The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes Part 9

[stakeaclaim]

The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Part 9


Arthur led them back, with Merlin slightly behind him, fingers curled around the leather reins, shoulders sloping and head drooping, trusting his horse to follow Arthur’s just as it always did.

Kay, still mounted on the tired nag purloined from the bandits, rode next to him, wanting to offer words of comfort, but found he had nothing to say. They were returning to Camelot, where sorcerers were executed. There weren’t enough platitudes in the world because things wouldn’t look better in the morning and maybe it wasn’t all going to be alright in the end.
He nudged closer to Merlin.

‘Will you be able to save yourself if the worst happens?’ he asked voice thick with concern.

And Merlin just shook his head.

Bone weary, head aching from earlier trauma, the backlash from burning the magic out of the boy had hit him so hard that when he reached for his magic all he had was white noise and static. It needed time to dissipate before he could grasp his power firmly, instead of feeling like he was trying to hold and shape water with his hands.

‘Then I’ll find a way,’ Kay promised.

Merlin finally raised stricken eyes to the young knight.

‘Please don’t!’ he begged. ‘Promise me, Kay.’

‘I can’t,’ Kay replied softly.

And if possible, Merlin’s shoulders drooped further. It wasn’t right that anyone should risk themselves for him. After the tragedy of Gwen’s dad, he was under no illusions. Anyone caught helping him would be executed.

Together with his developing abilities was a growing sense of responsibility and this instinct to protect others had found an outlet with Arthur and Camelot. It was intensely gratifying to stand unseen behind the pomp and show of secular power and push and prod things into motion, secretly helping where he could. But now his anonymity had been blasted away, and who knew where the debris might fly or who might be injured by it. The thought of endangering the knights or, god forbid, Arthur, made him sick to his stomach.

Yet what could he do, weakened as he was? Nature demanded a price for destroying what she had bestowed on the erstwhile warlock. She had left Merlin literally powerless, dependent on the mercy and judgement of others. Is this how ordinary people felt? Helpless and hapless and subject to the whims of fate? He decided he didn’t like the feeling one little bit.

Using his power was as natural as flexing his fingers. Voluntarily trammelling his magic for his own safety had been bad, but at least it had been his choice. This… paralysis was almost unbearable. What he’d done to the other sorcerer had been no kindness. May as well have blinded him or cut off his hands, Merlin thought morbidly.

Each of the following knights attempted to reconcile Merlin’s thunderbolt of revelation with the man they had come to know.

Percival was still a bit woolly about what had occurred.

Somewhere between the fear and the shame, he was conscious of something happening, the turning of the tide when Caradoc, Geraint and Merlin appeared. But his attention was on the rusty knife hovering over him, and everything else blurred around that one sharp image.

There had been a hissing intake of breath from his comrades, and out of the corner of his eye he maybe glimpsed a zing of light but it held such an air of unreality and confusion, he wouldn’t have sworn to anything.

All he knew was, despite his inaction, everybody had lived. The torrent of relief almost knocked him off his feet. And if Merlin was responsible then Percival would joyfully fall to his knees and offer his profound thanks and eternal allegiance.

But he rather depressingly found himself re-evaluating his suitability for knighthood. The lapse of concentration after that damned snake had nearly been their undoing. His blunder had forced the others to drop their weapons and it had nearly been the death of them. The memory of how easily he’d been overcome burnt through him, casting everything else that had happened into shadow. A knight’s much vaunted courage and valour had deserted him when he needed it most and the shame of it would live with him always. If his fears could betray him so completely then maybe he should sheath his sword, give up his knighthood, leave his friends and return to his quiet country home before he endangered anyone else with his cowardly incompetence. Hunting rabbits and deer was all he was good for.

His wallowing in self-pity was interrupted by Geraint who remained insensible to tense atmosphere.

‘Arthur’s angry?’ he asked, observing the stiff-backed prince.

No reply was forthcoming from anyone.

‘I don’t blame him. Imagine finding out your trusted servant is a traitor,’ he said with a soft snort.

Caradoc flicked a glance towards Arthur and Merlin. Thankfully, the rush of the wind and dull drumbeat of cantering hooves meant they were both out of earshot.

‘Geraint?’ Hector asked politely.

‘Yes?’

‘Be quiet.’

They rode in silence for a while longer.

‘I’d almost say he was furious,’ Geraint finally added. Silence didn’t come naturally to him.

Arthur must have a very expressive back, Caradoc thought, if even a newcomer could identify his mood by studying it. Although, it was probably more to do with the clipped self-contained movements and the air of restrained violence.

‘What part of ‘be quiet’ confounds you, boy?’ Hector growled.

‘But the traitor…’

Caradoc could hold his tongue no longer.

‘Boy, you helped kill the giant-spider-monster-thing, so you have my gratitude. But call him that one more time and you’ll be coughing up your own teeth.’

Saying the words aloud clarified Caradoc’s own view of the development.

He couldn’t deny he was angry. Angry, disappointed and slightly hurt. He had been duped, and everything he knew about Merlin was a lie. The innocent, happy-go-lucky boy was a fabrication that covered something far more sinister.

Sorcerers and their ilk were a menace and a threat to the stability of Camelot. With a careless seeming gesture or a dramatic thump of a staff, they were able to upset the hard won balance of power on a whim. But who gave them their authority? What rules did they bow to? Who were they to judge? Maybe the law was unfair. But at least it was solid. It was structured. It could be honed and improved. No one was at the mercy of the precocious nature of one small human.

And as much as Caradoc believed this, he also believed, magical or not, Merlin wouldn’t betray Arthur. Wouldn’t betray any of them. Merlin was not a traitor and he refused to let Geraint damn him for the wrong crime.

‘What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be polishing boots or something?’ Montague asked Geraint, deliberately pulling attention back to the boy’s wrongdoing.

‘Merlin said…,’ Geraint began, before it occurred to him that Merlin wouldn’t be able to make things right, as promised. Perhaps the Prince would be too preoccupied with other matters, such as his sorcerer-manservant, to worry the about the minutiae, such as punishment detail.

‘Merlin said what?’ Montague pressed.

