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Chapter Text

Merlin clenched his fist and did his best to keep his expression polite. “And that’s common, is it? Among the nobility?”

“I wouldn’t say common exactly, but it’s not uncommon either. It’s only… well, it’s an old tradition, and it’s rarely practiced because it’s viewed as… hmmm… special? It’s only that it’s far more important than a ring, you know?” Sara was so earnest about it. Merlin never really understood the appeal of noble traditions, but for someone who grew up in a castle, whose family had always been servants, these things were to be spoken of reverently.

“I see,” Merlin said. “If you’ll excuse me, Sara, I’ve duties to attend. Please congratulate Sir Caradoc and Esme; or rather, the Lady Esme.” He even managed to muster up a grin, at that, because it was happy news. Or it would be, if….

Merlin rushed out, and didn’t even hear Sara calling him to tell him he’d left his laundry basket. He hardly knew what he was doing, or where he was going, until he found himself racing up several flights of stairs and into a very rarely used supply room in the western tower. He flung himself in, and the second the door latched, he let his magic spill out; it spun itself through the air, and sank into the stones of the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and the wood of the door, sealing the room so forcefully against everything outside that it all burned gold for one hot, fiery moment.

Then he let his rage spill out, and screamed, and slammed his fist into an empty barrel for the satisfaction of breaking things, not with magic, but with skin, because if he used his magic to break anything now, he doubted he’d stop until half of Camelot was in shambles.

“How could he,” Merlin screamed. “How dare he?”

If there was an answer, he wasn’t going to get it from an empty room, but the thought of seeing him now… well, it burned. He broke a few more crates and barrels before he finally slid down to the floor, pressing himself to cold stone that did absolutely nothing to cool his temper.

Finally, he rose, mended the broken furniture, and unsealed the room, and left; he was shaky, and his throat was sore from screaming, but his eyes and face were dry, and that was probably the worst part, because he wanted, badly, to cry, and couldn’t.

Merlin decided he’d see the steward, claim illness or emergency and just go somewhere for a day or two, somewhere no one knew who he was, so he could calm down; gods knew he never took time off, and he could always be at the tavern if… if he decided to care.

“Merlin! There you are!”

Merlin bit his lip, and did not turn; the steward’s door was right there! “Leon. Did you need something?”

Leon frowned behind Merlin’s back. “Merlin are you alright?”

“Fine,” Merlin lied. Unseen, Leon’s frown deepened.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. What did you need?”

“Arthur sent me to get you, he’s been looking for you for hours, and I’m supposed to bring you to him at once.”

Merlin spun on his heels and glared. “And heaven help us if he doesn’t get exactly what he wants, on his terms and no others!” Merlin seethed. “Leon. If you value our friendship at all, you. Did. Not. Find me.”

Leon rocked back on his heels as if he were dodging a blow. “Merlin, what’s happened?”

“Don’t.” The word was low, but it couldn’t possibly be called soft.

Leon sucked in a desperate breath, feeling suddenly light-headed. “Merlin,” he said, and hated that it sounded like begging. “It was a direct order from the king, and it’ll be worse for us both if we don’t go to him.”

“I doubt that,” Merlin said. “But fine. Where is he?”

* * *

“You’re dismissed,” Arthur said, but gestured to hold some of them back. When the lords of the council had left, he waved to a servant and called for refreshments. “I’d like to discuss some things privately.”

“Something on your mind, Princess?” Gwaine asked.

“I am a King, Sir Gwaine,” Arthur said in mock offense. “I’d rather wait until Leon returns with that useless servant of mine, but yes, several things. Mainly about your encounter with the old sorcerer in the forest.”

Gwaine’s face darkened at Arthur’s casual insult, and Arthur had to fight the urge to roll his eyes; honestly, Arthur could appreciate his protective urges, but ever since Lance— ever since the Dorocha were banished, Gwaine had been treating Merlin like he was made of glass. Or maybe it was after Merlin went missing that things had gotten this bad; either way, it was getting out of hand, if their normal banter was starting to upset him this way.

“Arthur,” Gwen said, gently chiding, though that was less of a surprise. She’d been on him to treat Merlin better for ages; even she didn’t understand them, not really, because if she did, she’d know it wasn’t an insult when it was Merlin.

“What? He’s been missing for hours, and I want him here for this. He might know something,” Arthur said. “And he might be more inclined to share than Gaius.”

The doors opened, and Leon entered, moving like a man going into battle. Merlin followed him, a few paces behind, eyes downcast.

“Nice of you to finally show up, Merlin,” Arthur drawled. Then he frowned, because Merlin didn’t react, although, it almost seemed like he’d stiffened, a bit, but that couldn’t be right.

Arthur swallowed, and tried again. “I was beginning to think you were drowning in ale, and in the middle of the day no less!”

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Arthur would deny it to his dying breath, but he was beginning to feel almost nervous. “Don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

“No, sire,” Merlin said, low and cool. Arthur heard cloth rustling as Gwen fidgeted; Elyan and Percival were looking at each other with something like shock.

Gwaine snorted and leaned back in his chair until he was balancing on the back two legs. “Lover’s spat, eh?” he quipped.

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Merlin snarled.

Gwaine’s chair snapped down with a sharp thud. “Merls?”

“Merlin, what the hell’s gotten into you?” Arthur asked; he’d gone past nervous and circled round to baffled. He’d never, never heard Merlin speak to anyone that way, let alone Gwaine. The poor man looked like he was ready to cry, and Merlin clearly hadn’t even noticed!

Arthur looked at Leon, who shook his head, frowning deeply.

“Nothing,” Merlin said, using that cold, impersonal voice again. “What did you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Merlin, maybe I wanted my servant? And honestly, I am the King, I hardly have to explain myself to the likes of you.” Arthur said, lightly, trying again to get them back on familiar ground.

He couldn’t have known it, but that was exactly the worst thing he could have said.

Merlin snapped his head up, and several people gasped, Arthur included, because Merlin looked positively murderous, and Arthur had never seen anything like it. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen Merlin really, truly angry over the years, and almost every time, it was Uther on the other end of Merlin’s ire, usually after he had been particularly harsh with Arthur. Seeing it now, directed at him… Arthur was well and truly afraid, now, because something had gone badly wrong, and Arthur had absolutely no clue what it could be.

Then Merlin did the last thing anyone expected, and laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, Arthur! You’re absolutely right, why would you tell me anything? No, clearly, explanations are something I shouldn’t expect from the likes of you, you… you…” Merlin trailed off, obviously searching for a word strong enough to convey his— his what? Rage seemed like too pale a word.

“Merlin, what’s gotten into you?” Gwen asked, sounding horrified. “This isn’t like you at all….” Then she gasped a little. “Is it… should we get Gaius?” She frowned, and seemed to be looking at Merlin’s neck, of all things.

“No, Gwen, this time it’s all me,” Merlin said grimly.

Arthur blinked. What the hell does that mean? “What are you two talking about?” Arthur asked.

“It’s none of your business,” Merlin said.

“Merlin, I think I can decide what is and isn’t my business.”

“You always do,” Merlin said bitterly.

“Merlin, I don’t know what’s going on, but I am—”

“Arthur, if you value my continued presence in Camelot at all, you’ll finish that sentence with something other than your title.”

Everything went still, at that. Arthur was fairly sure he even stopped breathing for a moment; hell, he wasn’t entirely convinced his heart hadn’t skipped a beat or two. “Merlin?” he said, in a thin voice. “Please tell us what’s wrong."

Merlin stalked forwards, until he was leaning against the table with both hands pressed flat against the wood. “What’s wrong is you treating the people around you like they only exist for you,” Merlin spat. “Like you can pick and choose what you want, when you want it, and drop it all when you don’t.”

“Merls, mate, I know the Princess can be a bit of a brat, but don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?” Gwaine said, hesitantly, and Arthur swore then and there he’d cover the man’s next trip to the tavern, for defending him against Merlin, which was something he never would have imagined.

“I think,” Merlin said, slowly never taking his eyes off of Arthur’s, “that I’m being as soft as I possibly can be right now. I am barely restraining myself here, Gwaine. I had intended to avoid him for a few days, at least, but the prat had to have his way, again, and sent a bloody knight to fetch his little slave.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Gwen shouted. “I don’t know what’s going on, Merlin, but this is ridiculous; the two of you are friends— don’t argue, Arthur—” she glared at Arthur, who actually hadn’t planned on arguing the fact. “What on earth happened?”

Merlin’s glare grew hotter, and he still didn’t look away from Arthur, who was drawing on all his long years of training to keep himself from squirming. “I was just listening to some gossip, Gwen. Sara— the laundress? Sweet girl, really— was telling me all about how Sir Caradoc gave Esme his mother’s seal.”

Arthur felt all the blood leave his face.

“It was quite a sweet story, really, but I had no idea what that meant before she explained it to me! I mean, no one had seals or sigils in Ealdor, how was I supposed to know that’s pretty much a proposal? Or actually, more than a proposal, even! How was I supposed to know that when she accepted it, it meant they were essentially married on the spot?”

Percival spoke, then. “I’m confused.”

“I think we all are,” Elyan said quietly.

“What does that have to do with you coming in here and yelling at Arthur?” Gwen asked, clearly as lost as the rest of them.

“Because,” Merlin said, drawing something out from under his shirt. “I think I should have been told about that tradition by my husband!” He turned the word into something obscene, and the click of Ygraine’s sigil being set, deliberately, on the table sounded like an axe falling.

“What did you just say,” Leon said, in a terrible flat voice, surging up to the table to pick up the medallion and turn it over in his hands; he gasped as he flipped the image into view.

Arthur was still pinned by Merlin’s glare; he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to, though he very much didn’t want to, because he did not want to see the way the rest of them were looking at him, knowing, as he did, that their glares or looks of disappointment would be no less than he deserved.

“Merlin, I—”

“Don’t!” Merlin said, and plucked the seal from Leon’s fingers, brandishing it. “If you have an explanation for this, I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Maybe not ever, but certainly not now.”

Maybe not ever? Arthur panicked. “Merlin, please!”

“I was planning on making arrangements for you,” Merlin said, visibly fighting to keep his voice level. “But you can do it yourself, now. I will not be serving you this week, Your Majesty. If you want me to stay, on any level, you need to give me time. I’ll come to you when I’m ready to see you again. To… talk. But right now, I just… can’t.”

Merlin turned, and left as fast as he could without actually running, and no one tried to stop him. He took the sigil, though, and Arthur clung to that like a drowning man clinging to a rope, because if Merlin was really leaving for good, he wouldn’t have taken it. Would he?

“You messed up,” Gwaine said, darkly, obviously.

“No,” Leon growled. “You fucked up.” His First Knight, who was, himself, a noble, looked at Arthur like he’d befouled something holy— which, in a way, he had— and Arthur, who prided himself on keeping his emotions locked down when anyone was around to see, felt his eyes well up with tears as the man turned his back and left, moving even faster than Merlin had.

“What he said,” Elyan muttered.

One by one, his men left, and when the door finally shut, leaving him alone, Arthur put his head down onto the table.

Or maybe he wasn’t quite alone.

“Merlin may not want to hear what you have to say,” Gwen said, in a voice like ice, “but I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

Merlin made it halfway down the corridor when someone gripped his shoulders and spun him about; he very nearly struck out at whoever it was, but they moved too quickly, and he was yanked forward, and a pair of arms wrapped around him, tight. “I should have listened to you,” Leon said, “Crown be damned, I should have listened to you.” He was so close he could feel Leon swallow, but it was the soft, broken, “I’m sorry,” that finally did Merlin in.

Merlin sobbed into Leon’s mail, and clutched at his cloak, desperately, as the tears finally started to fall.

Leon let him for a long moment, then pulled away, shifting into a one-armed embrace, and said, “Come on,” and tugged him along.

They probably passed people, and there would probably be gossip, but it was all a blur, until Merlin was pushed down into a chair in front of a roaring fire, listening to Leon order a servant to bring them a food and some hot, spiced wine.

“Where—”

“My chambers,” Leon said, coming to kneel in front of him. He grabbed Merlin’s hands, rubbing them lightly with his thumbs. “I understand why you didn’t want to talk to Arthur, but Merlin, you have to let it out. You’re safe here, I promise you, let it out.”

“He’s the King,” Merlin said, softly, “and you’re—”

“The man who told him to his face that he fucked up.”

That startled a laugh out of Merlin. “I didn’t even know you could swear!”

“I don’t usually have reason to,” Leon said, roughly. “Today, I do. Merlin, I mean it, don’t hold back. I’ll understand. Hell, I’ll help you get out of the kingdom if I need to!”

Merlin laughed again, but it was a sharp, bitter thing that scraped his throat like broken glass. “I don’t think I can leave him, not really. Not even after this. But gods, Leon! He won’t even call me a friend to my face, but he— what am I even supposed to do with this?”

He broke again, and spent a good deal of time sobbing into Leon’s shoulder. They only broke apart when there was a knock at the door, and Leon rose up to go and take the trays from the servant. He set them on the table and motioned Merlin over, but Merlin just shook his head, though he did take the wine. He sipped at it, then just held it, rolling it between his hands and letting the heat soothe him as much as he could be soothed, just then.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be putting this all on you.”

“You aren’t,” Leon said, sternly. Then, more gently, he said, “I’m the one who brought you here, remember? I doubt you even knew where we were going.”

Merlin choked a little, because that was true, but he was past the point where he could laugh.

“My own mother gave me her sigil, when I came to Camelot,” he said, looking directly at Merlin. “And I treasure it, deeply. I’ve dreamed of the day when I might love someone enough to give it to them. What Arthur did…” he shook his head. “I just can’t believe it.”

“When he gave it to me, I almost didn’t take it,” Merlin confessed. “It was when we went to close the veil. I was going to walk through it, before Arthur did, you know? He didn’t know I was planning to, obviously. He thought he was dying, and I thought I was dying, and I didn’t want to take it from him like that, where he wouldn’t even see it again, and I thought I was the selfish one, for accepting it anyways, because it was… well, it was like proof; proof that I wasn’t just a servant to him.”

“Merlin, of course you aren’t just a servant. You aren’t ‘just’ anything,” Leon said, gently, “especially not to Arthur.”

“I wish I could say I know that, Leon, but it’s so hard,” Merlin said, reaching for Leon’s hand and feeling absurdly grateful when the other man gripped his in return. “He won’t actually say it; he’s never, not once, admitted that we’re friends, let alone whatever this is supposed to mean.” He tapped at his chest, at the sigil under his clothes. “And I want to believe he cares for me, at least a little, because there are these moments in between everything else. I’ve always been resigned to caring for him more than he does me, but I was desperate for some sign that there was at least something there, apart from me just being… familiar. Just another thing, precisely in its place, in Arthur’s world.”

“I tried to give it back a second time, when we got back to Camelot. I guess part of me figured he’d regret it once he wasn’t facing death, and I felt guilty for holding back part of his mother, but he just gave me the strangest look and said to keep it, that he wanted me to have it, but then… you want to know what he said next?”

“What?” Leon asked.

“It’s the worst part,” Merlin said, grimly. “He said, ‘Just keep it out of sight, Merlin, people might get the wrong idea, and wonder why you had it. They’d never believe you came by it honestly.’ And I’d been accused of stealing a seal before, with Catrina, so I didn’t even think twice, I just nodded and tucked it away, all this time.”

Leon winced.

“I held this sigil every night for weeks after Lance’s funeral, and kept telling myself he was worth it, all of it; all the loss, and the pain, and that one day, he wouldn’t hide from me. I thought it was proof that he didn’t want to hide his feelings, not really.” Merlin shook his head, and sighed. “I’m an idiot.”

“Never,” Leon said, squeezing Merlin’s hand tighter. “Never that, for all that people like to call you one. No one gives you enough credit, Merlin, but we know, we know how much you do for us.”

“You don’t,” Merlin said, with a dreadful, haunted look in his eyes. “You really don’t.”

“Maybe you should tell us, then.”

“I can’t. I really can’t.”

“You can,” Leon said. “But you don’t have to. Not until you're ready.”

Leon stood. “But you do have to eat something, and don’t say you aren’t hungry,” Leon said, shaking a finger at Merlin. “You have to, even if you just have a little.”

“Leon…”

“Merlin, let someone take care of you for once.” He grinned, widely. “Besides, this is the last place he’d look for you, if he decides to be a prat and push his luck. Give yourself a reason to stay, a bit longer, with a friend?”

It turned out that Merlin could still laugh, after all.

* * *

“Guinevere,” Arthur began.

“I said we had a lot to talk about,” Guinevere said. “And we do. But I don’t want excuses, Arthur, or platitudes. I want plain truth.”

Arthur nodded, miserably.

“What is he to you?” Guinevere asked.

Arthur thought about that; he thought about Merlin, putting him in his place every time he needed to be shown some hard truth, regardless of the consequences; Merlin, putting him down when he got too high, but raising him up whenever he had doubts; Merlin, leaving half his rooms in disarray, but caring for his weapons and armor better than even the Royal Smithy; Merlin, laughing at him, sometimes, but laughing with him far more often; Merlin, who probably knew him better than he knew himself, and who certainly liked him better than he liked himself; Merlin, whose disapproval and hurt was shaking him more than his father’s ever had.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, because there weren’t words, really, for what Merlin was.

“That’s not good enough!” Guinevere snapped. “If you don’t know, then Arthur, you had better learn, and fast!”

“I know,” Arthur said miserably. “I’m sorry, Guinevere, this isn’t fair to you at all. I should never have—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Arthur; you don’t even know what you should or shouldn’t have done. I don’t think you even know what you did do!”

“I hurt you,” Arthur whispered. “I hurt Merlin.”

“No,” Gwen said, almost as softly. “You hurt me, yes, but you devastated him. Do you even realize how highly he regards you? Arthur, he looks at you like you’re the center of his world. He’d do anything for you, you know.”

“I know,” Arthur said.

“Then why, Arthur?”

“The Veil, Gwen. I was ready to die, and he was there, like he always is, telling me that somehow, it was going to be okay, and we’d get through it together, and God, if you think so highly of the way he looks at me when you can see it, it’s nothing, nothing to what he does when we’re alone and facing off against something that no man should have to face. I wanted him to have something, so he’d be taken care of after, but I couldn’t just tell him after we both made it out! It’s… Gwen, that kind of faith… if he knew how much I relied on that….”

“Why doesn’t he?”

“He’d leave,” Arthur said, looking down. “I’d scare him off. Nothing else could, nothing else has, but that might. If he knew. I mean, look what he did when he found out?”

“You’re an idiot,” Guinevere said, furiously.

“Gwen!”

“No, Arthur, really! You think that’s the problem here?” She looked like she wanted to hit him; he’d let her, if she tried. Instead, she said, “Arthur, you never told him what it meant! And you’re telling me you gave it to him when your life was on the line? He probably thinks you’re ashamed!”

“Never!” Arthur said, looking at her with wide eyes. “But nothing can come of it! I’m the King of Camelot, no matter what I feel, I can’t—”

“I thought you said you didn’t know what he was to you,” Guinevere interrupted.

“I— I know what I wish he’d be, maybe,” Arthur allowed.

