Family Tree Part I

[cerisereve]

-oOo- Kilgharrah -oOo-

In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young prince. His name-Arthur.

-oOo- Arthur -oOo-

"This thing," Arthur says, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceiling of the burial chambers, "managed to raise an army of the dead?" He hoists up what remains of the staff Morgana must have chopped in half.

If he had not fought the skeletons himself, he would have thought it absurd.

"Be careful with it," his father warns. Uther then turns away to direct the servants he has insisted accompany them to light the torches lining the chamber walls.

As the servants light the sconces one by one, the shadows creep into hiding and the full wreckage of the room is visible. Heavy cobwebs dangle in the air, broken arch supports crumble to the ground, rocky debris salts the floor, and tomb lids gape open.

The crypt seems eerie, filled only with the living.

Uneasy, Arthur turns his attention to the staff and shifts it to his left hand. It is not particularly impressive as far as magical vessels go. Then again, he has never held one before. It is a twisted tree with a clear-polished crystal nestling deep in the mass of branches. He runs his fingers over the shallow grooving where the bark has been stripped off.

"There's something carved on here," Arthur says.

"What does it say?" his father asks.

"Some kind of script." Arthur squints at it, but the words are in no language he wants to understand. "I can't read it."

"Fetch the court physician," the king orders one of the servants. "His expertise is needed immediately."

The servant, who has finished lighting sconces, scurries up the stairs to deliver the message to Gaius.

Arthur follows as his father wades deeper into the crypt and hears a sharp intake of breath when the king misses a step in front of one of the newly destroyed coffins. It is a cheap stone slab, plain rather than ornate. Arthur checks for a name and date of death, but neither is etched on the tomb.

After a long moment, Uther says, looking haunted, "The dead are supposed to stay dead."

Arthur's hackles rise. The remaining servant is far enough away not to be in earshot, but if his father relapses and starts to yell, as he had in the council chambers, the rumors will start afresh. Uther bows his head and spans his arms on either side of the broken coffin.

"Father?" Arthur hesitates but eventually rests his free hand on his father's shoulder.

"Don't worry." Uther's tone is wry, but his father is fully cognizant. "I'm not seeing anyone I shouldn't right now."

The only hint at the previous occupant's identity is the coffin's size, which is not large enough for a man or small enough for a child.

"Who was she?" Arthur asks and drops his hand.

"No one of importance."

Arthur has no comment so he remains respectfully silent and waits. Three ragged breaths later Uther reaches a decision. "I need everything here cleaned up before the week is out."

The city's masons are busy rebuilding the defensive walls damaged in the attack, his knights are needed to patrol the outlining regions, and the castle servants are distributing aid to those who have lost their homes during the siege. "It'll need to wait until we are sure we have re-secured the lower town and the border."

"All remains are to be returned, the stone repaired, and the floors swept."

Arthur tightens his knuckles around the staff. "What about the battlements? The drawbridge gate? The damage to the west walls alone will-"

"This takes precedence."

"I've not the men for such labor."

"Pull them off patrol."

Arthur bites his tongue. What will the people say when they catch hint of Uther's priorities? "If it is that important to you, I'll see that it gets done."

"It is," Uther insists.

"I'll see to it personally." He will need to keep this as quiet as possible.

Arthur offers a silent prayer that Leon's report this evening will have some good news, or at the very least not be all bad news. Short of moving things stone by stone himself, he does not know where he will find the sheer manpower to temper his father's wishes.

"Good," his father says and the topic is considered closed. "Ah, Gaius," Uther says and stands erect when Gaius enters the chambers on the far side.

"Your majesty, what is it you need?" Gaius asks. He hikes his robes up as he picks his way through the debris towards them.

"Arthur's found a script on the artifact Morgana destroyed during the attack. What does it say?"

Arthur offers the white staff out for Gaius to inspect. "This would seem to indicate magic and this one balance." Gaius says pointing at each glyph while Arthur rolls his wrist. The weight of the staff is heavier than his sword, and the bandage Guinevere hastily tied yesterday has begun to chafe.

"And the other two?" his father asks.

"I will need to consult some of the older texts for an exact translation."

"How should we destroy it?"

"Fire?" Arthur suggests.

"It's made of Rowan wood, sire," Gaius adds.

"Witchbane," his father growls.

"That is one synonym, yes."

"Evil shouldn't be housed in something so benign as wood."

"It felt normal to me," Arthur comments.

Gaius protectively cradles the staff against his chest and a twist in his gut tells Arthur that Gaius is withholding key information. Sure enough, Arthur's suspicions are confirmed when Gaius speaks up to delay its destruction. "I am not sure burning the staff would be wise. Allow me to study it overnight… to determine the best method."

"Very well," Uther acquiesces. "Once you've ascertained it, Arthur will carry out your instructions to the letter."

Ugg! Yet another thing he will have to manage.

Uther rounds on Arthur again. "Are you any closer to identifying the traitor who caused this havoc in the first place?"

"I've been concentrating on the security and well being of the people."

"So, you've made no progress."

That cuts. "Not yet."

"Redirect your efforts."

Should he do that before or after he has cleaned out the burial vaults? "Yes, sire." Arthur resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. What was one more impossible task?

"I shall leave you to your work, physician. Arthur, you have your tasks," Uther says and ascends the stairs without a backwards glance at them-or the empty coffin. The remaining servant trails after the king like a dutiful puppy.

Perhaps Arthur can get Merlin to follow his instructions while he is busy performing the impossible. Better yet, maybe he can get Merlin to show up when he is needed instead of on a whim.

