Pacing his prison like a restless hound, Arthur examined the bars for any flaw. From what they'd been able to ascertain through hushed conversation each member of their party had been confined to individual cells. They had also been placed along either side of the dungeon block, an empty compartment between each man.
The torch lit room around him was simple: stone walls and a sturdy, iron grate. The floor was composed of hard packed dirt scattered with straw and a bucket propped in the corner to collect a prisoner's waste. The place was decently clean, as far as dungeons went. Still, the air carried an undeniable perfume of ocean salt, human filth, and misery.
He examined their circumstances with the eye of a strategist. Presumably a few days now had passed since their initial capture, his best guess being they'd been drugged to keep them quiet and complicit during transportation to Dyfed's dungeon. Arthur had initially woken with a pounding headache in a disheveled heap on the floor of his cell, his last memory-
Merlin's throat opening, gaping wide, bright gore fountaining over the already scarlet scarf deepening the color grotesquely to an almost black-
Blinking hard he dragged his hands down his face, fighting to dispel the images pressing on his mind. They'd been stripped of both their weapons and their armor…
Armor clad figures piled atop him, crushing him, grinding his face against the dirt packed stinging his eyes as he fought to reach for his dying friend-
Clenching his fist Arthur dug his nails into his palm until the physical sensation grounded him once more in the present. Continuing his inspection of the cell he brushed aside hay to see the bars were buried, hammered into the dirt floor and ceiling. He dug the toe of his boot at the bottom; trying to make a hole and finding the iron reached too deep.
"What do you think they plan to do with us?" Elyan's voice asked, drifting to Arthur from out of sight.
Across the passage and to one side he could see Leon leaning against the bars of his own cell. Meeting his gaze the senior knight's serious eyes were dark with unvoiced concern. Arthur looked away, refusing to acknowledge the unasked questions there. "I'm sure there's been a misunderstanding."
"And you'll do what, have a nice and civil conversation with the Queen?" Gareth's voice now, uncharacteristically sharp. "A knight is dead! Slaughtered like an animal."
Though Arthur hadn't known him well, Emmanuel had been a promising knight. Born to a cobbler he'd stood out during his testing; demonstrating an enthusiasm for teamwork and a willingness to accept feedback Arthur rarely saw from young men. His death weighed heavily on the King's conscience. His rage, usually slow to stir, rose now like a striking serpent, "I remember the cost as well as you!"
Rather than backing down Gareth's own anger leapt to meet his. "None of this would have happened if you weren't willing to trade a knight for a pawn!"
"Enough!" Thundered Leon in a tone he usually reserved for the battlefield. "Bickering among ourselves will get us nowhere. Hold your tongue, Gareth. I understand you grieve for Emmanuel, but nobody here is responsible for his death. Besides…"
Again, his eyes flicked briefly towards Arthur. "Emmanuel's was not the only life lost."
Arthur threw himself back from the bars, heat pounding in his forehead. Shame, confusion, grief, all of it swirled unchecked within him. Retreating to the back wall of his cell and what little privacy the shadows offered, he ran through the events of the ambush over and over again, obsessing over what he may have done differently. Searching for how he might have saved his people. For why his manservant might had addressed Berwyn with familiarity.
It was only then he realized- the remnants of dried blood still coating his hands, his arms, his clothes…. belonged to Merlin.
Seizing handfuls of straw Arthur began, almost frantically, to scrub at his skin.
XXXX
It took three days for Merlin to open his eyes. It was still another half a day after that before he recovered enough to speak.
The entire time Gaius hovered around his ward like a broody hen, leaving only at Gwen's insistence that he get some fresh air. Three times a day he cleaned Merlin's shoulder, wiping away the pus and flushing the wound with boiled vinegar before reapplying a thick poultice of mixed herbs, honey, and clay to continue to draw out the infection. He also spread bruise balm over nearly every inch of Merlin's body, tending the swollen, split, and bruised flesh left by the beating.
Under his careful ministrations, Merlin's fever finally broke.