“You told me once you wished you could run away, and take him with you,” Guinevere said.

“Sometimes I do.”

“You couldn’t say the same of me.”

“I never said that!” Arthur said in a rush. “I love you, Guinevere, I do! And that was just… just idle talk, it wasn’t serious! And Camelot is your home.”

“That’s the root of it, isn’t it?” Guinevere said, her tone kinder than Arthur felt he deserved.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You love me, but you wouldn’t want me to choose between you and my home, and my friends, because you’d fear the outcome of that choice.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “With Merlin, you always knew he’d be packing your bags for you, the second you asked, and that he’d probably threaten you if you so much as considered leaving him behind.”

Arthur didn’t— couldn’t— deny it.

When he thought of it, and he tried not to, he couldn’t help but think about the way that Guinevere had struggled, at first, to call him by name. Even now, she still used his title half the time, and it was such a small thing, really, and proper, and not at all worth complaining about! But Merlin…

How long have you been training to be a prat, My Lord?

Merlin had done the opposite. He’d seen Arthur first, acknowledged him as the prince only by force, and then suddenly decided he was a King worth serving, long before he’d actually been crowned as one.

“I’m scared,” he said, and it was so true that he couldn’t even bring himself to feel ashamed of admitting it. He stood in Camelot’s Hall, the hall of his father, his father’s legacy, and admitted to being scared over a servant, and he felt nothing else, because that hot rush of terror drowned everything else out. “I can’t lose him.”

“I know,” she said, simply.

“But Guinevere— Gwen—” he said, reaching for her hands. “We’re happy together, aren’t we? Things were going well; I know they were. And I— I don’t want to lose you, either.”

“That’s just it, Arthur,” she said, gently putting his hands on the table, and patting them as she rose. “You don’t want to lose me, but you can’t lose him.”

She paused at the door, looking back with something halfway between heartbreak and acceptance. “Arthur,” she called out, waiting until he looked up at her. “Forget about what you think your kingdom needs, and what people expect of you. The plain truth is that we need you at your best, and you need him to get there.”

“So, I am losing you, then,” Arthur said, mournfully.

“Oh, Arthur,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll be around, but by the gods, you’ve practically married the man, and you haven’t even gotten around to proposing to me. You let your uncle break us apart—” she held up a hand to forestall him. “—Yes, you apologized, and you came back to me, but Arthur, you fought your father for him. I want— no, I deserve— someone who puts me first that way. And he deserves someone who puts him first openly.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t be sorry, be better,” Guinevere said. “I told you before to follow your heart, and I truly believed you were. It’s past time for you to actually do it.”

Arthur swallowed, and nodded, just once, sharply. “I will.”

“Just… give him time. I know you, Arthur, you probably want to charge into this right now, like you charge into everything else, but you need to show him you respect him and his wishes. Let him come to you, like he asked you to. But when he does, you have to be as honest with him as you’re being with me here tonight. Don’t give him any more reason to doubt himself, or you.”

She hesitated, then said, “I’ll talk to him. I won’t say what you’ve told me, but I’ll make sure he knows he won’t be hurting me, however this turns out.”

“Thank you, Guinevere. You’re a true friend, and one of the best people I know.”

“And don’t you dare forget it.” And then she was gone, and Arthur felt more alone than he had since the first time Merlin had called him an ass.

“I need you, Merlin,” he told the empty room.

Chapter Text

Arthur forced himself out of bed, wincing; he’d tossed and turned sleeplessly most of the night, and when he’d finally fallen asleep, he’d been all twisted up, and now he was sore, all over, from the strained position.

He was also, judging by the light coming in through the windows, very late, and he strode over to his wardrobe with purpose, fully intending to dress himself as quickly as possible, so he could find Merlin and drag him up by his ears.

And then Arthur remembered why he’d slept so poorly the night before, and had to sit down for longer than he’d care to admit, before the room stopped spinning.

Eventually, he did dress, and armed himself for training; somehow, he managed to get his hair caught in the links of the mail four times before he got it right, and thought that if anything else went wrong, he might just scream.

It wasn’t until he’d finally dragged himself to the training field and saw all of his knights glaring daggers at him that he realized today was going to be the sort of day where absolutely everything went wrong, regardless of what he might do or think or wish for.

* * *

Gwaine stood watching Arthur’s match with Elyan and actually winced, because as much as Arthur deserved it, really, that was a bit much; he leaned over to Leon and said, quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, “Shouldn’t you be stopping that?”

“He isn’t injured yet,” Leon said, in a carefully bland voice. “And he’s always pushed us when he’s frustrated, hasn’t he?”

Gwaine dropped all his attempts to act casually and stared at Leon, and was vaguely horrified to see that Leon actually looked as cool and collected as he sounded. “I never thought I’d see the day—”

“Nor did I,” said Leon, shortly. He stared back at Gwaine, and then let the mask crack, just a bit, because it was Gwaine, and if anyone could understand how angry he was at Arthur just then, it would be him. “I have always thought,” Leon said, with barely restrained fury, “that Arthur badly undervalued Merlin, but I stayed out of it, because Merlin always seemed happy to be at Arthur’s side, so I assumed that he was more caring behind closed doors, and was putting up a front for the rest of the Court.”

Gwaine nodded, slowly, and his stare turned calculating as he was forced to revise his opinion of the First Knight completely.

“But last night, Merlin stayed with me, and…. Gwaine, did you know that Arthur has never once called him his friend to his face?”

Gwaine swore, and decided that not only was Elyan’s treatment warranted, he was going to call the next match.

“It gets worse,” Leon said, grimly.

“How?” Gwaine asked, hotly. “How could it get worse?”

“Apparently,” Leon said, already reaching out to hold Gwaine back, “he’s taken some of Arthur’s worst insults to heart; I had to talk him out of thinking he was just a servant and hardly worth keeping around several times. He even called himself useless; useless, as if he wasn’t half the reason this castle is still standing! More than half, really! But somehow he’s… he’s been going around thinking Arthur mostly keeps him around because he’s familiar and, occasionally, amusing.”

Remarkably, Gwaine didn’t lunge for Arthur, or go for his sword. Instead, he squared his shoulders, raised his chin, and said, “Leon, how do you feel about having another guest or two tonight?”

* * *

Leon entered his chambers and slowed, sniffing the air, then he saw the tray laid out on the table and the massive copper tub filled with steaming, fragrant water. “Merlin, you really didn’t have to do any of this; you aren’t my servant, you’re—”

“A friend, you said,” Merlin answered, rising and turning away from the fire he’d been stoking. “And friends take care of each other, right? Just like you took care of me last night?”

Leon hesitated, and then Merlin’s lips turned up in an impish smile as he said, “Besides, this is Arthur’s bathtub; he has that washbasin you mistook for a bath in his chambers, and can you imagine the look on his face when he realizes?”

Leon nearly choked on his own laughter, as Merlin unfolded the changing screen he’d moved in between the bath and the table and said, “Besides, I plan to eat at least half of this myself, so it evens out, doesn’t it?”

“More than,” Leon agreed as he tested the temperature of the water with a finger. In no time at all, he was slipping into the hot bath and sighing contentedly. “Gods, Merlin, this water is perfect; you’re even better at this than George is.”

Leon listened, grinning, as Merlin spluttered a dismissive thanks, and he could practically see the man’s blush, for all that the screen hid it from view; really, Merlin’s little surprise worked out very well in their favor, because this only let him launch his campaign earlier than planned. Between him and the rest of the knights, they’d have Merlin’s confidence back up where it should be in no time.

And speaking of their campaign… “Merlin? Will you be staying with me tonight as well?”

He heard Merlin shift, and the crunch of an apple being chewed for a few moments, before Merlin said, “Really, Leon, I can’t think you enough, but I don’t want to impose—”

“You aren’t,” Leon said, firmly. “No one has ever even used the servant's bed, here, Merlin; for all that it's tradition for the First Knight to have space for his own servant, I've never seen the need for it, you know that. And actually, Gwaine and I thought we’d play some cards tonight, and I’m sure he’d love to have you join us; I know I would.”

“Just the three of us? Or….”

Leon shrugged, then remembered the screen, and said, “I suppose that’s up to you; I’d be happy to invite the others, if you’d like.”

There was another pause, and then Merlin said, hesitantly, “No, I think that sounds nice, really, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to… well, you know. With the rest.” Merlin sighed, heavily, and said, low, “Elyan must be so angry with me.”

Leon sat up fast enough to slop some of his bathwater out over the side, and said, sharply, “He’s bloody furious with Arthur, that’s for damn sure, but he doesn’t blame you a bit, Merlin! None of this, absolutely none of this is your fault, and no one is upset at you!”

“But he’s Gwen’s brother, and poor Gwen—”

“Wouldn’t blame you either!” Leon ducked under the water, rinsing off the last of the soap, and then stepped out and reached for the towel Merlin had left out for him. He leaned around the screen, enough to peek his head out so Merlin could look him in the eyes, and said, firmly, “No one is upset at you, Merlin; I haven’t seen Gwen yet, but she’s always told anyone who’d ask that you’re her best friend in the entire world. There’s no way she’d hold this against you at all, not for a single heartbeat!”

Merlin still looked unconvinced, so Leon stepped back behind the screen, dried himself perfunctorily, just enough so that he could wrestle his clothes on without getting them stuck to his skin, and stepped out to pull Merlin into a slightly damp hug. “You’re okay, Merlin, I promise,” Leon said, softly, stroking the man’s hair soothingly until he melted into the embrace. “We’re your friends, too, you know. We’re as loyal to you as we are to Arthur; more, even, when it comes to this.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Merlin said, almost too quietly for Leon to hear.

“You do,” Leon said, thinking of Merlin shouting the Dragon away, only to turn around and claim that Arthur had landed a fatal blow before it could fly off, when he probably could have claimed the kingdom for himself, and probably would have, if he’d been any other man. “You really do.”

And if Leon and Gwaine’s plan worked, if the knights could manage to build his confidence up to where it ought to be, and make up for all those years of hearing that he was less than he was, maybe Leon would finally be able to tell him properly just how much he deserved to be honored.

* * *

Gaius looked up as his door opened, ready to scold Merlin for staying out all night and most of the morning without so much as a note to warn him, when he saw Guinevere standing in his doorway, smiling at him waveringly. “Ah, Guinevere, what can I do for you My Lady,” he said, teasingly.

“Oh, stop that!” Gwen called back, stepping fully into the room and rolling her eyes at him. “I’m no Lady, Gaius.”

“The sister to a knight, and the acting seneschal besides?” Then, his eyes twinkling, he said, “Not to mention our future Queen, according to some rumors I’ve heard floating about.”

Gwen’s face fell. “Oh,” she said. “So you haven’t seen Merlin, then; I was hoping he’d be here. I’ve been looking for him all day!”

Gaius pushed aside the beakers he’d been fiddling with, and said, “Isn’t he with Arthur?” as a horrible suspicion built up in him; what had Merlin gotten into now!

Gwen snorted. “That’s the absolute last place I’d look for him, today; I doubt if he’ll be anywhere near the Prince for the next week or so.”

Gaius blinked at her, and felt suspicion become something more like panic. “What’s happened?” he cried, perhaps a bit louder than he’d intended. “He didn’t come home last night, and there was no note; I’ve not seen him for the past two days!”

Gwen went pale, and rocked back on her heels, then overcorrected and swayed, a bit. “He didn’t come home?” she asked, in a small voice. “Oh, Gaius, this is terrible; he promised he wouldn’t leave!”

“Leave?” Gaius echoed, shrilly. “Why would he have to leave?”

“He doesn’t have to,” said Gwen, with a bit of anger coloring her voice. “But I wouldn’t blame him if he chose to. Gaius, did he ever show you the sigil? I mean, he never mentioned it to us, but you….”

“Sigil?” Gaius said, pressing a hand to his chest and focusing on breathing evenly; he was intensely bewildered, but also relieved, because for a moment there, he’d thought that—

Well. Best not to linger on what he’d thought.

“Gaius, you’d better sit down,” Gwen said, warningly. “You’re about to be absolutely furious with our dear King.”

* * *

Gaius’s chambers had a remarkably thin old door; there were gaps between the planks, and the door didn’t quite fill out the doorframe the way it once had, which was a natural consequence of being a Physician— when one is expected to treat various foolhardy knights who throw themselves into the path of raging beasts on a regular basis, one can also expect their door to be kicked in, also on a regular basis, when the knights’ fellows are panicking, and the foolish ones are bleeding from their foolishness— and as a result, it was drafty, and the furthest thing in the world from soundproof.

Which is to say that Camelot’s guards and servants were rather used to hearing Gaius yelling about something or other— usually about the thing they didn’t even mention, ever, on pain of death; theirs, probably, but also Camelot’s if things went poorly— and didn’t usually blink an eye when they heard him screaming.

Today, though, guards and servants halfway across the castle stopped and stared, astonished, in the general direction of the Physician’s tower, having been interrupted in their duties by Gaius bellowing, “Arthur did what?” at the top of his admittedly impressive lungs; so loudly, in fact, that several of them rather wished they could have gone to the tower for a headache remedy, after, but weren’t at all willing to risk getting involved in whatever that was about.

Chapter Text

“George!” Arthur called. He blinked down at his tray, and at the stale bread and water jug. “What the hell is this?”

“Dinner, Your Majesty,” George replied, tonelessly. Arthur had to look closer at him to make sure it really was George and not an imposter, because the man almost sounded annoyed, and also because Arthur would hardly call this a dinner, and the last time George had filled in for Merlin, Arthur had to reprimand him for bringing too much food.

“And do you think,” Arthur asked, menacingly, tilting his spoon and letting the thick, glue-like porridge slop back into the bowl, “that this is an appropriate meal for the King of Camelot?”

If Arthur hadn’t been staring right at the man, he would have missed the wince. It was a tiny thing, really— George was better at concealing his emotions than any courtier— but there was a touch of shame in his eyes before his impassive mask snapped back into place.

“Forgive me, sire,” George said, sounding more put-upon than contrite, “but it is all the dinner you’ll be getting.” Then he saw Arthur’s astonishment start to change into affronted rage, and quickly added, “Those are Cook’s words, sire, not mine.”

Arthur blinked at him, cleared his throat, and asked, in a brittle voice, “Cook’s?” Brittle because, well, Arthur might be King, and in theory that meant he was far above Cook in the castle’s hierarchy, but…

But only an absolute fool got on the wrong side of the woman preparing his meals, King or no. Even Uther had deferred to Cook when he needed to!

George nodded, severely, and said, “She’s heard the rumors, sire. I don’t know why she believes them; I said you’d never be so dishonorable as to do a thing like that, but there’s no reasoning with her. She’s a romantic at heart, you know, underneath it all, and she’s always had a soft spot for Merlin— he’s the only one who’ll take her in stride; I think she likes the novelty of someone standing up to her every now and again, though heavens know I’d never be brave enough to test the theory— and, well.”

Arthur blinked away the shock of hearing the usually unflappable George ramble, and then he registered his words. “Rumors?” Arthur asked. “What rumors?”

“I would never lower myself to repeat such—” George began.

“Consider it an order, George,” Arthur said, firmly.

George gulped, and Arthur could see embarrassment warring with his training to always follow a direct order from a member of the royal family, no matter what, before he finally acquiesced.

“They say,” George said, leaning forward and speaking in a low voice, despite the fact that they were alone in Arthur’s chambers. “That you made Merlin your Consort to bind him to you and keep him away from anyone else, but didn’t bother to tell him— or anyone, really— that you’d done it, so you could keep him tied to you without having to make an effort to treat him with any sort of dignity befitting that status. That you only wanted a claim to him that you could pull out to hold over him if he found someone else or thought to leave your service, but had no intention of making it known otherwise.”

Arthur stared at the manservant, and felt his stomach drop. That… that wasn’t what he’d done!

Was it?

No, he’d only wanted to keep Merlin safe, to ensure that he’d be cared for after he walked through the veil and left Merlin behind; he’d never even considered that it would keep him trapped like that—

Only, he had, hadn’t he?

Not in the moment, oh, no; Arthur’s intentions had been entirely pure when he’d given Merlin the sigil, but after, when he’d told Merlin to keep it, but to keep it secret.…

Maybe he had thought something like that, but only for one hot, shameful second, and by then, it was too late to take back his request for secrecy. But if that was the popular opinion— if people were going around gossiping about it— then what did Merlin think of it? Did he think it was some shackle to keep him exactly where he was, serving at Arthur’s pleasure but still held back by his status as a servant? A status that, in truth, he’d left behind the moment Arthur had told him to keep the sigil?

George— mistaking Arthur’s silence and discomfort for disbelief and anger— said, again, “I never believed it, sire. You of all people, honestly; you’d never be so base and vile as—”

“Thank you, George,” Arthur said, reaching for the rapidly cooling porridge, not out of any hunger— his appetite had long since fled— but simply to give himself something to do. “Perhaps you might ready a bath for me?”

“Right away, sire,” George said, bowing and fleeing the room as swiftly as Arthur had ever seen him move.

Arthur sighed, deeply, and turned his attention to the meagre, unappetizing meal.

He’d managed to eat three awful spoonfuls when his door burst open, without a knock; Arthur felt a stirring of hope and excitement mixed with an equal measure of dread at the sound of it, because Merlin was the only one who’d ever entered unannounced. He looked up, quickly, desperate to see Merlin’s face, even if it would still be twisted up in his rather justified anger—

And Arthur came face to face with the unbridled force of Gaius’s deadliest glare of disapproval.

Arthur would deny it until his dying day, but… he whimpered, just a bit, at the sight of it. Then he coughed, swallowed, and put on a brave face. “I suppose you’re here to yell at me,” Arthur said in a sigh.

“Oh, no, sire,” Gaius said, slowly, in a voice dripping with satisfied malice. “I’m simply here to ask for a page to assist me since Merlin appears to be missing; at my age I do need an assistant, you know.”

Arthur felt himself go pale. “Missing?”

“Neither Gwen nor I have been able to track him down,” Gaius said.

Arthur blinked at him; this was terrible news, so why did Gaius sound so pleased?

“Oh, no need to frown so; I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Gaius said. And then Gaius let an almost cat-like grin spread over his wrinkled face— Arthur winced involuntarily, remembering the last and only time he’d ever seen that look on the Physician’s face, and all the trouble the goblin had caused— and held Arthur’s gaze for a long while before the Physician finally continued. “But in the meantime, I thought I’d inform you of the great favor I’ve done for you.”

“Favor?” Arthur asked warily.

“Oh, indeed, sire,” Gaius said, nodding. “I took the liberty of writing to my sister on your behalf. After all, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear about your and Merlin’s nuptials, though I daresay she’ll have something to say about missing the wedding.”

Arthur stared at Gaius in abject horror, and realized he would have strongly preferred it if that cursed grin really had meant Gaius had been possessed again.

* * *

“Your bath, sire.”

Arthur jolted out of his reverie and swore, scrubbing a hand over his face to muffle the sound; he’d very nearly nodded off, and somehow he’d missed the sound of George dragging the bath in and filling it.