"Where did you find the staff?" Gaius asks, breaking Arthur out of his reverie.

"Over there." Arthur points.

Arthur accompanies Gaius to where the bottom half of the staff is still rooted into the castle's pockmarked floor. Perched on the top there is a gold ring encircling the wood. Cracks radiate out from the staff, reaching out all the way to the crumbling wall. Seeing the additional damage, he frowns, realizing he will have to supervise the replacement of the entire floor after it is swept clean.

"How do we remove it?" Arthur asks.

"Pull it out."

"Me?"

Gaius raises an eyebrow.

Huffing, Arthur gets a firm grasp on the staff and tugs. It barely budges on the first tug, the second shifts the broken rock around the base and makes his right shoulder ache, and then-finally!-the third yank gives so easily that Arthur ends up sprawled on his rear. The gold ring flies off and lands with a ping at his feet.

"Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine," Arthur replies. Feathers would make fantastic floor tile. Pillows. Cushions.

Arthur gingerly gets to his feet and has to consciously make the effort not to rub his bottom any more than necessary while straightening his pride along with his clothing. He also rolls his shoulder a few times to release some of the tension, which has not faded since the battle.

"Let me see," Gaius says.

"I said I'm fine." Just not going to be able to sit comfortably for a day or so.

"Not you. The staff."

"Of course." To cover his blunder, Arthur shoves the blasted thing towards Gaius.

Gaius studies the two separate pieces for a few moments. The edges where they previously joined are not splintered; it is obvious the gold ring merely bound the two separate pieces tightly together.

"Morgana always goes for the weak spot," Arthur comments, coming closer for a better look.

"Always has."

"Earlier, what were you holding back?" Arthur asks.

"I've heard of this staff before."

"When?"

"A long time ago while I was visiting a place I shouldn't have been," Gaius says as he butts the two broken halves together.

The crystal on the top catches the torchlight on an angle and its sparkles catch Arthur's eye. It is mesmerizing.

It is beautiful.

"Sire?"

Like Gwen.

He wants it.

Unable to resist Arthur leans forward and digs a fingernail between the wood and the crystal to pry it loose. It does not give. He knocks it with his ring.

Then the crystal buzzes and there is a blinding flash.

What the hell?

When Arthur can open his eyes, the staff is on the floor and Gaius is lit with a sickly white afterglow, rather than the warm flicker of the firelight. Arthur holds his breath and as the glow slowly fades completely away, the only sound in the vast chamber is the soft crackle of firelight from the sconces.

He stares at the staff dumbly for a few moments and then Arthur realizes it. It is now whole. A new golden ring, a twin to the one still lying at his feet, has sealed the two pieces together.

"What…." He clears his throat when the words do not come. "What did I do?"

"You must have activated the crystal."

"I'm not a sorcerer! How could I possibly activate it?"

"A sorcerer would have had to prime it, but this staff can harness great power all on its own."

Arthur is not sure he wants to know the answer, but asks anyway. "You don’t need to do any research do you?" Arthur waits, but Gaius offers nothing and instead crouches next to the staff. "Gaius," Arthur hisses through clenched teeth.

When Gaius looks up, his face is grave. "This is a sacred relic of the Old Religion. It's the Tree of Life."

"You're telling me the High Priestesses had a member of her Bloodguard put it here?"

"The traitor has been hard at work."

"I think it best we not mention this to the king yet."

"Agreed. He should be concentrating on resting."

"When you are certain about how to dispose of it, we'll tell him."

Gaius rises and purses his lips.

"We are going to destroy it," Arthur insists.

"I'm not sure it can be destroyed."

"What are you going to have me do with it?"

"That is what I need to research."

Arthur knows a dismissal when he hears one. "Is there anything else you require?"

"One thing."

"Yes?"

"Do not keep Merlin occupied too late this evening. I will need his assistance."

"If you see to it my father takes a strong sleeping draft, I'll be sure-"or as sure as he ever can be with the hapless fool-"Merlin finishes his duties early," Arthur bargains.

"Deal."

-oOo-

Hours later, after he surveys what must have been every stone and brick in the citadel for damage, chastises his father's advisors for lying about grain stores, and listens to another set of advisors wring their hands about the dwindling amount of money in Camelot's coffers available for repairs, Arthur arrives at his chambers and finds a full meal spread-bread, jam, chicken, eggs, cheese, fruit, and what blessedly looks like ale-on the table for supper.

He also finds his hapless manservant for the first time since daybreak. Merlin, little bottom waving in the air, is on his hands and knees with his head ducked under the bed.

Rolling his eyes and relishing the plan that has formed in his mind, Arthur slams the door shut. There is a satisfying thud moments later.

"Ow!"

"That was so much easier than usual," Arthur says brightly.

Merlin crawls out from under the bed rubbing his ear. "What was?"

"I didn't have to throw anything, and yet I can still give you a bump on the head."

Merlin glares.

"It's a day late to be hiding under the bed," Arthur continues.

"I wasn't hiding. Then or now."

"I know you well, Merlin, you're not that complicated. You are worthless in a fight, but you are scrappy and have, despite all these failings, managed to become a marginally successful, if ever forgetful servant."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"As well you should. Now, you couldn't have been cleaning and repairing my armor under there, which I distinctly remember telling you to do this morning. So, what were you looking for?"

There is the inevitable pause while he watches Merlin struggle for a lie. "Umm, dust bunnies?"

