Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 4a
Part 4
Freya takes a long time to heal from the wound. It seems to be more the emotional blow than the actual physical wound that has her abed for days. She hadn’t thought beyond Reynold’s lust and the bedchamber. She hadn’t seemed to realize Will’s secondary role to Kilgharrah, nor had she reckoned that Reynold would have the couch attacked nor Will’s role in defending her. She couldn’t forgiver herself for her role in Will’s death.
Kilgharrah, out of it with guilt and grief, tries to tend her, but he is the last person Freya wants to tend her. She had done it for love of Kilgharrah, but to indulge in his care hurts too much at the moment. Merlin tends her instead and acts as a go between for them. Slowly, he pries the story of that night from Kilgharrah.
He had arrived to see Will cornered and fighting four men while the driver had fled in fear. Kilgharrah doesn’t go into detail about his own part, saying only that he took down three of the four, the last man fleeing. Merlin has seen him fight before and knows that despite everything, Kilgharrah is still a soldier, a veteran of the Battle of Highpass.
Kilgharrah thought he had arrived in time, but he took in all of Will’s wounds, a dagger protruding from his side, stuck through the ribs into his lung. Will had taken two steps and had seemed to crumple to the cobblestones. Cursing, Kilgharrah had run to the man.
Will had known, had felt the carriage slow to a stop by the river, and had heard the approach of men, the jingle of metal on metal. He had shoved Freya out ahead of him, protecting her from the first attacker, slicing through the traces to pull the horse free. Freya had gotten her wound during this short pause, but Will just boosted her onto the horse and smacked it on the rump to get it moving, all the while fending off attacks.
He had told this to Kilgharrah before he died, though Freya filled in some of the gaps. Will had told him they were Reynold’s men, telling him that the driver had known what was about to happen. They had stayed there on the street the whole time Will spoke, hands on the dagger in Will’s chest. Finally, his breaths had grown short, hand falling away, his last words falling from his lips, “Draw out the dagger, my lord and let me go. The debt between us is settled.”
He died quickly and quietly after that, blood filling his lung and chocking out what little breath he had left. Kilgharrah wept, that much Merlin knew, though the man never said. He had found the driver cowering some distance away. “Tell your master, he will answer to me before the King’s justice or on the dueling field, but he will answer to me!” The man had only nodded and Kilgharrah had left, gathering up Will in his arms and laying him over the saddle to bring him home.
The household is on edge for days afterwards, mostly due to Freya and Kilgharrah’s moods. Merlin and the servants tend to Freya as best they can. Kilgharrah sent for some funeral men to come during this time to prepare Will. A pyre is to be held for him, the ultimate honor. His ashes will be returned to his family, any taint to his name now gone. Kilgharrah disappears on the second day only to return short-tempered and crackling with pent up magic and rage.
“Reynold?” Merlin asks.
Gone,” Kilgharrah says, fist slamming onto the table with a loud thump. “He and half his household packed up and left for Tintagel.”
Although Kilgharrah still had some influence, his web was mostly information and while that went to all corners of Albion, his reach did not. Reynold is safe in Tintagel. Kilgharrah continues to paces the study, clenched fist held behind his back.
“No more assignations, not until Reynold is brought to justice. I will not risk either of you,” he says, turning burning amber eyes onto Merlin.
“You mean you don’t know?” Merlin asks.
“Know what?” Kilgharrah asks, coming to a stop.
“Reynold’s patron gift, it paid the rest of Freya’s Mearcung. It was the other half of her price,” he says softly, watching Kilgharrah shift restlessly.
“Why? Why would she do this?” he asks.
“For you,” Merlin says, realizing how blind Kilgharrah really has been this whole time.
Kilgharrah settles into the chair behind him, rubbing at his brow. “I never asked her to take such a risk. Either of you and she knows that.”
“We both know this, which is exactly why she didn’t tell you and had me swear silence. Freya was not meant for this kind of homage to the balance, not like I am. She did it though, to pay a debt she owed to you.”
Merlin can hear the small hiss of breath as Kilgharrah registers Merlin’s words, similar to Will’s. “There has never been a debt between us. My duty lay elsewhere with her.”
“In the promise you made to Queen Ygraine de la Pendragon?”
“She was my charge,” he says in a harsh whisper. His shoulders sag. “Oh, young warlock, I have trained you too well, it seems. Freya should have known there is no debt between us.”
“Then perhaps she was right and you should have trained her in battle magic instead of sex magic,” Merlin says bluntly, ignoring the way his cruel words cause Kilgharrah to flinch ever so slightly. He can still remember the night still fresh in his mind: Freya in his arms, her blood seeping out hot and slick between his fingers, the cold flag stones beneath his knees. It is not something he will forget or forgive anytime soon.
“Perhaps, you are right,” he says not even defending himself against Merlin’s words.
Sighing, Merlin leans forward. “Freya made her choice, my lord. Do not demean it because you do not like what she chose. She is grieving for her part in Will’s death. Let her have her space, she will come around soon.”
“You have the right of it, young warlock,” Kilgharrah says softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Freya’s Mearcung is made. And you?”
“I have pledged myself to the balance,” he says gently. “You cannot absolve me of my pledge any more than you could Freya.”
Kilgharrah shakes his head to clear it. “No, I won’t, but my word stands. No more assignations until Reynold is brought to justice.” Standing, he starts to make his way to his desk, dismissing Merlin. Merlin clears his throat. “Yes?” he asks.
“There is the delegate who has recently returned from the mainland,” Merlin says. “The one who developed…exotic tastes…in his posting? He is reporting to Uther in ten days and I have been contracted for him.”
“Ah yes, Duc L’Ector’s little lordling, Lucan Maris I believe,” he says leaning against the table. “I’d forgotten about him. D’Cote must have recommended you.” Sighing, he pushes off of the table. “We will wait and see. If we need to, we can claim a tragedy in the household. We shall see.”
Merlin bows his head in acquiescence, not wanting to push his master any further. Feeling Kilgharrah’s gaze on him, Merlin glances up. “Do not do this for my sake, Merlin. If you do this only for an oath, then we will talk with the priests and priestess of the Old Religion to absolve you. Surely the Balance will not disfavor you for that.”
Merlin stares silently at Kilgharrah and can feel his magic stirring inside. He knows his eyes are glowing gold from the slight inhale of Kilgharrah’s breath. An image comes forth, a golden scale held precariously on a woman’s hand. Thinking of Freya and Will, Merlin shakes his head. “No, my lord. You yourself named me for what I am, a tool of the Balance. This is how I serve it, whether it be in your name or its.”
Sighing, Kilgharrah nods. “So be it, but you must wait for my word,” he says softly. He dismisses Merlin then, reaching forward to pull a piece of parchment towards him.
~*~
There is no funeral service. The only family Will has left is his mother and she lives in Escetia, too far away to make it in time. It also seems cruel to hold it with Freya unable to attend. Kilgharrah pays for everything, no expense spared. His ashes are sent to his mother to be buried on their family’s land.
A week goes by, and Freya’s wound slowly heals. With no true skill for healing magic, Merlin is forced to do things by hand. He checks her wound daily, soaking the bandages off and working as quickly as possible to keep her feeling too much pain. There will be a scar, but, she will live.
Freya never complains, even when Merlin fumbles and pulls a bandage too hard. She even laughs a little when Merlin sniffs at the wound, checking for infection.
“Some physician you’d make,” she says playfully as she leans against a mound of pillows. The laugh pulls on her stiches and she grimaces in pain.
“Stop that,” Merlin admonishes her as he picks up a pot of salve to slather on the wound. It looks horrid now that it has scabbed over, a dark jagged line of red against her pale skin. “If you want better, ask Kilgharrah.” Freya stiffens and then shakes her head mulishly. Glancing at her, Merlin sighs and goes back to what he is doing.
“Will made his own choices too,” Merlin reminds her. He presses a fresh wad of cloth to the wound to cover it up before wrapping a bandage around her torso. “He knew the risks, after all he was the one hired to kill Kilgharrah and it was Kilgharrah who forgave and took him in. You acting like this just diminish the sacrifice he made for you.”
“It still does not excuse my mistake,” she says softly, looking away from Merlin, her eyes wet.
“Because the great Freya does not make mistakes like us lesser mortals. You think you are berating yourself over your failure. Just think of what Kilgharrah is doing to himself for not realizing your dislike of homage through sex magic. I think you should talk to him,” Merlin says softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm.
For a second, it looks like she is about to give in and then her face hardens as she shrugs off his hand. Unrelenting, Merlin stands and continues around the room, cleaning up what needs to be cleaned up and such.
“Why do you think Kilgharrah is so intent on finding out Ygraine de la Pendragon’s killer?” Merlin asks after some time in silence.
“I don’t know. I do know that Agravaine has always been ambitious and is angry that he is second and will never gain a throne while both his sister and brother have. And with his father out of the way and with his brother having no heirs, maybe he thought taking his sister out meant that he didn’t need to worry about her sons becoming competition for his bid for the Bois throne,” she says thoughtfully.
“Perhaps Kilgharrah loved Ygraine?” Merlin thinks aloud.
“You think? He has always been touchy around her name. It would explain a lot,” she says. “You’re mad to think that,” she says, biting her lip.
“Well, if you want to find out, you’ll just have to ask him, now won’t you,” Merlin says with a small smile at her. “Besides, you have a far better chance of getting it out of him than me.”
They have been trained by a master to this, to maneuver with words to reach a goal. Freya blinks up at him and laughs before gasping as her stiches pull again but she can’t stop chuckling. “Oh, I can see why they ask for you again and again. If I had half you gift, mayhap none of this would have happened.”
“I would that you did, or at least took half the pleasure in it that I do,” Merlin says softly, laying a hand on her arm again. This time she doesn’t shrug it off. “Talk to him,” Merlin says gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
~*~
Healing takes time, but Merlin and Kilgharrah could not put off Lucan Maris any longer, though the day before the day of, Merlin thinks Kilgharrah is going to cancel. Finally though, the day arrives and Kilgharrah gives the go ahead, but with a long speech about putting his safety over that of getting information. Merlin nods and accepts the hired guard Kilgharrah has hired without a single protest.
Merlin ignores the man the whole ride there, though he misses Will’s easy silence. Lord Lucan Maris is in the castle itself. A page waits for them in the front courtyard and leads the way through the many corridors to where Maris is waiting in his own rooms.
Lucan Maris is Albion through and through, but he has grown plump on the hospitality of the Emperor of Rome. He gestures them in graciously, sending Merlin’s guard off with a servant to be seen to in the kitchens until Merlin is finished.
“Merlin nó Emrys, I would appreciate if you would put these on.” He hands Merlin a stack of clothing. The main piece is a long tunic of off white that gathers at both shoulders with bronze ornaments. A braided leather belt cinches the loose cloth around his waist. Simple leather arm bands, thin strip of leather with a clasp for a collar and sandals are the last and Merlin looks at himself in the mirror, seeing a Roman slave staring back.
Smiling, Merlin turns back around, sinking into the persona of his character, casting his eyes down in a demure stance. Maris had disappeared while Merlin changed, but he soon reemerged, dressed in the flowing toga of a senator, the cloth cinching at the waist with a belt and gathering on one shoulder.
He herds Merlin into the bed chamber, the whole room decorated in the Roman fashion. Kneeling on a purposefully placed cushion beside a low backed couch, Merlin attends Maris, waiting for his first move. Merlin spends part of the time just serving the man or kneeling quietly beside him as he reads through a scroll.
But soon though, he sets it aside, turning to look at Merlin. Merlin had prepared himself in advance and is glad for the preparation for Maris takes him with two years’ pent up vigor. While it is not hard to find bed companions in Rome, many are wary around foreigners and as an ambassador of Camelot, he had had to remain chaste to keep from allowing a weakness in the bloodthirsty empire.
Soon after, they lie together amidst a mound of cushions and sheets, cloths gone. “What was it like, on the mainland?” Merlin asks innocently, pressed along Maris’s side, running absentminded fingers in random patterns over his chest.
“It is a harsh place ruled completely by politics and the Emperor rules with an iron fist. I never understood Listinoise’s poem until poem about longing for home until now. She was but a day’s sail away from home and felt it like a knife in the heart. I was so far away and it felt like I would never return,” Maris says gruffly, laying his hand on Merlin’s and squeezing it tightly.
It is easier than Merlin reckoned to put his and Kilgharrah’s plan into action. “Does that mean Duc L’Ector misses Albion as much as you did? I know he has been on the mainland for some time gathering alliances.”
“Oh, the Duc, he is a wanderer at heart and would prosper anywhere. The Emperor himself even gave him some lands and men-at-arms for deeds rendered.” Maris stops for a second. “But word has reached him of the fall of House Escetia. He has ties to them, you know, through marriage on his mother’s side. I think it has reminded him of his cousin Ygraine, how he loved that girl. I think he has realized how much he misses Albion. Once his daughter has been wed, he wishes to relinquish his position and return. That is why I am here, to petition Uther for his return.”
Merlin looks up at him. “The Duc’s daughter is to be wed?”
Maris nods. “Indeed, to the son of one of the Emperor’s wives.” Reaching down, he pulls Merlin up his body. “Do what you did last time, but make it last longer.” Merlin does in full, leaving a smile on Maris’s face.
“Oh, Merlin, you are indeed a splendid gift. If…if Duc L’Ector’s request is granted and I come back, may I contract you again?”
“My lord Maris, I have no say in my patrons. It is my lord Kilgharrah who picks from them from all the great houses who I am to go to. Was it one such who recommended me?” Merlin asks, helping the man into his robe.