After Gaius had left, Arthur had stood, scraped the rest of the porridge into his chamberpot, turned his chair around, and settled himself in it to stare into the fire and think of what he could say to Merlin— when he finally reappeared from wherever he’d gone off to— to explain himself; he hadn’t gotten very far. Mostly, he’d tormented himself with a hundred different ways the conversation could go wrong, and plagued himself with the image of Merlin turning and walking out of his chambers and straight out of Camelot for the last time.

Which meant that he had absolutely no patience left, and was one minor inconvenience away from going into what Merlin had always called one of his sulks.

And when he turned and saw his bath, well—

“What the hell is that, George, a bloody laundry bin?” Arthur shouted. “Why in God’s name didn’t you use the tub in the antechamber?”

George blinked at him, looking back and forth between Arthur and the tin hip bath— which was admittedly smaller and far less grand than he’d expected a King’s bath to be— and said, “Sire, forgive me, but… that was the tub in the antechamber storage.”

Arthur stared disbelievingly at George, until his mind— still slow and feeling almost bruised after his nightmarish daydreams— latched on to the pertinent facts, namely that there was only one person who had access to his chambers who would have had a reason— and the absolute gall— to pull off something like this.

For the first time in nearly three full days— practically a record in Camelot— the halls of the castle echoed with the sound of Arthur’s furious voice.

“Merlin!”

* * *

Merlin and Leon looked at one another and burst out laughing.

“That’ll be the bath,” Merlin said, winking at Gwaine, who was offering them a confused but hopeful look, silently asking them to share the joke.

“Merlin switched my tub for Arthur’s,” Leon said, wagging his eyebrows and gesturing to the large copper tub sitting innocently in the corner of the room.

Gwaine’s face spasmed; his lips and eyebrows twitched, and his mouth opened and shut several times. A few breathy squeaks escaped— the poor man was torn between the desire to laugh, and the fact that he was too stunned to do it.

“Merlin, mate,” he finally said. “You’re a fuckin’ legend!”

Chapter Text

“Merlin, mate, have mercy!” Gwaine groaned.

“Dice was your idea, Gwaine,” Merlin reminded him, chuckling and shaking the cup again, raising his brow in a clear question as he did.

“I only suggested dice because you were entirely too good at cards,” Gwaine groused. “Honestly, it was like you could see straight through the deck or something.”

“Much as I hate to say it, I agree with Gwaine,” Leon said, snorting. “I don’t know if either of us can afford another round; you’ll clean us both out at this rate, Merlin.”

“Should we….” Merlin hesitated. “Should we call it a night?”

Leon and Gwaine exchanged a look; it was entirely too clear that Merlin didn’t want the night to end, but equally clear that he didn’t think he had the right to ask Gwaine to stay.

“I’ve got an idea for a different sort of game, actually,” Gwaine said, reaching behind him for his wineskin.

“Gwaine, the last time you talked me into a drinking game, we had to polish every pair of boots in the castle,” Merlin laughed, waving him off. “And I ruined one of my best tunics!”

“Remind me to get that story out of you later,” Leon said, nudging Merlin with an elbow. Merlin laughed harder and swatted Leon on the shoulder, leaning in to grin at him playfully.

Gwaine eyed the two of them and poured the wine. “It’s simple, really; it’s called ‘Nevers.’ We take turns saying something we’ve never done, and anyone who has done it has to drink.”

“Is there anything you haven’t done, Gwaine?” Leon asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Gwaine reeled back, slapping his hand over his heart and sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth. “You wound me, Leon!” He let out an exaggerated choking sound, as though he was on the verge of death from his ‘injury,’ then straightened and said, slyly, “Well, I suppose if I can’t think of anything I haven’t done, I’ll just have to fake it and drink when you catch me in a lie.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Merlin said, immediately. “You’ve got a tell when you lie.”

“I have not!” Gwaine protested.

“Mmm, you do,” Leon said, nodding seriously and rubbing his chin.

“It’s an obvious one, too,” Merlin said, equally deadpan. “Your lips move.”

Gwain reeled back again, slapping the other side of his chest. “Besieged on all sides!” He slid their cups over in front of them. “Are we playing, or what?”

* * *

Arthur slung his towel over the top of his changing screen, grumbling all the while, and started to dress himself— George had fled after Arthur started yelling about manservants who ought to be dunked into horse troughs and count themselves lucky to call that their baths, and Arthur hadn’t the heart to call him out for leaving without a dismissal— and had only just stepped into his smalls when someone started pounding on his door.

“A moment,” he called out, reaching for the thin, comfortable trousers he liked to wear to bed. The pounding returned almost as soon as the words left Arthur’s lips, and he frowned in the general direction of the door as he reached for a shirt. “Who is it?” he yelled, when whoever it was knocked a third time.

“Your majesty, I have urgent business we must discuss!”

Arthur bit back a curse as he heard Agravaine’s voice, because he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything serious, and his uncle was nothing but serious. But responsibilities were responsibilities, so Arthur called for him to enter as he smoothed the shirt down and stepped out from behind the screen. “I should hope it is urgent,” Arthur said, snappishly, as soon as Agravaine had stepped inside, “given the late hour.”

“Forgive me, My Lord,” Agravaine said, sketching out a quick half-bow. “But I have heard some… incredibly distressing rumors; they are insulting at best and seditious at worst, and you must do something to address them, immediately!”

“Must I?” Arthur asked, folding his arms across his chest and leveling a look of utter impatience at his Uncle.

“Forgive me, sire,” Agravaine said, lowering his head. “I don’t mean to overstep, but the nature of these rumors… they are quite sensitive, My Lord. I’m afraid it cannot wait, and I’m certain you shall agree.”

“Then enlighten me on the nature of these rumors.” Arthur made his tone as flat as possible, to encourage Agravaine to be as brief as possible; it wasn’t that he didn’t value his Uncle’s council, but he had had a very long, trying week, and he certainly didn’t want to be kept up any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Agravaine opened his mouth, closed it, then cleared his throat. “It pains me to even say it aloud, Arthur, but—”

“Then don’t,” said Arthur. Agravaine’s eyes narrowed, then widened. He started to say something, but Arthur cut him off. “You claim your news is urgent enough to keep me from my bed, yet you waste my time instead of getting to the heart of the matter. If you’ve enough time to prevaricate, then the matter may wait until the morning. Either speak now or leave and return at a more reasonable hour.”

“You’ve been accused of forcing your manservant into your bed,” Agravaine said, bluntly. “Or worse, of proposing to him with my sister’s sigil.”

Arthur groaned and lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I can see you’re as distressed as I was, Arthur,” Agravaine said. “To dare to imply that you would sully our family line with someone like him! Forgive me for saying so, My Lord, but this is what comes of fraternizing with servants; I did warn you that courting Guinevere— lovely though she is— would have its consequences, but I daresay this far outweighs my worst fears! To think that someone could be so base and vulgar as to suggest that—”

“Enough!” Arthur roared, chopping his hand through the air. Agravaine blinked at him, taken aback by the force of Arthur’s response, and Arthur took a moment to breathe deeply. “The rumors that I have forced him into bed with me are false; they will fade, as rumors do. As for the other… should Merlin accept me, you will treat him with respect, and if I ever hear you suggesting that I was dishonoring my mother or our family by asking him to join it, you will no longer have a place in Camelot. Are we clear?”

“Arthur, I urge you to reconsider! He is—”

“The only person I know who has always put me first; the man rode out to face a dragon with me, for God’s sake! I repeat: are we clear?” Arthur snarled.

“But… the kingdom! It will need an heir, sire, and he’s—”

“We shall discuss that amongst ourselves, should it come to that. If he accepts me.” Arthur advanced on Agravaine with three slow, deliberate steps, drawing himself up to his full height. “I’ve warned you before about interfering with decisions of the heart, Uncle.”

Agravaine narrowed his eyes again, clearly insulted, but also clearly weighing his words carefully. “And yet we are now discussing another servant; you moved on from Guinevere rather quickly. What’s to stop you from moving on from Merlin just as quickly? Wouldn’t it be easier to seek a partnership from a Lady of rank, and to consider such… assignations… quietly and discreetly?”

Arthur smiled at Agravaine. It was a distinctly unpleasant smile, one that Arthur had never turned on his Uncle before. He was gratified to see that it was quite effective; Agravaine blanched and took a hasty step back, reacting as though Arthur had drawn a weapon on him. “If I hadn’t allowed myself to be swayed by other people’s opinions, I might have had Merlin by my side long before now. I will not warn you again, Uncle. Now, goodnight!”

Agravaine looked as though he might argue further, but then he visibly reconsidered, mumbled his own goodnight, and fled.

Arthur collapsed onto his bed as soon as the door closed. He sat on the edge of the bed for a while with his head in his hands, then groaned, straightened his back, and reached for a glass of water on the nightstand. He stopped mid-reach, because his hand was trembling terribly. He fought to stabilize it, failed, and swore. His mind buzzed as the reality of what he’d just done set in. Part of him couldn’t believe he had just dismissed his Uncle like that; part of him couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to push back against the man’s insistence on trying to shape Arthur into his own idealized version of what a King ought to be.

And a smaller, crueler, more treacherous part of him was whispering that he hadn’t fought nearly so hard for Guinevere as he did for Merlin— and it also whispered that Merlin would probably be there with him, holding him in his arms and never even thinking about leaving, if only he had ever fought that way for Merlin when Merlin had been around to see him do it.

Arthur swore aloud at the thought. He’d been trying to avoid that exact thought, but his argument with Agravaine had brought it all to the front of his mind. He had tried to sulk and feel sorry for himself; when that hadn't worked, he’d tried to focus on how disappointed his knights had been, on how angry Merlin was, and on how Guinevere had been so understanding— which made him feel terribly guilty, and was far worse than if she’d been rightfully enraged, and that guilt had distracted him beautifully, until now. He had tried to focus on anything and everything that might distract him from thinking about the simple fact that everything, everything that had gone wrong was entirely his own fault.

He wasn’t even berating himself over the sigil anymore, because he’d realized that his cowardice and refusal to admit to what he'd done when he'd given it to Merlin was the least of his sins.

Instead, Arthur found himself cursing the fact that he had spent years treating Merlin as a burden instead of treating him like he was half the reason Arthur was able to force himself to get out of bed in the morning.

Arthur stood, walked over to his desk, and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and ink. He wouldn’t seek Merlin out— he’d asked for time, and Arthur wouldn’t insult the man by demanding he come back before he was ready to— but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare for when Merlin finally returned to him.

Chapter Text

Hunith hummed as she kneaded her dough. She huffed out a sharp breath, blowing a lock of hair that had fallen from her headscarf away from her face, then wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. It left a smear of flour above her brow; she didn’t notice. She walked to the window of the hut and pushed open the shutters, letting out a pleased sigh as the breeze blew in.

Really, it was a beautiful morning!

She stood there for a while, luxuriating in the brisk air, before turning back to her baking. Before she managed to get back to the dough, something flew in from the open window. She was just reaching for her broom to shoo it back out again when she realized it wasn’t a bird; it was paper, folded into the shape of a bird. Hunith stared for a moment, then scrambled to fetch it. She recognized it, of course: it was one of her brother’s oldest tricks, after all, but it was one he hadn’t used in years for fear of being discovered. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, and it took her several tries to unfold the missive without tearing the parchment. She was terrified— if Gaius had news urgent enough to send by magic, well… it couldn’t be good news. It probably meant that her Merlin, her little boy, her angel was… was….

Married?

She blinked at the words, willing them to make sense. Abruptly, her rising panic splintered, and anger rose to replace it.

“Married!” Hunith hissed. “Without so much as a word! Without a formal ceremony! Without even inviting me! After I gave Arthur my blessing years ago, when he fought off those bandits for us!”

Well, she’d have a word or two for Arthur about that! And once she was done with Arthur, she’d start in on Gaius for scaring her like that.

Hunith sniffed, threw the message into her oven, then doused the fire once the paper had burnt to ash. She abandoned her baking without a second thought and set about packing a bag.

* * *

Gwen bustled around her house, setting her breakfast dishes in a bucket of water to soak before kneeling by the trunk at the foot of her bed to fetch one of her cloaks; it was a lovely morning, but there was enough of a breeze that she still wanted another layer. She ran through her mental to-do list for the day as she stood and shook the cloak out, then stopped and folded it over her arms instead of putting it on. She had just realized that, actually, she had very little to do, which meant she should probably go and visit Arthur first. He had given her a great deal more responsibility and a good deal more authority, and the bulk of her duties now were overseeing the schedule of the lesser servants and— in theory— working with the steward to ensure that Arthur’s household was running smoothly.

In actuality, the steward was perfectly content to allow her the run of the day-to-day so he could focus on overseeing the budget and planning for larger diplomatic events, which meant she’d actually been working with Merlin to make sure everything ran smoothly. And with Merlin missing....

With Merlin missing, she realized, all at once, that he’d been the one doing most of the planning.

Gwen sighed, shook her head, and wished she’d done more to make sure that Arthur had paid attention to his own household when she’d first realized how much Merlin had taken on. Well, there was nothing for it now; she’d have to march up to Arthur’s chambers and force him to pay attention to his serv— dear gods, what was Merlin these days? It seemed wrong to think of him as a servant now that she knew what Arthur wanted him to be, but she couldn’t exactly think of him as Arthur’s Consort when he had stormed out on them and appeared to be doing his level best to avoid everyone, assuming he hadn’t just fled Camelot under the cover of night.

Gwen closed the trunk and sat down, perching on its lid. She missed Merlin; it had only been a few days, and she’d gone a lot longer than that without speaking to him, but she would usually see him in passing, at least, and she’d never had to wonder where they stood with each other before. Now, everything was confusing. Did Merlin think she resented him for somehow stealing Arthur away from her? Or did he, perhaps, resent her, a bit, for being the safe choice that had allowed Arthur to keep his true feelings hidden for as long as he had?

Gwen shook her head, firmly, and told herself that sitting still and worrying wouldn’t do her any good. She stood, slung the cloak over her shoulders, and went to the door. She opened it and nearly ran into a cloaked figure, still holding one arm up, ready to knock.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I… Mer—”

“Not so loud,” Merlin hissed, putting one hand over her mouth and using the other to steer her back into the house. He caught the door with the toe of his boot and kicked it shut behind them, then drew his hand back. “Sorry, Gwen, but I’m not quite ready to face Arthur, and—”

She interrupted him, this time, with a crushing hug. “I have looked everywhere for you,” Gwen said, pulling back just enough to glare at him.

Merlin winced. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” he admitted.

Gwen squeezed him tighter, then let him go and pulled him towards her table. “I was afraid of that,” she said, opening her cabinets and setting a kettle over the fire. “When I realized you hadn’t gone back to your room or spoken to Gaius, I was afraid you’d left, and then, when I calmed down, I was afraid you hadn’t, but that you thought I’d blame you, or something.”

“Does that mean you don’t?”

“Never,” Gwen snapped, aiming the spoon she’d been using to scoop out tea leaves at him in as threatening a manner as one could possibly aim a spoon. “You haven’t been having a torrid affair with Arthur behind my back, have you?”

“Of course not!” Merlin cried, looking utterly horrified at the very thought.

“And you were as surprised as we were by his— I refuse to call that a proposal…. By the meaning of his gift?”

“Absolutely,” Merlin swore.

“Then it isn’t your fault at all,” she said, firmly. “And we’re going to sit and drink our tea and list out every single one of Arthur’s faults until you feel better.”

Merlin snorted. “Neither of us have that kind of time.” They both laughed, and then Merlin sobered again. “Actually— and please, tell me if this is asking for too much, if it’s too awkward or too soon— but I’d rather talk about what I should do with all of this. I need some advice, Gwen, and you’re my best friend.”

Gwen smiled at him. “It isn’t asking too much at all,” she said, gently. “Why don’t I start by telling you what I told Arthur after everyone else left the Council Chambers?”

* * *

Morgana sighed and rolled over in her bed. She drew the covers up to her neck, smiling to herself. She opened her eyes slowly, and was pleased to see that the sun had fully risen. She felt refreshed, for once, because for the first time in a long time, her sleep had been utterly dreamless. She had been troubled for weeks with visions of Guinevere sitting on her throne, but last night, she had simply dreamed of walking through the forest, untroubled by man or beast. She smiled again and wondered if, perhaps, Agravaine had finally managed to do something right, and had convinced her brother to end things with the maid or— better yet— finally managed to get rid of her.

Her door opened and she sprang to her feet, brandishing the dagger she kept under her pillow before she registered who had entered her cottage.

“You’d better have a damned good reason for scaring me like that,” Morgana said, tossing the dagger back onto the bed and moving towards her fire. She added another log and held her hands out to the flames, relishing in the fire's warmth. “I suppose you’re here to tell me that Guinevere won’t be made Queen after all?”

Agravaine’s eyes widened, the way they often did when Morgana referenced her Second Sight. She bit the inside of her lip subtly to keep from rolling her eyes; Agravaine was frightfully simple, really, for all that he liked to imagine himself as a cunning and clever man. “Have you had a vision?”

“No,” she said, almost absently. “Rather the lack of one; I didn’t dream of Guinevere on Camelot’s throne as I have every night for the past fortnight. Something must have changed….” She raised her brows and smiled coaxingly, turning her words into a question and waiting for Agravaine to confirm her suspicions.

“I fear it has,” Agravaine said, “but not for the better. Arthur has, apparently, given Ygraine’s sigil to his manservant.”

Morgana blinked at him in astonishment. “Merlin? He’s gone and married Merlin?” She stared at Agravaine, hoping that he might grin and apologize for making such an ill-considered joke. Instead, he merely nodded, and Morgana forced herself to seriously consider the possibility. She found that the only real surprise was the fact that she, herself, had been surprised by the news at all, and that Arthur had finally had the balls to break away from Uther’s traditions long enough to consider what, in hindsight, should have been the obvious choice all along.

“He means to,” Agravaine said. “But rumor has it that Merlin wasn’t so quick to accept as one might have imagined him to be; the stories conflict, but there are several guards who claim to have heard a great deal of shouting a few days ago, and Merlin hasn’t been seen since.”

“Hmm,” Morgana said, lifting her hand to tap a finger against her chin as she thought that over. “He and Gwen were fast-friends from the moment they met; perhaps he’s offended on her behalf.”

Agravaine shrugged. “I really couldn’t say, My Lady. I must admit, I’ve never paid a great deal of attention to Arthur’s servant. Arthur hardly seems to listen to him, after all; I’ve always discounted Merlin as a serious threat.”

Morgana’s eyes flashed. “That was a mistake,” she spat. “In many ways, this might actually be worse than if Arthur still planned to marry Gwen. I know Gwen! I know each and every one of her secrets, and better still, I know how she thinks. But Merlin… Merlin is difficult to predict, and he has a nasty habit of surviving things that should have killed better men than he. And what’s more, he’s utterly devoted to Arthur.” She stopped and waved a hand to stave off Agravaine’s protests. “Oh, perhaps there’s trouble in paradise now, but that’s nothing new; they’ve squabbled since the day they met, but Merlin always comes crawling back to him, even when any sane person would have left Arthur and Camelot behind long ago. If Arthur elevates him… gods above, Agravaine, if Arthur gives Merlin a position where he has a voice in the court, who knows what he might reveal? Merlin knows far too many of my secrets!”