‘That Arthur and the rest of you required his aid but he didn’t know how to read trail signs, so he asked for my help.’

Again there was silence, whilst each knight mulled this over, casting sidelong glances at Merlin. When it came down to it they had needed his aid.

It’s not that sorcerers couldn’t be good and loyal, Caradoc eventually decided. They were wildcards, and that’s what made them dangerous to the kingdom. However, if they bound themselves to a higher authority, if not the letter of the law, then the lawmakers, such as the King (or the Prince) and their advisors, then couldn’t an exception be made? But then the law should be the same for everyone. That was the point of it. He was tying himself in knots to avoid coming to the conclusion that the law might be wrong. Because if it was then how many loyal citizens had been falsely executed whilst they all watched and did nothing?

‘And that doesn’t tell you anything about his loyalty?’ Montague asked Geraint raising his eyebrows quizzically.

Unlike Caradoc, Montague had always been uncomfortable with Camelot’s stance on magic. Of all of them, he best understood that a person couldn’t be defined by their ability to do magic. He regarded it as just an aspect of a person, like eye-colour or stature. But then, Montague had been raised in an environment of tolerance. And how could it be any different when his own grandmother was a practitioner? She had taught that power was as good or evil as the person wielding it, regardless as to whether the source of the power was magical or secular.
Merlin used his power to save them, so Montague was satisfied. In his opinion, they could do with a powerful sorcerer who was actually on their side for once. But he knew his opinion didn’t count on this matter. No one’s did. The King lacked all reason when it came to sorcery and there would be no mercy, Montague thought sadly.

Hector’s mind was also dwelling on the King. His observations were skewed in a more practical direction and revolved around his concern for Uther, Arthur and for Camelot. His only consideration was how he could mitigate the damage caused by Merlin’s revelation.
Uther would be adamant about executing the boy. Arthur would be just as adamant that he would remain unharmed. Arthur’s previous argument that the only way to avoid a schism between King and Prince was to ensure that Uther never found out still held true for Hector. A quick evaluation of the knights who had witnessed the events had him drawing the conclusion that the new boy, Geraint, would be the main stumbling block.

Considering everything at stake, the best option would be to ensure that the youngster never got a chance to report to Uther. Hector began to matter-of-factly cast through the possibilities, from bribery to threats to fatal accident. The marshes, in particular, could prove useful….

Ironically, Geraint was wondering just how much trouble he was mired in, unaware that Hector was already mentally sharpening his knife and deciding where to hide his body. He naively believed his chief worry was what Arthur might say about abandoning his punishment and bringing Merlin to him. Although, after being prodded with it a couple of times he finally got Montague’s and Caradoc’s point - it was passing strange that someone who was a traitor to Camelot would rush off to try to save its Prince. And if Merlin was only a sorcerer and not actually a traitor surely that would earn Geraint some leniency?

He needn’t have worried. Escaping punishment was the last thing on Arthur’s mind. However, Geraint was correct about one thing, Arthur was angry, and it was all the worse because there was no focus to it. Or rather the blame skipped from himself to Merlin, to Geraint, to the sorcerer, to an unfair system, to his father and back to himself. It was all fruitless. He supposed he always knew this day would come.

What he needed was a plan. He decided that at the very least he needed to contain the situation and make sure no one else discovered what had happened.

‘Arthur!’

He was jolted from his thoughts by Bedevere, Romford and Willard. His mouth twitched in greeting, which Arthur hoped might resemble a smile, but apparently not. Romford’s eyes immediately narrowed, and he began a head count of the knights present, as Bedevere asked,

‘Who died?’ in a voice, tight with apprehension.

‘No one. We’re all fine,’ Arthur replied sounding more resigned rather than fine.

‘Merlin’s a sorcerer,’ Geraint called out.

The words rang out sounding unnaturally loud to Arthur’s ears. So much for containment and keeping it quiet. Anyone within a five-mile radius would have heard that.

‘For pity’s sake, boy, will you please shut up!’ Hector’s tone had moved from polite to agitated.

And it dawned on Arthur that he had yet another problem. If he knew there was a resolution to all this, then Hector would have worked it out, too. He glanced at Geraint and had to admit it was tempting. He wouldn’t even have to do anything except pretend to believe whatever tale Hector told him when Geraint disappeared.

But the boy wasn’t all bad. Arthur imagined the painful letter he would have to write to the distraught Lord and Lady of Pembroke, before his mind skittered to Merlin’s condemnation if he found out, and there was no doubt that he would find out. Then there was the prospect of facing the knowing looks on the other knights’ faces when he tried to instruct on ideas of justice and ethics. How much worth would words have if his actions betrayed all he professed to value? Trying to do the right thing was giving him a headache. No wonder people so often took the easy option.

‘Do me a favour?’ he asked Geraint.

Geraint nodded eagerly, keen to show his willingness and loyalty and hopefully forego any further Princely ire.

‘Listen to Hector. I want this kept amongst ourselves. I will not allow my household to become the subject of gossip and speculation for the people of Camelot. Can you do that?’

‘Absolutely. Not another word. Until we report to the King himself,’ Geraint replied, nodding his head enthusiastically.

Hector was looking increasingly edgy and Arthur had to keep his eyes from straying to him and giving him the signal. How did Geraint ever live this long? No matter how hard he tried, everything he said and everything he did was wrong.

‘Is it really true?’ Bedevere asked apprehensively, his eyes glued to Merlin as though expecting him to grow wings and take flight.

Kay broke the intensity of their stares by placing himself between Merlin and the newly arrived knights.

‘Yes, it is. And he’s the reason no one died today.’ The nag stomped nervously, unused to being forced to stand his ground against bigger, stronger steeds. But Kay determinedly held his mount in place, a challenging look in his eyes.

Romford blinked at his tone. When did that raw boy transform into a bold, strong minded man?

‘Okay,’ Romford said slowly, trying to feel out the tensions. ‘He saved you. So why are you taking him back to Camelot?’

‘For a fair trial,’ Geraint replied, his tone suggesting he thought Romford a little slow. And then he wondered why no one was agreeing with him.

