Merlin -- Sweeter Dreams: Part II
Title: Sweeter Dreams
Part: 2
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7,580
Warnings: occasional language, generally mild violence
Summary: Following a rather different ending to 2.10 ("Sweet Dreams"), Merlin and Arthur head to Olaf's kingdom of Valden to put things right. In the process, Merlin racks up an impressive series of treasonous crimes: insolence, incompetence, tripping while running for his life, and accusing the crown prince of snoring are only the beginning.
Author's Note: ...madness.
(PART 2/4)
Merlin awoke to Arthur’s foot nudging at his ribs, which he blearily supposed was better than Arthur’s foot in his face.
The stories Merlin could have told.
“It’s well past dawn, you know.”
“We’re on holiday,” Merlin mumbled into the vaguely-linear pile of blankets and pillows he’d assembled on the floor.
“No,” Arthur told him, “we’re fighting sorcery and pursuing a matter of life and death.”
“Honor and dishonor at best.”
“Life and death,” Arthur persisted, “because I’m going to kill you if you don’t get up.”
Merlin rolled over and gazed up at the disapproving prince.
“Five more minutes?” he tried.
“You have five seconds,” Arthur said. “Four. Three. Two-”
Groaning, Merlin sat up, coming about level with Arthur’s knees. “It’s not my fault,” he muttered. “I couldn’t sleep. You were snoring.”
Arthur growled. “Merlin, how many times do I-”
Merlin yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and stretching the other arm over his head. “We can have Collette settle it later. Aren’t we supposed to be somewhere? Some other lady’s birthday, or something?”
“That’s exactly where we’re supposed to be,” Arthur responded through his grimace. “Which is why you had damn well better get up.”
Caving, Merlin collected himself to his feet, where he rubbed his eyes and attempted to figure out where he’d left his neckerchief. Without even having to ask, Arthur plucked it from its place on the tabletop, holding it between two fingers as if it was diseased, and proffered it. Merlin beamed his thanks.
“Can’t have you going around looking slightly less ridiculous than usual,” Arthur muttered, opening the armoire, into which Merlin stuffed all of his erstwhile bedding.
Just as he straightened, he heard footsteps in the hall, and Collette filled them.
“Breakfast!” she announced, settling the tray on the table in between Arthur’s sword belt and his riding gloves.
Merlin fell upon the food with the eagerness of one unused to making exciting breakfast discoveries. Harper hadn’t been exaggerating-Collette was taking extremely good care of them so far.
“You’re fantastic,” Merlin informed her through a mouthful of fruit and some sweet cheese he’d never tried before.
Even as Collette smiled shyly, Arthur elbowed Merlin in the ribs. Merlin wondered if the prince sharpened his elbows on a whetstone when he’d finished with his swords, because the jab felt like the beginning of a colorful bruise.
“Must you be an utter pig, Merlin?” Arthur inquired.
The temptation to say “Yes, Sire” was great, but Merlin exercised restraint. He swallowed, smiled, and pushed the tray towards Collette.
“Have you eaten yet? Go ahead; we’ll be fine.”
The upper half of Arthur’s face disappeared behind his palm.
“Oh,” Merlin realized. “You meant you.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, sounding like he was pouring every ounce of patience into the effort not to deck Merlin right then and there, “but you’re right. Collette is welcome to our breakfast, too.”
It was as simple as that, somehow-that and a few awkward fumbles when two people reached for the same thing, anyway. Merlin liked this. It was peaceful. It was nice. Arthur wasn’t looking at him like he should be leaving to perform a menial task now-thank-you, like there was something about him that made him vaguely painful to see.
He and Arthur had just finished a friendly stare-down over a particularly delectable-looking roll when he heard someone walking in the hall again-smart, brisk, heavy steps. As Merlin had dared to hope, Harper peeked around the doorframe, knocking on it with a grin of greeting.
“Good morning,” he bid them. “At least, I hope it is.”
Harper’s servant, the one who had taken their horses the day before, strolled in, carrying a tray of his own.
“Even if it isn’t,” he told them, “I brought tea, so it will be.”
“Thank you, Ian!” Collette said happily, accepting a softly-steaming cup.
“Thanks, Ian,” Merlin echoed, taking the next, considering the strangely elegant young man. His hair was short, and his smile was thin and amused, and his eyes were very, very intelligent.
Harper came up behind Ian, clapping his servant warmly on the shoulder and then leaving his hand there as he collected the penultimate cup.
“Well,” he drawled, leaning on a tellingly unruffled Ian, “I stopped by to let you know there’s been a problem. Did Collette tell you about Alined’s servant who’s on the run?”
Arthur nodded, sipping with uncharacteristic delicacy. “We’re familiar with the man.”
Harper hesitated. “We have one guard dead,” he said slowly. “No one’s seen the servant, but he might be responsible, in which case he might be loose in the castle. It’s that, or Olfinn’s eating habits finally caught up to him, which isn’t out of the question.”
“Be nice,” Ian reprimanded mildly.
“This is nice,” Harper replied. “Anyway, everyone’s on high-alert for intruders, which could be troublesome given that not too many people know that you’re supposed to be here. It shouldn’t be too bad, but… Keep an eye out, and avoid other people’s eyes as best you can. Hopefully I’ll be here tonight telling you we’ve taken care of it, but watch your backs until then, just in case.”
Merlin really didn’t like the sound of that. He turned to Arthur, who was already turning to him, looking exquisitely doubtful over the rim of his teacup.
“All right,” the prince said uncertainly, addressing Harper again after quirking an eyebrow at Merlin. “Thank you for the warning.”
Harper set his teacup back on the tray and saluted sharply. “I’d better be getting back to work now-best of luck. Can you see to the tea, Collette? I need to borrow this.” He tugged on Ian’s sleeve, and the servant gave a small and knowing smile.
Collette grinned. “Of course, Captain.”
Harper guided Ian out with a hand on his servant’s shoulder, and Arthur turned to Collette.
“When does the event begin?” he asked.
“Within the quarter-hour,” Collette reported, “but we’ll have plenty of time. Whenever you’re finished-”
“We’re finished,” Arthur said.
Merlin, who was halfway through a really wonderful sausage, stared at him, betrayed. Arthur made a point of ignoring him.
Collette hid a smile. “Of course, Sire,” she replied, getting up from the table to sweep a quick curtsey. “Just follow me, then.”
They were out the door in thirty seconds, and only that long because Merlin had gulped down the rest of his tea, to the slight scalding of the roof of his mouth. Arthur locked the room behind them, Collette having collected the detritus of their breakfast, and off they went, trailing her who-knew-where.
She led them through a series of nondescript, narrow halls, more unremarkable corridors servants might roam, and then stopped before a wall opposite a window that stood open to the sky beyond, no glass or even parchment in the frame.
“Sorry, can one of you hold this?” she asked distractedly, and Merlin took the tray. Unburdened now, Collette ran her fingers down a long seam in the stone, lightly until she reached a jagged crack about chest-height, where two large blocks of the wall had been imperfectly joined. Here she dug her fingers in and, after glancing one way and then the other, began to pull.