“Then we must eliminate him,” Agravaine said coldly.

“That may be harder than you think; haven’t you been listening?” Morgana stood, strode to the other end of the room, and turned on her heels to do it again. She paced the length of her cottage several times, before saying, “He may have help, too.”

“What do you mean?” Agravaine asked.

“Emrys, the old sorcerer,” Morgana said, a bit frantically; she was working herself up into something of a frenzy, now. “He destroyed the fomorrah, remember? I thought he was protecting Arthur, but he had to know of our plans somehow; what if he was also helping Merlin?”

“How would Merlin know a sorcerer with such power?” Agravaine frowned deeply, then answered his own question. “Gaius. He claimed not to know Emrys, but he was lying; he must be feeding him information, somehow. Perhaps he’s asked Emrys to look after Merlin and Arthur both?”

“Good,” Morgana said, decisively. “Gaius will be easier for us to reach than Merlin would be; once we have him, he can lead us right to Emrys.”

Agravaine frowned again. “Gaius is loyal and very stubborn. He won’t help us willingly.”

Morgana sneered. “Who said he had to be willing?”

Chapter Text

Arthur frowned down at the scattered papers on his desk and wondered how long it would be before he could present his drafted proposals to Merlin. He’d taken as many of Merlin’s concerns about the disparity between commoners and nobility that he could remember and managed to synthesize most of them into a revision of laws that he could probably convince the Council to pass, albeit with a few strategic changes. A good portion of the proposed changes would probably be removed in order to make the laws more palatable to the Council, of course; there were compromises built in to placate the Council already, but he’d probably need to make a few more concessions before he managed to push the rest through.

Still, he ought to be able to keep the core of the proposals in place.

If he could, the new laws would allow commoners the right of accusation against nobles— provided the subsequent investigation unearthed some sort of proof to back their claims— and Merlin ought to approve of that most heartily; just calling for an investigation based on a commoner’s word would be an enormous change, one that would give servants and serfs alike the ability to point out injustice themselves, without needing to first find a noble sponsor. The current state of the law— which held that a servant’s word meant nothing, and a serf’s word even less— had always been one of Merlin’s biggest complaints, one he’d started voicing after Sir Valiant was caught wielding a bewitched shield, and one he’d repeated so often since then that Arthur could probably repeat his tirade word for word without missing a beat.

Honestly, now that he thought about it, he should have taken those complaints seriously ages ago. It was a bit shameful that he hadn’t; if he had, he might’ve listened to Merlin a lot more over the years instead of hiding behind Court Protocol in order to avoid uncomfortable truths. So much pain could have been avoided if Arthur had just had the courage to introduce slow, steady change; if he had, he could have shaped his Court into a collection of people who wouldn’t have blinked an eye over his choice of Consort once he made Merlin’s position public, and that probably would have given him the courage to actually tell Merlin what his sigil had meant.

Well, hopefully Merlin would be pleased that he was listening now.

The rest of the proposal should please him even more; it would also set aside a portion of the Kingdom’s taxes to fund medicine and the services of the Physician for anyone living within Camelot’s borders, and establish a grant to help train more Physicians, which would make Merlin and Gaius’s lives easier and improve the health and safety of the Kingdom at large. He doubted even the most reticent of his Counselors would speak out against that portion of the law.

Of course, if Arthur was going to impress Merlin by showing that he was willing to take his advice— which was only the first step in Arthur’s plan to prove that he really did value Merlin— he had to first find Merlin, and that was proving to be a real problem.

Admittedly, Arthur wasn’t exactly looking for Merlin just then— he was trying to respect Merlin’s request for space and time— but it was still frustrating. He’d done a lot of thinking over the past few days, and he was sure he’d be able to work things out with Merlin if he could only talk to the man. He didn’t blame Merlin for needing space, but he still wished he’d come back. He… he bloody missed him!

Someone knocked on the door; Arthur looked up from his proposals with great reluctance and sighed. He brought the most recent proposal up close to his face and studied it critically, making sure the ink was dry. He nodded, satisfied, then stacked the papers neatly and wrapped them in a thin leather cover that should serve well enough to keep them secure. Once they were safely tucked away in a locked drawer, he braced his elbows on his desk, braced his chin on his hands, and called out.

“Enter.”

It was, predictably, Lord Agravaine.

Again.

Arthur fought down the urge to roll his eyes; if the set of Agravaine’s jaw and shoulders were anything to go by, he was coming to deliver grave news indeed yet again.

Arthur was beginning to suspect that was the only sort of news his Uncle knew how to deliver; he was, apparently, the sort of man who could find problems anywhere he looked. For his sake, Arthur hoped he had more than scandalized complaints over Arthur’s personal choices this time. If he was only here to talk about Arthur’s relationships again, Arthur would—

Well, Arthur didn’t know what he’d do, but he was pretty sure it would be drastic and inadvisable.

“Good morning, My Lord,” Agravaine said, inclining his head in a shallow nod that Arthur found he resented, somewhat; he’d always made allowances for the fact that Agravaine was kin, but the fact that he never gave him proper deference as King was beginning to grate. “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, forcing his lips into a smile that was probably less than convincing.

“It is a delicate matter, but one I fear I must raise. There is a traitor among us, sire.”

Arthur steepled his fingers. “I wish I could deny that.”

“Indeed.” Agravaine stepped forward and sat in the chair opposite Arthur’s desk, bold as you please and entirely without Arthur’s leave. Arthur kept his jaw from clenching with an effort of will; how had he never noticed just how many liberties his Uncle insisted on taking before?

“Could it be one of your knights?”

“No.” Arthur’s refusal was swift and final; he had no doubts at all in that quarter. The only treachery he would believe his knights capable of was choosing to put their loyalties to Merlin ahead of their loyalty to him, and he could hardly blame them for that. “I would vouch for each and every one of them.”

“Hmm.” Agravaine rubbed his chin with a gloved hand. “Well, I have suggested Gaius before, but—”

“No,” Arthur snapped. “Gaius has always been a loyal servant. Indeed, he has always been a friend to me and my father both. I’ve always believed I can trust him. In many ways, he’s very nearly been a second father to me.”

Something dark surfaced in Agravaine’s eyes before his face smoothed into a mask of familial concern.

Arthur latched onto that expression, turning it over in his mind. Was it… was it disgust? Something like it; how on earth had he never noticed— no; no, he was being foolish. He was angry, and he was projecting. His Uncle had irritated him, and now Arthur was looking for something to fuel that anger and give him an excuse to punish him. He couldn’t honestly believe his Uncle was working against him. That would be foolish.

Except… except Merlin hated him.

Oh, he’d never come right out and said it, but it was obvious if you knew what to look for. Merlin never could conceal his feelings— not entirely, not from Arthur! And it wasn’t as if Merlin’s antipathy was unfounded; when Arthur had taken Agravaine’s advice over Merlin’s, what had happened? He’d nearly plunged Camelot into war, for God’s sake!

But then again, anyone could give bad advice; that didn’t mean they were part of some treasonous plot.

“Well, it was Gaius who told you where to find the sorcerer that killed your father, wasn’t it?” Agravaine said, slowly, accenting each word with exquisite care, filling them with layers of subtle meaning and suggestion. “And we do know that he has dabbled in sorcery; what if his interest in the dark arts has been rekindled? Oh, I’m sure you know him better than me. If you say he’s trustworthy, sire, then of course I believe you. Perhaps I am being too hasty, but… well, we’re talking about your safety and the safety of the realm itself, aren’t we? It is my duty to investigate every possibility in a situation like this, and we have to consider everyone, even those dearest to us. No one can be above suspicion, not even Gaius. It wouldn’t do us any harm to ask him some questions, would it?”

Arthur’s mind worked furiously, turning over every possibility. Gaius, a traitor? No; no, he simply could not believe that.

Although… well, he had been utterly furious when he learned about this debacle with the sigil, and—

And that had happened after their plans had been leaked! And the worst he’d done was sic Merlin’s mother on Arthur— which was, admittedly, rather terrifying and Arthur was still walking around like there was a sword hanging over his head because of it, but it was hardly an act of treason! And as for the sorcerer… well, he could have fooled Gaius as easily as he’d fooled Arthur!

Or— and this was an awful, awful thought that Arthur had tried quite hard not to think, because it turned the whole thing from an act of malice he could fight to rectify into a senseless tragedy he couldn’t do anything about, which only made his heart ache even deeper— it could have simply been the King’s time; he might have been destined to die, and past any aid, mortal or magic. The sorcerer might have done his level best to heal the King and failed, and if that was the case, well, Arthur could hardly blame him for doing his best and falling short of the mark, especially if the task had been impossible. At the very least, he’d given Uther a few moments of lucidity before the end, and an end to his pain; perhaps Arthur should be grateful for getting that much.

True, the sorcerer had fled almost immediately after the King’s death, which certainly didn’t look good, but then again, Arthur had arrested him before, and Camelot wasn’t exactly known for listening to a sorcerer’s side of the story. He’d nearly been burned once. He might’ve only been protecting himself by fleeing; there was good evidence for that theory, actually, when you considered his latest encounter with the knights: he’d overpowered Arthur’s knights easily, but he’d only ever injured their pride. That wasn’t the act of an evil man, was it?

So… did it matter that Gaius had been the one to lead Arthur to the old sorcerer? Even if the sorcerer had killed Uther deliberately, it didn’t necessarily follow that Gaius had a hand in it, and Arthur had rising doubts that Dragoon had ever intended for Uther to die.

No, Gaius really was above suspicion. Arthur would vouch for him as fervently as he’d vouch for his knights— though he really ought to question him about the old sorcerer again and make his own doubts about the man’s guilt a bit more plain; it might get him more information than seeking his capture had.

But….

No one can be above suspicion.

No one….

Why was Agravaine pointing the finger at Gaius? If there was a more loyal man in the castle, Arthur didn’t know him— well, with the singular exception of Merlin, of course, once they got past Arthur’s latest bout of idiocy.

Gaius, as far as Arthur knew, had absolutely no ambitions. He wanted to practice the Healing Arts, protect and care for Merlin and Arthur both, and lay claim to whatever small comforts he could in his advanced age; that was it. He didn’t want riches, or fame, or a title. So why, then, would he ever betray Arthur, who readily allowed him everything he wished for? What possible motive could he have? And even if he were going to betray Arthur, why in God’s name would he do it when Merlin might have ended up as collateral damage?

No rational person would pick him out as a traitor, and yet, Agravaine had.

Why?

Arthur could think of only two reasons: utter insanity— which didn’t fit at all; Agravaine was too clever, too calm and collected, to be insane— or to weaken Camelot.

“You’re right, Uncle,” Arthur said, with deadly calm. “No one can be above suspicion, and questioning a trusted member of the Court harms nothing at all. It would be better, in fact, to investigate these suspicions in order to remove them once and for all. After all, if those suspicions prove false, then a loyal man would understand and accept my apologies, would he not?”

“Of course, sire,” Agravaine purred, looking entirely too satisfied.

“I’m glad you feel that way, Lord Agravaine.”

There was something terribly malicious in his smile when Arthur called for the guards.

Of course, that smile fell immediately when the guards entered the room and Arthur issued his orders. “Guards, take Lord Agravaine to the guest chambers in the Western Tower; he is to be kept in isolation until his chambers are investigated thoroughly.”

“What? Arthur, I am your kin, your flesh and blood; surely you cannot believe that I—”

“A loyal man would understand, would he not, Lord Agravaine?” Arthur said, coldly. “You said so yourself only a moment ago.”

Agravaine stared at him, stunned, then narrowed his eyes and glared. Arthur knew, then, that his suspicions were well-founded. He didn’t know what the search of his Uncle’s rooms would find, but he knew damned good and well that there was something to be found somewhere, even if the search of his rooms came up empty. Arthur waved a hand, and the guards led Agravaine away.

Arthur waited until they were gone, leaned back in his chair, and heaved a sigh.

Gods, what a mess!

He allowed himself a moment of grief and frantic contemplation, then rose and made his way out into the halls. It was the work of moments to find a few more guards; luckily, they were old and trusted members of the guard, men who had served him faithfully and who were very nearly above suspicion themselves. That was all to the good; he could trust the old guard. Arthur would be conducting a thorough investigation of the newer guards soon, now that he was finally considering the problem posed by the traitor rationally. If it was his Uncle, he might have been paying off some of the new men— men he had a hand in hiring.  

“Go and stand guard outside Lord Agravaine’s chambers; no one is to enter them. If there are servants in the room, they are to be searched and then dismissed at once. You are to admit only myself or Sir Leon, is that clear?”

“Perfectly, sire; shall we send someone to fetch Sir Leon?”

“No,” Arthur said. “No, I’ll fetch him myself. I could do with the walk.”

Arthur walked the halls in something of a daze; it wasn’t shock, exactly, so much as a startling lack of shock. The realization that his Uncle was— in all likelihood— a traitor seemed a foregone conclusion now that he’d reached it. He was a bit ashamed that he hadn’t realized it earlier.

No, it wasn’t shock. Exhaustion, maybe. He’d done a lot of thinking in a very short amount of time, and he felt as weary as he had after the last Kingdom-wide tournament as a result. Apparently, breaking through the hard shell of his own stubbornness took a substantial effort— and damn him if that didn’t sound like the sort of thing Merlin would have said! He was beginning to infer Merlin’s comments, simply for want of being able to hear them.

And, of course, the day had only just begun. He had so much left to do; he needed to speak to his First Knight, investigate his Uncle for treachery, bring his treason before the Court if there was evidence to be found and change the patrols and plans even if there wasn’t evidence, because he was convinced even if the Court wouldn’t be, and—

And all he wanted to do was find Merlin and beg him to come back to his rooms and just talk about absolutely anything; hells, he’d gratefully listen to Merlin detailing each and every one of his failings if it only meant he could listen to Merlin. He wanted to hear Merlin’s voice so badly; it was the only thing that could consistently drown out the nasty little voice in his own head that liked to say things like you deserve this whenever something awful happened. That voice hadn’t started whispering to him yet, but he knew it would soon enough, and he was dreading it.

Eventually, Arthur found himself face to face with Leon’s door and raised his hand to knock; he wasn’t sure if Leon would even be in his room at this hour— his duties took him all around the castle and seemed to start the second the sun came up— but it was as good a place to start his search as any, and if he wasn’t there, it only meant Arthur would have a longer walk in store and more time to try and clear his head.

But it seemed Leon was in his room after all. Arthur heard shuffling from the other side of the door, a muffled “One moment!” and then, in short order, the door opened a crack to reveal his First Knight, who appeared to be making a late start of it by his own standards. He was dressed, and his hair was combed, but he wasn’t wearing his armor yet, and there were crumbs in his beard that meant Arthur had probably pulled him away from his breakfast.

Leon blinked at him, coughed, and stepped out into the hall, pulling the door partially closed behind him; he stopped just before it latched, allowing it to remain open a crack. Arthur supposed Leon hadn’t thought to pick up his key before stepping out, then realized it didn’t matter either way and forced himself to focus on what was happening instead of letting his mind wander off.

Leon cleared his throat. “Good morning, sire; what can I do for you?”

Arthur swallowed. Leon’s tone was still colder than he was used to hearing from the man; he’d taken the news about Merlin and the sigil very badly indeed, and was obviously still horribly disappointed in Arthur, as well he should be. Arthur made a mental note to find some way of making things up to him, too, after he settled things with Merlin to his satisfaction. Actually, he ought to find a way to properly apologize to all his knights, and to Guinevere, and—

And he was letting his mind wander again in a rather foolish attempt to avoid the raging unpleasantness that came from finding out his last remaining relative had probably been plotting against him.

Well, best get on with it, then, and stop drawing things out.

“Lord Agravaine came to my chambers this morning and raised some suspicions about Gaius’s loyalty. I ordered him to be detained, and would like you to assist me in searching his chambers.”

Leon’s face darkened. Arthur thought he heard a swift indrawn breath, but oddly, he didn’t notice Leon’s lips part at all.

After a moment, Leon’s nostrils flared, and then he said, in stilted, disapproving tones, “Of course, my Lord; allow me a moment to arm myself, and I will meet you in the Physician’s Tower.”

Arthur felt his jaw drop. “Wha— no, Leon, you misunderstood; I’ve ordered Agravaine detained, not Gaius. I— I believe him to be the traitor. I probably should have suspected him much sooner.” He laughed, ruefully. “If only because Merlin’s never trusted him. But this was the last straw; even if we don’t find any evidence, I plan to send him away from Court.”

The door to Leon’s room flew open, abruptly; Leon was shoved to the side, and Arthur was left facing the man he least expected to see, and wanted most to see.

“Merlin?”

Chapter Text

Arthur scarcely had time to react to Merlin’s sudden appearance. One moment, he was talking to Leon. The next, Merlin was there— Merlin was there!— staring at him open-mouthed as if he’d done something extraordinary.

“Did you mean it?” Merlin asked, breathless and overcome.

“Mean what?” Arthur asked.

“You… you said my mistrust should have been enough for you. Did you mean that, or—” Merlin’s eyes darkened. “Or did you just know I was listening?”

For a second or two, Arthur wanted to be offended, but then he realized that he’d given Merlin very little reason to trust him lately and plenty of reasons to mistrust him. He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and decided to be completely honest for once, without holding back any of his true feelings.

“Merlin, I hadn’t the faintest clue where you were. I haven’t been looking, because I’ve been trying to honor your request for space, but the fact is, if I had known where you were, I wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to come and find you in spite of your wishes and my own attempts to honor them.”

Arthur let that sink in, then added, “As for the rest… your instincts have always been better than mine. I should have trusted them. I’ve been a fool, Merlin. A fool, a dolt, a clotpole, and every other foul thing you’ve ever called me. I’m sorry.”

Merlin stepped forward and stared into Arthur’s eyes. His expression was searching, but otherwise inscrutable. Arthur wanted to squirm away from that stare, wanted to drown in it and never stop seeing it, wanted to heap promises and oaths to do better on Merlin, wanted to pick him up and carry him back to his chambers; he wanted a great many things. Instead, he forced himself to remain still and did his best to let his face show how much he meant his apology.

Merlin’s silence stretched on. The urge to say something— anything— rose, becoming almost undeniable.

Merlin threw his arms around Arthur just before Arthur broke.

There was a moment where Arthur wasn’t sure how to respond; he could count on one hand the hugs he’d given or received in the past decade without using all of his fingers— at least, the ones that weren’t preludes to more… intimate… embraces— and he had no idea what to do with his hands, or if he was allowed to lean in, or if he should just stand there and take it.

It might have turned awkward in short order, but the urge to hold Merlin was too intense to be denied, so he raised his arms cautiously, letting one hand rest at the small of Merlin’s back while he pressed the other between Merlin’s shoulder blades.

Merlin’s grip simply tightened as he heaved out a long, slow breath, which probably meant that had been the right thing to do.

Emboldened, Arthur let his head rest on Merlin’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of his hair.

It had changed; it wasn’t as herbal, and smelled quite a bit like the sort of soap his knights used, but underneath the smell of soap was the earthy smell that belonged only to Merlin. Arthur felt a tension he hadn’t even been aware of leaving his body with every glorious breath.

