Archive of Our Own ^beta

George backed out of the room, bowing several times as he did. He reached behind him for the latch, staring at Arthur in the same way Arthur would have watched an enemy he didn’t dare take his eyes off of for fear of inviting a particularly treacherous attack of opportunity, and darted out as quickly as he could. Arthur watched him go and grimaced, feeling impossibly guilty. Even George didn’t deserve what Arthur was putting him through lately, and Arthur knew it. The poor man had done nothing wrong, nothing at all, but Arthur had still been snapping at him for weeks, and he’d done a lot worse than just snapping this morning.

Honestly, he should probably try to apologize later. If Merlin was here, he’d have forced him to for sure, in spite of the fact that Merlin had as little patience for George as Arthur did— albeit for different reasons. Personal feelings aside, Merlin still would have insisted, if only because forcing Arthur to be less of a prat was something of a lifelong mission for Merlin. And, gods help him, Arthur would have let Merlin chide him until he gave in.

So, yes, he would apologize to George, if only because Merlin would have wanted him to.

But right now, Arthur was just glad George was gone, and all too willing to put off his apologies and bury his rising guilt if it meant he could bask in the man’s absence.

Arthur simply couldn’t bear his presence any longer. He couldn’t tolerate the sight of George standing where Merlin ought to be standing, wearing a jacket that could have been Merlin’s, complete with the ubiquitous scarf…

The resemblance— at least on a surface level, after only a cursory glance— was uncanny.

And that, of course, was the real reason George had become the unfortunate target for Arthur’s ire today: Arthur had actually mistaken him for Merlin.

Not for very long, of course. It was only for an instant, for less than a heartbeat, but it had happened. Arthur had looked out of the corner of his eye shortly after finishing his breakfast, caught sight of George’s back as he turned to pick up the laundry, and started to grin, ready to make some quip or other about the day’s schedule, and then he’d remembered, and when George turned around and saw his expression and asked if something was wrong, Arthur had—

Arthur winced.

Oh, yes, he’d definitely need to apologize later. He couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d said, but he remembered feeling a rather distinct urge to lash out, and he knew whatever he’d come up with must have been perfectly awful and altogether unfair. And if the dented cup on the floor was any indication, he hadn’t limited himself to just words; Arthur’s guilt redoubled. It had been years since he’d thrown something at a servant, and that wasn’t a habit he wanted to pick back up.

The door opened, and Arthur wasn’t at all surprised to hear his wife’s voice drop into the silence like a stone falling into still water, heavy with disappointment and resignation.

“Would you care to explain why I passed George on the way here, and found him close to tears?” Her tone wasn’t angry, but it held an edge that told him it could become angry in short order.

It also told him quite plainly that he’d wind up explaining himself whether he cared to or not, and that things would go a good deal better for him if he did so quickly.

Arthur groaned. “I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Make what up to him?” Guinevere asked dangerously.

Arthur sighed. “I’ve been somewhat… unfair these past few days, and—”

“Unfair? Unfair? Arthur, you’ve been brutish, boorish, and downright rude, and not just with George! If there’s a single person in Camelot you haven’t shouted at yet this week, I don’t know them, and they must be living under a rock to have avoided your ire this long!”

That was an exaggeration, but not much of one, and certainly not one he could argue with. She was well within her rights to take him to task. Arthur had been short-tempered and particularly foul, and he knew it, but he could hardly help himself.

He was worried, and he didn’t take well to it.

“What’s gotten into you?” Guinevere demanded, tapping her foot impatiently.

Arthur sat back in his chair and considered his wife. She was irritated with him, but it didn’t look as if she was truly angry—not yet anyway— which meant he could probably brush her off quite easily. He could simply act contrite, flash a sheepish grin, remind her that he’d already agreed to make up with George, and send her on her way with a promise that he’d do better to rein in his temper going forwards. She wouldn’t be happy with him if he did, but she’d accept that he didn’t want to talk about it graciously enough, and he could get back to sulking in private.

Or, if he was feeling particularly bold and boorish and wanted a fight, he could even point out that George was his servant, and he was the King, which meant he could do as he pleased with him, and that he didn’t need her help managing his household. Then there’d be a lot of shouting, but he’d still wind up alone again after a while. It might even be a relief to have someone to fight with— someone who would actually push back against his temper the way Merlin surely would have, instead of retreating the way everyone else seemed to.

But only an utter fool would say something like that to his wife, King or no.

Besides, he didn’t really want to send her away. He wanted to talk.

That wasn’t exactly a normal impulse for him to have, but if he didn’t do something about the worry that pressed down on him from every angle, tightening his chest with every breath, he’d undoubtedly wind up doing a lot worse than simply screaming at George. At best, the throwing could become a habit again if he didn’t sort through his worries, and that could prove to be disastrous— not everyone could dodge as quickly and as cleverly as Merlin always had. He might hurt someone if he wasn’t careful, and he’d never forgive himself if he did. At worst… if things kept going as they had been for much longer, it might start impacting his work, which might hurt his people. Arthur couldn’t risk that.

And so, as much as Arthur loathed it, he needed to talk about his troubles and, more importantly, about his feelings, and Guinevere would at least understand.

