in Gwaine since she'd had Arthur to torment. Gwaine winced in sympathy. "What does she want from you?"
"She's stalling. It's almost like she doesn't want to kill me." Arthur's tone was flippant, but he hid the tension badly.
"Does she still want you to declare her as rightful queen?"
"She does. I don't understand it. I mean, I could do it, but it would mean nothing. Her parentage is a badly kept secret, but it doesn't make her Uther's heir, or even mine."
Gwaine chewed his lip. He had never taken the slightest interest in aristocratic inheritance laws, but even he could see that Morgana's claim would not be a bad one, were Arthur not still alive.
"There have been three separate attempts since I arrived here – one to assassinate Morgana, and two to break into the dungeons and rescue me." Arthur's voice was lower now, more sincere. "They showed me the bodies. Men – boys, really – I didn't even know them..."
Gwaine flinched. "You can't blame yourself for that."
Arthur sighed. "She will never be safe until I am dead," he said bluntly.
"If she kills you, she will never be safe," Elyan cut in angrily. Arthur smiled wearily at the young man's bravado.
"She's waiting for something," he mused. "I just don't know what."
~/~/~/~/~/~
At nightfall, Morgana felt her wards hum with magic, and smiled. A magical presence of such strength, within Camelot's walls, could only mean one thing. Emrys.
~/~/~/~/~/~
Despite the certainty with which he had reassured first Isolde, and then, repeatedly during their journey, Gwen, Merlin dreaded arriving in Camelot to see Arthur's head on a spike over the gate. Gwen had been silent for the last few hours of their trek, but she, too, audibly relaxed when the gates came into sight.
Both of them were swathed in buckram cloaks, gifts from Ealdor peasants – with the hoods pulled forward over their faces, because both of their faces were well-known in Camelot. Merlin had even tried to grow some stubble, but only achieved an uneven fuzz which made his face look even dirtier than it actually was.
Merlin was surprised how easy it was to get inside the walls. There were a lot of soldiers around, but they weren't keeping heavy tabs on the peasant traffic going out to the villages at the end of the trading day, or even on the workers coming in from the fields. In their rough homespun cloaks, it was easy to tag onto a group of labourers, and then drop back into a shadowy alley once they'd passed through.
Merlin's hopes of chatting to the locals and gauging the mood of the town under Morgana's new regime were quickly crushed, however. The work groups were dispersed in minutes, and retreated into their houses. The lower town was quiet: many houses were empty after their inhabitants had fled during the attack. Helios' men patrolled regularly in small groups, and although lights could be seen in some houses, there were no civilians left in the street once it was fully dark. Merlin and Gwen were left exposed, scuttling from shadow to shadow, listening out for the guards' footsteps. Gwen had been in favour of hiding out in her own empty cottage, but Merlin insisted that it might be being watched. They argued in whispers, crouched behind a fletcher's workshop.
"We can't stay in the streets. It's only a matter of time until we get caught," Gwen hissed in his ear, so close that he could feel her warm breath on his neck.
"If I was Morgana, I would be expecting you. She knows how you feel about Arthur. They'll be waiting for you," Merlin countered.
"They're watching the whole town." Gwen glanced over her shoulder. The last patrol had passed. "Quick, let's move." They headed across the main thoroughfare and dove back into the dense tangle of little hovels and narrow walkways on the other side. The town was like a rabbit warren, and built on a steep incline which led up to the castle. Usually, it was a hive of activity in the day time, and even after dark there would be a few people out to enjoy the evening air or visit neighbours before going to sleep. The quiet was unsettling.
Footsteps broke the silence again, and they shrank back into somebody's doorway. Gwen's hand fell on a wishbone placed on the ledge next to the door. She gasped quietly and, before Merlin could stop her, spun round and knocked on the door.
"What are you doing?" he hissed. Too late, though – the door opened.
The door slid inwards a crack, and a beady eye appeared at elbow height. "Get out of the street, you fools," snapped a voice which sounded like a creature from the blackest of lagoons, and the door opened further to allow first Gwen and then, suspicious, Merlin. The door slammed abruptly behind him. When he turned, Gwen was being embraced by a crone so stooped that she seemed to have grown into a hoop. A bearded middle-aged man watched from the fireside, along with three hollow-eyed children.
"What are you doing here, child?" inquired the terrible, hoarse voice. "You were safer in exile. This is not a good place for you, now." There was kindness and affection, Merlin noticed, underneath the harsh sound which emitted from the aged throat.
Gwen was released at last, and took pity on her companion. "Merlin, this is Mary. She was a friend of my mother's." Merlin shook the old woman's claw politely. Her sharp eyes looked him up and down. "I've seen you. Young Arthur's partner in crime. Yes?"
Merlin rather liked 'partner in crime'. In many ways, it seemed more appropriate than 'manservant.' He decided he liked Mary after all. "That's me," he said. "Merlin."
"You won't be the first to try saving him," Mary told him suddenly. "Eight good boys she had hanged yesterday morning."
Merlin shuddered. So Arthur was indeed alive, and still attracted some loyalty – albeit ill-fated loyalty – from the townspeople. This, at least, was good news, though it made his stomach twist horribly to categorize hanged men under 'good news.' Gwen gripped his arm tightly.
Mary and her son shared their meagre food supplies with the two fugitives, telling stories of the invaders' cruelty. Merlin and Gwen listened intently. Arthur had been brought into the city in the early morning almost two days ago. "Pale as a ghost, but proud," Mary said fondly. She squeezed Gwen's hand as she spoke, and Merlin wondered how much she knew. "People felt more hopeful, knowing the king was alive, and here – but the hangings changed some people's minds. They're not traitors," she said sharply. "But one Pendragon is much like another when they're sitting on a throne and you're out in the fields. These people have to focus on keeping their own families alive."
"You might not say so if you knew all that Morgana has done," Merlin said softly.
Mary's son turned weary eyes on him as well, now. "We've heard the tales, just like you. I know he's your friend, and you don't want to see her kill him. But this city has been invaded enough times. Some of these people have had to rebuild their homes three or four times in the last five years. Even if it's under a tyrant, a lot of people would rather just have peace."
Eventually, Mary offered them blankets, and Merlin lay beside Gwen as she slept fitfully. He couldn't switch his mind off. What would it take to remind the people of Camelot that they would be far better off as Arthur's subjects than his sister's?
Still, Arthur was alive. For now, it was enough.