Chapter 16: Who Planned Their Strategy
Gwen ran her thumbnail quietly along the edge of Alice's formal dining table, eyes down and elbows tucked, letting the discussion flow around her. Whatever she'd expected to hear of the situation in Camelot, this was not it.
Their enemies had faces, and names, and numbers. Two – Morgause Renard, and Tosoldat. Perhaps a handful of Isyadi, or maybe just run-of-the-mill mercenaries. But scouting was all about secrecy, hiding identity and playing a part, blending into a crowd and doing a job so that no one else even realized there had been a job done.
And Arthur had just been called out. By name. And his family essentially hostage. Was there any chance this gala was only an opportunity for this woman to gloat over her victory and Arthur's defeat?
Not if Tosoldat was there. He was about terror and revenge, death and destruction, chaos and fear.
And of course Arthur was going to walk right up the middle, right to an Essetirian psychic.
Gwen didn't look at Merlin. Of course the situation was night-and-day difference, but she couldn't help thinking of Ealdor, and the psychic who'd known they were right there, and had ultimately chosen to come with them, to risk his life with them rather than betray them to their enemies. To fight – literally, lately – for Camelot.
"I'll put in a comm-block connection to Leon and Percival," Arthur was telling Gaius. "They can go to the estate and assess the situation. Rescue if necessary, take command at least. If I go to this gala-"
"Arthur," Gwen said, without looking at him. Without lifting her eyes from the table to look at any of them. "If you go to this gala… I think it would be best if you went alone."
Her heart thundered behind her ears, leaving her chest hollow. Her mouth was dry, her stomach knotted.
"Wait, alone?" Gwaine said, confused. "I think you shouldn't go at all, Pendragon – you shouldn't do what your enemy expects you to do, even if hostages are-"
Gaius was psychic. And Alice, and Freya, and Merlin. Gwen pressed her thumbnail against the edge of the table and hoped… that Arthur, at least, would not understand. Not yet.
That would defeat the purpose.
"I don't think it'll work at all, you accepting the invitation and walking up the red carpet, right in the front door," she added, over the end of Gwaine's protest.
"There will be witnesses," he answered neutrally. As if she were any other scout he'd never been on mission with, abstractly discussing possibilities and contingencies. "It'll be public. If I can get her to admit-"
"Provoke her to admit?" Gaius said disapprovingly.
Gwen shook her head. Plus one. "Don't ask me to go with you. Not like that, not there. It can't work."
"Maybe it would be better to wait," Alice added. "Gather more evidence…"
"After they vote, it might be too late," Arthur said. He was very near her right shoulder; still she didn't look up. "With Morgause as an elected official – even if she just stands in that room with all those people. Rich, influential, important people with secrets – God only knows what she's got already, what she's passed along to Essetir. Think of the blackmail material – think of the damage she could do, and making herself untouchable would be the least of it. The first thing she'd make sure of."
"Wouldn't it be better, though," Gwen could make her tone reasonable and persuasive, and chose her words like a scout, "to set up discreet surveillance, and-"
"You want to wait and watch," he said - catching most of the incredulity in his tone back to himself as too rude.
She winced internally to have him believe this of her, even for a short time. Even if he knew eventually that it had been necessary. Even if it worked – would he forgive her, or would it change everything between them irrevocably.
Even if he understood her motives… since he had done something similar to Merlin, and knew what regret tasted like.
For a moment the whole room held its breath. She didn't meet anyone's eyes – four psychics, and the second-sergeant who was capable and trusted, if unfamiliar.
"I can't," Arthur said shortly, sounding unhappy. "Gaius, I can't do that."
"The invitation is clearly meant to draw you in," the former Director objected mildly. "So if you-"
"Do as much damage as possible, as soon as possible," Arthur declared, turning and bending to retrieve his rucksack in one smooth motion. By now Gwen knew him well enough to recognize that he'd decided to act, and let the chips fall where they may. "Then at least you can have everyone else standing by to pick up the pieces."
