"Arthur learned of the fact that Merlin never appears at the tavern, quite by accident, from Sir Gwaine, but he did not challenge this excuse for years. He only decided to do so a few weeks before his death, when he found that the situation was too dangerous to allow Merlin to take any action on his own."

Elanor Wright

"The shadow of the Great King".

A fraction of the truth

"Merlin," repeated the tavernkeeper in a tone that suggested he was about to call his two sons and ask them to show me the contents of the gutter up close. This was supposedly their standard method of dealing with troublesome customers, so I felt it was a very appropriate time to use a specific argument. I placed a gold coin in front of him. He took it in his hand, raised it to his lips, bit the edge lightly and then put it in his pocket. His attitude changed from almost hostile to not very friendly.

"I don't know," he burbled. "I don't ask for the names of the people I pour into the cup. Maybe my daughter will know more."

At that moment, a teenage girl came out of the back room, with a black braid reaching far past her mid-back. I had seen her a few times, but never had the chance to look at her closely. She didn't work as a barmaid. Gwaine claimed her name was Evelin and she was in charge of accounts. The avernkeeper turned to her and asked:

- Sweetie, do you know any Merlin? This man insists he should meet him here."

"Sweetie" looked at me with surprisingly cool blue eyes, looking like two skies in the middle of winter. "I know you were looking at the end of my braid. And I'm about to call my brothers and they'll make sure you don't see anything more," they seemed to say.

"Merlin," she said slowly. Her full lips hardly moved at that. "Tall, slim, very handsome. Dark hair and exceptionally nice cheekbones. He wears a kerchief around his neck."

"Yeah, he's exactly what I mean," I replied. The way she uttered this description had about as much passion in it as Gaius' books on anatomy. It wasn't a compliment, but an objective statement of fact. If I were Merlin, I would have felt uncomfortable. To be honest, I felt uncomfortable on his behalf.

"I have heard that he can often be found at this place."

The girl snorted and rested her hands on her hips. The simple grey dress, though ugly in itself, accentuated her slender figure.

"He has paid," her father informed her out of the corner of his mouth. She replied with a barely perceptible nod. Many years of attending council meetings had taught me to notice and understand this type of communication.

"He's the man we send for when we have a problem with Sir Gwaine, which does happen, but not often enough to say that he can often be found here," she explained.

"So he doesn't drink here?"

The question was stupid, but against all common sense, there still smouldered within me some faint remnant of hope that Gaius and Merlin weren't hiding anything from me. Or maybe "Sweetie" is wrong? Maybe, too absorbed in the accounts, she never noticed him among the customers? Please, let it turn out that this is the case, that I've taken something into my head and I'm making an idiot of myself by standing here in this absurd disguise and asking these people about my unfortunate servant.

I had no fear of what lay behind the lie. I didn't suspect Merlin of any evil intentions. I had no right to. But the mere fact that there was a lie after how much we'd been through together was like a splinter under a fingernail. Really, Merlin? Is this what I deserve?

I was beginning to regret my decision to come here. And why did I need this farce? Gwaine didn't lie, knocking himself on the head when I asked if Merlin had been to the tavern with him recently. Looking on my own for what I want to believe will not make it true. But now that I've gotten into it, the show must be finished.

"It seems, that we should inform the appropriate people that some suspicious-looking character is paying for information about the royal servant," said the girl, once again casting a penetrating glance at me. So the disguise was good, if even such a perceptive person didn't recognise the King of Camelot. Nevertheless, pretending to be a "suspicious character" wasn't my intention. I should turn around and leave. I had nothing left to look for here.

"I just want to know if he drinks at this place."

I immediately felt disgusted with myself. My voice dripped with desperation. I was out of control, as if the change of clothes had robbed me of this ability.

"To kidnap him, or stab him if he goes out drunk?" A few people at the tables started looking at us. "I'll worry you. None of that, because he doesn't drink at this tavern, and I doubt a man of his ilk would drink anywhere. And frankly, out of the goodness of my heart, I advise you not to come here again and ask questions about him. We don't like such nosy intruders here who spy on honest people."

The girl suddenly grabbed my wrists. Her hands were warm and soft and she smelled of something ridiculously sweet. She brought her face so close to mine that I could count her long eyelashes. I didn't try to pull away. Her behaviour was justified, her vigilance commendable. I'll have to make sure she doesn't miss her reward.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" she growled. A silence fell, of the kind that explodes into an uproar a few moments later. "He's a bloody servant of the bloody king. Spy on him and murder him elsewhere. Leave us out of it. If you ask one more question, I will notify the first guard I meet. If you get out of here immediately, I'll forget all about it. This is a decent tavern."

And that would be enough in terms of praiseworthy attitudes. Anger surged in my chest, momentarily drowning out other emotions.

"I don't doubt it," I replied, freeing my hands in one movement. "In decent places like this, decent people stuff rotting meat with a stick over the neighbour's fence so it doesn't stink at their place. Murder's not a problem, as long as it doesn't interfere with your business, does it?"

Not a muscle twitched on "Sweetie's" face, but there was a strange glint in her eyes.

"Exactly," she hissed. "Why should I care? So many people have been burned at the stake, so many have been hanged, beheaded, drowned, martyred in every way you could think of. Someone is being murdered all the time. And I want to live. And above all, to have money to live for. Therefore, get out. Now."

I got out, followed by a dozen pairs of eyes, and as I closed the door behind me, the silence indeed exploded into an uproar of excited voices. I felt sick and a dull throbbing behind my eyes. A fine rain was drizzling down, rubbish was strewn everywhere and the city stank in a way that was hard to describe. Ah, sure, today was market day.

The guards freed someone from the stocks, sparing him no insults. The poor man walked away bent over, dragging his feet. There was a shout from a woman who knew no less insults than the guards. Is this the true face of my glorious kingdom? Is this how you see them when you are not me, but, for example, Merlin? Is it because of this that Merlin thinks he can't tell me where he is when he is not there? Because we are not cut from the same cloth and I might not understand? Does this idiot even believe in any part of what he has taught me?

I moved with a quick step, hoping that the sadness wouldn't be able to catch up with me. All right. I'll play it out the way Merlin wishes. And if he ends up getting into trouble... well, I'll get him out of it, by those big ears. That's what friends are for.

If anyone hasn't read it yet, I suggest reading 'One more step' for context.

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