CHAPTER 9

Arthur is unsure how he feels about Agravaine. His uncle has an undeniable charm about him and, when Agravaine agrees with him, it makes council sessions go a great deal faster. When he doesn't agree, however, things get difficult. Everywhere Arthur goes it seems his uncle is there, ostensibly for something unrelated, but inevitably the ensuing conversation diverges onto whatever matter it is upon which they have most recently disagreed.

It is midway through one of these irksome discussions that Merlin turns up and, after a quick bow to Agravaine, announces,

"The knights are waiting for you, sire."

"The knights? But I-" Arthur stops talking, because Merlin has just winked at him. "Right, yes. The knights. Agravaine, perhaps this can wait for council tomorrow?"

"I suppose so." There is an undercurrent of annoyance in Agravaine's reply, but Arthur ignores it.

"He can be a bit of an ass, can't he?" Merlin notes cheerily as they walk to the training field.

"He is certainly persistent." Arthur doesn't need to say any more - Merlin has always been able to read him like a book. "He'll see through the weapons practice excuse in a heartbeat, by the way."

"Oh, it's not weapons practice. You missed a bit of drama while you were talking to your Uncle."

"Oh?"

"Sir Bors was making some unsavoury comments..."

Arthur groans. Bors is an older knight, twenty years Arthur's senior, and one of the most loudmouthed opponents of the Regent King's changes to the First Law of Camelot. Every chance Bors gets he makes snide comments about the commoner knights' apparent deficiencies.

"So I proposed a wager," Merlin continues as they turn a corner. "Noble knights versus commoner knights, each side could pick their strongest fighter. Bors chose Sir Edmund and Lancelot chose Sir Percival."

Arthur can't suppress a smile. "And who's to judge this contest?"

"You are, Sire."

They have reached the training field now, the last rays of summer sunshine near blinding when reflected against the mass of chainmail-clad men who await them. The knights cheer when they see Arthur.

"So was this diversion a way to get me away from Agravaine, or a way to put Bors in his place?"

"Two birds with one stone?" Merlin suggests with an air of unconvincing innocence.

Sir Edmund is a quiet man, brooding and strong - but not so strong as Percival, who has him defeated in under five minutes.

"Sir Percival, the victor!" Arthur raises Percival's arm up, the bashful knight beet red under everyone's gaze.

"It wasn't exactly a fair fight!" Bors calls petulantly from the crowd. "Sir Edmund isn't the strongest fighter among the nobility. Arthur is! Why don't you fight, Sire?"

Arthur drops Percival's arm and directs an icy glare in Bors' direction. "I have no need to. All of you have been chosen for knighthood because of your strength, your talent and - most importantly - your commitment to Camelot. We need not fight among ourselves."

Bors pivots on his heel to storm off, but trips and falls flat on his face in the process. This prompts a wave of laughter from the men around him and he leaps up, red-faced, to hurry away before he can embarrass himself further.

As they depart the training ground, Arthur asks Merlin in an undertone, "Was that you?"

The monarch's voice is quiet and serious, a marked contrast from the raucous laughter of the knights who follow a few feet behind them.

"What, with Bors?" At Arthur's nod, Merlin goes on apprehensively, "Should I not have?"

"It's not the first time you've done that, is it?"

Merlin frowns, not sure what Arthur is getting at. "What do you mean?"

"The market." Arthur forces himself to maintain a stern façade. "When we first met, you used your magic to trip me during the fight. Didn't you?"

Merlin grimaces. "I might have used a tiny bit of magic just to... you know..."

"Put me in my place?" Arthur guesses. "Teach me a lesson?"

"Well it's not like it worked!" Merlin exclaims. "You still won the fight, didn't you? We're even."

Arthur elbows him, sharp, in the ribs.

"Hey!"

Arthur grins wickedly. "There we go. Now we're even."

One thing Arthur refuses point blank to discuss with Agravaine is Guinevere. He can tell his uncle disapproves of their relationship, as is evident from his not-so-subtle attempts to limit Arthur's interactions with her. Whether it's an order for the blacksmith, a question about the knights' training programme, or any other manner of inane excuse, Agravaine always seems to appear when Arthur is on the verge of a moment alone with Gwen.

