[fanfic] Why We Fight - Part Five (Merlin/Arthur)
Four hours past noon, a page boy came stumbling into the small audience hall, skidding to a halt before Merlin.
“The prince wants you,” the boy said.
Merlin was out of his seat and running out of the hall in seconds. He headed straight for the gardens, hoping that Arthur remembered his instructions. He ran into Gabel just before reaching the courtyard, but he ducked away from Gabel’s attempt to grab him and ignored the under-chamberlain’s shout of outrage. He would probably end up playing for it later, but right now, getting to the prince was more important.
It was just starting to rain outside, and Merlin wanted to curse Arthur’s timing, but it really wasn’t the prince’s fault and the rain would keep people indoors and away from the prince and whatever beast he transformed into.
Merlin knew he was getting close when he heard a shout of pain that made his heart stop. Running into the grove, he nearly crashed into Tom, who stood at the edge of the small clearing, a sword held out before him in a shaking hand.
Arthur crouched on his hands and knees in the clearing, fingers digging into the mud and his face screwed up in what looked like pure agony. Arthur groaned, low and guttural, and Merlin rushed forward, skirting around Tom and his sword to kneel a little more than arm’s length away from the prince. He dared not touch the prince, choosing instead to lean in a little closer and keep a close eye on him.
“Arthur, sire, listen to my words,” Merlin urged. “The spell changes your body, but your mind won’t change. You’re in control. Do not let the spell control you. Listen to my voice and use it as an anchor. Keep your mind.”
Merlin and Tom watched with wide eyes as the prince’s image seemed to shift before their eyes, flickering between human and beast. Slowly, the prince’s body morphed, compressing and elongating, and his clothing and skin melted away into dark blue-grey scales. He grew a long tail and horns, and a pair of large leathery wings sprouted from his back. When he-it-the prince looked up again, Merlin found himself looking into bright red eyes. Merlin remembered the beast’s form from books, though he’d never gotten the opportunity to see one in person; the prince had turned into a wyvern. The wyvern, Arthur, leaped to his feet and roared, charging at him. Merlin remained seated, staring back at the prince, letting his eyes show his unwillingness to yield.
“What is that? Get away from it, Merlin!” came Tom’s voice from behind him. The wyvern appeared to understand, snarling at the slave master.
“Well, I don’t think his highness appreciates being addressed like that,” Merlin remarked, “but he is a wyvern. They’re distant cousins to the dragons, but more animal-like. Don’t worry. He still has his mind. The prince won’t hurt me.” He did not know where this confidence came from, but Arthur’s snarl had been indication enough for him that the prince was still in there, a human mind controlling the body of a beast. “I’ll just sit here and entertain you, shall I?” he said to the wyvern. “I will stay here and give you company until the enchantment passes, so what would you like to hear? I’m afraid what I have to say isn’t very interesting, and you probably won’t want to hear it. I haven’t spoken freely in a long time after all.”
Wyvern-Arthur sat back on his haunches, the glare on his face unmistakable.
“What should I begin? How about how you’re a royal prat?”
Arthur hissed at him, red eyes flashing and sharp teeth bared.
“You mustn’t speak to him like that, Merlin. You’ll face his wrath when he turns back!” Tom hissed.
Merlin simply shrugged and said, “I’ve seen who the prince is underneath. I’m not afraid of him.” He looked wyvern-Arthur straight in the eye, and the prince glared back but nothing more. Merlin gave him a smile and just because he could, he added, “He’s an arrogant, supercilious, condescending and overbearing prat.” Again wyvern-Arthur hissed, getting to his four feet and digging his talons into the mud. “But he’s more than that. There’s something better, something good underneath, I’m sure. When he’s being a proper human being, I can see the future king in him. He cares about his people; I’ve seen that firsthand. And if he stopped being a prat and could just think for once, he’d be a brilliant prince that everyone would want to love and serve.”
Wyvern-Arthur was silent to this. Merlin sat still and watched the prince as he began prowling in a circle around Merlin.
“Remember that you’re in control, Arthur. Your mind is human, but your body isn’t right now. It’s better if you listened to any urges, any hungers you feel, even if you think they are unsavory. If you’re hungry, go find something to eat. Just use your human knowledge and stay away from any humans. Do not attack them; they are your people, sire.”
After a pause where Merlin and wyvern-Arthur stared at each other, the wyvern nodded at Merlin and took off into the grove. Merlin heaved a sigh, letting his shoulders slump. He was vaguely aware that he was shivering, though he couldn’t tell if it was from dealing with wyvern-Arthur or from the rain. To his surprise, Tom dropped a woolen cloak over him.
“Thank you,” Merlin murmured. He pulled the cloak tighter around himself, savoring the warmth, though his clothes were already drenched.
“It’s the least I can do. You may be a slave, but it’s not your duty to help the prince with this matter.”
Merlin shook his head. It wasn’t just Arthur he was trying to save. Whatever the high priestesses were planning, if they succeeded, bad things were sure to come. And if Merlin could help prevent them, he would.
“It is my duty,” he said. “Or it would have been. If I still…” He didn’t finish the rest of the sentence, but Tom nodded, understanding.
“Do you think he will do as you said?” the slave master asked.
“One can only hope. What did he say before he came here?”
“Just something about a sword.”
Merlin eyed the sword Tom had picked up once again before remarking, “I don’t think he meant for the sword to used on him.”
Tom shrugged and left, saying he’d stand guard for them.
After some time had passed, Arthur came stalking back into the grove’s clearing and hunkered down a few feet in front of Merlin. The wyvern looked at Merlin expectantly, and after a few moments, Merlin realized the prince was waiting for him to talk.
“What would you like me to say? I know nothing but the past, and I don’t want to talk about it,” Merlin said. After a pause, he said, “Did you know the parchment the chamberlain orders for the official records is too poor quality for the price you pay for them? Or that the footpaths out of the courtyards haven’t been looked after because the under-chamberlain thought you wouldn’t notice?” Merlin sighed. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t say that if I want to stay in one piece.”
If Merlin was hearing correctly, wyvern-Arthur had actually snorted at him before lowering himself down on the ground like a dog would, neatly tucking his wings in. Arthur made that simple act look regal even as an oversized reptile.
Not wishing to tell the prince or think of the life he’d lost thirteen years before, Merlin instead started talking about the ordinary people of Albion, who worked long hours in the fields and mines or in smithies and bakeries and pubs. The people who struggled to make a living but still sought to be happy. He hinted, very subtly that Arthur could make this happen, could make the people look to him in hope and see the future Arthur could just maybe bring. And then, having talked the topic stale, he resorted to the weather and the land, comparing Astolat to Carmarthen and to what he’d seen of the rest of Camelot and to Carmarthen.
Merlin hadn’t spoken for such a long time in years. The rain trickled to a stop as he talked to the prince for over an hour, maybe two, eventually starting to feel a kind of detachment settle over him. He spoke without thinking much about it, instead feeling sleepier by the minute.
A roar startled him wide awake. Arthur was twisting in the mud, hisses spilling from his snout. His image began shifting again, flashing between wyvern and human. Merlin scooted back a foot or so, keeping out of reach of wyvern-Arthur’s flailing talons. He watched with shallow breath as Arthur’s limbs lengthened and scales and wings fell away.
Soon, Merlin was looking at Arthur in his human form, curled up on his side, face pressed to shoulder. With a groan, Arthur rolled onto his stomach, staying facedown. Panic coursed through Merlin as he edged closer to the prince again, though hesitant to touch him.
“Sire, are you all right?” he asked.
Arthur groaned again before propping himself up by his elbows.
“So, I’m a prat, am I?” he drawled, and a smile broke out unbidden on Merlin’s lips.
“Forgive me. I meant a royal one, my lord,” Merlin said, unable to resist.
The prince made a swipe at Merlin, but his limbs were trembling and Merlin was forced to assist Arthur in standing up.
“You can’t speak to me like that, Merlin, even if you’re the most horrible slave I’ve ever met,” the prince said once he was upright.
“And how many slaves have you actually taken to meeting, sire?” Merlin questioned, to which Arthur scowled. Merlin gave him another smile and said, “Come on, let’s get you to the workroom.”
Once they were settled in the gardeners’ workroom, a fire burning bright in the hearth, Merlin finally got to ask, “What do you remember? Do you know what the trigger was?”
Arthur nodded, and said, “A sword and Tristan. I had a hand on my sword and was thinking of when the patrols might return with word about my uncle. And then it started happening.”
“What about the first time?”
“After Lady Helen’s performance, I was planning for the search for Tristan and touched my sword.”
“And yesterday?”
“I was putting on my sword as I left my chambers, and saw Sir Lionel-he is one of my uncle’s most trusted friends.”
Merlin heaved a sigh and remarked, “It sure seems that’s the trigger then.”
“Then tomorrow I’ll wear and touch no sword and avoid thoughts of my uncle. Then I won’t have to worry about transforming,” Arthur stated with utter confidence. Merlin wasn’t so sure.
“Please be careful, sire. If they discover that you know…”
“Of course I will. They won’t suspect a thing.” Arthur flashed that smug smile of his, and Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes despite the gnawing worry in his stomach.
He had little idea what Nimueh and Morgause were fully capable of or if they had a way to suspect if anything was going wrong. He was fairly certain Nimueh had seeing powers, but whether she felt the need to use them to check on Arthur was debatable.
As the two of them sat in silence, soaking in the warmth of the fire, Merlin once again found his thoughts turning to Arthur and his vision. He had meant what he’d said to wyvern-Arthur. The prince was a mess of good and bad qualities, almost like two different people mashed together. But if he was properly taught, if he learned to shed his arrogance and prejudices and the little acts of cruelty bred into him by society, maybe, just maybe, Arthur could pass muster as the prophesized Once and Future King. The verification that the prince actually was that King was not for him to make though; it would take one actually experienced in seeing.