"Dust bunnies?" Arthur narrows his eyes as he pulls off his leather jacket and tosses it over a chair back. He is not buying that for a second!

"Mum hum."

"Are their heads full of the same fluff as yours?"

"There weren't any."

"Of course not," Arthur says absently and sits down in front of his dinner, "because you washed the floors-cloth, bucket, suds, and all just last week. Speaking of fluff, get me a pillow."

"Why?"

"To sit on." He most certainly was not going to explain further.

"You don't-"

"Merlin!"

Blessedly, Merlin shuts up, snags a pillow off the bed, and offers it to Arthur.

"Not a word," Arthur says as he stuffs the pillow between his rear and the hard wooden chair. Sighing in relief, he breaks the loaf of warm bread in half with his fingers. He is starving.

In a rare moment of insanity, Merlin demonstrates he actually has the ability to act the proper servant by taking up the pitcher and pouring out a goblet of ale.

"Has Leon's patrol returned yet?" Arthur asks while he butters a hunk of bread.

"Due in shortly. As you requested I've left instructions for him to report directly here as soon as he arrives."

Arthur may be starving, but his stomach is also roiling. Instead of eating, he puts down the bread and rests his head in the notch made by chair back and the side post. He lets Merlin pile his plate high.

"You expect trouble?"

"No more than usual."

"Then what's wrong?" Merlin asks.

"What's Gaius taught you of the Old Religion?"

Merlin jerks and the heaping forkful of chicken, which should have been destined for the plate, ends up in Arthur's lap.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Merlin babbles. "I'll clean it up."

Arthur scoops the slimy mess off his trousers. "Don't bother." He has nowhere to put it until Merlin fumbles for an extra plate.

Palms up, he waves his hands in front of Merlin waiting for him to buy a clue. He does not.

"What?"

"Napkin," Arthur demands.

Merlin obliges and Arthur wipes his hands and sops up as much of the juice as he can off his breeches.

"Uh, why were you asking about the Old Religion?" Merlin asks.

"I found the staff that caused the skeletons to attack."

"You went down to the burial vaults?"

"Father wanted to see the scene of Morgana's victory. I found the staff used during the attack." He also may have activated it somehow, but he should not tax Merlin's overshot nerves with talk of magic. "Gaius believes it to be a relic of the Old Religion."

"Where is it now?"

Arthur picks up a fork and toys with it awkwardly in his left hand. "Gaius has it safe, but that doesn't mean that the traitor isn't still stalking the halls of Camelot. While I'd like to believe he's gone, I won't rest well until I'm sure. And I...." he trails off, embarrassed. If that Tree of Life staff had done more than simply glow Arthur would have been defenseless against it. He cannot attack a blazing light with steel and brute force. "I don't know how to fight magic," he finally admits.

"Have you asked Morgana about how she knew to go down to the vaults in the first place?" Merlin puts a replacement heap of chicken on the plate along with a side helping of berries.

"She said…."

What did she say? Arthur can only remember that he, his father, and Morgana were talking in his king's council chambers. He was more concerned at the time with the fact that the tie of the bandage around his wrist was too tight as he tried to stay on his feet in the post battle letdown. "I don't remember."

"You should ask her again."

Arthur pokes at the chicken with the ends of the fork tines, but does not spear any.

"Have you seen her today?" Merlin asks.

"Morgana volunteered to ensure that supplies were distributed to those villagers who sought refuge during the siege. I imagine she spent most of the day outside the castle walls handing out food to the women and children."

Merlin snorts. "Did she?"

"I think Gwen went with her."

"Gwen spent the day helping Gaius tend to the wounded."

"So Morgana went alone. She doesn't need a keeper. Besides," Arthur says as he tosses the fork away, "after being kept in a cell for a year, I hardly blame her for wanting to be in the sunshine as long as she can."

"Are you not going to eat?" Merlin asks.

"I will. It's just that on top of everything else, I need to organize the cleanup of the burial vaults."

"Who are you going to have clean it?"

"Everyone's busy. I haven't a shred of an idea."

When Merlin wads up the dirty napkin and replaces it with a fresh one, brilliance hits.

"Then again…." Arthur smiles, wide. Appetite happily returning, he tucks into the food. "Perhaps there is someone qualified. He is constantly cleaning things, so I know he's very good."

"Who?"

Arthur just continues to chew.

"No. Me? No! You can't be serious."

"You apparently have time to hide under my bed."

"I wasn't-"

"You've just been volunteered."

"-hiding!"

"Frankly," Arthur says through a mouthful of bread, "I'm just glad you didn't hightail it off again. Worthless as you are in a fight, you do keep my chambers somewhat tidy. You can put your skills to good use down there."

"So you admit I have skills?"

"They are few and far between."

"I can't go down there," Merlin splutters.

Merlin's reaction is stronger than Arthur was expecting. Yes, it is an unpleasant task, but the dread in Merlin's eyes tells him there is more. "Why ever not?"

"There are… there are ghosts!"

Arthur shovels chicken into his mouth, amused. "Ghosts?"

"Ghosts," Merlin repeats.

"We were attacked by skeletons not ghosts."

"Are you saying skeletons don’t have souls?"

"Souls have nothing to do with it," Arthur counters.

"Since I've been your manservant, do you know how many times we've dealt with people who are dead?" asks Merlin.

"That's absurd."

"Not in Camelot."

"Yeah?"

"Experience has taught me otherwise."

"Fine." Arthur brings out the challenge. "Name three."

"Just three?"

"You are stal-ling."