She couldn't help thinking of the boat wreckage after the explosion near Britesea, the burning detritus bobbing on the waves, torn bodies floating lifelessly.
"I can use your shower, and your guest room and your comm-block?" Arthur said to the room, sounding now more like the insouciant stranger she'd resented being paired with for Ealdor. Before she knew how much he hid behind that careless demeanor. "Or I can catch a train for Camelot this afternoon?"
"You probably won't make the last one," Alice told him. "It's an all-day trip, they don't leave after, hm…"
"All right, tomorrow morning then. First thing."
"Bathroom down the hall, opposite the guest room," Gaius said, sitting back in his chair with his palms spread over his papers.
"Gwaine, good meeting again," Arthur said, reaching across the table to shake the hand of the second-sergeant, who looked like he felt he was still missing something. "Freya, anytime you need anything, don't hesitate."
Beside Gwen, Freya was small in the chair, motionless and watchful. And Merlin half-turned from the window, eyes distant and face expressionless – but he didn't look at Gwen as if he'd caught anything of what she was thinking.
"Merlin," Arthur said, and almost managed an impersonal tone. "Hey. Anytime you want to get shot at, have the Old Man send you somewhere with me."
Sounding puzzled, Merlin said, "I keep seeing you fall."
Dead silence. Freya wasn't breathing, and Alice's eyes were wide with sudden tears. Gaius cleared his throat, but no one said anything. What was there to say, to that, from a psychic. Even one who'd been off his game… Gwen's muscles ached with the stress, and if she shivered, her bones might shatter inside her. She'd never been in a briefing so fraught with emotional tension. If she tried to breathe deep, the air would catch on a sob in her throat and hurt. Because-
"Gwen?" Arthur said.
She shifted on the embroidered seat-cushion of Alice's dining room chair and looked up at him. Ready, alert… alone. Resolute, in spite of Merlin's cryptic words; eyes not quite shuttered against dying hope.
"Good luck," she managed.
"Hunith will have room for Merlin's three," Alice said swiftly, hostessing to control the room's emotion. "Gwen, there's a sleeper-sofa upstairs on the landing-"
"I can take that," Arthur said, his eyes still on Gwen. "You can have the room-"
"No, I'm going to be shopping," Gwen forced out, and tried a meaningless smile. "I might be out late. I'll take the sofa – you'll need your rest if you're going to Camelot in the morning."
Shopping. She could read the reaction he tried to hide – and couldn't, still reeling maybe from the disappointment of having his back-up abandon him. Disbelief, and instinctive resistance to the implications of her claim. Still trying to trust her.
Bloody shopping, while Essetir is this close to taking over Camelot. Maybe an exaggeration, but… maybe not so much. No, yeah, of course a girl needs a change of clothes.
"I'll be up early, though – I'll take the sofa." He gave the room a grin no one believed, and stalked for the door. "Alice, if you'd be so kind as to connect to Leon or Percival? And let me know when you've got them on the block."
"Arthur," Merlin said.
He paused in the doorway for a second, then twisted far enough to see the psychic over his shoulder.
Merlin didn't move from his place by the window, but there was enough indecision in his posture for Gwen at least to see that he was torn, and uncertain of his choices. "I don't hate you."
Arthur inhaled. There was significance there, even if Gwen didn't understand it. "I don't hate you either. Never will."
Merlin's smile trembled. "Probably."
Arthur huffed wry amusement, then used his grip on the doorway to propel himself out to the hall. They all listened to his boots thump false confidence down toward the bathroom.
" 'Scuse me," Alice said pleasantly, standing and disappearing also.
"That's it?" Gwaine said to Gaius, leaning back in his chair to glance toward Merlin at the window. "We're really not going to do anything else?"
