Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang
Chapter Four
“The prisoner is secured sire,” a guard announced as they stepped over the threshold of the dirty cell and back into the brighter room beyond. Prince Arthur stood tall as he acknowledged their words, the silver studs on his tunic flashing orange and yellow in the dungeons bright firelight. The darkness of his clothes and his hair made his skin appear almost alabaster, his eyes glittered with an emotion they couldn’t decipher and didn’t try to; it wasn’t their place.
“Very well,” he looked towards the cell door that was left wide open, “Leave us, I wish for a private audience.”
When one knight looked uncertain by this, even going so far as to step forward to declare his discomfort Arthur turned sharp angry eyes upon him. The protest died on the armour clad mans lips, and instead he bowed his head before they both took their leave. The one that had been reluctant casting doubtful eyes upon the Prince’s manservant as he passed, but the object of his gaze did not notice.
Once their steps could no longer be heard the prince and his servant stepped forward into the cell, and the site that greeted them pleased him to no end. The light from three torches made it impossible to ignore the anger simmering on the face of the man shackled to the ground by his wrists, no spare chain to move with. The prince laughed.
“My, how the mighty have fallen,” he sneered, circling the prisoner once to take in the glorious sight before coming to stand in front of him.
“Do not be so sure,” the man on his knees growled, jerking at his chains. “For the fallen have a habit of rising to their feet once again.”
“Not this time,” the prince laughed, his gaze shifting, noting the uneaten, mouldy bread and the smell of sickness about the closed room. “It’s rather pathetic in here, isn’t it? I do apologize for the lack of appropriate accommodation normally suited to one of your stature, but I’m afraid we were all booked up.” His servant chuckled behind him but fell silent when the true Arthur shifted his penetrating gaze upon him. He let it linger darkly a moment, memorizing his face, before focusing once again on the servant’s master.
“I will see your life ended swiftly for this Edgar, mark my words,” Arthur growled from his knees, shoulders bowed from the restraints and Edgar’s eyes narrowed, not looking cowed in the least.
“I understand that Morgana stopped by to see you this afternoon,” he said, tapping at his lips thoughtfully a moment. “She is just as striking as I remember her being at the banquet those long months ago, from childhood even. Perhaps I shall pay her a visit later, see how she is handling the deception you forced upon everyone.”
“You will stay away from Morgana,” Arthur hissed and jerked at his chains, the metal biting sharply into his wrists and his back flared in pain from the action. “If you touch her in any way-”
“You’ll what?” Edgar asked harshly, moving swiftly to stand closer to Arthur, glaring down. “You’ll tell them that you’re the true prince, that I’m the impostor in this scenario? After all this,” he gestured at the room, at the shackles, and the world at large, “you think they’d begin to believe you now?”
“I have never made intentions towards Morgana,” Arthur spat, “She is nothing more than a sister, and should you act she would see right through your veneer.”
“I highly doubt that,” Edgar grinned, and then reached out, gripping Arthur’s jaw firmly. Arthur tried to jerk away, but had no leverage or room to move. He glared up defiantly instead, venom clear, and Edgar smiled cruelly. “But we both know she isn’t the one that truly holds my attentions. She never has been.” Arthur tried to jerk away again, and this time Edgar allowed it, his fingers trailing along the stubbled jaw before retreating fully.
“Your presence here is a lie, and the truth of your actions will be revealed. Cease this trickery now, and I shall grant you your life,” Arthur’s disgust was clear, but so was the truth behind the words. From anyone else they might sound desperate. Edgar stared down at him a long moment, the silence tense and their long history of distrust and jealousy evident.
“Always the righteous,” Edgar scorned, “Always the proud, but I told you one day I would take your place and you scoffed. Your arrogance astounds me,” Edgar decided and Arthur barked with laughter at that.
“My arrogance? My arrogance has been earned through a lifetime of duty and sacrifice while you spent your days spending your kingdom’s gold on parties and luxuriating in frivolity. You have no idea what it takes to rule, and with the actions you have taken here it is clear to me exactly what kind of ruler you would be. With you on the throne Camelot would become nothing more than ashes, its greatness a memory, its honour a myth!”
