Summary
Merlin wrestles with divided loyalties while his closest friend remains missing.
Chapter 69 Crown and Conscience
Merlin stood with Gwen at the balcony's threshold overlooking the dwindling activity inside the great hall, his shoulders as rigid as the marble beneath his boots. The once grand space had been transformed into a war room, with rows of tables and maps covering every available surface. The scratch of quills mingled with hushed conversations as scribes diligently recorded the discussions and decisions being made at nearly every table. He scanned the room, taking in the gritty faces and the purposeful movements of those gathered, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Fredrick hovered near Leon, who sat at the table centered in the hall, men and women crowded around him, focus and concern upon their features. Percival, captains, and commanders bent over their own tables upon the dais, maps and papers spread before them. Arthur and Gwen's throne chairs had been tucked even further back in a corner, a poignant reminder of the king's absence.
A mix of the classes wove between the tables, their shared mission to find King Arthur binding them together. Even George and Jacinth contributed by providing food and water for those in the hall, George directing other servants while his mother, Hunith, managed the replenishment and distribution of provisions. The absence of Sefa, still recovering from her ordeal with the seer, was very noticeable.
Knots in Merlin's shoulders had crept up his neck and blossomed into a full-blown headache, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension, but the dull throb persisted. After two and a half days of Arthur's absence, exhaustion loomed inevitable. His second search attempt had ended prematurely this morning when Galahad pulled him away to find the seer. Now, with dusk approaching, Merlin's frustration mounted at the day's loss, restless energy surging through his veins. He shook his head in exasperation, shifting his stance.
Like the group of people circling Leon, their voices rising and falling in a steady hum of conversation, Merlin waited to be assigned to tomorrow's team. Leon kept meticulous record of searched areas and territories still needing coverage, his quill moving steadily across the parchment. Merlin deferred to others to lead the teams, knowing his duties as Court Sorcerer could pull him away at any moment, just as they had earlier today.
As Merlin watched the activity, his mind wandered back to his meeting with the seer. The journey to find Lady Wynifreed begun at the druids' encampment where he and Galahad consulted Masters Iseldir and Alator. The earthy scent of the forest clung to their clothes as they sat cross-legged in the dimly lit tent, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the canvas as they discussed the seer's whereabouts.
From there, reaching the Isle of the Blessed required only a simple teleportation spell. The tang of dark magic saturated the air, the crumbling stones of the castle thrumming with power. His magic kin had returned in force to rebuild their sacred site, but unlike the assembly of sorcerers the week before, this dense gathering stirred an inexplicable unease in him. His magic bristled and coiled with each step, ready to strike as ancient power pulsed through the very foundations around them. Upon finding the seer, it was her steep and unusual demand for recompense that truly caught them off guard.
Lady Wynifreed's striking blue eyes glinted with a hint of malice as she named her price: a vial of blood from each of them, freely given. He and Galahad had exchanged wary glances, her unsettling demand hanging oppressively between them. Yet, they could receive no higher recommendation than the two master sorcerers and paid her price, watching as the dark crimson liquid swirled in the delicate glass vials she held up to the candlelight.
Though the seer confirmed Sefa's mind had been tampered with magic, Lady Wynifreed had been unable to find anything to aid in the search for Arthur. She did learn some things about the young man named Derrick Andronicus. From the memories that she captured of Sefa's experiences, Derrick was not his true name, nor was his true appearance so young. Several layers of spells were peeled away, each one like a veil of mist dissipating under the seer's relentless probing. The deeper she searched, the more sinister the magic became, with traps laid specifically for Galahad and him. Through these masterfully woven deceptions, it became clear how Sefa had been enchanted, magically forced to reveal the details of the king and queen's travel plans.
Merlin glanced at Gwen, her expression distant, the sun's final light marking the passing minutes. Her shoulders matched the rigidity in his own, yet she maintained the burden of her calling with quiet fortitude. He understood what lay below the surface of Gwen's regal bearing – the private anguish of a wife, the solitude of a queen's rule, the uncertainty of impending motherhood without Arthur at her side.