‘Because there are bandits out there,’ Hector said. ‘We may have pulled their teeth but they’ll have no love for Merlin and could still prove dangerous.’

‘Because he’s exhausted,’ Arthur said flatly.

Despite Arthur’s expressionless tone there was a certain twist to his lips and a tautness in his stance that told Bedevere that Arthur cared very much indeed.

All of his doubts about Merlin were pushed to one side. Whatever he personally felt, it seemed that Arthur’s affections had changed not one whit. And even if Bedevere doubted Arthur’s judgement in this matter, he still couldn’t let his prince down.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Bedevere asked, peering past Kay. ‘Arthur, he’s almost falling out of the saddle. What are you thinking of?’

He sprang from his horse, giving the reins to Romford, and approached Merlin slowly. He laid a hand on Merlin’s calf to get his attention.

‘I’m going to climb behind you, okay? You look like you’re about to slide off.’

‘Bedevere…,’ Merlin murmured brokenly, his eyes all shards and shattered hopes. Bedevere found his own eyes tearing in response. He couldn’t turn off friendship, he couldn’t prove that false. Not when Merlin needed someone so much.

‘Oh, Merlin.’

He swung up behind him, shuffled both of their bodies forward so that they were sharing the saddle, and reached around to take the reins from limp fingers.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got you,’ he reassured.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Merlin asked.

‘Doing what?’

‘Being nice.’

‘Good manners cost nothing.’ Bedevere said pulling him close and letting some of his warmth creep into the chilled body.

‘What happened to your hair?’ Caradoc inquired, shooting a curious glance at Willard and deflecting attention away from Merlin and Bedevere.

Willard tore his eyes away from the pair and gracefully took up the diversion.

‘Impromptu haircut, courtesy of dear Romford,’ he replied easily.

‘Interesting what he’s done with it. It’s a definite statement.’

‘Providing the statement includes words such as ridiculous and bizarre,’ Montague supplied disparagingly.

‘I prefer to think of it as stylish disarray.’

‘An amalgam of nature and artifice,’ Romford added in support of his rough and ready handiwork.
‘I admire your truly unique way of thinking. And I have to say you’re taking it remarkably calmly, Willard.’

‘Not really. I’m just pretending, so that when I murder Romford in his sleep no one will suspect me.’

‘Oh, good plan,’ Caradoc said approvingly.

With Bedevere and Merlin settled, they began to move again.

‘So when you won our duel was that because of magic?’ Bedevere asked curiously and felt Merlin shrugged response.

‘No. I really am that clumsy, no magic required.’

Bedevere gave a grunt that was part relief and part amusement. He’d lost that fight and the reason why shouldn’t matter, but he still felt happier knowing that Merlin hadn’t zapped him with magic.

‘Why did you stay in Camelot? You must have known this day was bound to come sooner or later.’

‘Someone had to look after him.’

They both knew which ‘him’ he referring to. Bedevere looked across at the man who would someday be their king.

‘Yes. I suppose they did,’ he agreed, and wondered how they were going to fix this mess.

Merlin noted how studiously Arthur was ignoring him. The sheer indifference hit with the pain of a physical blow. Not long ago there had been signs that Arthur had begun to return his affection, and now it was doused like a candle flame in a puff of icy wind, and everything was that much colder and darker for lack of it.

He remembered Morgana’s words about Bernadette. How, despite her betrayal, Arthur had supported her in his cold and distant way. Merlin supposed it was measure of how far he had fallen that he was now subject to the same treatment. There was no violence or harsh words. Nothing he could rail against or respond to. Arthur had simply judged him and withdrawn completely.
Daylight faded as they skirted the marshes. Arthur turned around.

‘Keep close and don’t stray,’ he told Geraint. ‘These ways can be dangerous.’

But his stern glance was reserved for Hector, whose eyes silently pleaded their case. Arthur remained unmoved and, with a noise of frustration, Hector surreptitiously slipped his knife back into his belt. He pulled back on his subtle herding of Geraint, allowing him to rejoin the rest of the group.

The sky was darkening as they approached Camelot. For Kay it felt like a lifetime since he’d chased after Merlin to help gather herbs. His hands were stinging from blade cuts, his shoulder ached from where he’d given additional support to Romford. Neither Romford nor Bedevere realised they had even received his aid, but Kay was satisfied. He wasn’t a child, needing praise or a pat on the head. Nothing matched seeing the whole company entering Camelot unscathed and knowing it was partly due to him. His decisions, his actions had contributed to their safe return, and that knowledge was like sunshine and water on his sapling self confidence.

He flanked Merlin and Bedevere protectively until they arrived at Camelot, where Arthur called a halt.

‘I want this kept quiet until I’ve spoken to the King,’ he told them sternly, well aware that news spread through the ranks like wildfire and Geraint wouldn’t necessarily be the only one with a flapping tongue.

He casually pulled Romford and Hector to one side.

‘Give me enough cover to get him to Gaius without drawing anyone’s eyes. I want him to be invisible.’

Romford was about to point out that Merlin could probably manage the invisibility without any help from them, but the look in Arthur’s eyes caused some small sense of self preservation to kick in and he wisely held his tongue.

Instead, they both nodded agreement and quietly passed the word to those that they trusted.

The clip clop of hooves echoed hollowly around the courtyard. The bustle of the day receded as the sun fell and people drifted back to their homes, leaving dusk and silence to creep into the corners of the court, only to be swirled away with the clamour of the knights’ return. Shouts for the stable lads, servants appearing and scampering forward to help their masters, torches breaching the twilight with bright spheres of flickering gold. And beneath the artificial bustle and noise, Merlin was quietly shrouded from view, a dun colour cloak thrown around him as Arthur and Bedevere fell in either side. Merlin felt like an escorted prisoner.

‘To Gaius?’ Kay asked, and at the answering nod he forged ahead to clear the way.

The knights casually formed a corridor that closed in behind them, blocking the four of them from view.