“It was…someone highly placed in the court. I have gold aplenty and will surely be landed what with all that the Duc and I have accomplished in relations with the Emperor.”
Merlin holds his tongue on his thoughts about the Duc’s daughter’s marriage and says instead, “Indeed. But there is something for which my lord Kilgharrah would be most appreciative.”
“What?” he asks, gripping Merlin’s arm. “If it is in my power I will do it.”
“There is an…old quarrel…between my lord and the Duc,” Merlin says, looking solemnly at Maris. “It is not something to be easily overlooked, but my lord would wish it be known that he is willing to take steps towards bringing peace between the two houses.”
“The Emrys House is not a noble house,” Maris says and Merlin sees the shrewdness in his eyes that must have made him perfect for delegate for the mainland. “Kilgharrah…” he stops for a second. “Is your lord prepared to give his earnest word in this?”
“My lord is an honorable man. He would not ask of peace in jest,” Merlin defends.
Maris is silent for a few seconds. “I will mention it should such an occasion arise. You will see me again, then?”
“Yes my lord,” Merlin agrees easily. Grinning like a love-struck lad, he walks to the mantle above his fireplace where a coffer sits. Plunging his hands into it, he pulls out two handfuls of golden pieces bearing the profile of the Roman Emperor. Merlin holds out his tunic quickly as Maris spills them onto his lap.
“That should satisfy. Even should you forget your promise, this will leave you something to remember me by. I will leave an offering to the Balance in your name.”
Gathering his cupped tunic into one hand, Merlin stands and places a kiss on the man’s cheek. “You have paid homage three times this day, my lord. Surely the scales are tipped in your favor greatly now.” Maris blushes at Merlin’s words and calls the servants.
~*~
Kilgharrah dismisses Merlin guard once they are home. Merlin is glad to see him gone for the man just seemed to grate on his nerves, even if he spoke not a word. Maybe he should leave word with Gwaine to see if the man could find someone more suitable. With these thoughts in mind, he follows Kilgharrah out into the courtyard at his beckons.
Freya is there already, tucked under a blanket to ward against the autumn chill in the air. She has much improved, though she is still a bit pale. She smiles briefly at Merlin as he passes to take a seat.
“How fares Kay l’Ector?” Kilgharrah asks without preamble.
“The Duc is missing home and is minded to relinquish his position to return to Albion. He will leave in his stead one daughter, married to a son of one of the Emperor’s wives.”
“House L’Ector and the Empire allied? Morgause would be furious if she were alive. It’s no surprise that Kay is ready to come home. He got the alliance he went there for.” Kilgharrah lights his pipe and takes a drag from it.
“My lord, is this why you wish to make peace? To gain influence on the mainland?” Merlin asks.
“I did not know of this marriage until tonight,” Kilgharrah says. “It is not that.” His gaze turns thoughtful and distant. “The Duc and I have never been friends, but he stands to gain from my goals. It is time enough to put an end to this bad blood between us. Was Lord Maris agreeable to your suggestion?”
“He will speak to him, though he makes no promises. Still, I think today will be more than enough to motivate him and I made it clear enough where my loyalties lie. But I am not adverse to his gold.”
“Or his company?” Freya speaks up, a small smile on her face.
Merlin just shrugs. “He is easy to please. I have done more on some occasions and gotten less out of it. Besides, from this patron gift alone, my Mearcung will grow two more inches.”
Kilgharrah snorts out a puff of smoke. “You may keep your promise to him…but only once more, I think, unless he rises higher. I wish all your patrons are as harmless as him.”
“Anyone who is cornered is dangerous, my lord. I have learned that the hard way,” Freya says solemnly. “What do we do now?”
“Now? We wait and see how our hand plays out,” Kilgharrah says, blowing a smoke ring.
~*~
A few weeks ago by before official word of Tamara l’Ector’s marriage to the Emperor’s son reaches Camelot. Uther gives his blessing to the union and Duc L’Ector petition is granted, though Uther warns off Kay from gaining monopoly of the mainland. He sends a replacement ambassador with no ties to the Duc and who is loyal to Camelot.
Kilgharrah keeps his plans close to his chest and being forbidden assignations and even trips to see Gwen or Gwaine are denied. Merlin is forced to remain inside. He spends more time than he used to studying. He practices diligently at his crafts learned at the Court and here in Kilgharrah’s home.
Freya heals quickly in this time and though the air is still dark between her and Kilgharrah, the tension has broken. Will’s death is still fresh and will take time to heal, but for the moment, they are at ease. Soon after she is well enough to walk, Kilgharrah takes her to the village Alice took Merlin to those times before.
What happened between her and the Balance there, Merlin will never know, but she returns three days later. She looks better, some of the guilt that had been weighing her down is gone and it shows. Though Freya is in lockdown like Merlin, Kilgharrah does gift her with a fine chestnut palfrey, the horse a sweet and docile creature. It is customary to present a gift to one who has completed their Mearcung. Merlin hadn’t known that Kilgharrah knew of the practices of the Court.
Technically, her Mearcung wasn’t finished as her wound prevented it, but the money was there and Kilgharrah would not deny her that much after all she had done to get him the information he so desired. Merlin bored out of his mind by then, reminds Kilgharrah of his own filled coffer from Maris’s patron gift. Relenting, he hires a guard to escort Merlin to the tattooist shop where the next section of his Mearcung is inked into his back.
When Merlin returns, one of the servants is waiting for him. “Lord Emrys will see you in the study,” he says. Hoping that Kilgharrah is finally about to relent on his “no assignation” command Merlin hurries to the study, ignoring the tenderness in his back.
“You sent for me, my lord?” Merlin says once he shuts the door behind him.
“I did, sit,” he says and motions toward the chair across from him. “Before I say anything further, I must ask you once again: is it still your will to pursue this service, knowing the dangers I ask of you to walk willingly into?”
“You know it is,” Merlin says, hope budding in his chest.
Kilgharrah nods. “Very well,” he says, looking past Merlin for a second before continuing. “I am not minded to make the same mistake twice. Henceforth, you shall have a companion with you at all times you leave these ground. I have arranged for you to be warded by a knight of the Round Table Brotherhood.”
“You must be joking,” Merlin says, feeling the glimmer of hope for freedom dying away at Kilgharrah’s words.
Kilgharrah smirks, “I would never jest over the safety of you.”
“My lord…you would have me shadowed by some over-zealous, muscle-bound, idiot of a knight?” Merlin says in outrage, ignoring the guilty twine as he remembers the Gwen’s brother is a knight. “On an assignation?”
“Uther de la Pendragon and Morgana de la Pendragon are both in attendance by a knight at all times. You should be honored.” His smirk just keeps growing.
“Will was trained by the Knight Brothers and look what happened to him! Do you really think I would be any safer with another knight?” Merlin asks, unable to get past the shock of the thought of someone in that black tunic standing behind him as he flirted with a patron.
Kilgharrah just smirks again, looking past Merlin.
“If this man Will was expelled when he was fourteen,” a bored voice drawls out behind him, “than he had only just begun the training to become a knight.”
Jumping, Merlin glares at Kilgharrah and turns around quickly.
The man standing in the shadows behind Merlin bows to them in the traditional manner of the knights, one arm across his black tunic, the other resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist. Light from the window glints off of the chainmail peeking out from under his tunic and on the back of his leather gloves. He straightens and looks at Merlin.
“Merlin nó Emrys,” he speaks out formally, “I am Arthur du Bois of the Round Table Brotherhood. It is my privilege to attend.”
Arthur neither looks nor sounds like he means it, his jaw clenching around the words, mouth thinning into a thin white line.
It is a beautiful mouth.
Merlin can’t help but stare at Arthur du Bois. He has very noble features, the strong jaw, proudly arched nose, shining blond hair and glowing blue eyes under golden brows and lashes. His skin is an even tan that speaks of one who works outside often. At the moment, those eyes have barely concealed dislike in them.
“Arthur here tells me that what happened to Will and Freya would never have happened to someone with the true training of a knight. I have tested my blade against his and am satisfied with his skill.” A knight never draws his sword unless to kill, Merlin had heard it once, when he was a child. They are said to fight with their sword still sheathed.
Merlin glances at Arthur’s sword and sees the strip of leather locking his sword in place in its sheath. “He bested you, my lord with a still sheathed sword?”
Kilgharrah says nothing, nodding towards Arthur who bows again. “Lifwraþu, I protect and serve,” Arthur says simply.
Taking a seat so he can see both of them, Merlin leans back, ignoring the ache where the back of the chair rubs at his Mearcung. “He is certainly pretty enough, my lord. At least he won’t scare away my patrons. If you will, then so be it. Is there an offer to entertain?”
Merlin notices Arthur glaring at him from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t react. Kilgharrah smirks and Merlin knows he can see it. “There are many offers to choose from, but there is a matter that is of more importance to see to.”
Merlin nods. “In the name of the Balance, I-,”
“Enough,” Kilgharrah says, though his smirk doesn’t leave his face. “Merlin, you of all people should know not to mock those in service.” He turns to look at Arthur, “I have spoken with your captain and he has deemed this matter worthy of the Brotherhoods attention. Should you question his judgment, you are in question of heresy.”
Arthur nods his head curtly and bows again.
Merlin turns to look at Kilgharrah, “What is it?”
“The Duc L’Ector is due to return in a fortnight. I would like you to request of Lord Breunor d’Cote that he send word to the Duc of my desire to meet up with him.”
Merlin blinks for a second, processing his word, “But what about all that work done on Lucas Maris?”
“Because Kay will listen to D’Cote,” Kilgharrah answers. “Maris is only in a minor position and L’Ector would dismiss him out of hand. With his new alliance, he has grown much in power and I cannot have him dismiss this request. D’Cote is the one who got the Duc his appointment on the mainland. Kay will listen to him, thus I need you to convince Breunor d’Cote.”
“Then he will know,” Merlin says simply.
“Thus my reason for waiting until the Brotherhood’s answer. Do you think he will harm you?”
Merlin glances to the side at Arthur who has been listening the whole time. “Perhaps…not. D’Cote has known from the beginning I am part of your game, but doesn’t know which part.”
“Then go to him,” Kilgharrah says curtly. “Uther de la Pendragon ails and time grows short. Let this be done.”
“There is no assignation?” Merlin asks.
“It is better to surprise him. Do you think he will not let you in?”
Merlin remembers D’Cote, his gifts sent after he had hurt Merlin with the poker. “He will my lord, but what am I to say for bait?”
“Ask him to tell Duc L’Ector that I know who killed his cousin.”
~*~
They waste no time in leaving. The carriage is readied and soon Merlin and Arthur are on their way across the city to the castle itself. Merlin s dressed simply for once, though his cloak stands out no matter what he wears and people know him for what he is. Beside him, Arthur cuts a somber figure in his black tunic and dark grey breeches and boots. His sword hangs at his waist.
Unsure if Arthur has ever been in the castle, Merlin plows on, uncaring if Arthur gets caught up by the splendor. If he gets lost, Merlin will just have to find him later. Arthur though seems unfazed and sticks to Merlin like a shadow.
At D’Cote’s quarters, the servant blinks at the two of them standing in the doorway. “My lord Merlin nó Emrys,” the servant says erring on the safe side. Merlin has no title, just Kilgharrah’s name, but the servants do not know that, mostly due to Will. Merlin forces the lump from his throat as his thoughts lead back to Will. Now is not the time. “My lord D’Cote is not expecting you.”
“I know,” Merlin says, straightening with as much dignity. “Will you send word with my request asking if he might spare a moment of his time?”
“Of course, if you will wait here,” he says, letting them in the door and shutting it behind them. They did not wait long before the servant came back, D’Cote right behind him. “Merlin, what is it?” he asks, voice concerned.
Merlin quickly bows to the man, Arthur following on enough to nod his head. “Enough of your games, why have you come? Did Kilgharrah send you?” D’Cote asks.
“Yes, my lord, may I speak with you in private?” Merlin asks.
“Of course, this way,” he says and starts to lead Merlin away.
Arthur clears his throat loudly, “My lord, I have sworn an oath.”
Sending an assessing glance at Arthur he shrugs, “If you must knight.” He leads them down the hall to where his study is. It is a well-kept room, everything the neatness of a man who has need of organization.
Two men-at-arms follow them in, shutting the door behind them. As D’Cote takes a seat, Merlin wastes no time, falling to his knees gracefully to kneel in front of the man. “My lord Kilgharrah sends me to beg a boon.”
“Kilgharrah begs a boon? What is it he wants?” The man asks, leaning back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other.
“He desires a meeting with Duc Kay l’Ector. He asks that you act as go-between in this matter,” Merlin says.
D’Cote leans forward, hands braced on his knees as his eyes narrow. “How does…you!” he spits out. Merlin should have seen it coming. D’Cote is a soldier and a hunter, he has seen time and again his ability, but D’Cote’s speed still takes him by surprise.
D’Cote has Merlin in his grasp before he can blink, bent over his knee, knife pressing against the base of his throat. Merlin can feel it split the skin slightly, a bead of blood flowing across his skin to pool in the hollow of his throat.
“All this time, you have played me the fool, little warlock. Well there is no contract now and no word you can say to stop me from applying my own justice,” D’Cote hisses out.
“There is one,” Arthur says, bowing his bow at the worst moment, or so Merlin thinks, but as he rises, his sheathed blade springs forth from his belt in a blur. “Lifwraþu.”
From his strained position, Merlin can only see it out of his peripheral. The men-at-arms step forward to attack. Arthur moves like the wind and lightening, his sheathed sword flicking out like a snake’s strike to land solid blows that bring down the men before they can even draw their own blades.