Well, up to a point, anyway. It would almost certainly start up a different sort of fight, but what else was new? They were arguing constantly these days, and always about the same thing. She still thought he was being foolish, and that he should call Merlin back to Court immediately. He still thought Merlin deserved some space, and a chance to see things he’d never seen before.

But he had to admit, it was getting a lot harder to believe his own arguments.

Arthur bit his lip and fidgeted. After a moment’s thought, he sighed and decided to just lay it all out.

“It’s Merlin,” Arthur said despondently. “I still haven’t heard from him.”

Guinevere rocked back on her heels. Some of her anger vanished, immediately replaced with worry of her own. She bit her lip. Her hands started to move up haltingly, and he had the feeling that she’d have embraced him then and there if only he’d been standing within arm’s reach. “You’ve both kept your plans quite close to your chests, Arthur; I’m not entirely sure about his itinerary. Just how late is he?”

Arthur threw up his hands. “Weeks! He tarried longer than he should have in Dyfed before leaving for Gawant, and I wouldn’t even know he left Dyfed if Vivian hadn’t written to me to advise me of his departure. She sent a message using some strange magic bird, if you can believe it. It flew in through the window, gave me her letter, and then fell apart into flower petals, of all things! He must have passed on some of his love for dramatics when he was tutoring her. But he should have written to me before he left to tell me he was going, and to confirm where he was going so I would know his plans hadn’t changed, but he didn’t! He hasn’t sent word since that day in Council, with the fire. I haven’t a clue where he is anymore! I don’t know if he’s made it to Gawant or been delayed, or changed his plans, or…”

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. The words or hurt lodged in his throat; the words or worse surged up close on their tails, ran into the obstruction, and choked off the rest of his airway instead of dislodging them. He felt distinctly light-headed. He coughed in a vain attempt to clear his throat, then took an injudiciously large swallow of wine as part of a second— slightly more successful— effort at removing the lump of raw worry that threatened to choke him. He’d been doing that more and more frequently of late. It was almost ironic: for years, he’d thought Merlin was the one with a drinking problem, but as it turned out, the longer Merlin was out of sight, the fonder he became of wine. He still had it under control, but… well, it was yet another reason for him to talk, and yet another flaw he couldn’t risk turning into habit.

Still, one swallow turned into two, and two turned into a series of long pulls that drained his glass sooner than he’d have liked it to. He gasped slightly when he came up for air, then leaned down to open a drawer, retrieving Vivian’s letter. He clutched it hard in his hands, wrinkling the parchment and cracking the already broken wax seal further. Tiny flakes of wax fell onto his lap, but he didn’t really notice them, and he didn’t bother holding the letter out for Guinevere to take and read either. He simply held it and turned it over and over in his hands.

“I’m sure he’s alright,” Guinevere said unconvincingly as she flung herself down into the chair across from him. “I mean, he has to be. He’s so powerful, and he has Gwaine and Percival to look after him. And the other two: Sir Kay, and… and… oh, you know who I mean! Well, regardless, he’s fine! He was probably just distracted leaving Dyfed— you know how he gets— and then of course he was traveling. Anyone could forget to write while they were on the move! He probably wouldn’t think to write when he was on the road, or camping in the forest, or… I’m sure he’s fine. We’ll hear from him soon. He might even be writing now for all we know! Maybe he’s just been sitting with his next report and trying to work out what to say. You know how hard it can be, sometimes, when you’re staring at a blank page and—”

“Guinevere, dear, you’re rambling,” Arthur said dryly.

He didn’t blame her; it was simply the way of things: Guinevere rambled when she was scared, and Arthur shouted, sulked, and made a mess of things until his surroundings were as chaotic as his heart whenever he was. That had always been the way of it. It was a long and well-established habit on both their parts, and utterly impossible to break.

The simple truth was that neither of them coped well when Merlin wasn’t there to snap them out of it when their worries got the better of them, and it was always worse when Merlin was the cause of their worries.

“Rambling or not, I’m right,” Guinevere snapped. “We’ll hear from him the moment he’s safe and settled in Gawant, I’m sure of it!”

“That should have happened days ago,” Arthur retorted. “Even if he spared the horses and went out of his way to hide his trail, he should have been in Gawant two days ago, if we’re going by the date of Vivian’s letter. It’s all gone wrong somehow! Either he’s there already and forgot to write, which isn’t at all like him, or he’s made an unexpected detour or been attacked again, and—”

“Again?” Guinevere cried. “What do you mean again?”

Arthur swallowed hard, unclenched his fists and jaw both, and finally held out the rumpled letter. It was pages long and waxed poetic about how wonderful Merlin was and how much Vivian appreciated his company and his tutelage— which did rather strange things to Arthur’s insides; for some reason, he rather hated Vivian’s obvious adoration for his Sorcerer, and that was one feeling he certainly wouldn’t be talking about, thankyouverymuch— before it even mentioned the attack that had somehow managed to injure Merlin, and as detailed as the letter had been about Merlin’s many virtues, it was rather lacking in its description of the erstwhile assassin and the extent of Merlin’s injuries.