Eventually, Arthur began complaining about his wet, muddy clothes, and proving to have regained his strength, got to his feet. Together, they slowly made their way back to the castle, reasoning that should anyone wonder why Merlin was with Arthur after his disappearance, it was because Merlin had been sent to look for him.
When they reached the castle, Sir Leon immediately appeared by the prince’s side, along with a few alarmed servants seeking to taking Arthur’s muddied cloak from him.
“Sire, you’ve returned safely,” the knight said, sounding much relieved. “The king has been…most irate by your absence. You’ve been gone the whole day.”
“Yes, I apologize,” Arthur answered while waving off the servants’ hands. “All this fuss day after day. Can’t a man taking the time to just breathe? I simply wanted some time alone today.”
“…alone, sire?” Sir Leon repeated, pointedly looking at Merlin.
Arthur waved a dismissive hand and said, “It’s just Merlin. He’s a slave. Besides, I meant away from everyone who’d natter my ears off.”
Merlin just managed to stifle his snort. After all, nattering to the prince was exactly what he’d been doing for the past hour. Sir Leon still caught the aborted noise he’d made and gave Merlin a disbelieving look.
“Have an apology sent to my father. I promise to show up tomorrow morning,” Arthur directed.
“Yes, sire. Will that be all?” the knight asked, looking resigned. Arthur nodded and gave him a wave.
“Come along, Merlin,” Arthur called over his shoulder, already heading for his chambers at a faster pace.
Back in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin helped the prince wash away the mud from his arms and face in a basin of warm water. It was too late to call for servants to draw a bath, and away from the eyes of his knight and the servants, Arthur looked nearly as exhausted as he had in the workroom. While changing into a clean nightshirt, Arthur allowed Merlin to wash up as well, which Merlin was grateful of; he was as covered in mud as Arthur had been. He was also thankful for the extra set of clothes left in the servant’s antechamber.
“I want to say thank you, Merlin, for what you’ve done for me,” the prince suddenly said, reaching for vial containing his sleeping draught. “It’s almost as if you’re my guardian spirit.” Arthur flashed him a smile.
Merlin was stunned, staring at Arthur with wide eyes, but before he could collect himself enough to speak, Arthur downed the sleeping potion and flopped onto his bed. He was asleep within seconds, and Merlin was left to throw a blanket over the prince and stoke the fire before he too crawled into bed.
After that incident, Arthur took to bringing Merlin along everywhere he went. Whether it was a casual court audience, a council meeting, or a meal, Merlin was always with him, staying as unnoticed as possible in the background and keeping well away from Nimueh and Morgause. They’d brought with them a servant, a shifty-eyed fellow named Cedric, with vaguely bird-like features and an overly polished, fawning manner of speaking that raised Merlin’s hackles. Merlin tried to avoid him as well. He did however draw the attention of the king, who commented on Merlin’s presence-Arthur, it seemed, rarely tolerated having a slave or servant trail after him “like a pup.” Luckily, Arthur made an excuse good enough to convince the king, and Merlin was not given a second glance by anyone.
Despite being indeed dragged around like a dog at times, it provided him with the chance to always keep an eye on the prince. And Merlin enjoyed the new level of freedom he now had. Having seen the prince at his most vulnerability, he had expected the prince to get cagey around him, but it was rather the opposite. While Arthur was of course not friendly to him, per se, the prince wasn’t hostile and took no major offense to anything Merlin let slip out. Perhaps it was because Merlin was the only one who could help the prince with his enchantment, but either way, Merlin was pleased that Arthur was treating him differently, more like a servant than a slave. If forced to, Merlin would admit to taking delight in speaking to the prince, usually in the form of teasing remarks thinly disguised with deference. He hadn’t so openly spoken to someone in years. It was almost as if he was a real person again.
One morning, Merlin found himself looking, just looking at the prince when he was about to wake him for the day. Arthur was scrawling across his bed on his stomach, face half buried in his pillows and the covers kicked all the way down to the foot of the bed. The thin beams of sunlight slipping through the curtains highlight his sleep-tussled hair, and his shirt had ridden up enough to reveal a sliver of his lower back, just above the line of his sleeping trousers.
And the whole thing shouldn’t have looked as endearing and aesthetically pleasing as it should have. The prince looked more human and vulnerable-and yet not-than he’d ever seen him. Merlin could imagine a smaller, young Arthur, sprawled out just like he was now, confident even then in his ability to defend himself to allow showing his back to the world.
With a start, Merlin realized he should really be waking up the prince and carrying on with his duties for the day, not watching him sleep. He tried not to wonder why he’d done it in the first place.
Over the next two days, Arthur showed no signs of any changes. He attended the events and feast required of him, and at the end of the day, the prince downed his sleeping draught and fell promptly asleep until the next morning.
Then, the day before the formal crowning, there was to be a tournament held in celebration of Arthur’s coming-of-age. Arthur was expected to compete, as it was held in his honor after all. Merlin felt it was a terrible idea if the prince wished to keep the enchantment a secret from the king and if the prince didn’t want to turn into a wyvern more than he could help it. Since the curse involved Arthur holding a sword, doing anything that involved holding a sword all day long was just asking for trouble. Arthur, however, refused to withdraw from the tournament; he claimed that he’d never missed a tournament before, not since he first became of age to participate, and he wasn’t going to this time. Merlin had turned to Tom for support, but the slave master hinted that it would look too suspicious if the prince chose to withdraw without a believable explanation-which there was none, unfortunately. And because Merlin was just a slave, he really had no say in the matter. Even if he was the one trying to save the prince’s life.
“Are you sure about this?” Merlin asked Arthur for the tenth time that morning, trailing behind the prince as they headed for the fighting grounds.
Servants and squires and slaves bustled around everywhere, rushing to make last minute preparations. The arena was already filled to the brim with spectators, though the royal stand, where the King and Queen and their special guests would sit, was empty. They would be the last to enter, the arrival of the King signaling the start of the tournament. Colorful tents had been erected overnight, bearing the standards and colors of the swordsmen competing. Arthur’s tent was easy to spot from a distance-full Pendragon red with a matching flag bearing the gold dragon crest by the tent’s entrance. It was there that they were headed, Arthur already in his gambeson but not the rest of his armor, and Merlin carrying his sword.
“What if you change in the middle of a fight?” he added.
“I’ll be fine, Merlin. When I fight, I focus entirely on the battle. I won’t be thinking of anything else, and certainly not of Tristan and wherever he’s gone off to.”
“Right, well, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you in case anything does happen.”
“Shut up, Merlin. There’s nothing to worry about,” Arthur snapped, entering his tent.
“If you say so,” Merlin replied. There was a table with the rest of Arthur’s armour already laid out, and this was where Merlin set down Arthur’s sword.
“Just take my sword the moment I step off the field after a fight, and nothing will happen. Now hurry up and fit me into my armor.”
“Of course, sire,” Merlin said, reaching over the table to pick up Arthur’s gorget.
Arthur scowled at him and remarked, “Only you could make that sound like an insult, Merlin.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sire.” Merlin looked at him with his most innocent face, and Arthur snorted.
“Right. Now get my armor on. I can’t be late to my own tournament.”
The tournament began without a hitch. Merlin spent the whole of Arthur’s first match hovering at the very edge of the arena field, watching with bated breath for any signs of the transformation beginning in the prince. When Arthur won his match and did not show any signs of changing into an overgrown winged lizard, Merlin heaved a sigh and cheered along with the crowd. After an expected “I told you there was nothing to worry about” from Arthur, Merlin relaxed a little and joined the rest of the servants and squires watching on the sidelines.
With Arthur pitted against actual warriors this time, Merlin could not help but notice how the prince shone out above the rest. It wasn’t much of a surprise. As prince, Arthur was a born warrior, trained to fight from birth. Every move Arthur made was precise, graceful, perfect. The sword and shield were simply extensions of the prince’s body as he defeated contestant after contestant. And like before, it wasn’t hard for Merlin to picture Arthur on the battlefield, fighting for Camelot. It was magnificent and yet unsettling. Arthur displayed no difficulty besting men twice his age, or any of the men he faced really. Merlin wondered if Arthur had ever been sent off to war before, and he couldn’t help but be a little relieved Arthur had not been nearly old enough when Camelot invaded Carmarthen.
“It must be a great honor, to serve the prince,” someone beside him said several matches later.
Merlin turned his head slightly, keeping one eye on Arthur, and discovered that Cedric had moved to his side. The man perched on the stool next to his and stared at the prince, not actually looking at Merlin.
“Yes, yes it is,” Merlin replied warily.
“He’s wonderful, isn’t it? Young, strong, charismatic, handsome,” Cedric said. “Everything one would want in a ruler.”
“…I suppose so.” Merlin kept a straight face, although his skin practically crawled at Cedric’s words. They begged the question of what Cedric wanted from the prince. There just wasn’t something right about Cedric, and Merlin figured that could be attributed to Cedric being Nimueh and Morgause’s servant.
“It can’t be easy, to hold such potential, such a future,” Cedric remarked. “It must be so hard, with all that responsibility.” Cedric looked away from Arthur and gazed at Merlin speculatively. “You’re his slave. Tell me, is he a good master?”
“He’s a better master than most,” Merlin hedged. He felt far too relieved when at that moment Arthur ended his match and stepped out of the arena. “Sorry. I’ve got to go see to the prince,” he said, and without waiting for Cedric’s reply, rushed off to take Arthur’s sword.