Merlin’s breath hitched. “Th-thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur beamed.

“I’m still bloody furious with you—” Arthur’s face fell— “but I appreciate that more than I can say.”  

Arthur thought for a moment and let his hands move in slow circles over Merlin’s back as he did. He felt Merlin relaxing under his touch.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Arthur murmured. “I promise. I have plans, and I—” Arthur swallowed and stopped speaking.

He’d intended to spell out some of his plans— make a bit of a speech— but suddenly, it felt as if it was far more important to simply say…

“I missed you.”

Merlin let out a soft, wet-sounding laugh. “I missed you, too, damn it all.”

Leon cleared his throat. Arthur felt himself flinch, a bit, but he stopped himself from jumping back and springing out of Merlin’s embrace. The last thing he wanted was to make Merlin think he was ashamed of him in any way. Instead, he pulled away slowly— regretfully— and looked back at his First Knight.

There was something like cautious approval on Leon’s face, which gave Arthur a bit more hope.

“My Lord, if I may make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” Arthur said at once.

“I recall hearing that Gaius requested some temporary aid; a page, I believe? It might be better to loan him Gwaine or Percival for the time being instead. If Lord Agravaine is a traitor— and frankly, I’ve had my own doubts about him for some time now— he may have some contingencies in place if he has other agents in the castle. Since he was targeting Gaius already, I’d feel better if he had someone watching over him, just in case.”

“Or I could resume my duties with him,” Merlin offered.

And put himself in the path of Agravaine’s plots? Arthur hated that idea!

Besides….

Arthur took Merlin’s hands and held them. “You could,” he said, softly. “I wouldn’t stop you. If you wanted to go back to being Gaius’s apprentice, separate from your other duties, you can. But… Merlin, you’ve hated Agravaine from the start. I don’t know what he did to make you suspect him, but whatever it was, you caught on to it long before anyone else did. You notice things we don’t. I could use your help searching his room and sorting through the evidence, if you’re willing to give it.” He let out a brittle laugh. “If you can stand being around me.”

Merlin opened his mouth, probably to say something scathing and sharp about how much practice he had in putting up with Arthur over the years, then visibly reconsidered and gave Arthur another piercing stare. His face softened again, until it was almost as fond as it had been before the troubles with Agravaine, the sigil, and their fight.

“Well… like I said, I did miss you.”

Arthur couldn’t think of anything more to say. He ought to thank Merlin or get down on one knee and swear he’d honor what the sigil should have meant in the beginning, or… or something!

But all he could do was gaze into Merlin’s eyes and smile stupidly.

Merlin smiled back.

Eventually, the sound of a door closing startled them both out of their trance; they turned their heads as one to see Leon, now dressed in full armor, shaking his head and smiling indulgently.

How long had they been standing there staring?

“Err, right,” Arthur said, lightly. “I suppose we ought to get moving, then.”

* * *

Leon studied the room with a critical eye; he didn’t like what he saw at all.

Agravaine’s chambers were cold and impersonal.

They looked like every other guest chamber in the castle. The bed was neat and tidy, the cupboards closed tightly, and the desk ordered with a ruthless precision. Every quill, inkwell, and stack of papers was placed just so, evenly distributed over the surface and within easy reach. It looked staged, somehow, as if it was someone’s idea of a perfectly ordinary room. There were no personal touches: no trophies showcasing the man’s skill as a hunter mounted on the wall, no mementos or costly ornaments decorating the shelves, no tapestries or coats of arms decorating the bare stone walls, no swords displayed openly to prove he had the right to bear arms and the training to use them.

That… was not a good sign.

Agravaine had lived in the castle long enough to make the rooms his own, and he hadn’t.

If Lord Agravaine had been a simpler man, Leon might have excused it as a consequence of his personality; Leon’s own chambers, for example, were sparse by most people’s standards, so he could have related to a desire for simplicity.

But Agravaine wasn’t simple; he was showy. He was the sort of man to dress all in black, only breaking up his color palette with the occasional indigo or deep purple. The sort of man who decorated his dark clothes with cloth-of-gold embroidery, overlarge cloak pins, and flashy broaches. The sort of man who wore more rings than Arthur did when he sat with the Council. The sort of man who wore capes and cloaks cut specifically to billow out dramatically when he moved. The sort of man who loved riches, and wanted to make himself look more important than he was.

There was only one reason a man like that would fail decorate his rooms: if he didn’t actually care about them. If he only ever viewed them as temporary.

Leon glanced at Arthur, wondering if he’d noticed. He saw at a glance that Merlin was as troubled by the state of Agravaine’s rooms as he was, but it was plain enough that Arthur hadn’t noticed anything amiss yet.

Of course, Arthur could barely manage to drag his gaze away from Merlin for more than a few heartbeats at a time, so maybe it was expecting entirely too much from him to think he might notice the warning signs for himself.

Leon rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the paperwork stacked neatly on Agravaine’s desk; it was as good a starting point as any. There probably wouldn’t be much to find— Agravaine probably would have burnt anything truly incriminating immediately after he finished reading it— but he might have gotten cocky enough to make a mistake. He rifled through the documents and recognized each and every one of them. They were all standard Council reports, and not at all suspicious. He had copies of the same documents back in his own rooms.

“Found anything?” Arthur asked; he appeared to be rummaging about in Agravaine’s wardrobe and finding nothing more sinister than a collection of needlessly dramatic cloaks.

“Not yet,” Leon replied.

Leon sighed gustily; this was probably going to take a while. Agravaine wasn’t exactly a genius, but he was rather cunning. They’d probably have to scour the room for hidden caches and loose stones. Surely, Agravaine wouldn’t have been stupid enough to hide anything damning where it could be easily found.

“I’ve got a strong box,” Merlin called out. Leon turned his head to look, following the sound of his voice, and found Merlin dragging a chest out from under the bed.

Or maybe he’s exactly that stupid.

“I suppose we’ll have to find a key,” Arthur said as he crossed the room.

Merlin took the lock in his hands and tugged it sideways, then jerked it up and down a few times. It opened. “Or not; he didn’t latch it properly. Lucky, that.”

Leon barely kept himself from snorting aloud. Lucky indeed!

That hadn’t been at all subtle… or, actually, it had been, given Merlin’s usual standards. Really, it was a wonder that Arthur hadn’t found him out yet.

Leon shook his head and knelt to join them as Merlin pulled the lock from the hasp and lifted the lid. The box appeared to contain a stack of books. Leon reached for one and hefted it. He felt his jaw drop as he read the title. “Studies in Sorcery?”

Arthur took out the next book. “Curses, Hexes, and Enchantments.” He set it aside and reached for a third. “Mind Control and Love Spells.” Arthur shook his head and sighed. “So he is a traitor, and a sorcerer to boot. Wonderful. He was probably planning to enchant me once Gaius was out of the way; it explains why he targeted him. Gaius would have recognized an enchantment.”

Leon exchanged a speaking glance with Merlin. Leon’s look translated to something like is he serious?

Merlin’s, roughly translated, said, see what I have to put up with?

“Oh, please,” Merlin said scornfully, rolling his eyes as he slammed the chest shut. “A traitor, yes, but a sorcerer? Hardly. He hasn’t the spine or the wit to learn magic.”

“Then why would he have these books, Merlin?” Arthur asked; a touch of his usual flippant dismissal colored the words, but for once, Merlin stood his ground.

Quite literally, in fact. He stood and dragged Arthur up with him. “Come with me.”

With that, Merlin strode out the door, pulling Arthur along and giving Leon little choice but to follow them out. They raced down the hall and up the stairs, clearly making for the infirmary. Merlin shoved open the door and entered without so much as a pause; Gaius, who had apparently been taking tea with Guinevere, looked up and startled.

“Merlin!” he shouted, his voice split between joy and irritation. “You’re back!”

“Hullo, Gaius, hullo Gwen; no, no, don’t bother getting up. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Merlin released Arthur’s hand and made for the stacks of books laid out on one of Gaius’s benches. He lifted a few of them seemingly at random, picking up and discarding perhaps a half-dozen volumes before finally letting out a triumphant cry.

“Aha!”

Merlin held aloft a battered leather book and waved it in Arthur’s direction. “Take a look, sire.”

Guinevere and Gaius finally noticed Arthur and Leon standing in the doorway and frowned slightly. Guinevere leaned over to Gaius and whispered, “Do you think they’ve made up?”

Arthur crossed the room and took the book. “Witchcraft, Sorcery, and Magic,” he read, then blinked in Gaius’s direction.

“That isn’t mine,” Gaius said, sounding deeply confused. “I’ve never heard of such a title.”

“Damned right it isn’t,” Merlin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve lived here for years, and I’ve never seen it. Besides, magic is banned: anyone who was really studying sorcery would have picked books with covers that didn’t shout their contents out so plainly. So, Arthur, what does that tell you?”

Arthur’s brow furrowed as he tried to work it out; Leon barely held back a laugh. The King’s effort was so obvious it was comical, and it was taking him a bit longer to process the information than it should have. Maybe he would have figured it out sooner if he wasn’t still reeling after seeing Merlin again.

Leon decided to give him a clue. He walked over and held Studies in Sorcery up next to the other book. “The bindings are quite similar.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Agravaine planted it here!”

“Yes, Arthur, he did,” Merlin said slowly, enunciating his words carefully and nodding his head in an exaggerated fashion as if he was speaking to a particularly dimwitted child.

“Agravaine?” Gaius asked warily. “Why would he be leaving books in my chambers?”

“He accused you of being a traitor, Gaius,” Leon said. “Luckily, our King saw right through him and ordered him detained.”

“And now I’ll order him to the dungeons,” Arthur growled.

“Wait,” Merlin said, grabbing Arthur’s arm to stop him from doing exactly that. “Where is he now?”

“The Western Tower, in the guest room,” Arthur said flatly.

“Then keep him there,” Merlin advised. “I’m assuming he’s being guarded? Good. Make sure the guard is discrete. Tell as few people as possible; a few of the old guards, the Round Table, and no one else. Then, wait until people start looking for him. He isn’t well-liked among the servants or the guards— Gwen and I can attest to that— so if anyone does ask about him….”

“Then they’re probably in league with him!” Arthur blinked at Merlin. “That’s… that’s terribly clever of you, Merlin! I never would have thought of it!”

Merlin blushed and ducked his head, but his smile was blinding.

Leon found himself smiling, too. “Guinevere,” he asked, softly. “Could we trouble you to find the other knights? I’d send a page, but—”

“But we’re being sneaky,” Guinevere said, flashing a conspiratorial grin. “Of course I can.” She made for the door, pausing long enough to pull Merlin into a hug, pat Leon’s arm, and whisper, “Good luck” to Arthur as she brushed past them.

Gaius watched the three of them with a frown. “I can see I’ve missed quite a bit,” he said at last.

“Not half as much as I have,” Arthur said, ruefully.

Leon watched as Merlin went to sit next to Gaius and greeted him properly. Arthur started to leave as they embraced— moving slowly, as if he didn’t really want to go, but didn’t want to intrude, either— but stopped when Merlin called after him and gestured for him to sit, too. He obeyed at once, and Leon joined them after putting the kettle over the fire for more tea.

The conversation started out a bit awkwardly as Merlin explained where he’d been for the past several days— Leon half suspected Arthur would take issue with Leon hiding Merlin away in his rooms, but to his surprise, Arthur just smiled at him and seemed glad that Merlin had someone to talk to— and then grew tenser still as Arthur explained how his Uncle had accused Gaius and how the accusation had sparked Arthur’s suspicions. When they reached the topic of the search and its results, Arthur’s shoulders slumped, and Leon saw the pain and regret the King had been holding back pressing down on him all at once.

Merlin saw it, too, and reached for him, seizing Arthur’s hand and holding it across the table. It seemed to help.

Still, Leon sympathized. Arthur had clung to Agravaine like a lifeline after his father’s death; losing that support must feel awful.

“At first, I thought he’d taken up sorcery,” Arthur finished, nodding to the book. “I suppose I should be glad he hasn’t. He might have brought curses into the castle if he had.”

Merlin and Gaius both flinched. Arthur missed it, but Leon tucked their reaction away; there was a story there. Merlin had undoubtedly taken care of whatever curse Agravaine had tried to lay, but still, the fact that there had been a curse at all was concerning.

“He…” Merlin flinched again. “I think he was working with Morgana. Even if Agravaine wasn’t using magic himself, she certainly can.”

Arthur pulled his wrist away from Merlin, braced his elbows on the table, and put his head in his hands. He breathed slowly and deeply for several long moments, then said, “How do you know he’s working for Morgana?” in a small, hurt voice. “I don’t doubt you, but how do you know?”

Merlin and Gaius exchanged a speaking look.

“He asked Gaius about something. Something he couldn’t have known about unless he was working for her.”

“And what, exactly, was he asking after?”

There was another pause and another long look, and then Gaius took up the explanation. “He asked after an… acquaintance of mine. A sorcerer. One who stands against Morgana. One who would support you, instead.”

Arthur looked up at that and narrowed his eyes. “Why would any sorcerer side with Camelot?”

“Because sorcerers are still people, Arthur,” Merlin said, speaking so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Arthur stared at him blankly.

“Some sorcerers only want to live in peace,” Leon said, softly, after it became clear that Merlin wasn’t going to elaborate and Gaius wasn’t going to answer him at all. “Some of them are good and loyal citizens who try to keep to themselves and only use their magic when they have to. I know one who… who’s helped us before. More than once. Without ever asking for a reward or any sort of acknowledgement. Simply because it was the right thing to do.”

All three men turned to stare at him. Arthur gaped at him, open-mouthed. Gaius cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. And Merlin—

Merlin stared at him with wonder writ plain on his face. Leon waited until Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face before nodding slightly in Merlin’s direction. Merlin stiffened, but his wonder didn’t diminish. If anything, it grew.

“You’re serious? You— Sir Leon, champion of law and order— you know and trust a sorcerer?” Arthur asked, sounding dismayed and disbelieving in equal measure.

“With my life,” Leon said without taking his eyes off Merlin.

“Wonderful,” Arthur said, somewhat sarcastically. “More treason, just what we needed!”

Arthur sighed heavily and put his head down onto the table. Eventually, he said, his voice muffled, “Agravaine tried to rob me of one loyal man today; I won’t let his actions cost me another. I may not trust magic or this hidden sorcerer of yours, Sir Leon, but I do trust you. The fact that you spoke up at all… if there was treachery, you could have simply stayed silent. So, the fact that you mentioned this sorcerer probably means you and he are trustworthy. It’d be too much of a risk otherwise, without any possibility of reward under the circumstances. You and I will have a reckoning later, but for now… I can’t afford to be at odds with my First Knight in the wake of my Uncle’s betrayal.”

Arthur looked up. A muscle in his jaw twitched erratically. His lips twisted this way and that as he visibly took up and discarded several possible responses. Eventually, he sighed and said “Would this sorcerer friend of yours be willing to speak to us? If he’s helped us before… perhaps he could help ensure Agravaine hasn’t been planting enchantments on Morgana’s behalf?”

“That,” Leon said firmly, “is entirely up to him. I’m not going to out him, but I’ll make sure he knows you’d like to speak with him, provided you can promise him safe passage. After that… well, it’ll be up to him to come forward, if he’s ready to.”

Arthur stood, pushing away from the table. The bench shrieked as it scraped the floor; the table was saved from being moved only by Merlin’s quick thinking: he managed to brace it just as Arthur rose.

“I need to… to…” Arthur began. He trailed off and swallowed so hard it was audible, a low sharp click that rang out in the silent room. His brow furrowed as he searched for what, exactly, he needed to do.

“Perhaps you should speak to the guards,” Merlin advised.

Arthur nodded. “Will you….” He trailed off again.

“I’d like to look around a little more,” Merlin said, his eyes flicking around the room and resting on Gaius and Leon for the barest fraction of a second longer than they rested on anything else. “I know these chambers like the back of my hand: if anything else is out of place, I’ll find it. Besides, even I’ve heard the sort of rumors that have been going around, and I’ve been avoiding everyone for days. My presence at your side would call far too much attention to your movements.”

“Of course,” Arthur said despondently.

“But I’ll find you later,” Merlin offered. “Dinner, perhaps? In your chambers?”

Arthur brightened. He opened his mouth to speak and apparently couldn’t find the words. He reached out to squeeze Merlin’s hand, then turned away and made for the door.

“Sire?”

Arthur looked back over his shoulder. Leon put a hand on his sword and said, “Perhaps I should stay behind, too. At least until Guinevere returns with the other knights and we can arrange a guard for Gaius.”

Arthur nodded. “Don’t let either of them out of your sight,” he said, looking at Merlin. “If there are traitors in the castle, I don’t want Merlin alone either.”

And with that, he was gone.

For one long moment, no one in the infirmary moved or spoke. Leon stared at the closed door, steeling himself, then turned to look at Merlin. He smiled mildly and did his best to look friendly and nonthreatening.

“I suppose we should talk.”

“Yes, I rather think we should,” Merlin agreed.

Chapter Text

Merlin stared openly at Leon as he shrank into himself, his shoulders hunched and his hands spread wide, angled strategically away from the hilt of his sword. His eyes were soft, pleading, and he looked more nervous than Merlin had ever seen him before.

He looked a bit like a dog rolling over to show his belly, actually: a careful show that all added up to mean something along the lines of I’m not a threat, I promise.

Eventually, Leon cleared his throat and spoke. “Merlin, you must know that I—”

“For gods’ sakes, man, sit down,” Merlin snapped, interrupting him with a rapid slash of his hand through the air. Leon dropped back onto the bench as if he’d been forced to, even though there’d been no magic at all behind the gesture. “You’re going to tell me that you trust me, that you have no intention of telling Arthur about me without my leave, and that you’re grateful for me and my magic, aren’t you?”

Leon blinked up at him, open mouthed. “Err, well, yes, actually. I was.”

“Right, well,” Merlin nodded once to punctuate the words, both his tone and the gesture coming out sharper than he meant them to, but that was shock for you: it stole your precision even when it didn’t leave you breathless and stupid. “The thing is, you’ve already told me that. Not in so many words, but… but it's obvious. Not only from what you’ve said to Arthur today, but also because of what you’ve done. I’ve spent a lot of time with you recently. You’ve been caring for me. That says a lot more than words ever could. So, stop looking at me like you’re afraid I’ll bolt out and flee the Kingdom if you so much as breathe wrong in my direction!”

Leon let out a breathless, slightly choked laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face, curling his fingers to scratch under his chin after they passed his mouth. His back straightened, as if Merlin’s words had taken an immense weight off his shoulders. “Alright. But you deserve to hear it anyway: I am grateful, and I do owe you my thanks. More than my thanks, really. We all do.”

Merlin found himself smiling brightly and nodding graciously, not trusting his words just then. He reached across the table, just as he had when it was Arthur sitting across from him and showing his distress. Leon didn’t content himself with being patted the way Arthur had, though; he turned his hand up so Merlin’s landed atop it, then threaded their fingers together.

If he’d been anyone else, it would have been far too forward. But coming from Leon, after all they’d shared… it felt right.