He could tell at a glance when Guinevere finished reading: she bit her lip and worried it between her teeth, clearly as unsettled by the lack of detail as he was. Injured could mean a great many things, after all, and Arthur found it all too easy to imagine the sorts of injuries Merlin might have sustained from a would-be assassin who somehow managed to get the drop on him in spite of his extensive training, power, and absolutely vicious instincts.

“I should have ordered Merlin to leave me a way to contact him, instead of relying on his messages,” Arthur muttered.

Guinevere sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Yes, you should have. I don’t know why you didn’t.” She paused for a long moment, then laughed. The sound seemed to be equal parts nerves and budding relief. “Maybe we’re being paranoid. Maybe he’s just distracted.”

“Distracted?”

Guinevere tilted her neck until she could look him in the eye. “Arthur, dear, we’ve both met Elena. We both know what she’s like. She could distract anyone! What’s more, I’ve heard the way Merlin talks about her; they’ve always been close, and I can easily imagine them spurring each other on. He might very well have arrived and got swept up in her antics. That alone could explain the delay! For all we know, he’s safe and sound and hiding behind a pillar with her, tormenting her Court with harmless spells for her amusement and laughing himself sick while Gwaine eggs them both on.”

Arthur had to admit she had a point; he could see that happening quite easily.  

Guinevere cleared her throat and added, “But maybe you should speak to Gaius anyway.”

Arthur frowned. “Surely he’d have mentioned something already if Merlin wrote to him.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he would have, Arthur, but that’s not what I meant. Have you forgotten that Gaius is a sorcerer too? You gave him leave to take up the Art again after the ban was repealed, didn’t you? Maybe he has a way to look in on Merlin, and even if he doesn’t, I’d bet he knows a way to send a letter quickly and to the proper person, even without knowing exactly where that person is. He has to, if Vivian could learn to send a letter with a spelled bird after so short a study.”

Arthur blinked rapidly. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he muttered. Then, he stood and bent over the desk to kiss Guinevere’s forehead and said “I’ll go to him at once! Thank you, dearest!”

With that, he sprang back, rounded the desk, and left the room in a rush. The door was already closing behind him when she recovered enough from his sudden departure to call out after him, shouting “Be polite! And apologize to George, when you see him!”

* * *

Unfortunately for Arthur, Gaius wasn’t as easy to find as he might have been only a few short months earlier. He’d been offered new assistants to make up for Merlin’s absence, but so far, none of them had stuck it out. Gaius usually drove them away within a few weeks. The old man was— according to everyone who’d taken up and discarded the position since Merlin left it behind— snappish, impatient, demanding, and damned near intolerable. In fact, popular opinion held that Gaius was, at present, the least pleasant person to work for in Camelot bar Arthur himself.

Arthur could relate. If George was any less dedicated, he probably would have had the same trouble finding a manservant who could put up with him.

Guinevere helped Gaius where she could, since they’d always had a soft spot for each other, especially after she befriended Merlin, but other than that, Gaius was back to mixing his own potions and tending to the sick and wounded as best he could— and there was only so much Guinevere could do given all her other duties.

As far as the finished potions and his stores of herbs went… well, there, a compromise had been reached. Potions that needed to be delivered were left in a basket near the door on a daily basis, with the bottles carefully labeled. A servant would pick them up and distribute them. A list was also left with the bottles detailing the herbs and supplies he needed from the market, and another servant or Page would be sent out to collect those.

But not every herb could be found in the market. There were some plants that grew better in the wild, or were more potent fresh than they were dried the way the herbs in the market stalls were sold, and in those cases, someone needed to go out and forage for them. Unfortunately, servants weren’t well-equipped to tell one plant from another, and since Gaius wasn’t willing to train a new assistant yet, the task fell back on Gaius just as it always had in the years before Merlin came to Camelot.

The Court had been worried about that, actually: Gaius was getting a bit too old to be roaming the woods as far as they were concerned. Gaius, naturally, didn’t agree and stared down anyone foolish enough to voice their concerns aloud. Arthur, personally, hadn’t dared to, even if he did privately agree with them.

Luckily, though, Gaius was a hale old man who seemed to be getting stronger by the day instead of weakening with age. Arthur suspected he was powered by sheer spite and gall and a desire to spit in his naysayer’s faces, but whatever drove him, it was clearly working. There hadn’t been any problems at all, actually, apart from the simple fact that he wasn’t as readily available on the days he needed to go out.

Naturally, today proved to be one of those days, because that was the sort of luck Arthur had when Merlin wasn’t around to shift things in his favor. The Physician’s Tower was entirely bereft of its Physician when Arthur reached it.

When Arthur found the infirmary empty, he was forced to go to the gates and ask around until he found a guard who remembered seeing Gaius leave. Once he had a direction, Arthur set off in pursuit. He hesitated for the barest instant when he crossed the gate, wondering if he should go back to his rooms long enough to pull on his armor, but he pushed aside the thought; he shouldn’t need it. It was safe enough within the confines of Merlin’s wards, and they stretched out for miles in every direction.

Besides, he still had his sword. Surely that would be protection enough.