Edgar’s arm snapped out, his hand winding into Arthur’s dirty hair and he forced his head back until his neck stood out in relief, his breath labouring in heavy pants through his nose. Sill Arthur glared at him, and Edgar pushed him back until he couldn’t hide the grimace of pain.
A long moment later he released Arthur roughly and stood back.
“I will see you later Arthur,” he announced, the threat clear as he twisted about to depart, his servant following dutifully. They left the door open, teasing in its suggestion of freedom. When he was certain that his enemy would not return Arthur crumpled in on himself, the pain of his injuries almost too much. He shifted to lie on his side in the dirt, forcing his breathing to calm, willing away the pain.
In silence he waited for what would happen next.
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On the fourth day of Arthur’s return gossip was still ripe amongst the people of Camelot. Merlin felt as though he was being accosted everywhere he went with people constantly pulling up beside him to ask on the state of their prince. Apparently news of his sacking hadn’t filtered down to the general populace yet, and it was beginning to wear on him to the point that he only went on rounds for Gaius if the man deemed it completely necessary. Fortunately his mentor understood his situation and was showing his normal level of compassion, having Merlin remain within their rooms, scrubbing clean all the pots for the ample jars of remedies he had been preparing the last few days.
Now, coming back from a public audience with his majesties, Merlin felt no better than he had four days before when Arthur had first barely acknowledged him. It didn’t help that during this meet even Uther had looked between his son and Merlin with a slight frown before opening the talks. Thankfully he had not yet agreed to invading Baranak’s land, but it was clear he still hadn’t completely dismissed the idea, and Arthur was still pushing for it.
Arthur’s insistence on the matter was truly beginning to annoy Merlin, despite the fact that he only saw the prince maybe once or twice a day now. If he was lucky.
“Merlin?” A familiar, authoritative voice called out to him and he stopped in the middle of the hall, nearly causing a collision with a fellow that had been walking too closely behind. He looked back from where he had come to find Morgana gazing at him imploringly. He sighed to himself and headed back towards her.
“My Lady, how can I help you?”
“Walk with me,” she intoned, looking him over with a slight frown before leading them off into a hall less traveled. It was only moments later when she pushed him into a room devoid of people, though he felt a bit surrounded by the mass of armoured dummies that were on display. He looked at her, waiting, and she looked back at him with a frown.
“Are you all right Merlin?” She asked, concern apparent in her voice and he was instantly embarrassed that she would feel the need to ask that.
“Of course. I’m fine,” he said quickly and she frowned at him even more.
“You’re looking more pale every day that passes. Are you certain you’re not coming ill?”
“I’m certain,” he insisted and then tried to shrug the tenseness from his shoulders. “I’ve just had a headache these last few days that’s beginning to wear on me. It will pass soon,” he hoped. Though he was beginning to doubt it would ever leave him in peace. She didn’t look as though she believed him any more than he did himself, but she let it go with one more concerned look.
“I was hoping to speak with you about Arthur,” she announced and he couldn’t help frowning, bringing a hand up to rub at his temple.
“Morgana, I am no longer Prince Arthur’s manservant. I have barely seen him these past days and am not certain I can answer any questions you may have.” She frowned at this.
“Still? I was certain he would have hired you back by now.”
“So was I,” he agreed morosely and then remembered his place. “But it is no matter. I can be of use to him in ways that don’t require cleaning his laundry and polishing his armour.” She looked away at that, and it was then that he noticed she had a pinched look about her eyes. “Is everything all right with you?”
“Yes, fine.” She agreed quickly and when he continued to watch her with what he hoped were imploring eyes she gave a small smile and sighed. “Though I have had trouble sleeping these last few nights.”
“Nightmares?” He asked, knowing that sometimes Gaius’s potions did little to help her.
“It’s silly,” she agreed and walked to look out the window. He followed her gaze down to the training yard, watching many knights practicing their drills with Arthur standing off to the side, barking out orders. “But I can’t help fearing the truth in them.”
“What are they about?”