The dagger at Merlin’s throat rises as D’Cote starts to stand, but Arthur bats it out of his hand before he can do much else. Finished, he returns his sword to his belt with a bow, “I protect and serve. Merlin nó Emrys was speaking.”
“Fine,” D’Cote say, releasing Merlin as he wrings his hand. The Men-at-arms are still picking themselves up. “Kilgharrah is serious if he has contracted a knight to you protection. What makes you so sure I serve Kay l’Ector?”
“You spoke it, my lord. The night you…took up the poker.” Merlin hears Arthur’s sharp intake of breath but ignores him. He cannot be distracted at the moment.
“You heard that?” D’Cote asks in awe.
“You have known since the beginning that I was Kilgharrah’s bait. Did you think you could play with magic and not be snared?” Merlin asks, glancing up from his kneeling position.
The room is silent, the tension mounting. Merlin hears Arthur shift, the leather of his gloves creaking as he grips the hilt of his sword harshly. Suddenly, D’Cote laughs and the tension drains from the air. “Snares indeed. I’ve known since I first saw you that I was in your trap. Though they are Kilgharrah’s own snares, not magic.”
“I have been taught many things by Kilgharrah, but I am what I was born to be,” Merlin says.
Grunting, he motions for Merlin to stand. “If you wish to petition me, you will do it seated in a chair, not as a heap upon the floor.” Merlin stands gracefully, trying to hide the fact that his knees are still shaking. “Now, what does Kilgharrah want with Kay and what makes him think that the Duc will listen?”
“What he wants, I cannot say for he keeps his thought close. What he offers is all I have.”
“And that is?” D’Cote asks.
“Kilgharrah knows who killed the Duc’s cousin,” Merlin says, playing his last card.
D’Cote is quiet for some time before he finally stirs. “Why does he not take this to Uther?”
“There is no proof,” Merlin admits.
“And why do you think Kay will believe it with no proof?”
“Because it is true,” Merlin says quickly, trying to convince this man. “I know it is true because it was gotten the same way I learned of your patron, Kay l’Ector.”
“By you?” he asks.
“By another,” Merlin says, not wanting to reveal Freya’s role in this.
“Ah, the female,” he says but Merlin says nothing. “They have been enemies for a long time, why would Kilgharrah…” D’Cote stops and sigh, drawing out Kilgharrah’s name a second time like a curse. “Very well. I will grant that old dragon this boon, but I make no promise. Though I’m sure the Duc will want to hear what Kilgharrah has to say. Tell your master I will speak to Kay.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you,” Merlin says, bowing as he stood back up.
Merlin holds out a hand as Arthur shifts when D’Cote stands. The man comes forward to stand before Merlin. “You have much to answer for, warlock,” he says, running a finger underneath Merlin’s gold speckled blue eye.
“I know, my lord,” Merlin says, feeling the magic in him stirring. There is a balance that must be righted between him and D’Cote and one day he must face this man. Grinning evilly, he pats Merlin’s cheek sharply and steps back, ignoring Arthur’s glare.
“Tell Kilgharrah I will send word,” He says, taking his seat again. “Now get out of my sight.”
They obey quickly, Arthur gripping Merlin’s arm harshly and dragging him along. Once the door is shut, he turns to glare at Merlin, uncaring about them being in the middle of the corridor of the castle. “You call that homage to the balance?” he hisses out.
Yanking his arm out of Arthur’s grip, Merlin glares back. “No, I call that service to Kilgharrah who owns my Mearcung, and if you cannot stomach it, then I suggest you take it up with your captain. But until then, stop blabbering in the hall!” Merlin hisses and starts to storm off.
Arthur soon catches up and starts to pull away, ignoring the glare Merlin sends at his back. They walk in silence for a few minutes before someone calls out Merlin’s name. “Merlin!”
Merlin turns to see Nimueh de l’Isle at the intersection of another hall. Merlin pauses to speak with her and Arthur doesn’t stop, just keeps walking. “What brings you to the castle?” she asks as Merlin stops before her.
“My lady, you would need to speak with Kilgharrah and not me to find out.” Merlin says, mind still reeling from before. Even her magic is not enough to completely derail him from his thoughts.
“And I will, when I see him next.” She smirks at him and reaches out to finger his cloak. “Such a beautiful color. I am so glad Kilgharrah was able to find someone who is still able to create the dye. I have been meaning to visit, but I have been needed in Escetia recently, though I have heard of the tragedy in your household. Convey my regards to Freya, will you?”
“I will, my lady,” Merlin says while wondering just how she found out when only those in the household knew of Will’s death.
Footsteps sound behind Merlin and Arthur storms back into view, face the picture of arrogant impatience. He makes a curt bow to Nimueh once he stops behind Merlin. Nimueh arches a brow at Merlin, “The knight serves you?” Merlin can only shrug, unsure of what to say.
“I protect and serve,” Arthur supplies.
Nimueh’s laughter rings out, a true laugh and it bounces off of the walls. “Oh, Kilgharrah, you priceless man,” she gasps out.
Merlin can hear Arthur’s teeth grinding together and Merlin knows he needs to make a hasty retreat before Arthur explode or cracks a tooth. “My lady, I will inform Kilgharrah of your words,” Merlin says, drawing her attention away from Arthur.
It works and she turns back to Merlin, still smiling. “I hope to see you soon, Merlin,” she says softly. Merlin nods and bows as she walks away.
“Who was that?” Arthur asks once they finally reach the main courtyard and their carriage.
Merlin shifts slightly in his seat in the carriage. “That was Lady Nimueh de l’Isle, probably the most dangerous sorceress you will ever meet,” Merlin says softly.
“The one who testified against the Escetian throne?” he asks.
“The very one,” Merlin says.
~*~
Kilgharrah is waiting when they return, pacing the length of his study, puffing furiously on his pipe. As they enter, he turns sharply and asks, “Well, will he do it?”
Before Merlin can answer, Arthur steps forward, sweeping down to kneel in front of Kilgharrah. His sword, still sheathed, rests on his upwards raised palms. “My lord, I have failed in my duties and offer up my sword,” he says solemnly, shoulders tight.
“What are you talking about, foolish boy?” Kilgharrah asks, staring down at the knight.
“Show him,” Arthur says, glancing back at Merlin from the corner of his eye.
Merlin blinks, reaching up a hand to finger at his throat. “This? This is nothing coming from D’Cote. Besides, you kept him from doing worse.”
“D’Cote drew a blade on you?” Kilgharrah asks.
“Yes, when I explained my part in your game, but Arthur-,”
“He drew blood,” Arthur buts in. “Not only that, in my anger, I let him out of my sight.”
“Nimueh,” is all Merlin says in explanation. “She sends her regards,” she informs Freya and Kilgharrah. “Arthur is being melodramatic. He served me well and was just taken by surprise.”
“Well lad, it seems you are well defended yourself. If Merlin says you did your duty, than I am satisfied. That you kept a calm head under such conditions and against D’Cote is no mean feat. I am not displeased. Now, what about L’Ector?” he asks, turning away from Arthur’s knelt form to look at Merlin.
“I was able to convince D’Cote enough. He will deliver your message,” Merlin says, removing his cloak and settling into a chair.
“Good,” Kilgharrah says, some of the tension in him leaving. Merlin wonders what is so important that Kilgharrah avenge the queen’s death even after so many years. “You are dismissed.”
“What, but I thought that-,” Merlin starts.
“No, not until I meet with L’Ector. Things have been shaken up like a hornets nest and until they settle, I will not risk you.”
Merlin sighs, “Very well.”
~*~
Merlin bemoans his confinement, sending glares at Arthur and Freya who seem to have struck up a friendship. Arthur spends his mornings practicing with his sword. Merlin spends much of his time watching from a shadowed corner, watching the beauty and grace of Arthur moving through each form fluidly.
Merlin isn’t expecting it when one day, Arthur chucks a wooden stick at him. Merlin barely catches it before it hits his head. He blinks in confusion, wondering when Arthur snuck up on him. “You might as well make yourself useful and help me with my exercises. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something,” Arthur says and smirks.
Ten minutes later and Merlin is lying on the ground, winded with Freya’s laughter ringing in his ears and Kilgharrah standing off to the side, smirking. Pushing himself up with a huff, he chucks the sword at Arthur and walks back over to where Kilgharrah is standing. “Not bad for a first time, young warlock,” he says with a smirk.
“Oh, hush,” Merlin gripes. He turns to see Arthur showing Freya the proper way to hold the sword. Merlin snorts, “She would scandalize the Brotherhood if they saw her learning sword craft.”
“Indeed she would, but it is too late to be of any use now. She is too old to begin the training, even if she was a boy,” Kilgharrah says with a small smile.
“She wouldn’t want to though. After all, she’s in love with you,” Merlin says nonchalantly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“With me?” Kilgharrah asks, looking for once like he was truly startled. “Why would she be in love with me?”
Merlin glances up at him from under his lashes as he listened to Freya laugh. “Because you took her in when others cast her out. If you truly think she would not love you, than you are not the man I thought you to be.”
With a slight bow of his head, Merlin leaves Kilgharrah to his thoughts, his brows drawn in concentration, amber eyes trained on Freya. ‘I hope you thank me for this, Freya,’ Merlin thinks with a sad smile. He can feel his magic stirring restlessly under his skin and wants to get out. Slipping out while everyone is occupied in the back, he is out the door and in a carriage before anyone can notice his absence.
Gwaine isn’t home, and ignoring his mother’s raised brow, Merlin finds him quickly, tucked away in their usual tavern. Merlin enters it to a cacophony of noise. Someone is playing a fiddle and a chorus of yells, groans and hollers accompany the music. Underneath it all, Merlin can make out the sound of dice in a cup.
A familiar voice yells out in triumph and the crowd parts to allow Merlin a glimpse of Gwaine seated at the table, grinning ear to ear as he pulls his winnings close, sliding them into a pouch. Only about a quarter actually go into the pouch as Gwaine uses sleight of hand to deposit the rest in safe places all over his body.
He glances up and sees Merlin standing there. With a final flourish and a toss of his hair, he stands, coming over. “Merlin!” He hugs the warlock tight. “Where have you been? Were you so much trouble to Will that he locked you up?” Gwaine jokes, gripping Merlin by the shoulders and tugging him over to their table.
Merlin feels heat behind his eyes and has to blink and swallow before he can speak properly without breaking down. Shaking his head mutely, he grips Gwaine’s hand and moving past their corner; he leads them to the very back of the tavern, their backs to the wall. Gwaine listens silently as Merlin relates all that has happened since he last saw his friend.
“I always knew Kilgharrah was tied up in Pendragon politics. The question is why? Why block off all his doors into society and then give him a back door?” Gwaine asks, looking gravely at the warlock.
“I hate riddles,” Merlin mutters, rubbing at tired eyes. “I’ve done nothing but think on them this entire time.”
“What you need is to relax and get your mind off of Kilgharrah and politics for a while,” Gwaine says with a grin, standing. He tugs at Merlin’s arm until the warlock is standing. “Come, dance with me. Soon you won’t be thinking of riddles.”
“I can’t,” Merlin protests, but still allows his friend to pull him onto the floor. Yells and shouts erupt as people see what they intend to do, the fiddler joined by someone on a drum. Merlin dances with too many people to properly remember and by the time he’s released, Merlin is winded, sweat dripping off of his brow as he steps off of the dance floor with Gwaine.
They never make it to their seats, a commotion outside drawing them out. Merlin can only blink and laugh at the sight that greets him. Arthur is stranded in the middle of a troupe of acrobats and magic users. As he watches, one of the girls flips and lands on his shoulders, hands flying up to release a torrent of illusionary butterflies whirling around them.
“Should we rescue him?” Merlin asks Gwaine, turning away slightly to see his friend’s face.
“You know him?” Gwaine asks.
“Unfortunately,” Merlin says with a sigh. Stepping forward, he lets his magic snap out, cutting through the illusion and the butterflies burst into sparks and then fade to nothing. The crowd that has gathered goes silent as they take in the new arrival.
“Get off of me!” Arthur growls, tossing the girl from his shoulders and she falls with a thud and rolls away to spring back up with a bound, all smiles and flourishes of her hands.
“No need to hurt a lady, princess,” Gwaine mocks, coming to stand beside Merlin.
Arthur shoots Gwaine a glare and turns to Merlin. “We’re leaving.”
“No,” Merlin says, sending a glare of his own at Arthur. “As you can see I am in no danger, so Kilgharrah shouldn’t be such a worrywart.”
“Damnit, Merlin, just get in the carriage,” Arthur hisses out, grabbing Merlin’s arm and tugging him forward.
They don’t make it two steps before Gwaine’s hand lands heavily on Arthur’s shoulder, gripping harshly, stopping the knight. “If he does not want to go with you, you cannot force him,” Gwaine says softly.
Merlin lets out a tired sigh, all the cheerfulness from before fading away, leaving him feeling empty, “Just leave it Gwaine. I’ll see you later.”
Sending one last look at Merlin, Gwaine lets go and steps away, eyes looking worried. Merlin waves once before Arthur and he disappear around the corner where the carriage is waiting.
The ride back is silent, Arthur’s fury near palpable from his seat opposite. His hand is a vice around Merlin’s arm as he marches the warlock to the study. Merlin is expecting anger for his disappearing act, but all he is met with is Kilgharrah’s cool gaze as he takes in their arrival.
He holds a scroll of parchment in his hand. “He has answered. Duc L’Ector will see me in two days.”