Gaius sighed and offered an exceedingly uncharacteristic opinion. "It's out of our hands…"
"Hells." Gwaine pushed to his feet – then gave them the same sort of devil-may-care grin that Arthur had forced. "Merlin, your ma have extra writing-paper? Maybe it's time I drafted my resignation from the military."
Merlin's mouth was discontented as he stared toward the empty doorway, but he nodded and led Gwaine out of the room, toward the front door.
Freya's hand found Gwen's and squeezed; she whispered, "I trust you."
Then slipped out behind Merlin and Gwaine, leaving Gwen alone with Gaius, who lifted one eyebrow expectantly.
When a psychic was the target, masked directives was the order of the day, right? "Well," she said aloud, mustering resolve. "I guess I have some work to do."
…..*…..…..*…..…..*…..
"Does it feel to anyone else," Gwaine said casually, leaning on the unlatched gate of Merlin's mother's front garden, letting it sway with his weight and caprice, "as if I've been cosmically demoted?"
Freya perched next to Merlin on the chill concrete steps leading up to the cottage's front door – painted off-white, with a sunflower wreath – hugging drawn-up knees. Gwen had loaned her the short-fluffy skirt to wear with her military tee and boots, leaving the boat, and probably it looked strange, but wardrobe worries were way down the list. She glanced at Merlin, who was sprawled over all three stairs as if he meant to catch as much afternoon sun as possible, watching Gwaine without reaction.
"I mean," Gwaine continued, "I have no troop. No orders except stand down. And I get the feeling you'd disobey that if it suited you. And she'd follow."
Probably true, she reflected, on both counts. And maybe Merlin knew it, too, but he still didn't react.
"Maybe it's because we're back home," Gwaine continued. "And you're not so lost, here. You don't need me anymore, huh?"
He was a really good second sergeant – probably why he feeling a little bit lost, himself. A little bit left out. Whatever they'd dealt with in Aravia, in Janada – it was here, too. Same complication, and with – it sounded to her – the entire country at stake. But for some reason it seemed like it had been decided for Scout Pendragon to go alone.
Scout Gwen Thompson had something else going on, she was sure of that – no idea what it was, though.
And she hadn't had a chance to tell Merlin – if he'd been unaware – of how Pendragon reacted, to recognize Merlin boneless and scarcely coherent on the rail-platform with explosive dust still settling and enemy blood still dripping. Family. The one Merlin had been trying to keep track of from Camp George, even several time zones separate – the one who had come for them.
And now they were to be separate again.
Was Merlin drifting, the way he'd done involuntarily during the hours and days traveling here from Janada – or was he compartmentalizing, as a tactic easier than dealing?
"Just because you haven't been asked," Freya said to Gwaine, deliberately because Merlin was hearing her also, "doesn't mean you're not needed."
Gwaine grunted, and continued watching down the street. "Guess it happens to everyone, sooner or later. Life changes when you don't plan for it. Reminds you that you're not in control, not really."
Merlin shivered, and she shifted so her ankle was in contact with his thigh, tough scratchy uniform material over warm solid muscle. He said softly, "Hold on to what you can."
Gwaine looked at him as if he'd heard every word, even from several paces away.
"Merlin," she tried. After the other night, when they'd been inside each other's heads and so intimately… she had to find a way to struggle through this, verbally. Try to help him with the emotion bleeding from him that maybe only she could see, psychically.
Maybe the others could tell, and maybe they left it to her to address. Because maybe he'd allowed her a place in his heart and soul that was close enough to do so, with some measure of success.
If they'd been sitting on her mother's step, waiting to visit, to come in and prepare dinner and talk for hours, she'd be bouyant with anticipation, giddy excitement and careless of any teasing.
Not – unhappy, unsettled. Why?
"You think you're going to disappoint people," she said in a low voice. "When you came to Camp George, you didn't expect anyone to believe you, you didn't expect friends. Why not? That can't be down to what happened with Scout Pendragon…"
He looked at her, unclouded blue, and waited… calmly, patiently. Openly.
