Family Tree Part II
-oOo- Arthur -oOo-
When Arthur-hair at the nape of his neck still wet-makes it to the council chambers with Merlin a half a step behind, the meeting is well underway.
Leon is reporting on the whereabouts and dispersal of Cenred's army to the assembled knights, nobles, and servants. Arthur curses himself for dozing so long in the bathwater as he scans the room for friendly faces. He finds Morgana, Gwen, Gaius, and Geoffrey. Most importantly, Geoffrey holds the scroll he will need later.
Every seat at the rectangular table is taken except for the one at his father's right and Arthur slides into his chair as unobtrusively as possible. Even after all these years, he comes across as a child sitting at the grownups table. His father does not deign to acknowledge his late arrival, which is how Arthur knows his mood is already foul.
"Prince Arthur and I discussed the matter last evening and due to our recent losses, it would be unwise to pursue the mercenaries. However, we would like to set a curfew to encourage our citizens to be safely inside after dark."
"Do it."
"Thank you, my lord," Leon replies.
"What's next?"
Arthur metaphorically dons his armor. "There needs to be a revision made to the inventory of our food and provision stores."
"In what direction?"
"Down. Severely."
"Who's responsible?"
The squirrely advisor, who fudged the harvest report and whose name Arthur did not bother to learn, stutters his excuses to the packed room. "I'm s…sorry, my lord. It is standard practice to project the stores with what is expected with the harvest."
"It is standard practice to lie?"
"Not… not lie. P…project." The man flushes and it is not merely because the packed room is overly warm.
"Will you have me feed my people projections instead of flour?" Uther asks the fool.
"Of course not, it's just that the report was for-"
"I have a solution," Arthur cuts the man off, not having the patience to listen to his incompetent prattle any more than he did the day prior.
"What would you suggest?" his father him asks still eyeing the (soon to be former) councilor with disgust.
"The treaty negotiations we signed with King Olaf explicitly state an exchange of goods and foods in time of famine."
Uther steeples his gloved fingers, remembering. "We put that provision in for the event of a drought that plagued one kingdom, but not the other."
"I reviewed the treaty yesterday and there is nothing that explicitly states drought must be the cause of the famine." Arthur gestures to Geoffrey in their prearranged signal.
The librarian steps forward and reads the relevant treaty passages aloud to the whole room. "Let it be known that from this time forward, the kingdoms of Camelot and Caerleon share the goodwill and benevolence to assist each other's population during events where famine afflicts one kingdom, but not the other.
"Food items agreed upon for trade include rye, barley, wheat, corn, oat, bean, onion, and pea. Quantities are not to exceed five thousand pounds per variety of item.
"Livestock agreed upon for trade include pig, sheep, chicken, and cow. Quantities are not to exceed twenty creatures per animal type.
"Items will be completely paid for prior to delivery. The recipient will pay transport expenses. If, during transport, any goods are lost due to weather, bandits, thievery, or mismanagement, then the payment shall not be refunded.
"Payment, in gold, will be at a fair market price. The fair market price, determined at the sole discretion of the party rendering the aid, is to be calculated at the time services are rendered."
When Geoffrey finishes, Arthur holds his breath.
His father mulls the treaty language over and finally states, "Despite the fact that no details are given for the cause of the famine, it will be difficult to convince Olaf to honor the agreement when that was not the original intent."
"Surely he would agree that what we are requesting falls within the spirit of the agreement?"
"You sat in on that portion of the conversation. Olaf was adamant."
Arthur had been too preoccupied with flower deliveries, chicken dinners, and wooing the wrong woman to remember any of Olaf's objections. His eyes flicker to Gwen and she hides a small smile when they make eye contact. It is serendipity that she is wearing her lilac dress with the autumn-hued bodice covered in flowers and vines. It is his favorite because it was the dress she was wearing for their first kiss. White wildflowers are braded in her hair and he itches to smell them.
He shakes his head to concentrate on the matter at hand. If King Olaf has any stance not recorded on paper, Arthur's extensive treaty reading after the fact would not have uncovered it.
"Can we not use the treaty as a basis for expansion?"
"That is tantamount to begging."
"I would rather beg than watch Camelot's people starve."
"The price will be steep."
"To ease the cost I suggest we convince Olaf to extend payment over the course of this summer and next two."
"I cannot, in good conscious, leave Camelot to negotiate such a request." Ha! He is considering it.
And now it is time to put all his cards on the table. He centers himself by imagining he is wearing full armor, wielding his sword, stepping on the tournament arena gravel in front of the hundreds of spectators. He knows he can handle that with nerves of steel. "Send me in your stead."
His father waves the suggestion away. "You are needed here to oversee the reconstruction of the citadel wall. You cannot walk away from your responsibilities here, Prince Arthur."
"Sire-"
"How extensive is the damage to the citadel's defenses?"
"There is minor damage to the main gate, and a few other spots, which can easily be repaired over the course of the next two weeks," Arthur replies. "The lower town is in shambles, but can be back in decent shape before the autumn rains set in. The most serious damage is on the west wall."
"The west wall?"
"Yes. It's the same location where the dragon concentrated his attack last year."
"Ghosts of the past," his father mumbles. It is barely audible, but it is clear to him and, mostly likely, to Morgana opposite him. Uther pushes his chair away from the table and stands to pace.