“That is good,” Merlin says, unsure of what more to say.
Kilgharrah flicks his eyes back to Merlin, a glimmer of smoldering anger just visible. “I warned you once, Merlin and I will not warn you again. Do not leave these grounds without my permission or I will sell your Mearcung.”
Merlin’s knees go a little weak, but he answers steadily, “Yes, my lord.”
Ignoring Arthur’s smirk as he makes his way out, Merlin grins when Kilgharrah takes in Arthur’s ruffled appearance, “What happened to you?” He doesn’t get to hear Arthur’s reply after shutting the door.
~*~
Not only does Kilgharrah get an escort of twenty men-at-arms to take him to the meeting point on L’Ector’s estates outside Camelot, but the captain of the guards tells him the one thing he does not wish to hear. “I was told to bring the others.”
Thus, Merlin, Freya and Arthur end up in the carriage with Kilgharrah, despite his protests. They make an impressive party leaving the city. The ride is short over fairly decent roads. The L’Ector estates are a large sprawling mass of forestland and grassy fields mixed together. A small river runs through it, behind the large, impressive building built on the lands.
They are spotted before they even reach the Chateau, the standard bearer waving his flag to an answering wave. The main gates open and they are escorted into the Duc’s receiving room. The room is much like Maris, showing the influence the Empire has had on the Duc while he was away. A throne-like chair carved from pale marble stands empty in the room. One of the guards leaves while the others station themselves around the room. They didn’t have to wait long before the sound of the Duc’s approaching footsteps heralded his arrival.
All of them bow as the Duc enters. Merlin looks up and takes in the Duc. He’s never met him before. The Duc has long blonde hair tied back in a loose tail and piercing blue eyes. He wears sensible clothing made of durable cloth, a practical man, despite his wealth. Merlin can see the resemblance between him and the late Queen from a portrait he had once seen of her.
“Kilgharrah, have you come to apologize for your sins against my House?” He asks, settling onto his chair.
“I have come to propose that we place these matters behind us, where they belong,” Kilgharrah says softly.
“After you helped kill my cousin, you think I should forgive you?” Duc L’Ector asks, eyes narrowing to slits.
“Yes,” Kilgharrah says simply. The men stir around them and the Duc raises a hand silencing them.
“Why? I heard what you had to offer, but how does that right the Balance between us? Why should I forgive you?” Kay asks, sitting forward.
Kilgharrah looks him dead in the eye. “Do you think that if I had known what was to happen, I would still go through with it? I would have rather been thrown I prison than be the death of her. I was just following my king’s orders.”
“Perhaps you speak truly, but you also are a master a speaking lies truthfully. You still haven’t given me an adequate reason to forgive,” Kay says with a snort, leaning back in his chair.
“I have sworn an oath, one for which you already know the terms,” Kilgharrah says quietly. Merlin leans forward, hoping that someone will explain.
Kay’s eyes go hard as he stares at Kilgharrah. “You still stand by that oath, even after all these years? Despite all that Uther has done to cripple you?”
“I did not swear it to Uther,” Kilgharrah says quietly. Merlin wants to scream at them to explain what they are talking about. He holds his tongue.
“It seems Uther takes it seriously, despite how much he hates you. Two whores and a knight only you would think of keeping such a group, Kilgharrah.” Shifting forward once more, he looks past Kilgharrah at them. “Which of you knows who killed my cousin?”
Freya steps forward and curtsies, “I do.”
“You then, which of the Bois line did it?” Freya flinches slightly and Kay grins sharply, all teeth and no mirth. “You think I do not have ears. I know my sister died of poison and not childbirth. My cousins and extended family deals much in poison, I have long known that. You were attacked also, with one man killed and now Reynold Gunter is nowhere to be found. I hear he also paid an extensive amount for your virgin price. Who was it?”
Keeping herself composed, she turns back to Kilgharrah. “My lord?”
Kilgharrah nods, “Tell him.”
“Maria and Agravaine,” she says softly.
Merlin watches as his face grows calm and knows that soon Agravaine and his wife are soon to be dead. “Did Reynold offer proof?”
Freya shakes her head. “no, but he carried a gift of apples coated in honey, put in his hand by Agravaine, but it was Maria who knew how the queen loved the sweetened fruit. Reynold delivered them himself.”
“There was an empty container next to her bed, but it was empty and no one knew what had been in it, though we suspected,” he murmurs.
“He tried to say it was Morgause, since she can no longer refute it. I do not think he would have had me attacked if the second time was a lie,” Freya says.
“You knew I still have influences in Tintagel when you contacted me,” Kay says, turning to Kilgharrah. “My reach is further than yours at the moment. Why go to all these lengths to avenge my cousin?”
“You know that Agravaine as two daughters and four grandchildren, all of royal blood,” Kilgharrah says.
“Yes, and also that Tristan is still hale and will rule for some time, while Uther’s health fails and many whisper that Prince Dillon was innocent and that Morgana is unfit to rule because of the circumstances of her birth. I do not need a lesson in politics and thrones, Kilgharrah,” Kay says harshly, resting his chin on his fist heavily.
“No, you do not, though I must congratulate you on your daughter’s marriage,” Kilgharrah says.
Kay snorts softly. “Perhaps you are right and our interests do run in a similar line. You do know that any actions I take against Agravaine and Maria will not be entirely honorable?”
“You have enough power in Tintagel to take Reynold into custody. Some leverage and he would certainly spill about his doings and Tristan would see that justice is upheld.”
“That’s right you two were old comrades at the Battle of Highpass, were you not? Tristan always has been overly honorable. He should never have taken the throne, no stomach for politics.” He stares into the distance for a few moments before his eyes turn to Merlin. “So, you’re Kilgharrah’s warlock? The one spying on D’Cote for your master.”
“My lord, I am just a servant of the Balance and my lord Kilgharrah only used me in such a capacity to right the Balance between you two,” Merlin murmurs with a slight bow.
“Indeed,” Kay says with a twitch of his mouth. “I’ve wanted to see the two who outwitted my best counselor and the shrewdest trader in Albion and to see if Kilgharrah is willing to risk them to have this meeting.” He turns back to Kilgharrah, “It seems you are. So, it’s the old promise then?”
“If you wish to discuss this, then I ask that it be in private,” Kilgharrah says quickly.
“They don’t know? What loyalty you command. But what of you, where do your loyalties lie?” Kay asks, looking at Arthur.
“I am bound by my vow to preserve life. I am a knight, I protect and serve,” Arthur says simply.
Kay’s gaze is sharp as he looks at Arthur. “Indeed. You are dismissed. Garwin, take them to the kitchens and feed them. Shall we proceed, Kilgharrah?”
They are silent as they are herded out of the room and to the kitchens. Once they have been served, they are left alone. Merlin can only take a few bites at a time, tension turning his stomach to knots.
“Who is he that he commands such attention from two royal families?” Arthur asks softly.
“Kilgharrah keeps things from us that could get us killed if we knew them,” Merlin admits, looking at the knight. “Beyond that, he is Kilgharrah and that is all we can say. If you want to try your luck then go ahead.”
“Maybe I will,” Arthur mutters.
~*~
Merlin isn’t sure what passes between Kilgharrah and Duc Kay l’Ector, but a truce of sorts is reached. As autumn continues, the days grow shorter and the air cooler. Soon the harvest will be coming in. No new information comes in except for the occasional sighting of the Pict.
Merlin is left to wait, Kilgharrah still unwilling to let him out until matters have been resolved. His coffers remain empty and his Mearcung grows no longer. Merlin knows it is for his safety, but he still resents the day Freya goes in for her final appointment. She is free while Merlin is still chained, as he has been all his life.
Merlin still goes with her and admires it as he is supposed to. It is a thing of beauty, the graceful ripple of muscle in the feline’s muscles and the energy of the piece. Arthur, out of place in his black tunic, ignores them, eyes kept resolutely facing outside.
Merlin is restless that night, unable to sleep. Wandering down the stairs in hopes of reading something to calm his mind, he nearly doesn’t see Freya slipping into the library ahead of him. Curiosity getting the better of him, Merlin steps softly until he is just at the door, hidden in shadow.
Kilgharrah is already in there, reading from a scroll. He marks his place and looks up at Freya. “Yes?”
“My lord, you have not asked to see my Mearcung,” she says softly.
“Master Saracen does excellent work. I’ve no doubt it is well crafted,” Kilgharrah hedges.
“It is. My lord, my debt to you is not concluded until you have seen it and acknowledged it. Will you see?” Merlin is surprised that Freya knows of the tradition of the Court. Merlin can see that Kilgharrah does know of this tradition as he nods and sets the scroll aside and rises.
Freya turns, and slipping the already unlaced dress from her shoulders, drops it to show him. “Is my lord pleased?”
“Does it hurt?” he asks softly, standing close behind her. She shakes her head.
Freya turns to look up at him. Kilgharrah’s hand comes up to brush a few strand of hair off of her shoulder, resting against the smooth curve of flesh. Merlin isn’t sure if Kilgharrah will push her away or not, but Freya takes this into consideration and instead grips his arm to tug him down into a soft kiss. “Everything I have done was for your sake. Will you do this one thing for mine?” Merlin hears her whisper.
Before he can hear more, Merlin turns and runs as silently as he can from the scene. His heart feels constricted and the bitter taste of envy wells up in his throat. That they are both free for such things galls him, brings tears to his eyes. Like his namesake, he just wants to be able to fly free and yet he is still chained down. He lets his tears go, pressing his face into the pillow.
Merlin is exhausted and hollowed out in the morning, his emotions and magic seemingly drained by his tears. Freya and Kilgharrah are quiet, but he can see the signs of their night. Freya has light rings under her eyes, while Kilgharrah seems to have lost some of his tension.
The only thing that seems to keep him from falling into some sort of depression is the fact that news from Tintagel arrives that morning. It is Uriens who brings the news. The news he brings from the castle is mixed.
Reynold Gunter had been taken into custody by Tristan de la Bois but had been found dead in his cell, hung by his own belt. Rumor was that the normal jailer had been replaced by someone who owed a debt to Agravaine de la Bois. Search for the man found him floating in a river, drowned. When they pulled him out, they found his throat had been slashed.
Tristan is no fool and sends for his brother. But Kay L’Ector or his cousin, fear Agravaine’s slimy words will get him free. Their party is attack en route by masked bandits with deadly accuracy with bows. All flee without getting caught and four are left dead, Agravaine one of them.
“There is a rumor that Duc Kay l’Ector had something to do with it and that Tristan would have pressed matters if rumors of the Pict warlord in the north hadn’t caught his attention. What with Tintagel being so close to the northern mountains, he has started to gather troops, just in case.”
Kilgharrah shakes his head. “Duc L’Ector? You’re joking, old friend.” Puffing on his pipe, he stares into space for a second before looking at Uriens again. “Tristan takes it that seriously?”
“He does. He has sent word to Pellinore de Dieu to keep his eyes and ears open. We’re fortunate to have young Valiant d’Alene to protect our borders.
“Indeed,” Kilgharrah mused. “So there is no talk of retribution from the Bois family?”
“Not currently. To be honest, I don’t think Tristan will mourn his brother’s death much. Agravaine had always been an ambitious man and Tristan’s hold on his throne was never safe with his brother around,” Uriens says softly. Kilgharrah only hums in acknowledgment.
Merlin waits until Uriens leaves before speaking up. “My lord, you said I could return to service once matters had settled.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He drags on his pipe in thought. “Well, I see no reason to delay any longer. Just so long as you take the knight with you.”
“I will. Are there any offers?” Merlin asks.
“A few, did you have anyone in mind?” Kilgharrah asks, looking at him.
Merlin drew in a deep breath, “I have a Balance to settle with Lord Breunor d’Cote.”
“D’Cote? He had made an offer the other week, but I am minded to let his anger cool. Besides, he has served his purpose and I see no need for you to see him again.”
“My lord, you once told me that I am a tool of the Balance. If I truly am, than I must do this, for there is a debt between us that must be righted,” Merlin says, looking Kilgharrah straight in the eye.
“Very well, if you’re sure of this, I will have the contract drawn up and signed. Just, be careful,” he says, laying a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin can only nod.
~*~
Merlin’s assignation with D’Cote is as he expects, D’Cote’s anger not having abated at all. Merlin allows D’Cote to take his anger out on his body, relishing in it, in the freedom it gives him like nothing but his magic can do. By the end, he is a limp mass on the floor with D’Cote running gentle fingers through his hair.
“Never again, Merlin. Promise me this,” he says softly.
“I promise my lord,” Merlin breaths out, and hopes his words are not turned into lies by Kilgharrah.
Arthur’s eyes are round, his mouth pinched when Merlin stumbles into the receiving room. He must look worse than he thought. “What…Merlin…” Arthur can’t seem to finish his sentence.
Merlin isn’t sure what causes it, but his knees give out and only Arthur’s quick actions keep him from falling to the floor. With little effort, the knight scoops him up into his arms. “Arthur, I can walk you know,” Merlin mutters.
“Not from what I can see, idiot,” Arthur says, shaking his head stubbornly. “Open the door,” he orders the servant.”
Merlin sighs and settles against Arthur’s broad chest as the knight carries him out into the courtyard of D’Cote’s townhouse. “I’m an idiot. This is what I do,” Merlin informs him as Arthur settles Merlin into the carriage that had been drawn for them.
“I wish I knew what I had done that was so bad to be force to watch idly while you do your ‘job’,” he mutters.
“I didn’t ask you to be here,” Merlin hisses as the coach starts to pull away.
“And you wonder why I call you an idiot,” Arthur says.