"Have you decided what you'll do about Sefa?" he asked, steering their focus to matters requiring action.
Gwen's gaze shifted to meet his, solemnity etched into her features. "It wasn't her fault," she replied, grief tinging her words. "She's taken this hard – as are we all." Gwen scratched her brow, a subtle gesture of frustration, a fleeting crack in her queen's armor.
"Morgana warned Dodd was a dangerous shape-shifter. Now we know the depths he would go to get what he wants." Dodd's actions mirrored his magic – twisted and malevolent. If he would inflict such harm on an innocent like Sefa to achieve his goals, Merlin dreaded contemplating what torments he might devise for Arthur, his true target. He pushed the thought away, steadying his voice. "But despite it all, Sefa survived his assault – one soul still with us. Ruadan is using something Galahad referred to as 'gentle healing magic' to help her through this. She'll be all right. I promise." His reassurance rang hollow, offering little comfort when Arthur's fate remained unknown.
"That's good to hear. Sefa may return as my servant whenever she's ready. I won't forsake her." Gwen's lips thinned. "But are any of us safe now, Merlin? Anyone can be assaulted, get close to Arthur and me. Who knows what other evil is brewing in the kingdom, in the towns, in this very castle? How many others will strike against us in the future?"
Her questions sent a chill through his bones, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as if sensing these unseen threats. His headache exploded into a constant throb as he looked out over the bustling hall. The untiring faces of the people blurred together, their individual features lost in a sea of shared purpose. Yet, beneath the surface, he could sense the undercurrent of fear, a hushed dread of darker days to come.
Merlin turned to face Gwen fully, studying her features, taking in the subtle signs of distress flickering past her calm exterior. He drew a deep breath, the pleasant scent of her lavender drifting on the soft breeze. "Gwen, I share your fears, but we can protect you, the heir, and Arthur when he returns. I can create powerful protection spells to shield you from those who wish you harm and repel enchantments. With a trusted sorcerer always at your side, you'd have a fighting chance against magical attacks." A glimmer of doubt shadowed Gwen's countenance, spurring him to continue.
"Still, I fear this abduction would have happened even if things hadn't changed," he pressed on, determination threading through his tone. "There will always be dark magic in the world, Gwen – freed or not. There will always be someone or some evil lurking in the shadows—now and in the future. But we must not despair." A relentless drive surged through him as he spoke. "We must fight back with every ounce of our being, to preserve the light of hope that Arthur and so many of us have fought so hard to build. In the face of evil, we must stand tall and unafraid, a beacon of courage and compassion in the gathering storm or else it will consume us. For Arthur's sake – we'll never give up hope. We'll battle until our last breath."
Something in her bearing shifted, a subtle transformation that reminded Merlin of the blacksmith's daughter who had faced down a prince. Her shoulders eased at his words, the royal facade softening. "It's so difficult at times," she admitted.
"Gwen, we – sorcerers – need your strength and support now more than ever too," he said, his words imbued with a quiet urgency that sent a visible shiver through her body.
Gwen studied him thoughtfully, nodding, her hair rustling with the gentle motion. "You have it, Merlin," she said, her promise filled with resilience and steely resolve that he could feel. "Always."
His emotions rose in his chest, a swell of gratitude and pride for his friend of so many years. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. Instead, he simply nodded in acknowledgment.
Merlin returned his gaze to the center of the war room where Leon was now hunched over a large map. He marked off areas with a decisive stroke of his quill and began assigning new territories to the gathered teams. He straightened, his great height towering above near all the rest, fresh maps grasped in his large hand.
"Lord Vincent, Sir James, and Reeve Ernst," he ordered, his voice drifting towards them, clear and authoritative despite the distance. He handed each of them a map as he continued, "Report to Sir Ranulf at the northern checkpoint tomorrow. He'll dispatch you from there. Lady Johanna, you're with Master Allen and Daegal —see Sir Robin in the west at first light." As the next set of team leaders stepped forward, their boots scuffing against the floor, Leon efficiently sorted through the remaining assignments.