Arthur stares at the empty chair-his father will always fill it far better than he ever will-and speaks up again to draw the room's attention to him. "Not only is it a weak spot, but also because of those previous repairs, we do not have the adequate stone in Camelot for these new repairs. Our stores are depleted. I drew up the order for the mine yesterday afternoon. It is awaiting your seal and signature."
"A competing expense?" The thunder over his father's head is about to break.
"It will take a full cycle of the moon for the first batch of the needed stone to arrive," Arthur parries. "And I am convinced that Sir Leon that is more than capable of managing the preliminary restoration until I return from Caerleon." It is a silent apology, but it will do.
Leon swallows his open-mouthed fish expression and has the presence of mind to stammer out, "I would be honored."
Uther paces back and stands at the table corner between Arthur and his chair. "If I grant your request, if, who would be a part of your delegation?"
"I'll take my manservant, but otherwise I go alone."
"You will be in an inferior bargaining position."
"Until the west wall is fully repaired, it is vital that our forces remain here to protect the city."
"When do you propose to leave?"
"At first light tomorrow. If Camelot's population has starved and perished, then it doesn’t matter how strong or weak the citadel's exterior is, there will be nothing to defend."
"Very well," Uther announces and slides back into his seat, "You have my permission."
"Thank you."
Victorious, Arthur drops his imaginary sword and wipes the sweat from his brow. He has earned his first solo venture into affairs of state that does not comprise of war craft. Across the table, Gaius gives him a nod of approval; he hears the fantasy crowd cheering in his honor.
The finance minister begins to drone on about how long they will need to raise taxes in order to pay for all of these pressing expenses and Arthur slouches, stifles a yawn, and tunes the oily man out.
He allows himself a moment-brief, infinitesimal-to close his eyes.
He had given up on feigning sleep last night when the birds outside the windows heralded the dawn with song. Not bothering to wait on Merlin's appearance, he had dressed, and went for a jog through the sparkle of dew-lined grass before Leon assembled the men for practice.
Instead of joining them he kept apart, let Leon lead, and worked through forms himself. He had gone deliberately slow at first, ensuring his right side would not fail, and then ramped the speed up to feel his muscles burn.
When Merlin arrived to scowl from across the yard, he kept going. As the early morning sun warmed his back, he lost himself in the drills and forms he had practiced since childhood.
At the end he consented to spar with one of the recruits. Stupidly, he had caught an-
"Would you agree to that, Arthur?"
Arthur jolts and snaps his eyes open. "Yes, I do," he replies to cover his lapse.
"Very good, that's settled then."
A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd. Gwen is practically beaming at him. What the bloody hell else had he just agreed to do?
Before Arthur could object, or even inquire for details, the King turns to Gaius, "What have you discovered about how to destroy the staff?
"It is the Tree of Life, a prized ceremonial icon of life and renewal of the Old Religion. While we have it-"
Morgana interjects. "You recovered it?"
"Yes, my lady," Gaius replies smoothly. "It is remarkably intact."
"Where is it now?" she asks.
"Safe." Gaius turns to the king and continues. "There is little literature on the subject, which survived the purge fires, but I was able to learn it is a relic the druids worship. To them it represents the mystical concept of the interconnectedness of all life."
"The kingdom of Camelot is in no way connected with magic."
"Not now, sire, but once it was."
"We are not here for the history lesson," the king says coolly. "How do we destroy it?"
"We cannot. When the Tree of Life was split from its mother Rowan, the fate of magic users and non-magic users were twined together. Forever."
"Just what are you saying?"
"I'm saying it would destroy Camelot, in addition to killing all of those born of magic."
His father sucks in a sharp breath. Arthur hides another yawn behind a fist when his father slides a sideways glance at him.
"I understand your meaning, physician. This is just further proof of the insidious nature of magic. What do you propose?"
"That we hide it. That way no druid or sorceress can wield it."
"Allow me to do it," Morgana offers.
"No, Morgana," Uther replies. "I spent the entirety of the last twelve months searching for you. I will not risk your safety further. Arthur is the one best suited to take care of it."
In envy, Morgana's face turns as green as her silk dress.
Silently Arthur agrees, even if he has no idea where to hide the blasted thing, or desire to touch it again. Getting Morgana back was awful. He does not know if he could go through it again.
"Prince Arthur will take the staff with him when he departs. Arthur, the location you choose will need to be both secret and well protected. We would not want anyone to stumble on it by accident."
"I will come by this evening," Arthur tells Gaius, "to retrieve it prior to my journey."
Gaius nods. "I will have it ready for you."
"Is there anything else," his father asks to the room at large. No one else comes forward, or speaks up. "Very well, we'll convene tomorrow morning at the same time."
Conversation kicks up as soon as the meeting is adjourned and the people mill about and depart. His father thwarts his quick escape with a hand on Arthur's forearm. "You were late."
"I was tending another matter. It could not be helped."
"Do me proud with Olaf."
"I will, sire."
"Dine with me tonight?"
Arthur is sure the meal will consist more of unnecessary negotiation strategy than food and drink, yet he accepts.
When his father makes for the exit to his private study, Morgana trails closely after, doubtless to argue his decision about her participation with the Tree of Life in private. Arthur chuckles to himself, disappointed he will miss the fireworks.
"Thank you, my lord," Leon says coming up to him.
"Once you are up to your armpits in reports and complaints you may think otherwise."