The first thing he had done after regaining his senses was to devour a loaf of fresh bread from the kitchen. Between famished bites, he told his tale to Gaius. The Physician had banned any visitors until Merlin had had the chance to eat something, but warned Merlin that if they took much longer Gwaine would likely resort to crawling through the window. So, quickly, Merlin had described in as much detail as he could remember his kidnapping in the forest, his stint in captivity, as well as his subsequent escape.
This story was then repeated to a solemn Gwen, keeping the details of his escape vague enough to remove any reference to magic. The Queen's tired eyes grew darker as the story unfolded, mouth pressing into a tight line.
"Then it is as we had feared, this was all a trap."
She held out a scroll "This was found in the saddlebags of the horse you rode in on. It details a challenge from Her Grace Líadan Morcant, sole monarch of Dyfed. She asserts that Arthur led a small war party, unprovoked, onto her lands-"
"But that's a lie!" Merlin burst out furiously, interrupting her. His hands gripped the blankets over his knees so hard his knuckles went white.
Gwen continued grimly, "She also claims that, when discovered and confronted, Arthur attacked her men, including her son. Because of this they have been arrested and imprisoned, awaiting trial. It ends with a warning that any interference from Camelot in her pursuit of justice will be taken as a declaration of war."
"But she can't, they can't do this!" protested Merlin, looking back and forth from Gwen to Gaius.
"I'm afraid she can, it's her word against Arthur's," sighed Gaius, concern written in the tension furrowing his brow.
Gwen reached out to squeeze Gaius's arm. "We've arranged a meeting to negotiate with Queen Morcant, but she hasn't given us much time to prepare. I've called on our vassals to fulfill their military obligations, already the first of their number are arriving. And while I know Arthur would disapprove, I've also extended employment to any sell swords and mercenaries in the city. We don't have time to be picky. It's my full intention to avoid a battle, but we will show we are prepared should it come to that. And we will not take the imprisonment of our people lightly."
Another three days later and Merlin, Gwaine, and Percival had all officially been declared 'recovered enough to be involved' by the physician.
All three were sporting stitches: Percival in a gash on his arm, Gwaine on the back of his head, and Merlin in his shoulder, across the bridge of his nose, and several in his lip. Merlin hated stitches. They itched constantly, even despite the soothing salve Gaius had given him.
Gwaine had been inconveniently attentive; constantly offering to help Merlin change his bandages, not letting him carry heavy loads, and overall hovering to the point of endearing frustration. Merlin had taken the first chance he'd had to heal his ribs, but he knew even without Gaius's warning that were his shoulder wound to simply vanish as if by magic, it would certainly be noticed by his friend. The look in the knight's eyes as he persistently mothered him, combined with the way Merlin would catch Gwaine staring at his still fading bruises, made him suspect the man was blaming himself. Although any time he had tried to talk with the knight about it, he had found a convenient way to dodge the subject. And Merlin was too busy fretting over Arthur to pursue the matter as aggressively as he might have otherwise.
He longed to jump on a horse and take off, riding straight into the heart of Dyfed to rip apart their castle stone by stone until he uncovered Arthur and the others. But Merlin knew he was no army, and he'd be going in blind. So instead he contented himself with riding out with the company to meet the armies gathering on the planes of Asgorath, positioned on either side of the border between Camelot and Dyfed.
The royal convoy rode on ahead of the supply train and camp followers, moving fast. Still, it was a long and arduous trip to the valley, especially as Merlin's body remained deeply bruised and battered. He tired quickly, relying heavily on the potions Gaius provided to give him the strength and endurance to keep up over a little less than a week of riding. Even then his shoulder wound reopened on the fourth day leading to Gaius exiling him to the back of the medicine cart. While he did find it an improvement to riding, with each clop of the horse's hooves he fantasized about making the trek in a carriage brimming with goose down pillows, rather than the ancient bouncing wooden monstrosity Gaius drove.
When at last they arrived, it was to the sight of a camp of at least a thousand soldiers, along with perhaps an additional three hundred mercenaries and sell swords. The banners of many of Camelot's noble lords waved proudly, the numbers already more than impressive for such a short notice.