"One - the Black Knight." Merlin ticks the name off of with his fingers. "Two - Cornelius Sigan. Three - the skeleton in the courtyard. Four - the skeleton I fought in the hallway. Five -"

Arthur interrupts, "The skeletons don't count."

"They do too."

"They didn't talk. That eliminates them from contention."

"You just changed the rules."

"Princely privilege."

"You're a sore loser."

"Then it's a good thing I never lose."

Merlin's harrumphs are drowned out by a knock on the door.

"Enter," Arthur calls out. A few seconds later, Leon comes through the door. He is disheveled and tired, clearly having come straight from the stables.

"My lord," Leon replies, and then greets Merlin with a nod.

"Join me for dinner?" Arthur offers.

"That would be most welcome," Leon accepts the invitation and seats himself across from Arthur. Merlin busies himself preparing a second plate and goblet.

"Mmm, that's nice and sweet," Leon comments after he has savored the ale.

"Last year's brew was a good one," Arthur agrees. He allows Leon to drink deeply a second time before he starts in on the questions. "Do you have good news?"

"There's little of it," Leon says, wiping his mouth.

Merlin, on his best behavior, is quick with a refill.

"The bulk of the army has retreated across the boarder and into Cenred's kingdom. As they went," Leon continues as he digs into the chicken, "they were courteous enough to burn the crops and take or kill all the livestock for every village between here and the forest of Ascetir. This year's autumn harvest is going to be short and unproductive."

"And followed by a long, hard winter," Arthur finishes.

"Surely we will aid them?"

Arthur picks up his goblet and nurses what little ale remains. "As best we can."

At Arthur's sour tone, Leon pauses in his quest to devour all the remaining food off of Arthur's table. "The last report I read indicated that the food stores weren't in any danger."

"I found out this afternoon the stores were depending on the upcoming bumper harvest. The advisors inflated the numbers in advance to climb into my father's good graces."

"How harsh was the king's reaction?"

"He finds out tomorrow." Arthur sighs. Petitioning-which his father will only call begging-other kingdoms for their assistance, is not going to be an easy sell. "We've enough to feed Camelot's normal population, but with all the outlying villagers here, and unlikely to leave anytime soon, it'll be… uncomfortable."

"If it's any consolation most of the mercenaries have taken their money and left Cenred's service. We could hardly go farther than a horse's shit without taking cover to avoid detection."

"The battle's over. You're sure they aren't dispersing?"

With a mouth full of food, Leon nods.

"Why?"

"To serve." Leon blinks in surprise, as if the answer is obvious. "You've proven yourself the dominant power."

Arthur swirls the amber liquid in his goblet watching the currents shift with the twist of his wrist. "Camelot's been strong for years."

"Not Camelot. You."

Arthur shifts in his seat, the pillow no longer a soft enough cushion.

"Every knight in Camelot knows you were the one in charge of the preparation for the siege and for the tactics. So do all those we fought against. Try as you might to suppress it, sire, word has seeped out to the people. All of Albion will know once the tale of the battle spreads throughout the land. The mercenaries are staying for you."

Arthur drinks the last swig of the ale and grips the empty goblet hard in order to steady himself. "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, not King Arthur."

"You are the leader we follow."

"It was bad enough hearing this talk of treason from Gaius, but from you…."

Leon frowns and puts down the bread he has paired with cheese. "I admit it was I who convinced Gaius to speak with you. No one else had the courage."

Arthur's knuckles turn white under the force of his grip. "Is that why you're here now? To plot against your monarch?"

"My lord, I-"

"You discovered the sentry under the drawbridge. Was that merely coincidence, or are you the traitor?"

"Sire, I-"

"I will not overthrow my father!"

Arthur smashes the goblet on the table and all the dishes on the table rattle in response. When Leon wipes his hands on his thighs and pushes his half finished plate to the center, clearly done eating, Arthur knows he has made a foolish mistake-this is Leon, for God's sake! He is jumping to ridiculous conclusions, but the words of apology stick raw in Arthur's throat.

Merlin, disapproval obvious in his scowl, breaks the tension by beginning to pile the dirty dishes and the uneaten food on a large tray to return to the kitchens.

After Merlin has cleared most of the table, Leon stands. "Forgive me, my lord, for speaking so informally. I am here to update you on what I discovered while on a scouting mission for our sovereign, King Uther Pendragon."

"Then continue with your report, Sir Leon."

All trace of earlier camaraderie gone, Leon says, "There are several thousand mercenaries camping nearby who would pledge loyalty to Camelot."

"For a price?"

"Do you wish me to see they are offered employment?"

"Not really." Arthur wants another mug of the ale, but Merlin is holding it hostage far out of his reach. "But we've sustained heavy losses."

"How many are dead, sire?"

"Sixteen knights. Plus thirty-three others are wounded. Two are injured too seriously to ride or wield a sword ever again."

Leon pays his respects with a bow of his head and Arthur lets the silence stretch. It would be worse than death to be as helpless as a babe in his mother's arms….

"It doesn't matter. We can't afford to pay the mercenaries even if I wanted to."

"If you change your mind they will probably be in the area for sometime yet." Undoubtedly they will harass his people and any foreign travelers while they wait for Arthur's gold. "In light of your decision," Leon goes on, "I recommend we enact a curfew after the final bell to encourage everyone to be within the city walls at night. That is, with your permission, of course."

"I will support that."

"The mercenaries weren't worried about keeping quiet either."

Arthur perks up at that. "What did you overhear?"