"I promise not to moan, even if there are reports about complaints."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Arthur replies.
Leon inclines his head in gratitude and leaves. Merlin is at his elbow instantly afterwards.
"Another matter?" Merlin, arms crossed, mocks him.
"A very important matter," Arthur evades.
"Your beauty sleep?"
"Which wouldn't have been a problem had someone," he grabs Merlin by the scruff of his neckerchief and frog marches him out the door and into the corridor, "had the wherewithal to keep track of the time."
"Le'me go."
"Only if you can tell me what I agreed to."
"When?"
Hot under his own collar, Arthur lets go when the reach the stairs. "After my father consented to my plan, I got distracted."
"Ah, when you were tending to another very important matter?"
"Merlin."
"You agreed to supplement the final sum of negotiation monies with your tournament winnings from the past five years."
Arthur nearly trips on the first step as they head outside. "I what?"
"Agreed to-"
"I heard you the first time."
"Then why did you ask again?"
"To make sure this wasn't a nightmare."
When they hit the courtyard's cobblestone Merlin turns sulky. "You could've given me a little bit of warning last night that we were going to travel to Caerleon."
"Merlin, we're going to Caerleon," Arthur deadpans.
"I got the message," he mutters. They both come to a stop smack in the center of the courtyard, just past the well, when a mother and her three young children scurry past to join the queue forming for food handout and Merlin asks, "Where are we going?"
Arthur is hard pressed not to sigh at Merlin's endless need to play ridiculous games. He plants his hands on his hips and enunciates over-precisely: "Caer-le-on."
"Not tomorrow," Merlin says, affronted. "I mean right now."
"I was following you."
Merlin blinks, stupidly. "So was I."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
Merlin is clearly awaiting his orders, so Arthur obliges and gives him some. "See that the horses are groomed, fed, and ready for tomorrow. Have the farrier re-shoe both your mare and my stallion. Muck out the stables while you wait. Gather the provisions we'll need for the journey. No meat. I'll hunt on the way, so you'll need to get my crossbow. When you get to packing make sure you include a whetstone and oil. Find and wash the clothes I'll need to wear in order to impress King Olaf. Don't forget my crown."
"Yes, sire." Merlin attempts to back away to escape the onslaught.
Arthur throws in one more, his favorite, for good measure. "And make sure my armor is polished before we leave."
Inexplicitly, Merlin brightens. "On the upside this trip to Caerleon means I get out of cleaning the burial chambers."
"Damn it!"
-oOo-
Arthur kicks his chamber door closed with a backwards kick. "Merlin you need to be sure to pack…." he trails off when he realizes he is talking to empty air. It is not seemly for princes to talk aloud to themselves. The people might start to think he is going crazy.
Where in the bloody hell is Merlin?
His servant should be here. From the looks of his neat room, Merlin had not even started gathering clothing for the trip.
The sun is sinking below the castle's turrets and he has already supped with his father.
It would have been a tasty dish, but disguised as advice it turned sour.
The meal had been peppered with helpful advice like "Do not be hard or soft. You need to strike a balance between the two approaches," and "Keep your emotions out of it," and "Try to get to the root of what Olaf needs," and "Don't forget your honor," and most importantly "Save as much face as you can."
When it came to a choice between saving face and saving coin, Arthur was not sure what he would pick. Either one would be a severe loss to his pride.
Arthur pulls a wooden chest out from underneath his bed and hoists it on to the dining table. Burden deposited, he rolls the tension out of his right shoulder as he unhooks a key from the chain at his belt.
Arthur caresses the lid and drags it to the edge of the tabletop, but before unlocking it he hesitates. There is no sign of Merlin coming down the corridor to grace him with his presence.
He hears no one in the hallway.
No one to see.
No one to see him being silly, indulging in a silly dream.
Carefully, Arthur unlocks the chest and lifts the lid and admires his winnings. There is more here than the meager amount he retrieved from the treasury this afternoon. He scoops his hands through the gold, lifts two fistfuls into the air, and then lets them fall though the slits between his fingers like water through a drain.
He had earned every piece in there with his blood, sweat, and tears. He had been hoping to save enough to build….
Well, it hardly mattered anymore.
Arthur takes a step back and unsheathes his sword with a flourish.
He places the scabbard on the table. He fingers the worrying chink on the sword and mopes at the gold. He has kept this sword for longer than he should have, but it is trusty and serves him well. This sword earned him the gold. His father presented it to him during the ceremony when he was knighted. It had been freshly forged, blindingly shiny, and sharper than his father's tongue after a rebuke.
Arthur had honed the blade, honed his skills, and dreamed of the day he would be a man in his father's eyes.
The hard edge of his sword is damaged by numerous nicks and chips. Even though it is a comfortable weight and has served him well, the sword cannot help but show its age. It did not help that one of the skeletons forced him to take a cut holding his sword out in the path of an oncoming blow. Then early this morning, sparing with the knights, he had caught the edge again.
Stupid of him.
There is a heavy thud on the door and after a pause there is another. The third is followed by a curse.
Quickly, Arthur closes the chest, but forgoes locking it.
"Ow!" It is muted and muffled, but unmistakably Merlin.
Arthur rolls his eyes and places his sword safely on his dining table before going to open the door. Sure enough, Merlin, goofy grin and all, stands on the other side, his arms full of Arthur's armor and hauberk.