“I dreamed that Arthur, in place of Edgar, was beheaded on the block. It was terrible. He proclaimed his innocence the entire time, and we just stood by and watched, deaf to his pleas.” Merlin’s breath caught in his throat and he looked at her. Her eyes were moist but she refused to let the tears fall. “It was horrible. And then Camelot was slowly burning, and one by one everyone we ever cared about fell to an enemy that was once ally.” She took a deep calming breath, and another, before he gently touched her arm.
“That will not happen Morgana. Arthur would never allow it.”
“But what if he has no choice?” She asked, and her shoulders straightened as she locked away her emotion once more.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she looked him in the eyes. “What if we’re wrong?”
“Wrong? About Arthur?”
“About whom he says he is,” she looked back out as Arthur continued to stand on the sidelines, telling instead of showing his instructions.
“Morgana, what you’re saying is treason,” Merlin gasped, but his chest constricted at the thought, for it was something he had been contemplating too long as well. “If you speak of this to the wrong person…”
“Then they would report it, I know.” She looked so sad then. “I know with my head, and with my eyes that Arthur stands before us, training his knights. But my heart…” she trailed off.
“Is not so quick to agree,” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she said. “You feel this?”
“It is not my place to say my Lady,” he looked to the floor, hands clenching at his sides.
“But it is,” she rested a hand upon his shoulder, the rings adorning it flashing their colours as she moved. “I have known Arthur my whole life, yet it is becoming more and more apparent to me that he has never truly allowed me to know him. He rarely drops his guard, and his laughter is always forced, as though he gives it because it’s expected. I never understood that before, but now, when I observe him, I see that he is changed. His duties grow heavier, and his heart grows truer. His laughter is, perhaps for the first time, felt, and it affects everything he does.”
“Perhaps, but I-”
“You, I believe, have a great deal more to do with it than you give either of yourselves credit for.” Her hand tightened. “I do not claim to know everything the two of you have gone through together, but I know he trusts you, perhaps even with his life. Would you not trust yours to him?”
“Of course, without question,” he declared, because it was true and Arthur had proven it countless times.
“And do you feel that same bond with the man before you?” She pushed him until he was gazing once more out the window. No, he didn’t. But he really felt as though he should, and the more he doubted it the more his head clouded. He closed his eyes briefly in pain.
“Merlin? Are you all right?” He heard her ask him again, worry apparent and if anyone had asked him a year ago if he ever believed he could hold the confidence and concern of such a woman he would have laughed. Now, he feared, he was becoming accustomed to it. He tried on a tight smile and opened his eyes.
“I’m fine, really.” He insisted, and took a breath. “What you are saying, it humbles me Morgana, and I can’t deny it. For a servant such as me…”
“You are much more than a mere servant Merlin, and you have been from the start, regardless of how he sometimes treats you.”
“Perhaps. I cannot say that I can agree with certainty yet of what you are implying. If we were to be wrong, and that the one we believe is Arthur truly is, then the level of our betrayal would be unsurpassable.” And the thought terrified him, because he did believe in Arthur, more than he ever had in anyone really, despite him being a massive prat. The doubt he now felt was almost too heavy to bear.
“And what of the prisoner? What has he had to say to you in all this?” She asked quietly.
“He continues to insist that he is the true Arthur,” she turned away, her torment apparent. “And asks me to believe him every time I visit.” His persistence was actually beginning to torment Merlin in a way that only Arthur had ever been capable of achieving.
“Then you have a heavy decision to make,” she decreed and he looked at her, startled.
“Me? What about you? You’re the one who pulled me in here to enlighten me with your thoughts!”
“Yes, but I am too far removed from him to be certain.” She took a deep breath. “The decision you make will ultimately be the one I shall follow Merlin. I am trusting you with this task.” And then she turned and left him, the deep blue fabric of her dress flowing extravagantly behind her as she fled the room.
“That’s hardly fair,” he muttered, watching after her a long moment. It was all good and easy to impart your thoughts when you could simply heap the responsibility on another, he thought angrily. Then he sighed in resignation, because he had already known instinctively that when the time came he would be the one to decide how to act. Whatever concerned Arthur was ultimately his responsibility, regardless of the fact that he was the only one who was truly aware of this.