She ventured further. "That can't have anything to do with your mother, not really - and it isn't because she raised you by herself…"
Something shifted.
Freya realized with dawning horror, "She didn't raise you – did she."
Merlin confessed, with faint but very real shame that shuttered his eyes, "There was a-"
"Man," Freya blurted, unable to stop herself. "Hospital – hospital? No…"
White walls, white uniforms, clear syringes… locked doors, and they'd used disappointment like a whip against a boy who lived to please. Bloody hells, so much worse than what affected her from her past.
"Merlin," she said urgently. "Merlin, Merlin, look at me. Look at Gwaine. You're not a disappointment, you're not. We're with you, see? It doesn't matter who you are, what you can do-"
"What I can't do," he interjected, resistant.
"Your mother was so young," her mouth said without her permission. "Think how you'd feel if you had a child so special, so powerful, and had no idea how to-"
How to raise. How to guide and direct and protect-
His head lifted, his eyes clearing with astonishment. Slight embarrassment – only slight – warmed her face in the descending afternoon sun, and neither of them cared that Gwaine was included.
"She made a choice she thought was best, and maybe it was and maybe it wasn't – she thinks she let you down, she thinks she disappointed you. Maybe she should've protected you but she didn't know…"
Into her gulp for air, Gwaine spoke to alert them both. "Oi…"
He'd straightened alertly, because it was Merlin's mother hurrying down the sidewalk on the outside of the hedge, though Freya had never actually seen her. Wavy brown hair minimally pinned on her head and mostly loose on her shoulders, and but for the anxious expression Freya would have been surprised at how young she still looked.
Merlin's mother saw Gwaine first, that much was obvious. Inside the yard of her cottage, wearing half a military uniform, awaiting her straight and still like he was on parade-rest. Her feet stuttered to a stop, and her hand rose to cover her heart as if to shield herself from feared harm.
"What's happened?" she said tremulously. "Something's happened to him?"
Beside Freya, Merlin's muscles bunched to launch himself up off the stair and several steps to the gate, drawing her gaze. "Mum, I'm right here – I'm fine."
Relief gushed from his mother, and she took scarce notice of Gwaine swinging the gate open for her. "Merlin!" she exclaimed, stumbling in her haste to enter, and his arms steadied her clumsily. "How are you here? I thought you were-"
"I was," he said, soothing and trying to retreat, to disentangle.
His mother was quite the same as he was, Freya knew in an instant. Displaced and uncertain of the regard of those around her, and if they could just find each other… but something like that wouldn't be immediate. It would take time and effort and willingness.
Just like all relationships, maybe.
She rose and stepped beside them, molding her palm to the curve of Merlin's shoulder – Be still a moment, let her hold you. Intimacy and familiarity walk hand in hand.
"We were," he added, some tension easing away under Freya's touch, and his mother didn't let him go. "Didn't you hear? Camp George re-deployed – so we're home, now."
Gwaine looked up from latching the gate, and met Freya's eyes, understanding as she did that the mission to Janada and all related and continuing complication didn't need telling, today.
"For how long?" His mother drew back enough to search his face, not so much as glancing at Freya – and still didn't let him go.
"Overnight?"
Freya could see enough of Merlin's face to guess at the smile – hopeful, bashful… ready to accept rejection. His mother's expression shifted toward something Freya would recognize on her own mother's face – recalling the contents of her pantry, and her linen closet, calculating accommodations for unexpected guests.
"All of you," she said, and it wasn't a question.
"Yes, ma'am, unless it's inconvenient," Gwaine put in with a mother-winning grin, offering hand as Merlin's mother finally released her son. "Second-sergeant Gwaine, Miz Emrys, I'm pleased to meet you."
"Unit commander," Merlin explained.
Gwaine immediately scoffed over the implications of the term. "Commander…"
But Merlin's mother was turning to Freya with a different depth of evaluation which was motherly intuition and really quite close to psychic. "And this is-"
"Freya Douglas," Merlin introduced her. "My – ah-"
She smiled into his mother's wary reserve. Yes, I am – everything you think I might be, to him. "And just between the two of us, he does need it, from time to time."