"You shouldn't scowl. I knocked."
"With what?"
"My head."
"I can only hope you did lasting damage," Arthur says, rescuing one of his vambraces from atop the pile that, sure enough, is-Crash!-destined for the floor.
"You could've taken two trips."
"And have you complain about me being inefficient?" Merlin squats to pick up the fallen gambeson and gorget.
"Imagine what I can complain about instead?"
"My uncanny ability to get what you need before you think to ask it?" Merlin speaks rapidly and by an uncanny miracle manages not to trip over the words.
"Oh, noooo." Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose feeling the headache which has been simmering below the surface all day, bloom in full force as he sinks into one of the wooden chairs. "I guarantee that isn't it. I just wanted you to clean and polish my armor. We're not taking it with us."
"Then I brought this"-Merlin shakes the hauberk and its chain links jangle-"up for?"
"Not my amusement."
"Arthur!"
"I'm not going to commence treaty negotiations dressed to slay the enemy."
He feels his mood improve slightly at the disheartened look on Merlin's face. Glaring daggers, Merlin picks up the rest of the fallen armor and piles it on the table.
"There is something I do need you to get for me," Arthur says rescuing his sword from the invasion of armor.
"What is it?" A long suffering-sigh accompanies the question and if Merlin were any other servant, Arthur would send him to the stocks.
"With your all seeing knowledge, would you like to anticipate what it is?"
"Gwen and an uninterrupted night's sleep?" Merlin suggests, all cheek and smirk.
Arthur supposes he deserved that. "As pleasurable as your suggestion would be, no." He really needs to find out who, besides way-out-of-his-league Morgana, Merlin has got a soft spot for, so he can mock him mercilessly. There must be a kitchen maid who finds big ears, dippy grins, and two left feet endearing. "Commission me a new sword with the royal blacksmith. Tell him to have it ready when we return from Caerleon."
"What's wrong with that one?" Merlin points at the sword in Arthur's hands.
"I caught a bad edge fighting during the attack and then caught it again training this morning."
"It'll kill just fine, won't it?"
"You have no finesse."
"I didn't think," Morgana speeks up as she passes through the still wide open door, "that finesse was a requirement for killing someone."
"Not a requirement, but the mark of an excellent swordsman," Arthur greets her.
"Or woman," she replies as she closes the door behind herself. Then she drops her voice and smile. "Merlin."
"Morgana."
"Killed many knights in battle have you?" Arthur jokes.
"Magic is a woman's weapon," says Merlin.
It seems as if Morgana has swallowed a live goldfish. "Who are you referring to?"
"Morgause," Merlin replies promptly. "Who else?"
The space between them crackles. Arthur cannot quite put his finger on the emotions flowing between them, but it is disturbing.
Very disturbing.
"You have it wrong, Merlin," Morgana tells him. "The quote is that 'poison is a woman's weapon.' But that isn't true. Poison is for weaklings and cowards. I can hold my own just fine without it."
Arthur distracts the two of them by tossing Morgana the sword. "Show me your fighting prowess," Arthur insists.
She catches it gracefully. Even in her court finery she wields the weapon with skill. She holds the sword with a two handed grip and pulls the hilt to her chin, all the while keeping the blade flat with the floor. Her right elbow is strong, supporting her stance, just as he taught her ages ago when they were allowed to be children.
Morgana quirks an eyebrow at him in challenge and he is grudgingly forced to concede. "Fine," Arthur admits, "every woman as well."
"Merlin's seen me fight," Morgana comments as she points the blade smack at his manservant's heart.
Merlin shows no concern for his welfare and turns his back to busy himself at the wardrobe, sorting through trousers for their trip. "You weren't quick enough." Merlin throws the words over his shoulder.
Morgana's grimace deepens and she drops the point of the sword to the floor to examine the nicks herself.
"You strike fear into the hearts of all men, Morgana." Arthur chuckles. "Did you come to bid me farewell?"
"Of course."
When she does not immediately offer her well wishes, he pouts. "Well, aren't you going to?"
"Arrogance will be your undoing during the negotiations, Arthur."
"What would you like to bet?"
"My wardrobe does need replenishing."
"In that case, I wager that I return triumphant to Camelot with all the food we need to get through the winter without even having to dip into my tournament winnings. When I do, you will get on your knees and tell the entire assembled court of my brilliance."
Morgana snorts; it was most unladylike. "I will never kneel to you in public."
"Bowing will be acceptable."
"Never."
"You could commission a ballad."
She twirls the blade deftly in her hands. "Agreed. Since Olaf is going to rob you blind, you should remember that I am quite partial to the luxurious furs of northern Caerleon. Be sure to find an expensive wrap."
"Done," he replies. He counts it a point in his favor that she believes he will get the foodstuffs safely back to Camelot.
However, Morgana never visits his chambers strictly for silly bets, or his scintillating conversation, so there must be an alternate purpose for her visit. "I haven't made much progress in the investigation for the traitor," he states, hoping that might draw her out. At the very least he could vent to someone other than Merlin, who was most likely to ignore him.
"Unfortunate," Morgana says. No such luck.
"Father is wrought."
"When is he not?"
"The traitor probably fled during the heat of the battle," Merlin pipes up. He has moved on to selecting freshly laundered shirts. "Cowards generally do."