Despite this showing, visible in the far distance several miles away on the other side of the border, Dyfed's gathered army dwarfed theirs. Merlin estimated maybe five thousand heads, outnumbering Camelot's gathered forces by four to one. The sight made his gut clench.
Following Gaius's instructions Merlin managed to get the medical tent set up with assistance from two other castle servants, both looking as grim as he felt. Once they had finished and before Gaius could give him another chore he slipped away into the flow of the bustling camp.
The smell of horses, leather, and sweat filled the chill midday air. Men called to each other in rough voices. The once grassy field beneath his feet had already been churned to dirt and smoke rose into the air from countless cookfires. As he was a servant of Camelot technically any of these nobles or knights could enlist his aid, and he hadn't the time for distractions. So, grabbing an unattended bundle of firewood, he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and walked as though he had a purpose.
He passed a dozen great pavilions and at least a hundred fires, but with the directions from the other servants he passed Merlin managed to find his way to the royal tents. It was only upon arriving that he found they had been near enough the physicians own tent that he'd only gone and walked in a huge loop. Although tent hardly seemed adequate a word for this red cloth structure- Merlin had seen houses that were smaller than the massive sprawling thing before him.
So, this is war he thought. If it came to blows, how many of these people would never return home? The thought gave him a pang. He had to find a way to stop this.
He stood before the guards at the front entrance of the tent, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I have a uhm… a delivery from the court physician for the Queen."
The guards looked from Merlin to each other, one snorting doubtfully. "Your delivery looks like a bundle of sticks, boy."
"Oh, no I'm not delivering sticks," he laughed uncomfortably.
"Then what is it you're delivering," returned the guard, unimpressed.
Merlin realized he'd backed himself into a corner; he had nothing else on him. "What I mean is, these aren't sticks," he said hoisting his bundle.
"They're a special… incense... That the Queen uses to help her sleep at night." He plastered a smile as innocent and genuine as he could manage across his face.
"Isn't incense them tiny bits that smell funny when you burn them?" the other guard asked his companion, eyeing the bundle dubiously.
The first guard, who at this point was looking entirely fed up, shook his head. "No, it's-"
Merlin would never find out exactly what "it" was however, as at that very moment the tent flap pulled aside, and Gwen appeared.
"It's alright, let him enter," she commanded, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. With sour looks at Merlin, the two guards did as commanded.
Ducking inside he promptly abandoned his bundle of firewood, straightening and dusting off his hands.
Gwen was dressed in a fine riding outfit of brown leather and crimson wool, a fierce golden dragon embroidered across her riding skirts. Her thick dark hair had been swept back in an elegant knot on the back of her head. A simple golden circlet rested on her brow, and she looked every stitch a a moment, Merlin became aware of how grubby and unwashed he was after a week on the road. Tugging his jerkin closed self-consciously over his sweat stained tunic he shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.
Gwen didn't seem to notice, gazing at a map of the area which had been laid out on a table in the center of the main room. Small colored blocks of polished wood marked the location of each army's camp.
"Gwen, I'm… so sorry. I should have stopped this from ever happening."
She gave him an odd look before smiling sadly. "Come here and let me see you."
He did as she asked and Gwen placed her hands gently on his cheeks, turning his face side to side. She studied the bruises which had faded now to a faint brown and yellow, brushing her thumb over the bridge of his nose where it had been split.
She held his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You do more for Arthur than anyone. This was not your fault, Merlin."
"They used me as bait. And your brother- Gwen he's the only family you have left!" Guilt wracked his body in shudders, the full weight of what had happened crushing him.
"Their loyalty to you is not a weakness, no matter how our enemies have tried to twist it that way. We will get them all back."