The older woman realized psychic, considered momentarily how Freya might match her son, and relief flowed into acceptance with almost breathless swiftness. "You're very welcome, Freya. Both of you," she added, including Gwaine. "I'm not sure exactly what I can offer you for dinner, or for-"
"As long as it's not dry granola, it'll be fabulous," Gwaine proclaimed. "Lead the way, Miz Emrys."
"Please," Merlin's mother said, just as he had. "Call me Hunith. Come on in."
…..*…..…..*…..…..*…..
It was very late when Gwen returned to Alice's house, streetlights casting vague cones of buzzing yellow. Her feet were sore and her hands were empty; she'd decided not to waste any funds on purchases she'd have to carry all afternoon just for show. Hopefully no one was still awake to question her productivity – or lack of it - anyway.
A single light showed at a shuttered window, inconspicuous til she was on the porch, and for a moment she thought maybe it had been left on for her, when the rest of the home's inhabitants had retired for the night. It was late enough for that, and Arthur at least anticipated an early morning, catching the first train to the capital.
The door was unlocked and she let herself in, careful to be as quiet as she could; the latch of the door and her boots beyond the rug weren't noiseless in the pervasive stillness of the house. The light spilled down the front hall from the kitchen, and there was enough of a reflection in the oven door – in the expectant hush – to see Arthur seated there to make use of the light, alerting to whoever had entered.
Did he think it might be Merlin, coming back? Her instinct said the psychic wasn't confident enough – yet – to offer. To go out of his way to extend the offer, when maybe Arthur's instinct would be polite refusal. Given Merlin's condition. Thanks, but.
Gwen almost dodged Arthur's curiosity and anticipation. She could hustle down the hall to her accommodations and avoid him, and then he'd be gone in the morning. Maybe it would be better if she did; he was excellent at scouting even when he was distracted, even by this magnitude of problem this close to home…
She stepped slowly down the hall, and his reflection rose out of sight; he was standing between an old ladderback chair and the small kitchen table when she leaned around the corner.
"Hey," she offered, a bit sheepishly, keeping her hands out of sight so he wouldn't think to question a lack of shopping bags.
He responded in kind, still seeming more expectant than disappointed. "Hey."
Awkward pause. She was wary of letting him catch and hold her gaze, because of what he might see.
He added, "How was shopping?" damn him, exactly as if her choice was the most logical for her, in the situation, and it never occurred to him to expect anything else. "Find what you were looking for?"
"Hope so," she hedged lightly.
"Good," he said, nodding. "Good." He seemed reluctant to invite her gaze to plumb his depths either, and his attention skated over the pages spread on the table under the single-bulb light fixture shaded by darkly-colored glass panels.
"You're planning?" she said, before she could reconsider the advisability of such a question.
He made a gesture of confession. "Gaius says it's local constabulary that'll handle security for the gala, not any of our people. I've been sketching some of the museum's specs, and the area…"
"From memory?" she blurted. She'd been there several times – as a child, on school trips, not for quite a few years now, though she should, maybe they could…
"Between me and Gaius and Alice," he said, shifting one page slightly with his fingertips. He was stocking-footed, his hair rumpled and his eyes weary, shoulders vulnerable under the thin soft material of his t-shirt. "With Tosoldat as part of the equation-"
"How do you-" she began, frowning.
He grimaced. "Leon confirmed it while you were out. Wasn't Britesea but one of the smaller ports. Someone recognized a sketch, after the fact. Maybe."
Probably. Dread sank through her stomach like a stone through pond-muck. "He won't disrupt the gala evening with violence, surely." Token protest, as she took two steps to join him. "Not if he and Morgause Renard are allies, you think?"