Merlin watched the organized precision before him, deeply move by Camelot's remarkable unity in crisis. Knights and commoners, merchants and farmers, magical practitioners and some who once feared sorcery – all had set aside their differences to join the search for their king. While this show of solidarity inspired hope, Merlin's earlier unease persisted. The artifacts stolen from the vaults could pose a devastating threat to Arthur, and these earnest volunteers who searched so diligently might find their worst fears realized.
"In light of Lady Wynifreed's revelations, Galahad and I are returning to the druid camp tomorrow to consult the masters. We hope they can shed more light on the artifacts and their potential." His explanation struck a delicate balance, careful not to fuel further concern.
"Extend my appreciation and gratitude for their assistance," she replied with the natural authority of a queen who had earned her crown. "Camelot will not forget what they do for their king."
"Your words will mean much to them," Merlin replied. His gaze shifted to the far end of the hall, where the plush throne chairs once sat, now replaced by a long table where the war council assembled. Arthur's most experienced commanders and captains were deep in discussion, their voices low and urgent, the rustling of maps and the clink of chainmail punctuating their counsel. Among them, Percival listened intently, absorbing the wisdom of his seasoned colleagues.
A flicker of doubt crept into Merlin's mind, like frost claiming a windowpane. Would all their valiant efforts prevail? The kingdom faced threats from within and without – civil unrest in the streets, a sorcerer who had penetrated their defenses, and enemies potentially gathering at their borders. How could they overcome such odds if Arthur remained lost? Merlin clenched his teeth. He couldn't let these questions concern him. They would find Arthur, he steadfastly believed. It was only a matter of when.
He knew the force of magic provided the balance they needed, a power that pulsed through his veins and countless others like him, itching to be unleashed. He also knew Gwen was fully aware of all her allies – she wielded more than just the authority of the crown and the people she commanded. Magic stood behind her, a silent but potent presence now called into service. She employed all her resources to find Arthur – magic and might – evidence of her unwavering courage and leadership.
Still, a husband was missing, and a child was on the way…
Merlin looked at her, his admiration deepening as she guided their kingdom through this crisis. "You're amazing, Gwen," he breathed, his whisper almost lost in the hall's clamor. "I can't imagine your burdens… your despair, your… loneliness. With all that has happened, you've done well. Arthur would be very proud." The sentiment felt inadequate, a mere sigh in the magnitude of their situation, but he hoped she could feel the sincerity behind them, the depth of support they offered.
Gwen's eyes glistened briefly before she mastered herself. Moving away from the hall's commotion, she walked onto the balcony. Below, the square had begun to empty as the day's final search parties returned. The scattered sounds of horses and quiet commands drifted upward, the evidence dwindling of how many had set aside their daily lives to aid in finding their king.
"Thank you, Merlin," she replied, turning to face the courtyard where braziers flickered to life against the deepening dusk. "To be honest with you, sometimes I feel as fragile as a cracked eggshell." Her fingers found his briefly, the touch conveying what speech could not. "It's all right. I'll be all right," she added with unwavering resolve, despite the vulnerability in her smile.
Merlin studied Gwen, wondering how much the child growing within her influenced her remarkable composure. Yet another question nagged at him, one he had avoided until now. "Gwen, there's something I wanted to discuss with you—about Morgana," he ventured.
Her expression cooled, a practiced neutrality falling into place that gave Merlin pause. He understood the complexity of her position – Dodd and Mordred had served Morgana once, their brutal attack on Gwen, and Arthur's disappearance, echoing their former mistress's methods. Though Morgana had provided what information she could about the men, her usefulness to Gwen had likely run its course. After all, what did a queen owe to someone who had repeatedly tried to destroy her and her kingdom?