Arthur left the city without further ado, moving with purpose but without rushing. It wouldn’t do to seem as if he was in a hurry; doing so would surely bring attention he’d much rather avoid. If any of his knights spotted him rushing about and thought he was going off on some sort of mission, no matter how minor, he’d surely have a full company insisting on joining him before he could blink, and…

Well, frankly, Arthur would prefer to speak with Gaius in private if he could. He didn’t really think Gaius would give him any trouble, but he might. They hadn’t spoken to each other much at all outside of their official capacities since Merlin set out on the first leg of his journey. It was entirely possible that Gaius still resented Arthur for sending Merlin away, and if he did, the old man might just seize the opportunity to have it out with him alone in the woods, rather than back at Camelot where even the walls had ears.

So really, it would be a lot better if he could speak to Gaius privately. If Gaius decided to have a go at him for sending Merlin away, Arthur would let him, but he’d greatly prefer it if it happened without witnesses.

Besides, there really wasn’t a need for an armed escort. Arthur was safe enough in the stretch of land Gaius foraged in: Merlin’s wards hung thick and strong there. 

* * *

All told, it took perhaps a quarter of an hour to find Gaius. After a bit of walking and some careful listening, Arthur clambered over a boulder and stalked through an overgrown trail, following the sound of Gaius’s rather distinct grumbling until he caught sight of the old Physician kneeling beside a hollow trunk and struggling to pull up a root.

Arthur watched him for a moment or two— just long enough to make sure Gaius wasn’t so focused on his task that an interruption would startle him unduly— then cleared his throat. Gaius jolted a bit, but he didn’t fall back or shout or swear, so Arthur had probably judged his attention well enough.

When Gaius looked back over his shoulder, Arthur smiled and asked, “Need a hand?”

Gaius harrumphed but stood— albeit with some difficulty and quite a lot of crackling from his knees— and gestured for Arthur to take over. Arthur soon learned the root Gaius wanted really was well and truly stuck, but a bit of water from the skin he’d slung over his shoulder before heading out moistened the earth just enough to get it to release its grip. Arthur brandished the long, spindly thing with triumph and flashed a grin that had Gaius rolling his eyes good-naturedly before he passed the root over. Gaius stowed it in a basket that Arthur soon took and tucked onto his own arm. He offered his other arm to Gaius for support and asked, “What else are we looking for?” largely because he didn’t want to pull Gaius away from his duties just to soothe his own worries when it was entirely his fault that he was worried and that Gaius was forced to forage like this in the first place.

Gaius waved away Arthur’s arm, but he did let him carry the basket as they picked their way through the underbrush. It was slow going, and loud, and if Arthur didn’t have full faith in Merlin’s magic, he’d have been worried about drawing an attack, either from bandits or from wild animals. As it was, he knew they were still within the confines of the wards, so he didn’t worry overmuch.

Merlin’s protections ought to prevent attacks of any sort within the ward’s boundaries, and were probably strong enough to hold up against anything short of an act of God, so he pushed aside the instinct that told him the woods were never safe, and to be on his guard.

Eventually, they reached a cluster of trees surrounded by a thicket of briars that Arthur certainly didn’t want to try and press through; the thorns were as long as his hand, and sharp, and he didn’t think one man alone could cut through them no matter how sharp his sword was. Getting through a hedge that thick would require axes, ropes, and several men, or at the very least, fire.

“I think we’re going to need to find another path, Gaius,” Arthur said dubiously.

Gaius snorted dismissively, reached out to stroke one of the thickest branches, and muttered something under his breath. The effect was immediate: the entire hedge came alive, writhing and twisting like a living thing until a narrow tunnel opened up in front of them.

“Right,” Arthur said, his eyes wide and gawking. “Magic. I forgot.”

“I suppose it does take some getting used to,” Gaius said flatly; his eyes twinkled merrily, betraying his amusement in spite of his level tone. Then he took off, gesturing for Arthur to follow.

The tunnel seemed to go on further than it should have given what the hedge had looked like from the outside, but eventually they stepped out into a grassy meadow that was practically covered in flowers and sprawling clusters of herbs. Arthur recognized a few of them, even though he was the furthest thing from an accomplished herbalist: feverfew, Saint John’s wort, sage, meadowsweet, several kinds of mint, and far more besides. It was a marvel, truly.

“How long has this been here?” Arthur breathed. “Did you plant these?”

“Certainly not,” Gaius said, snorting again. “I don’t have time to garden, sire, and even if I did, there isn’t a gardener alive who could get these plants to grow amicably together like this. The mint alone would choke out the other plants long before they ever had a real chance at life. No, this is…” he paused, sighing gustily. “This is where Merlin used to come before the ban was lifted when he needed an outlet for his magic and couldn’t wait any longer. At first, they were just wildflowers, but then he had the idea to try and grow some of the herbs we sorely needed and never had enough of.”

Arthur looked around the clearing with fresh eyes, gaping openly.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. Was he mourning the fact that Merlin went so long hiding something so beautiful, and that even now this space was guarded by a wall of thorns no one would dare cross? Or was he relieved that Merlin at least had somewhere to go where he could just be, without having to restrain his magic? Where he could practice without fear— or, at least, with less fear? Arthur doubted Merlin’s fear of discovery ever really went away no matter where he was or how safe he imagined himself to be, so it could only ever have been less.