There was a low grinding and a soft creak, and then a door in the very stone opened just about two feet-room enough for a person to slip inside and venture into what appeared to be a hidden passageway, dark and swathed in spiders’ webs.
“Wow,” Merlin said helplessly, a familiar excitement-the excitement reserved for the unknown and intriguing-setting his heart to jittering in his chest.
Arthur’s eyes were wide, his lips parted in wonder. “Do we have anything like this in Camelot?”
“Unfortunately not,” Merlin answered, grinning. A contented Collette darted into the uncovered corridor and beckoned, and he angled the tray as he sidled in after.
“Are you sure?” Arthur prompted, considering the space, giving the cobwebs a particularly dubious look.
“Yes,” Merlin responded as the prince squeezed through the gap.
“There’s a bar on the door,” Collette interjected idly, apparently accustomed to their conversational habits by now. “If you pull it closed, that’ll be that…”
“Maybe you just haven’t found them,” Arthur remarked to his servant as he obliged, the floor shuddering detectably as the door slammed shut.
“If there were,” Merlin told him, “I would have fallen into one on accident when I was late for something.”
Arthur was quiet, though that might have been partly because the entire corridor had gone pitch-black.
“It’s all right,” Collette said gently. “Just put a hand out; the wall’s close. Follow my voice, and shout if you’d like me to slow down.”
“Go ahead,” Arthur bid her. “Hurry up, Merlin.”
Collette’s footsteps started off into the dark, and Merlin hastened after, struggling to keep pace without crashing into her or dropping the tray he clutched in both hands. His right shoulder scraped against the wall as he drifted off of a straight course-or as the tunnel turned-and he clenched his teeth, straining to hear Collette’s footfalls over the echoes of hers, his, and Arthur’s sure gait. He badly wanted to summon witchlight, contained flame, something-he wanted a shred of illumination before his face became intimately acquainted with the gritty floor.
Arthur bumped into him, all elbows and momentum, and Merlin stumbled enough to make the teacups clatter.
“Could you be any clumsier?” Arthur muttered, unseen hands grasping Merlin’s shoulders to steady him.
“I can try if you like,” Merlin managed, struggling not to stagger even more, unbalanced by the weight and warmth of Arthur’s hands. One of those weights lifted, and Merlin faintly heard it brushing the closest wall, but the other stayed.
“How much further, Collette?” the prince inquired.
“The door’s just here,” she declared, and Merlin heard soft scrabbling. Arthur’s hand on his shoulder drew him to a stop but still-inexplicably-didn’t release its hold. Merlin’s lungs didn’t seem to be functioning right.
Momentarily, a crack of light appeared in the midst of the blackness, and Merlin instinctively flinched. Arthur’s thumb skimmed down his shoulder-blade, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears.
He’d always kind of wondered if his ears were situated in a way that would magnify that kind of a sound. Maybe he’d get to find out.
Collette eased the door open, establishing a gap about the same size as the one at the entrance. Arthur guided Merlin forward when Collette had passed through, and he tripped out as best he could, holding tight to the tray, squinting in the sudden brightness of the new hall. He heard Arthur slip out deftly behind him.
“Where are we now?” Arthur asked.
Collette gave Merlin a smile and took the tray back from him at long last. It looked a lot safer in her grip.
“Head through that door-” She pointed to a regular wooden one just down the hall. “-and you’ll be on the balcony above the dining room where the party’s being held. No one goes up there much, so if you stay low, nobody ought to be the wiser.”
Arthur looked over, somewhat impressed. “That’s extremely convenient. Thank you.”
Collette smiled warmly, dropped them another curtsey without so much as tipping the tray, and started off to attend to her own duties.
“Well,” Merlin said. “Let’s see.”
Arthur nodded, cracking his knuckles, and led the way.
The balcony, as it turned out, afforded them an excellent view of the large room below. There were long tables laid with sophisticated food, and unfamiliar ladies in beautiful dresses flocked back and forth between them. Merlin and Arthur crouched behind the balcony’s low wall, peering over the edge.
“Not much of a party without any wine,” Arthur muttered.
“Looks like good food, though,” Merlin whispered back.
“You just ate,” Arthur reminded him, shooting him a look. “Are both your legs hollow? Is that why you trip over your own feet?” Merlin shrugged, and the prince rolled his eyes. “Tell me if you see Vivian.”
Merlin scanned the crowd for cascading blonde curls. “Maybe she’s not here yet.”
“No,” Arthur cut in grimly. “There. By the window.”
Merlin picked her out-radiant in a vibrant pink gown, her elfin face turned towards the windowpane, the picture of regret and utmost wistfulness. The chatter of the other ladies drowned out any sound, but Merlin saw her shoulders lift in a heartfelt sigh.
Arthur was grimacing.
“Yes,” Merlin decided of the image. “Yes, that’s got to change.”
Arthur’s face was dark. “How could anyone do that?” he demanded. “How could anyone treat another human being like that? That’s abusive. It’s wrong.”
“We’ll fix it,” Merlin promised.
Arthur’s eyes were on Vivian as he slowly shook his head. “Sorcerers have too much power, Merlin-too much power to control others. Too much power to destroy.”
Merlin held his tongue, watching the ladies’ gauzy gowns drift like butterflies-like Trickler’s butterflies, bright and insubstantial. The Dragon had raved a dozen times about the ascension of magic, of the old world arising, of the time for sorcery arriving under Arthur’s reign-but sometimes that was hard to believe. What if Arthur took after his father in that respect? He could be a just king without being a lenient one. How could the Dragon know the future when it didn’t even know how to free itself from iron chains?
The silence bowed between them, heavy with Arthur’s vague surprise-Merlin wouldn’t usually miss an opportunity to opine on any subject, and his sudden reticence was probably pretty startling.
“There’s Collette,” Merlin observed when their friend emerged onto the scene, her dark hair brushed and shining, her stride graceful, her smile sweet. She offered drinks to various ladies, who barely saw her-a selective invisibility with which Merlin sympathized. A servant didn’t exist until he tripped and spilled good ale all over the king.
Not that Merlin knew anything about that.
Arthur’s gaze flicked over the assembled company. “Evidently she’s still under the spell. I think we’ve seen enough.”
“Wait,” Merlin told him, catching his arm as a confident young lord strolled out into the room, earning batted eyelashes and tittering discussion everywhere he went. He sought out a lady in a lavender dress and bowed low to kiss her hand-that must have been the woman whose birthday it was.
“Vivian would love a dandy,” Arthur muttered of the man’s long gold hair and pristine doublet.
Merlin grinned. “Jealous?”
“I’d like to see him use that sword,” Arthur grumbled of the silver foil at the newcomer’s side, completely ignoring Merlin’s remark.
Dandy or otherwise, the lord swaggered over to Vivian, leaning in to speak to her. Vivian drew another deep sigh and turned away, offering what, by the gentleman’s surprise, was a very unexpected response.
“He’s a candidate,” Merlin concluded.
“Conceded,” Arthur murmured back. The lord retreated, attempting to regain his composure, and Collette swept in with a plateful of pastries, which she pushed gently at an inconsolable Vivian. “We’ll have to find out who he is and interview him.”
