Chapter Eighteen

Hi, everyone! Sorry for the wait!

Warnings: Angsty chapter! And a bit of swearing...but that seems to be in every chapter I write.

For some reason, the last part of this chapter spun off into character development for a semi-minor character. I'm sorry if it disappoints you or anything...but I couldn't help myself.

Also: lately my chapters have been kind of short...but I'm working to rectify that, I promise!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Enjoy!

"What exactly are you playing at?" Merlin hissed.

The air around the camp that morning was so thick with awkward trepidation that Merlin could swear it was choking him. It seemed like everyone was either avoiding or snapping at everybody else. Except Ryle, who just went about his packing with a sly grin on his face.

Gwaine yanked the girth strap on his horse's saddle with more force than was strictly necessary. But he remained silent in response to Merlin's question. Merlin found himself growing increasingly agitated. "Gwaine, you've been absurdly hush-hush about your cousins so far, and now you're just blurting out everything at once…I mean, what's next? You tell Arthur that your uncle is the king of Bernicia?"

Gwaine snorted. "Ha. No bloody way."

"Actually, why not?"

"Seriously? That would be almost, though not quite, as bad as going up to the Princess and telling him…" Gwaine paused, glanced around, and lowered his voice further as he finished. "…telling him that my mother's a sorceress." When Merlin just raised his eyebrows, Gwaine sighed. "Merlin, mate, it's not…You already know how much my family dislikes Pendragons. And if Arthur gets wind of just how much…well, he's got his pride, you know. Can't imagine he'd take it well."

Oh, for heaven's sake…"Gwaine…" Merlin began, annoyed, but was interrupted by Aldwyn.

"Oi, cousin! The Pendragon wants to speak with you." Aldwyn looked disgusted by the fact as he approached them. "He's over by the stream, looking all kingly and broody…" He trailed off muttering under his breath as he saddled his own mount.

Merlin caught Gwaine's apologetic glance as the knight moved away to speak with Arthur. Turning back to the older man next to him, Merlin said casually, "You know, you're going to have to look "kingly and broody" someday. I mean, if you ever become a king yourself."

He wasn't sure what possessed him to say it, or what he meant by it. He could feel a bit of anger towards Aldwyn, and wanted to let the prince know that. At the same time, he almost felt like laughing.

Before he could feel too worried about the consequences of his statement, Aldwyn looked over at and said dryly, "Trust me, if you met my father, you wouldn't say that all kings are constantly "kingly and broody". I have no intention of becoming anything less than what my father is."

When he didn't elaborate and went back to harnessing his horse, Merlin ventured, "A good king?"

"Yes. A good and honest king. Without the broodiness."

Merlin didn't miss the sudden grin on Aldwyn's face. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Maybe." Aldwyn then shot a concerned look in the direction that Gwaine had gone; Merlin followed his gaze.

"He'll be fine." Merlin said quickly. "Arthur's nothing if not fair."

"Hmm."

Merlin hesitated, then asked, "If you don't mind me prying…"

"That depends entirely on what you are prying about."

Merlin chuckled and decided that Aldwyn wasn't really that bad at all. "Well, what I wanted to know is…Why, exactly, did you and Gwaine start beating each other up last night?"

Aldwyn shrugged. "We were having a discussion and it got a little…tense. Trust me, it happened a lot when we were younger. Our logic then was 'when in doubt, start punching'."

That really made Merlin laugh. "You know, I don't think that's changed much for him."

Aldwyn let out a guffaw at that comment just as Everard and Elwin came up and demanded (at the exact same time) to know what the joke was.

For someone who wants to talk, Arthur's sure taking his time getting to it. Gwaine sighed, leaned against a tree, and waited for the king of Camelot to finish pacing up and down the bank of the stream.

A short distance away, Gwaine could hear the sounds of the camp being cleaned up. The horses were snorting and stamping, pots were clanging as Cleva loudly refused to let the twins help her pack them, and the knights were conversing in either quick, loud squabbles or in low mutters.

It's probably all my fault, too.

Gwaine wasn't entirely sure what Arthur was planning to ask him, but he could guess. And as he had told Merlin, he had absolutely no intention of telling Arthur about his royal blood. Telling Arthur that he was a noble would alone be awkward to say in the least, since everyone in Camelot (not counting Merlin and Gaius) believed him to have a commoner background. But the bit about being the nephew of a king (and the fact that said king's sons were also currently with the company) would be nothing short of cataclysmic. There would probably be a lot of shouting.

There probably will be anyway. Unwilling to take the strain any longer, Gwaine pushed himself upright off the tree and asked in a fake lazy tone, "What's on your mind, Princess?"

Arthur stopped abruptly and spun to face him. "Did the twins know?"

Okay, I honestly did not expect that to be the lead question…But I can manage this. "Did the twins know what?"

"Gwaine!"

"Alright, alright!" Gwaine held up his hands in surrender. "Yes, they did."

"All right, then; when is the last time you saw them or Aldwyn before the last few weeks?"

"Ten years ago, more or less."

"Ten years!" Arthur looked flabbergasted. "The twins would have been…"

"Rather young, yes. But they aren't stupid, and neither am I."

