Summary
After a blissful morning with Guinevere, Arthur contends with grave matters in his kingdom and makes controversial decisions that raise moral questions with Percival.
Chapter 20 Edges of Light and Dark
Arthur captured Gwen's mouth, a moan in his throat, hands tangled in silky locks. He loved the rhythm of their bodies entwined in contrasting colors. The softness of her lips, beads of moisture on oiled skin – her scent – her roaming touches stimulating his gusts of desire. Gwen's sighs of pleasure and whispers of his name sent fiery explosions of passion through him. Caressing her tightly – his head buried in her shoulder – he panted, he shuddered, the lasting effects of sweet bliss ebbing out of him.
After a moment, his heartbeat slowing, he looked into her eyes – hooded and glistening – sensual and beautiful. Passion still smoldering in their writhing, he kissed her tenderly.
"Good morning, Queen Guinevere," he whispered. She moaned sweetly, gifting him that delightful smile that never failed drawing his own in kind.
"Hello, King Arthur."
He brushed a stray curl, contentment swelling his heart to bursting with words of love he must convey. He had not been eloquent with tender whispers in the past – now they flowed with ease for her. "I love you, Gwen. All that I have is yours now," he said softly, his tone shifting toward gravitas. "Yet you mean more to me than any of it – even Camelot – remember that."
"Arthur..." A shadow of humility flickered over her features at his avowal, her eyes locking onto his with steadfast yet conflicting adoration mingled with a trace of melancholy.
"Truly, Guinevere – you are etched into my soul more permanently than this crown is fixed upon my head. You are the fire that warms my heart, the very air granting me breath. Without you beside me, Camelot's splendor would become but ash and bitterness upon my tongue."
Her eyes softened, resolve and devotion shining through. "You have my whole heart, now and always. Should we face darkness or light, joy or sorrow, in Camelot or beyond, I will stand with you. I love you, Arthur."
Gwen pulled him to her, her lips melting into his, passion stirring once again. But he withdrew before being consumed by its flames, a soft moan escaping her throat.
"I have something for you," he whispered. Releasing her slowly, he strode unabashed to his wardrobe and retrieved a small satin case. Her eyes watched him with longing as he returned and sat beside her reclined body, extending the case with a grin.
"This was meant for you—a wedding gift."
Gwen shifted up, the satin sheets spilling away as she reached for it. Arthur's mouth moistened as his smile broadened – she too bold and unafraid.
She opened it, gasped at the sapphire necklace she pulled from its case.
"It's beautiful!"
Arthur's smile lessened but a little, bittersweet memories washing over him like a rolling meadow mist. Merlin had helped him choose the delicate trinket the moment he decided to marry Gwen months ago. After the tragedy – her presumed loss that had cracked the foundations of his world – he hadn't the heart to discard it. The gemstone's royal blue glinted like Gwen's enduring spirit, now a testament to the triumph of their love.
"Allow me…" He tenderly draped it about her graceful neck at long last and then pulled her to him, savoring her sweetness once more as all things around them dissolved.
After his intoxicating morning with Guinevere, Arthur didn't need to joust to release any pent-up aggression, but he did grit his teeth, his body taut as a bowstring as the Escetir envoy entered his sights. De-horsing Sir Ranulf in a fearsome clash of splintering lances resulted in another broken arm for his knight and his advancement in the tourney.
Outside his tent, Arthur cast his helmet to George as Percival approached, face foreboding. He sighed, tension creeping across his shoulders as he waited, hands on hips. Percival leaned in, his hushed statement hardening Arthur's face as he pulled back.
His gaze instinctively sought Guinevere. She shone brightly in her finery, exulting the next combatants on the field. He'd promised her a day's respite from the shadowy discourse still churning beneath the celebrations. He'd also wanted to win this tourney for her – for them both to revel together.
Arthur's jaw clenched. "Find Geoffrey. Council chambers. Now."
As Percival hurried off, Arthur's eyes flicked to Merlin, whose smile dissolved when he crooked two fingers signaling him to come. He passed words quickly with his mother and Gaius, then made his way out of the stands.