"Either that or he's gone to ground," Arthur agrees. He frowns, Merlin should know by now to be silent and carry on about his business when a guest is in his chambers. "Either way, I'm not going to find further evidence of who is in league with Cenred and Morgause before departing tomorrow."
That piques Morgana's interest. "Morgause?"
Arthur nods.
"How did you figure that out?"
"Leon brought me word last night."
Morgana goes silent for a while. "Will you hide the Tree of Life before you go?" Morgana asks. She nonchalantly tests the balance of the blade.
Ah ha! So, that is what she has really come to needle him about. "Father didn't budge did he?"
"I'm not an invalid, I can help," she replies avoiding his question.
"I'm sure you can, but it is my responsibility. I spent nearly an entire year searching for you in order to rescue you-"
"I rescued myself. You just happened to be passing though the woods at the right time." It is nice to hear the old Morgana spunk in her voice, rather than the one of the small lost girl he hugged the day after her return to Camelot.
"And you are stronger for it," he humors her.
"Have you decided where to hide it?" Morgana asks. "Tell me that at least."
"Blue or red?" Merlin interrupts holding two shirts directly in front of Arthur's face for what he assumes is supposed to be an inspection. "I think the blue brings out your eyes, but the red becomes you nicely too."
"I don't know if I should be more disturbed that you think of such things, or that you believe that will make a jot of difference to King Olaf," Arthur replies and bats the shirts away from his nose.
"You'll need every advantage you can get," Merlin tells him.
"In that case I want the black." Arthur turns back to Morgana. "I happen to agree with father on this one."
She pouts. She can pout all night, but he is not going to give in. Perhaps it is not such a good idea for her to be holding a deadly weapon for the duration of this conversation.
"I want to fight," she says.
"And you will." Arthur wanders to stand in front of her. He rests his hands on top of hers, which are gripping the sword's hilt as if her life depends on it. "You are going to gather your strength and while you do, I'm not going to burden you with any more dangerous work."
She pulls away and manages to keep his sword. He lets her keep it.
"It would be wise to hide the Tree of Life safely within Camelot's walls." Morgana suggests.
"Why?" he replies.
"Because everyone wil-"
"This one?" Merlin proudly brandishes a black shirt.
Arthur does not bother with more than a glance. "That one is fine."
"Because everyone will expect you to hide it on your journey to Caerleon," Morgana continues. "I could make sure-"
"There's another one that has silver stitching, but I thought it too ostentatious." Merlin drapes the black shirt against Arthur's chest. "This one strikes the right balance of serious and impressive. Would you agree?" Merlin asks for Morgana's input.
"Yes." Morgana grits her teeth and rolls her eyes after Merlin turns away. At least Morgana will use the sword on Merlin before she stabs the pointy end at Arthur.
Arthur shoves the fabric off himself. "Go pack it," he orders. "Morgana, perhaps you could help with-"
"Why the black?" Merlin cuts in.
Arthur throws up his hands in disgust. "'Cause then I won't stand out to any and all passer-bys as we travel through the forest."
"Your red cape won't advertize your presence?"
"I'm not going to wear the cape while we are traveling."
Merlin smacks his hand to his forehead. "I almost forgot your leather jacket!" His servant then overdramatically flings the wardrobe door wider and purposefully returns the black shirt to the wardrobe. "Blue then… definitely blue…" Merlin continues to mutter under his breath as he hunts for the jacket.
Arthur shakes his head in bewilderment; the thread of the conversation is utterly lost.
Morgana prompts him. "You had something I could help with?"
Arthur reaches into the pocket of his breaches and fingers the wooden token he has kept in his pocket all day long. He does not pull it out, just fists it in his hand so hard his fingernails dig into his palms. "Yes. There is something I would like your opinion on."
"Go on."
"Leon brought me back a message, which I didn't think wise to mention to father during the council meeting."
"Pick one." Merlin-unrepentant grin wide-holds up a selection of belts, buckles flopping over his wrist like dead snake heads, for Arthur to peruse.
"I don't give a damn what I wear tomorrow, Merlin!"
Merlin stares at him blankly; the smile does not dim. It not like yelling at him ever makes a difference. Merlin is not usually this annoying.
Check that.
He is annoying the vast majority of Arthur's day, yes. But rude with Morgana, who Merlin normally worships, in the room? Never. Unless.... Is there something more going on between the two of them?
Arthur sighs and he lets go of the wooden token. It is a heavy weight in his pocket. "Just pick one, Merlin. Quietly."
"Why didn't Leon bring up the message during the council meeting this morning?" Morgana asks.
"Because my father and the druids get along like river drownings and flaming pyres."
Morgana is stunned speechless for a moment and if this were any other topic Arthur would be belly laughing at her bugged out eyes. When she is able to form coherent words she trains all of her attention on him and it is almost overwhelming. "The druids?"
"That was my reaction too. It's near suicide for them to seek me out," he replies.
"Yet they have."
"Yes."
"Why would the druids send a message to Camelot?"
"Is your shoulder well enough?" Merlin butts in. Again. He is holding up the awful jar of comfrey with glee. "Or do I need not to take the salve?"
Arthur does not even dignify Merlin with a response other than a harsh glare.
"That's a yes? Maybe? Yes? No?" Merlin babbles. Revolted, Arthur shakes his head in disgust. "No, you mean yes." Merlin's silly smile finally falters. "Did I get that wrong?"