With the exception of a Camelot that would accept magic freely, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
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“Come with me,” the rough voice reached his ears at the very moment that a steely grip encompassed his upper arm and before he could think to protest Merlin was being dragged down the road. He was pushed into the shadow of a private alcove, hidden from the prying eyes on the streets and blocking a good deal of the evenings light from him. He opened his mouth to protest loudly, when the hand suddenly released him just as suddenly as it latched on and the imposing figure took a step back. Merlin looked into his face.
“Sir Kay?” he squeaked, and cleared his throat. The massive man looked down at him, his patrol armour creaking slightly with the movement. His eyes were shadowed and he glanced over his shoulder to check that they hadn’t been followed. Merlin stole that moment to straighten up from his slump against the wall.
“Is something wrong?” He asked the knight and Kay turned back to him, a frown on his face.
“If anyone were to find out that we have been speaking there would be suspicions. Do you understand?”
“Yes, keep my mouth shut. Got it. I’m surprisingly good at that,” he elaborated, his nervousness apparent. He couldn’t help it. While Arthur’s knights had, on occasion, acknowledged him and even deigned to speak with him when Merlin was passing messages on for Arthur, one had never sought him out directly before. He was shocked when Sir Kay actually grinned at him, though it lasted but a moment and was sharper than necessary.
“Yes, you would have to be to remain as Arthur’s personal manservant for so long,” he agreed, and Merlin sighed.
“I’m not his manservant anymore,” he explained tiredly and was surprised when Sir Kay simply waved the comment off.
“It is of no matter at this moment.”
“What is the matter then?”
“I am a Knight of Camelot,” the man announced, as if Merlin and everyone else within Camelot was unaware of that. Sir Kay was one of Arthur’s most distinguished warriors, almost matching the prince in skill. Also, the massive red cape kind of gave it away. “And as such I have pledged my loyalty and my life to protect the throne and the people.” He looked down at the ground, eyes troubled.
“I have not heard of anyone doubting your allegiance, if that is what concerns you,” Merlin hedged, completely baffled by this meeting.
“It is not,” he remarked, almost off hand as though the chances of that ever happening were impossible. “I do have concerns about the Prince, however.” Merlin’s stomach plummeted and he stood taller, instantly ready to attack.
“What about Arthur?” He snapped. The knight looked at him a long moment, assessing and Merlin stared back. Sir Kay sighed.
“I fear he has not yet recovered from his imprisonment,” he hushed out and looked over his shoulder again before moving closer to Merlin, invading his personal space. “It injures me to say that I worry for his judgement at the moment.” And the omission actually did look like it physically hurt the man.
“In what way?” Merlin asked, lowering his voice to match the knights.
“His actions towards the prisoner are created through anger. He withholds the execution, which he is not normally want to do, for the sake of tormenting his enemy.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” Merlin asked instantly, not caring to hear the man spout on about his prince’s honour when it was obvious something had happened. His impatience must have been apparent in his tone because Sir Kay narrowed his eyes at him a moment, and then stepped back.
“The prisoner should be checked upon at your convenience,” he declared. “And when you choose to drop by, you may wish to be carrying burn ointment with you.” He turned to move from the alcove and paused once more. “Remember, we never spoke.” Merlin stared at where the tall knight had been moments before.
Burn ointment?
He sucked in a breath.
Burn ointment. Right. Merlin moved back to his and Gaius’s chambers as fast as he could without causing suspicion, upon which he grabbed the recommended items and a few other things before rushing off to the dungeons. He was becoming so familiar with the path that he felt he could traverse it with his eyes closed by now, and the thought did nothing to comfort him.
“I have come to treat the prisoner,” he announced when the same guard that always gave him a hassle stepped forth to block his path. The man looked at him a moment longer and sneered (which may have been an attempt at a smile).