Merlin’s legs were jelly, and he leant heavily into Arthur, partly due to weakness and partly for the comfort his solid body provided. This was the second time today that Arthur had helped him up these steps. Well, technically, he hadn’t been so much ‘helped’ as ‘carried’ up them earlier. He hadn’t been picked up or carried since he’d turned four when a running leap into his mother’s arms had bowled her over. From earliest memory he’d been a danger to himself and others, he thought miserably.

He wished he could just curl up in Arthur’s arms, bury himself in the protection and comfort they offered and shut out the rest of the world. Merlin had to remind himself with a glance towards Arthur’s stern features that any comfort was illusory. Arthur was the Prince, Merlin was a sorcerer and everything was broken beyond his ability to repair. All the people he’d defended and helped, and yet he couldn’t help himself.

But what can’t be mended would have to be faced. He trudged between Arthur and his friends and accepted the fact that he would either have to leave or face execution. Stark choices both.
And what would become of Arthur? Who would protect the Prince? It wasn’t just magic and enchantments. Who would tease him back into good humour after a bad day, or extract a smile from him when everyone else seemed intent on provoking him?

Whilst Kay and Arthur helped Merlin, Bedevere automatically took guard over Gaius’s chambers and was soon joined by his co-conspirators who instantly took up posts either side of the door.
‘This is a clear lesson in being careful what you wish for,’ Caradoc mourned.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Bedevere replied soothingly.

‘I don’t. I blame you, with your ‘we must help Arthur’ and ‘wouldn’t Merlin be ideal’,’ Caradoc grumbled.

Romford looked at them enquiringly.

‘We wanted Arthur to see him as something more than a servant and we end up with a sorcerer,’ Caradoc explained bitterly.

‘There’s a certain irony,’ Romford agreed.

‘So tell me, where do you stand on this matter?’ Bedevere asked, getting straight to the point.

‘As far away as possible,’ Caradoc replied. ‘And if you had any sense, so would you.’

‘How can we? You want to distance yourself, not get involved, but you are involved. Whether you like it or not, you’re a witness and you can’t be absolved of responsibility.’
‘
Then my responsibility is to tell the truth,’ Caradoc said flatly.

‘If you do, then Merlin is dead. You’ll have fulfilled your duty to the present king and lost the trust of our future king. Can you imagine what it would do to Arthur, watching that execution?’

They stared at each other, apprehension and concern spilling from them.

‘Or we cover up the truth and when it finally surfaces, as inconvenient truths are wont to do, then we’re all sentenced to death for hiding a sorcerer,’ Caradoc said, frowning and discontent. Bedevere was no happier.

‘I don’t have a solution. But consider this: would Merlin abandon any of us if we were in trouble? Remember how he stood up to Uther for that serving girl? He drank poison for Arthur. He rode out today, despite being injured himself, and gave up his deadly secret in order to save us.
‘Caradoc, if it wasn’t for him you’d still be suffocating in a spider’s web, and any number of us would be injured or dead. By revealing his magic, he’s thrown himself on our mercy. As a knight, as an honourable man, would you really repay good deeds in such a fashion?’

‘Of course not.’ Caradoc was stung to denial. ‘But make no bones about what we’re doing here. It’s called treason. Or skirting the edge of it at the very least,’ he hissed in a lowered voice, afraid of who might hear. ‘And Merlin’s fate isn’t just resting on the shoulders of the three of us. It’s dependent on the others reaching the same conclusion.’

‘I’m certain they will. You call it treason but we’re not plotting against the King, but against an unjust law. I’m sure, even Hector, whose loyalty to King and Country is indisputable, will choose this route. Montague…. There have been rumours about his family for generations, and they make no secret of how they hate the executions. As for Percy, he was grateful for the intervention and hardly knows or cares how it came about.’

‘What about Willard?’

Romford, who had been playing spectator, blushed slightly and stirred himself to reply at the mention of that name.

‘He’s a kind, sensitive boy. The executions sicken him….’

‘So we hold our peace? Lie? Rebel? How far do we go?’ Caradoc asked, still needing to play devil’s advocate and test and prod at their plan.

‘I’ll take my cue from Arthur. I trust him to do what’s right,’ Bedevere replied calmly.

‘Okay. I just hope that ‘what’s right’ doesn’t get us all killed,’ Caradoc replied in resignation, decision made, come what may.

Things were no less tense on the other side of the door that they guarded so diligently.

Gaius observed their initial entry with some resignation.

‘What now?’ he asked, his voice becoming slightly querulous.

‘The worst,’ Arthur replied.

‘Come now,’ Gaius said smiling indulgently at the over-dramatisation of the young, ‘hardly that. You’re all alive, eh? Unless…. Have all your men returned safely?’

‘A few injuries. Kay’s hand. My neck.’

Arthur removed Merlin’s makeshift bandage to show the small, piercing wound.

Gaius peered at it, tutted and satisfied himself that the Prince was in no immediate danger before turning to Kay.

‘You’re lucky you didn’t cut through the tendons,’ he said sternly as he cleansed and re-bandaged the injured hand.

‘And what’s the matter with you? I hardly dare hope that you’ve escaped unscathed,’ he said Merlin. But his gruff words couldn’t hide the tenderness of his voice.

‘They know,’ Merlin said dully.

Gaius’s heart plummeted like a stone and hoped it didn’t mean what he thought.

‘Know what? What are you talking about boy? The head wound has clearly made you delirious. Pay no attention to him, Highness.’ His words were quick and nervous, and Gaius had the uncomfortable feeling that he was falling into a Gwen-like babble.

Kay laid a hand on Gaius’s thin arm.

‘We know. We’ve seen. He’s a warlock.’

The silence was tangible and hung on Gaius like a weight, causing him to sink heavily on to his stool, raising his eyes to meet Arthur’s.

‘He’s still the same boy. It changes nothing.’

‘Quite,’ Arthur replied.

But they all knew it changed everything.

Gaius took an uneven breath. He’d seen this happen too many times. The exposure of sorcerers and magicians. Some he’d known and some he hadn’t, but never before had it been family. He was too old. Too old to lose the closest thing he had to a son. Where would he find the strength to rise each morning? How could he ever obey the King’s commands when the voice that issued them also ordered the death of his boy?