"It's important," Merlin said, ignoring the persistent ache in his head. Gwen's stern gaze held him in place, her hands folded protectively over her stomach. He cleared his throat, preparing to address a subject that had once haunted her sleep. The war room behind them, with its maps and urgent voices plotting Arthur's rescue, felt worlds away from this moment of truth, muted by what he needed to say.
"Morgana did something selfless – something wonderful," he confided, choosing each word deliberately. "Against all odds, she helped Kilgharrah and Aithusa make first contact with the lost dragons."
Gwen stilled, surprise flickering across her face before understanding transformed into judgment that needed no voice. "Merlin, despite the acceptance of magic and sorcerers," she challenged, each word reinforcing her command, "this is one thing I know Arthur feared most – more dragons in our skies."
"If it hadn't been for Arthur, they wouldn't have gone searching." Merlin countered, conviction strengthening his tone. "The skies nor the dragons are Arthur's realm to control. They're creatures of magic, born of the Old Religion, and they have as much right to exist as any other being."
"Merlin—"
"To deny them that is to deny the very essence of magic itself." Merlin held Gwen's frigid stare, the ancient authority of the dragonlord lending steel to his stance. Silence stretched between them, threatening years of friendship, but he refused to yield on this point. And yet, realizing this conflict only distracted from his urgent purpose, Merlin drew a steadying breath and collected himself. "Right now, that is not the issue, Gwen. Morgana injured herself during the connection with them. She could have died if I hadn't arrived when I did."
"So she's alright then," Gwen stated flatly, the response stripped of its usual warmth. The distance between them had grown into something more than physical space, and Merlin needed to tread lightly.
"She's recovering," he replied. Gwen's unflinching stare made him acutely aware of what he was about to ask. "But Kilgharrah doesn't believe he can continue as her sole guardian after this incident. Without human contact or aid..." The plea faded, leaving his unspoken request suspended between them. He had made his appeal; the decision now belonged to the queen alone.
Gwen remained inscrutable, each heartbeat of silence diminishing Merlin's hope as Morgana's fate pressed down on him. Her jaw tensed, a subtle ripple beneath her skin that spoke of restrained anger.
"Merlin, we didn't choose her prison nor her guard," she declared. "Why don't you take this up with your goddess?" She turned to leave, then faced him once more. "And may I remind you, that it is only by Arthur's mercy that Morgana is provided sustenance and clothing that could otherwise feed and clothe our own people. And remind her to take better care of herself." With that, Gwen departed, her skirts rustling as her footsteps faded into the great hall.
George materialized behind her with the fluid silence that had served Arthur so well. Jacinth and Fredrick followed, assuming their positions in her guard. Merlin watched them vanish out of the great hall, where the day's search efforts gradually waned to evening's tasks.
Gwen's dismissal left him off-balance, forcing him to face an uncomfortable truth – Arthur might have responded the same way. Morgana's betrayals ran deeper than mere political rivalry; she had systematically attacked everything they held dear. They'd reached the point of final judgment, ready to close that chapter permanently, when the Triple Goddess intervened through the Great Dragon's rescue. Yet the question remained: did divine intervention require eternal imprisonment? The uncertainty gnawed at him as such decisions lay beyond his authority.
Merlin sighed and turned away. Beyond the ring of torch light, darkness beckoned at the edges of the courtyard, matching his bitter disappointment to Gwen's cold refusal. He'd wanted just one element of this crisis to yield, one small path forward to reveal itself. Instead, he found himself gripping the balcony rail, head bowed under the weight of accumulating setbacks. In the wavering light below, he remained still, trapped between duty and despair.
A gentle touch on his back made him straighten. His mother stood beside him, and Merlin attempted a smile. "What is it?" she asked softly.
"It's Gwen—no. It's Morgana," he confessed. "She's changed, Mother. I wish Gwen could see that."
His mind returned to those hours with Morgana – her shortened hair framing her face, her eyes bright in the firelight, every detail preserved with startling clarity in his memory.