Sighing, Gwen let go of his face and sat down in a luxuriously cushioned chair gesturing to another beside the first. Silently, Merlin joined her. "Many years ago, when I had only just become Morgana's handmaiden, an envoy was visiting Camelot from Dyfed. Queen Morcant had sent her favored advisor, a man by the name of Edryd Carrow. He was both charming and handsome, and lady Morgana took to him quickly, as did many of the ladies of the then Uther discovered he was a magic user. Against all counsel, full of wrath that a sorcerer had come into the heart of Camelot, he had the man executed. And then, in reckless fury," Her voice grew quiet, dropping to almost a whisper. "He sent Queen Morcant Lord Edryd's head in a box. Uther was certain she had been conspiring against him, that it had been an assassination attempt. He was beyond reason."
Merlin was quiet, eyes wide, horrified at the barbarity of it.
"The fault for what's happened does not rest on you, Merlin. The seeds for this were planted long ago."
Her eyes met his and he saw an uncharacteristic buckling there. Her spine slumped forward, eyes glinting with tears, fear slipping through the cracks of her iron composure. "But I don't know… how to get them back. I don't even know how to lead an army. None of the counselors trust me, they believe me to be a charlatan and a harlot. What if I can't do it?"
"I know you can!" The vulnerable slope of her shoulders called to something deep inside Merlin, causing him to ache. And wildly, recklessly, he knew what he had to do. He knew what he had to offer, how to help.
He could give her a weapon.
Heart pounding as though trying to burst free of his chest, Merlin squared his body in his chair to brace himself. "Gwen, I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"There's something that I can do, to help." He inhaled slowly, resisting the sudden urge to run that was stealing over him. Is this what a deer feels like, in the moments before it flees the hounds?
"Gwen, I - "
Suddenly there was a voice from outside the tent, interrupting, "Excuse me, my Lady? The Lords you requested for the council are here."
Startled they both looked towards the entrance. Gwen glanced curiously at Merlin before answering, "Of course, just one moment. Merlin, can this wait? I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it had become. I need to greet the nobles."
The breath caught in his chest released. It felt like someone had snatched him back from the edge of a cliff a moment before tumbling off. Pulse slowing, hands unclenching, he forced a smile. "Of course."
He bowed and moved to leave but she caught his arm. "Will you stay?"
Gwen's eyes said what her voice didn't, I'd like a friend here.
"They believe me to be a charlatan and a harlot."
"Of course I'll stay."
Stepping back, Merlin moved to one side of the tent. He stood with his back against the canopy, hands clasped, head bowed. With no refreshments at hand to serve, he focused on being as unobtrusive as possible.
Gwen gave a signal to the guards and finely dressed men filed in, their outfits practical for a battlefield but exquisitely made. The acting guard captain and several of the most senior of Camelot's knights followed, and Merlin thought with a pang of how Leon should be among them.
"First of all, my Queen, I wanted to say how relieved we all are by your safe arrival," began one Duke in a thickly pompous voice, before descending into a long-winded formal introduction of each of the nobles.
It only became more tedious from there.
Try as he might, Merlin couldn't seem to pay enough attention to follow the council's conversation for more than a few seconds at a time. The politics of court had always bored him to tears, and he would typically spend his time daydreaming whenever he had attended meetings with Arthur. As much as he'd have thought a war council would be more exciting, it wasn't. It was just as much posturing and empty platitudes as any other.
His mind, well trained to wander, shifted to Arthur and the Knights. Why now? If what Gwen said was true and Queen Líadan had been nursing such a grudge for so long, why act now? And what did she believe her lies would accomplish? He combed through his memories of all he'd overheard in his time with Odvar and Maeve, trying to see if reframing any of it would bring some new insight to light.
Merlin looked at his friend, studying her face as she listened to the lords debate and shout over strategy. Frowning, troubled, he could see the darkened circles under her eyes that hadn't been there a week before.
Suddenly a large man, hair black as pitch and oiled back, body clad in half plate, slammed his fist on the table for emphasis. "We should attack on the morrow! They outnumber us, but that is precisely why they won't expect it. If we split our forces and encircle them here then we can-"
"That would be foolhardy," sneered another voice. A tall Lord dressed in the colors of forest green and lemon-yellow stepping forward. "It's clear that we should use stalling tactics and wait for a response from Gawant, they will be obliged to aid us. Queen Líadan will balk under our combined forces; she would have no choice but to surrender her prisoners."