"I. Am. Fine."
"So that's a no then?"
Arthur balls his hands into fists, itching for a really good fight. Unfortunately, Merlin would not be a worthy opponent any more than the knights this morning.
"I'll pack it just in case," Merlin declares and adds it to the pile of clothes he has already laid out on the bed.
Instead of physically harming Merlin or destroying the jar of comfrey, he takes Morgana by the elbow and leads her to the window sill to get some semblance of privacy. "As I was saying, the druid wants to meet with me."
"But why?"
"I think he may have more information about who the traitor is," he confesses to Morgana.
"Are you going to meet him?"
The main constant in his life has been his father and his father's desire to eradicate magic from the kingdom. A torch he is destined to carry.
"I don't plan to, but...."
Morgana pinches the hilt of his sword between two fingers and idly swings it like a pendulum. "Probably for the best. Those who use magic always lie to you."
"They do." Arthur nods as the blade swings slows one way and then the other.
"Where did the druid want to meet you?"
There is a loud crash behind them.
The noise jolts Morgana so much she loses her grip on the sword. She yelps and they both jump away to avoid the falling point of the blade from spearing their toes.
Arthur whirls around to find his chest on the ground and the gold within spilling out like grain. A few of the pieces roll away from the heap and scatter, but a single coin continues to spiral on its edge far past its brothers and heads towards the two of them at the window. Arthur stomps on it with his foot to stop its momentum.
He wants to scream. He is going to scream.
"Merlin!"
"I was over here."
"Merlin!"
"I was nowhere near it." True to his word Merlin-even though he has just retracted his outstretched hand from the ridiculous manner it had been in-is a good fifteen feet away from the table where Arthur left the chest. "How could I have done anything to it?"
"I don't care," Arthur snarls. He bends over to pick up both the gold piece as well as his sword.
Merlin has not moved an inch to clean the mess. Arthur beans Merlin on the temple with the coin. He was not aiming for his head.
Honestly.
"Why are you just standing there?"
"I'll get it. I'll get it. Sorry. Sorry." Merlin falls all over himself apologizing and hustles to the pile. "I'll clean it up." Merlin scrambles to his hands and knees to scoop up the fallen coins.
Morgana waits in a chilly silence as Merlin works to gather all of the coins and tuck them safely in the chest.
Arthur turns back to Morgana and is about to ask where in the story he left off when Merlin opens his big fat month and says, "Are we taking it all with us?"
"That's it!" Arthur is beyond fed up. "Go and commission my sword before the royal blacksmith closes shop for the evening."
"Now?" Merlin puts the chest of coins on the table.
"Now."
"But… but… but the packing," Merlin stutters in protest.
"I don't bloody well care." Arthur points his sword to the door, and then to Merlin, and again back to the door. "You can return after the errand is done and finish packing."
Morgana preens as if she has won a battle. "I want a moment alone with Arthur, Merlin."
"Go," Arthur commands.
Refusing to be swayed by Merlin's hangdog expression, Arthur continues to point at the door. Though he glares at Morgana the whole time, Merlin does as he is told without another word.
Once the door is firmly shut, Arthur lowers the sword and rounds on Morgana. "What was that all about?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Don't give me those innocent doe eyes. That little"-he waves his fingers back and forth from the door to where she is standing"-contest of wills with Merlin. He was interrupting every time you would ask me a question drawing my attention to him. I'm not a dog to be marked."
She wrinkles her nose. "Though you wouldn't know from the stench."
"Morgana…."
"Has Merlin spoken to you about me?" she asks him.
He narrows his eyes. She is fishing, but for what? "What would Merlin have to say about you?"
"If he hasn't admitted it to you by now, he won't."
"Admit what?"
"Oh, all right, it's so embarrassing, but I'll tell you what's going on." She crooks her finger to urge him closer, and then she lowers her voice as if to confess a secret. "Merlin has a bit of a crush on me. So you see. He didn't want your attention. He wanted mine."
Relieved, Arthur snickers. "That's all?"
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No. Of course not."
Arthur bites his lip and turns away trying to keep a straight face, but he fails and bursts out laughing. When he recovers enough to look at Morgana properly again, he finds her with crossed arms and a frosty expression.
"Do you believe no man finds me attractive, Arthur Pendragon?" She is genuinely irritated with him.
"No," he assures her.
"Then what?" She cocks her head to the side awaiting an answer.
"It just that it's, you know…" He rolls wrists, trying to state the obvious without really saying it. She continues to pin him with daggers.
"It's Merlin," he finally blurts out.
"So?"
"Do I need to warn him off you?" Come to think of it, who would protect Guinevere from his own better judgment?
"No need. He picked me some flowers the other day. That's all. Merlin's a harmless fool, you need not worry."
That would mark at least two occasions where Merlin has been gathering his rosebuds.
"Does he often bring you flowers?" Arthur asks.
"More than you ever did."
"Flowers are a worthless gesture. You pick them and they die. Here, my love, have some death."
"You've never had any sense of romance."
"I have a sense of romance. It just doesn't involve sacrificing various flowers as proof of my affection. Morgana, don't encourage him unnecessarily." Arthur insists, but his insides squirm. He should not be the one to talk. He needs to take his own advice, banish his feelings, and stay far, far away from Gwen.
"Believe me, I'm not."