‘We have to get him out,’ he said, determination glinting like an unsheathed sword, for Merlin, for all the ones he’d allow to die without protest passing his lips.

‘He’s… he’s not well. I… I couldn’t let him go. You know,’ Arthur said shifting awkwardly, ‘what with the bandits still roaming free.’

Merlin hid a flinch. He had become a burden, a duty that Arthur felt honour-bound to shoulder.
Gaius finally rose to examine him, all thoughts of age and infirmities passed as he observed the too silent boy.

‘Merlin?’

Gaius chucked a finger under his chin and lifted his face to the light, revealing red rim eyes and clammy skin.

‘Any additional injuries besides the head wound?’

Merlin silently shook his head.

‘Not that I could see,’ Arthur agreed. ‘There’s no limping, he doesn’t favour one side over another, his breathing is shallow but he didn’t flinch when I touched his ribs or his back.’

Kay was surprised. For all that Arthur had barely glanced in Merlin’s direction he’d still managed to catalogue all his reactions and make an assessment.

‘We need to warm him up.’

He put an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

‘Time to get you to bed, hmm? Sounds as if you’ve had quite enough excitement for one day.’

Merlin followed their suggestions meekly as a lamb, not saying a word as they fussed and made him comfortable, until he was safely settled into his cot.

It worried them all. He was far too malleable.

‘Rest now.’

Gaius ushered them out and closed the door.

‘There’s something else. His, uh, magic.’ Kay felt uncomfortable mentioning it openly, but forged ahead nevertheless. ‘You know he was following us because there was a sorcerer with the thieves?’

‘Yes…,’ Gaius admitted.

‘He burnt out his magic. The other warlock’s, I mean. And I think it drained him, or something. He thinks it’s only temporary but at the moment, he can’t do magic. So, if he’s going to get out of here, then he can’t do it by himself.’

This was news to Arthur and his eyebrows rose, obviously wondering why he’d only
now been told of this. But he let it slide and thought quickly.

‘We’ll leave him here for the night and let him recover some of his strength. I think I can keep a lid on this until the morning. But prepare yourself for tomorrow because we may need to smuggle him away.’

‘May have to smuggle him out? I would have thought it was a little more definite than that. Unless.... Do you have a plan?’ Gaius queried

Looking at his hopeful face Arthur couldn’t let him down.

‘Yes,’ he said decisively. ‘All the knights that witnessed Merlin’s power are loyal to me. They will all be open to persuasion.’

‘And you’d be willing to use that power?’ Gaius asked.

‘I would,’ Arthur replied shortly.

‘They won’t all be open to persuasion.’ Kay pointed out reluctantly. ‘Geraint….’

‘Yes. Geraint,’ Arthur agreed, his face giving nothing away.

‘You’re not going to….’ Kay wondered how one politely phrased ‘murder’.

‘Of course not,’ Arthur said dismissively as though the thought had never crossed his mind.

‘Really?’ Gaius asked doubtfully. He was accustomed to the methods of certain kings, and in his experience, apples never fell far from the tree.

‘No…. That reminds me, I need to see Hector,’ Arthur said with a frown. He couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten to warn Hector off taking any drastic action.

‘Kay, will you keep Geraint safe until I get there?’

‘I understand.’

And now that Kay had begun to use his brain instead of obeying and accepting that everyone else knew best, he discovered he actually had some perception of the motives and subtleties of people around him. Geraint was the knot in Arthur’s plans. And there were some knights, such as Hector, who held the legendary Alexander as their hero and would cheerfully cut through a knot with a sword. Whereas, Arthur was trying to understand the intricacies of it, resorting to the sword only when it was unavoidable.

Once Kay had left, Arthur cleared his throat whilst Gaius raised an eyebrow and waited with the appearance of patience.

‘Your plan?’ he prompted not quite willing to trust Merlin’s fate to the Prince’s nebulous plan without hearing the details first.

‘They’re all loyal to me. Except for Geraint.’

‘I believe that has already been covered.’ Gaius said, his appearance of patience beginning to slip.

‘Yes. I have a couple of ideas….’

‘Go on.’

‘Keep Geraint distracted so that he doesn’t have time to report to the King.’

‘That doesn’t sound….’

‘He’s done enough that I could send him home in disgrace without any questions being raised.’

‘Hmmm.’

And Arthur felt the same. If Geraint was sent home it would only delay the inevitable. Eventually the story would be told and wing its way back to Camelot. Besides, was it really fair to ruin the boy’s reputation? The disgrace would stain Geraint for the rest of his life.

‘So you said you had a couple of ideas? As in more than one?’ Gaius asked hopefully, clearly not impressed with option one.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going to share it, your Highness?’

‘I suppose so,’ Arthur sighed. This went very much against his principles.

‘And…?’

‘How much do you know about magic?’

‘Well. Uh,’ Gaius stuttered, caught off guard by the non sequitur. His complexion turned pink and his eyes became shifty.

‘Because I was wondering how successful magic was when it came to making people forget?’

‘Ohhhh. Well. I’ve, uh, heard that such things can be unpredictable….’

‘Oh.’ Arthur tried to keep the disappointment from his voice.

‘But we could try it, before disgracing the poor fellow.’

‘Hardly a poor fellow,’ Arthur pointed out. This was the same boy who had hit Merlin, and seemed remarkably eager to haul him back for trial at sword point.’

‘He’s young.’

‘He’s arrogant and spoilt.’

Gaius raised an eyebrow and wondered if Arthur was aware of the incongruity that Arthur of all people should use the very words that had fallen enough times from Merlin’s lips. Along with some considerably less flattering descriptions.

A red flush crept up Arthur’s neck as though aware of what Gaius was thinking. The old physician took pity on hm.

‘Yes, that too. What a pretty pickle, indeed,’ he sighed.

‘So is it a potion?’

‘Hmm?’

‘To make Geraint forget. Is it a potion?’

‘Yes. But it’s not something I just keep laying around. I’ll need to brew it.’

‘Of course. Do you have the ingredients you require?’