“Collette can probably tell us who’s who in court,” Merlin remarked. “And we can probably get Olaf to let us take them aside. Vivian’s not exactly shy; I can’t imagine anybody wouldn’t know if she was in love with him.”
-
Everything went to plan except for a single detail: Lord Fabian thought everybody was in love with him.
“What do you think of this color?” he asked the moment they had caught him alone ‘for a word.’ “Be honest-my servants say it brings out my eyes, but I’m concerned it dulls my complexion.”
Smoothing the green silk doublet, he stood with his face tilted to give them the best possible view of his cheek.
“Um,” Merlin said. “It’s nice…”
“Lord Fabian,” Arthur interjected as the man perked up at Merlin’s fumbling compliment, “we need to know if you can help us by answering a few questions about the Lady Vivian.”
“Ah,” Fabian sighed contentedly, his admittedly very-green eyes going slightly glassy. “Vivian, my heart’s keeper. My soul’s jailer. My… well.”
“Quite,” Arthur said slowly, looking a little bit queasy. “Has your… soul’s… jailer been acting unusual in any way?”
Fabian considered solemnly, and his eyes lit from within. The effect was striking, and Merlin was starting to understand why this man garnered giggles from the ladies wherever he went.
“Now that you mention it,” he remarked, “she’s been rather different lately. Did you attend the party? You see, I always speak to her, and I try to give her at least a fair insight into my overwhelming feelings for her ladyship-sometimes I write a sonnet, or bring flowers; I’m sure you know what I mean.” He patted Merlin’s arm. “Generally, she tells me not to waste my time with trifles, because her father will have me killed if he finds me wooing her too vigorously.”
“He will, you know,” was Arthur’s comment. The prince sounded like he wouldn’t particularly mind seeing Fabian lose his blindingly-golden head.
Fabian, however, waved a negligent hand. “He’d never get me to the executioner’s block; the ladies dote on me far too much. That aside, today the Lady Vivian said nothing of the sort-only sighed a lot and told me that her love and affections belonged to another, and time and distance could not sunder them apart.”
“…‘sunder them apart’?” Merlin repeated uncertainly.
“That’s what she said,” Fabian mused. “I think her grammar is suffering along with her soul.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “But usually she favors you?” he prompted.
Fabian cocked his head, lustrous golden hair pooling on his shoulders. “All the ladies favor me,” he answered. “I suppose she’s just playing hard to get, eh?” He smoothed and straightened his immaculate clothes. “But do tell me-who exactly are you, sirs, to be asking?”
Belated as it was, Merlin was somewhat impressed that Fabian had thought to turn the interrogation around. Better still, the information he had given them included nothing they hadn’t already inferred.
“We’re friends of the king,” Arthur responded without so much as a hiccup of hesitation. “We’re visiting.”
“Sightseeing,” Merlin added helpfully.
“Right,” Arthur took up reluctantly, his jaw clenching, and Merlin wondered what he’d said wrong this time. “And we supposed we ought to get a better understanding of the workings of the court while we’re here. We’d hate to step on the wrong person’s toes.”
“I do that a lot,” Merlin volunteered. “Step on people’s toes.”
Fabian was beaming at him, and the young lord patted his shoulder fondly. “Delightful,” he said. “But you simply must come hunting with me tomorrow morning, then! Nobody knows the ins and outs of the court better than I do, and today promises lovely weather. Meet me in the courtyard early?”
Arthur stumbled over an answer, and Merlin couldn’t even produce words.
“Wonderful!” Fabian decided, golden eyebrows rising, his broad smile ever so slightly catlike. “I’ll see you then. Good day, gentlemen…”
With one last touch to Merlin’s arm, he drifted off in a rush of green silk and faint perfume.
Arthur was giving Merlin an incinerating look.
“What?” Merlin asked unhappily. “I thought ‘sightseeing’ was good; I thought he’d leave us alone.”
“Not that,” Arthur said impatiently. “Must you flirt with everyone we meet?”
Merlin stared at him. “Wh-I-flirt? I wasn’t flirting!”
“I can’t believe he snared us like that,” Arthur muttered, starting back to their room, where Collette had subtly signaled that she’d meet them as the party had been drawing to a close.
“He’s smarter than he looks,” Merlin noted, “and than he acts. That’s probably a good strategy in his position, really.”
Arthur’s eyes flicked sideways, and one of his hands rose to toy with the worn leather of his belt. “Evidently it’s effective,” he replied, “but I prefer antagonism I can see in order to fight it.”
“He’s not an antagonist,” Merlin protested, slightly surprised. “He invited us to go hunting. You love hunting. You’ll hunt anything, even if we end up with a curse on Camelot for it.”
“Cheap shot,” Arthur muttered.
Merlin grinned. “Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all, you rotter,” Arthur returned, unlocking their chamber door. “Let’s get a list from Collette of the eligible lords, then wait until we know Vivian’s occupied and speak to as many of them as we can.”
Merlin went to the bed and sat, and Arthur joined him. Merlin looked over, somewhat tentatively, as his doubts momentarily outweighed his optimism.
“What if she’s not in love with any of them?” he asked. “She seems to know how dangerous it is to show any man affection-it’s actually almost generous how she puts them off, since Olaf would ruin them. But maybe that means she wouldn’t dare to love anyone. Maybe that means she doesn’t even know how.”
That was a sad thought for Merlin Emrys. That was a twinge of tragedy, because Merlin loved so widely, so wholly, that losing the capability would mean cutting out his core.
“She’s strong-willed, though,” Arthur sighed, planting his hands behind him on the mattress and leaning back. “And vain. I can’t imagine that she’d pass up the chance to take her pick of worshipers.”
Merlin smiled. He could think of someone else who fit that description.
Arthur tapped his boot heel against the footboard. “Collette ought to be here by now. Go and fetch her, Merlin.”
“I’m not a dog,” Merlin objected, staring.
Arthur grinned wickedly. “Go on, Merlin!” he enthused. “Go on, find Collette! There’s a good boy.”
“I think you’re the one with a mental affliction,” Merlin said, but he went.
He started back the way they’d come, and then he realized-of course Collette was a little delayed; she wasn’t likely to take the secret-passage shortcut just to hurry back to them. Besides, in Merlin’s experience, the slowest-running servant tended to get promoted to room-cleaner after a party like that one.
He supposed he might as well head back there and help her; the two of them would finish the job faster, and he wouldn’t have to listen to one of Arthur’s laziness rants, which he had catalogued alphabetically by opening sentence by now.
Amazingly enough, Merlin, some of us actually take pride in our work.
That was one of his favorites; he always interrupted with “What do you mean, ‘our’?”
Can’t you pay attention for the two minutes it takes to finish something?
Merlin would purposefully let something on the other side of the room catch his eye.
Every time I turn around, you’ve managed to create a new disaster.
That wasn’t laziness; that was consistency. That was talent.
For the love of all that’s sacred-!
Arthur would bury both hands in his hair at the start of that one, and then it would stick that way, and Merlin wouldn’t tell him.