“You know where he is,” he gestured grandly and stepped aside. Merlin wasted no time, pulling the dead bolts on the heavy door back himself and taking two torches in with him. His patient lay on his side on the floor, shackled in place by the wrists. He turned his head away and closed his eyes at the sudden brightness, but turned back almost as quickly, blinking away the shine to face whomever was tormenting him this time. The look on his face was pure defiance. Mingled with pain.
“What have they done to you now?” Merlin asked, placing the torches and dropping to his knees before the tethered man.
“We had a simple conversation about the rightful heir to Camelot.” He punched out through clenched teeth. “Apparently the current prince disagrees with my opinions.”
“Where are you hurt?” Merlin couldn’t see any marks on his arms, other than the rubbed skin and bruises encircling his trapped wrists. He reached out to them, his hands shaking slightly and pulled back, remembering himself.
“It doesn’t matter,” the man growled out, looking away.
“It does matter you prat,” Merlin glared down at him, and then his eyes caught on the man’s torso, where the shirt was revealing a sliver of skin. He swallowed thickly at the sight, and moved his hands to the fabric. No effort was made to stop him as he peeled it back, though a flinch of pain was unavoidable as the shirt caught on the damaged flesh.
“Arthur,” Merlin said softly and reached his hand out, almost but not quite touching the seared flesh. It was unmistakably the crest of Camelot, though the bubbled flesh and black patches made it ugly and lacking in definition. It was terrible.
“What did you just call me?” The man hissed and Merlin jerked back, nearly dropping the material back over the wound. He caught himself just in time and looked over to find the piercing blue eyes staring at him. Familiar eyes, eyes he had grown to trust, though his mind was trying to tell him this wasn’t the case.
The pain in his head intensified at this realization and he took a breath at his vision clouded black, forcing it back.
“I called you Arthur,” he said softly, after taking a few deep breaths to regain control of himself. “Have they damaged your hearing as well?” His question was meant in jest, but the concern was real. Arthur stared at him a moment longer, dirt tracking his cheeks and his hair beginning to clump with uncleanliness.
Art by: Eppy7
Then the git actually laughed, a sharp bark of sound that cut through the air. It was unmistakeably amused and relieved.
“What’s the problem here?” The guard appeared in the doorway, glaring down at them. His eyes lingered on Arthur’s revealed midriff and Arthur tensed immediately, pulling instinctively at his chains. Merlin had the impression that were he not secured he would have launched himself at the guard in attack.
“No problem,” Merlin hastily explained, and then turned to his bag to look as though he were busy with his healing duties. “I fear the pain is leading to madness,” he announced. Arthur didn’t disagree with him, but he felt his princes irritated gaze fall back on him nonetheless. Appropriately distracted.
“Well hurry up then, I haven’t got all night,” the man intoned and disappeared, his armour clanking slightly as he walked away.
“I may have to disband him when this is over,” Arthur announced, anger simmering in his voice and he sucked in a breath as Merlin began pouring water over his wound. “A little warning next time Merlin,” he ground out and Merlin apologized hastily. Then he apologized some more as he went about picking off the dead, blackened bits of flesh that would only hurt Arthur more were they left in place to infect his body. Arthur merely closed his eyes and exhaled sharply when Merlin finally smeared the ointment gently over the ragged, wheeping wounds.
“This shouldn’t leave too much of a scar,” he announced softly and hoped he was right as he moved to Arthur’s back and gently pushed the fabric out of his way once more. The wounds were just as horrible as before, crisscrossing his back, raised and slightly swollen and still weeping red in places. A few of his stitches had been torn loose, blood soaking into the shirt once more, and Merlin wondered at the struggle Arthur must have put into place to avoid being branded. Like an animal. Property.
Yes, the wounds were still horrible, but now…now they encouraged a deep pit of rage within Merlin.
“I’ll kill him,” he muttered softly as he brushed gentle fingertips down what had once been smooth flesh, pushing cream where it needed to go.
“You?” Arthur snorted, trying to calm his breathing from the pain Merlin was unintentionally causing. “You and what army Merlin?”
“I don’t need an army,” he vowed, eyes flashing golden for a moment before he brought his magic under control.