‘I believe so, but I need to refer to….’ He nearly said ‘books’, but despite Arthur’s willingness to accept Merlin, he wasn’t sure how the Prince would react to the Court Physician hoarding books on spells and potions. Or was it worse that he knew how to brew it without any consultation?

‘Yes. Um. Anyway, come back later and we shall see.’

It wasn’t often that Arthur was on the receiving end of such an obvious dismissal. He left the room, to find three of his knights lining the hall to Gaius quarters. He looked at them questioningly.

‘What do you need us to do, your Highness?’ Romford asked.

Arthur glanced at the other two, who stood like soldiers awaiting command, and was touched to realise that they were giving him their complete trust and support.

‘Keep everyone quiet and wait to hear from me. If the king hears about it then we get Merlin away. And... thank you.’

They all left without further comment.

Arthur sent word to his father to ask if he wished for his report tonight. If he suggested that he report in the morning the king invariably demanded his presence immediately. However, if the decision was left to the king then his inclination was to not interrupt his dinner with business. It was a small piece of psychology which would no doubt catch Arthur out one day. He just hoped it wasn’t today.

He stripped down and quickly washed the grime of the ride away with cold water. His head was thumping and the cool cloth was soothing against his temples.

As a prince, he was accustomed to everyone looking to him for decisions, being forced to set aside his emotions and personal feeling, walling them off in order to think clearly. The distance he put between himself and others took its toll, made him seem cold and heartless to those who didn’t understand.

Now that he’d finally stopped moving and doing, the wall crumbled and his thoughts crashed around him, fighting and clamouring for attention. Punching him with ‘what if’ and nagging with ‘what next’. He hung his head tiredly and thought of the dead look in Merlin’s eyes, the dark bruise of shadow beneath them. What must he think of Arthur’s attitude? Nary a word of comfort. Hardly a look in his direction. Did Merlin know him well enough to understand? He closed his eyes and laid the damp cloth across the pulse in his temple.

Meanwhile, Gaius was sitting with a sleepless Merlin.

‘What am I going to do?’ Merlin asked in agitation.

It was terrible to see him like this, his normal spark and liveliness smothered by uncertainty and fear.

‘Nothing will happen to you. I’m certain that Arthur and the others won’t allow it.’

‘What does that even mean? What are they going to do? Lie to the King? Perjure themselves? Hide me? How far will it go? Where will it end?’ Merlin demanded, unconsciously echoing Caradoc’s concerns.

‘I don’t know,’ Gaius replied with a shake of his head. He blinked watery eyes and patted Merlin’s hand. ‘Don’t let it concern you. Only be sure that you will be safe.’

Something cold and hard coalesced in Merlin. A small ball of determination. No one was going to suffer for him. Not Gaius, not Kay and certainly not Arthur. So he squeezed Gaius’ hand.

‘Okay. I think I’d like to sleep now. And Gaius?’ Gaius looked back. ‘Thank you,’ Merlin smiled and won an answering one from his mentor.

‘You’re very welcome.’

Gaius left him with the small light of a sputtering candle. It was better than no light at all. And with his decision made Merlin began to creep quietly around the room. The odd feeling of disconnect vanished. He no longer felt like a rag doll, sitting floppily on the back of a runaway horse. Suddenly, his fate was his own again. It might not be what he wanted, but given the choices, it was the best he could do.

He had more possessions than when he first arrived. Two spare tunics, numerous neckerchiefs and even some money. With food and lodgings provided, there was nothing left for him to spend his earnings on so the bulk of it was sent home to his mother. He remembered Arthur’s teasing, ‘Yes, Merlin. Not only do you have the pleasure of serving me, you also get paid for it. Ridiculous as it seems.’ There had been that mocking glint in his eye. Merlin would miss that. The two of them were chalk and cheese, but somehow it worked.

He quickly flicked through his possessions and decided that he’d be more than happy to leave behind that ridiculous hat. The hat that Arthur had given him. He fingered the feather and smiled as he remembered Arthur’s expression at seeing it atop his head. Looking back, it had been pretty hilarious. He wavered for a second and then attempted to stuff it in with his clothes. Oh.... The wonderful voluminous feather had broken and was pathetically drooping over the rim of the hat. Damn it. Well, there was no way he was going to get all sniffly and sentimental over a stupid hat. He tugged it back out and threw it to one side. And then sniffly sentiment got the better of him. He snapped off the broken feather and carefully tucked it away before tying the corners of his bulging knapsack.

His baggage was fairly heavy and he briefly considered stealing a horse just to be sure that Arthur couldn’t catch him. Not that he foresaw any pursuit. It seemed that Arthur didn’t actually want to drag Merlin to the executioner’s block, and he supposed there was no other reason to follow him. After all, Merlin thought bitterly, he’d even let Bernadette fly Camelot without any protest. And he’d loved her.

Despite all his denials that he was nothing like Bernadette, it was only the similarities that struck him now. The way Arthur had ignored him during the ride back mirrored how he had withdrawn when he’d found out that his lover had betrayed him.

Betrayal. Oh gods, Arthur would see it as betrayal. His sharp ears had caught the word ‘traitor’ falling from the lips of the knights. It brought a lump to his throat. Is that how they would remember him? Would they spit as he passed by? Suddenly he was glad to be leaving. He would slip away quietly and never be heard of again.

...

Arthur took the cloth from his brow and looked at the messenger.

‘He wants to see me now?’ His voice was level. His heart was somersaulting.

‘And the knights who accompanied you,’ the messenger confirmed.

‘But why?’

‘I couldn’t say, your highness, but he asked that you attend him immediately.’

No time for potions or to subtly persuade his men. Hell, not even time to give Hector a nod and tell him to just kill the boy. Not that he would. It was just desperation beginning to cloud his brain.

He spotted a shadow lingering at the door….

‘Gaius!’ He seized upon the hovering figure gratefully.

‘I thought I should tend your wound to ensure it doesn’t fester,’ Gaius explained.

‘Tell my father I will be there shortly,’ Arthur commanded, and the messenger finally gave a graceful bow and left.

When he was out of sight, Arthur flung his door wide in wordless invitation and flopped bonelessly into his chair.