Grinning to himself as he progressed through the Hs, Merlin swung around a corner, hoping that the vague resignation settling in his stomach wasn’t his brain’s way of telling him he was lost again.
Perhaps it was instead his gut’s way of telling him that he was in deep, deep trouble.
Grimy, travelstained, and bruised, the man at the other end of the hall cut a very different figure than he had at their last encounter. All the same, the malicious simper was the only feature Merlin needed to see-there was no one in the world that he would have been less happy to find opposite him right now, unless Nimueh were to be raised from the dead.
“I know you,” the jester said slowly, the corners of his lips curling like paper in a flame. “You’re Merlin. You’re Prince Arthur’s boy.”
Merlin swallowed, taking one unsteady step away, then another, and a third. A deep and persuasive instinct was urging him to flee.
“Merlin,” Trickler said again, wrapping his tongue around the R. “The very boy who brought me here.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Merlin blurted out, stumbling back another step. There was something wrong with Trickler now-something different than before. There was something around him, some field, some aura, and Merlin could feel it. He could sense it rippling, raging, pulsating with pent-up energy crackling as it pushed for freedom. There was a new gleam in Trickler’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you just break the chains?” Merlin went on helplessly, backing cautiously away.
Trickler took one skipping step forward to follow. Broken bells jingled tinnily.
“I broke the chains, Merlin,” came the singsong reply. “I shattered them into a hundred shards and flung them at the soldiers who had locked me up. I severed one man’s jugular with a single piece. Just like butterflies, Merlin-exactly like butterflies.”
Merlin bit his tongue, then focused on crafting a judicious response-a response that wouldn’t get him killed. He took one more careful pace backwards.
“Why’d you let Alined treat you that way?” he inquired, steadying his voice. “I mean-even when you were doing everything he said, he was awful to you. You had the power to escape him all along.”
Trickler tilted his head, doglike, birdlike, with the smile that made Merlin’s stomach turn-cold and almost vacant, except that you could see the predator’s intelligence. Something had snapped. Trickler would be no one’s fool.
“King Alined is my brother,” Trickler murmured, his smile flickering wider at Merlin’s shock. “That’s why I’ve spared him again. That’s why I always have; that’s why-that’s why we worked so hard…”
Trickler paused, gazing into space, his hands flexing. Merlin didn’t hesitate: he spun on his heel and ran.
He hurtled down the first corridor he saw, flooded with a tide of relief to match the adrenaline when no dead end abbreviated his intended path. A burst of magic seared the wall just behind him, sizzling, and Merlin’s boots skidded as he glanced over his shoulder to find Trickler skipping blithely into sight, raising his hand again, and Merlin jerked his own arm up faster, halting in mid-step and whispering the words to lift a shield.
Trickler’s eyes widened delightedly.
“Arthur’s boy,” he mused, “and Uther’s bane. Isn’t that a pretty picture?”
Merlin clenched his fists, his opalescent barrier shimmering.
“I’ve saved Uther’s life a dozen times,” he said. “I’m not dangerous; I’m nobody’s bane-”
“And yet he would watch you burn,” Trickler remarked, pensive, pondering. “Do you find that strange? Isn’t that how it always goes? Would you die for Uther’s pride, Merlin?”
“What difference does it make?” Merlin cut in, his eyes on the rags and tatters of Trickler’s finery. The sorcerer was a desperate man; he’d say anything he needed to, imply whatever he wished. None of the philosophy was important now. “Did you kill that guard?”
Trickler smiled and swung a halfhearted spell at Merlin’s shield, which shuddered but held. “What if someone finds you here?” the jester inquired. “What if the prince finds out what you really are?”
“Get out,” Merlin told him. “Leave Olaf alone. What do you want? Haven’t we all suffered enough from what you and Alined did?”
Trickler pushed up his sleeves, angled his head curiously again, and murmured a long set of words, of which Merlin recognized enough to start fortifying his shield, steeling himself against what was to come.
What came was a tremendous blow, all furious lightning and slamming force, the resonation of which burrowed through Merlin’s gleaming bulwark, bright light searing with a hint of sulfur. Merlin’s heart was in his throat, choking him as it swelled and pounded, and he couldn’t muster the words for reinforcement, let alone retaliation. His hands were tingling, and his head spun. Hoping desperately that his defenses would hold, once again Merlin turned and ran.
Trickler’s laugh rang on the pale walls, following him with a poignant derision, but he heard no footsteps in pursuit.
These halls were all the same-all stone and dust, all sharp-angled labyrinth-and Merlin was just racing through the castle taking any passage that appeared. It was all twists and turns; all switches and switchbacks; all slick floors and narrow halls devoid of humanity. Why was the whole world empty when he wanted to collide with someone?
Panting, gasping, staggering, Merlin stumbled to a halt in some indistinguishable intersection. He bent double, trying to catch his breath, some rational part of him knowing beyond a doubt that he needed to clear his head and focus on his next move. He swallowed, straightened, and looked around-more halls, more stone. It struck him that he should try to make his way outside, where he could seek out a guard and plead for an escort back to his and Arthur’s room-or send for Captain Harper. Maybe both; Harper should know that Trickler was loose and violently-inclined. Merlin gnawed at his lip, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know where Trickler was now, and he still didn’t have the faintest idea of the sorcerer’s larger intentions. Was he just hiding to keep out of Alined’s hands? Could he mean further harm to Vivian-and why? What more could he do to her now?
Merlin rubbed his face with both hands, sorting through his options, searching for clarity amongst the muddle of potentialities.
A heavy hand descended on his shoulder, and Merlin screamed.
The hand relocated with the speed of a sprung trap, settling over his mouth instead, and Merlin scrabbled at it heedlessly until he heard a familiar voice by his ear.
“Slow down, there, Merlin.” It sounded torn between a chuckle and concern, and Merlin relaxed. “I thought you were going to pop right out of your skin.”
Harper’s warm, steady palm retreated, and Merlin turned to him, managing a shaky smile.
“Bad news,” he said.
-
“Merlin,” Arthur gritted out, leaping from a surly slouch to upright anger in the blink of an eye. “What in the hell-”
“Trickler’s here,” Harper announced, folding his arms, before Merlin could speak. “Merlin ran into him.”
“Merlin would,” Arthur sighed.
“We’re putting the guard on special alert,” Harper continued, starting to pace the room now, clasping his hands behind his back. “But if he’s already inside…”
“There are enough secret passages and unused rooms to sustain him as long as he likes,” Collette filled in, twisting her hands in her apron.
Arthur cocked a hip to set his hand on his sword hilt, which made Merlin feel even less disposed to try to speak.
“Then we’ll have to draw him out,” the prince declared.
Harper frowned. “You’ve got your job,” he noted, “and I have mine. Let’s keep them separate-they’re equally important. People will notice tighter security, and suspicions are only going to keep rising from there. You two shouldn’t waste any time.”
Arthur fingered the pommel of his sword. “If we catch Trickler, there will no longer be a threat, and Merlin and I will have much more room to maneuver. Can’t you use a few more men? Why divide our power?”
Detecting the first strains of a lengthy argument, Merlin went and sat down at the table beside Collette, who gently touched his arm.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
Merlin summoned a smile for her. “I’ll manage,” he said.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked urgently.