Arthur turned to George, unstrapping his armor. "Withdraw me from the tourney. My jousting is over."
Still clad in chainmail with smears of dirt upon his face, hair disheveled from competition and haste, Arthur strode through the castle corridors teeming with tourney revelry. Though the lively atmosphere might have lightened his mood, a heavy gloom clung fast. The stately fleur-de-lis crown dangled heavy in his grip, Excalibur comfortingly at his hip.
Beside him, Merlin kept pace, glancing at him with unease. "Arthur? What's happened?"
Arthur's lips thinned. "A murder in the upper town last night," he said grimly, his jaw cinching. "Sorcery seems the cause."
"What? But... No…" Merlin stuttered. He stopped short, though Arthur didn't break his stride toward the council chambers. Catching up to Arthur's side, distress shadowed his face. "Lord Badawi?"
"I don't know," Arthur replied tightly, though the hairs on his neck rose. "But we'll uncover facts before rendering judgments." As they reach the doors, he turned to meet Merlin's worried eyes. "Whatever the outcome, this will not deter us from our path." Merlin nodded, calm settling on his features.
Arthur thrust the doors wide to see Percival and Geoffrey waiting within, their faces anxious. Gripping Excalibur's hilt, he stepped inside, Merlin following. Arthur dropped the crown at the end of the long table as Percival met him halfway.
"What happened?" he asked, crossing his arms, his gaze boring into his first knight.
Percival's face drained of color. He thinned his lips, taking a slow breath as if to steady some inner turmoil. He hesitated a long moment before meeting Arthur's gaze.
"Viscount Pierrefonds was found murdered this morning in his bed chambers," he finally uttered, each word heavy with sorrow. "Bludgeoned with an iron poker... according to the steward."
Arthur staggered back as if dealt a physical blow, steadying himself against the table. Beside him, Merlin reeled, gripping the back of a chair with white knuckles, raw anguish in his eyes.
"His son was still in the room – blood on his hands and clothes – in shock."
"What madness is this?" Arthur's breath hissed through gritted teeth, fist curling at his side. "Is he arrested?!" he shouted, visibly shaking with wrath.
"Yes, sire," Percival replied quickly, startled. "Raoul came without struggle."
Arthur threw his head back in anguish; bit into his lower lip. It was now no wonder why the viscount had appealed for mercy to magic users in the council meeting – his life too was in danger. Swearing under his breath, if he could, he'd execute Sir Raoul himself at first light rather than wait on the confines of court and council. But the crown was judicious and exacted a patience his father never troubled with.
"Why did he do this?" Merlin asked. "Did magic…?"
"There are reports Raoul was seen in the tavern as Lord Badawi rallied dissent against magic... His words must have proved rather... persuasive…."
"You left out one important word, Percival," Merlin said tightly, muscles feathering in his jaw, "…'again'."
Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose, pressure behind his eyes throbbing. More reports had come in – six homesteads beyond the citadel wall ransacked by spectral beasts, Master Aelfric, the reeve now mute since encountering a cloaked crone, strange mist brewing over the marshes that sickened a farmer. Sorcery unchecked bad enough – but with each incident, people had claimed to see Badawi meeting with the afflicted families.
Straightening, Arthur's jaw cinched. "It's time to cut off the head of this snake," he bit. "Geoffrey, draft the order to arrest Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal Zahir on charges of sedition."
Merlin jerked his head to him, apprehension in his eyes. "Arthur—"
"That's treason, sire," Percival said, an expression of incredulity on his face, his body tensing.
Geoffrey froze, reluctance and dismay flickering across his features. "Sire, that won't stop the magical incidents from happening."
Arthur flashed up a hand, his jaw tense. "It will stop Badawi from making things worse. I will not have his venom continue to infect this kingdom, Geoffrey. The order. Now."
The bulky man hesitated before sinking into a bow, resignation weighting his shoulders. "Yes, highness." Avoiding Arthur's piercing look, he gathered up his roll of parchment and inkwell and withdrew, the creak of the doors loud in his wake.