Leon shakes his head in the negative.

"Did you engage?"

"Botched ambush. The 'gentlemen' were kind enough to impart some information before we relieved them of sword and purse. Cenred wasn't alone in planning the attack. There was a woman working with him, she wasn't happy about the retreat."

"Who was she?"

"They didn't have name. The only repeatable descriptions in civilized company were blonde and dressed in chainmail, and screw-able."

"Charming."

That description sounded suspiciously like Morgause. Full of restless energy, Arthur taps his ring finger against his goblet repeatedly as he remembers the first time he met Morgause.

Dead.

Mother.

Shocked, he looks straight at Merlin, who sometimes is a deliberately clay-brained lout, but he is not dimwitted enough to forget the reason Arthur held his father at sword point. Merlin misinterprets the look and gets temptingly close with the half-empty pitcher.

Arthur shoos him away and concentrates on Leon.

"There's more. Apparently, Cenred only agreed to the attack in the first place because she assured him they had a faithful ally, placed deep in Camelot's court, who would ensure their victory."

"The traitor's a courtier?"

"It is someone who is unquestionably high placed."

Fantastic! That meant he could not pawn off the search of each of the nobles' chambers to a lesser knight. He would have to supervise it himself so as not to ruffle any additional feathers.

"Is there anything else?"

Leon shuffles his feet. "I may have a one lead for you."

"Oh?"

"It's the reason we were late in arriving." Leon hesitates and refuses to look Arthur in the eye. "It may not be one his majesty would remotely want us to mention let alone entertain."

"My father wants all means used, no stone unturned."

"I do not wish to damage my reputation with you further."

"Then stop pussyfooting about it."

"We halted by the stream to water the horses." Arthur is well familiar with the location; it is a convenient spot with a gentle babbling brook. They use the place to break the journey for the horses and relieve themselves before resuming the five-hour trip east to the city. "I was returning to the group, when I encountered a man-age worn yet agile, curly 'n grey hair, plainly dressed in travel clothes, fine horse-waiting, as bold as you please, in the middle of the small dirt path that leads down to the stream. At first I thought he was lost and in need of assistance. When offered it, he refused, addressed me by name, and instead asked for an audience with the Prince of Camelot."

Arthur did not immediately recognize the man from Leon's description. "What did he want?"

"He wished to speak with you personally."

"You escorted him back, then?"

Leon combs one hand through his long hair. "Not exactly."

"I don't have the time to gallivant about the woodlands at the whim of peasants who only want an audience to beg for something I cannot provide," Arthur snaps.

"He's not a peasant, he's a druid."

"And he wants to meet with me?"

"Alone," Leon confirms. "After I informed him your duties would not permit a visit and instead offered to pass along a message," Leon fishes a small bundle out of his pocket and proffers it, "he gave me this."

Arthur takes it and unwraps the four corners of the brown burlap covering one by one. In the center is a round chip of wood with branch bark rough on the edges. It is about the size of a typical gold coin and the carving on the side facing upwards in his palm is of a now sickeningly familiar tree. When he flips it over the reverse side shows a crude picture of what looks like the dragon he slew the prior year.

"He said he would wait for you for three nights. No more. Then he vanished."

"People don't just vanish."

"He dissolved like smoke in the wind." Leon shivers. "I wasted two entire hours having the men search the grove for evidence of him, but there wasn't any. No campfire. No footprints."

"The horse?"

"No trace of it either. No hoof prints. No tracks. If it weren't for that"-Leon points to the wooden coin-"I'd say I completely imagined him."

"None of the others saw him?"

"Just me, sire."

"Did you tell anyone else of this conversation?"

"I didn't think it prudent."

Merlin, damp cloth balled in his fist rather than actively wiping the table, leans over Arthur's shoulder to get a better view of the wood chip. When Leon does not offer anything new Arthur asks, "Do you have anything additional to report?"

"No more, sire."

"You're dismissed."

Leon has the door partway open, but lingers for a moment. "I love Camelot and all she stands for. I serve at your pleasure and will strive to do so in the best manner I can as both knight and councilor. Please forgive me."

Forgive, perhaps, but not forget.

"Schedule a training session for early morning. I don't want any of the younger recruits resting on their laurels."

Face pinched, Leon bows himself out of the room.

Merlin is wise enough to at least hold his tongue until the door snicks closed. He has discarded the rag and, hands on hips, has the same expression Morgana wears when she is about to tell him off. "You were pretty harsh to Leon."

He does not appreciate Merlin's unsolicited comment. Ignoring him, Arthur stares at the wooden chip. It is certainly a token to grab his attention: a depiction of the vessel which nearly turned the tide of the battle he won and a depiction of an animal that he also triumphed over. His father will be proud that his son is identified so strongly with the defeat of evil magical objects and beings.

"Arthur, was that necessary?"

"I don't need you telling me how to handle my knights."

"I thought they were the King's knights?"

Not taking the bait, Arthur spins the chip on the freshly cleaned tabletop. The two sides of the makeshift coin blur together for the blink of an eye before it topples over.

Dragon up.

"Have you gotten out my bedclothes yet?" Arthur pulls out the pillow from underneath himself, stands, and stretches with fists behind his head, elbows up. "I'll take your stupefied expression as a no."