~*~
Part 4b
Freya takes a long time to heal from the wound. It seems to be more the emotional blow than the actual physical wound that has her abed for days. She hadn’t thought beyond Reynold’s lust and the bedchamber. She hadn’t seemed to realize Will’s secondary role to Kilgharrah, nor had she reckoned that Reynold would have the couch attacked nor Will’s role in defending her. She couldn’t forgiver herself for her role in Will’s death.
Kilgharrah, out of it with guilt and grief, tries to tend her, but he is the last person Freya wants to tend her. She had done it for love of Kilgharrah, but to indulge in his care hurts too much at the moment. Merlin tends her instead and acts as a go between for them. Slowly, he pries the story of that night from Kilgharrah.
He had arrived to see Will cornered and fighting four men while the driver had fled in fear. Kilgharrah doesn’t go into detail about his own part, saying only that he took down three of the four, the last man fleeing. Merlin has seen him fight before and knows that despite everything, Kilgharrah is still a soldier, a veteran of the Battle of Highpass.
Kilgharrah thought he had arrived in time, but he took in all of Will’s wounds, a dagger protruding from his side, stuck through the ribs into his lung. Will had taken two steps and had seemed to crumple to the cobblestones. Cursing, Kilgharrah had run to the man.
Will had known, had felt the carriage slow to a stop by the river, and had heard the approach of men, the jingle of metal on metal. He had shoved Freya out ahead of him, protecting her from the first attacker, slicing through the traces to pull the horse free. Freya had gotten her wound during this short pause, but Will just boosted her onto the horse and smacked it on the rump to get it moving, all the while fending off attacks.
He had told this to Kilgharrah before he died, though Freya filled in some of the gaps. Will had told him they were Reynold’s men, telling him that the driver had known what was about to happen. They had stayed there on the street the whole time Will spoke, hands on the dagger in Will’s chest. Finally, his breaths had grown short, hand falling away, his last words falling from his lips, “Draw out the dagger, my lord and let me go. The debt between us is settled.”
He died quickly and quietly after that, blood filling his lung and chocking out what little breath he had left. Kilgharrah wept, that much Merlin knew, though the man never said. He had found the driver cowering some distance away. “Tell your master, he will answer to me before the King’s justice or on the dueling field, but he will answer to me!” The man had only nodded and Kilgharrah had left, gathering up Will in his arms and laying him over the saddle to bring him home.
The household is on edge for days afterwards, mostly due to Freya and Kilgharrah’s moods. Merlin and the servants tend to Freya as best they can. Kilgharrah sent for some funeral men to come during this time to prepare Will. A pyre is to be held for him, the ultimate honor. His ashes will be returned to his family, any taint to his name now gone. Kilgharrah disappears on the second day only to return short-tempered and crackling with pent up magic and rage.
“Reynold?” Merlin asks.
Gone,” Kilgharrah says, fist slamming onto the table with a loud thump. “He and half his household packed up and left for Tintagel.”
Although Kilgharrah still had some influence, his web was mostly information and while that went to all corners of Albion, his reach did not. Reynold is safe in Tintagel. Kilgharrah continues to paces the study, clenched fist held behind his back.
“No more assignations, not until Reynold is brought to justice. I will not risk either of you,” he says, turning burning amber eyes onto Merlin.
“You mean you don’t know?” Merlin asks.
“Know what?” Kilgharrah asks, coming to a stop.
“Reynold’s patron gift, it paid the rest of Freya’s Mearcung. It was the other half of her price,” he says softly, watching Kilgharrah shift restlessly.
“Why? Why would she do this?” he asks.
“For you,” Merlin says, realizing how blind Kilgharrah really has been this whole time.
Kilgharrah settles into the chair behind him, rubbing at his brow. “I never asked her to take such a risk. Either of you and she knows that.”
“We both know this, which is exactly why she didn’t tell you and had me swear silence. Freya was not meant for this kind of homage to the balance, not like I am. She did it though, to pay a debt she owed to you.”
Merlin can hear the small hiss of breath as Kilgharrah registers Merlin’s words, similar to Will’s. “There has never been a debt between us. My duty lay elsewhere with her.”
“In the promise you made to Queen Ygraine de la Pendragon?”
“She was my charge,” he says in a harsh whisper. His shoulders sag. “Oh, young warlock, I have trained you too well, it seems. Freya should have known there is no debt between us.”
“Then perhaps she was right and you should have trained her in battle magic instead of sex magic,” Merlin says bluntly, ignoring the way his cruel words cause Kilgharrah to flinch ever so slightly. He can still remember the night still fresh in his mind: Freya in his arms, her blood seeping out hot and slick between his fingers, the cold flag stones beneath his knees. It is not something he will forget or forgive anytime soon.
“Perhaps, you are right,” he says not even defending himself against Merlin’s words.
Sighing, Merlin leans forward. “Freya made her choice, my lord. Do not demean it because you do not like what she chose. She is grieving for her part in Will’s death. Let her have her space, she will come around soon.”
“You have the right of it, young warlock,” Kilgharrah says softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Freya’s Mearcung is made. And you?”
“I have pledged myself to the balance,” he says gently. “You cannot absolve me of my pledge any more than you could Freya.”
Kilgharrah shakes his head to clear it. “No, I won’t, but my word stands. No more assignations until Reynold is brought to justice.” Standing, he starts to make his way to his desk, dismissing Merlin. Merlin clears his throat. “Yes?” he asks.
“There is the delegate who has recently returned from the mainland,” Merlin says. “The one who developed…exotic tastes…in his posting? He is reporting to Uther in ten days and I have been contracted for him.”
“Ah yes, Duc L’Ector’s little lordling, Lucan Maris I believe,” he says leaning against the table. “I’d forgotten about him. D’Cote must have recommended you.” Sighing, he pushes off of the table. “We will wait and see. If we need to, we can claim a tragedy in the household. We shall see.”
Merlin bows his head in acquiescence, not wanting to push his master any further. Feeling Kilgharrah’s gaze on him, Merlin glances up. “Do not do this for my sake, Merlin. If you do this only for an oath, then we will talk with the priests and priestess of the Old Religion to absolve you. Surely the Balance will not disfavor you for that.”
Merlin stares silently at Kilgharrah and can feel his magic stirring inside. He knows his eyes are glowing gold from the slight inhale of Kilgharrah’s breath. An image comes forth, a golden scale held precariously on a woman’s hand. Thinking of Freya and Will, Merlin shakes his head. “No, my lord. You yourself named me for what I am, a tool of the Balance. This is how I serve it, whether it be in your name or its.”
Sighing, Kilgharrah nods. “So be it, but you must wait for my word,” he says softly. He dismisses Merlin then, reaching forward to pull a piece of parchment towards him.
~*~
There is no funeral service. The only family Will has left is his mother and she lives in Escetia, too far away to make it in time. It also seems cruel to hold it with Freya unable to attend. Kilgharrah pays for everything, no expense spared. His ashes are sent to his mother to be buried on their family’s land.
A week goes by, and Freya’s wound slowly heals. With no true skill for healing magic, Merlin is forced to do things by hand. He checks her wound daily, soaking the bandages off and working as quickly as possible to keep her feeling too much pain. There will be a scar, but, she will live.
Freya never complains, even when Merlin fumbles and pulls a bandage too hard. She even laughs a little when Merlin sniffs at the wound, checking for infection.
“Some physician you’d make,” she says playfully as she leans against a mound of pillows. The laugh pulls on her stiches and she grimaces in pain.
“Stop that,” Merlin admonishes her as he picks up a pot of salve to slather on the wound. It looks horrid now that it has scabbed over, a dark jagged line of red against her pale skin. “If you want better, ask Kilgharrah.” Freya stiffens and then shakes her head mulishly. Glancing at her, Merlin sighs and goes back to what he is doing.
“Will made his own choices too,” Merlin reminds her. He presses a fresh wad of cloth to the wound to cover it up before wrapping a bandage around her torso. “He knew the risks, after all he was the one hired to kill Kilgharrah and it was Kilgharrah who forgave and took him in. You acting like this just diminish the sacrifice he made for you.”
“It still does not excuse my mistake,” she says softly, looking away from Merlin, her eyes wet.
“Because the great Freya does not make mistakes like us lesser mortals. You think you are berating yourself over your failure. Just think of what Kilgharrah is doing to himself for not realizing your dislike of homage through sex magic. I think you should talk to him,” Merlin says softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm.
For a second, it looks like she is about to give in and then her face hardens as she shrugs off his hand. Unrelenting, Merlin stands and continues around the room, cleaning up what needs to be cleaned up and such.
“Why do you think Kilgharrah is so intent on finding out Ygraine de la Pendragon’s killer?” Merlin asks after some time in silence.
“I don’t know. I do know that Agravaine has always been ambitious and is angry that he is second and will never gain a throne while both his sister and brother have. And with his father out of the way and with his brother having no heirs, maybe he thought taking his sister out meant that he didn’t need to worry about her sons becoming competition for his bid for the Bois throne,” she says thoughtfully.
“Perhaps Kilgharrah loved Ygraine?” Merlin thinks aloud.
“You think? He has always been touchy around her name. It would explain a lot,” she says. “You’re mad to think that,” she says, biting her lip.
“Well, if you want to find out, you’ll just have to ask him, now won’t you,” Merlin says with a small smile at her. “Besides, you have a far better chance of getting it out of him than me.”
They have been trained by a master to this, to maneuver with words to reach a goal. Freya blinks up at him and laughs before gasping as her stiches pull again but she can’t stop chuckling. “Oh, I can see why they ask for you again and again. If I had half you gift, mayhap none of this would have happened.”
“I would that you did, or at least took half the pleasure in it that I do,” Merlin says softly, laying a hand on her arm again. This time she doesn’t shrug it off. “Talk to him,” Merlin says gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
~*~
Healing takes time, but Merlin and Kilgharrah could not put off Lucan Maris any longer, though the day before the day of, Merlin thinks Kilgharrah is going to cancel. Finally though, the day arrives and Kilgharrah gives the go ahead, but with a long speech about putting his safety over that of getting information. Merlin nods and accepts the hired guard Kilgharrah has hired without a single protest.
Merlin ignores the man the whole ride there, though he misses Will’s easy silence. Lord Lucan Maris is in the castle itself. A page waits for them in the front courtyard and leads the way through the many corridors to where Maris is waiting in his own rooms.
Lucan Maris is Albion through and through, but he has grown plump on the hospitality of the Emperor of Rome. He gestures them in graciously, sending Merlin’s guard off with a servant to be seen to in the kitchens until Merlin is finished.
“Merlin nó Emrys, I would appreciate if you would put these on.” He hands Merlin a stack of clothing. The main piece is a long tunic of off white that gathers at both shoulders with bronze ornaments. A braided leather belt cinches the loose cloth around his waist. Simple leather arm bands, thin strip of leather with a clasp for a collar and sandals are the last and Merlin looks at himself in the mirror, seeing a Roman slave staring back.
Smiling, Merlin turns back around, sinking into the persona of his character, casting his eyes down in a demure stance. Maris had disappeared while Merlin changed, but he soon reemerged, dressed in the flowing toga of a senator, the cloth cinching at the waist with a belt and gathering on one shoulder.
He herds Merlin into the bed chamber, the whole room decorated in the Roman fashion. Kneeling on a purposefully placed cushion beside a low backed couch, Merlin attends Maris, waiting for his first move. Merlin spends part of the time just serving the man or kneeling quietly beside him as he reads through a scroll.
But soon though, he sets it aside, turning to look at Merlin. Merlin had prepared himself in advance and is glad for the preparation for Maris takes him with two years’ pent up vigor. While it is not hard to find bed companions in Rome, many are wary around foreigners and as an ambassador of Camelot, he had had to remain chaste to keep from allowing a weakness in the bloodthirsty empire.
Soon after, they lie together amidst a mound of cushions and sheets, cloths gone. “What was it like, on the mainland?” Merlin asks innocently, pressed along Maris’s side, running absentminded fingers in random patterns over his chest.
“It is a harsh place ruled completely by politics and the Emperor rules with an iron fist. I never understood Listinoise’s poem until poem about longing for home until now. She was but a day’s sail away from home and felt it like a knife in the heart. I was so far away and it felt like I would never return,” Maris says gruffly, laying his hand on Merlin’s and squeezing it tightly.
It is easier than Merlin reckoned to put his and Kilgharrah’s plan into action. “Does that mean Duc L’Ector misses Albion as much as you did? I know he has been on the mainland for some time gathering alliances.”
“Oh, the Duc, he is a wanderer at heart and would prosper anywhere. The Emperor himself even gave him some lands and men-at-arms for deeds rendered.” Maris stops for a second. “But word has reached him of the fall of House Escetia. He has ties to them, you know, through marriage on his mother’s side. I think it has reminded him of his cousin Ygraine, how he loved that girl. I think he has realized how much he misses Albion. Once his daughter has been wed, he wishes to relinquish his position and return. That is why I am here, to petition Uther for his return.”
Merlin looks up at him. “The Duc’s daughter is to be wed?”
Maris nods. “Indeed, to the son of one of the Emperor’s wives.” Reaching down, he pulls Merlin up his body. “Do what you did last time, but make it last longer.” Merlin does in full, leaving a smile on Maris’s face.
“Oh, Merlin, you are indeed a splendid gift. If…if Duc L’Ector’s request is granted and I come back, may I contract you again?”
“My lord Maris, I have no say in my patrons. It is my lord Kilgharrah who picks from them from all the great houses who I am to go to. Was it one such who recommended me?” Merlin asks, helping the man into his robe.