“We had a few truly spectacular quarrels about it when I found out,” Gaius said as he bent to harvest leaves and fruits and petals from the plants, either failing to notice Arthur’s growing conflict or electing to ignore it. “I was afraid someone would find this place and guess that it wasn’t natural, but then we found the spell for the hedge, and… well, honestly, after that I was just glad to have it. Your father never allowed me to establish a garden within the castle walls, you know. He was too afraid the people would sneak some of the herbs out and use them for magic instead of medicine. He didn’t like the idea of easy access. As far as he was concerned, they shouldn’t turn to magic at all, but if they did, it ought to cost them something to get to it. He knew the laws alone wouldn’t stop everyone, so he tried to make sorcery as inconvenient and inaccessible as possible when he wasn’t prosecuting it outright. If that meant I was inconvenienced too… well, that was a small price to pay in his eyes. But having this… I didn’t run low on remedies half as often after Merlin came as I did before he arrived, and this meadow is one of the main reasons for that. It probably saved more lives than either of us can reckon.”

Arthur swallowed back a rather familiar lump of guilt and anger— his father’s policies caused so much damage, and he spent so long maintaining them when he could have done a lot more good by throwing out almost all of them and starting fresh after Uther’s death— and said, “I’m glad you have it now, then. And if you would like to establish a garden within the city walls so you can cut down on your travel, I’d be more than happy to clear a space for it. I think you’re due a bit of convenience after all your years of service.”

Gaius looked back at him and smiled; Arthur suspected he’d be presented with a formal plan for at least two gardens rather soon. It didn’t matter. He would approve every one of Gaius’s requests— within reason— and still consider himself to be in the man’s debt when all was said and done.

Then, in a tone he hoped would come across as casual, Arthur said, “Speaking of magic, have you heard from Merlin recently?”

Gaius looked at him again, and this time his smile was rather knowing. Gaius beckoned Arthur forward and dumped a load of herbs into the basket Arthur was still carrying before tugging him along as he made his way towards another plant. Arthur didn’t know the name of it, but he recognized the slightly bitter green scent of it from his trips to the infirmary.

“I have not,” Gaius said, as his little herb knife slid through thick woody stems smoothly; it must have been honed to a razor’s edge to cut so easily. Arthur wondered if there was magic in that, too. Gaius certainly seemed to be using a lot more of it lately, so there very well might be.

Gaius put a few stalks into the basket and moved to another plant of the same variety. He seemed to be doing his best to only take a little from each plant, probably to make sure they could grow back and replenish what he took without withering.

“I think Merlin is trying his best to distract himself,” Gaius announced, in the same dry tones he used when delivering a diagnosis to his patients. It made his words sound less theory and more fact.

“Distract himself?” Arthur asked. In a way, it was quite close to Guinevere’s theory, though Gaius made it sound more like a deliberate choice than she had.

Gaius hummed low in his throat. “Indeed. When Merlin first came to Camelot, I was sending letter after letter to Hunith, swearing up and down that he was fine and that all was well, and all the while he kept putting off sending a letter of his own. Then, when he finally sat down to write to her, it took him three tries to do it without soaking the parchment through with his tears.”

Gaius leveled a long, flat look in Arthur’s direction, and Arthur didn’t even bother trying not to squirm under his attentions.

“That boy throws himself into his work when he’s upset, Arthur. He always has. And when he misses someone, he does his best to avoid dwelling on the thought of them. I don’t think he does it intentionally, but he definitely does it either way.” The flat look warmed by degrees, until Gaius was looking at Arthur fondly, with boundless sympathy. “I’m sure you’re worried for him, sire, but he’s probably as well as can be expected. Homesick, probably, and I’d wager a month’s pay that he's still brooding about, but he’s a strong lad, and he’ll be alright. He doesn’t mean to worry us, and he’d probably be horrified to know that he is, but that’s the way of things.”

Arthur swallowed. He wanted to protest, to share the news that Merlin had been attacked— which he thought rather changed the shape of the problem— and to ask Gaius to send a message as soon as he could.

And, of course, he would… but another question seemed far more urgent at the moment. “Do you think I was wrong to send him away?”

His voice came out thin, almost a whisper— and no wonder: it was the first time he’d ever asked that question aloud. He’d thought about it time and again, of course, but he always told himself he was doing the right thing, even after Guinevere started pushing back against his decision. He winced a bit as Gaius’s gaze turned measuring; it had probably been a foolish question.

No, not probably. Certainly. It was undoubtedly a foolish question. Of course the answer would be a resounding yes; Gaius didn’t even have the benefit of knowing his motives the way Guinevere did. How could he be anything other than disapproving?

“I don’t know,” Gaius said after a long pause. He fell silent again, clearly trying to put his thoughts in order, and sheathed his knife before tucking it away in his sleeve.