"Fine, then; why the hell haven't you seen them for a decade?"

"None of your business."

Arthur had been speaking very loudly and roughly, but now his voice went very soft as he stepped closer to Gwaine. "Gwaine, in the last couple months you've gone from mostly irresponsible drunkard to completely irresponsible slacker to an almost entirely different person. So as your king," he ground out, "I demand that you explain exactly what is going on here."

And Gwaine lost his temper. A stupid thing to do, but he couldn't stop himself just then.

Thankfully he managed not to yell as he got right into Arthur's face and hissed, "You may be my king, Arthur, but that does not me you hold complete sway over me. I joined your knights as your friend…with my friends." Damn it, Gwaine, stop right there! But he didn't. "I have watched you become king of Camelot. I have followed you into battle and not regretted it. You are a noble man. You saved my life. But nothing gives you the right to order me to explain to you what has gone on between me and my family. It's nothing you need concern yourself with, Arthur, and you might as well get used to that."

He stepped back, slightly breathless. Arthur was staring at him, blue eyes wide. "So," the king said quietly, "that is all you have to say?"

"Yes."

Arthur shook his head slightly. "Well, then," he said brusquely, "we'd better be off. Best not to waste the daylight." He pushed past Gwaine, heading back towards the others; most of whom were probably watching them with decided interest by this point.

Gwaine remained where he was for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control.

A thousand curses on my big mouth.

As he turned and moved back towards the others, he caught Cleva's gaze. She looked at him sympathetically and mouthed, Are you all right?

He nodded in response, then said out loud, "Let me help you with that." Smiling a little, Cleva allowed him to take her laden pack and load it onto her horse.

He'd ride with her today. They hadn't had a proper conversation in a very long time.

Ryle was an expert at annoying people with his words. His cutting remarks were rather infamous, and he prided himself on that. He was known as a good source of information; he traveled a great deal and could blend in easily when he chose.

He knew that he was generally disliked. And he didn't really mind. His view of other people had been greatly soured many years ago, and he found it far easier to laugh at them than to curse them. It made it easier on himself. It was easy to be callous, to find other people beneath him in order to distance himself from emotional attachment. For him, he world was something to be amused at in a cruel manner; this was safe. This kept him invulnerable.

And because of his generally unlikable behavior, people left him alone. He liked it that way; he liked being alone.

Still, there were times when he felt a stirring, saw a situation or an action that brought up a memory of warmth, of family, of home. He forced these feelings and memories far back into himself whenever they surfaced, keeping himself in check as always. But these moments still occurred, no matter how many times he told himself that it was no use, he could never have those things again. He convinced himself, almost, that he didn't really want them.

If you have something, you can lose it.

He'd lost far too much. He would not…could not let it happen ever again.

But still the memories battled into his conscious, threatening to break down his walls. Vulnerable internal emotions fought for domination over his cold exterior. Always he forced it back. But it kept happening.

Over the last few years, he noticed a pattern. These moments of foolish vulnerability happened most often in connection with a single person; a person, oddly enough, who like him tended to hide any weakness, though not as extremely.

It annoyed him to no end. How could he possibly find himself constantly disarmed by the smile, the laugh, or the sheer sight of her? Why on earth couldn't he block her out like the rest?

He didn't know. All he knew was that, despite his constant attempt to feel indifferent, he cared.

And now he was worried.

Blasted emotions.

It started around noon, when he dropped a ways behind the rest of the company to check for anything out of the ordinary, as he often did. He saw nothing suspicious, so he urged his horse faster and soon caught up with the rest.

And he soon came close to where Lady Cleva and Gwaine were riding next to each other and talking.

At first, their words merely made him roll his eyes. They were chatting about their childhood together, about the things they had used to do. He even heard them make mention of "friendship rings", though he wasn't sure what that was about exactly.

And then Gwaine fell suddenly silent and Cleva began to pester him, asking him if anything was wrong.

Oh, for goodness' sakes, he had a fight with the Pendragon this morning. Of course something's wrong; he's two steps away from losing his knighthood. Now, that was an interesting thought…'interesting' as in 'amusing'…

Then he heard Gwaine mumble something about his sister.

"Gwaine? I didn't quite catch that…What did you just say about Elen?"

Gwaine took his time answering, as Ryle made sure that it wasn't obvious that he was eavesdropping. Finally, the rough Barclayn said quietly, "I've been…sensing it for a while now…it's hard to explain, but…Cleva, I think something's very wrong with Elen. In fact, I think she's in terrible danger. I keep…I'm feeling her pain, somehow, but I don't know what to do…I have no idea even where she is, Cleva…"

Moving quickly out of earshot as Cleva attempted to comfort Gwaine somewhat, Ryle tried (and failed) to keep himself from worrying. It's nothing, Gwaine's just imagining it, probably…

But he wouldn't imagine something like that. Even Ryle knew it. Gwaine and Elen were twins, they had magic in their blood…it wasn't inconceivable that they would have some kind of empathic connection.

And if it's real…if Elen Barclayn is really in trouble…

Now Ryle was worried. Very much so.

Damn.

I'll try to update soon! :)