“It was…someone highly placed in the court. I have gold aplenty and will surely be landed what with all that the Duc and I have accomplished in relations with the Emperor.”
Merlin holds his tongue on his thoughts about the Duc’s daughter’s marriage and says instead, “Indeed. But there is something for which my lord Kilgharrah would be most appreciative.”
“What?” he asks, gripping Merlin’s arm. “If it is in my power I will do it.”
“There is an…old quarrel…between my lord and the Duc,” Merlin says, looking solemnly at Maris. “It is not something to be easily overlooked, but my lord would wish it be known that he is willing to take steps towards bringing peace between the two houses.”
“The Emrys House is not a noble house,” Maris says and Merlin sees the shrewdness in his eyes that must have made him perfect for delegate for the mainland. “Kilgharrah…” he stops for a second. “Is your lord prepared to give his earnest word in this?”
“My lord is an honorable man. He would not ask of peace in jest,” Merlin defends.
Maris is silent for a few seconds. “I will mention it should such an occasion arise. You will see me again, then?”
“Yes my lord,” Merlin agrees easily. Grinning like a love-struck lad, he walks to the mantle above his fireplace where a coffer sits. Plunging his hands into it, he pulls out two handfuls of golden pieces bearing the profile of the Roman Emperor. Merlin holds out his tunic quickly as Maris spills them onto his lap.
“That should satisfy. Even should you forget your promise, this will leave you something to remember me by. I will leave an offering to the Balance in your name.”
Gathering his cupped tunic into one hand, Merlin stands and places a kiss on the man’s cheek. “You have paid homage three times this day, my lord. Surely the scales are tipped in your favor greatly now.” Maris blushes at Merlin’s words and calls the servants.
~*~
Kilgharrah dismisses Merlin guard once they are home. Merlin is glad to see him gone for the man just seemed to grate on his nerves, even if he spoke not a word. Maybe he should leave word with Gwaine to see if the man could find someone more suitable. With these thoughts in mind, he follows Kilgharrah out into the courtyard at his beckons.
Freya is there already, tucked under a blanket to ward against the autumn chill in the air. She has much improved, though she is still a bit pale. She smiles briefly at Merlin as he passes to take a seat.
“How fares Kay l’Ector?” Kilgharrah asks without preamble.
“The Duc is missing home and is minded to relinquish his position to return to Albion. He will leave in his stead one daughter, married to a son of one of the Emperor’s wives.”
“House L’Ector and the Empire allied? Morgause would be furious if she were alive. It’s no surprise that Kay is ready to come home. He got the alliance he went there for.” Kilgharrah lights his pipe and takes a drag from it.
“My lord, is this why you wish to make peace? To gain influence on the mainland?” Merlin asks.
“I did not know of this marriage until tonight,” Kilgharrah says. “It is not that.” His gaze turns thoughtful and distant. “The Duc and I have never been friends, but he stands to gain from my goals. It is time enough to put an end to this bad blood between us. Was Lord Maris agreeable to your suggestion?”
“He will speak to him, though he makes no promises. Still, I think today will be more than enough to motivate him and I made it clear enough where my loyalties lie. But I am not adverse to his gold.”
“Or his company?” Freya speaks up, a small smile on her face.
Merlin just shrugs. “He is easy to please. I have done more on some occasions and gotten less out of it. Besides, from this patron gift alone, my Mearcung will grow two more inches.”
Kilgharrah snorts out a puff of smoke. “You may keep your promise to him…but only once more, I think, unless he rises higher. I wish all your patrons are as harmless as him.”
“Anyone who is cornered is dangerous, my lord. I have learned that the hard way,” Freya says solemnly. “What do we do now?”
“Now? We wait and see how our hand plays out,” Kilgharrah says, blowing a smoke ring.
~*~
A few weeks ago by before official word of Tamara l’Ector’s marriage to the Emperor’s son reaches Camelot. Uther gives his blessing to the union and Duc L’Ector petition is granted, though Uther warns off Kay from gaining monopoly of the mainland. He sends a replacement ambassador with no ties to the Duc and who is loyal to Camelot.
Kilgharrah keeps his plans close to his chest and being forbidden assignations and even trips to see Gwen or Gwaine are denied. Merlin is forced to remain inside. He spends more time than he used to studying. He practices diligently at his crafts learned at the Court and here in Kilgharrah’s home.
Freya heals quickly in this time and though the air is still dark between her and Kilgharrah, the tension has broken. Will’s death is still fresh and will take time to heal, but for the moment, they are at ease. Soon after she is well enough to walk, Kilgharrah takes her to the village Alice took Merlin to those times before.
What happened between her and the Balance there, Merlin will never know, but she returns three days later. She looks better, some of the guilt that had been weighing her down is gone and it shows. Though Freya is in lockdown like Merlin, Kilgharrah does gift her with a fine chestnut palfrey, the horse a sweet and docile creature. It is customary to present a gift to one who has completed their Mearcung. Merlin hadn’t known that Kilgharrah knew of the practices of the Court.
Technically, her Mearcung wasn’t finished as her wound prevented it, but the money was there and Kilgharrah would not deny her that much after all she had done to get him the information he so desired. Merlin bored out of his mind by then, reminds Kilgharrah of his own filled coffer from Maris’s patron gift. Relenting, he hires a guard to escort Merlin to the tattooist shop where the next section of his Mearcung is inked into his back.
When Merlin returns, one of the servants is waiting for him. “Lord Emrys will see you in the study,” he says. Hoping that Kilgharrah is finally about to relent on his “no assignation” command Merlin hurries to the study, ignoring the tenderness in his back.
“You sent for me, my lord?” Merlin says once he shuts the door behind him.
“I did, sit,” he says and motions toward the chair across from him. “Before I say anything further, I must ask you once again: is it still your will to pursue this service, knowing the dangers I ask of you to walk willingly into?”
“You know it is,” Merlin says, hope budding in his chest.
Kilgharrah nods. “Very well,” he says, looking past Merlin for a second before continuing. “I am not minded to make the same mistake twice. Henceforth, you shall have a companion with you at all times you leave these ground. I have arranged for you to be warded by a knight of the Round Table Brotherhood.”
“You must be joking,” Merlin says, feeling the glimmer of hope for freedom dying away at Kilgharrah’s words.
Kilgharrah smirks, “I would never jest over the safety of you.”
“My lord…you would have me shadowed by some over-zealous, muscle-bound, idiot of a knight?” Merlin says in outrage, ignoring the guilty twine as he remembers the Gwen’s brother is a knight. “On an assignation?”
“Uther de la Pendragon and Morgana de la Pendragon are both in attendance by a knight at all times. You should be honored.” His smirk just keeps growing.
“Will was trained by the Knight Brothers and look what happened to him! Do you really think I would be any safer with another knight?” Merlin asks, unable to get past the shock of the thought of someone in that black tunic standing behind him as he flirted with a patron.
Kilgharrah just smirks again, looking past Merlin.
“If this man Will was expelled when he was fourteen,” a bored voice drawls out behind him, “than he had only just begun the training to become a knight.”
Jumping, Merlin glares at Kilgharrah and turns around quickly.
The man standing in the shadows behind Merlin bows to them in the traditional manner of the knights, one arm across his black tunic, the other resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist. Light from the window glints off of the chainmail peeking out from under his tunic and on the back of his leather gloves. He straightens and looks at Merlin.
“Merlin nó Emrys,” he speaks out formally, “I am Arthur du Bois of the Round Table Brotherhood. It is my privilege to attend.”
Arthur neither looks nor sounds like he means it, his jaw clenching around the words, mouth thinning into a thin white line.
It is a beautiful mouth.
Merlin can’t help but stare at Arthur du Bois. He has very noble features, the strong jaw, proudly arched nose, shining blond hair and glowing blue eyes under golden brows and lashes. His skin is an even tan that speaks of one who works outside often. At the moment, those eyes have barely concealed dislike in them.
“Arthur here tells me that what happened to Will and Freya would never have happened to someone with the true training of a knight. I have tested my blade against his and am satisfied with his skill.” A knight never draws his sword unless to kill, Merlin had heard it once, when he was a child. They are said to fight with their sword still sheathed.
Merlin glances at Arthur’s sword and sees the strip of leather locking his sword in place in its sheath. “He bested you, my lord with a still sheathed sword?”
Kilgharrah says nothing, nodding towards Arthur who bows again. “Lifwraþu, I protect and serve,” Arthur says simply.
Taking a seat so he can see both of them, Merlin leans back, ignoring the ache where the back of the chair rubs at his Mearcung. “He is certainly pretty enough, my lord. At least he won’t scare away my patrons. If you will, then so be it. Is there an offer to entertain?”
Merlin notices Arthur glaring at him from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t react. Kilgharrah smirks and Merlin knows he can see it. “There are many offers to choose from, but there is a matter that is of more importance to see to.”
Merlin nods. “In the name of the Balance, I-,”
“Enough,” Kilgharrah says, though his smirk doesn’t leave his face. “Merlin, you of all people should know not to mock those in service.” He turns to look at Arthur, “I have spoken with your captain and he has deemed this matter worthy of the Brotherhoods attention. Should you question his judgment, you are in question of heresy.”
Arthur nods his head curtly and bows again.
Merlin turns to look at Kilgharrah, “What is it?”
“The Duc L’Ector is due to return in a fortnight. I would like you to request of Lord Breunor d’Cote that he send word to the Duc of my desire to meet up with him.”
Merlin blinks for a second, processing his word, “But what about all that work done on Lucas Maris?”
“Because Kay will listen to D’Cote,” Kilgharrah answers. “Maris is only in a minor position and L’Ector would dismiss him out of hand. With his new alliance, he has grown much in power and I cannot have him dismiss this request. D’Cote is the one who got the Duc his appointment on the mainland. Kay will listen to him, thus I need you to convince Breunor d’Cote.”
“Then he will know,” Merlin says simply.
“Thus my reason for waiting until the Brotherhood’s answer. Do you think he will harm you?”
Merlin glances to the side at Arthur who has been listening the whole time. “Perhaps…not. D’Cote has known from the beginning I am part of your game, but doesn’t know which part.”
“Then go to him,” Kilgharrah says curtly. “Uther de la Pendragon ails and time grows short. Let this be done.”
“There is no assignation?” Merlin asks.
“It is better to surprise him. Do you think he will not let you in?”
Merlin remembers D’Cote, his gifts sent after he had hurt Merlin with the poker. “He will my lord, but what am I to say for bait?”
“Ask him to tell Duc L’Ector that I know who killed his cousin.”
~*~
They waste no time in leaving. The carriage is readied and soon Merlin and Arthur are on their way across the city to the castle itself. Merlin s dressed simply for once, though his cloak stands out no matter what he wears and people know him for what he is. Beside him, Arthur cuts a somber figure in his black tunic and dark grey breeches and boots. His sword hangs at his waist.
Unsure if Arthur has ever been in the castle, Merlin plows on, uncaring if Arthur gets caught up by the splendor. If he gets lost, Merlin will just have to find him later. Arthur though seems unfazed and sticks to Merlin like a shadow.
At D’Cote’s quarters, the servant blinks at the two of them standing in the doorway. “My lord Merlin nó Emrys,” the servant says erring on the safe side. Merlin has no title, just Kilgharrah’s name, but the servants do not know that, mostly due to Will. Merlin forces the lump from his throat as his thoughts lead back to Will. Now is not the time. “My lord D’Cote is not expecting you.”
“I know,” Merlin says, straightening with as much dignity. “Will you send word with my request asking if he might spare a moment of his time?”
“Of course, if you will wait here,” he says, letting them in the door and shutting it behind them. They did not wait long before the servant came back, D’Cote right behind him. “Merlin, what is it?” he asks, voice concerned.
Merlin quickly bows to the man, Arthur following on enough to nod his head. “Enough of your games, why have you come? Did Kilgharrah send you?” D’Cote asks.
“Yes, my lord, may I speak with you in private?” Merlin asks.
“Of course, this way,” he says and starts to lead Merlin away.
Arthur clears his throat loudly, “My lord, I have sworn an oath.”
Sending an assessing glance at Arthur he shrugs, “If you must knight.” He leads them down the hall to where his study is. It is a well-kept room, everything the neatness of a man who has need of organization.
Two men-at-arms follow them in, shutting the door behind them. As D’Cote takes a seat, Merlin wastes no time, falling to his knees gracefully to kneel in front of the man. “My lord Kilgharrah sends me to beg a boon.”
“Kilgharrah begs a boon? What is it he wants?” The man asks, leaning back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other.
“He desires a meeting with Duc Kay l’Ector. He asks that you act as go-between in this matter,” Merlin says.
D’Cote leans forward, hands braced on his knees as his eyes narrow. “How does…you!” he spits out. Merlin should have seen it coming. D’Cote is a soldier and a hunter, he has seen time and again his ability, but D’Cote’s speed still takes him by surprise.
D’Cote has Merlin in his grasp before he can blink, bent over his knee, knife pressing against the base of his throat. Merlin can feel it split the skin slightly, a bead of blood flowing across his skin to pool in the hollow of his throat.
“All this time, you have played me the fool, little warlock. Well there is no contract now and no word you can say to stop me from applying my own justice,” D’Cote hisses out.
“There is one,” Arthur says, bowing his bow at the worst moment, or so Merlin thinks, but as he rises, his sheathed blade springs forth from his belt in a blur. “Lifwraþu.”
From his strained position, Merlin can only see it out of his peripheral. The men-at-arms step forward to attack. Arthur moves like the wind and lightening, his sheathed sword flicking out like a snake’s strike to land solid blows that bring down the men before they can even draw their own blades.