Arthur looked at her, and she forgot she hadn't meant to let him. Her breath caught in the plunge into him, everything there for her to see in his gaze – the effort, the emotion, the determination, the uncertainty. He inhaled sharply, and maybe their unintended connection had affected him, too.
Without any thought of what she could honestly say, what she shouldn't, she blurted, "I'm sorry about-"
At the same time he said, "You were right-"
She stopped, and he hesitated.
"Sorry, no," she said, flustered. "You go." She hated to see him overwhelmed or discouraged – Scout Pendragon, the irrepressible, the incorrigible – she loved him and and wanted to encourage and reassure… but.
"It will be safer for you, here," he said quietly but firmly, and her impression was that he meant plural you. All of them. "I'll be glad to know, no matter what happens tomorrow night, that you're… not taking risks. For me."
Still, plural.
But she would, and she believed she wasn't the only one. For Camelot, and for you. For you and for Camelot. And thinking of vows and loyalty – she couldn't help the smile trembling on her lips, and blinked to deny the tears that started to her eyes.
"I'm glad to know you're not upset," she told him. "With me. And no matter what happens-"
He didn't let her finish. Swaying close enough to touch, he slipped his arms around her and she responded instinctively, bending to his grip and smoothing her hands along the muscles in his arms – shoulders – into the soft hair at the back of his neck that still smelled like his shower.
For a moment he just held her. And she didn't even realize she was waiting for more, til he tucked his nose into the hair behind her ear and exhaled against her skin. She tipped her head and melted into his strength, giving… as much as she could. More than she should, less than she wanted.
I know why you preferred alone. Because it's terrifying to care like this… to love like this… to risk, like this.
And yet, he was willing.
"You were magnificent," he mumbled against the sensitive skin of her earlobe.
She drew in a breath to question, to deny, and he didn't let her.
"They thought you'd spend months in Asia. When you left. And there you were in Paris, a – an avenging angel. And triumphant. And the Isyad are finished."
"Nearly," she corrected breathlessly.
"I was going to wait, but now..." He shifted, somehow able to gather her even closer, his body hard and resolute and enticing. "I said maybe it could be nothing, but. Guinevere… This is not nothing, for me."
She remembered his kiss in the Paris bar. If you want what I want… not a one-night stand, though her body at least was suggesting initial contemplation of such a scheme. Not even the convenience of a boyfriend, a steady date for free weekends and someone obligated to listen to complaints and provide companionship and assistance… until mutual interest ran out, or someone else came along.
All of it – his past, his present, his future. His family, his work, his life. His hopes, his fears – his time, his humor and exasperation and his passion. She wanted all of it.
"It isn't nothing for me, either," she mumbled into the side of his neck, rubbing her fingers into his hair. If he wanted her, too. Her family, her uncertainty, her changes, her days, her happiness and grief and everything in-between.
"Mm." He growled against an unexpectedly erogenous nerve, then pulled back, releasing her and lifting his hands to cup her face oh-so-lightly. And pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. "Alice made up a bed for you. Go and get some sleep."
Deep dark feminine parts of her still imagined scenarios where she took him along – where she took his mouth with hers, offering and giving everything everything, but maybe it was only because of what she couldn't offer. Would it then become I'm-sorry or forgive-me and would their surrender to each other strengthen him tomorrow, striding up to the gala entrance alone, or would it conflict and confuse?
"Yeah," Gwen whispered. Controlling her hands and inclinations and desires. "You too, Arthur."
He stepped back to the table, clearly intending to continue studying his plans and diagrams and notes, but the smile he gave her held some of his more habitual cocky assurance, as well as the fire of a close brush with arousal.
Scout Pendragon. Would emerge victorious, if he was looking forward to this on the other side.
Well. She smiled to herself as she retreated to the dark of the hallway toward the guest-room – that hadn't been her intention, but… it wasn't a regret, either.
…..*…..…..*…..…..*…..