“He didn’t get close enough,” Merlin responded, as it was technically the truth.
“I guess that’s something to be thankful for,” she resolved. She motioned to a piece of paper on the table, upon which there looked to be a column of names. “Here-I was listing the lords at court most likely to have Lady Vivian’s favor.”
Merlin’s rising hope nose-dived again. It was a long list.
“Maybe we can get them all to come to us,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe we can write them notes or something-you and I could deliver them; we could ask them to visit us at various times. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about Vivian seeing us, either.”
“Arthur,” Harper stated, raising his voice just a fraction over the prince’s, letting it drop again when Arthur’s jaw snapped shut. “Thank you, truly, for the offer, but we can take care of it. It’s more important that you make the Lady Vivian your first priority.”
Merlin watched Arthur’s closed expression. Had the prince actually been outwilled? Arthur’s stubbornness was legendary, at least in Merlin’s mind. This was the bloodless equivalent of a fight to the death.
“We’ve had experience with all manner of sorcery,” Arthur said, levelly, his hand on his sword hilt. “Send us a message if you change your mind.”
Merlin stared in wonder. Olaf had employed some kind of god.
Speaking of the incredible being, Harper smiled, and Merlin detected a shade of relief in the expression. “I will,” he promised. “Thank you.” Before another argument could escape Arthur’s tenuous restraint, Harper set a hand over his heart, half-bowed, and smartly marched off to gather forces against the threat.
Collette cleared her throat tactfully, straightening the list on the tabletop, and Arthur rubbed at the back of his head, drew a deep breath, and joined them.
“Let’s get to work,” he said.
-
They’d written and delivered a dozen missives by the time they settled to go to bed, Arthur blowing out the candles all on his own for once. Merlin stretched extravagantly, then curled up among his pillows, wrapping his arms around one of them.
“Goodnight, Arthur,” he said, closing his eyes.
Arthur grunted something unintelligible in reply, and the mattress wheezed as he collapsed onto it. The prince had been vaguely petulant all evening, though he’d taken pains to speak politely. After all this time, Merlin didn’t even take offense-Arthur was anxious, and this was how it always showed. He would be better-humored in the morning, when they had tasks set out and were moving and accomplishing things. Arthur was no good at standing still, at planning, at hoping for the best instead of reaching out to take it. Merlin nestled into his pillow, smiling a little. He was still a prince, and rightly so. The wisdom bit would come.
The night deepened. Merlin dozed.
“Warlock…”
He started awake.
“Merlin…”
Merlin sat up, batting the blankets aside, scouring the darkness of the room. Furniture and floor were bluish in the moonlight, the shadows thick, and Arthur’s breathing was rough-edged with gentle snores.
“I’m here, Merlin…”
Heart pounding in his ears again, Merlin scoured the dimness, swiveling, searching for a sign, for an anomaly, for the horror tucked away and poised to pounce-
“Mer… lin…”
Trickler’s voice, so close-too close; it had to be under the bed, buried in his blanket nest, knitted into his pillow-where was it? How? The room had cooled; he gasped in prickling air and begged his eyes to breach the darkness; he could at least know where to run-
“Merlin…”
Too close. Too close to be anywhere except inside his mind.
Merlin could hear it now-could detect the unique echo of invasion, the way a voice played off of nothing but the inside of his skull.
“Come to me, Merlin, or I will come to you.”
Merlin held both hands over his ears, thinking it might be different, that he might be able to block it out this time-
“I’m coming, Merlin.”
“Stop,” Merlin whispered, clutching at his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, drawing his knees up to his chest. Maybe he could become so small that he would disappear.
“Merlin-”
A hand grasped his shoulder, and he jerked away, writhing, swallowing a ragged scream, but then he dared to look. It was Arthur, having slipped down from the bed; the prince’s eyes were bleary and bewildered, and he caught Merlin’s arm again.
“What the-”
“I’ll find you-”
“-hell is wrong with you-”
“Merlin?”
The unison made Merlin want to tear out his eardrums and crush them underneath his heel. He clenched his fingers in his hair, ignoring the faint, increasing pain as Arthur’s grip tightened.
“Merlin,” Arthur persisted, “what’s wrong?”
“I know you, Merlin.”
“Merlin-”
“He’s in my head!” Merlin blurted out, squirming, fighting Arthur’s grasp. “He’s-like the others; he won’t-”
“You’re mine.”
“Stop!” Merlin howled, clawing at his ears. “Leave me alone, please! I don’t-”
Arthur struck like lightning, immovable hands closing around Merlin’s wrists, holding them away no matter how Merlin struggled to pull free.
“Have you lost your mind?” the prince hissed. “Stay still! There’s no one here!”
“He’ll find me-” Merlin managed breathlessly.
The next he knew, his nose was being squished into Arthur’s collarbone. The prince had one firm arm wrapped tightly around him, the other hand restricting both of Merlin’s at once. Merlin wriggled helplessly, but more hesitantly now, composure slowly seeping back. The blind, careening terror was fading into a lower beat of rational fear. Arthur’s cheek brushed his, warm and slightly rough, and the prince’s voice was soft.
“Merlin,” he said, “I’ve got you. No one’s here. No one’s coming. No one is going to find you.”
“Yeah,” Merlin panted, more concerned now with Arthur’s all-too-tangible proximity than with Trickler’s potential. “I-I know. It’s fine. Sorry. I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”
Arthur released Merlin’s hands-his fingers had been tingling with the beginnings of numbness-and drew back. Swallowing hard, meeting the prince’s dark, calm eyes, Merlin thought the worst was over.
Then Arthur’s palm flattened itself against his cheek, fingertips at his temple, heel at his jaw, too warm and far, far too real.
“You are a thousand mysteries at once,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s voice shook as he forced himself to speak. “May I take that as a compliment, Sire?”
Arthur used his leverage on Merlin’s face to shove him gently. “Not on your life, idiot.” The prince unfolded to his feet and brushed the wrinkles out of his nightclothes. Merlin blinked up at him as the cold rushed in, and Arthur met his gaze for a long, quiet moment.
“Sorry,” Merlin managed again.
“Come here, Merlin,” Arthur replied.
Uncertainly, Merlin clambered up to await instruction.
Arthur climbed onto the far side of the bed and then held the other half of the covers back.
“If you mention snoring,” he said, “you can go straight back to sleeping on the floor.”
Staggered, Merlin stood dumbly, staring at the hollow in the sheets. “I-it’s all right; I couldn’t-”
“Get into the bed, Merlin.” Arthur sounded almost bored, but a careful glance revealed that his eyes were strangely bright.
“But-”
“Now.”
Merlin steeled himself and obeyed.
“Are you made of knees and elbows?” Arthur inquired over the creaking of the bed-frame.
“No,” Merlin muttered, attempting to become as inconspicuous as possible. “Mysteries, like you said.”
“Your tongue is going to get you executed someday,” Arthur informed him through a yawn.
Merlin thought of half-guttural, half-delicate words and wondered if he was right.