"First I have to-"

"You have to? You?" Arthur laughs without humor and heads towards the bed. "I have a swelling population that expects me to protect them." Perching on the bedside, he pulls his left leg up. "I have insufficient food stored for the winter." He yanks on his left boot, but it stubbornly remains halfway on. "I have over a dozen dead knights to replace." Another tug and the offensive boot slides off his foot. "I have rogue mercenaries roaming throughout the kingdom." He throws it to the floor and there is a satisfying bounce. "I have a weak citadel wall whose foundation is so damaged it won't withstand another bombardment and not enough quarry stone to rebuild it." The second boot follows the first, thumping harder. "I have a traitor, who I can't identify, that may possibly still be lurking about the castle, bent on Camelot's destruction." For good measure, he kicks the boots and they skid across the room towards Merlin. "I have a magical artifact that may or may not be able to be destroyed." Nonplussed, Merlin lifts the boots up. "I have an entire crypt to clean, not to mention a courtyard, the lower town, and an entire countryside." Arthur pounds the covers with his fist. "And worst of all, I also have a father whose sanity the entirety of Albion is beginning to question."

Worn out, Arthur flops on the bed.

"And all the while"-he spreads one arm wide hogging as much quilt as he can-"All the while my father, the council, the knights, the servants, the court, the people expect me to fix it." He screws his eyes shut. "I don't want the responsibility!"

He hears Merlin shuffle to the cupboard and put the boots away. Then there is the opening and closing squeak of drawers and the soft rustle of fabric followed by footfalls.

"I didn't ask for this," Arthur moans.

"Tough," Merlin replies and Arthur's eyes fly open. "You're the crown prince and heir to the throne."

A pair of loose, black trousers hit him square in the chest. Arthur scrambles up and supports his weight on his left elbow. "I didn't mean-"

"Take off your shirt."

"Pardon?"

"I have to change the dressing on your wrist and then Gaius wanted me to make sure I tended your shoulder wound."

"My shoulder isn't wounded," Arthur protests.

"Just because you won't admit to it, doesn't mean it isn't there."

"It's fine. I took care of it."

"Which is why you ate your dinner left-handed?"

Damn, Gaius!

Merlin dangles a strip of fresh bandage and jar of salve in front of his face. Gritting his teeth, he shucks his shirt to get this over with. Glancing down he can see the bruising has darkened to a deeper mix of black and blue since he dressed in the morning.

Merlin unscrews the jar and the scent of comfrey is unmistakable.

"That stuff always smells awful," Arthur complains.

"You'll appreciate it in the morning during the training session when you can lift your sword." Arthur hisses through his teeth when Merlin pokes at the bruise. "How did it happen?"

"Don't know. I didn't feel it until long after the battle."

Merlin hums as he rubs the disgusting slave into Arthur's tender skin. "So, why did you have Leon report directly to you tonight, in advance of the council meeting tomorrow?"

"I wanted to know the situation on the border."

Merlin finishes and screws the lid tight. "Leon gave his last border report about the army amassing to the full court. You found out about it when your father did."

That lands.

Merlin goes on to attack the bandage on his wrist. "You don't get to be angry if the knights treat you as the de facto leader when you act it. Your father may be King, but you are his sword. You're seeing betrayal where there isn't rather than where it may be."

Arthur himself unravels the dirty bandage once Merlin's got the knot unfastened. The cut is nasty, but it is no longer weeping blood. If there is no blood tomorrow morning he can probably make do without a bandage. "Do you think I should meet this druid?"

His question makes Merlin pause. "Do you want an honest answer to that?"

"I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't."

"Then, yes, I do."

"If my father were to ever find out…."

"Send me in your place."

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

Merlin gently wraps the replacement bandage securely about the laceration. "Earlier you said you didn't know a way to fight magic. This druid may be offering you a way to fight magic with magic. I can help you."

"I'll… think about it," he replies, even though deep down inside he squelches any such impulse. Then he asks, "Do you think the sorceress is Morgause?"

"There's no one else it would be."

"There was one other," Arthur says and twists his ring round and round his finger with his thumb while Merlin works. The confused expression on his manservant's face indicates he should elaborate. "Person, who has died that we've spoken with."

Merlin ties off the last of the bandage. "I thought it best not to mention her."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Why do you stay?" Arthur asks.

"Because my master is an ungrateful coxcomb who needed to have the dressing on his injured wrist tended to so a deadly infection doesn't set in. If that infection were to set in and he were to die, the mourning and wailing would be unbearable."

"The mourning period would have to be extensive as would befit my station."

"Weeks and weeks. Gwen would be inconsolable."

"Oh. Hum, best not to have that happen then."

"Quite. As this would prevent him from becoming king in his own right when the time comes all of Albion would also suffer from the loss."

"It's not my legacy to rule Albion, Camelot alone is plenty. With you by my side to…." Arthur flails trying to come up with the best responsibility for Merlin. What is Merlin actually good at?

"Darn your socks?" Merlin suggests.

That is good enough. "With you by my side to clean, dry, and mend my socks, we'll be a force to be reckoned with."

Merlin looks him dead in the eye, all trace of joking gone. "It's our destiny."

"You're having delusions of grandeur again."

"If you say, sire."

"Idiot."

"Prat."

Merlin's grin is impish, but Arthur is returning it in kind.

"Goodnight, sire."

He bids Merlin the same and climbs into bed, but with the odor of comfrey filling his nostrils, sleep eludes him.

-oOo- Gaius -oOo-

The first time Arthur gathered the courage to ask me about magic out of Uther's earshot, he was twelve. Despite the Lady Vivienne's insistence, I was never destined to have a son. The son of my king was more than enough bother.