When, after three weeks of this, Arthur finally vents his frustrations to Merlin, he doesn't expect that his servant will actually do anything about it. But Merlin, ever surprising, looks thoughtful for a few moments, before declaring brightly, "Leave it with me!" and disappearing for the night.

The next morning Merlin wakes Arthur before sunrise, ignoring sleepy complaints as the rolls out of bed, and shoving a picnic basket into his arms once the Regent King is dressed.

"Gwen's downstairs with the horses. Now go, quickly, before the morning bell rings!"

Arthur, still half asleep, blinks at his servant wonderingly. "But the council meeting... weapons training... the preparations for Samhain!"

"I cancelled the council meeting, Leon is leading weapons' training and you don't really help that much with Samhain preparations anyway." Merlin propels Arthur towards the door.

"What?" Arthur splutters. "I supervise the preparations!"

"Well, the Steward lets you think that you supervise..."

Merlin steers him all the way to the castle courtyard, where Gwen waits with two horses. Seeing her, Arthur can't help but perk up, the sleepiness of before melting away. After greeting Arthur, she thanks Merlin by planting a chaste kiss on the servant's cheek.

"Yes, thank you Merlin," Arthur drawls. "If you ever manage to land a girl, perhaps I'll return the favour some time."

Merlin's expression tightens for a fraction of a second before he plasters on a smile. The sun has only just started to rise, but Arthur has become particularly attuned to which of his servant's expressions are genuine and which are not; even through the semi-darkness, he can see the smile is fake and, as he and Guinevere depart for their day alone, he wonders why.

By the time Arthur and Gwen return, it is long since dark. After all, who knows when they will have another chance to spend the entire day in only one another's company? Then again, knowing Merlin, it may well end up sooner than they think.

Merlin himself waits in Arthur's chambers, glancing up with a smile (fake again) as the Regent King enters.

"Good day?"

"The best," Arthur replies emphatically. He removes his cloak and drapes it over the table at which his servant is sat. "You know you could have taken the night off. It's the least I could do."

"I wanted to talk to you." Merlin's smile fades. "I don't want to hide things anymore. But do I have to tell you everything?"

Arthur takes off his boots now, considers mentioning that this is supposed to be his manservant's job - but something in Merlin's voice stops him. "I suppose it depends what it is you're not telling me."

"I was in love, once."

Arthur stares. That was not what he had expected.

"Her name was Freya and she..." Merlin's voice wavers. "She died."

Arthur's chest pangs in empathy and he thinks of Guinevere. He drops into the customary chair opposite his servant. "I'm so sorry."

"She was a Druid. Magic, like me. But she was cursed." Merlin exhales shakily. "It wasn't her fault. None of it was her fault, but in the end that didn't matter."

Merlin falls silent, long enough for Arthur to gently probe, "Did this happen while you were my servant?"

"Yes."

This simple answer cuts deeply into Arthur. How many loved ones has Merlin been forced to mourn in secret? The woman he loved, his father... and all the while Arthur had been oblivious.

"I was going to run away with her. Leave everything. Leave Gaius, leave Camelot... Leave you." Merlin's shoulder sag. "I can tell you the rest. If you ask me to, I will."

"But you don't want to."

Merlin looks down into his lap so that all Arthur can see is the top of his head. "I will. If you ask me to."

Arthur sighs. He knows Merlin will keep his word, and it's tempting. After all his servant has told him - the dragon, Morgana, countless secrets - what could possibly be left?

"I was going to leave Camelot once," Arthur says suddenly and Merlin's head jerks up. "With Guinevere. Run off somewhere - a farm, maybe."

Merlin smiles tentatively. "You wouldn't last five minutes on a farm."

"I did say we should bring you with us to do all the hard work," Arthur states matter-of-factly, prompting a snort from Merlin. "Then my father found us and there was all that business with the..." Arthur's voice trails away, as he is struck by a sudden thought. "...poultice... Hold on a minute!"

Arthur stands, leans across the table so he is almost nose to nose with his servant. Merlin blinks in surprise.

Your eyes. We've met somewhere before.

"It was you!" Arthur falls back into his seat. "You were the old sorcerer who planted the poultice under my pillow! That was why you said all that stuff about mistreating my servants!"

Merlin starts laughing and Arthur is glad. He will discover the truth, one day, he is sure. When Merlin is ready. For now he listens to the tale of Dragoon the Great, pleased to see his servant's smiles are now genuine.