‘Uther has commanded that we attend him tonight. I think he’s heard something.’

Gaius froze. Arthur rose to his feet and began a restless pacing.

‘Okay. Hide him in my room. They will not dare look in here. If it all goes badly I will take him to a safe place.’

‘Is there such a thing?’ Gaius asked doubtfully.

‘Yes. I know of somewhere. And once he’s well, we’ll decide what to do. Trust me.’

‘You ask a great deal.’

‘Have I not earned it?’

Gaius studied him. He was still the Prince, arrogant and entitled, but maybe not quite as careless of people as he’d once been.

‘Do you have a clean cloth?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘I presume the King is being told that there has been a short delay as your injury is being tended to. It would be suspicious if you showed up with an old bandage.’

Arthur guessed that was the only indication of trust he was going to get. However, he’d take what he could.

‘So have you talked to him? How is he doing?’

‘Much better than expected,’ Gaius gave a worried look. ‘He’s being most cooperative and agreeable.’

‘Well… that’s good. I suppose. Except, you know… this is Merlin. When he’s being all agreeable is usually when….’

‘He goes and does something stupid? I know. But for now, he’s safely sleeping.’
Gaius tied off a new pad of cloth against his wound, and Arthur gave a nod. Gaius pushed a small vial into his hand.

‘The potion. In case you get the chance to use it,’ he said. ‘It needs to be used quickly. It is not particularly powerful and will only affect the last twelve hours of a person’s memories. If you miss the opportunity tonight then by tomorrow it will be too late.’

So they had a chance after all. Arthur secreted it away in his jacket and squared his shoulders. Time to detach himself again, and face his father and his men.

‘If you see Geraint, try to prevent him from attending the King.’

‘How on earth am I supposed to do that?’ Gaius asked.

‘For Merlin’s sake, I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ Arthur replied, and left without a backward glance.

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ Gaius mimicked once Arthur was safely out of earshot, exasperation and anxiety making him feel crotchety and irritable. Then with a sigh he sought out the steward to discover where Geraint was lodged, muttering to himself as he went.
He had no plan prepared even as he knocked on the door to Geraint’s quarters. The boy was going to think he was some crazy old man. If worst came to worst maybe he could play on the ‘crazy’ angle. Honestly, the things he did for Merlin.

There was some scrabbling before the door opened. So this was the boy all the fuss was about? He didn’t look like much.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes. Hello. My name is Gaius, I’m the court physician,’ he said with a bright smile.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes. Well. I uh….’ Inspiration struck. ‘Yes. I like to introduce myself to newcomers. Check all’s well after their journey here, and discuss any medical needs they might have.’

He felt very self-satisfied and tried to keep the smugness from showing on his face. In his experience, there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t have some niggling health concern they were anxious to discuss.

Geraint held the door wider in invitation.

‘That’s very kind of you. But actually, I’m well. Fit as a fiddle. Never a day’s illness in my life.’

‘Oh. Good. Excellent,’ Gaius replied. And Geraint wondered why the physician sounded so despondent at Geraint’s good health.

Gaius couldn’t think of another reason to drag the boy from his room or to linger any more. He could hear footsteps in the corridor. The messenger coming to summon Geraint, no doubt. Well, he had tried.

‘Although, if you could tell me when dinner will be? I missed breakfast and lunch….’

‘You haven’t eaten all day? My dear boy. Come with me. A boy your age needs plenty of sustenance.’

‘I don’t want to be any trouble…,’ Geraint protested half-heartedly. But they were already slipping out the door, Gaius’s hand firmly on Geraint’s arm, as he pulled him quickly towards the kitchens and away from the approaching footsteps.

‘No trouble, I assure you. I’ll show you where the kitchens are. But why didn’t you send your servant for food?’

‘I think they’re avoiding me. I mean, wouldn’t you be cross if the servants lost all your clothes?’ Geraint asked his tone rising with petulance. Although, maybe he shouldn’t have thrown that boot at his manservant.

‘You have been having a bad time of it, haven’t you?’ Gaius said soothingly.

‘You have no idea.’

‘Tell me all about it,’ Gaius invited as they walked briskly away.

And as Geraint poured out all his woes, Gaius was pleased to note that not a word was said about Merlin’s magical feats. It appeared that the boy could follow orders and be circumspect if necessary.

The magician in question was paying a last visit to the dragon. He was disappointed to note that the beast seemed sleepy and disinterested.

‘I’m leaving,’ Merlin told him firmly.

One lizard eye opened.

‘Very well.’

Well, that was a little anticlimactic.

‘So…. No final words of advice?’ Merlin asked hopefully.

There was a low grumble that rumbled around the chamber. But no further reply.

‘Aren’t you worried about my destiny? Two sides of the same coin - remember?’

‘You will be back, young warlock.’

The eye closed.

‘Will I?’

It was better than nothing, he supposed. Maybe one day when Arthur was King he would lift the ban on magic and allow Merlin to return to his side.

The dragon gave another rumble. It may have been a snore.

‘That’s it? Well. Sorry for interrupting you. Goodbye then.’

Merlin wasn’t sure what he expected but he was disappointed. Would it have hurt to give a little hint or two on how to make this right again? Some small spell that could turn everything back to this morning and give him the chance to do things properly? A small rumble of concern would have been nice.

His legs felt leaden as he climbed back up the stone steps. The dragon had been his only hope. He should have known better than to put any faith in the overgrown lizard and his stupid, cryptic replies.

Merlin quickly wrote his farewell letters. He wanted to spend time on them, explain, apologise, lay himself bare, but instead he kept it simple, asking for forgiveness and avoiding all mention of his magic. Both Gaius and Arthur would know why he had to leave, there was no point leaving incriminating evidence behind for others to find. He hovered over the ending, unsure whether to call himself Arthur’s ‘loyal servant’ or ‘loving friend’. In the end he just signed his name. Let Arthur draw read it as he will.