Something about her protestations do not ring true to Arthur. There is heat in her reaction, no matter what her words profess.
Oh, shit! His mind leaps to a sickening realization. Please, no. One member of the royal household in love with one of the servant class was one too many.
"Tell me you don't reciprocate."
"Of course not," she scoffs. "You're misinterpreting things."
"Am I?"
She nods. "In your own delightful big brother way. It's quite unbecoming, not to mention rude."
"I'm not being rude. I'm trying to look out for you."
"I can take care of myself all on my own."
He snorts. "I doubt that."
"Now you're being insulting," she says.
"Where are the flowers now?"
She blinks, confused. "They're in a vase in my chambers."
"Mm hum," he says knowingly. "Case in point."
"Don't be a pest."
"I'm not trying to be. I'm simply trying to point out what a monumentally stupid thing it would be for you to fall for Merlin. It would only end badly for you and worse for him. Look, when one of the knights carried you into the castle, Merlin was an absolute distracted mess. He wasn't listening to a word I said. Then you specifically asked me to call him up to your rooms the first morning after you'd returned."
Merlin's mood later that very same morning made a worrying amount of sense now. It had been a one hundred and eighty degree shift from depression to animation. He had been unusually chipper. That is until Arthur had dumped a bucket of sudsy water over his exuberance.
Morgana has her hands on her hips now. "And?"
"You spoke with him alone after I left."
"Yes." Her expression goes too perfectly serene.
"What did you speak about?"
She hesitates for a long moment, deciding what to reveal.
"Merlin was the only person still awake in the room and capable of fighting when Morgause swept in to take me." Morgana dry washes her hands. "I wanted to find out if he was feeling guilty for…" she trails off unable to find the correct words.
"For not being able to protect you?" Arthur suggests, softly.
"None of what happened afterwards was his fault. Her magic was too strong and he wouldn't have been able to overcome her."
"I understand that an entire year in a cell-"
"A dark and damp cell," she interjects, laying the guilt on thick.
He could conjure all sorts of horrors, but none of them would probably compare to the harsh reality she had been forced to endure at the hands of the bandits. Gaius had said she was physically fine, but…. He could not bring himself to say rape aloud, did not want to imagine it. He decides on: "You would've been helpless."
"It was like not being able to breathe. There was nothing I could've done. I don't want to remember it."
"My point is that you've always seen Merlin as someone safe. True?"
"Before I left Camelot, I did."
"There isn't a vicious bone in his body and he would never hurt you. He also wouldn't push you farther than you wanted to go."
"Arthur..."
"Don't you see how this is a bad idea?" Arthur groans. "He's made you a reclamation project. And you're going to let him."
"I am not a project," she protests.
"This is Merlin who takes in injured chipmunks and nurses them back to health."
"Am I the chipmunk in this ridiculous scenario of yours?"
Arthur winces.
Perhaps that was not the best parallel for him to draw. How to get his foot out of his mouth? "No, Merlin's the chipmunk," he backtracks.
"That's better."
"He certainly had the annoying chitter down today," Arthur says, then sobers. "All jokes aside, I understand you don't want to discuss the details of exactly what the bandits did to you in that cell yet."
"Nor will this conversation induce me to."
He gulps, but carries on, knowing he must plow through her touchiness. "I just want you to know that I know what men-no they aren't even men, they have no honor. I've seen what bastards like that are capable of and that I'm here for you."
Her eyes get suspiciously bright.
Way to go, Pendragon, she is about to cry. To forestall the tears, he pulls her in his arms and he is half surprised when she allows it and does not punch his lights out.
"Whatever you need," he whispers into her ear.
She sniffs.
"Hey, hey, hey," he sooths her as he rubs her back. "You don't need to put up this tough façade for me," he tells her.
"Thank you." Safe in his arms, he can protect her. "That will always be true. No matter what." Arthur strokes her hair, to offer what little comfort he can. It is too little, too late and far too inadequate, but it is all he can give.
"I won't hold you to that," she tells him.
That reply puzzles him, so he pulls away needing to see the expression on her face. She is not crying outright, but her eyes well with tears. She blinks rapidly several times and uses her fingers to wipe them away in lieu of a handkerchief so she can avoid eye contact.
He blinks away his own not-tears.
"Anything and everything you need," he repeats, "With arms wide open."
"I'm not helpless."
"Never thought you were." He realizes he has got his foot in his mouth already. It is not like he can make it any worse for himself. Even if she never takes him up on the offer, it is necessary for him to offer. "I'm just saying that I can help."
"It's like I have a second, whole new, life now," she admits.
"Then don't waste it on Merlin," he tells her.
She laughs. "I have no intention of doing that."
"Good. Besides, I'll keep him so busy he won't have time to moon after you." Imagine the tizzy he could cause if he insisted Merlin purchase him a brand new wardrobe. Then there would be fabric for Merlin to choose, seamstresses to visit, garments for him to sort in with the rest. It is a brilliant idea. He is glad he thought of it.
Morgana wanders over to the table and retrieves the scabbard.
"What are you going to do?" Arthur asks.
"I want revenge against all those who are responsible for keeping me locked in chains and submissive."
She plucks the sword out of his hands and slides it home in its scabbard. "Now," Morgana says. "I want you tell me more about this druid. Where did he want to meet you?" She smirks, all smugness and self-satisfaction
"At the stream checkpoint just outside the Forest of Ascetir. It's to the south-east, which is the opposite direction of Caerleon, I know, but I've been debating if I should go or not..."