“You didn’t punish him, and you didn’t banish him, not really, but to him, it might still feel like banishment. And yet, you’ve given him a chance to do what he’s always wanted to do: to show that magic truly can be a force for good. You’ve given him a chance to see old friends, and to make new ones, and you’ve put space between the two of you— space that might stop a fight from getting out of hand while you’re both still adjusting to magic being a fact of life instead of something to be hidden at all costs or outright feared. I don’t know if it was the right move, but I do know it wasn’t done out of malice. I’ve always known that. Merlin will realize it, too, if he hasn’t already.”

Gaius reached out to lay his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. It was a warm, almost paternal gesture, and all at once Arthur hated himself for keeping his distance from Gaius as long as he had. He’d been so worried that he’d disappointed Gaius by sending Merlin away, since everyone knew that Merlin was practically a son to him; he’d forgotten, somehow, that Gaius had always been a second father to him, too.

“It’ll work itself out in time,” Gaius announced after another, shorter pause, and his Physician Voice was back in full force.

Arthur lowered his head, fully aware that he was flushing. He felt a bit like a child again, desperate for reassurance and getting it from Gaius where he could find it in no other. But, with Gaius’s certainty ringing in his ears, he found it much easier to believe that things really would work out in the end, and that was a precious gift indeed, and well worth a bit of embarrassment.

“Thank you, Gaius. Still, I am worried; Vivian wrote to me, telling me of an attack on Merlin’s person. I was wondering if you could help me send him a message… if there might be a spell to speed its way with magic and make sure it finds its way directly to his hands.”

Gaius harumphed. “You might’ve led with that,” he said icily. “Come along, then, let’s go back to Camelot, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Together, they left Merlin’s hideaway, pausing only long enough for Gaius to coax the hedge back into place. Abruptly, Arthur realized just how grateful he was to be allowed to see it at all. Even if it didn’t need to be hidden for safety’s sake anymore, the clearing was still a place that held a deep meaning for both Merlin and Gaius. Letting him in was a measure of trust he was proud to have received.

Silently, Arthur vowed to spend a lot more time with Gaius moving forward. Perhaps he could learn enough about healing to be of some small help, even; he at least knew the sort of rough field medicine all knights knew. If nothing else, he could at least treat basic injuries or chop some herbs while he talked to Gaius. He could even arrange a time when Guinevere would be there, too, and make a night of it, maybe with dinner to follow.

The old man was family, and Arthur needed to stop forgetting that.

They talked as they walked back toward the city; first Arthur recounted the contents of Vivian’s letter in full, and then they turned their minds to lighter topics by mutual and unspoken agreement, putting their worries out of mind much like Merlin probably was if Gaius’s theory on his continued silence was correct. Arthur could only hope it was; he was far happier thinking he was being ignored than he was when he thought Merlin was in trouble.

The conversation turned to the idea of a garden again, and they found themselves debating where it would be best to put it. Arthur favored putting it near the kitchens, because some of the herbs Gaius used could also be put to good use flavoring Cook’s dishes, and if they planted a bit more than Gaius thought he’d need, Cook and her underlings might be willing to help tend it in exchange for fresh parsley, rosemary, sage, and the like. Gaius was in favor of planting it in the same inner courtyard that once held the Physician’s Garden before the Purge, simply because it was closer to the stairwell leading up to his tower. Arthur, naturally, argued that if Gaius was willing to walk to the woods and back to harvest the plants he needed, he ought to be willing to walk a little further in the citadel.

The debate turned playfully hostile for a while, and it was all too easy to lose himself in it.

And yet, Arthur was still only ever listening with one ear. Half of him was fully engrossed in their pseudo-argument, but the other half stood on high alert, listening for any threat. It was impossible not to be: he might have full faith in Merlin’s wards, but still, the habits of a lifetime weren’t so easily pushed aside. Arthur couldn’t remember ever walking the woods without keeping at least one ear tuned towards the sound of breaking twigs, rustling bushes, and oncoming footsteps. He might not be quite as good at foreseeing danger as Merlin was with his funny feelings that made so much sense now with the benefit of hindsight and context, but he was still damned good at recognizing danger when it drew near.

Perhaps that was why the soft hiss of fallen leaves brushing up against dry wood caught his attention like nothing else could the moment he heard it.

It might have only been a rabbit darting behind a tree, startled by their less-than-subtle approach, but something about the sound put Arthur’s back up something fierce. Arthur thought about ignoring the sound and told himself it had to be nothing, but then he decided it would bother him for the rest of the day if he didn’t at least investigate the noise so he could prove to himself that it really was nothing to worry about.

Carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on the tree he suspected hid the source of the noise, Arthur leaned in to tell Gaius, softly, “Don’t stop talking,” and headed straight for the tree with one hand held up in the air as a signal that Gaius ought to stay well back.

His other hand found his sword hilt and loosened the blade in the scabbard.

Arthur made it almost to the tree before his foot landed on an old, brittle stick just thick enough to make a loud, satisfying crack as it split in two under his weight. Arthur could have cheerfully cursed his own ill-luck, especially when a man dressed in leather armor, topped off with a rather menacing leather spangenhelm, leapt out from behind the tree.