When Arthur fought his next match, Merlin sat as far away and out of sight from Cedric as possible. From his new position, he spotted Morgause and Nimueh, and the two priestesses were watching Arthur fight with cold eyes and furrowed brows. They no doubt wanted Arthur to fail, and Merlin split his attentions between assisting Arthur in between matches and watching the two priestesses for any new dangers to the prince.
In the end, Arthur won-unsurprisingly. If he had not witnessed the prince’s fight with Rylan or the tournament itself, Merlin would have wondered if the contestants had lost on purpose to give Arthur the glory. However, Arthur’s battle prowess and skill with his sword were clear from the start, and any contestants who even considered throwing their match had stood no chance against the prince. Arthur’s focus and will were strong as well, because not once was there any indication that Arthur might transform and Merlin stripped the prince of his armor in great relief.
“There, you see, Merlin? Nothing happened, and I’m perfectly fine,” Arthur said.
Merlin huffed and replied, “Yes, sire. I’m glad of it.”
Arthur gave him a smug smile before asking, “Have you ordered a bath for me?”
“Yes, it’s on its way.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, a few servant boys knocked and entered the room, lugging with them the prince’s washtub and several buckets filled with hot water.
When Arthur pulled off his tunic, Merlin realized that the prince probably had no qualms with being completely naked in front of a slave. While Merlin saw more than his fair share of naked bodies as part of being a slave, he had no desire to be punished for allegedly ogling the prince. Merlin coughed as Arthur gave him a mocking raised eyebrow, hands already on the laces of his trousers.
“Right. I’ll…get this lot cleaned and be back after your bath then,” Merlin said, scooping up the prince’s armour and hurrying out the door.
That night, the largest feast of the week was held, partially because of Arthur’s victory and partially because tomorrow was Arthur’s birthday and the day of the official crowning. The court was in high spirits, and many were soon deep in their cups. The royal family, however, was for the most part sober. The Queen looked preoccupied, worried, and Merlin suspected it had to do with her brother’s disappearance.
Nimueh and Morgause, on the contrary, looked pleased, sipping their wine, Cedric standing behind then looking equally so. They didn’t raise any suspicions, not in the current settings, but Merlin knew better. Not for the first time, he feared what they could possibly have planned for the prince and for Camelot.
Arthur left the feast early, claiming the need to rest and ready himself for the next day. Merlin followed him back to his chambers, helping the prince get ready for bed. When he made for his room though, Arthur suddenly spoke:
“Where do you think he is? What could have possibly happened?”
“Sir Tristan?” Merlin inquired, turning back around to see the prince lying under the covers, staring up at the bed canopy.
“Who else, you idiot? He said he would come.” Despite the insult, his words were strained and soft. There was hurt in his voice, an incongruous little boy type of frailty, and Merlin would have been lying if he was to say that it didn’t make his heart melt, just a bit.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know.”
Arthur sighed and said, “Of course you wouldn’t. I just-nevermind. Good night, Merlin.” He rolled over and reached for his sleeping draught.
“Good night, sire. May you have an uneventful crowning,” Merlin bid him with a bow. Arthur answered with a mumble, having already downed the potion.
Merlin woke up with that queasy sense of foreboding he’d felt the night Arthur was cursed. After how that time had turned out, Merlin felt compelled to listen to his gut this time. For perhaps the hundredth time, Merlin ran through everything that happened since Morgause's appearance. The Eye of Phoenix, to take Arthur's health. Sterility-inducing food poisoning. The curse. What was the purpose of the curse, of transforming Arthur into a wyvern? And the trigger. It wasn't just holding a sword, but thinking of Sir Tristan. Why? And why now, during the prince's crowning when the royal court of Camelot would be concentrated in Astolat, watching?
Then, a hunch began forming in his head, and with a curse, Merlin ran for the slave house, in search of Tom.
“Tom, Master Tom,” Merlin called, bursting into the slave house. He found the slave master going though his record books, and Tom looked up to watch Merlin approach him. “I have a suspicion of what the Northumbrians want from the prince,” he whispered in one breath. “I need you to trust me and do as I say.”
“…this is to help the prince? Will it harm him?” Tom asked cautiously.
“It might be what will save him,” Merlin replied.
“What do you need?” Tom squared his shoulders and got to his feet.
“I need a horse and supplies, enough for several days of travel. And a change of plain clothes, for someone with a knight’s build.”
The slave master eyed Merlin, measuring him up. It did not surprise Merlin. What he was asking for was dangerous. For all appearances, it would look like Merlin was trying to escape, and gain the slave master’s assistance to do so.
But Tom simply said, “I’ll have it done. The clearing from before, in the grove. I will bring the horse and supplies there.
“Thank you,” Merlin heaved a sigh. “I really do hope I’m wrong and everything will go just fine, but…” With a nod and a hurried farewell, Merlin was running back to Arthur’s chambers.
Arthur was already up and dressed for the ceremony. His dark tunic and trousers were of the finest quality Merlin had ever seen, as were his boots, freshly polished and soft but sturdy looking. A Pendragon red cloak wrapped around his shoulders. In the morning light, Arthur’s hair shone like gold filigree and his eyes were bluer than ever. He practically seemed to glow. It was at a moment like this that Merlin caught himself imagining what it would be like if Arthur was to rule, if he truly was the Once and Future King. With his regal bearing, Arthur made one fine king-to-be, like out of a fairytale, though his personality still needed some work.
“And where have you been, Merlin?” Arthur questioned upon spotting Merlin.
“With Master Tom, sire,” Merlin answered, darting his eyes to the servants bustling around the prince’s chambers and the two knights waiting at the door to follow the prince to the throne room. There was no way to tell Arthur his suspicions. Not with all these people in the room.
Arthur gave him one of those calculating looks of his before shaking his head.
“Well, stay out of trouble. I want you here when I’m back, not running around the castle.”
With that, Arthur swept out of his chambers, long red cloak billowing out behind him.
As just a lowly slave, even if he was the prince’s, Merlin was not allowed to follow Arthur into the throne room. The only people officially permitted to view Arthur’s crowning were the royal family, the court and knights, and the guards and servants selected to be of service. Merlin, however, was aware of the small balconies that overlooked, having had to clean them more than once in the last few weeks. He headed for one of them the moment Arthur left for the throne room.
King Uther and Queen Ygraine were already seated side by side on their thrones, and the throne room was filled to the brim with people, only the dais holding the thrones and a cleared aisle leading from the door to the throne free of people. With much fanfare, the doors to the throne room were thrown open. Arthur walked in, flanked on both sides by several of his knights-the ones Merlin judged were his most trusted, based on Sir Leon’s presence among them. Someone shut the doors as Arthur and his knights proceeded down the aisle to the king, who got up from his throne. An aged man with a bald head and a white beard stepped forward, bearing a thick gold circlet upon a red cushion. The knights fell back, joining the crowd as Arthur knelt down on the floor before the king. The king picked up the crown, holding it above the prince’s head.
“Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominion, according to the statutes customs and laws laid down by your forebears?” Uther recited.
“I do,” said Arthur.
“Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgments?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear allegiance to Camelot, now and for as long as you shall live?”
“I, Arthur Pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service, and to the protection of the kingdom and its people.
With a nod, Uther then said, “Now being of age and heir apparent, you shall be-”
“Kinslayer!” came a shout as the doors of the throne room were thrown open. Every person in the room stopped talking and turned to the doors as one. In walked Sir Caradoc, who, Merlin suddenly realized, had not been seen in Astolat since his flogging. He charged down the aisle, the crowd parting for him in apt attention. “To entrust the crown to such a heinous murderer.”
“You! You are the one who damaged the prince’s property. You got what you deserved,” the king said. “And your brother, the former lord Rylan, committed treason. He was given more mercy than he deserved. How dare you accuse your prince of murder!”
“It is the truth, your highness. This prince is responsible for the murder of his own uncle, Sir Tristan Du Bois.”
“Liar!” Arthur shouted, his hand shooting to his sword. Merlin tensed, but to his relief, Arthur refrained from actually touching the sword. The murmuring of the crowd, already at a low simmer the moment the king began censuring Sir Caradoc, had grown to a roar, but with a raise of Uther’s hand, the court immediately fell silent.
“I will not stand for such lies! Think carefully how you choose to explain yourself.”
“I bring with me proof!” Sir Caradoc declared. “I bring with me the body and a witness!”
“Then bring me the proof,” the king ordered with narrowed eyes, a hand hovering over his sword.
“Yes, sire,” Sir Caradoc said, turning on his heels and calling, “Bring in the body!”
Shortly, two servants appeared-not the castle servants, Merlin assumed, but Caradoc’s own-carrying between them a wrapped figure. A knight followed them, looking both travel-worn and harried. It seemed as if the whole court was holding its breath as the wrapped body was taken to the dais and set down before the king. Caradoc pulled away to fabric. The court let out a collective gasp and the queen gave a wail, covering her mouth with her hands, as it was revealed that the body was indeed that of Sir Tristan Du Bois. His face was streaked with blood, as were his tattered clothes. Based on the unearthly color of his skin, it was clear that Sir Tristan had been dead for at least a day. Arthur fell to his knees beside his uncle’s body. King Uther stared down at the body before turning to the knight who’d entered along with the servants.
“Sir Osred, you have been in service as long as Sir Tristan, and I trust your word above this treasonous fool. What do you have to say?” the king said. Upon being addressed, the knight immediately dropped down to one knee, head bowed and eyes trained on the floor.
“My king, I can only say that Sir Tristan’s travel party was attacked by mercenary bandits while crossing the White Mountains,” the knight stated. “All of them were killed, their horses and supplies stolen.”
