And Vengeful Kings Part 1

Merlin surveyed Morgana's vengeance alongside Arthur, the utter devastation of the crops in the northern fields, his heart full of sorrow for the reckless waste of their much-needed food.

Grain fields in the valley hungrily consumed by fire offered no hope of a comfortable winter. Burned and rotted fruit lay at the trunks of fire-scarred orchard trees. Vegetable gardens were roasted to an inedible crispiness. The summer harvest that so many depended upon spread ruined by a vengeful queen intent on starving the people into submission. Merlin strode into the field a few paces from Arthur, the acrid odor of decayed produce stinging his nostrils. Brittle ash crackled under his boots on the wasteland.

Picked over by scavengers, a few desperate foragers in the distance still hunted the razed fields and groves for edible morsels. A hard winter was coming for Camelot and its surrounding villages if he failed in restoring the harvest to full yield. Merlin grimaced, his throat as dry as the burnt earth around him.

The king crouched on his haunches, sifted through the remains of wheat. "Are we doing the right thing?" he asked.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder. A deep frown pulled at Arthur's as a few burnt wheat heads crumbled in his glove. He returned his gaze to the fields.

"Are we not deceiving the people to serve our objectives?" Arthur wiped the debris from his gloves. "We risk our honor by doing this."

"Conspiring to deceive the people, even for a good cause, is wrong," Merlin replied. "More than honor is at stake, Arthur. We could very well end up like the harvest. But we know the risks." He just hoped the ends justified the means.

Arthur inhaled. "With the magic laws changed, there are as many opposed to it as there are that's grateful. The kingdom is simmering with unrest, the council is divided, and civil disorder isn't far behind."

"No one said it would be easy, Arthur." He could have said something a little more helpful. He tugged at the collar of his new red tunic and flexed his shoulders against the stiff fabric, so unlike the comfort and ease of movement his old, worn-in clothes had given him.

Arthur looked up at him, eyes squinting in the early morning sun. "You once told me that destinies were troublesome things." Merlin pulled his gaze from the devastated fields to gaze at him. "I believe you now."

Tirelessly bombarding him with countless questions these past four days, Arthur thirst was unquenchable for information on magic, its cultures, temples and sects, rituals and history. What enchanted beasts roamed the land or could be conjured up? How many sorcerers lived in Camelot? Where are the druids' sacred grounds? He poured over ancient tomes, soaking up the details.

Now the hour had passed and so much was unknown, the weight of Arthur's decisions rested fully on him. He turned his focus to maps and reports, questioned his knights on defensive tactics and quizzed his advisors on rationing food supplies, preparing for the coming unrest like a commander leading his troops into battle.

Merlin could see the weight in his friend's clear blue eyes, a burden he had once carried alone. He turned his gaze back to the wretched fields.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." A weak reply, but it was all he could offer.

Arthur scooped up another handful of wheat heads and watched them crumble through his fingers again.

"If what the dragon said is true," he said after a moment, "then we need Morgana."

Merlin winced. It was a bitter subject to broach with Arthur, but they needed to discuss it. "It seems that way."

Arthur stood then, tall and rigid, and pinned him with a hard stare. "I would rather die before allowing that witch to serve Albion."

Merlin jerked, his forehead lining with concern. "Don't say that."

"You know what she's capable of. Gwen—"

"As long as Morgana is bound with Hades' Grip, she's no threat."

"I won't let that woman near my wife again, or this kingdom." Arthur cast cold, fierce eyes upon him. "If I ever see her again, I might run her through myself."

Merlin sighed, his lips thin and shaking his head. "You can't fight prophecy, Arthur. The Triple Goddess has spoken."

"I don't follow the Old Religion," he rebuked.

"Arthur, whenever I tried to prevent something from happening, the actions I took only unfolded the prophecy that I didn't want to come true. It was foretold, inevitable no matter what I did."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Arthur brushed off his soiled gloves then rested a hand on Excalibur, his stare intense. "Answer me."

"There's nothing you can do but accept it."

"So, I pardon her? Forgive her?" Arthur had spoken over Merlin's reply, his voice ever rising to be heard. "Welcome her with open arms and wait for dagger in my back, or Gwen's?"

"No! Of course not."

"Why is she still alive, Merlin?" he snapped.

Arthur's outburst hit Merlin as if he had physically struck him, pulling back with a jolt and searching for words, searching his king's fiery blue eyes. Was Arthur's compassion completely drained for Morgana?

"I… understand your resistance, but it… it doesn't matter now, Arthur." Was it fear? "The fact is – she wasn't meant to die and she is written into the future of Albion."

"I can see no use for her. She's a murderer and deserves the sword. There's no place for her here."

"I don't trust her, either, Arthur."

Merlin had seen Morgana's brokenness the night before her execution, in utter despair as her long raven-black hair was shorn and she dressed in nothing more than a thin cotton shift. She had moved him in that moment and yet the next day alongside Arthur, Gwen, and the rest of the kingdom, he had stood in judgment of her and waited for her end to come. He admonished himself and Kilgharrah for being so wrong about her.

"She must be worthy of something," he said with humility. "So the gods say."

Arthur scoffed, heading toward the horses. "Maybe once, but not anymore. She hasn't been for a long while."

Understanding Arthur's rage toward Morgana, Merlin struggled with his own hostility and compassion for her as fate's plaything. Ashamed for standing in judgment and waiting for her execution, he soundly believed that she was meant to live.

Arthur was keeping her alive, too.

Merlin had carted a wagon full of supplies for Morgana to the king's private lake yesterday, taking Elyan and Galahad with him upon Arthur's insistence. Galahad's wide eyes followed Kilgharrah's every move, his mouth hanging open in awe. He bobbed on his toes, peppering the dragon with endless questions in an excited voice.

Elyan stood rigid, one hand fixed on his sword hilt. His gaze remained locked on the dragon, his eyes narrow and distrustful. Even when speaking to Merlin, he kept Kilgharrah in his peripheral vision at all times. When Merlin told the dragon that he didn't have the book, Kilgharrah gripped the cart with one clawed foot without any further words and went on his way.

"I'm going to see her," Merlin blurted out. "Today—maybe."

The king stopped short, his shoulders tensing. Turning to face Merlin, another storm brewed behind his eyes. "You know where she is?"

"No." Merlin swallowed as Arthur approached him, guilt choking his dry throat. "The dragon will take me to her."

Arthur's eyebrows rose into his hair, his lips tightened in a frown. "You've ridden the dragon?"

"When times were dire, yes."

Arthur threw his arms up. "Why not?" Rolling his eyes, he placed his hands on his hips. "Well? Why do you need to see her?"

"She, uh, she's requested something that I haven't been able to find. I was wondering if all her possessions were destroyed."

Arthur's jaw tightened, his shoulders stiff. He spun on his heel, strode a few paces away, wheat crunching under his boots. Merlin saw his relax and he turned back with eyes calm as the sea.

"There was something," he admitted. "I wanted so much to burn it with the rest of her things, but Gwen stopped me. She remembered seeing Morgana with it when she first arrived as her servant. Said that if Morgana kept it after all this time, it must be something to cherish."

Merlin closed the distance between them, his eyes wide and fists clenched as anticipation swelled in his chest. "What is it?"

"A book," Arthur said softly.