I had just received a large shipment of beeswax and honey from my usual supplier and had set about making a tincture of valerian root infused with honey for Morgana's nightly sleeping draft. My previous batch had either been less effective due to poor quality ingredients, or I would need to increase the potency with something stronger that valerian.

Poor child.

I had the oil and honey base of the mixture bubbling in the double boiler when the Prince-bloody, dirty, and sweaty-limped into my workshop doing his futile best not to hold his shoulder funny.

In the last week, Sir Ector had begun to ramp up Kay and Arthur's training and had allowed them on the main field with the rest of the knights in the afternoons. Both lads had thrown themselves whole-heartedly into the newest challenge.

Two days ago, Kay had traded his bravado for bruises. Arthur, with his hot head, kept holding on, but Ector must have finally taught the lesson he'd been aiming for.

Arthur's limp had thrown off his swagger.

"What happened?" I asked the young prince once he seated himself on a stool with a grunt.

"Sir Ector sent me here to make sure these cuts"-there was a nasty one his forearm and another one on his temple-"were properly tended to."

I gathered clean cloths and dampened the corners in a bowl of water.

"Which knight's handy work is this?" I asked, wiping the blood off the Prince's eyebrow. The cut was more of a nick and had already stopped bleeding. All I had to do was wipe the blood away.

"It wasn't a knight."

I used the second cloth to staunch the flow of blood on Arthur's arm. The wound wasn't deep, but the blood was mixed with dirt.

"Who was it then?"

"Ouch!" Arthur tried to jerk his arm away, but I held it firmly in place.

"It's clean now. The worst is done."

"Sir Ector kept comparing our warm-up exercises to dancing." Arthur grumbled. "I don't want to dance. Dancing is for girls in dresses and Morgana and maids, not knights dressed in armor wielding swords."

"And then?" I lathered an ointment over the open cut, which would ensure no infection would set in.

"I demanded to spar with a knight, not to practice to be a princess."

That would not have gone over well with Sir Ector and probably was just what the head knight had been waiting for.

"And then what happened?" I asked as I bound his arm tight with a bandage.

"I got my fight," Arthur mumbled miserably.

"Did you not hold your own?" I inquired, wiping the last of the blood away.

Arthur miserably toed the ground with his boot. "He brought in Morgana to fight me," he muttered. Arthur hooked his boot around one of the stool's three legs to stop fidgeting.

"Ahh," I said with understanding. It seemed as if Sir Ector had finally taught the lesson in humility he'd been aiming for. "She defeated you."

"Did not."

I felt my right eyebrow rise of its own accord. The boy was too young yet to figure out there are other ways to win fights besides brute force.

"She might have knocked me down," Arthur amended.

"Is that all?"

"And stomped her foot on my chest."

"And?"

"Demanded I yield."

"Did you?"

"I am never fighting a girl again," Arthur said through tightly clenched teeth. "She kicked my pride in the balls."

"Is that proper language for a knight?"

"No, sorry," he insincerely apologized. "And the worst of it was that all the knights, and all the stewards, and everybody was watching and laughing. I need them to respect me!"

"Respect is earned, my lord."

"How am I supposed to lead these men into battle if they spend all their time sniggering with their hands covering their mouths?"

"We are at peace, what battle are you preparing for?"

"The one against magic."

"You know as well as I do that the Great Purges are over."

"I'm not scared of sorcery," Arthur proclaimed.

Ah, the sweet indestructibility of youth! "Sorcery isn't something to be meddled with or made light of. Take off your shirt, my lord, I need to take a look."

Arthur glared balefully, but obeyed and shimmied out of his sweat-drenched shirt. The odor of young knights in training never changed.

His back and chest were a mass of black, blue, and green. Some were old wounds, others were not. Suspicious, Arthur'd wounded more than his pride, I began to prod. I could feel the solid thumpety-thump of his heart under my fingertips, a little fast for an adult, but not for a growing boy.

"What do you know about magic?" Arthur asked.

I'm not proud of it, but I gave the only answer I could-the one Uther scripted. The reality of a warm bed and a paying job drove my need to stay in the king's good graces.

"Magic is banned throughout Camelot, Arthur."

"I know that," the boy said. I pressed on one of Arthur's ribs, searching for wounds Arthur purposefully wouldn't mention to prove how strong he was to the older, more experienced knights. I'd already noticed how he had balled his hands into fists to hide the broken and bleeding calluses on his his sword hand.

I poked gently at his right shoulder, where the skin was already starting to swell, and Arthur sucked in a sharp breath.

"Does this hurt?"

"No."

I prodded it again, but just a bit harder.

"Okay! Yes, yes. It hurts are you happy now?"

"You need to learn when to ask for help, Arthur." I scolded him, and then I softened my tone. "It's not a weakness."

"It is when you are the Prince," he grumbled.

I had hoped the pain would distract him from his question, but it didn't. "Do you know why magic is banned?"

"You should ask your father," I replied, and busied myself collecting comfrey from my stores.

"I did."

"What did he say?" Eggshells and hammers are a more delicate mixture than Uther and magic I thought to myself as I placed half of the comfrey in my trusty mortar and added a bit of water. Not enough to drown the herb, but enough to get it wet enough to soften my task.

"Father said only that 'Sorcerers can never be trusted.' What I can't figure out is how he learned that."

"Through one bad experience," I replied, grinding the mixture into a plaster with my pestle.

"Ick, that smells gross," Arthur complained. "You're not going to make me eat that, are you?"

"Comfrey can be poisonous when ingested," I replied. "I'm preparing a poultice."