Percival watched Geoffrey depart, unease furrowing his brow. As Merlin paced the length of the table anxiously, Arthur sat in the high seat, laced fingers pressed to his lips. Percival's eyes lingered on him, somber and searching.
After a taut moment, Arthur met his gaze. "It won't come to execution, Percival. Only some time staring at stone walls to still his wagging tongue."
Percival shifted his stance. "The people may see Zahir's arrest as unjust persecution, confirmation of the very fears he warns of..."
Arthur's jaw clenched, his eyes rolling slowly into a scowl. He rose to his feet wrestling down fury. His glare was hard, unforgiving – his stride foreboding. Merlin stopped his anxious pacing, drawing nearer with evident concern.
"Need I remind you, Sir Percival," Arthur said, his tone razor-edged, "that we plotted in shadowed chambers not long ago to end Badawi's machinations by any means necessary?! Instead I stay the course of law and ethics and you question me?!"
Brows knitting, Merlin wiped a hand over his mouth, clearly conflicted by Arthur's outburst –though it may be the choice upon which he'd decided. Arthur strode away, losing his fight with fury as his chest heaved. He had chosen the right path without underhanded tactics – however difficult! Damn them! he inwardly raged.
Turning back, rigidity barely containing his swirling emotions, he held Percival's troubled gaze. Bitter disappointment welled up in him at the man's reaction. "I asked – would you condemn me for taking the honorable path?"
Percival hesitated, discomfort crossing his face.
"Speak plainly." Arthur stepped forward, urging with a flourish of his arm. "Your thoughts on the matter?"
"Arthur," urged Merlin, "calm…"
He whipped his head toward Merlin, his eyes flashing daggers, jaw set tight as a bear trap. Merlin held his gaze unyielding before Arthur glared at his first knight.
Percival wet his lips, throat bobbing as he summoned words. "My thoughts war with my heart, Arthur," he finally uttered. "I trust you and believe in your vision – but we face many challenges and threats that will test our resolve, our honor, and our deepest principles. I only pray our methods don't betray the very ideals we aim to uphold. And that—God forgives me if I am led astray by duty."
Arthur's shoulders relaxed, Percival's earnest words striking a chord, echoing doubts that daily plagued his rule. He too struggled to balance mercy and might and duty.
"I understand your concerns," he said after more taut silence. "Truly I do. But we must be decisive to protect the peace that Lord Badawi surely does not value."
He held Percival's gaze unflinchingly until the other man, jaw working, bowed his head in acceptance. An uneasy accord settled over the council room as Arthur squared his shoulders beneath the burdens of power, vision, and consequences only he could fully reckon.
The chamber doors parted and George entered bearing water, quickly filling goblets. Merlin resumed his pacing as Arthur settled heavily into his high seat, squelching any lingering irritation. Resting ironclad forearms on the table, he worked his mouth into an aggrieved pout.
"Return to the celebrations, George," Arthur said, the edge fading from his tone. Watching the cheerful servant, a pensive mood replaced impatience at the day's gathering storms. "Spend time with your family," he added gently.
George smiled. "Thank you, sire. They will like that."
George's simple life with loved ones seemed enviably uncomplicated for a moment. With a soft sigh, Arthur glanced at the royal seal weighing his finger, shining but ever constricting. He focused inward as footsteps retreated, girding himself for the difficult road ahead.
"You were never that nice to me," Merlin said, crashing into Arthur's gloom.
"Oh, do shut up, Merlin." Despite everything, Arthur grinned as Merlin smiled brightly, the familiar banter welcome.
Sobering, he scratched his nails lightly across the top of the table. "Did you… know Pierrefonds had magic?"
Merlin tensed, his somber expression returning as he shook his head.
"When your magic is revealed, your life will be in danger," Arthur said in measured tones. He had opposed disclosing Merlin as Emrys, aware of the ominous outcomes he—they—would face. Surely, so had his circle; yet honor weighed heavier than protecting a good friend's life.