"There's a series of caves nearby, isn't there?"
"That's the spot. I imagine that is where he is hiding."
Morgana considers for a moment. "I stand by what I said earlier, you shouldn't go. However, I would be willing to go in your place."
"Merlin offered the same thing."
"Did he?" Her expression turns dark.
"Yes."
"Do you think the druids know we have the Tree of Life?"
"They must," Arthur says. Then he remembers the question Merlin was curious about. "I've been meaning to ask you something. How did you know to go down to the burial chambers?"
Morgana does not even bat an eyelash. "Where else would the dead come from?"
"Good point."
Morgana cradles the sword and scabbard in her arm and returns to the window. She mumbles something to herself.
"What was that?" Arthur asks.
When she turns around, he swears her eyes glint gold for a second off the shine of the setting sun.
"You remember the night we snuck down to see Elsa?"
Arthur nods.
"Family truly is everything." She gives him his weapon back and kisses him on the cheek for good measure. "Safe travels. Oh," she adds, "the next time you call me a chipmunk, or allude I'm any other sort of woodland creature with a mouth full of nuts, I'll be sure to make your life a living hell." She sweeps out of the room and down the hall, before he thinks of a suitable retort.
He smiles to himself, happy for the first time all day, as he tosses the sword on the bed. He has missed Morgana's empty threats.
He pokes his head out the door to tell her so, but when he opens his mouth to call out to Morgana, an arm-an arm in a familiar brown jacket that has absolute no business being anywhere in this corridor when it should be attached to a body that was ordered to be at the blacksmith's forge-darts out from the alcove and drags her roughly into the darkness.
Arthur is going to take Merlin's head off if he has done nothing but lollygag around waiting for Morgana. He has been given specific instructions.
Angry, Arthur strides forward with the intent of dragging Merlin's sorry arse out. When he gets close, he hears a scuffle and what sounds like the rip of clothing, Arthur freezes. A pant of breath and a groan follow. There is another grunt, this time female. What were they doing?
Were they… kissing?
Slightly bothered, Arthur leans against one of the colonnades to listen.
There is a moment of quiet and then Merlin speaks. "We need to talk." He has never heard Merlin sound quite so commanding.
"Then talk." Arthur is shocked at the venom in Morgana's voice. No, they were not kissing, then.
"What did you egg out of him, Morgana?"
"What I needed," she replies icily. "Did you honestly think your shallow attempts at distraction would succeed?"
"Are you planning to sneak out tonight with all your newfound knowledge?"
"Gonna skulk in the shadows again? You'll be gone longer than a day if you try that again."
Huh? Morgana had known where Merlin was the day he went missing?
"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Merlin asks.
"As long as I have to. You can't stop me."
"I did last time."
"And I got all the credit. Now, let go of me!" There is another tussle as Morgana must be trying to wrench herself free. "How dare you," she says, clearly unable to escape.
"Let me see your hands." There is a pause.
"Looking for stains? Have you been crawling around on your hands and knees looking for more?"
"What did Morgause do to it?"
"The mandrake root?"
"The Tree of Life."
"You think I know?"
"We both kn… … …u do."
"…"
"… crocodile tears… when y… …ld be … the dungeons…"
"…"
Their voices fade too low and Arthur has to inch closer to hear the conversation.
"…and you stay out of mine."
"You made that impossible when...."
Ever so carefully Arthur nudges forward and catches a glimpse of Merlin holding Morgana's hands in a vice grip. Arthur jerks out of eye line before he can be seen.
"It's not too late to stop this. I can help. Talk to me," Merlin begs.
"The time for talk is long past. You listen to-"
"No," he cuts her off. "You listen to me." Arthur has never heard Merlin sound deadly. "The short painful, life you promised won't be mine. Just imagine how Arthur would react if his pathetic, little serving boy managed to single handedly identify the traitor."
"Yes," she sneers, "Arthur's easily led."
"Blind he may be, but when he opens his eyes, he'll-"
"You're not man enough to do it."
"I'm not afraid of you," Merlin retorts.
"You should be," Morgana informs him. "Now, let go!"
She succeeds in freeing herself and quick as a snake, Arthur darts behind the colonnade to hide.
Merlin is not finished yet. "I can help you, but you've got to make your own choices. You're responsible for your actions." Merlin calls out to her. "She's using you and sooner or later she's going to betray you."
"We all have our parts to play, Merlin." Morgana says as she passes the colonnade. "This is mine."
Once she is gone, Merlin mutters to himself, "And mine is to protect Prince Arthur from the truth."
A moment later, when Arthur peaks around the corner he spies Merlin heading in the opposite direction. Bewildered, Arthur wanders back into his quarters.
What the hell was that?
Sod it all!
He pulls his blue cloak out from the wardrobe and drapes it over his shoulders.
First, he will do his duty and get the Tree of Life, and then he is going to see the one person who tells him the unflinching truth. The one who makes him feel better.
He needs something just for himself. Not the prince. Not the son. Not the knight. Not the protector of the people. He has kept his father's crown safe. He has protected a city and her people. He has fought a battle and won.
He deserves time just for himself.
Just for Arthur.
Part III
AO3 * LJ Master Post * Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV * Part V * Part VI