The dagger at Merlin’s throat rises as D’Cote starts to stand, but Arthur bats it out of his hand before he can do much else. Finished, he returns his sword to his belt with a bow, “I protect and serve. Merlin nó Emrys was speaking.”
“Fine,” D’Cote say, releasing Merlin as he wrings his hand. The Men-at-arms are still picking themselves up. “Kilgharrah is serious if he has contracted a knight to you protection. What makes you so sure I serve Kay l’Ector?”
“You spoke it, my lord. The night you…took up the poker.” Merlin hears Arthur’s sharp intake of breath but ignores him. He cannot be distracted at the moment.
“You heard that?” D’Cote asks in awe.
“You have known since the beginning that I was Kilgharrah’s bait. Did you think you could play with magic and not be snared?” Merlin asks, glancing up from his kneeling position.
The room is silent, the tension mounting. Merlin hears Arthur shift, the leather of his gloves creaking as he grips the hilt of his sword harshly. Suddenly, D’Cote laughs and the tension drains from the air. “Snares indeed. I’ve known since I first saw you that I was in your trap. Though they are Kilgharrah’s own snares, not magic.”
“I have been taught many things by Kilgharrah, but I am what I was born to be,” Merlin says.
Grunting, he motions for Merlin to stand. “If you wish to petition me, you will do it seated in a chair, not as a heap upon the floor.” Merlin stands gracefully, trying to hide the fact that his knees are still shaking. “Now, what does Kilgharrah want with Kay and what makes him think that the Duc will listen?”
“What he wants, I cannot say for he keeps his thought close. What he offers is all I have.”
“And that is?” D’Cote asks.
“Kilgharrah knows who killed the Duc’s cousin,” Merlin says, playing his last card.
D’Cote is quiet for some time before he finally stirs. “Why does he not take this to Uther?”
“There is no proof,” Merlin admits.
“And why do you think Kay will believe it with no proof?”
“Because it is true,” Merlin says quickly, trying to convince this man. “I know it is true because it was gotten the same way I learned of your patron, Kay l’Ector.”
“By you?” he asks.
“By another,” Merlin says, not wanting to reveal Freya’s role in this.
“Ah, the female,” he says but Merlin says nothing. “They have been enemies for a long time, why would Kilgharrah…” D’Cote stops and sigh, drawing out Kilgharrah’s name a second time like a curse. “Very well. I will grant that old dragon this boon, but I make no promise. Though I’m sure the Duc will want to hear what Kilgharrah has to say. Tell your master I will speak to Kay.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you,” Merlin says, bowing as he stood back up.
Merlin holds out a hand as Arthur shifts when D’Cote stands. The man comes forward to stand before Merlin. “You have much to answer for, warlock,” he says, running a finger underneath Merlin’s gold speckled blue eye.
“I know, my lord,” Merlin says, feeling the magic in him stirring. There is a balance that must be righted between him and D’Cote and one day he must face this man. Grinning evilly, he pats Merlin’s cheek sharply and steps back, ignoring Arthur’s glare.
“Tell Kilgharrah I will send word,” He says, taking his seat again. “Now get out of my sight.”
They obey quickly, Arthur gripping Merlin’s arm harshly and dragging him along. Once the door is shut, he turns to glare at Merlin, uncaring about them being in the middle of the corridor of the castle. “You call that homage to the balance?” he hisses out.
Yanking his arm out of Arthur’s grip, Merlin glares back. “No, I call that service to Kilgharrah who owns my Mearcung, and if you cannot stomach it, then I suggest you take it up with your captain. But until then, stop blabbering in the hall!” Merlin hisses and starts to storm off.
Arthur soon catches up and starts to pull away, ignoring the glare Merlin sends at his back. They walk in silence for a few minutes before someone calls out Merlin’s name. “Merlin!”
Merlin turns to see Nimueh de l’Isle at the intersection of another hall. Merlin pauses to speak with her and Arthur doesn’t stop, just keeps walking. “What brings you to the castle?” she asks as Merlin stops before her.
“My lady, you would need to speak with Kilgharrah and not me to find out.” Merlin says, mind still reeling from before. Even her magic is not enough to completely derail him from his thoughts.
“And I will, when I see him next.” She smirks at him and reaches out to finger his cloak. “Such a beautiful color. I am so glad Kilgharrah was able to find someone who is still able to create the dye. I have been meaning to visit, but I have been needed in Escetia recently, though I have heard of the tragedy in your household. Convey my regards to Freya, will you?”
“I will, my lady,” Merlin says while wondering just how she found out when only those in the household knew of Will’s death.
Footsteps sound behind Merlin and Arthur storms back into view, face the picture of arrogant impatience. He makes a curt bow to Nimueh once he stops behind Merlin. Nimueh arches a brow at Merlin, “The knight serves you?” Merlin can only shrug, unsure of what to say.
“I protect and serve,” Arthur supplies.
Nimueh’s laughter rings out, a true laugh and it bounces off of the walls. “Oh, Kilgharrah, you priceless man,” she gasps out.
Merlin can hear Arthur’s teeth grinding together and Merlin knows he needs to make a hasty retreat before Arthur explode or cracks a tooth. “My lady, I will inform Kilgharrah of your words,” Merlin says, drawing her attention away from Arthur.
It works and she turns back to Merlin, still smiling. “I hope to see you soon, Merlin,” she says softly. Merlin nods and bows as she walks away.
“Who was that?” Arthur asks once they finally reach the main courtyard and their carriage.
Merlin shifts slightly in his seat in the carriage. “That was Lady Nimueh de l’Isle, probably the most dangerous sorceress you will ever meet,” Merlin says softly.
“The one who testified against the Escetian throne?” he asks.
“The very one,” Merlin says.
~*~
Kilgharrah is waiting when they return, pacing the length of his study, puffing furiously on his pipe. As they enter, he turns sharply and asks, “Well, will he do it?”
Before Merlin can answer, Arthur steps forward, sweeping down to kneel in front of Kilgharrah. His sword, still sheathed, rests on his upwards raised palms. “My lord, I have failed in my duties and offer up my sword,” he says solemnly, shoulders tight.
“What are you talking about, foolish boy?” Kilgharrah asks, staring down at the knight.
“Show him,” Arthur says, glancing back at Merlin from the corner of his eye.
Merlin blinks, reaching up a hand to finger at his throat. “This? This is nothing coming from D’Cote. Besides, you kept him from doing worse.”
“D’Cote drew a blade on you?” Kilgharrah asks.
“Yes, when I explained my part in your game, but Arthur-,”
“He drew blood,” Arthur buts in. “Not only that, in my anger, I let him out of my sight.”
“Nimueh,” is all Merlin says in explanation. “She sends her regards,” she informs Freya and Kilgharrah. “Arthur is being melodramatic. He served me well and was just taken by surprise.”
“Well lad, it seems you are well defended yourself. If Merlin says you did your duty, than I am satisfied. That you kept a calm head under such conditions and against D’Cote is no mean feat. I am not displeased. Now, what about L’Ector?” he asks, turning away from Arthur’s knelt form to look at Merlin.
“I was able to convince D’Cote enough. He will deliver your message,” Merlin says, removing his cloak and settling into a chair.
“Good,” Kilgharrah says, some of the tension in him leaving. Merlin wonders what is so important that Kilgharrah avenge the queen’s death even after so many years. “You are dismissed.”
“What, but I thought that-,” Merlin starts.
“No, not until I meet with L’Ector. Things have been shaken up like a hornets nest and until they settle, I will not risk you.”
Merlin sighs, “Very well.”
~*~
Merlin bemoans his confinement, sending glares at Arthur and Freya who seem to have struck up a friendship. Arthur spends his mornings practicing with his sword. Merlin spends much of his time watching from a shadowed corner, watching the beauty and grace of Arthur moving through each form fluidly.
Merlin isn’t expecting it when one day, Arthur chucks a wooden stick at him. Merlin barely catches it before it hits his head. He blinks in confusion, wondering when Arthur snuck up on him. “You might as well make yourself useful and help me with my exercises. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something,” Arthur says and smirks.
Ten minutes later and Merlin is lying on the ground, winded with Freya’s laughter ringing in his ears and Kilgharrah standing off to the side, smirking. Pushing himself up with a huff, he chucks the sword at Arthur and walks back over to where Kilgharrah is standing. “Not bad for a first time, young warlock,” he says with a smirk.
“Oh, hush,” Merlin gripes. He turns to see Arthur showing Freya the proper way to hold the sword. Merlin snorts, “She would scandalize the Brotherhood if they saw her learning sword craft.”
“Indeed she would, but it is too late to be of any use now. She is too old to begin the training, even if she was a boy,” Kilgharrah says with a small smile.
“She wouldn’t want to though. After all, she’s in love with you,” Merlin says nonchalantly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“With me?” Kilgharrah asks, looking for once like he was truly startled. “Why would she be in love with me?”
Merlin glances up at him from under his lashes as he listened to Freya laugh. “Because you took her in when others cast her out. If you truly think she would not love you, than you are not the man I thought you to be.”
With a slight bow of his head, Merlin leaves Kilgharrah to his thoughts, his brows drawn in concentration, amber eyes trained on Freya. ‘I hope you thank me for this, Freya,’ Merlin thinks with a sad smile. He can feel his magic stirring restlessly under his skin and wants to get out. Slipping out while everyone is occupied in the back, he is out the door and in a carriage before anyone can notice his absence.
Gwaine isn’t home, and ignoring his mother’s raised brow, Merlin finds him quickly, tucked away in their usual tavern. Merlin enters it to a cacophony of noise. Someone is playing a fiddle and a chorus of yells, groans and hollers accompany the music. Underneath it all, Merlin can make out the sound of dice in a cup.
A familiar voice yells out in triumph and the crowd parts to allow Merlin a glimpse of Gwaine seated at the table, grinning ear to ear as he pulls his winnings close, sliding them into a pouch. Only about a quarter actually go into the pouch as Gwaine uses sleight of hand to deposit the rest in safe places all over his body.
He glances up and sees Merlin standing there. With a final flourish and a toss of his hair, he stands, coming over. “Merlin!” He hugs the warlock tight. “Where have you been? Were you so much trouble to Will that he locked you up?” Gwaine jokes, gripping Merlin by the shoulders and tugging him over to their table.
Merlin feels heat behind his eyes and has to blink and swallow before he can speak properly without breaking down. Shaking his head mutely, he grips Gwaine’s hand and moving past their corner; he leads them to the very back of the tavern, their backs to the wall. Gwaine listens silently as Merlin relates all that has happened since he last saw his friend.
“I always knew Kilgharrah was tied up in Pendragon politics. The question is why? Why block off all his doors into society and then give him a back door?” Gwaine asks, looking gravely at the warlock.
“I hate riddles,” Merlin mutters, rubbing at tired eyes. “I’ve done nothing but think on them this entire time.”
“What you need is to relax and get your mind off of Kilgharrah and politics for a while,” Gwaine says with a grin, standing. He tugs at Merlin’s arm until the warlock is standing. “Come, dance with me. Soon you won’t be thinking of riddles.”
“I can’t,” Merlin protests, but still allows his friend to pull him onto the floor. Yells and shouts erupt as people see what they intend to do, the fiddler joined by someone on a drum. Merlin dances with too many people to properly remember and by the time he’s released, Merlin is winded, sweat dripping off of his brow as he steps off of the dance floor with Gwaine.
They never make it to their seats, a commotion outside drawing them out. Merlin can only blink and laugh at the sight that greets him. Arthur is stranded in the middle of a troupe of acrobats and magic users. As he watches, one of the girls flips and lands on his shoulders, hands flying up to release a torrent of illusionary butterflies whirling around them.
“Should we rescue him?” Merlin asks Gwaine, turning away slightly to see his friend’s face.
“You know him?” Gwaine asks.
“Unfortunately,” Merlin says with a sigh. Stepping forward, he lets his magic snap out, cutting through the illusion and the butterflies burst into sparks and then fade to nothing. The crowd that has gathered goes silent as they take in the new arrival.
“Get off of me!” Arthur growls, tossing the girl from his shoulders and she falls with a thud and rolls away to spring back up with a bound, all smiles and flourishes of her hands.
“No need to hurt a lady, princess,” Gwaine mocks, coming to stand beside Merlin.
Arthur shoots Gwaine a glare and turns to Merlin. “We’re leaving.”
“No,” Merlin says, sending a glare of his own at Arthur. “As you can see I am in no danger, so Kilgharrah shouldn’t be such a worrywart.”
“Damnit, Merlin, just get in the carriage,” Arthur hisses out, grabbing Merlin’s arm and tugging him forward.
They don’t make it two steps before Gwaine’s hand lands heavily on Arthur’s shoulder, gripping harshly, stopping the knight. “If he does not want to go with you, you cannot force him,” Gwaine says softly.
Merlin lets out a tired sigh, all the cheerfulness from before fading away, leaving him feeling empty, “Just leave it Gwaine. I’ll see you later.”
Sending one last look at Merlin, Gwaine lets go and steps away, eyes looking worried. Merlin waves once before Arthur and he disappear around the corner where the carriage is waiting.
The ride back is silent, Arthur’s fury near palpable from his seat opposite. His hand is a vice around Merlin’s arm as he marches the warlock to the study. Merlin is expecting anger for his disappearing act, but all he is met with is Kilgharrah’s cool gaze as he takes in their arrival.
He holds a scroll of parchment in his hand. “He has answered. Duc L’Ector will see me in two days.”
“That is good,” Merlin says, unsure of what more to say.