“You traveled with Sir Tristan. Why have you arrived unscathed?”
“Forgive me, my lord. I fell ill and told the others to continue onwards ahead of me. Sir Graham stayed behind to assist me. He is resting in the barracks if you wish to also speak with him.” Sir Osred pulled out a folded square of paper from his pocket and held it out to Uther. “When we found the…the bodies, this was left with them.”
Uther took the paper and to Merlin’s surprise, began reading in a slow but steady manner, “Prince, everything has been done as you’ve instructed.”
The pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place as chatter erupted in the audience and everyone who had ever held a grudge against the prince began speaking. Farran, the rat, was one of the most vocal, recounting all of the prince’s strange behavior since Merlin’s arrival at Astolat. Merlin really hoped he wouldn’t be blamed for all that had happened; it was very good thing he wasn’t present in the throne room. No one noticed but Merlin that Morgause and Nimueh had slipped away during the chaos. Merlin itched to go find them, to discover what they planned, but he had to stay to watch how this played out and find a way to help Arthur if he could.
“Silence, all of you!” King Uther shouted over the din, balling up the parchment and throwing it aside. Immediately, the court fell silent but for the low steady of “No, no, no” coming from where Arthur knelt with his hands covering his face
“Arthur, swear to me that you were not responsible for this. Take up this sword, and swear you didn’t do it,” the king ordered him, though his words sounded almost like a plea. But of course, Arthur could do no such thing. And oh, how clever Nimueh had been, because either way, Arthur was trapped, to turn into a full-out beast, his mind already fractured as it was, in front of the entire court, or to become a kinslayer, murderer of his own uncle, his mother’s brother.
Arthur didn’t touch the sword; he didn’t even look up, continued to mutter to himself and stare into nothing, lost to his surroundings.
“Damn it, Arthur, answer me!” the king yelled, but to no avail. He turned to the court and announced, “The ceremony will be postponed until the murderer is found and executed. And you, Sir Caradoc Cardon-” The king turned to the knight. “-you will be held in gaol until that time as well.” With that, the king stormed out of the throne room, guards immediately stepping forward to grab hold of the protesting Caradoc. The queen Ygraine, though she looked as stricken as Arthur, got to her feet and knelt down by him. The court and Merlin watched as the queen whispered something into the prince’s ears. After a few moments, Arthur and his mother stood up, and together they left the throne room.
Immediately, the court began spilling out of the throne room, alive with chatter. Merlin hurried out of his hiding space, trying to think of a way to reach Arthur. The hallways immediately outside the throne room were lined with people proclaiming their shock and horror at the latest events to each other. Word was spreading fast and the entire castle was in a frenzy. Melrin had no difficulty at all getting past anyone and all who would concern themselves with slaves and his incongruous presence.
Heading for the royal wing, Merlin skidded to a halt when he overheard voices he recognized as those of Nimueh, Morgause and Cedric coming from their chambers.
“It’s only a matter of time now,” said Nimueh. “Once we have the prince in our hands, Camelot will be within our reach.”
“I must commend you, Nimueh. Your power over Uther has made my task less difficult,” said Cedric. His voice was different now-harder and bitter, no hint of servility at all-and it made Merlin even more uneasy.
“When will the prince be made ready to leave? The stunning spell I placed will not last for long,” Morgause said. There was the sound of a door opening and footsteps approaching.
“Tomorrow morning. We must still put on a show after all,” Nimueh replied, sounding much closer to Merlin than before. Taking it as his cue to leave, Merlin darted away down a different corridor.
It wasn't even five minutes later when he was grabbed from behind. With a yell, he tried to twist away from his attacker, fearing who it might turn out to be. But the person he was up against was big and solid, with a crushing grip. A hand was clamped over his mouth before he was turned to the person. His “attacker” was a young knight dressed in Leodegrance livery.
“Hush, Slave. My lady Gwen has sent me to take you to her. Do not make even one sound, is that clear?” Merlin nodded, though he wondered what business the lady would want with him of all people when Arthur was in danger. Then again, perhaps through her, he could discover what was going on and what lies Nimueh had fed the king. After a moment of scrutiny, the knight removed his hand and let go of him. “Come with me.”
Merlin was taken to Lady Gwen’s chambers, but they were empty of Gwen herself. The knight left him alone in the antechamber to wait for the lady’s return. But with every passing minute, Merlin grew more and more impatient. The High Priestesses had dark plans for Arthur; his chance eavesdropping left no room for doubt now. Arthur’s life was at stake, and Merlin was the only one who had even a fraction of a clue as to what to do. But instead of doing anything about it, Merlin was being forced to wait upon the desires of another noble.
He dropped down into one of the chairs around the antechamber’s table, resigning himself to the wait. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. He had no freedom as a slave; his actions were ultimately governed by the noblemen and virtually anyone ranked above him. This, however, did not stop him from incessantly tapping his foot as he sat with eyes trained on the doors of the chambers, as if he could will the prince’s fiancé to appear.
It was another five minutes before Lady Gwen showed up, stepping into her chambers with a calm sort of anger to her steps. Though her face and movements showed no outright fury, her eyes burned fire. She went right up to Merlin and gripped him by the shoulders, kneeling to his eye-level.
“You must have some idea of what is happening, Merlin. Tell me please, did he do it?” she demanded.
“He didn’t,” Merlin said.
“You swear on it? You really think he didn’t do it?” she asked again.
“Yes, I swear he didn’t. Arthur would never do such a thing.”
“I can’t understand it. How can you be so loyal to a man who claims ownership of you and treats you less than a dog? What has he done to receive such faith from you?”
“The prince is my master and I his slave. Loyalty is only expected. But I’ve seen the goodness in him. And he deeply cared for his uncle, like a second father. He wouldn’t have been able to kill Sir Tristan. Never.”
Gwen sank down into a chair with a sigh before remarking, “He is just so infuriating.”
“That’s Arthur for you, yes.”
“A completely rude, arrogant and pig-headed idiot.”
“Oh yes, definitely,” Merlin readily agreed.
“And yet, I still care for him,” Gwen admitted. “I don’t love him, not in that sort of way, but he’s family. I grew up with him; he is like a second brother to me.” She paused before looking at Merlin with wide eyes and saying, “….but you’re different. You actually love him, don’t you?”
“No!” Merlin practically squawked. “There are no such feelings between us! He is my master, and I am required to serve him. As long as I remain chained to him, such emotions cannot exist,” Merlin insisted. Gwen looked ready to argue, but he said, “We don’t have much time. You must have faith in him; he is not a kinslayer.”
“No, instead, the prince is a madman.”
“He’s not mad. There are reasons for his actions.”
“King Uther has judged him mad, and in this court, his judgment is what matters. Arthur is now a madman, and the king has chosen to send him away.”
To send him away? To where? With the Northumbrian?
“My lady-Gwen-you have to tell me all that has happened,” Merlin said, leaning forward.
“The royal family and I adjourned to private chambers, and the king demanded for the bandits to be caught and killed. He asked again if Arthur had been a part of the deed, but Arthur refused to give a straight answer. He kept saying it was his fault, no matter what the king or even the queen asked.”
“And then?”
“Then the chamberlain came and told Uther about Arthur’s recent behavior: the events with Sir Caradoc and Lord Rylan, his illness during petitions, his fits of rudeness and disrespect, and his sudden disappearances. Sir Leon confirmed everything, and then other men started accusing Arthur of things. It was ridiculous the lies they said of him.”
But they weren’t lies, really. Just the truth placed out of context. Just as the priestesses had no doubt wanted.
“And Arthur didn’t deny any of it. He looked in shock, really. The king and queen asked him to swear by the sword that he didn’t kill Sir Tristan, but Arthur refused to take the sword. He said he’d never take up a sword again. The king called him mad and asked for the physician to come. Lady Nimueh interrupted and offered another solution.”
It was then that Merlin made the final connection to his earlier overheard conversation.
“Nimueh offered to ‘cure’ him of his madness!” Merlin realized. “But to do so, she insisted on taking Arthur away, out of Camelot. Am I right?”
Gwen gaped at him before saying, “How did you know? What do you know about Nimueh?”
“I can explain later. Just tell me, is that what happened?”
“Yes…and left with no choice Uther agreed.”
“And Arthur did nothing about it?” Merlin questioned, not even bothering to hide the edge of panic setting in-or to use Arthur’s proper title it seemed.
“Well, Arthur just sort of woke up. He started raging, like nothing I’ve seen before. He refused to go with the Northumbrians. He started shouting things about priestesses and ‘old religion’ and curses. He even tried to attack them! It took all the guards in the room to stop him, and Leon…Sir Leon had to knock him out to keep him from attacking Nimueh. Gods, he looks ready to cry.”
“Where have they taken him?”
“The Western Tower,” Gwen replied, and Merlin made a move to stand but Gwen gripped his shoulders, stopping him. “They’ve put guards on the stairs up and at the door. No one but the king and queen and the Northumbrians are allowed up.”
“I’m a slave. I’m not anyone,” Merlin reasoned, trying to stand once again. Gwen pulled him back down into his chair.
“You must tell me what is happening first.” Merlin opened his mouth to argue that there wasn’t time but Gwen gave his a glare and said, “You know more than you’re saying, Merlin, and like I said, Arthur is family. If there’s something I can do, then I want to help.”
“You’ll think I’m mad, too.”
“Tell me,” Gwen insisted.
Merlin looked at Gwen warily, tempted to argue more, but she glared back at him, her eyes sparking and demanding a real answer. He’s seen her arguments with Arthur; he really had no choice in the matter. And perhaps, having help from someone in a position of power would be good. He nodded slowly before asking her:
“What do you know about sorcery?”