"We should be pulling conscripts from the city!" Another argued. "A boy old enough to swing a scythe can swing a sword." A general murmur of consensus rose as this suggestion, the Lords all nodding to each other.
"I will send a raven to-"
"No," Gwen's voice was at a normal volume, but it cracked through the room with authority, silencing the bickering. "We will not pull farmers from their fields to act as sacrificial pawns in a battle we may yet avoid."
"A commoner Queen would say that."
Merlin couldn't tell who had muttered it, but from the looks in the eyes of the men standing around the tent more than a few agreed. The knights present shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. Merlin made a careful mental note of each, rage simmering beneath his skin. They never would have dared be so bold if Arthur were here.
Gwen remained undaunted. "A commoner Queen, perhaps. But have you considered, my Lords, who will finish the harvest and sew the fields for the next year if we take all the men and young boys from their work?"
Silence. Gwen's eyes met Merlin's, and he gave her the tiniest of nods. Keep going.
"The women will be able to do a portion of the labor, of course, but they already toil alongside their husbands. And when the snow comes and the harvest rots in the field, will it be your children who cry from the hunger gnawing in their bellies? When the ground is too frozen to plough and the next year's harvest remains unplanted, will it be your aging fathers and mothers who walk into the woods so that their grandchildren may have one more mouthful?" Gwen stood tall and made eye contact with each Lord in turn until they looked away, none were able to hold her gaze.
Gwen continued, more quietly now. "Their only purpose would be to die. Each of you has taken an oath to protect the subjects of this Kingdom in the name of the Crown. Perhaps you now believe yourselves above the very oaths you swore?"
When again Gwen received only silence, she continued in a voice that rang with quiet authority and profound dignity. "My husband would rather die than have his freedom bought with the blood of his people. I cannot command your respect, my Lords, but I demand you do your duty. And if any of you cannot manage to do so with a civil tongue in your head, then I will replace you with someone who can."
Pride roared like a dragon in Merlin's chest, and he couldn't suppress a fierce smile. She was a fine Queen, indeed.
A new voice spoke up. "We have all shamed and dishonored ourselves by entertaining such poor conduct, my Queen. I, for one, offer the sincerest apologies."
A young noble stepped forward and went down on one knee before Gwen. He had bright blonde hair cascading in curls around a sharp featured face, brows furrowed and eyes downcast in seemingly genuine remorse.
Gwen's demeanor did not soften as she looked at him. "I'm afraid insults and apologies alike hold little currency for me when my husband and his loyal knights remain imprisoned, Lord…"
"Kylar, your majesty. Kylar Balcom. You perhaps knew my late father, Marquess Meurig Balcom."
"I was sorry to hear of his passing."
"Your condolences honor my family, my Queen."
Finally, Gwen relented, her voice softening almost imperceptibly. "Rise and tell me, Marquess Balcom, what is it that you'd have me do?"
The young man didn't hesitate, resoundingly confident and calm as he straightened. "Ideally, we free our King without any battle. If it does come to war, what prevents her from simply executing them? Líadan lies about the charges, of course, but it is our King's word against hers. That is a pointless argument and offers only a standstill. She may be content to have our King rot in her dungeons but I for one am not!" His voice rose with the passion of his words, and Merlin could see the others around him nodding, caught up by his fervor.
The young man continued, arms spread, "So drag the truth into the light, challenge her to a trial by combat! Camelot's champion to duel against theirs, let the Gods show us all their judgement, and their favor."
His ringing proclamation was met with approving murmurs as each lord turned to his neighbor to confer. Even Merlin felt the excitement of it. He understood little of strategy, but it sounded like the perfect solution. And in a trial by combat Camelot's knights were the finest in all the lands, each trained by Arthur himself.
Gwen, however, had eyes only for Kylar. "Your suggestion reflects the wisdom of your father."
She turned from Kylar to address the room at large. "Time grows short my Lords, thank you for your input. I will take your suggestions under advisement. For now, I believe I have heard all I need."