Merlin dreamed of darkness and heavy rhythmic noise like a wind-tunnel, the buffeting of air and the gleam of lights below him – the pull of harness straps and the tilt of gravity – looking down at the high roof of a city building.
Arthur swung into the space of his vision, black gloves gripping black rope supporting his entire weight dangling over open space. He glanced up from marking a landing spot on the roof below them to give Merlin a grin of daring enthusiasm for the thrill of dangerous descent.
Merlin's heart thumped once out of rhythm to comprehend, all else had been laid aside and they two were back together, perfectly united in this goal, whatever it was, and he had never felt such addictive vitality and purpose.
Exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he'd always been meant to do, in company of exactly who he'd chosen to do it with.
He could leap from the chopper and float on this feeling, spread-eagled, all the way down to the roof…
Except – Arthur was going to fall.
Any second now, that cocky let's-go would slide into wait-what, eyes widening and mouth dropping open on a helpless inhalation and his flailing hands would miss the treacherous rope and Merlin wouldn't be able to reach him in time.
Any. Second. Now… Merlin knew – how did he know? how could he know? – anysecondnow…
Arthur grinned confidence and excitement, and plummeted into darkness.
The window in the second upstairs bedroom of Hunith's cottage could see a glitter-blue sliver of the sea, if you leaned against one side of the frame at approximately Merlin's height.
He'd woken haunted by the look on Arthur's face from his dream – everything the scout was, to his bones, and the rare emotion he showed to strangers, that would vanish when he fell. That had been missing, since they'd parted in Camelot, weeks ago.
Merlin couldn't help thinking of certain expressions he'd caught on the scout's face, during the time of his recovery after the boat explosion. After dawn in Alice's living room in Drysell, and Merlin's confession of betrayal.
Self-doubt. I'm sorry for the way I treated you… I could have told you my plan…
Alice had once said, You can retreat, and protect yourself – or you can risk offering to figure out something else with him. And her friend was comfortable presiding over briefings in her dining room, now.
He remembered waiting for Arthur to wake after surgery, to render judgment – it was up to him, the course of their relationship. Deeply ironic, maybe – to wonder if Arthur was feeling any of that, since Janada. Feeling, and covering.
This time, it would have to be up to Merlin to say, No second-guessing mission choices – in the moment you have to accept, you made the best choice you could. Debrief and analysis, was where mistakes were learned from… In other circumstances, he could test where a reminder might land, if he lobbed that over Arthur's white-stone walls. Tease him about it. But not now – and not when it involved his family so intimately.
You're going to find out a helluva lot more about me than anyone else knows.
True.
Merlin couldn't help thinking of the last meeting he'd been in with Gaius and Arthur, the briefing room at Fort Fuller. We have decided to employ an asset – untried and untested.
Yeah, all right, he'd answered, making an effort for flippancy.
But he'd meant it, because Arthur had also told him, Only do this thing if you can give yourself wholeheartedly to the mission.
He breathed and watched the dawn gild that sliver of distant water, fingering the fringe of the gray-patterned curtain, listening to the sounds Freya made in the ensuite bathroom behind the closed door.
She was humming some bar-ballad he couldn't put a name to, making it whimsical rather than raucous.
A new day.
This room was meant for you, she'd told him last night. Who else does your mother expect to visit, and stay over?
But no, the guest suite was for Freya, and he'd taken the rug in the living room and left the couch open for Gwaine – who was still healing from the sniper's bullet in the village, and the comparatively superficial damage they were all sporting from their days in Janada. Gwaine deserved the extra measure of comfort, too, keeping dinner prep and consumption and drinks-and-dessert afterward, light and undemanding. Charming and nonspecific and Hunith relaxed and Merlin relaxed and Freya hadn't been shy or self-conscious at all.
The bathroom door opened, and Merlin didn't turn at the pause. Didn't turn when she moved up behind him, leaning against his five o'clock and slipping her arms around his middle, resting her cheek against the side of his arm. He didn't even have to turn his head to inhale the damp fragrance of her hair, and it was almost the right moment to think about seeing if her eyes and her lips and her body would answer his questions – seeing if she had any questions she wanted his body to answer – but not quite.