On to Part Six | Masterpost
“The prince wants you,” the boy said.
Merlin was out of his seat and running out of the hall in seconds. He headed straight for the gardens, hoping that Arthur remembered his instructions. He ran into Gabel just before reaching the courtyard, but he ducked away from Gabel’s attempt to grab him and ignored the under-chamberlain’s shout of outrage. He would probably end up playing for it later, but right now, getting to the prince was more important.
It was just starting to rain outside, and Merlin wanted to curse Arthur’s timing, but it really wasn’t the prince’s fault and the rain would keep people indoors and away from the prince and whatever beast he transformed into.
Merlin knew he was getting close when he heard a shout of pain that made his heart stop. Running into the grove, he nearly crashed into Tom, who stood at the edge of the small clearing, a sword held out before him in a shaking hand.
Arthur crouched on his hands and knees in the clearing, fingers digging into the mud and his face screwed up in what looked like pure agony. Arthur groaned, low and guttural, and Merlin rushed forward, skirting around Tom and his sword to kneel a little more than arm’s length away from the prince. He dared not touch the prince, choosing instead to lean in a little closer and keep a close eye on him.
“Arthur, sire, listen to my words,” Merlin urged. “The spell changes your body, but your mind won’t change. You’re in control. Do not let the spell control you. Listen to my voice and use it as an anchor. Keep your mind.”
Merlin and Tom watched with wide eyes as the prince’s image seemed to shift before their eyes, flickering between human and beast. Slowly, the prince’s body morphed, compressing and elongating, and his clothing and skin melted away into dark blue-grey scales. He grew a long tail and horns, and a pair of large leathery wings sprouted from his back. When he-it-the prince looked up again, Merlin found himself looking into bright red eyes. Merlin remembered the beast’s form from books, though he’d never gotten the opportunity to see one in person; the prince had turned into a wyvern. The wyvern, Arthur, leaped to his feet and roared, charging at him. Merlin remained seated, staring back at the prince, letting his eyes show his unwillingness to yield.
“What is that? Get away from it, Merlin!” came Tom’s voice from behind him. The wyvern appeared to understand, snarling at the slave master.
“Well, I don’t think his highness appreciates being addressed like that,” Merlin remarked, “but he is a wyvern. They’re distant cousins to the dragons, but more animal-like. Don’t worry. He still has his mind. The prince won’t hurt me.” He did not know where this confidence came from, but Arthur’s snarl had been indication enough for him that the prince was still in there, a human mind controlling the body of a beast. “I’ll just sit here and entertain you, shall I?” he said to the wyvern. “I will stay here and give you company until the enchantment passes, so what would you like to hear? I’m afraid what I have to say isn’t very interesting, and you probably won’t want to hear it. I haven’t spoken freely in a long time after all.”
Wyvern-Arthur sat back on his haunches, the glare on his face unmistakable.
“What should I begin? How about how you’re a royal prat?”
Arthur hissed at him, red eyes flashing and sharp teeth bared.
“You mustn’t speak to him like that, Merlin. You’ll face his wrath when he turns back!” Tom hissed.
Merlin simply shrugged and said, “I’ve seen who the prince is underneath. I’m not afraid of him.” He looked wyvern-Arthur straight in the eye, and the prince glared back but nothing more. Merlin gave him a smile and just because he could, he added, “He’s an arrogant, supercilious, condescending and overbearing prat.” Again wyvern-Arthur hissed, getting to his four feet and digging his talons into the mud. “But he’s more than that. There’s something better, something good underneath, I’m sure. When he’s being a proper human being, I can see the future king in him. He cares about his people; I’ve seen that firsthand. And if he stopped being a prat and could just think for once, he’d be a brilliant prince that everyone would want to love and serve.”
Wyvern-Arthur was silent to this. Merlin sat still and watched the prince as he began prowling in a circle around Merlin.
“Remember that you’re in control, Arthur. Your mind is human, but your body isn’t right now. It’s better if you listened to any urges, any hungers you feel, even if you think they are unsavory. If you’re hungry, go find something to eat. Just use your human knowledge and stay away from any humans. Do not attack them; they are your people, sire.”
After a pause where Merlin and wyvern-Arthur stared at each other, the wyvern nodded at Merlin and took off into the grove. Merlin heaved a sigh, letting his shoulders slump. He was vaguely aware that he was shivering, though he couldn’t tell if it was from dealing with wyvern-Arthur or from the rain. To his surprise, Tom dropped a woolen cloak over him.
“Thank you,” Merlin murmured. He pulled the cloak tighter around himself, savoring the warmth, though his clothes were already drenched.
“It’s the least I can do. You may be a slave, but it’s not your duty to help the prince with this matter.”
Merlin shook his head. It wasn’t just Arthur he was trying to save. Whatever the high priestesses were planning, if they succeeded, bad things were sure to come. And if Merlin could help prevent them, he would.
“It is my duty,” he said. “Or it would have been. If I still…” He didn’t finish the rest of the sentence, but Tom nodded, understanding.
“Do you think he will do as you said?” the slave master asked.
“One can only hope. What did he say before he came here?”
“Just something about a sword.”
Merlin eyed the sword Tom had picked up once again before remarking, “I don’t think he meant for the sword to used on him.”
Tom shrugged and left, saying he’d stand guard for them.
After some time had passed, Arthur came stalking back into the grove’s clearing and hunkered down a few feet in front of Merlin. The wyvern looked at Merlin expectantly, and after a few moments, Merlin realized the prince was waiting for him to talk.
“What would you like me to say? I know nothing but the past, and I don’t want to talk about it,” Merlin said. After a pause, he said, “Did you know the parchment the chamberlain orders for the official records is too poor quality for the price you pay for them? Or that the footpaths out of the courtyards haven’t been looked after because the under-chamberlain thought you wouldn’t notice?” Merlin sighed. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t say that if I want to stay in one piece.”
If Merlin was hearing correctly, wyvern-Arthur had actually snorted at him before lowering himself down on the ground like a dog would, neatly tucking his wings in. Arthur made that simple act look regal even as an oversized reptile.
Not wishing to tell the prince or think of the life he’d lost thirteen years before, Merlin instead started talking about the ordinary people of Albion, who worked long hours in the fields and mines or in smithies and bakeries and pubs. The people who struggled to make a living but still sought to be happy. He hinted, very subtly that Arthur could make this happen, could make the people look to him in hope and see the future Arthur could just maybe bring. And then, having talked the topic stale, he resorted to the weather and the land, comparing Astolat to Carmarthen and to what he’d seen of the rest of Camelot and to Carmarthen.
Merlin hadn’t spoken for such a long time in years. The rain trickled to a stop as he talked to the prince for over an hour, maybe two, eventually starting to feel a kind of detachment settle over him. He spoke without thinking much about it, instead feeling sleepier by the minute.
A roar startled him wide awake. Arthur was twisting in the mud, hisses spilling from his snout. His image began shifting again, flashing between wyvern and human. Merlin scooted back a foot or so, keeping out of reach of wyvern-Arthur’s flailing talons. He watched with shallow breath as Arthur’s limbs lengthened and scales and wings fell away.
Soon, Merlin was looking at Arthur in his human form, curled up on his side, face pressed to shoulder. With a groan, Arthur rolled onto his stomach, staying facedown. Panic coursed through Merlin as he edged closer to the prince again, though hesitant to touch him.
“Sire, are you all right?” he asked.
Arthur groaned again before propping himself up by his elbows.
“So, I’m a prat, am I?” he drawled, and a smile broke out unbidden on Merlin’s lips.
“Forgive me. I meant a royal one, my lord,” Merlin said, unable to resist.
The prince made a swipe at Merlin, but his limbs were trembling and Merlin was forced to assist Arthur in standing up.
“You can’t speak to me like that, Merlin, even if you’re the most horrible slave I’ve ever met,” the prince said once he was upright.
“And how many slaves have you actually taken to meeting, sire?” Merlin questioned, to which Arthur scowled. Merlin gave him another smile and said, “Come on, let’s get you to the workroom.”
Once they were settled in the gardeners’ workroom, a fire burning bright in the hearth, Merlin finally got to ask, “What do you remember? Do you know what the trigger was?”
Arthur nodded, and said, “A sword and Tristan. I had a hand on my sword and was thinking of when the patrols might return with word about my uncle. And then it started happening.”
“What about the first time?”
“After Lady Helen’s performance, I was planning for the search for Tristan and touched my sword.”
“And yesterday?”
“I was putting on my sword as I left my chambers, and saw Sir Lionel-he is one of my uncle’s most trusted friends.”
Merlin heaved a sigh and remarked, “It sure seems that’s the trigger then.”
“Then tomorrow I’ll wear and touch no sword and avoid thoughts of my uncle. Then I won’t have to worry about transforming,” Arthur stated with utter confidence. Merlin wasn’t so sure.
“Please be careful, sire. If they discover that you know…”
“Of course I will. They won’t suspect a thing.” Arthur flashed that smug smile of his, and Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes despite the gnawing worry in his stomach.
He had little idea what Nimueh and Morgause were fully capable of or if they had a way to suspect if anything was going wrong. He was fairly certain Nimueh had seeing powers, but whether she felt the need to use them to check on Arthur was debatable.
As the two of them sat in silence, soaking in the warmth of the fire, Merlin once again found his thoughts turning to Arthur and his vision. He had meant what he’d said to wyvern-Arthur. The prince was a mess of good and bad qualities, almost like two different people mashed together. But if he was properly taught, if he learned to shed his arrogance and prejudices and the little acts of cruelty bred into him by society, maybe, just maybe, Arthur could pass muster as the prophesized Once and Future King. The verification that the prince actually was that King was not for him to make though; it would take one actually experienced in seeing.