-
Merlin awoke when Arthur dropped his neckerchief onto his face, from some height.
“Early,” Merlin groaned, fumbling to pull it off. It wasn’t a particularly coherent objection, but it got the point across.
“That’s right, Merlin,” Arthur told him, tossing a coat onto his back despite his attempts to squirm out of the way. “Time to go hunting, which you got us into.”
Merlin dragged himself off of the bed and stood, scrubbing at his eyes. “Not my fault.”
Arthur smirked. “This is what you get for flirting with Fabian.”
Merlin pulled the knot on his neckerchief too tightly in his surprise and had to gasp before he could speak.
“I wasn’t flirting,” he protested; “I was humoring him, like I humor you every minute of the day.”
“Perfect,” Arthur fired back. “Humor me today and don’t embarrass me in front of an entire hunting party.” He frowned. “People are used to you in Camelot. Other people don’t tend to understand why I let you get away with your behavior.”
“I keep you honest,” Merlin pointed out. “And slightly less arrogant than you would be otherwise.”
He smiled winningly as Arthur shot him a black look.
-
He kind of missed the black look by the time they were out in the forest, surrounded by unfamiliar trees and unfamiliar companions. Traipsing around trying to help Arthur kill things was never pleasant, per se, but at least it was consistent and comprehensible-Merlin had no idea how any of these lords and their lackeys would respond to someone who tripped over his own feet as often as his tongue.
Which was really saying something, in Merlin’s case.
The situation was all the more worrying given that he wasn’t in a position to alienate anyone, as they needed the courtiers’ favor if they were going to close in on Vivian’s true love by collective hearsay.
Thinking about it, the plan sounded even shakier if you put it like that.
Focusing, Merlin saw that Arthur was deftly conversing with a broad-shouldered lord who seemed to be taking to him, ceding him conspiratorial smiles already. The prince worked quickly and effectively with everything he attempted, as far as Merlin could tell.
Merlin realized, none too happily, that he should try his best to keep up. It couldn’t be too hard to befriend a nobleman and get him talking about Vivian. In fact, odds were she was everyone’s favorite subject right now, especially in her altered state.
Cautiously, he sidled up beside a friendly-looking lord-young, with curly blond hair and blue eyes, whose name Merlin could justify asking, because he hadn’t been told and merely forgotten, as was the case with much of their company.
“Nice weather,” Merlin ventured.
The lord smiled at him. “Could stand to be a little cooler,” he remarked, tugging at his collar and pulling a face, “but rather nice, yes.”
“I’m not from around here,” Merlin added, thinking that Arthur would not approve of advertising their connection to Camelot. “It’s really very… interesting.” Hopefully that was a sufficiently noncommittal word.
The young lord grinned. “I imagine,” he replied. “No one rules quite like our Olaf does, eh?”
“No one I’ve met,” Merlin noted. “And no one raises a child like he does-the Lady Vivian’s like a goddess. I know I’ve never seen that before.”
“Oh?” the lord inquired, smiling still, amused now. “By our example, I would have thought all kings’ heirs were deified.”
“Only in their own minds,” Merlin replied, resisting the urge to glare at Arthur’s back.
“I suppose Lady Vivian is special in that way,” the lord said, holding a branch aside for Merlin and nodding at the half-gushing, half-disbelieving thanks. “I guess if you worship anyone enough, she’ll start to think it’s her due.”
“D’you think she feels that way about anyone?” Merlin asked, struggling to sound casual. “She could elevate someone that way-using the power of her position, if she liked someone enough.”
The lord laughed, his pale eyes sparking. “Vivian?” he prompted. “She wouldn’t take that kind of risk for anyone. Honestly, I don’t think she would want to exert the effort. She’d prefer to be the only one in the court we all gaze up at. Wouldn’t you protect your glory instead of sharing it?”
“Nonsense,” a new voice cut in, and Merlin turned to see the red-faced, bulky man who owned it. There was a spear balanced against his shoulder, and there was something of a deep investment in his earnestness. “She’s besotted with someone now-haven’t you heard?”
Merlin’s first lord frowned. “I hadn’t,” he said. “That’s unlike her. Must be some kind of ploy-we’ll all pay more attention now, won’t we? If she changes her habits and won’t explain?”
“You haven’t seen her,” the larger man contended. “She’s all out of sorts, and everyone’s looking at her sideways; it’d be mad to put on that kind of an act.”
A third lord popped up, slightly startlingly, at Merlin’s elbow-younger even than the first, dark and sprightly, with shining eyes.
“Maybe she’s mad, then,” he suggested cheerfully. “Wouldn’t that be a fitting end for the siren?”
“No one deserves to go mad for love,” the larger lord demurred.
“You would know?” the newest chirped.
“She’s not mad anyway,” the first interjected. “Olaf would never let her be seen in court if he thought she’d lost her mind.”
“But what better way is there to put us off?” the youngest retorted. “No one wants damaged goods.”
The brawny lord growled. “I’ll damage your goods if you don’t stop defaming her-”
“Defaming?” came the bright reply. “My dear sir, you have me all wrong: defamation is when it’s not true. This is slander.”
Only the most sharply-honed of self-preservation instincts permitted Merlin to dive out of the way as the big lord descended upon the littlest, roaring about Vivian’s upright moral character and unassailable reputation-impressively, in almost exactly those words.
Instantaneously, the other noblemen had gathered around the fight, in which the younger lord was holding his own rather well, using his agility very much to his advantage. Bets were made, calls of encouragement rang through the forest, and Arthur gave Merlin a look that clearly demanded, What the hell did you do this time?
Helplessly, Merlin shrugged.
[PART I] [PART III]
Part: 2
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7,580
Warnings: occasional language, generally mild violence
Summary: Following a rather different ending to 2.10 ("Sweet Dreams"), Merlin and Arthur head to Olaf's kingdom of Valden to put things right. In the process, Merlin racks up an impressive series of treasonous crimes: insolence, incompetence, tripping while running for his life, and accusing the crown prince of snoring are only the beginning.
Author's Note: ...madness.
(PART 2/4)
Merlin awoke to Arthur’s foot nudging at his ribs, which he blearily supposed was better than Arthur’s foot in his face.
The stories Merlin could have told.
“It’s well past dawn, you know.”
“We’re on holiday,” Merlin mumbled into the vaguely-linear pile of blankets and pillows he’d assembled on the floor.
“No,” Arthur told him, “we’re fighting sorcery and pursuing a matter of life and death.”
“Honor and dishonor at best.”
“Life and death,” Arthur persisted, “because I’m going to kill you if you don’t get up.”
Merlin rolled over and gazed up at the disapproving prince.
“Five more minutes?” he tried.
“You have five seconds,” Arthur said. “Four. Three. Two-”
Groaning, Merlin sat up, coming about level with Arthur’s knees. “It’s not my fault,” he muttered. “I couldn’t sleep. You were snoring.”
Arthur growled. “Merlin, how many times do I-”
Merlin yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and stretching the other arm over his head. “We can have Collette settle it later. Aren’t we supposed to be somewhere? Some other lady’s birthday, or something?”