Arthur continued, eyes floating to Merlin as he voiced further concern. "A powerful sorcerer – secretly hidden amongst royalty for years... Many will be angry – many will accuse you of… influencing some my decisions…."
Merlin inhaled sharply as their gazes locked, his silence speaking shared parallels of conscience and thought. Arthur gave a solemn nod as he gnawed his bottom lip. He expected bitter disputes when Merlin's identity was exposed, heated debates and justified challenges. Would they see only duplicity? Conspiracy? Believe Arthur had legalized magic solely for his friend?
Their silent gaze affirmed that his choice would indeed be seen as favoring a friend. And in truth, Merlin's unwavering faith had steadily pushed this outcome.
But nor were Arthur's hands yet spotless – he gazed at hardened fingers still learning justice and mercy's intricate steps. His laws remained flawed, falling far short of perfection. And uniting Camelot would require transcending divisions between commoner and royalty, pagan and priest, sorcerers and none the like.
But Albion – the seeds of alliances were meager and fragile thus far and winning the fealty of kingdoms still detached from his vision would take more than mere words. But what then? Though an immense challenge ahead, Arthur knew he could not retreat from this calling.
Jaw clenching, he said, "Men, we must strengthen our house before Albion can dawn. Camelot must be united and though we face resistance, we will overcome those challenges you spoke of, Percival. The night will grow darker still before the light – I can assure only that."
Across from him, Merlin gave a brisk nod, steeling himself also for the storm ahead. His first knight, too, nodded, though he cast his eyes downward.
"Percival," Arthur continued, his tone flinty as he met his knight's still uneasy eyes, "have your new recruits on duty soon. Things may grow volatile once Lord Badawi is in chains…. If any zealot picks up his venomous mantle, give them fair warning that if they persist, they will suffer the same fate."
Percival shifted, distress lining his face. "Pardon, Arthur. The people may see preemption as persecution. I beg discretion in quelling unrest."
Arthur slammed a fist, rattling the objects on the table. "I will not be defied, Percival!" he shouted.
"Elyan was seen in the tavern as well, sire!" he shot back.
"What?" Merlin asked in utter shock.
Unease stirred at Percival's news, Arthur's glance darting to Merlin. He cupped his mouth, scrubbed the back of his neck. Elyan in the midst of discord, yet took no action to quell it – to defend his edicts. Would Gwen's own brother side with rabblerousing? No. No. Elyan knew well the need for order and security – perhaps he counseled patience, not damnation, if trouble had swelled.
Arthur sighed, waved a placating hand. Regretting his outburst a moment ago, he felt every bit his father's son – ruling with an iron fist in the name of righteousness – and without all the facts. "We must have faith in Sir Elyan's judgments." He regarded his first knight coolly, but his shoulders remained rigid. "And let counseling wisdom be your charge, Sir Percival… But lawlessness will not be tolerated – meet it with the necessary force."
Percival bowed, indignation set in his rigid jaw. "King Arthur."
"Do not reveal this to the queen," he added, guilt tugging at his conscience, his eyes diverting away now. Keeping hurtful secrets from his wife…. No – he was protecting her. "That is my duty if Elyan does not confide in her soon."
Percival drew a deep breath. Arthur studied him, doubts needling – Could Percival's faith in him be shaken as well? But he banished the thought. This was stalwart Percival... was it not?
"I'm in need of Fredrick and Gwaine for a ten-day journey," Arthur added, urgency steeling his tone. "See to it they're ready to ride in two-days' time."
"Yes, sire." Percival stood, his acquiescence showing bitterly on his face. "If that's all... your highness?"
The formality chilled, but Arthur managed an affirming glance. "That's all. You may go." As the doors closed, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Lingering unease warred with his resolve – was this reach for unity splintering his men too?
"Percival has reason to doubt me," he said somberly. "Elyan's dissension… Magic rampant… My methods..."
"You do what you must," Merlin said gently.