Eventually, Arthur began complaining about his wet, muddy clothes, and proving to have regained his strength, got to his feet. Together, they slowly made their way back to the castle, reasoning that should anyone wonder why Merlin was with Arthur after his disappearance, it was because Merlin had been sent to look for him.
When they reached the castle, Sir Leon immediately appeared by the prince’s side, along with a few alarmed servants seeking to taking Arthur’s muddied cloak from him.
“Sire, you’ve returned safely,” the knight said, sounding much relieved. “The king has been…most irate by your absence. You’ve been gone the whole day.”
“Yes, I apologize,” Arthur answered while waving off the servants’ hands. “All this fuss day after day. Can’t a man taking the time to just breathe? I simply wanted some time alone today.”
“…alone, sire?” Sir Leon repeated, pointedly looking at Merlin.
Arthur waved a dismissive hand and said, “It’s just Merlin. He’s a slave. Besides, I meant away from everyone who’d natter my ears off.”
Merlin just managed to stifle his snort. After all, nattering to the prince was exactly what he’d been doing for the past hour. Sir Leon still caught the aborted noise he’d made and gave Merlin a disbelieving look.
“Have an apology sent to my father. I promise to show up tomorrow morning,” Arthur directed.
“Yes, sire. Will that be all?” the knight asked, looking resigned. Arthur nodded and gave him a wave.
“Come along, Merlin,” Arthur called over his shoulder, already heading for his chambers at a faster pace.
Back in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin helped the prince wash away the mud from his arms and face in a basin of warm water. It was too late to call for servants to draw a bath, and away from the eyes of his knight and the servants, Arthur looked nearly as exhausted as he had in the workroom. While changing into a clean nightshirt, Arthur allowed Merlin to wash up as well, which Merlin was grateful of; he was as covered in mud as Arthur had been. He was also thankful for the extra set of clothes left in the servant’s antechamber.
“I want to say thank you, Merlin, for what you’ve done for me,” the prince suddenly said, reaching for vial containing his sleeping draught. “It’s almost as if you’re my guardian spirit.” Arthur flashed him a smile.
Merlin was stunned, staring at Arthur with wide eyes, but before he could collect himself enough to speak, Arthur downed the sleeping potion and flopped onto his bed. He was asleep within seconds, and Merlin was left to throw a blanket over the prince and stoke the fire before he too crawled into bed.
After that incident, Arthur took to bringing Merlin along everywhere he went. Whether it was a casual court audience, a council meeting, or a meal, Merlin was always with him, staying as unnoticed as possible in the background and keeping well away from Nimueh and Morgause. They’d brought with them a servant, a shifty-eyed fellow named Cedric, with vaguely bird-like features and an overly polished, fawning manner of speaking that raised Merlin’s hackles. Merlin tried to avoid him as well. He did however draw the attention of the king, who commented on Merlin’s presence-Arthur, it seemed, rarely tolerated having a slave or servant trail after him “like a pup.” Luckily, Arthur made an excuse good enough to convince the king, and Merlin was not given a second glance by anyone.
Despite being indeed dragged around like a dog at times, it provided him with the chance to always keep an eye on the prince. And Merlin enjoyed the new level of freedom he now had. Having seen the prince at his most vulnerability, he had expected the prince to get cagey around him, but it was rather the opposite. While Arthur was of course not friendly to him, per se, the prince wasn’t hostile and took no major offense to anything Merlin let slip out. Perhaps it was because Merlin was the only one who could help the prince with his enchantment, but either way, Merlin was pleased that Arthur was treating him differently, more like a servant than a slave. If forced to, Merlin would admit to taking delight in speaking to the prince, usually in the form of teasing remarks thinly disguised with deference. He hadn’t so openly spoken to someone in years. It was almost as if he was a real person again.
One morning, Merlin found himself looking, just looking at the prince when he was about to wake him for the day. Arthur was scrawling across his bed on his stomach, face half buried in his pillows and the covers kicked all the way down to the foot of the bed. The thin beams of sunlight slipping through the curtains highlight his sleep-tussled hair, and his shirt had ridden up enough to reveal a sliver of his lower back, just above the line of his sleeping trousers.
And the whole thing shouldn’t have looked as endearing and aesthetically pleasing as it should have. The prince looked more human and vulnerable-and yet not-than he’d ever seen him. Merlin could imagine a smaller, young Arthur, sprawled out just like he was now, confident even then in his ability to defend himself to allow showing his back to the world.
With a start, Merlin realized he should really be waking up the prince and carrying on with his duties for the day, not watching him sleep. He tried not to wonder why he’d done it in the first place.
Over the next two days, Arthur showed no signs of any changes. He attended the events and feast required of him, and at the end of the day, the prince downed his sleeping draught and fell promptly asleep until the next morning.
Then, the day before the formal crowning, there was to be a tournament held in celebration of Arthur’s coming-of-age. Arthur was expected to compete, as it was held in his honor after all. Merlin felt it was a terrible idea if the prince wished to keep the enchantment a secret from the king and if the prince didn’t want to turn into a wyvern more than he could help it. Since the curse involved Arthur holding a sword, doing anything that involved holding a sword all day long was just asking for trouble. Arthur, however, refused to withdraw from the tournament; he claimed that he’d never missed a tournament before, not since he first became of age to participate, and he wasn’t going to this time. Merlin had turned to Tom for support, but the slave master hinted that it would look too suspicious if the prince chose to withdraw without a believable explanation-which there was none, unfortunately. And because Merlin was just a slave, he really had no say in the matter. Even if he was the one trying to save the prince’s life.
“Are you sure about this?” Merlin asked Arthur for the tenth time that morning, trailing behind the prince as they headed for the fighting grounds.
Servants and squires and slaves bustled around everywhere, rushing to make last minute preparations. The arena was already filled to the brim with spectators, though the royal stand, where the King and Queen and their special guests would sit, was empty. They would be the last to enter, the arrival of the King signaling the start of the tournament. Colorful tents had been erected overnight, bearing the standards and colors of the swordsmen competing. Arthur’s tent was easy to spot from a distance-full Pendragon red with a matching flag bearing the gold dragon crest by the tent’s entrance. It was there that they were headed, Arthur already in his gambeson but not the rest of his armor, and Merlin carrying his sword.
“What if you change in the middle of a fight?” he added.
“I’ll be fine, Merlin. When I fight, I focus entirely on the battle. I won’t be thinking of anything else, and certainly not of Tristan and wherever he’s gone off to.”
“Right, well, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you in case anything does happen.”
“Shut up, Merlin. There’s nothing to worry about,” Arthur snapped, entering his tent.
“If you say so,” Merlin replied. There was a table with the rest of Arthur’s armour already laid out, and this was where Merlin set down Arthur’s sword.
“Just take my sword the moment I step off the field after a fight, and nothing will happen. Now hurry up and fit me into my armor.”
“Of course, sire,” Merlin said, reaching over the table to pick up Arthur’s gorget.
Arthur scowled at him and remarked, “Only you could make that sound like an insult, Merlin.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sire.” Merlin looked at him with his most innocent face, and Arthur snorted.
“Right. Now get my armor on. I can’t be late to my own tournament.”
The tournament began without a hitch. Merlin spent the whole of Arthur’s first match hovering at the very edge of the arena field, watching with bated breath for any signs of the transformation beginning in the prince. When Arthur won his match and did not show any signs of changing into an overgrown winged lizard, Merlin heaved a sigh and cheered along with the crowd. After an expected “I told you there was nothing to worry about” from Arthur, Merlin relaxed a little and joined the rest of the servants and squires watching on the sidelines.
With Arthur pitted against actual warriors this time, Merlin could not help but notice how the prince shone out above the rest. It wasn’t much of a surprise. As prince, Arthur was a born warrior, trained to fight from birth. Every move Arthur made was precise, graceful, perfect. The sword and shield were simply extensions of the prince’s body as he defeated contestant after contestant. And like before, it wasn’t hard for Merlin to picture Arthur on the battlefield, fighting for Camelot. It was magnificent and yet unsettling. Arthur displayed no difficulty besting men twice his age, or any of the men he faced really. Merlin wondered if Arthur had ever been sent off to war before, and he couldn’t help but be a little relieved Arthur had not been nearly old enough when Camelot invaded Carmarthen.
“It must be a great honor, to serve the prince,” someone beside him said several matches later.
Merlin turned his head slightly, keeping one eye on Arthur, and discovered that Cedric had moved to his side. The man perched on the stool next to his and stared at the prince, not actually looking at Merlin.
“Yes, yes it is,” Merlin replied warily.
“He’s wonderful, isn’t it? Young, strong, charismatic, handsome,” Cedric said. “Everything one would want in a ruler.”
“…I suppose so.” Merlin kept a straight face, although his skin practically crawled at Cedric’s words. They begged the question of what Cedric wanted from the prince. There just wasn’t something right about Cedric, and Merlin figured that could be attributed to Cedric being Nimueh and Morgause’s servant.
“It can’t be easy, to hold such potential, such a future,” Cedric remarked. “It must be so hard, with all that responsibility.” Cedric looked away from Arthur and gazed at Merlin speculatively. “You’re his slave. Tell me, is he a good master?”
“He’s a better master than most,” Merlin hedged. He felt far too relieved when at that moment Arthur ended his match and stepped out of the arena. “Sorry. I’ve got to go see to the prince,” he said, and without waiting for Cedric’s reply, rushed off to take Arthur’s sword.