"My Queen surely there is more to discuss -" began one man dressed in furs of black and white, looking ruffled and indignant at the sudden dismissal.
"You are my counselors; you have given your counsel. Now I will make my decision. Leave me."
"Are they always that polite?" murmured Merlin sardonically, once the last of them had gone. A chill was stealing through the air as the day came to a close, so he knelt to begin a fire in the brazier. Stiffness clung stubbornly to his limbs as he did so, causing him to wince slightly. What he wouldn't give for a hot bath.
Gwen gazed into the burgeoning flames; eyes unfocused as her thoughts took her down paths Merlin couldn't guess at.
"Believe it or not, for many of them their spite is born out of the love they hold for their King. They remember my… indiscretions and believe Arthur should never have taken me back. They believe I will disappoint him, betray him, again. And I cannot say that I blame them."
She sighed, looking weary beyond her years. "All I can do is prove them wrong. I will not fault them for their love, or for their devotion."
Merlin looked carefully at his hands as he worked at the second brazier. The memory of the pain she'd caused Arthur with her tryst with Lancelot was easy to recall. Merlin had been the one to take the brunt of Arthur's misplaced anger, and the one to witness his grief in the quiet moments he'd thought nobody was watching. And, too, Merlin recalled the confusion and frustration he himself had felt towards her for her choices, as well as the disappointment.
Gwen's voice jolted him from the unpleasant memories.
"Earlier, what was it you had wanted to say?"
Insides seizing up he tensed, had he really been about to confess his magic before? Something about Gwen, her honesty, her vulnerability, her kindness, made him want to spill his own deepest hurts and darkest truths into her gentle light. Surely, surely, she would understand.
The moment hung, fragile, suspended between them.
But when he opened his mouth to confess, to offer himself up to her mercy, the words failed him. The same fear which had lain like an invisible noose around his neck since the day he'd entered Camelot to see the brutal execution of a sorcerer tightened, strangling his voice. And the silence lasted long enough for his sanity to reassert itself.
"I just- no it's nothing. I wanted to ask you a question, but I think I figured it out on my own."
She looked doubtful but did not press him on it. Instead, she addressed their most crucial issue: what to do about Arthur.
"So, tell me then, Merlin. What would you choose?"
Merlin found himself taken aback by her question, hesitating. Arthur never asked him his opinion on matters of politics, at least not directly. He'd always find some sideways way of asking of course. But a direct question, as though he weren't a servant, but a confidant? An advisor?
Her trust awoke a quiet, fragile longing in his chest. And it filled him with a shame as hot as an ember that he had refused to give her the again, how much freedom of speech did he really have with Gwen when it came to matters of ruling the kingdom? Was he overthinking this whole thing?
She smiled faintly as though she had guessed his thoughts.
"I trust and value your opinion. You can speak freely to me, Merlin. I may be Queen now, but we've been friends since I was still a servant. My being Queen doesn't change that."
A smile spread across his face, shoulders relaxing. Definitely overthinking it.
So, he stood straight and met her gaze evenly. "You should initiate a trial by combat. We're vastly outnumbered in a battle, and anything else risks her executing them as declared prisoners of war."
Gwen was silent but Merlin could tell what she was thinking. "They're still alive, I can feel it! Besides, if they had been killed then their deaths would have been paraded. There are no good options, but it seems to be your best."
Nodding, Gwen clasped her hands in front of her, "I agree, though I wanted to see what your thoughts on the matter were. The meeting with Queen Morcant is at sun high tomorrow, we will send a small delegation to go meet hers in the no man's land between our two camps. I want both you and Gaius to attend. Gaius, so he can assess her prisoners should she let us see them. As for you, she won't know your face, but if you're seen there then word will eventually reach her of your identity. If she doesn't already know, then perhaps learning you survived will unnerve her. We need every edge we can get."
A/N: I'd like to confirm my transition to now updating every two weeks, rather than every week. Baby girl was born healthy and happy earlier this month!
Today's update was a few days late, but honestly that's entirely because I lost track of what day it was. Oops!