He slithered from shadow to shadow to avoid the bustle. His eyes went wide when he heard them gossiping that the King was even now receiving the full story of today’s events. He had been about to make a detour to the kitchen but there was clearly no time to waste. Instead he caused one of the platters of food balanced on a servant’s shoulder to wobble and tilt, tumbling its bounty in his direction. He quickly stooped and stuffed the food into his knapsack. When it was safely stowed he sped out into the courtyard, half expecting a hand to fall on his shoulder at any moment.

Trying to look casual, he strolled out of the gates, the panic in his stomach only subsiding when he reached the forest’s edge.

He cocked his head and listened. No sound of dogs, no hue and cry. His heartbeat began to return to normal and yet his chest still ached. He took one last look back at the castle. It looked magical with moonlight riming the turrets and the golden glow from the windows, small beacons of light in the darkness.

He stared until when he finally blinked the image stayed was burned on his eyelids. He concentrated on saying his silent farewells to Camelot because if his thoughts turned to its golden Prince he didn’t know where he would find the strength to leave.

‘Is this everyone?’ Uther asked once Arthur had joined them.

Arthur glanced at the knights before him.

‘All except Geraint,’ he forced himself to say. At his father’s frown, he continued, ‘The new boy. Pembroke’s progeny.’

‘Find the boy and bring him here,’ Uther commanded one of the guards, before smiling benevolently at the assembled men. ‘I understand you haven’t eaten since breakfast so you will join me tonight, and tell me what transpired to draw you all away.’

Worried glances warred with politely murmured thanks. Maybe he had heard nothing and it was just an unfortunate flash of kindness that had brought them here tonight.

‘You left in great haste, I must say. Yet when you return, not a whisper of your hunt is circulating the court.’

So that was it, Arthur thought as he shared a sheepish glance with Hector. Ordering the garrulous knights to keep their lips sealed had actually alerted suspicion. A lesson learnt for next time

Food was brought in and his men were gamely attempting to hide their edge of uncertainty with appreciative noises and chit chat about food and weather. If the small talk got any smaller it would disappear altogether.

‘I asked them not to speak of it until I reported to you,’ Arthur admitted, deciding to be as honest as possible.

‘And the reason for that?’

‘It proved not to be not as straightforward as I initially supposed. There was a sorcerer….’
Uther’s eyes immediately turned flinty.

‘A sorcerer? I trust he was dealt with?’

Arthur nodded

‘Good. Begin at the beginning.’

The story was told succinctly as possible, which wasn’t entirely to Uther’s taste, so he began prompting others for scenes his son was not privy to, allowing nothing to be skipped over.
Kay explained the flash in the boy’s eyes that made them first suspect sorcery and the various conversations that had confirmed it. The others told of their adventures from giant spiders to phantom voices.

After Gawain had told of his ordeal in the bog Uther looked around.

‘So where is your servant, Merlin?’

‘Unlike ourselves, he is not accustomed to such strenuous exertions. I gave him the night off, and believe he will dead to the world until morning.’ It was said in a suitably patronising manner, which had Uther nodding his understanding.

‘His stamina may be questionable, but his courage and timing are commendable. Who would begrudge him his well earned rest?’

Everyone around the table relaxed slightly. However, they hadn’t reached the incriminating part of the tale yet.

‘The sorcerer raised his hand and was about to attack me….’

At this vital point, the door was flung open and Geraint came scurrying forward, followed by the guard whom Uther had despatched earlier. With the tenacity of a bloodhound he had zealously tracked Geraint down to a hidden corner of the kitchens.

The boy looked around and came to a halt as every eye turned towards him. Some of those eyes looked distinctly unfriendly. He was used to making an entrance, but had thought he might enter discreetly and maybe the King wouldn’t notice his tardiness.

‘Sorry I’m late, your Majesty.’

Thankfully the King smiled graciously.

‘And you must be young Geraint. How is your father? He was a good friend in the old days.’

‘He is well, your Majesty. And still talks of you kindly.’

‘Well sit down. Join us. Arthur is telling us about today.’

Geraint’s self-centred mind jumped guiltily to hitting Merlin, endangering others and running away from his punishment.

‘Oh,’ he gave a slightly sick smile.

‘Yes. Excellent work. We’ll make a knight out of you yet.’

The King seemed like he was being genuine.

‘Thank you,’ Geraint replied bowing his head in what could be taken as modesty instead of confusion. It seemed Arthur had not shared all his misdemeanours. It struck him that here at Camelot he just wasn’t considered important enough for all his actions to be dissected. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but there were some obvious advantages to being anonymous.

Whilst attention was drawn to Geraint, Arthur took the opportunity to empty the vial of potion into his own cup and kicked Hector under the table. Once he’d caught the knight’s attention he pushed the doctored cup towards him and indicated Geraint. Luckily Hector was quick-witted enough to understand Arthur’s request.

He budged up and made space on the bench between himself and Kay, inviting Geraint to wedge himself in. Then, without a word, Hector casually slid the cup in front of Geraint.

But Kay had been watching Hector like a hawk, ever since Arthur asked him to look after Geraint. He had no idea where the wine came from, but the fact that Hector supplied it made it highly likely that it was poisoned. He reached for Geraint’s cup and slid his own into its place, making sure the wine that Hector had supplied was on his far side, out of the boy’s reach.

Arthur watched the shenanigans with a sinking heart. He was impressed by Kay’s alertness and diligence but it seemed as if all his choices were coming back to bite him Ordering the knights to silence had raised suspicion. Asking Kay to keep Geraint safe had stymied his one plan. What more could possibly go wrong? And then sighed, because there was potential for a hell of a lot more wrong to emerge from this.

‘So, the sorcerer was threatening you,’ Uther said, picking up the thread of the story, ‘and then?’
‘Caradoc, Merlin and Geraint appeared,’ Arthur continued reluctantly, ‘just as the sorcerer threw a bolt of power at me. I stumbled and somehow it missed its target.’

‘That was a stroke of unbelievable fortune,’ Uther replied and Arthur could see mounting suspicion in his father’s eyes.

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s not really what happened, is it?’ Geraint asked.

The room fell into silence. Even Geraint was aware of the tension.

‘I mean…. It was Merlin, wasn’t it?’ he asked looking around at the others for confirmation.

Part 10