"What do you think we should do today?" she said quietly.
She had chosen her words deliberately. What we should do. What we should do – because it was also an offer for accompaniment and companionship. Whatever he chose, she would choose with him. Together.
Arthur was headed to Camelot alone.
But he preferred that… and hadn't asked… and wouldn't ask. He wouldn't say to Merlin, desperate and swift, I know I need help.
Before he could find thoughts to put into words that might result in something like a decision, heavy footsteps sounded swift on the stairs, taking two at a time.
"Morning," Gwaine drawled at the open doorway behind them. "Your mum says, pancakes or waffles?"
Merlin turned, Freya's body swaying with him, to eye Gwaine. One shoulder against the doorframe, the rest of him slouched lazily… eyes glinting, fingers toying with a half-sheet of stiff paperboard decorated with bright advertising colors.
Shopping.
"The post came early," Merlin said observationally.
Gwaine didn't even blink. "It's got your name on," he drawled. "Your mum says that's never happened."
Freya let go of Merlin and crossed the room; Gwaine let her pluck the mail-ad from his hand. She read it silently, then held it up for Merlin to see – though the images were too small, the words unclear from the distance.
Reddy, Williams, and Abel. Something along the lines of, Fine Purveyors of Formal Wear. On-premises tailoring, walk-ins welcome, nine to ten am.
Freya turned the card to show him the back – still indistinct, but recognizably the address square with the posting information. His name printed, not handwritten. Hunith's address – and he was certain she'd never even thought of purchasing evening-wear, much less having it tailored for an event where that would matter.
Something like the election gala at the museum.
"Scouts don't believe in coincidences," he said aloud.
Gwaine reached to tip the card in Freya's hand so he could look at it again. "What about psychics?"
"This place is local," Freya mentioned, then offered the paperboard ad to him. "Do you want to-"
"She won't have touched it," he said, without moving from his place.
Gwaine tipped his head like he was intuiting the same thing at the same time-
I think it would be best if you went alone, she'd told Arthur. I don't think it'll work, you walking up the red carpet alone. Wouldn't it be better to set up discreet surveillance…
"Because he's going to face a psychic," Merlin realized. Oh, he'd been slow still, yesterday.
Would Arthur guess? Had Gwen convinced him he was on a doomed solo mission? Would he guess – or would he hide even a suspicion deep down. Because he knew he was going to face a psychic.
Had Gwen convinced Arthur as well as Arthur had convinced Merlin, in the hotel security office. This is what everyone must believe that I believe. Had anyone else noticed Alice flinch when Gwen said that, and bite her lips shut?
He knew how it hurt, to craft a sentence and wield it like a weapon against someone you cared about, who trusted you and maybe you were setting a fuse to blow that trust to smithereens but-
Only do this thing if you can give yourself wholeheartedly to the mission.
There's more at stake than your feelings.
"Are we double- or triple-blind now?" Freya wondered, re-reading the card. Her posture and attitude were soldier. Not lover, and not victim. He knew what that meant as surely as he could feel her intentions when she leaned against him and circled his ribs with her arms.
Together.
Merlin filled his lungs and it felt like the first free breath he'd taken in months. There was choice, and there was choice.
"How about you, Gwaine?" he said, and let the emotion spread his mouth in a grin. "Anytime you wanna get shot at…"
"Oh hellyeah," Gwaine said cheerfully, gleaming with anticipation. "We'll tell your mum, pancakes to go."
A/N: I guess maybe it's pointless now to apologize for delays in posting new chapters, since there have been so many and for so long… but this chapter, I actually lost several pages because they didn't save when I told them to… :( Rewriting has always been a bear for me, to recreate something I already expressed once, so I procrastinated. On purpose. Sorry…