Arthur staggered back with a yelp he couldn’t quite hold back and drew his sword as quickly as he could. He managed to get it halfway from its sheath before he was forced to twist into a rough dodge instead of completing the draw, and then made another dodge, and then another still; the man— bandit? No, he seemed too well-trained to be a simple bandit— was bloody fast! It was all Arthur could do to keep himself away from the man’s axe.

Arthur could have cheerfully cursed himself for failing to draw his sword fully before he went to investigate a strange sound that had all of his instincts up in arms— what had he been thinking! And for that matter, why on earth had he been stupid enough to leave the city walls in his tunic alone? He really should have gone back for his maille after all.

If he died here and now because of his own idiocy, he’d have to worry about Merlin for an entirely different reason: the man would find a way to bring him back just so he could nag him to death.

Abruptly, Gaius’s voice boomed, surprising both combatants. “Forþ fleoge!” he cried, in a deep, commanding voice that seemed to shake the very air.

Arthur couldn’t recall ever hearing Gaius speak like that before. It was more than startling; it was downright disturbing. 

Arthur caught sight of Gaius thrusting out his arm from the corner of his eye. Whatever magic he was trying to do didn’t appear to have worked, though: Arthur’s assailant had been startled, but he suffered no other ill effects. Or, at least, none that Arthur could see.

Still, that one moment of surprise gave Arthur time enough to dance back a few precious steps, and that gave him space enough to finally draw his sword as he tried to put even more distance between them. He brandished it with a snarl, flipping his wrist to improve his grip— and, admittedly, because it was a showy move that sometimes had his opponents second guessing themselves, especially when they were facing him alone.

This one didn’t; Arthur’s assailant charged forward without the slightest trace of fear. Arthur readied himself to meet him, but before they could clash with one another again, Gaius shouted another incantation.

“Gár flüge!"

A fallen branch stood fully upright when Gaius pointed a finger at it, and then it leapt obediently through the air as the Physician flicked his wrist in a quick, sharp arc, almost like he was dealing cards. The branch flew like a spear and struck the ground under Arthur’s attacker. It buried itself into the forest floor at an angle between the man’s feet, catching him midstride and tangling his legs together as he lunged at Arthur.

No one could have stayed upright after running into an obstacle like that, and Arthur’s enemy certainly didn’t. He went down face first and hit the ground hard with a low, involuntary “Oof,” then followed that sound up with a choked off scream as Arthur’s blade slid between his shoulders, severing his spine.

Arthur wrenched his blade free and spun a slow circle, glaring out at the forest around them, ears and eyes sharp and alert for the slightest sound or hint of movement that might indicate any reinforcements. He heard nothing, apart from Gaius’s slightly labored breathing. Slowly, after a long minute of caution, Arthur relaxed, though he kept his sword ready.

After another moment or two, Arthur lowered his sword, but didn’t sheathe it. It hung at his side, but he could bring it up swiftly if he needed to. He nodded at Gaius. “Nice work, Gaius; who knew you had it in you?”

Gaius snorted. “I’ve been in more fights than you can imagine, sire, and won most of them. It’s strange, though… that first spell… I’ve never felt anything like that. It… rebounded, somehow, though it didn’t feel like it was blocked. Not exactly. Not in any way I know how to block spells.”

A chill ran down Arthur’s spine. “Was he a sorcerer then?”

It would have been an awful thing if he was: these days, Arthur hated killing sorcerers. He hadn’t been attacked by a rogue sorcerer since the first week after the ban, and he fervently hoped he never would be again. He truly thought they’d given up their grudge against him after he overturned his father’s laws and elevated Merlin, but he supposed there would always be at least a few people who wouldn’t be satisfied no matter what he did.

Still, it was an ugly thought, and what’s worse…

He shouldn’t have been able to attack at all, sorcery or no, bandit or no. Merlin’s wards should have kept the man out of Camelot’s lands if he intended harm against Arthur or his people. The fact that they hadn’t left Arthur feeling unmoored and extremely troubled, as if the ground had started moving away from him without warning.

“No,” Gaius said, slowly, drawing out the word as if he was still making up his mind about it even as he spoke. “No, I don’t think so. I felt no magic from him. It was simply as if my magic couldn’t touch him.” Then, as if he’d been reading Arthur’s mind, he added, “Perhaps that’s how he made it through the wards. It must be an enchantment or, more likely, a talisman. A strong one.”

Arthur almost slumped over in his relief. For a second there, he’d been worried that Merlin had fallen, and that the wards had fallen with him. The idea that there were talismans that could circumvent Merlin’s wards was a terrible one, but it was infinitely better than the idea that Merlin had been—

Best not to even think it.

“Come on then,” Arthur said, turning back to the path leading to the castle. “There ought to be patrols heading out. I should be able to signal them. Let’s find some help, and then take him back with us; you can search him behind Camelot’s walls, where it’ll be safe.”

* * *

True to Arthur’s word, there was a patrol making their way out of Camelot’s gates. It was easy enough to crest a hill and hold his sword aloft, twisting his wrist back and forth so the steel could catch the sun.