Kilgharrah flicks his eyes back to Merlin, a glimmer of smoldering anger just visible. “I warned you once, Merlin and I will not warn you again. Do not leave these grounds without my permission or I will sell your Mearcung.”
Merlin’s knees go a little weak, but he answers steadily, “Yes, my lord.”
Ignoring Arthur’s smirk as he makes his way out, Merlin grins when Kilgharrah takes in Arthur’s ruffled appearance, “What happened to you?” He doesn’t get to hear Arthur’s reply after shutting the door.
~*~
Not only does Kilgharrah get an escort of twenty men-at-arms to take him to the meeting point on L’Ector’s estates outside Camelot, but the captain of the guards tells him the one thing he does not wish to hear. “I was told to bring the others.”
Thus, Merlin, Freya and Arthur end up in the carriage with Kilgharrah, despite his protests. They make an impressive party leaving the city. The ride is short over fairly decent roads. The L’Ector estates are a large sprawling mass of forestland and grassy fields mixed together. A small river runs through it, behind the large, impressive building built on the lands.
They are spotted before they even reach the Chateau, the standard bearer waving his flag to an answering wave. The main gates open and they are escorted into the Duc’s receiving room. The room is much like Maris, showing the influence the Empire has had on the Duc while he was away. A throne-like chair carved from pale marble stands empty in the room. One of the guards leaves while the others station themselves around the room. They didn’t have to wait long before the sound of the Duc’s approaching footsteps heralded his arrival.
All of them bow as the Duc enters. Merlin looks up and takes in the Duc. He’s never met him before. The Duc has long blonde hair tied back in a loose tail and piercing blue eyes. He wears sensible clothing made of durable cloth, a practical man, despite his wealth. Merlin can see the resemblance between him and the late Queen from a portrait he had once seen of her.
“Kilgharrah, have you come to apologize for your sins against my House?” He asks, settling onto his chair.
“I have come to propose that we place these matters behind us, where they belong,” Kilgharrah says softly.
“After you helped kill my cousin, you think I should forgive you?” Duc L’Ector asks, eyes narrowing to slits.
“Yes,” Kilgharrah says simply. The men stir around them and the Duc raises a hand silencing them.
“Why? I heard what you had to offer, but how does that right the Balance between us? Why should I forgive you?” Kay asks, sitting forward.
Kilgharrah looks him dead in the eye. “Do you think that if I had known what was to happen, I would still go through with it? I would have rather been thrown I prison than be the death of her. I was just following my king’s orders.”
“Perhaps you speak truly, but you also are a master a speaking lies truthfully. You still haven’t given me an adequate reason to forgive,” Kay says with a snort, leaning back in his chair.
“I have sworn an oath, one for which you already know the terms,” Kilgharrah says quietly. Merlin leans forward, hoping that someone will explain.
Kay’s eyes go hard as he stares at Kilgharrah. “You still stand by that oath, even after all these years? Despite all that Uther has done to cripple you?”
“I did not swear it to Uther,” Kilgharrah says quietly. Merlin wants to scream at them to explain what they are talking about. He holds his tongue.
“It seems Uther takes it seriously, despite how much he hates you. Two whores and a knight only you would think of keeping such a group, Kilgharrah.” Shifting forward once more, he looks past Kilgharrah at them. “Which of you knows who killed my cousin?”
Freya steps forward and curtsies, “I do.”
“You then, which of the Bois line did it?” Freya flinches slightly and Kay grins sharply, all teeth and no mirth. “You think I do not have ears. I know my sister died of poison and not childbirth. My cousins and extended family deals much in poison, I have long known that. You were attacked also, with one man killed and now Reynold Gunter is nowhere to be found. I hear he also paid an extensive amount for your virgin price. Who was it?”
Keeping herself composed, she turns back to Kilgharrah. “My lord?”
Kilgharrah nods, “Tell him.”
“Maria and Agravaine,” she says softly.
Merlin watches as his face grows calm and knows that soon Agravaine and his wife are soon to be dead. “Did Reynold offer proof?”
Freya shakes her head. “no, but he carried a gift of apples coated in honey, put in his hand by Agravaine, but it was Maria who knew how the queen loved the sweetened fruit. Reynold delivered them himself.”
“There was an empty container next to her bed, but it was empty and no one knew what had been in it, though we suspected,” he murmurs.
“He tried to say it was Morgause, since she can no longer refute it. I do not think he would have had me attacked if the second time was a lie,” Freya says.
“You knew I still have influences in Tintagel when you contacted me,” Kay says, turning to Kilgharrah. “My reach is further than yours at the moment. Why go to all these lengths to avenge my cousin?”
“You know that Agravaine as two daughters and four grandchildren, all of royal blood,” Kilgharrah says.
“Yes, and also that Tristan is still hale and will rule for some time, while Uther’s health fails and many whisper that Prince Dillon was innocent and that Morgana is unfit to rule because of the circumstances of her birth. I do not need a lesson in politics and thrones, Kilgharrah,” Kay says harshly, resting his chin on his fist heavily.
“No, you do not, though I must congratulate you on your daughter’s marriage,” Kilgharrah says.
Kay snorts softly. “Perhaps you are right and our interests do run in a similar line. You do know that any actions I take against Agravaine and Maria will not be entirely honorable?”
“You have enough power in Tintagel to take Reynold into custody. Some leverage and he would certainly spill about his doings and Tristan would see that justice is upheld.”
“That’s right you two were old comrades at the Battle of Highpass, were you not? Tristan always has been overly honorable. He should never have taken the throne, no stomach for politics.” He stares into the distance for a few moments before his eyes turn to Merlin. “So, you’re Kilgharrah’s warlock? The one spying on D’Cote for your master.”
“My lord, I am just a servant of the Balance and my lord Kilgharrah only used me in such a capacity to right the Balance between you two,” Merlin murmurs with a slight bow.
“Indeed,” Kay says with a twitch of his mouth. “I’ve wanted to see the two who outwitted my best counselor and the shrewdest trader in Albion and to see if Kilgharrah is willing to risk them to have this meeting.” He turns back to Kilgharrah, “It seems you are. So, it’s the old promise then?”
“If you wish to discuss this, then I ask that it be in private,” Kilgharrah says quickly.
“They don’t know? What loyalty you command. But what of you, where do your loyalties lie?” Kay asks, looking at Arthur.
“I am bound by my vow to preserve life. I am a knight, I protect and serve,” Arthur says simply.
Kay’s gaze is sharp as he looks at Arthur. “Indeed. You are dismissed. Garwin, take them to the kitchens and feed them. Shall we proceed, Kilgharrah?”
They are silent as they are herded out of the room and to the kitchens. Once they have been served, they are left alone. Merlin can only take a few bites at a time, tension turning his stomach to knots.
“Who is he that he commands such attention from two royal families?” Arthur asks softly.
“Kilgharrah keeps things from us that could get us killed if we knew them,” Merlin admits, looking at the knight. “Beyond that, he is Kilgharrah and that is all we can say. If you want to try your luck then go ahead.”
“Maybe I will,” Arthur mutters.
~*~
Merlin isn’t sure what passes between Kilgharrah and Duc Kay l’Ector, but a truce of sorts is reached. As autumn continues, the days grow shorter and the air cooler. Soon the harvest will be coming in. No new information comes in except for the occasional sighting of the Pict.
Merlin is left to wait, Kilgharrah still unwilling to let him out until matters have been resolved. His coffers remain empty and his Mearcung grows no longer. Merlin knows it is for his safety, but he still resents the day Freya goes in for her final appointment. She is free while Merlin is still chained, as he has been all his life.
Merlin still goes with her and admires it as he is supposed to. It is a thing of beauty, the graceful ripple of muscle in the feline’s muscles and the energy of the piece. Arthur, out of place in his black tunic, ignores them, eyes kept resolutely facing outside.
Merlin is restless that night, unable to sleep. Wandering down the stairs in hopes of reading something to calm his mind, he nearly doesn’t see Freya slipping into the library ahead of him. Curiosity getting the better of him, Merlin steps softly until he is just at the door, hidden in shadow.
Kilgharrah is already in there, reading from a scroll. He marks his place and looks up at Freya. “Yes?”
“My lord, you have not asked to see my Mearcung,” she says softly.
“Master Saracen does excellent work. I’ve no doubt it is well crafted,” Kilgharrah hedges.
“It is. My lord, my debt to you is not concluded until you have seen it and acknowledged it. Will you see?” Merlin is surprised that Freya knows of the tradition of the Court. Merlin can see that Kilgharrah does know of this tradition as he nods and sets the scroll aside and rises.
Freya turns, and slipping the already unlaced dress from her shoulders, drops it to show him. “Is my lord pleased?”
“Does it hurt?” he asks softly, standing close behind her. She shakes her head.
Freya turns to look up at him. Kilgharrah’s hand comes up to brush a few strand of hair off of her shoulder, resting against the smooth curve of flesh. Merlin isn’t sure if Kilgharrah will push her away or not, but Freya takes this into consideration and instead grips his arm to tug him down into a soft kiss. “Everything I have done was for your sake. Will you do this one thing for mine?” Merlin hears her whisper.
Before he can hear more, Merlin turns and runs as silently as he can from the scene. His heart feels constricted and the bitter taste of envy wells up in his throat. That they are both free for such things galls him, brings tears to his eyes. Like his namesake, he just wants to be able to fly free and yet he is still chained down. He lets his tears go, pressing his face into the pillow.
Merlin is exhausted and hollowed out in the morning, his emotions and magic seemingly drained by his tears. Freya and Kilgharrah are quiet, but he can see the signs of their night. Freya has light rings under her eyes, while Kilgharrah seems to have lost some of his tension.
The only thing that seems to keep him from falling into some sort of depression is the fact that news from Tintagel arrives that morning. It is Uriens who brings the news. The news he brings from the castle is mixed.
Reynold Gunter had been taken into custody by Tristan de la Bois but had been found dead in his cell, hung by his own belt. Rumor was that the normal jailer had been replaced by someone who owed a debt to Agravaine de la Bois. Search for the man found him floating in a river, drowned. When they pulled him out, they found his throat had been slashed.
Tristan is no fool and sends for his brother. But Kay L’Ector or his cousin, fear Agravaine’s slimy words will get him free. Their party is attack en route by masked bandits with deadly accuracy with bows. All flee without getting caught and four are left dead, Agravaine one of them.
“There is a rumor that Duc Kay l’Ector had something to do with it and that Tristan would have pressed matters if rumors of the Pict warlord in the north hadn’t caught his attention. What with Tintagel being so close to the northern mountains, he has started to gather troops, just in case.”
Kilgharrah shakes his head. “Duc L’Ector? You’re joking, old friend.” Puffing on his pipe, he stares into space for a second before looking at Uriens again. “Tristan takes it that seriously?”
“He does. He has sent word to Pellinore de Dieu to keep his eyes and ears open. We’re fortunate to have young Valiant d’Alene to protect our borders.
“Indeed,” Kilgharrah mused. “So there is no talk of retribution from the Bois family?”
“Not currently. To be honest, I don’t think Tristan will mourn his brother’s death much. Agravaine had always been an ambitious man and Tristan’s hold on his throne was never safe with his brother around,” Uriens says softly. Kilgharrah only hums in acknowledgment.
Merlin waits until Uriens leaves before speaking up. “My lord, you said I could return to service once matters had settled.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He drags on his pipe in thought. “Well, I see no reason to delay any longer. Just so long as you take the knight with you.”
“I will. Are there any offers?” Merlin asks.
“A few, did you have anyone in mind?” Kilgharrah asks, looking at him.
Merlin drew in a deep breath, “I have a Balance to settle with Lord Breunor d’Cote.”
“D’Cote? He had made an offer the other week, but I am minded to let his anger cool. Besides, he has served his purpose and I see no need for you to see him again.”
“My lord, you once told me that I am a tool of the Balance. If I truly am, than I must do this, for there is a debt between us that must be righted,” Merlin says, looking Kilgharrah straight in the eye.
“Very well, if you’re sure of this, I will have the contract drawn up and signed. Just, be careful,” he says, laying a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin can only nod.
~*~
Merlin’s assignation with D’Cote is as he expects, D’Cote’s anger not having abated at all. Merlin allows D’Cote to take his anger out on his body, relishing in it, in the freedom it gives him like nothing but his magic can do. By the end, he is a limp mass on the floor with D’Cote running gentle fingers through his hair.
“Never again, Merlin. Promise me this,” he says softly.
“I promise my lord,” Merlin breaths out, and hopes his words are not turned into lies by Kilgharrah.
Arthur’s eyes are round, his mouth pinched when Merlin stumbles into the receiving room. He must look worse than he thought. “What…Merlin…” Arthur can’t seem to finish his sentence.
Merlin isn’t sure what causes it, but his knees give out and only Arthur’s quick actions keep him from falling to the floor. With little effort, the knight scoops him up into his arms. “Arthur, I can walk you know,” Merlin mutters.
“Not from what I can see, idiot,” Arthur says, shaking his head stubbornly. “Open the door,” he orders the servant.”
Merlin sighs and settles against Arthur’s broad chest as the knight carries him out into the courtyard of D’Cote’s townhouse. “I’m an idiot. This is what I do,” Merlin informs him as Arthur settles Merlin into the carriage that had been drawn for them.
“I wish I knew what I had done that was so bad to be force to watch idly while you do your ‘job’,” he mutters.
“I didn’t ask you to be here,” Merlin hisses as the coach starts to pull away.
“And you wonder why I call you an idiot,” Arthur says.
~*~
Part 4b