“I’m grateful for you, too,” Merlin said. “Really, I am. I don’t know how I’d have managed any of this without you. And I suppose I ought to tell you that I love you. Not… not like I love Arthur, but still, I do. More than a friend, different from a brother, but not… not less than one. There… there really aren’t proper words for it.”

“Do we need proper words?” Leon asked, squeezing his hand affectionately. “Family fits well enough, I think. Why scramble for something more precise than that? And if it wasn’t obvious, I feel the same way.”

“This is all very touching,” Gaius said, startling them both; he sounded more than a little put out at being so roundly ignored, and when they flinched in unison, making it clear that they’d forgotten him entirely before he spoke— and in his own chambers no less— his disapproving eyebrow hitched higher still. “But I’d like to know how you found out about Merlin and his nature, and who else knows.”

Leon shrugged and smiled at Merlin. “The Dragon’s last attack knocked me arse over teakettle, but it didn’t knock me out. I saw you banish the creature, and I started paying closer attention after that. I thought about telling you a hundred times since then, but honestly, I was afraid you’d get even less circumspect somehow if you knew that I knew and that I wasn’t upset about it.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest that he really wasn’t that bad at hiding his magic, but Gaius let out a braying laugh before he got the chance to voice any of his objections, and then Leon was speaking again.

“As for others who know… well, Merlin’s magic might be less than subtle, but your door isn’t even remotely soundproof, Gaius, and you aren’t exactly quiet. By now it’s something of an open secret amongst the guards and servants, but none of them would dare mention it to anyone who didn’t already know.”

Gaius’s laughter cut off with a sound rather like a man swallowing his own tongue; Merlin felt more than a bit vindicated.

Leon scrubbed his face again, trying— and largely failing— to hide a soft chuckle behind his hand, and added, “Other than that, I don’t know. I think Gwaine suspects something, but I’ve never been sure. I’ve thought about asking him time and again, but honestly, I always decided he’d try to knock me out to give himself time to escape with you the second the words ‘Merlin’ and ‘magic’ were spoken in the same sentence without ever giving me the chance to explain that it wasn’t an accusation.”

Well, that was something both Merlin and Gaius could laugh at, at least.

Leon joined them good-naturedly; whatever tension lingered in the room vanished then and there.

Eventually, Merlin wiped his eyes and said, softly, “So what now? Arthur didn’t fly off the handle at the suggestion of good sorcery, which is a definite improvement, but I’m not sure striding into his room with a grimoire and a prayer is the best idea. Not so soon after Agravaine’s betrayal. And not when we’ve spent the last several days avoiding each other. If I know Arthur, he’s at his wit’s end. One more betrayal might just—”

“You haven’t betrayed him,” Leon protested vehemently. But then he sighed heavily and slumped further down onto the bench like it was all he could do to stay upright. “But he probably will take it as one, at least at first. Still, we’ve laid the groundwork. With a little time, and a bit of luck… one day, you will be able to tell him. He’ll come around. I’m sure of it.”

Merlin nodded. “A disguise, maybe? A new one this time.” He bit his lip consideringly. “What if we keep it simple? Arthur is a master at ignoring inconvenient truths. If I wear a cloak and keep the cowl up, speak lower than usual, and use a bit of magic to make sure my face stays shadowed… I wouldn’t dare rely on something that basic if I was on my own, but with you there vouching for me, it just might work.”

“There are spells of misdirection you could try,” Gaius offered, “illusions that dampen curiosity. I can think of two or three that should suffice.” He reached for one of his spellbooks and made a point of thumping the very plain cover as he glared at the much more conspicuous book Agravaine had planted.

“When and where?” Leon asked, without hesitating. “And how shall I introduce you?”

Merlin exchanged a speaking glance with Gaius. “Tomorrow,” he replied. “Arthur needs time to settle first, and besides, a bit of a wait will lend credence to the idea that you had to send for the sorcerer. As for my introduction… we’ll give him some of the truth. You can introduce me with my other name. Emrys.”

Leon cocked his head to one side, but before he could ask, a new, heavily accented voice sounded from the corner of the room.

“Emrys? Are you indeed? Then my job has been far easier than I thought it would be.”

Leon surged forward, drawing his sword and putting himself between Merlin, Gaius, and the intruder.

Or, rather, the intruders.

A bald man who carried a tall walking staff without leaning on it— which made it a weapon, not an aid— stepped out from the shadows, flanked by two enormous men, both heavily tattooed and wearing curved swords at their belts. All three looked exquisitely dangerous, though oddly enough, their expressions weren’t hostile.

Still, their unasked for and uninvited presence was threat enough.

Merlin took them in at a glance and reacted almost as quickly as Leon had, raising his arms, palms out, to prepare a spell. Gaius moved just as swiftly, hefting a pair of phials, both full of harsh, caustic substances that would burn like acid if applied to skin undiluted. He pulled back his arms, ready to hurl the bottles, but neither the man with the staff nor his bodyguards moved to defend themselves.

In fact, the three of them held up their hands in surrender at once. The abrupt call for a truce caught them off guard long enough for the intruder to double down on his surrender.

Slowly, the bald man lowered one hand and took hold of his robe, lifting it just enough to allow himself the freedom to kneel. He eased himself down and set his staff gently and deliberately on the floor, then stood again, with the help of one of the other men. He made a show of spreading his now weaponless hands. What’s more, he showed Merlin the backs of his hands rather than the palms, the way sorcerers did when they were trying to look nonthreatening.

“We mean you no harm,” he said. His voice was thickly accented and rather pleasant; warm and almost musical. It made Merlin want to trust him.

Merlin shook off the impulse and growled, “Who are you? What do you want?” without lowering his own hands; they glowed slightly, still full of power just waiting to be unleashed.

Rather than being daunted by the display, the bald man and his compatriots eyed his hands with open awe.

“I am Alator of the Catha,” the bald man said, inclining his chin slightly in a deferent nod. “And I was hired by Morgana Pendragon, High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, to kidnap him and pry from him your identity and whereabouts, Emrys.”

He nodded in Gaius’s direction, making it plain enough who he’d meant to kidnap.

Gaius squeezed his phials tighter still and ground his teeth together; the message was clear: just try it, and see what happens.

Alator laughed. “Though I can see it would not have been easy, even with the aid of the King’s Uncle,” he said, acknowledging the silent threat. “We were to meet outside. When Lord Agravaine did not arrive, I sought to complete my task without him, but it appears there will be no need. I already have what I came for.”

Merlin very nearly let loose his magic, but he held himself back with an effort of will. If he attacked now, he wouldn’t get any answers, and he wanted them badly: none of this made any sense at all.

“Why tell us any of this?” Merlin hissed. “Why show yourself, when you could have simply taken the knowledge back to your mistress with us none the wiser?”

Alator’s eyes flashed; his men grimaced distastefully.

“Morgana Pendragon is not my mistress,” Alator hissed. “She is a blight on this land. No; I do not serve her. I was hired by her, but I only accepted the task because it aligned with my own interests.”

“And what interests are those?” Leon asked, warily. He took a cautious step back, though he didn’t lower his sword an inch; its tip moved swiftly, constantly, pointing to each of the men in turn and perpetually shifting from one to the other, ready to respond to an attack from any quarter at a moment’s notice if things turned violent.

Alator looked to his own men. There was a moment of silent communion, and then all three dropped to their knees and looked up at Merlin with something close to adoration in their eyes.

“We share your hopes. We have dreamt of the world you and the Once and Future King will build, and we would gladly give our lives to help you do it,” Alator rasped, emotion thickening his voice and sliding wetly from his eyes. “We would swear ourselves to you, My Lord Emrys. That is the true purpose of the Catha. We would stop at nothing to see you guarded and supported, even if it meant using the Witch’s resources to find you first. Rest assured, she will learn nothing from us. But you… there is much you can learn from us. I can teach you secrets known only to the Priesthood; spells largely lost since the time of the First Purge. What’s more, we know much of Agravaine and his plans, and of his agents in the castle.”

Merlin bit his lip and studied the men kneeling before him carefully. He longed to look to Gaius or to Leon for guidance or reassurance, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Alator; he knew little of the Catha, but he knew enough to respect their power.

Alator was a Priest; perhaps not a High Priest, but still, the Old Religion’s servants were mighty indeed. If Alator was telling the truth, he would be a valuable ally. Of course, if he was lying, he could cause no end of trouble…

But there was no sign of deception in Alator’s open, eager face. He looked at Merlin the way the druids who refused to call him anything other than his title did, with something halfway between loyalty and worship. Merlin really didn’t think you could fake that sort of unmitigated awe. In spite of himself, and the long years of constant paranoia, Merlin found he really did trust Alator’s pledge.

Slowly, Merlin released his grip on his magic and stepped forward, laying his hand on Leon’s arm.

Shockingly, Leon stood aside at once, without even the slightest hesitation. He even went so far as to lower his blade, though he didn’t yet sheathe it. It astounded Merlin, even after their conversation. That level of trust and faith— it was no less meaningful than Alator’s, for all that it was slightly less fervent.

Merlin shook himself and moved to stand next to Alator; he could contemplate Leon’s love and loyalty later. For now, he had to focus.

Merlin reached out and lifted Alator’s chin, bending slightly so he could look the man in the eye. He studied him critically, narrowing his focus until everything else faded, needing to be sure. There was a moment of silent accord, a communion that went deeper than any mortal oath of fealty, and then Merlin nodded, fully satisfied.

“Rise, then. Come sit with us, and tell us what you know.”

He looked back at Leon, grimacing. “We might need to change our plans.”

* * *

If Arthur had any doubts at all about his Uncle’s treachery— and he hadn’t, not really; he’d even moved past wishful thinking and willful denial by the time he left Gaius’s chambers— they would have been quashed after talking to his most trusted guards.

Apparently, several of them had concerns of their own.

Nothing finite; nothing with any real proof. If they’d seen anything truly damning, they’d have reported it long ago, but the moment Arthur voiced his own conclusions and ordered them to continue guarding his Uncle’s makeshift prison, their testimonies came pouring out.

Everything they reported back to him could have been coincidental or explained away, but taken together…

A habit of leaving the citadel early in the mornings or late at night. Coming and going from parts of the castle that he didn’t have a good reason to be in. Speaking overlong with a select few servants even though he was the sort of nobleman who usually treated servants as if they were invisible. An unhealthy interest in the patrol routes and guard rotations.

There could have been perfectly rational explanations. If Arthur were to ask, Agravaine would probably explain them all quite easily: insomnia, and a need for fresh air; an innocent stroll around the castle grounds when he didn’t have the time for a ride outside the castle walls, or perhaps a desire to visit parts of the castle that Ygraine had enjoyed when she was alive and happy behind its walls— he probably could have diverted Arthur’s attention very well with that excuse, if he’d been clever enough to use it, and he probably would have been— or perhaps a feeling of responsibility leading him to map out potential weak points.

And as for the servants… well, Arthur had his own favored servants and a habit of ignoring the ones he didn’t have a personal connection with. Agravaine could have passed those conversations off with Arthur none the wiser.

But when you put it all together and added in the books, simple arithmetic led you to the rather obvious conclusion of spy.

Arthur would have no trouble at all convincing the Court of Agravaine’s guilt now. It was beyond damning.

Resigned, Arthur arranged a new guard rotation and ordered the servants Agravaine had been seen with discretely detained.

Tonight, he’d let them all stew in the dungeons. Tomorrow, he’d confront them with Merlin at his side.

They would be easy to break.

Arthur could see it all as if it was already happening. He’ll glower at them, cold and furious, and growl out an accusation. Then Merlin will step in and be the voice of reason. Merlin will point out that he understands how difficult it can be to refuse a command from a nobleman, especially a member of the Royal Family, and how impossible it is to voice accusations against a man like that, with a few deliberate eyerolls in Arthur’s direction and a not-so-subtle dig at his habit of sending him to the stocks to add a bit of levity meant to ease the tension slightly and make them all the more vulnerable to his disarming manner. He'll nudge at Arthur until he promises to be lenient if they speak out now and tell all they know, and then, inevitably, the servants will fall over themselves at once, desperate for an out.

Arthur knew it would work. They’d done it before. Not often, because Uther disdained such methods and thought them beneath his standing, but it was a stunningly effective gambit, and unlike his father’s methods of rooting out treachery, it required no pain and no bloodshed and built up no further ill-will from the people. It didn’t leave the rest of the castle walking on eggshells, afraid they’d be next in the interrogation chambers even when they hadn’t done anything wrong.

Arthur was beyond grateful that he still had the option, now that he’d reconnected with his ser— with Merlin. No one else could pull it off so effectively. With Merlin, interrogations like that were simplicity itself. Without Merlin, it would have been impossible. No one else could strike the balance between charming and irreverent; anyone else would have deferred too much to Arthur, and spoiled the effect.

As if Arthur needed another reason to be thankful Merlin was still with him!

Arthur was so deep in his thoughts— laying plans upon plans, building contingencies, and trying to predict just how much corruption they’d uncover in the Court— that he entered his chambers and poured himself a glass of wine without ever realizing that he wasn’t alone. He tilted back the goblet, draining it to the dregs, and refilled it, then collapsed onto the trunk pushed up against the wall below his window. He gazed out of it and saw nothing but blackness and his own reflection… and a hint of movement in the reflection behind him.

Arthur froze and fought to keep his stare level and unbothered, pretending he hadn’t noticed. He shifted his grip on the goblet, preparing to throw it, and slid his other hand down the handle of the wine jug so he could use it like a club.

“You look troubled.”

Arthur very nearly dropped the jug and the goblet both. His head whipped around so fast his neck popped and protested, punishing him with a stinging flare of pain. “Hunith?”

Merlin’s mother sat at his desk with a stack of parchment fanned out in front of her, looking as at-home there as Merlin would have.

Arthur would have preferred an assassin.

“Hello, Arthur.” She smiled, warmly, and nodded to the papers. “These are quite good; has Merlin been helping you with your policies now that the two of you are married? I’d swear some of these are his ideas.”

Arthur swallowed hard. “N-no,” he stammered; he stopped and cleared his throat, then said, a bit more levelly, “No. Not with those proposals, anyway. Though I’ll admit he inspired them, and he has helped in the past.”

He had; those were the proposals Arthur had drafted with reconciliation in mind, the ones that would serve as a grand, sweeping declaration that he had listened to Merlin all along. Merlin’s ideas were all over those pages, even if he hadn’t put pen to paper himself.

Arthur cleared his throat again and pushed his shoulders back. Facing Merlin’s mother now felt as daunting as facing the Great Dragon had, but he knew he had to be honest with her. Merlin adored Hunith; they were close as any mother and child could wish to be, in spite of the physical distance between them. Merlin wrote to her religiously, and she always answered, and Merlin always took her words to heart. Not a week went by without Arthur hearing the words “Mother always said” at least once; if Arthur had any hope of winning Merlin over, he needed Hunith on his side.

Or, at the very least, he needed to make sure she wouldn’t stand in open opposition of him.

“I’m afraid our marriage isn’t exactly… confirmed,” Arthur confessed. “He— I— well, to be honest, I messed up.”

“Oh, did you?” Hunith asked tonelessly. “Do tell.”

Arthur blinked at her. “You already know, don’t you?”

He felt his heart sink. Either Gaius had told her everything in the letter he’d threatened Arthur with, or she’d heard the rumors making the rounds on her way up to the castle. If she had… well, if they were anything like the rumors he’d cajoled George into sharing with him, she had to be bloody furious with him.

Actually, they were probably worse than the rumors George had repeated. Arthur wasn’t fool enough to believe George would have passed on the harshest gossip. He’d probably been as kind as possible under the circumstances; the common stories probably painted Arthur in an even worse light.

“If you mean: do I know that you proposed to my son without telling him what you were doing, and kept courting another all the while without being honest with either of them,” Hunith said, “then yes, I do. But I don’t know why.”

Hunith stood and made her way over to the window, dragging the chair she rose from behind her. She pushed it up in front of Arthur and settled back into it, crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them behind one of the chair’s legs. She rested her elbows on the armrests, steepled her fingers, and leaned her chin on her knuckles, fixing him with a penetrating stare.

“Would you care to explain?”

Arthur’s mouth was dry, and he felt distinctly light-headed, but oddly enough, he didn’t feel half so threatened anymore. By all rights, Hunith should be cursing his name and promising to take her son far, far away, King or no.

And yet, she wasn’t.

She was simply asking for his side of the story, as if that mattered.

“Why aren’t you shouting at me?” Arthur asked, in a small, brittle voice.

Hunith laughed mirthlessly. “I thought about it the whole way here,” she said. “Gaius wasn’t exactly clear in his letters— and I’ll be having words with him for that later— and at first, I thought you eloped without inviting me. Then, when I arrived, I overheard some gossip that painted you in an extremely poor light. But then I made my way here, to this room, and…”

She looked pointedly to the wine jug in Arthur’s hand, then to the empty bottles George hadn’t yet cleared away, and then back to the desk and the papers.

“You clearly regret what happened, and I’ll say it again: you’re clearly troubled. Shouting now wouldn’t help anything. It would only make things worse. You don’t need me to tell you where you’ve gone wrong; I think you’re doing that well enough on your own.”

Hunith turned her head to stare directly at Arthur again. “Arthur, I’ll be blunt: I don’t believe you meant to hurt my son. I know you care for him, and I know he cares for you. I’ve known that since his first year in Camelot, when you came back with him to defend a tiny village that wasn’t at all your responsibility and stayed up half the night talking to him and doing your best to reassure him. Clumsily, perhaps—” she laughed in a way that invited Arthur to join her, instead of making him feel like the butt of her joke; he found himself chuckling in response, in spite of his tension.

“But still, you made an effort. So, no, I don’t think your intentions were dishonorable. I think… I think things are complicated between the two of you, for more reasons than you know. I think you’re both bound up in duty and destiny, expectations and inexperience and old fears. More importantly, I think you can both overcome all that, as long as you listen to one another, and do your best to look past your hurt and trust that everything you’ve done— everything you’ve both done— has been with the best possible intentions.”

Arthur felt tears welling up behind his eyes. By all rights, Hunith ought to be angrier with him than anyone else, angrier even than Merlin; mothers had a sacred right to defend their sons, after all.

And yet…

And yet she was giving him more credit and leniency than his own Round Table had.

“I don’t deserve this,” Arthur whispered, his voice breaking in several places. “I don’t deserve your kindness, not after—”

Hunith’s hands reached for his; they pried his fingers away from the goblet and the jug and set them carelessly aside, then held his hands. Her thumbs stroked across his knuckles, soothingly. “Everyone deserves kindness,” she said, firmly, as if it were a fact of life that simply could not be argued against, instead of the sort of thing Arthur had been raised to view as nonsensical and hopelessly naïve.

“And besides that, you’re family.”

What?

Arthur’s tears stopped welling and started flowing freely; he felt them trace hot lines down his cheeks. “My family hates me.”

“Not this family,” Hunith whispered. She left her chair, nudged him gently over, and sat beside him, putting her arm around his shoulder. “I promise, Arthur, Merlin and I could never hate you. Come now, tell me what’s wrong. You look and sound like you need a mother’s advice.”