When Arthur fought his next match, Merlin sat as far away and out of sight from Cedric as possible. From his new position, he spotted Morgause and Nimueh, and the two priestesses were watching Arthur fight with cold eyes and furrowed brows. They no doubt wanted Arthur to fail, and Merlin split his attentions between assisting Arthur in between matches and watching the two priestesses for any new dangers to the prince.
In the end, Arthur won-unsurprisingly. If he had not witnessed the prince’s fight with Rylan or the tournament itself, Merlin would have wondered if the contestants had lost on purpose to give Arthur the glory. However, Arthur’s battle prowess and skill with his sword were clear from the start, and any contestants who even considered throwing their match had stood no chance against the prince. Arthur’s focus and will were strong as well, because not once was there any indication that Arthur might transform and Merlin stripped the prince of his armor in great relief.
“There, you see, Merlin? Nothing happened, and I’m perfectly fine,” Arthur said.
Merlin huffed and replied, “Yes, sire. I’m glad of it.”
Arthur gave him a smug smile before asking, “Have you ordered a bath for me?”
“Yes, it’s on its way.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, a few servant boys knocked and entered the room, lugging with them the prince’s washtub and several buckets filled with hot water.
When Arthur pulled off his tunic, Merlin realized that the prince probably had no qualms with being completely naked in front of a slave. While Merlin saw more than his fair share of naked bodies as part of being a slave, he had no desire to be punished for allegedly ogling the prince. Merlin coughed as Arthur gave him a mocking raised eyebrow, hands already on the laces of his trousers.
“Right. I’ll…get this lot cleaned and be back after your bath then,” Merlin said, scooping up the prince’s armour and hurrying out the door.
That night, the largest feast of the week was held, partially because of Arthur’s victory and partially because tomorrow was Arthur’s birthday and the day of the official crowning. The court was in high spirits, and many were soon deep in their cups. The royal family, however, was for the most part sober. The Queen looked preoccupied, worried, and Merlin suspected it had to do with her brother’s disappearance.
Nimueh and Morgause, on the contrary, looked pleased, sipping their wine, Cedric standing behind then looking equally so. They didn’t raise any suspicions, not in the current settings, but Merlin knew better. Not for the first time, he feared what they could possibly have planned for the prince and for Camelot.
Arthur left the feast early, claiming the need to rest and ready himself for the next day. Merlin followed him back to his chambers, helping the prince get ready for bed. When he made for his room though, Arthur suddenly spoke:
“Where do you think he is? What could have possibly happened?”
“Sir Tristan?” Merlin inquired, turning back around to see the prince lying under the covers, staring up at the bed canopy.
“Who else, you idiot? He said he would come.” Despite the insult, his words were strained and soft. There was hurt in his voice, an incongruous little boy type of frailty, and Merlin would have been lying if he was to say that it didn’t make his heart melt, just a bit.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know.”
Arthur sighed and said, “Of course you wouldn’t. I just-nevermind. Good night, Merlin.” He rolled over and reached for his sleeping draught.
“Good night, sire. May you have an uneventful crowning,” Merlin bid him with a bow. Arthur answered with a mumble, having already downed the potion.
Merlin woke up with that queasy sense of foreboding he’d felt the night Arthur was cursed. After how that time had turned out, Merlin felt compelled to listen to his gut this time. For perhaps the hundredth time, Merlin ran through everything that happened since Morgause's appearance. The Eye of Phoenix, to take Arthur's health. Sterility-inducing food poisoning. The curse. What was the purpose of the curse, of transforming Arthur into a wyvern? And the trigger. It wasn't just holding a sword, but thinking of Sir Tristan. Why? And why now, during the prince's crowning when the royal court of Camelot would be concentrated in Astolat, watching?
Then, a hunch began forming in his head, and with a curse, Merlin ran for the slave house, in search of Tom.
“Tom, Master Tom,” Merlin called, bursting into the slave house. He found the slave master going though his record books, and Tom looked up to watch Merlin approach him. “I have a suspicion of what the Northumbrians want from the prince,” he whispered in one breath. “I need you to trust me and do as I say.”
“…this is to help the prince? Will it harm him?” Tom asked cautiously.
“It might be what will save him,” Merlin replied.
“What do you need?” Tom squared his shoulders and got to his feet.
“I need a horse and supplies, enough for several days of travel. And a change of plain clothes, for someone with a knight’s build.”
The slave master eyed Merlin, measuring him up. It did not surprise Merlin. What he was asking for was dangerous. For all appearances, it would look like Merlin was trying to escape, and gain the slave master’s assistance to do so.
But Tom simply said, “I’ll have it done. The clearing from before, in the grove. I will bring the horse and supplies there.
“Thank you,” Merlin heaved a sigh. “I really do hope I’m wrong and everything will go just fine, but…” With a nod and a hurried farewell, Merlin was running back to Arthur’s chambers.
Arthur was already up and dressed for the ceremony. His dark tunic and trousers were of the finest quality Merlin had ever seen, as were his boots, freshly polished and soft but sturdy looking. A Pendragon red cloak wrapped around his shoulders. In the morning light, Arthur’s hair shone like gold filigree and his eyes were bluer than ever. He practically seemed to glow. It was at a moment like this that Merlin caught himself imagining what it would be like if Arthur was to rule, if he truly was the Once and Future King. With his regal bearing, Arthur made one fine king-to-be, like out of a fairytale, though his personality still needed some work.
“And where have you been, Merlin?” Arthur questioned upon spotting Merlin.
“With Master Tom, sire,” Merlin answered, darting his eyes to the servants bustling around the prince’s chambers and the two knights waiting at the door to follow the prince to the throne room. There was no way to tell Arthur his suspicions. Not with all these people in the room.
Arthur gave him one of those calculating looks of his before shaking his head.
“Well, stay out of trouble. I want you here when I’m back, not running around the castle.”
With that, Arthur swept out of his chambers, long red cloak billowing out behind him.
As just a lowly slave, even if he was the prince’s, Merlin was not allowed to follow Arthur into the throne room. The only people officially permitted to view Arthur’s crowning were the royal family, the court and knights, and the guards and servants selected to be of service. Merlin, however, was aware of the small balconies that overlooked, having had to clean them more than once in the last few weeks. He headed for one of them the moment Arthur left for the throne room.
King Uther and Queen Ygraine were already seated side by side on their thrones, and the throne room was filled to the brim with people, only the dais holding the thrones and a cleared aisle leading from the door to the throne free of people. With much fanfare, the doors to the throne room were thrown open. Arthur walked in, flanked on both sides by several of his knights-the ones Merlin judged were his most trusted, based on Sir Leon’s presence among them. Someone shut the doors as Arthur and his knights proceeded down the aisle to the king, who got up from his throne. An aged man with a bald head and a white beard stepped forward, bearing a thick gold circlet upon a red cushion. The knights fell back, joining the crowd as Arthur knelt down on the floor before the king. The king picked up the crown, holding it above the prince’s head.
“Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominion, according to the statutes customs and laws laid down by your forebears?” Uther recited.
“I do,” said Arthur.
“Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgments?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear allegiance to Camelot, now and for as long as you shall live?”
“I, Arthur Pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service, and to the protection of the kingdom and its people.
With a nod, Uther then said, “Now being of age and heir apparent, you shall be-”
“Kinslayer!” came a shout as the doors of the throne room were thrown open. Every person in the room stopped talking and turned to the doors as one. In walked Sir Caradoc, who, Merlin suddenly realized, had not been seen in Astolat since his flogging. He charged down the aisle, the crowd parting for him in apt attention. “To entrust the crown to such a heinous murderer.”
“You! You are the one who damaged the prince’s property. You got what you deserved,” the king said. “And your brother, the former lord Rylan, committed treason. He was given more mercy than he deserved. How dare you accuse your prince of murder!”
“It is the truth, your highness. This prince is responsible for the murder of his own uncle, Sir Tristan Du Bois.”
“Liar!” Arthur shouted, his hand shooting to his sword. Merlin tensed, but to his relief, Arthur refrained from actually touching the sword. The murmuring of the crowd, already at a low simmer the moment the king began censuring Sir Caradoc, had grown to a roar, but with a raise of Uther’s hand, the court immediately fell silent.
“I will not stand for such lies! Think carefully how you choose to explain yourself.”
“I bring with me proof!” Sir Caradoc declared. “I bring with me the body and a witness!”
“Then bring me the proof,” the king ordered with narrowed eyes, a hand hovering over his sword.
“Yes, sire,” Sir Caradoc said, turning on his heels and calling, “Bring in the body!”
Shortly, two servants appeared-not the castle servants, Merlin assumed, but Caradoc’s own-carrying between them a wrapped figure. A knight followed them, looking both travel-worn and harried. It seemed as if the whole court was holding its breath as the wrapped body was taken to the dais and set down before the king. Caradoc pulled away to fabric. The court let out a collective gasp and the queen gave a wail, covering her mouth with her hands, as it was revealed that the body was indeed that of Sir Tristan Du Bois. His face was streaked with blood, as were his tattered clothes. Based on the unearthly color of his skin, it was clear that Sir Tristan had been dead for at least a day. Arthur fell to his knees beside his uncle’s body. King Uther stared down at the body before turning to the knight who’d entered along with the servants.
“Sir Osred, you have been in service as long as Sir Tristan, and I trust your word above this treasonous fool. What do you have to say?” the king said. Upon being addressed, the knight immediately dropped down to one knee, head bowed and eyes trained on the floor.
“My king, I can only say that Sir Tristan’s travel party was attacked by mercenary bandits while crossing the White Mountains,” the knight stated. “All of them were killed, their horses and supplies stolen.”
“You traveled with Sir Tristan. Why have you arrived unscathed?”