"Still smells gross."

"You'll stop smelling it after a while." Just like I stopped feeling guilty for pointing out sorcerers during the Great Purge.

"You're going to make me wear it, aren't you?"

"If you want that shoulder to feel better on the morrow, yes."

"I only will if you tell me about my father's bad experience."

"Those are for your father to tell."

"But you do know?"

I looked the reason for Uther's hatred of magic in the eyes and said, "I do."

Arthur puffed himself up like a peacock spreading its feathers and I could see the glimmer of the ruler he would one day become. With any luck, he would not be blinded by Uther's faults.

"I command you to tell me, physician," Arthur imitated his father well, but he lacked the ruthlessness Uther sunk into after Ygraine died.

"I cannot answer, what the King has ordered me not to reveal. I can however, tell Sir Ector that you refused treatment." If there was anything Sir Ector liked less than complaining, it was failing to care for wounds properly.

Wounds, like old memories, fester.

Arthur huffed and his feathers drooped. "No one else will tell me anything either." Arthur tried to cross his arms, but the pain caught up with him and he winced.

"Who else have you asked?" I added the rest of the comfrey with a tad more water and continued to grind.

"Hayden turned beet red and ended the lesson on sums and division. Geoffrey of Monmouth droned on about the Pendragon lineage and the great legacy of the houses of Albion. The head cook, she talked in circles about chickens that wouldn't lay eggs and poor harvests that left little boy's bellies hungry."

"Indeed." There was no hope in stemming the tide.

"I'm not a little boy because I'm training with the knights now, but I think she said it just to frighten the kitchen boy who was listening."

If he had asked this many people, it was a wonder Uther hadn't issued an edict forbidding talk or mention of magic.

"Sir Marcus said it was because magic gave birth to two headed cows. Have you ever even seen a two-head cow? I haven't. Are there supposed to be two heads where there is normally one, or do both ends of the cow have separate heads?"

Once the paste reached a nice sticky consistency, I scraped the paste into a wide open mouthed beaker. Then I moved Morgana's draft out from under the flame and replaced it with Arthur's beaker.

"If both ends are heads, where does the cow poop?"

"I have never seen a two headed cow," I answered as blandly as I could, deciding that the first question was the safest to answer, though I was sure I couldn’t suppress the twitch at the corners of my lips.

"What brought this on all of the sudden?" I asked, collecting a large supply of gauze and bandages as the paste warmed for maximum healing power.

"Sir Ector's lessons this week are about understanding the strengths and weaknesses of your enemies."

"Did you ask your question to Sir Ector?"

Arthur nodded. "Last week. Don't you see? I cannot conquer what I do not understand."

Oh, I could see more than the Prince could. Ector was playing with fire. I was going to need to have a word with Elsa. She would have the pull with her husband to remind him that discretion was the better part of valor.

"Uther's enemies are not your enemies." I said risking my livelihood and hoping to sidestep some of my guilt at the same time.

"Sorcerers are enemies of Camelot, someday I will be king of Camelot, and therefore they're my enemies."

"Is that so?" I asked and then bit my tongue. I should take my own advice.

"Don't you start too!" Arthur complained, clenching the wadded up shirt in his lap with both fists. "That's all Sir Ector says when I ask him any question. "Is that so? Is that so? Is that so?" the young prince mocked the head knight.

"Does it hurt to think?" I replied. The young are always in too much of a rush to not sort answers into the neat buckets of good and evil. Black and white are so easy to distinguish, but real life has a whole lot more gray now that Gaius was older and wiser.

"I'm tired of him throwing the question back at me."

"He wants you come up with the answer without any help." I poked my fingers into the comfrey paste and it was warm to the touch, but not too hot. I moved it off the fire.

"He does?"

"Yes."

Arthur was bewildered, "Then why does he encourage me and Kay to ask questions?"

I placed a thin layer of gauze over the shoulder. "So you will learn to answer them."

While Arthur contemplated that, I held the gauze in place with one hand, while I slathered the warm comfrey poultice over the gauze. When that was done, I added a final layer of gauze and wrapped it up with the large strips of bandages.

"The worst of the swelling should go down overnight." I patted Arthur on the thigh. "Go ahead and put your shirt back on."

He did so gingerly, the bandages restricting his movements.

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur said as he slid off the stool.

He was halfway to the door when I cautioned: "Arthur, it would be wise of you not to ask questions about magic anymore. It may draw the wrong sort of attention."

"No sorcerer is going to kill me," he proclaimed. "My father's laws would have them killed."

"Even if they died afterwards, you would be just as dead. Although, it is not sorcerers I would be worried about attracting. It is your father."

I had Arthur's complete attention.

"You asked why he hates magic?"

Arthur nodded.

"It is because once upon a time a sorceress, a slip of a girl really, knocked him down and stole his pride. After what happened today with Morgana, I would think you would understand his desire to not discuss it."

"I understand."

"Promise me you won't go asking questions about magic again."

"I promise, Gaius."

"Very good." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Best be on your way."

After I sent Arthur off, I added two chamomile leaves to the sleeping draft and set it back under the flame to boil. Tonight with any luck, Morgana would have a dreamless sleep, Arthur would no longer ask about sorcery, and the whole kingdom would rest easier for it.

The three pillars of my own youth had been magic, science, and healing. With no hope of magic returning to the kingdom of Camelot, science and healing would have to be enough to sustain me. Science saved me and sorcery was naught but a faded memory.

I had never felt so old.

Part II

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