“That’s exactly where we’re supposed to be,” Arthur responded through his grimace. “Which is why you had damn well better get up.”
Caving, Merlin collected himself to his feet, where he rubbed his eyes and attempted to figure out where he’d left his neckerchief. Without even having to ask, Arthur plucked it from its place on the tabletop, holding it between two fingers as if it was diseased, and proffered it. Merlin beamed his thanks.
“Can’t have you going around looking slightly less ridiculous than usual,” Arthur muttered, opening the armoire, into which Merlin stuffed all of his erstwhile bedding.
Just as he straightened, he heard footsteps in the hall, and Collette filled them.
“Breakfast!” she announced, settling the tray on the table in between Arthur’s sword belt and his riding gloves.
Merlin fell upon the food with the eagerness of one unused to making exciting breakfast discoveries. Harper hadn’t been exaggerating-Collette was taking extremely good care of them so far.
“You’re fantastic,” Merlin informed her through a mouthful of fruit and some sweet cheese he’d never tried before.
Even as Collette smiled shyly, Arthur elbowed Merlin in the ribs. Merlin wondered if the prince sharpened his elbows on a whetstone when he’d finished with his swords, because the jab felt like the beginning of a colorful bruise.
“Must you be an utter pig, Merlin?” Arthur inquired.
The temptation to say “Yes, Sire” was great, but Merlin exercised restraint. He swallowed, smiled, and pushed the tray towards Collette.
“Have you eaten yet? Go ahead; we’ll be fine.”
The upper half of Arthur’s face disappeared behind his palm.
“Oh,” Merlin realized. “You meant you.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, sounding like he was pouring every ounce of patience into the effort not to deck Merlin right then and there, “but you’re right. Collette is welcome to our breakfast, too.”
It was as simple as that, somehow-that and a few awkward fumbles when two people reached for the same thing, anyway. Merlin liked this. It was peaceful. It was nice. Arthur wasn’t looking at him like he should be leaving to perform a menial task now-thank-you, like there was something about him that made him vaguely painful to see.
He and Arthur had just finished a friendly stare-down over a particularly delectable-looking roll when he heard someone walking in the hall again-smart, brisk, heavy steps. As Merlin had dared to hope, Harper peeked around the doorframe, knocking on it with a grin of greeting.
“Good morning,” he bid them. “At least, I hope it is.”
Harper’s servant, the one who had taken their horses the day before, strolled in, carrying a tray of his own.
“Even if it isn’t,” he told them, “I brought tea, so it will be.”
“Thank you, Ian!” Collette said happily, accepting a softly-steaming cup.
“Thanks, Ian,” Merlin echoed, taking the next, considering the strangely elegant young man. His hair was short, and his smile was thin and amused, and his eyes were very, very intelligent.
Harper came up behind Ian, clapping his servant warmly on the shoulder and then leaving his hand there as he collected the penultimate cup.
“Well,” he drawled, leaning on a tellingly unruffled Ian, “I stopped by to let you know there’s been a problem. Did Collette tell you about Alined’s servant who’s on the run?”
Arthur nodded, sipping with uncharacteristic delicacy. “We’re familiar with the man.”
Harper hesitated. “We have one guard dead,” he said slowly. “No one’s seen the servant, but he might be responsible, in which case he might be loose in the castle. It’s that, or Olfinn’s eating habits finally caught up to him, which isn’t out of the question.”
“Be nice,” Ian reprimanded mildly.
“This is nice,” Harper replied. “Anyway, everyone’s on high-alert for intruders, which could be troublesome given that not too many people know that you’re supposed to be here. It shouldn’t be too bad, but… Keep an eye out, and avoid other people’s eyes as best you can. Hopefully I’ll be here tonight telling you we’ve taken care of it, but watch your backs until then, just in case.”
Merlin really didn’t like the sound of that. He turned to Arthur, who was already turning to him, looking exquisitely doubtful over the rim of his teacup.
“All right,” the prince said uncertainly, addressing Harper again after quirking an eyebrow at Merlin. “Thank you for the warning.”
Harper set his teacup back on the tray and saluted sharply. “I’d better be getting back to work now-best of luck. Can you see to the tea, Collette? I need to borrow this.” He tugged on Ian’s sleeve, and the servant gave a small and knowing smile.
Collette grinned. “Of course, Captain.”
Harper guided Ian out with a hand on his servant’s shoulder, and Arthur turned to Collette.
“When does the event begin?” he asked.
“Within the quarter-hour,” Collette reported, “but we’ll have plenty of time. Whenever you’re finished-”
“We’re finished,” Arthur said.
Merlin, who was halfway through a really wonderful sausage, stared at him, betrayed. Arthur made a point of ignoring him.
Collette hid a smile. “Of course, Sire,” she replied, getting up from the table to sweep a quick curtsey. “Just follow me, then.”
They were out the door in thirty seconds, and only that long because Merlin had gulped down the rest of his tea, to the slight scalding of the roof of his mouth. Arthur locked the room behind them, Collette having collected the detritus of their breakfast, and off they went, trailing her who-knew-where.
She led them through a series of nondescript, narrow halls, more unremarkable corridors servants might roam, and then stopped before a wall opposite a window that stood open to the sky beyond, no glass or even parchment in the frame.
“Sorry, can one of you hold this?” she asked distractedly, and Merlin took the tray. Unburdened now, Collette ran her fingers down a long seam in the stone, lightly until she reached a jagged crack about chest-height, where two large blocks of the wall had been imperfectly joined. Here she dug her fingers in and, after glancing one way and then the other, began to pull.
There was a low grinding and a soft creak, and then a door in the very stone opened just about two feet-room enough for a person to slip inside and venture into what appeared to be a hidden passageway, dark and swathed in spiders’ webs.
“Wow,” Merlin said helplessly, a familiar excitement-the excitement reserved for the unknown and intriguing-setting his heart to jittering in his chest.
Arthur’s eyes were wide, his lips parted in wonder. “Do we have anything like this in Camelot?”
“Unfortunately not,” Merlin answered, grinning. A contented Collette darted into the uncovered corridor and beckoned, and he angled the tray as he sidled in after.
“Are you sure?” Arthur prompted, considering the space, giving the cobwebs a particularly dubious look.
“Yes,” Merlin responded as the prince squeezed through the gap.
“There’s a bar on the door,” Collette interjected idly, apparently accustomed to their conversational habits by now. “If you pull it closed, that’ll be that…”
“Maybe you just haven’t found them,” Arthur remarked to his servant as he obliged, the floor shuddering detectably as the door slammed shut.
“If there were,” Merlin told him, “I would have fallen into one on accident when I was late for something.”
Arthur was quiet, though that might have been partly because the entire corridor had gone pitch-black.
“It’s all right,” Collette said gently. “Just put a hand out; the wall’s close. Follow my voice, and shout if you’d like me to slow down.”
“Go ahead,” Arthur bid her. “Hurry up, Merlin.”
Collette’s footsteps started off into the dark, and Merlin hastened after, struggling to keep pace without crashing into her or dropping the tray he clutched in both hands. His right shoulder scraped against the wall as he drifted off of a straight course-or as the tunnel turned-and he clenched his teeth, straining to hear Collette’s footfalls over the echoes of hers, his, and Arthur’s sure gait. He badly wanted to summon witchlight, contained flame, something-he wanted a shred of illumination before his face became intimately acquainted with the gritty floor.