Arthur did; he always had.

It was like a dam breaking. The story poured out of him in a rush. A lot of it came out in hitched starts and stops, the words so broken they ought to have been indecipherable, but Hunith seemed to understand them. He felt her nodding next to him, and every now and again, she would ask him questions or make an observation that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had understood.  Arthur couldn’t fathom how…

But maybe mothers were like that.

Eventually, Arthur ran dry of words and tears both. Hunith reached up and dried his face with her apron and sighed. She was silent for some time; somehow, Arthur wasn’t bothered by the silence. It didn’t feel like he was being weighed or judged or found wanting the way his father’s silence always had. It felt thoughtful and warm and compassionate, the way Merlin’s silences sometimes did, when he managed to nag Arthur into talking about what was bothering him. Perhaps this was where Merlin had learned that skill.

“This may be cold comfort, but… you must know I spent some time at Court,” Hunith said, slowly. “I used to be Gaius’s assistant. I couldn’t be a Physician— women in Camelot can’t be; it’s midwifery or nothing, which is something else you might want to consider changing— but I was skilled enough to help him. We had an arrangement, my brother and I. He did most of the work with the Lords and the knights, and I stepped in with the Ladies, and we split the compounding of physicks and potions between the two of us. It meant I know most of the Ladies at Court, and, as is often the way of such things, I learned things from them that they would tell no one else. I wasn’t close with Ygraine, but her chambermaids…”

Hunith swallowed. “Agravaine hated your father long before Ygraine’s death. He had an… unhealthy regard for Ygraine.”

Arthur sprang away and looked at her, horrified and a bit ill. “You can’t mean he—”

Hunith shook her head quickly. “No, no. Not that. But he believed that, as her oldest brother, he had a right to make decisions for her. He loathed the fact that she married someone he couldn’t push around or manipulate; Uther had many faults, but he was not a man prone to flattery or manipulation.”

Arthur felt his face fall. “But I am.”

Hunith shook her head again. “No, Arthur, you aren’t. That’s not what I meant. I only meant… I only meant that no matter what he says, his anger predates you. If he is a traitor, it isn’t you he betrayed. It’s your father, and his own sister’s memory.”

Hunith turned away and walked to the desk, giving Arthur the chance to digest that. “But enough of Agravaine; let’s talk about Merlin.” She lifted the proposals Arthur had drafted and shuffled them around. “These are a good start, Arthur, but… well, I’ve known Merlin all his life. If anyone can help you with him, I can. And I will.”

She faced him again, her eyes warm, but nonetheless piercing. “The two of you are good for each other. You need each other. I mean to see your wedding, Arthur. In fact, I mean to sit in a place of honor throughout the celebrations. So, dry your eyes, sit down, and listen, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know about my son and how to win him over.”

Chapter Text

Arthur sat waiting for the knock on his door for so long that when it finally came, he wasn’t ready for it. It took him three tries before he managed to speak— the words lodging in his too-dry throat and coming out soundless when he did his best to force them out— but eventually, he managed to call out, “Enter.”

Merlin came in, slipping past a door he held only partway open, and said something to someone out of Arthur’s view; the guards, probably, or someone who’d escorted him up. Either way, it was a short conversation, and then the door was closed and Arthur had Merlin’s full attention.

Merlin crossed the room without hesitation and settled into the chair across from Arthur. He spared a single glance at the dinner tray laid out on Arthur’s table and smiled approvingly; he probably saw, even with that simple glance, what Arthur had intended when he ordered the tray up: a meal they could linger over, one they wouldn’t have to rush.

Everything on the tray, from the strips of cold roast beef to the fruits and vegetables and bits of bread and cheese and pastry, was meant to be eaten cold and by hand, without any fuss. Their dinner would keep for as long as they needed it to; they could talk without hurrying, and without distracting themselves with utensils or complicated dishes.

For the moment, though, Merlin didn’t appear to have anything to say. He was too busy studying Arthur’s face.

Arthur studied Merlin’s face in turn, and did his best not to wither under Merlin’s attention. They’d gotten along well enough earlier, and Merlin had admitted to missing Arthur, but still, Arthur didn’t really know what to expect.

After some immeasurable time that might have been seconds or minutes or hours for all Arthur could chart it, Merlin said, quite gently, “Are you alright?”

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. Merlin’s kindness never failed to amaze him; Merlin had been avoiding him for days, and had every reason to be furious with him still, and yet his first thought at their first private rendezvous after that disastrous Round Table meeting where Arthur’s cowardice came to light was to ask after him, in a way that strongly suggested he was ready to comfort Arthur again if need be.

It was far more than he deserved, and he knew it.

When Arthur didn’t respond immediately, Merlin said, leadingly, “I know you cared for Agravaine…”

“Apparently, I didn’t really know Agravaine,” Arthur said, bluntly, with just a touch of self-recrimination in his voice. “I think it would be better to say that I wanted to care about Agravaine, and that I cared for the man I hoped he’d be.”

Arthur opened his eyes to find Merlin gazing at him with a soft, understanding expression. It was almost more than Arthur could bear, so he turned his attention to the pitcher on the table and poured wine for them both.

“I think this is the first time you’ve served me, instead of the other way around,” Merlin said, lightly.

It was probably meant to ease the tension in the room, but all it managed to do was make Arthur’s heart clench in his chest at the reminder of how terribly lopsided their relationship had always been.

Arthur held out a goblet. When Merlin reached out for it, he kept his grip, holding it steady as Merlin made to take it. Arthur met Merlin's eyes over the rim of the goblet and said, “I hope we’ll serve each other more from here on out,” before finally letting go; his fingers brushed against Merlin’s as they withdrew.

Merlin shivered a bit, but his smile told Arthur it had been a good shiver, and that his touch was welcome, as was the sentiment behind his words.

“I know we have a lot to talk about,” Merlin said, “but we really should discuss Agravaine first. I know we planned on keeping his arrest a secret for now, to smoke out any conspirators, but… well, I’ve a new lead on that, now, but before we decide on how to use it, I need to know what you plan to do with him.”

Arthur blinked at Merlin for a moment, then decided he really shouldn’t be surprised that Merlin had managed to find something new in the few hours they’d been apart. After all, he’d finally started admitting what he’d always known— that Merlin really was quite clever and an excellent judge of character— and on top of that, Hunith had spent some significant time explaining that Merlin had… rather a lot of experience in judging a person’s intentions for his own safety’s sake.

Finding out that Merlin hadn’t been at all well-liked in Ealdor had come as something of a surprise, given how universally admired he seemed to be in Camelot, but it did explain some things.

Arthur brushed aside those thoughts and focused on the here and now. He drew himself up a little in his chair, took a small swallow of wine— Merlin mirrored the gesture with his own glass and sighed appreciatively, probably because Arthur had sent for the good wine he usually only broke out when he was dealing with important visitors, and it rather warranted a sigh or two— then set out on the first step of the plan he’d worked out with Hunith, a plan that ought to prove just how highly he regarded Merlin, and how committed Arthur was to showing him his true value.

It ought to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Arthur wasn’t ashamed of him, and that he wouldn’t be hiding behind their respective stations anymore.

“I mean to try him for treason,” Arthur said, firmly. “There’s plenty of evidence for it, I should think, and we ought to have more when the servants I’ve detained start speaking out against him. They’re sure to break soon.” Arthur waited a moment as Merlin nodded, then said, “I was hoping you would sit in judgement of him.”

Merlin set his wineglass down hard enough to slop some of the wine out over the edge. “What?”

Arthur sat very still, met Merlin’s incredulous stare as levelly as he could, and kept his gaze steady and sure. “It would allow us to reveal your new station— assuming you’re ready to wear the sigil in public; I wouldn’t blame you if you aren’t— and show the Court that you will be my Consort in truth, and not in name only. Moreover, it will… eliminate any possibility of a conflict of interest. I might be tempted to go easy on him, even though I know how treacherous he is. You won’t be. And I trust you to be firm, but fair.”

Arthur paused again, and it was a much longer pause, partially for effect, and partially to allow Merlin to digest that properly. When he was ready, he reached out over the table and took Merlin’s hand, held it tightly, and said, “I trust you, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed hard, looked away, and then looked back. His eyes darted around the room, passed over the tray and the puddle of wine spreading over the table, and settled on their joined hands for some time before he looked back up. He bit his lip, shifted his weight slightly— though he very deliberately kept their hands together— and sighed. “Thank you, Arthur, for your trust,” Merlin said, slowly, “but… well, I told you I had another lead. I think it changes things, a bit. But before I get to that—”

Merlin pulled his hand away. Arthur released it, regretfully, and watched as Merlin took a pouch he hadn’t noticed off his belt and opened it. He held it out and waited until Arthur put out his hand, then upended it over Arthur’s waiting palm.

A pendant strung on a supple silver chain fell into Arthur’s hand. He very nearly dropped it in surprise.

“It’s so cold!” Arthur half-shouted.

Merlin nodded. “That’s because it’s cursed. Very, very cursed.”

Arthur did drop the pendant at that. “Is it safe to touch it?” He scrubbed his hand over his trouser leg reflexively, then answered himself. “It must be; you wouldn’t have given it to me otherwise. But what does it do?”

“It reverses magic,” Merlin told him gravely. “A spell meant to injure would become a cure, and a spell meant to heal…”

Merlin trailed off. Arthur cocked his head to one side and waited. Merlin closed his eyes and suddenly looked very tired. “We found it around Uther’s neck after he died.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. He tasted the wine he’d just drunk again, and then he tasted bile. He swallowed it down mercilessly, reached for the goblet so he could wash away the taste, then thought better of it when he realized how badly his hands were shaking. He’d spill the wine worse than Merlin had if he tried to drink it now.

Arthur thought about asking why they’d never told him, but then he thought better of it; he hadn’t been at all rational about magic or the old sorcerer after his father died, and there was no way he’d have listened properly if they’d approached him when it happened. He was man enough to admit that, even if only to himself.

But it did change things.

“Regicide,” Arthur said, coldly. “Not only treason, but regicide, and my sister behind it all.”

“Yes, Arthur, but we can’t try him for it.”

Arthur jolted. “And why not? He’s clearly guilty!”

Merlin shook his head slightly. “But in order to try him for regicide, we’d have to tell the Court how Uther really died. We’d have to admit that you tried to use magic to heal your father. I… don’t really think that we should. You’re King now, and you’ve every right to repeal the ban if you choose to, or to write out a pardon for a specific sorcerer and make an exception if you feel magical aid is warranted without a full repeal, but you were only the Regent then. The Council had far more sway over you and your decisions then than they do now, and to find out you were ignoring the laws of the land, and that law in particular… I don’t think they’d take it well, do you?”

Arthur ground his teeth together and thought it through, and the only conclusion he could come to was that Merlin was right, and that Merlin had a much better head for politics than Arthur ever gave him credit for even after he pulled his head out of his arse and started acknowledging Merlin properly.

“No,” Arthur admitted. “They wouldn’t.”

Merlin smiled at him approvingly— if a touch apologetically—and nodded. He rose and crossed the room, making for the door. “And that brings me to what I discovered today, after you left the infirmary.”

Merlin opened the door and called out to someone in the hall. He stepped back inside, ushering Sir Leon and a robed man Arthur had never seen before to come in, too.

“This,” Merlin said, “is Alator of the Catha, and he was hired by Morgana to work with Agravaine. They meant to kidnap Gaius.”

Arthur surged to his feet and reached for his sword. “Then why isn’t he in chains?” he snarled.

“Because I had no true allegiance to the Witch,” Alator said at once, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. “She wished to find another sorcerer— a great man, who my people call Emrys— who was thwarting her plans. I meant to use her resources to find him, but not to bring him to her. No, I meant to swear my allegiance to him and, by extension, to you.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked from Alator to Leon. “Is this ‘Emrys’ the sorcerer you spoke of?”

“He is,” Leon said, looking rather proud of Arthur for catching on so quickly.

Arthur looked to Merlin. “And you trust that Alator is truly on our side?”

“I do,” Merlin said.

Arthur ground his teeth again. He didn’t like this, not at all; but, all things considered, it made a certain amount of sense, much in the same way that Leon’s earlier admission had made sense: if it wasn’t true, why come forward? It was too great a risk otherwise.

Arthur sighed. “And what do you think we should do with this information, Merlin?”

Merlin’s eyes glittered dangerously, and his smile was like the unsheathing of a blade. Even before he spoke, Arthur knew his plan would be a good one, one that would be truly devastating for their enemies.

“I think we should wait until Agravaine is asleep, maybe after asking Gaius to slip something in his food to deepen his sleep, and then have Alator visit him. There is a spell—” Arthur’s breath hissed through his teeth reflexively, and Merlin paused, weighing his reaction before deciding it wasn’t too much of a censure and pressing forward— “that will mark Agravaine and allow us to follow him no matter where he goes. It will let us find and track him long after any normal trail would have faded and gone cold. We have evidence enough to execute Agravaine, that much is true, but if we didn’t imprison or execute him, if we exiled him instead…”

Merlin waggled his brows suggestively.

“Then he might lead us straight to wherever Morgana is hiding,” Arthur finished for him.

“It’ll still be dangerous,” Merlin cautioned, “and we shouldn’t do it right away. We need time to prepare, and time to make Morgana anxious for Agravaine’s report, and to make him anxious to report back, but it’s a damned good plan, if I’m any judge. He’ll do his best to evade pursuit, but he’ll never think for an instant that you’d be tracking him magically.”

Arthur reached up and rubbed his chin, thinking carefully. Leon saw through the gesture and saw right down to the heart of his worry, and said, “If you don’t trust Alator to do it, we can ask Emrys. I already told you I’d set up a meeting, and he’s been helping us in secret for years.”

Arthur’s mind sped along at a furious pace, as if he was on the battlefield or studying battle maps and planning an attack. Strategies, strikes, and counterstrikes flashed behind his eyes. Risk was weighed against reward, and after much deliberation, he came to a decision.

“If we are waiting either way, to get our affairs in order and build tension on Agravaine and Morgana’s parts, I would prefer to wait for this… Emrys of yours. No offense, Alator, but my men have known him longer, and I trust that more.”

Alator inclined his head in a respectful nod. “No offense taken, My Lord.”

“In the meantime, might I offer you Camelot’s hospitality? A guest room, perhaps? Sir Leon, I’m sure you could make the appropriate arrangements.”

And the appropriate security…

Arthur was diplomatic enough not to say that part aloud, though he suspected Alator knew there’d be guards paying close attention to him even if Arthur wasn’t saying so explicitly.

Alator didn’t protest; he simply smiled as if Arthur was being particularly generous.

And, in a way, he was. It was incredibly generous for him to offer a sorcerer a guest room instead of a cell in the dungeons, and Arthur appreciated that Alator seemed to take it as such.

But then Alator cleared his throat, and looked resolved, but also a bit nervous. Arthur cocked his head to one side, wondering what he was about to say.

“I brought two men with me,” Alator said, quietly. “An Honor Guard, of sorts; they will surrender their weapons, if you wish them to, but I would appreciate it if they could stay close by. It’s a matter of custom for my people. My own rank is not insignificant, and traveling without escort would be a misstep almost at the level of a crime. Might they be given cots in my room? Or perhaps, the room could have an antechamber meant for servants?”

Arthur huffed out a short, small laugh. That was bold, that was; most men in his position wouldn’t have dared ask for such a concession, and most Kings wouldn’t have taken well to such temerity. Arthur, though, thought better of him for it. It was bold, yes, but as far as Arthur was concerned, the fact that he thought of the comfort of his men and valued it enough to ask after it instead of keeping silent and ordering them to sleep on the floor spoke well of him and his values.

Arthur rather approved.

“Would it violate your people’s custom for an Honor Guard to go without weapons?” Arthur asked, almost casually.

Alator regarded him with something like surprised pleasure in his eyes; clearly, he hadn’t expected Arthur to care for the customs of a pagan sorcerer at all, much less care enough to ask after them respectfully.

“It would, but it is something we are willing to do to prove our intentions. I left my staff behind to meet with you here, and they are willing to follow my example and give up their blades as well.”

Arthur nodded, and decided the fact that Alator had a weapon of his own— other than his sorcery, that is— and relinquished it for the sake of diplomacy even though he was meeting with someone who might prove to be his enemy spoke very well of his character indeed.

“Take up your staff when you leave, and carry it as you like. Most people will take it as ornamentation, or an old man’s aid— not that you’re that old, of course,” he added hastily. “Your men may carry their blades as well, though if they draw them without reason, my men will react accordingly.”

Alator smiled widely and bowed very low. “Thank you, My Lord Arthur. I can see why Emrys trusts you as he does. It gives me hope that one day soon there will be a true and lasting peace between my people and yours.”

Arthur’s smile was a little forced, but it was a smile, and he managed to refrain from saying that he was still miles away from being willing to consider allowing sorcery to return to Camelot on a permanent basis; he suspected Alator knew, and still saw this small move in that direction as portentous and worthy of celebrating.

Arthur decided he could understand, after a fashion. Even if he didn’t fully approve of sorcery, he did approve of peace.

Merlin, it seemed, also thought of it as something worth celebrating. His smile was just as wide as Alator’s, and quite approving.

“Sir Leon, if you would?” Merlin said, before Arthur could. He ushered Leon and Alator out, closed the door firmly behind them, and leaned against it.

“As for my trying Agravaine… I appreciate your offer, Arthur, I truly do, but if we’re to exile him back to Morgana, I think it best he still thinks we’re at odds, don’t you?”

Arthur nodded; that was plain good sense. “Of course. I’ll pronounce the sentence myself, and we can find some other way to showcase your new status to the Court when we’re both ready.”

Merlin smiled and came back to the table. He sat and gestured to the tray.

“So, dinner then?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he still sat and reached for a side of beef.

* * *

Dinner, by mutual unspoken agreement, was filled with light conversation. Neither he nor Merlin spoke again about their plans for Agravaine, or about Arthur’s hesitant decision to trust magic a second time, or about the sigil and their fight and the stilted distance that still existed between them.

Instead, they worked towards bridging that unacknowledged gulf by simply talking, and enjoying each other’s company.

Merlin talked a bit more about his growing friendship with Leon, assured Arthur that it wasn’t anything at all for him to be worried about, and made a few suggestions about how they might improve the way the servants tended to things in the castle; his observations were the sort of things a good Steward would know— a suggestion that one of the new stable hands might serve better as a Page, since he had the sort of build that leant itself to speed and didn’t seem to care overmuch for horses, and that one of the guardsmen-in-training seemed to love horses beyond all reason and tended to fumble his pike a bit too often for Merlin’s liking, for example— and would be easy enough to implement.

Arthur gave his approval and told Merlin he could issue the orders himself, if he wished to. Merlin agreed rather readily, which had Arthur rejoicing, since he took it as a sign that Merlin might be willing to step more into a Consort’s role than that of a servant.

It was, after all, a Consort’s place to run the household.

Although, come to think of it, Merlin probably did a great deal of that already…

Arthur, in turn, talked about the knight-recruits, about the weather, and the wine they were drinking, before telling Merlin that he was working on a few proposals he’d like Merlin to review when they were done.