“Forgive me, my lord. I fell ill and told the others to continue onwards ahead of me. Sir Graham stayed behind to assist me. He is resting in the barracks if you wish to also speak with him.” Sir Osred pulled out a folded square of paper from his pocket and held it out to Uther. “When we found the…the bodies, this was left with them.”
Uther took the paper and to Merlin’s surprise, began reading in a slow but steady manner, “Prince, everything has been done as you’ve instructed.”
The pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place as chatter erupted in the audience and everyone who had ever held a grudge against the prince began speaking. Farran, the rat, was one of the most vocal, recounting all of the prince’s strange behavior since Merlin’s arrival at Astolat. Merlin really hoped he wouldn’t be blamed for all that had happened; it was very good thing he wasn’t present in the throne room. No one noticed but Merlin that Morgause and Nimueh had slipped away during the chaos. Merlin itched to go find them, to discover what they planned, but he had to stay to watch how this played out and find a way to help Arthur if he could.
“Silence, all of you!” King Uther shouted over the din, balling up the parchment and throwing it aside. Immediately, the court fell silent but for the low steady of “No, no, no” coming from where Arthur knelt with his hands covering his face
“Arthur, swear to me that you were not responsible for this. Take up this sword, and swear you didn’t do it,” the king ordered him, though his words sounded almost like a plea. But of course, Arthur could do no such thing. And oh, how clever Nimueh had been, because either way, Arthur was trapped, to turn into a full-out beast, his mind already fractured as it was, in front of the entire court, or to become a kinslayer, murderer of his own uncle, his mother’s brother.
Arthur didn’t touch the sword; he didn’t even look up, continued to mutter to himself and stare into nothing, lost to his surroundings.
“Damn it, Arthur, answer me!” the king yelled, but to no avail. He turned to the court and announced, “The ceremony will be postponed until the murderer is found and executed. And you, Sir Caradoc Cardon-” The king turned to the knight. “-you will be held in gaol until that time as well.” With that, the king stormed out of the throne room, guards immediately stepping forward to grab hold of the protesting Caradoc. The queen Ygraine, though she looked as stricken as Arthur, got to her feet and knelt down by him. The court and Merlin watched as the queen whispered something into the prince’s ears. After a few moments, Arthur and his mother stood up, and together they left the throne room.
Immediately, the court began spilling out of the throne room, alive with chatter. Merlin hurried out of his hiding space, trying to think of a way to reach Arthur. The hallways immediately outside the throne room were lined with people proclaiming their shock and horror at the latest events to each other. Word was spreading fast and the entire castle was in a frenzy. Melrin had no difficulty at all getting past anyone and all who would concern themselves with slaves and his incongruous presence.
Heading for the royal wing, Merlin skidded to a halt when he overheard voices he recognized as those of Nimueh, Morgause and Cedric coming from their chambers.
“It’s only a matter of time now,” said Nimueh. “Once we have the prince in our hands, Camelot will be within our reach.”
“I must commend you, Nimueh. Your power over Uther has made my task less difficult,” said Cedric. His voice was different now-harder and bitter, no hint of servility at all-and it made Merlin even more uneasy.
“When will the prince be made ready to leave? The stunning spell I placed will not last for long,” Morgause said. There was the sound of a door opening and footsteps approaching.
“Tomorrow morning. We must still put on a show after all,” Nimueh replied, sounding much closer to Merlin than before. Taking it as his cue to leave, Merlin darted away down a different corridor.
It wasn't even five minutes later when he was grabbed from behind. With a yell, he tried to twist away from his attacker, fearing who it might turn out to be. But the person he was up against was big and solid, with a crushing grip. A hand was clamped over his mouth before he was turned to the person. His “attacker” was a young knight dressed in Leodegrance livery.
“Hush, Slave. My lady Gwen has sent me to take you to her. Do not make even one sound, is that clear?” Merlin nodded, though he wondered what business the lady would want with him of all people when Arthur was in danger. Then again, perhaps through her, he could discover what was going on and what lies Nimueh had fed the king. After a moment of scrutiny, the knight removed his hand and let go of him. “Come with me.”
Merlin was taken to Lady Gwen’s chambers, but they were empty of Gwen herself. The knight left him alone in the antechamber to wait for the lady’s return. But with every passing minute, Merlin grew more and more impatient. The High Priestesses had dark plans for Arthur; his chance eavesdropping left no room for doubt now. Arthur’s life was at stake, and Merlin was the only one who had even a fraction of a clue as to what to do. But instead of doing anything about it, Merlin was being forced to wait upon the desires of another noble.
He dropped down into one of the chairs around the antechamber’s table, resigning himself to the wait. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. He had no freedom as a slave; his actions were ultimately governed by the noblemen and virtually anyone ranked above him. This, however, did not stop him from incessantly tapping his foot as he sat with eyes trained on the doors of the chambers, as if he could will the prince’s fiancé to appear.
It was another five minutes before Lady Gwen showed up, stepping into her chambers with a calm sort of anger to her steps. Though her face and movements showed no outright fury, her eyes burned fire. She went right up to Merlin and gripped him by the shoulders, kneeling to his eye-level.
“You must have some idea of what is happening, Merlin. Tell me please, did he do it?” she demanded.
“He didn’t,” Merlin said.
“You swear on it? You really think he didn’t do it?” she asked again.
“Yes, I swear he didn’t. Arthur would never do such a thing.”
“I can’t understand it. How can you be so loyal to a man who claims ownership of you and treats you less than a dog? What has he done to receive such faith from you?”
“The prince is my master and I his slave. Loyalty is only expected. But I’ve seen the goodness in him. And he deeply cared for his uncle, like a second father. He wouldn’t have been able to kill Sir Tristan. Never.”
Gwen sank down into a chair with a sigh before remarking, “He is just so infuriating.”
“That’s Arthur for you, yes.”
“A completely rude, arrogant and pig-headed idiot.”
“Oh yes, definitely,” Merlin readily agreed.
“And yet, I still care for him,” Gwen admitted. “I don’t love him, not in that sort of way, but he’s family. I grew up with him; he is like a second brother to me.” She paused before looking at Merlin with wide eyes and saying, “….but you’re different. You actually love him, don’t you?”
“No!” Merlin practically squawked. “There are no such feelings between us! He is my master, and I am required to serve him. As long as I remain chained to him, such emotions cannot exist,” Merlin insisted. Gwen looked ready to argue, but he said, “We don’t have much time. You must have faith in him; he is not a kinslayer.”
“No, instead, the prince is a madman.”
“He’s not mad. There are reasons for his actions.”
“King Uther has judged him mad, and in this court, his judgment is what matters. Arthur is now a madman, and the king has chosen to send him away.”
To send him away? To where? With the Northumbrian?
“My lady-Gwen-you have to tell me all that has happened,” Merlin said, leaning forward.
“The royal family and I adjourned to private chambers, and the king demanded for the bandits to be caught and killed. He asked again if Arthur had been a part of the deed, but Arthur refused to give a straight answer. He kept saying it was his fault, no matter what the king or even the queen asked.”
“And then?”
“Then the chamberlain came and told Uther about Arthur’s recent behavior: the events with Sir Caradoc and Lord Rylan, his illness during petitions, his fits of rudeness and disrespect, and his sudden disappearances. Sir Leon confirmed everything, and then other men started accusing Arthur of things. It was ridiculous the lies they said of him.”
But they weren’t lies, really. Just the truth placed out of context. Just as the priestesses had no doubt wanted.
“And Arthur didn’t deny any of it. He looked in shock, really. The king and queen asked him to swear by the sword that he didn’t kill Sir Tristan, but Arthur refused to take the sword. He said he’d never take up a sword again. The king called him mad and asked for the physician to come. Lady Nimueh interrupted and offered another solution.”
It was then that Merlin made the final connection to his earlier overheard conversation.
“Nimueh offered to ‘cure’ him of his madness!” Merlin realized. “But to do so, she insisted on taking Arthur away, out of Camelot. Am I right?”
Gwen gaped at him before saying, “How did you know? What do you know about Nimueh?”
“I can explain later. Just tell me, is that what happened?”
“Yes…and left with no choice Uther agreed.”
“And Arthur did nothing about it?” Merlin questioned, not even bothering to hide the edge of panic setting in-or to use Arthur’s proper title it seemed.
“Well, Arthur just sort of woke up. He started raging, like nothing I’ve seen before. He refused to go with the Northumbrians. He started shouting things about priestesses and ‘old religion’ and curses. He even tried to attack them! It took all the guards in the room to stop him, and Leon…Sir Leon had to knock him out to keep him from attacking Nimueh. Gods, he looks ready to cry.”
“Where have they taken him?”
“The Western Tower,” Gwen replied, and Merlin made a move to stand but Gwen gripped his shoulders, stopping him. “They’ve put guards on the stairs up and at the door. No one but the king and queen and the Northumbrians are allowed up.”
“I’m a slave. I’m not anyone,” Merlin reasoned, trying to stand once again. Gwen pulled him back down into his chair.
“You must tell me what is happening first.” Merlin opened his mouth to argue that there wasn’t time but Gwen gave his a glare and said, “You know more than you’re saying, Merlin, and like I said, Arthur is family. If there’s something I can do, then I want to help.”
“You’ll think I’m mad, too.”
“Tell me,” Gwen insisted.
Merlin looked at Gwen warily, tempted to argue more, but she glared back at him, her eyes sparking and demanding a real answer. He’s seen her arguments with Arthur; he really had no choice in the matter. And perhaps, having help from someone in a position of power would be good. He nodded slowly before asking her:
“What do you know about sorcery?”
On to Part Six | Masterpost