Naturally, the knights leading the patrol caught sight of the flares of light and made for it at once, and it was easy enough to guide them back to the bandit’s— if he was a bandit; Arthur still had his doubts, especially if it did turn out that he possessed some sort of relic strong enough to let him pass through Merlin’s wards— body. One of the knights leapt down from his saddle, slung the corpse across his horse, and led his mount back with Arthur and Gaius close behind while the rest of the patrol went off to search the woods for any other criminals. Arthur might have gone with them in better circumstances, but as it was, he followed Gaius into the infirmary, ready to help with the investigation if it meant that Gaius would be free to help him contact Merlin even slightly faster than he would have been without Arthur’s aid, pitiful though his aid was likely to be.

* * *

Ironically, Arthur wound up being far more help than he ever thought he would be. Sheer dumb luck had him finding the cursed ring almost as soon as they started searching the body: Arthur stripped the gloves from the corpse’s hands as soon as it was laid out on the examination table, and as he did, the side of his hand brushed up against a ring.

A ring that made him feel sick when it touched his bare skin.

A ring that Gaius couldn’t even see before Arthur grit his teeth, brought his roiling stomach under control with an effort of will, and yanked it off the man’s finger.

When Gaius tried to take it from Arthur, he acted as if it burned him and looked just as nauseous as Arthur felt. The ring fell from the Physician’s suddenly nerveless fingers and landed on the table, looking far more threatening than any inanimate object had a right to look. The smooth, carved surface— was it solid stone? Or perhaps bone?— seemed to glare up at them. It was lying flat on the table, and they were standing over it, but somehow, it felt as if it was looming over them!

Arthur and Gaius shared a long, troubled look and wordlessly agreed that whatever that ring was, it was wrong on a soul-deep, fundamental level.

Without another word, Gaius fetched a little coffer of thick iron from one of his shelves and held it open just below the edge of the table. Unwilling to touch the ring again but more than ready to see it sealed away for good, Arthur drew his knife and used the flat of the blade to shove the cursed thing into the box. He breathed a sigh of relief when Gaius snapped the coffer shut and locked it with a decisive flick of his wrist.

The Physician pulled the key from the lock and held it out to Arthur. “It’s spelled,” he said, in a curiously flat tone. “The box, I mean. It can’t be forced. It shouldn’t open at all without the proper key; I daresay we should keep the key and the box far from one another until we know what, exactly, this ring is.”

Arthur nodded and pocketed the key. “Will the spell even work?”

Gaius winced. “I don’t know, but it’s the best I can do. The ring might interfere with the magic, but then again, it might not if it isn’t being worn. I’ll need to study it to determine what it is, how it works, and how we can counter its power.”

Arthur nodded again, slower this time. “In the meantime, I’ll double the guard and arrange for additional patrols. We’ve grown complacent living under Merlin’s wards; I never would have gone out alone before, and I certainly wouldn’t have gone without armor.”

“Indeed,” Gaius said, dryly.

The air between them thickened as they both tried to find something else to say. Arthur felt unsettled and distinctly unnerved, and he suspected Gaius was just as affected as he was after their close call, for all that he’d handled the assassin— and Arthur really was quite sure now that it had been either a spy or an assassin, and given the way he’d attacked instead of retreating when Arthur drew near his hiding place, he was leaning heavily towards assassin— with aplomb and admirable efficiency.

Arthur shifted and plucked at his tunic nervously, wishing again that it had been maille or plate. That axe really had come far too close for comfort! He suspected he’d be going about armed and armored even in the citadel proper for the foreseeable future after today’s events.

But then Gaius cleared his throat, set the box on a high shelf, fetched down a book, and made his way over to the table, gesturing for Arthur to follow and sit with him.

When he did, Gaius shoved a roll of parchment at him and nodded to a nearby quill and inkwell.

“Write to him, my boy. We’ve all the more reason to get in contact with him now. If there’s a talisman powerful enough to push through his wards and redirect magical attacks, he needs to know about it. I’d hate to think what might happen if he was caught unawares by something like that.”

Arthur shivered. It was an awful, awful thought, one he didn’t want to dwell on overlong. Merlin was deadly with and without magic, but if he found himself without magic without warning, he’d be more vulnerable than he’d ever been before.

Unarmored, as it were.

It wasn’t a good feeling. What Arthur felt today was only a fraction of what Merlin would feel if his magic was ever stripped from him, and Arthur was only just pushing down his own panicked reaction to being caught unawares. He hoped with all his heart that Merlin would never, ever feel anything like that.

Arthur dipped the quill in the ink and set its tip on the paper, but before he could sketch out the first letter, Gaius spoke again.

“I’d wager you’re thinking of calling him back now that there might be a real threat out there,” he said tonelessly.

Arthur looked up. “No,” he said, with a rueful little laugh. “No, I’m not thinking about calling Merlin back. I’m thinking about saddling my horse and racing off at a full gallop so I can drag him back to Camelot myself. If I knew for sure where he was right now… I’m not sure I could stop myself, really.”

“Maybe you should,” Gaius said, in that same colorless voice, “once you do know.”

Arthur thought hard about it, but decided not to answer one way or the other. Instead, he lowered his head, and began to write.