That wasn’t quite as light as the rest of the conversation, but it was important, because it meant he was asking Merlin for his opinion instead of just assuming Merlin would give it whether he wanted it or not.

And, when they finished their dinner, Arthur firmed his jaw and looked to Merlin with resolve. Merlin understood at once that their agreement to keep to lighter topics had ended, and settled back in his chair, watching Arthur with a look that wasn’t quite apprehensive, but came close to it.

“Well?” he said.

“First,” Arthur began, “you should know that Gaius wrote to your mother, if you don’t know it already.”

Merlin groaned before Arthur could explain any further. “I take it she wrote back?”

Arthur grinned. “No, actually, she didn’t. She decided to make a personal visit.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Oh, gods, what did she say? If she was too harsh, I’ll try to—”

“She was much kinder than I deserved,” Arthur said, simply.

Merlin’s jaw snapped shut, and he looked a bit torn, as if part of him approved of his mother’s kindness while the rest of him rather liked the idea of her dressing Arthur down.

Arthur could understand that.

“She’s just down the hall if you’d like to visit with her tonight; otherwise, she’s sure to find you tomorrow. I put her up in Morgana’s old rooms.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped. “Arthur, those rooms are in the Royal Wing! They’re meant only for your family!”

“Which is why they’re exactly the right place for her,” Arthur replied firmly.

He reached down, opening a drawer, and pulled out a leather drawstring bag. He bounced it in his hand, weighing it, then said, “Merlin, the gift of a sigil is a commitment. It is an invitation into one’s family, as you’ve learned, and it’s customary to give your mother’s sigil as part of a proposal, if both your parents were nobles. I hope you will keep Ygraine’s sigil, and that we can both honor its true meaning, but I understand I have a lot to make up for, and that it may be a while before you’re ready to wear it openly, if you ever are. If I haven’t bungled things too deeply to mend by trying to do things halfway, when I should have admitted to my feelings for you long ago. But even if you do decide to return Ygraine’s sigil, my intention will be to exchange it for this.”

With that, Arthur turned over the bag. A golden disk fell into his hand, and he turned it over, showing Merlin the Pendragon crest.

“You mean the world to me, Merlin,” Arthur said, softly. “You’re family, even if you never become my husband, though I’ll hold out hope for that unless you make it clear there isn’t any. This will see you honored as a Lord in your own right, and as my heir until I have a child of my own to pass the crown to.”

“Arthur, that’s far too much!” Merlin protested. “I’m—”

“The only one I’d trust to carry on my legacy. I know my Kingdom would be safe in your hands, and that you, Guinevere, and Leon would band together to see it safe and prospering even in my absence. This… if nothing else, it would stop Morgana’s claim to the throne dead in its tracks. Please, Merlin, consider it? Even if you can’t see yourself marrying me in truth, please, accept this. Let me make sure that you’ll always have a place in Camelot, and that my Kingdom will always be in good hands if… if I should fall.”

Merlin reached out and folded Arthur’s fingers over the brooch, clutching them tightly with both hands. “You won’t fall, Arthur. I won’t let you.”

His grip tightened until Arthur felt the edges of the brooch biting into his skin, and then he withdrew just before the pressure turned cutting. He regarded Arthur for a long, silent minute, then stood and gestured for Arthur to do the same. He made his way round the table and put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, turning him until they faced each other fully. Arthur’s hands came up to hold Merlin’s waist without any conscious decision on his part to do so; there was a moment when he thought he’d overstepped once he realized where his hands had gone, but Merlin didn’t protest, and Arthur couldn’t bring himself to pull away, so his hands stayed there anyway.

“I’m not going to give back Ygraine’s sigil,” Merlin said at last, after they stared into each other’s eyes for a while longer. “But I expect to be courted properly, Arthur, and I mean that! You say you have a lot to make up for? Fine. Make it up to me then! And then… well, then we’ll see, won’t we?”

Arthur’s mouth was dry again. He swallowed dryly a few times, then muttered, “I don’t deserve you.”

Merlin let out a soft, rueful laugh. “Lucky for you, I don’t rightly care about that.”

One of his hands left Arthur’s shoulder and found its way up to his face; he cradled Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur leaned in to the touch on reflex, his lips parting slightly.

“I care about you, Arthur, not about what you deserve,” Merlin whispered.

And then, before Arthur could think up a response, he leaned in and brushed his lips over Arthur’s.

The kiss was soft, and sweet, and chaste, and very, very short.

It still lit up every nerve in Arthur’s body as nothing else ever had.

Arthur gasped, and he might have chased Merlin’s lips and demanded another kiss if they were standing on firmer ground with each other. As it was, he simply let his eyes fall shut and whispered a soft, “Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin laughed again, caressed Arthur’s face one last time, and withdrew. “Goodnight, Arthur,” he whispered back.

And then he was gone.

And Arthur… well, Arthur had something he hadn’t for quite some time.

Arthur had hope.

Chapter Text

Merlin shifted his weight from side to side and stared at the door in front of him, wondering if he should knock or if he should wait until morning. He wanted quite badly to see his mother, but he also knew it was quite late. Perhaps he should let her rest…

Then again, Hunith always seemed to know what Merlin needed before he did. She had spoken to Arthur earlier; she knew his plans. Which meant she was probably waiting up for him, knowing he’d want to talk after. If he left her to her rest, he might only be leaving her to worry over him instead— assuming she didn’t just hunt him down when she realized he wasn’t coming to visit her after all.

That would be just like her, really.

Resolved, Merlin lifted his hand and knocked. The door opened after the first rap of his knuckles, proving that Hunith really had been waiting up for him, and then he was being pulled practically off his feet, tugged up into a tight hug he returned instinctively.

“My dear boy,” Hunith whispered. “I’ve missed you!”

Merlin swallowed hard. “Missed you, too, mum.”

They stood in the doorway for some time, clutching each other and trying not to cry, before Hunith finally pulled him inside and said, “Alright then, come, let me have a look at you.”

Merlin rolled his eyes but stood near the fire and let her pat his cheeks and shoulders, smiling softly as she clucked over him and made noises about him being ‘too thin, even with a Royal Kitchen to feed you!’ He weathered her inspection with good grace, then sat beside the fire with her and inspected her in turn.

He almost didn’t recognize her. Raising a single brow, he said, “You look good, mum. I like the dress.”

Hunith blushed and plucked at the red velvet she was wearing. “Arthur was insistent.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “He is hard to say no to, isn’t he?”

Now it was Hunith’s turn to roll her eyes. “He cares about you. Loves you, even. He wants to court you. Is it any wonder he wants to get on my good side?”

Merlin opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“And you want to tell him the truth, don’t you? That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?”

Merlin spluttered. “Well, I really did want to see you!”

“But you also wanted me to give you my blessing,” Hunith murmured.

Merlin swallowed again. “I— yes. It… it doesn’t seem right to keep it from him now, not if we’re going to make an honest go of it. If he’s really going to court me… doesn’t he deserve to know who he’s courting?”

Hunith’s eyes softened. “Oh, Merlin,” she whispered, reaching out to pull him towards her. He found himself perched on the very edge of his chair, with his mother’s soft arms circling him. “He does. Of course he does. But he already knows you. You’re more than your magic, and when you tell him, he’ll realize that. I promise.”

With only his mother there to hear him, Merlin voiced what was rapidly becoming his greatest fear, the one he couldn’t have spoken aloud to anyone else. “What if it’s too much for him? What if he regrets it all, and wishes he never gave me the sigil in the first place? What if he casts me aside, and… well, he’s already broken things off with Gwen. What if he hates me when he realizes he’ll be alone because he thought he wanted me?”

Hunith’s voice sharpened, but only slightly. “He won’t; think of what he’s done for you. Not just now, but since you met. He’s loved you for longer than either of you knew it. You’ll move past it all, past the magic… but you’re right about one thing.” Hunith pulled away so she could look him in the eye. “You should tell him, before he finds out some other way. He deserves to hear it from you.”

Merlin wiped his face with his sleeve. “Thanks mum.”

“You don’t need my permission, dear; you never did. But if you want my blessing, you have it. And if you want my advice…”

“Always,” Merlin said at once.

“Tell him soon,” Hunith said, “but maybe wait until after Agravaine has been dealt with. Give him a chance to process that shock before you add another.”

Merlin nodded, wiped his face again, and stood abruptly. “I should let you rest. And I… I should think. About when to tell him, and how, and… I just need to think.”

“Of course,” Hunith said, rising, “I’ll walk you out. I love you, Merlin.”

“I love you, too, Mum.”

* * *

Morgana woke with a start, looked around the empty room, and let out a series of particularly foul curses; they weren’t meant to be magic, but the few candles that remained lit were still snuffed out by the malice in her words. She relit them with an idle wave of her hand, threw a few logs into the firepit that held only ashes and embers now, and lit them the same way. Her anger made the fire flare up a bit larger than it should have. She was forced to lean back, blinking rapidly in response to the sudden flood of light and heat, then put out her hands to warm them after the fire shrank back to a more reasonable size.

Once she had feeling back in her fingers, she fetched a kettle, filled it, and hung it over the fire for tea. Only then did she settle back into the chair she’d apparently fallen asleep in, thinking furiously.

She shouldn’t have had time to fall asleep in her chair last night; she had been expecting Agravaine. By all rights, he should have found his way to her shortly after midnight.

Her orders had been explicit: sow doubt between Arthur and Gaius, distract anyone who might have had a reason to visit the infirmary, help Alator and his bodyguards enter Camelot so they could kidnap the old man, steal a horse from the stables to make it look like Gaius had left of his own accord, see him safely restrained in the mines they’d chosen for his interrogation, and then meet her here with a lock of Gaius’s hair so she could craft a poppet that would make sure the old man wouldn’t be able to access whatever magic he had left while Alator worked on him.

But Agravaine hadn’t come, and that made her think that something had gone very wrong indeed.

Morgana realized she was chewing on her chapped lower lip, dragging a piece of loose skin between her teeth again and again, and forced herself to stop. She licked the spot soothingly and felt the sort of distant sting that meant she’d come close to drawing blood, and sighed.

She was beginning to think the worst had happened— that Agravaine had been caught.

It was the only reasonable explanation. After all, Agravaine knew better than to make her wait; truthfully, he was more likely to come and bother her when he was neither wanted nor expected than he was to miss an appointment. Agravaine was many things— greasy, easy to manipulate, annoyingly eager, and viscerally unpleasant, particularly when he was leering at her whenever he didn’t think she was watching him in return— but he was always punctual.

Always too eager to see her to be late to one of their meetings, let alone to miss it outright.

And if he had been caught…

If Arthur caught him, she was down an ally, and worse, down a spy.

Morgana needed a spy. For some reason, she couldn’t scry Camelot, and hadn’t been able to for some time. Whenever she tried, her scrying bowl would show only clouds of endless obscuring smoke; Emrys’s work, surely. The bastard must have worked out some charm to blind her Sight, at least where Camelot and his precious Arthur were concerned. And while he wasn’t able to stop her innate visions— no one could, not for long, and never without her leave— they were of little help to her, not when she had no way to direct her visions.

Her dreams might be prophetic, but they were still dreams; they came and went according to their own rules and logic, and trying to control them was like trying to catch fog in a cup.

The kettle whistled. It did little to interrupt her racing thoughts, but she found herself going through the motions anyway, making tea without really paying attention to the task. When she sipped from the first cup, she found it to be far too bitter for her liking; apparently, her worries had been distraction enough for her to forget the honey and the cream.

She drank anyway, and sat, and thought.

Eventually, she poured a second cup of tea, doctored it the way she liked, held it between her palms to warm her hands, and sipped slowly. After a few too-hot but satisfyingly sweet swallows, she spoke aloud, voicing her thoughts to the empty room in an effort to organize them. “If he hasn’t come by now, he’s either dead or captured. He must have gotten caught red-handed, and Alator and his men were either caught along with him, or they fled once they realized their entry into Camelot was no longer guarded and guaranteed.”

Morgana paused and watched the steam rising from her cup as it curled through the air. “Agravaine knows too much… if he was caught and captured… if they interrogate him…”

Morgana frowned. Then she stood, plucked a short, slim phial from her shelves, and left her cottage.

She stood on the threshold and extended her hand and her magic both. There was a flurry of wingbeats and a low inquisitive croak as a raven heard her silent call and answered. It flew down from a nearby tree to make a perch of her fingers, and she stroked it gently as she wove a fine net of enchantments that filled its head with her will, giving it thought and reason that went far beyond the capacity of any ordinary bird.

Then she gave it the phial and watched it take flight.

When the bird disappeared from view, she made her way back inside and packed up the essentials. She wouldn’t leave her hut behind, not yet— it was relatively comfortable, very well-hidden, and reasonably defensible, after all— but she wanted to be ready to if need be.

For now, though, she would wait for the raven’s return. With her magic guiding it, it would find Agravaine within a few short hours, wait until he was alone, and deliver the phial.

And once it did…

Either Agravaine would send back a note explaining his absence, or the raven would come back empty-handed.

Either way, she’d have her answer by nightfall, and she would have no further cause for concern. 

Once her rucksack was packed, Morgana stood by her shelves again and ran her fingers over an intricately carved wooden box. She opened it and studied the ancient coin nestled in the crushed velvet lining with something close to reverence in her eyes. It was an ancient and powerful artifact, a gift from her sister… she’d had such plans for it! Plans that would have ruined Arthur’s nascent marriage to her former maidservant before they could even make it through their own wedding night.

Perhaps those plans would still serve her…

After all, Morgana needed a spy in Camelot’s court, and who better than one of the Round Table’s very own knights?

* * *

Lord Agravaine sat in his new chambers, high in the Western Tower.

In his new prison cell, more like.

These rooms were, technically, guest rooms set aside for those few noble guests who preferred privacy over the chance to mingle with the Court, but they were so rarely used that they were practically forgotten. Most nobles wanted to stay where they would be noticed— the better to show off their wealth and build connections— and if that weren’t reason enough for most visitors to avoid this distant suite, the fact that the Western Tower was drafty and cold even at the best of times was usually deterrent enough.

Agravaine hated it!

He hated the sparsely furnished rooms, which had been stripped of most of the furniture to ensure that he couldn’t find even a makeshift weapon. He hated the fireplace that he couldn’t keep lit, since he wasn’t allowed any extra wood; the hearth was fed only when a servant came to bring his food, and had sputtered out halfway through the night.

He hated the solitude, since the guards and servants who visited refused to speak so much as a single word to him.

He hated that the locked door and isolation kept him from his mistress.

And he hated the cold, especially since he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t even close the narrow windows he hadn’t a hope of squeezing through even if he wasn’t so high up as to make escape impossible to shut out the chill air of a dreary, overcast day. He didn’t dare; if his mistress deigned to send word, it would come through one of those windows, and if he missed it because he chose his comfort over her orders…

Agravaine shivered, and not from the cold. Morgana would not be forgiving if he made that mistake, no, not at all.

And so, Lord Agravaine, who doubted he’d keep the title of Lord for much longer, sat with his cloak draped over him like a blanket, hoping that his mistress would send first word and then aid once she realized he wasn’t simply late, but missing.

Eventually, after a long, unpleasant wait, Agravaine heard a low, angry quork and turned to find a large raven, its head tilted in what looked like mild impatience, perched on the windowsill. It fluttered over to his chair, clutched the armrest with one foot, and held out the other.

There, tied to the bird’s leg, was a tiny phial half-filled with a thin, watery liquid so purple in color that it was nearly black.

Agravaine paled. He knew what was in that phial, and what it meant.

It seemed he’d outlived his usefulness to both Pendragons.

Agravaine cast his eyes around his new prison. There was no desk to write on, no parchment, quills, or ink for him to write with.

No way to send a message back.

No way for him to plead his case.

And what could he plead, anyway? Save me, mistress? Be merciful, please— come and spirit me away from Camelot before your brother works up the nerve to order my execution and finally finishes what he started long ago, destroying all that remains of my once-great family?

No, that was a fool’s hope. Agravaine was smart enough to know that Morgana’s regard for him was not nearly as strong as his feelings for her. She cared for him insomuch as he remained useful. Now that his treachery had been discovered, he was at best a broken tool, and she would not risk her own safety or her plans— he didn’t doubt she had other plans already; she was truly clever, and a true survivor— for his sake. He was nothing to her, now; nothing but a liability.

And as for Arthur… perhaps Agravaine could plead clemency from him, but only if he cooperated fully. It would still be exile, certainly, but perhaps not death.

But cooperating fully meant giving up his dreams of revenge against Uther’s line, and helping Uther’s spawn strike back at his true mistress, and that was something Agravaine would never do.

The raven quorked again, almost curiously. Agravaine reached up absently and stroked its breast, smoothing its inky feathers, still ruffled from the wind and its long flight.

Ink…

He had none, but…

Agravaine reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was more gray than white after being accidentally washed with his cloak one too many times, but the color was still light enough to serve his purpose. He looked around, seeking something sharp, then considered the raven again. He knew that Morgana enchanted the birds when she wished to use them as messengers and made them cleverer than they should be. Perhaps…

“I must write,” Agravaine said, speaking just above a whisper; it wouldn’t do for the guards outside the door to hear him and wonder who he was talking to. “Your talons, can you—”

The raven’s head darted down, its beak closing savagely over the tip of his finger; Agravaine supposed that would work just as well as the talons. He winced, squeezed his now bleeding finger, and touched his finger to the handkerchief.

Slowly, carefully, and above all painfully, he started to write.

A minute later, Agravaine held the cloth by its edges and shook it until it dried. Once he was satisfied that the bloody letters wouldn’t wear away in transit, he tied it to the raven’s leg and helped it to the window, flinging his arm up to launch the bird the way a skilled hunter might launch his falcon.

Agravaine watched the bird disappear into the gray sky and popped the cork free of the phial with his thumb. He raised it up as if in toast to the fleeing bird, tilted his head back, and drank.

Then he sat in his chair and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. It only took a few short minutes for him to feel it— a cold far deeper than a chill breeze in a drafty tower.

A cold that penetrated every inch of his being.

And yet, mercifully, there was no pain. He did not feel his throat swelling, closing off his breath; he did not seize or thrash about in agony, vomiting or voiding his bowels or sweating through a fever the way a man gripped by a lesser poison might have.

No; there was only cold. Cold and a thick, fuzzy darkness that swept over his vision and stopped up his ears, stealing his senses one by one until he knew no more.

His last thought was one that held an edge of visceral, vindictive satisfaction: Arthur would gain nothing from him— the boy could not interrogate a corpse.

* * *

Morgana’s raven returned bearing a bloodstained handkerchief with letters so thick and blurred she could hardly read them, but she managed to make out the message well enough; not that it mattered. It was nothing more than useless sentiment.

With a frustrated cry, she flung the soiled cloth into the fire and watched it burn.

Mistress, forgive me, Agravaine had dared to ask, but she would not.

“Useless,” Morgana hissed. It would be the only epitaph he’d ever get from her.

But she would have another spy soon. She would need help… perhaps from the Dochraid… but with her sister’s coin to pay her way, she could and would find a spy no one would ever suspect.