"The queen sees many things," his mother said, her wisdom gentle but pointed. "Perhaps more than you realize. Are you certain your concern stems only from compassion?"
Merlin found himself confronting feelings he'd once forbidden himself to acknowledge – sentiments buried beneath years of betrayal. Now they demanded recognition as he gazed across the courtyard.
"She was different that night," he explained. "Vulnerable, isolated, without any trace of her former bitterness. She expressed no hatred, showed no anger toward anyone – not even Arthur and Gwen." Though Morgana had remained indifferent to Arthur's abduction and Gwen's near-death, at least she hadn't celebrated their misfortune.
"I see," his mother murmured, studying his profile. "Your perspective has shifted because you witnessed her change firsthand. But Gwen's memories of Morgana are stained with years of betrayal. She watched her closest friend transform into someone who repeatedly tried to shatter everything she loved. Such treacheries leave scars that even time struggles to fade."
"I hear what you're saying, Mother," Merlin said quietly. "I shouldn't expect Gwen to set aside her pain just because I've glimpsed traces of the Morgana we once knew." His expression softened as that evening with her warmed him. "If you could have seen her with Aithusa – the gentleness she showed, the depth of their connection. It's unlike anything I expected to find in her."
He turned to lean against the railing, crossing his arms. "It's odd. My studies suggested only a dragonlord could form such a connection." Merlin recalled the ancient text he and Galahad had discovered – how that long-ago dragonlord had written of his dragon Avaline with the same devotion Morgana showed Aithusa. "It was comforting, to say the least."
"It seems to me," his mother observed, "that you both found solace in each other's company, each filling a void of loneliness – yours as much as hers on that mountain peak."
The truth in her words brought a faint smile to his face. After Freya's death, he had buried himself in his duties, convincing himself that loneliness was merely the price of destiny. The endless tasks of protecting Arthur and building Albion had left little room for companionship.
"That's part of the problem, Mother. She almost died on that mountain. Since Gwen refused to help, I'm thinking – what if the great dragon could find her a safer place? The goddess never specified the location; Kilgharrah chose it. Perhaps he acted hastily at first, with no time to consider better options for her care."
"You're thinking of a place where you wouldn't need him for transportation," she ventured. "Somewhere you could reach through your own magic?"
"Yes, exactly!" Merlin straightened, energy coursing through him. "When this crisis is over, I could visit more frequently, spend real time with her. Like the other night, we could—" He caught himself, but his mother's knowing smile made him continue. "We could share a proper meal, talk as... as friends should."
"I'm certain you both would enjoy that," she said. "But Merlin—"
A surge of voices from the great hall interrupted her counsel, and their attention shifted to the crowd gathered around Leon's table. Though the words were unclear, their urgent tone was unmistakable – a search party had returned with no news of Arthur. Their clothes bore evidence of their long hours on the road – dusty, sweat-stained, yet their posture remained determined despite the grave report.
Merlin turned to his mother, already calculating his next steps. "I need to speak with Galahad and Kilgharrah."
"Of course," she replied. "Just remember, Merlin – compassion can sometimes blind us to wisdom." She reached up and guided his head down to kiss his forehead, a mother's gesture unchanged by his height. "I should return to managing provisions for these final arrivals. Be careful."
His mother touched his arm briefly before departing, new faces among the servants converging on her – efficient replacements for George and Jacinth. As the last search teams headed for the doors with assignments for tomorrow, Merlin's thoughts had already turned toward the mountain peak – the possibility of finding Morgana a better sanctuary demanding swift action.
He needed Galahad to discuss this approach first – his mentor would understand the complexities of such a request. Then a careful conversation with Kilgharrah about secluded alternatives that would better serve everyone's needs.
Though the great hall would remain active with Leon and the commanders into the night, Merlin had found a different path forward – one that might ease at least one burden weighing on him. His headache forgotten in this surge of purpose, he left the search for Arthur to the others. The sooner he found Galahad, the sooner he could set this new plan in motion.