Like Atlas bearing the world, worries weighed heavy on Arthur's shoulders. His most trusted questioning, silencing Badawi, Mordred seen in close proximity, Escetir's ominous visit and his kingdom's fragile stability… Guinevere – all chipped at Arthur's resolve. But Merlin and Emrys – if but one thread of the intricate concealments around him unraveled, it could ruin everything despite the other challenges.
His eyes flicked to his friend, still standing though arms folded across his chest.
"Merlin – sit."
Arthur studied the man as he came and sat at his elbow, steeling his countenance as he had for Percival's unexpected and unwanted dissent. Would Merlin also condemn his decisions amidst flayed nerves and divided loyalties?
"You were strangely quiet – let's have it then," he challenged, authority masking apprehension.
Merlin's eyes dropped, contemplation shadowing his expression. After a moment, he glanced up. "Our path stretches long with perils yet unknown," he said. "But I believe in you, Arthur. As I believed when I first arrived in Camelot, young and foolish."
"You're still young and foolish," Arthur quipped, piercing through the tense atmosphere and suppressing a smile.
Merlin grinned agreeably though his cheeks flushed. "That may be so," he laughed. "But time and trials have forged me into Emrys and you into the Once and Future King. We're two sides of the same coin – bonded by fire and friendship."
Pride swelled in Arthur's chest, lightening his somber mood. How far they had both traversed since those early days of building trust – Merlin's actions to keep him safe while concealing his secret and Arthur's ever-changing perceptions on the man while he warred against magic. Now Emrys counseled at Camelot's table in freedom, his own destiny entwined with Arthur's.
"But the waiting consumes as much as the fighting," Merlin continued. "Truths deferred, justice denied... so many silent burdens in shadows. I understand the need, yet cannot escape the cost."
Merlin paused, his features stilling into a solemn mask of timeless wisdom. His eyes glinted like dual flames, ancient shadows playing across his face.
Arthur went numb.
When Merlin spoke again, his voice resonated with echoes of eras long past, stunning Arthur. "These days mark a beginning long foretold. And an ending to suffering. Fear would bid me plead caution – yet my faith holds fast. The prophecies stand sure, thus, so must we."
Eyes ablaze, Merlin held Arthur's gaze with the conviction of ages. "Whatever comes, I am ever your servant. I will follow you until the work is finished."
Awed, Arthur fell still, transfixed by the ancient fire in Merlin's eyes. This was no mere serving boy but a pillar of magical might united with him through destiny's weave. He knew not whether to embrace him or fear him.
Arthur gently grasped his shoulder – the best he could do in the moment – a fragile gesture against such wonder and might. "You hearten me when others falter, Merlin," he said, gratitude warming his tone. "Come storms or sorrows, your loyalty remains anchor and sail."
Gratefulness and wonder rushed through him for the gift of this bond fate saw fit to bless him with. And, yes – the assurance of formidable magic now steadfastly behind the throne. "Thank you, old friend," he added sincerely.
After the quiet moment passed, Arthur stood tall, troubles shed for the present. There was time enough to weather doubts and navigate unclear horizons. For now, Guinevere awaited – his harbor of joy untainted by today's blemishes – though he knew that would change soon.
"Go to your mother and enjoy the festivities," said Arthur kindly. "I wish to share what moments of respite I can with my wife and queen."
Arthur slipped into an alcove, splashing water on his face to remove the grime. As he tidied his hair, he calmed his churning thoughts. Striding back outside, he spotted Guinevere's curls glinting in the royal box. The cheers of the crowd indicated the tourney finals were underway.
He climbed the stands to her side, drinking in her radiant smile as she turned, joy lighting her eyes at his arrival. Her blue gown dazzled brighter than the clear sky, the sapphire pendant at her throat matching the vivid hue.
"Arthur," she laughed, surprise and delight in her voice as he pulled her close, cares receding. She caressed his cheek. "I'm pleased you returned just in time."
Below, lances cracked against shields. But Arthur saw only her.
"As am I," he murmured. No threats from outside nor within would ruin this day, all worries faded for now but her. His light. His love. His Guinevere.