“Right,” Arthur responded, still sounding amused at the prospect. “Well, as noble as the gesture is, I would have you stay away from him,” he announced and there was no mistaking the order in his tone. “Far away.” He went silent as Merlin finished, and it was heavy and threatening. Merlin moved back to crouch before him, finally reaching out to examine his wrists. Arthur let him without protest, and when Merlin looked up to his face it was to see the man staring intently at their hands. His fingertips twitched, brushing against Merlin’s wrists momentarily, before stilling. Merlin’s flesh tingled where they had touched, and he swallowed thickly as he pulled back. He’d done all he could for now.
“I have some food for you,” he whispered, reaching into his bag to pull out the fresh bread and cheese he had taken from his own table. Arthur eyed it, frowning, and looked away. “I know it’s not exactly roast pheasant, but at least it’s something,” he defended, feeling as though he’d failed somehow and Arthur looked up at him, his frown deepening.
“It’s not that Merlin,” he sighed. “I just…I’m not hungry at the moment.”
“Bollocks. It’s been days since you’ve eaten no doubt, and you need to keep up your strength for when I get you out of here.”
“Merlin, I’m not going to-” Merlin shoved a little piece of the bread in his mouth and glared down at him.
“Eat it, or I guarantee the next royal meal I cook for you will be worse than the rat stew.” Arthur glared, chewed, swallowed and opened his mouth.
“If you know what’s-” Merlin shoved cheese in this time, his fingers brushing Arthur’s lips. They both froze and Merlin looked away first.
“You need to keep up your strength sire,” he said again softly. Arthur didn’t protest after that, instead taking the bread from Merlin and finally feeding himself, though very unenthusiastically.
“I will have you fired for that,” he threatened without any heat after he had finally finished and Merlin snorted.
“Too late, you already have.” Arthur shifted and froze as the pain no doubt affected him. After a moment he continued to shift until he was again on his knees and looking Merlin in the eye. He tried to make as though the actions weren’t agony. He was far too proud for his own good, Merlin thought.
“Well, at least he’s done something right in my place.”
“Prat,” Merlin muttered.
“What was that?” Arthur asked mildly, and Merlin didn’t answer, instead reaching up to rub at his painfully aching head. “Merlin? Are you all right?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” He muttered, and looked over when Arthur moved, trying to reach out to him with his hands and swearing when they remained locked down.
“Because you look almost as bad as I’m sure I do.”
“I’m not sure anyone could look as poorly as you do right now without being dead,” Merlin moved to pack his belongings.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked instead, ignoring the jibe. “Your head? Is it from being around me?” Merlin looked over at that. He sometimes forgot how perceptive Arthur could be, considering the man held so many things close to heart.
“It may be,” he sighed. “It’s one of the reasons that I believe that you are who you say you are. Only you could possibly be this much of a pain to be around,” he announced and Arthur glared. “Honestly though, it hurt less to be around you before, when I thought you were Edgar. I think that choosing to believe you over the curse is somehow causing this.”
“Yes, that’s what I said,” Arthur declared, but his tone wasn’t as haughty as it normally might be. “You may leave now,” he announced abruptly, and leaned away from Merlin, which only then clued the young sorcerer in to how close they had been. “I’ll need you to determine how Edgar has turned the entire kingdom against me, and you can’t do that while you’re sitting around here.” Merlin was certain that if Arthur could he would have waved him off.
“Can I…is there anything else I can do for you?” Merlin asked, and despite the throbbing of his brain he was loath to leave.
“You’ve done enough,” Arthur implored, and was now avoiding Merlin’s eyes. Merlin stared a moment and then stood, looking down upon his friend. “I’m going to get you out of here Arthur,” he quietly stated boldly, and then moved towards the door.
“Merlin?” Arthur spoke softly just before he reached it and, like so many times before, Merlin turned to him in question. “Thank you,” Arthur intoned. “For believing in me.”
“What else could I do?” he asked, and then left before Arthur could form an answer.
“I’ll be back later,” he announced to the guard who watched him leave with hooded eyes. Merlin didn’t wait for a response.
He had work to do.
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