Arthur bumped into him, all elbows and momentum, and Merlin stumbled enough to make the teacups clatter.
“Could you be any clumsier?” Arthur muttered, unseen hands grasping Merlin’s shoulders to steady him.
“I can try if you like,” Merlin managed, struggling not to stagger even more, unbalanced by the weight and warmth of Arthur’s hands. One of those weights lifted, and Merlin faintly heard it brushing the closest wall, but the other stayed.
“How much further, Collette?” the prince inquired.
“The door’s just here,” she declared, and Merlin heard soft scrabbling. Arthur’s hand on his shoulder drew him to a stop but still-inexplicably-didn’t release its hold. Merlin’s lungs didn’t seem to be functioning right.
Momentarily, a crack of light appeared in the midst of the blackness, and Merlin instinctively flinched. Arthur’s thumb skimmed down his shoulder-blade, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears.
He’d always kind of wondered if his ears were situated in a way that would magnify that kind of a sound. Maybe he’d get to find out.
Collette eased the door open, establishing a gap about the same size as the one at the entrance. Arthur guided Merlin forward when Collette had passed through, and he tripped out as best he could, holding tight to the tray, squinting in the sudden brightness of the new hall. He heard Arthur slip out deftly behind him.
“Where are we now?” Arthur asked.
Collette gave Merlin a smile and took the tray back from him at long last. It looked a lot safer in her grip.
“Head through that door-” She pointed to a regular wooden one just down the hall. “-and you’ll be on the balcony above the dining room where the party’s being held. No one goes up there much, so if you stay low, nobody ought to be the wiser.”
Arthur looked over, somewhat impressed. “That’s extremely convenient. Thank you.”
Collette smiled warmly, dropped them another curtsey without so much as tipping the tray, and started off to attend to her own duties.
“Well,” Merlin said. “Let’s see.”
Arthur nodded, cracking his knuckles, and led the way.
The balcony, as it turned out, afforded them an excellent view of the large room below. There were long tables laid with sophisticated food, and unfamiliar ladies in beautiful dresses flocked back and forth between them. Merlin and Arthur crouched behind the balcony’s low wall, peering over the edge.
“Not much of a party without any wine,” Arthur muttered.
“Looks like good food, though,” Merlin whispered back.
“You just ate,” Arthur reminded him, shooting him a look. “Are both your legs hollow? Is that why you trip over your own feet?” Merlin shrugged, and the prince rolled his eyes. “Tell me if you see Vivian.”
Merlin scanned the crowd for cascading blonde curls. “Maybe she’s not here yet.”
“No,” Arthur cut in grimly. “There. By the window.”
Merlin picked her out-radiant in a vibrant pink gown, her elfin face turned towards the windowpane, the picture of regret and utmost wistfulness. The chatter of the other ladies drowned out any sound, but Merlin saw her shoulders lift in a heartfelt sigh.
Arthur was grimacing.
“Yes,” Merlin decided of the image. “Yes, that’s got to change.”
Arthur’s face was dark. “How could anyone do that?” he demanded. “How could anyone treat another human being like that? That’s abusive. It’s wrong.”
“We’ll fix it,” Merlin promised.
Arthur’s eyes were on Vivian as he slowly shook his head. “Sorcerers have too much power, Merlin-too much power to control others. Too much power to destroy.”
Merlin held his tongue, watching the ladies’ gauzy gowns drift like butterflies-like Trickler’s butterflies, bright and insubstantial. The Dragon had raved a dozen times about the ascension of magic, of the old world arising, of the time for sorcery arriving under Arthur’s reign-but sometimes that was hard to believe. What if Arthur took after his father in that respect? He could be a just king without being a lenient one. How could the Dragon know the future when it didn’t even know how to free itself from iron chains?
The silence bowed between them, heavy with Arthur’s vague surprise-Merlin wouldn’t usually miss an opportunity to opine on any subject, and his sudden reticence was probably pretty startling.
“There’s Collette,” Merlin observed when their friend emerged onto the scene, her dark hair brushed and shining, her stride graceful, her smile sweet. She offered drinks to various ladies, who barely saw her-a selective invisibility with which Merlin sympathized. A servant didn’t exist until he tripped and spilled good ale all over the king.
Not that Merlin knew anything about that.
Arthur’s gaze flicked over the assembled company. “Evidently she’s still under the spell. I think we’ve seen enough.”
“Wait,” Merlin told him, catching his arm as a confident young lord strolled out into the room, earning batted eyelashes and tittering discussion everywhere he went. He sought out a lady in a lavender dress and bowed low to kiss her hand-that must have been the woman whose birthday it was.
“Vivian would love a dandy,” Arthur muttered of the man’s long gold hair and pristine doublet.
Merlin grinned. “Jealous?”
“I’d like to see him use that sword,” Arthur grumbled of the silver foil at the newcomer’s side, completely ignoring Merlin’s remark.
Dandy or otherwise, the lord swaggered over to Vivian, leaning in to speak to her. Vivian drew another deep sigh and turned away, offering what, by the gentleman’s surprise, was a very unexpected response.
“He’s a candidate,” Merlin concluded.
“Conceded,” Arthur murmured back. The lord retreated, attempting to regain his composure, and Collette swept in with a plateful of pastries, which she pushed gently at an inconsolable Vivian. “We’ll have to find out who he is and interview him.”
“Collette can probably tell us who’s who in court,” Merlin remarked. “And we can probably get Olaf to let us take them aside. Vivian’s not exactly shy; I can’t imagine anybody wouldn’t know if she was in love with him.”
-
Everything went to plan except for a single detail: Lord Fabian thought everybody was in love with him.
“What do you think of this color?” he asked the moment they had caught him alone ‘for a word.’ “Be honest-my servants say it brings out my eyes, but I’m concerned it dulls my complexion.”
Smoothing the green silk doublet, he stood with his face tilted to give them the best possible view of his cheek.
“Um,” Merlin said. “It’s nice…”
“Lord Fabian,” Arthur interjected as the man perked up at Merlin’s fumbling compliment, “we need to know if you can help us by answering a few questions about the Lady Vivian.”
“Ah,” Fabian sighed contentedly, his admittedly very-green eyes going slightly glassy. “Vivian, my heart’s keeper. My soul’s jailer. My… well.”
“Quite,” Arthur said slowly, looking a little bit queasy. “Has your… soul’s… jailer been acting unusual in any way?”
Fabian considered solemnly, and his eyes lit from within. The effect was striking, and Merlin was starting to understand why this man garnered giggles from the ladies wherever he went.
“Now that you mention it,” he remarked, “she’s been rather different lately. Did you attend the party? You see, I always speak to her, and I try to give her at least a fair insight into my overwhelming feelings for her ladyship-sometimes I write a sonnet, or bring flowers; I’m sure you know what I mean.” He patted Merlin’s arm. “Generally, she tells me not to waste my time with trifles, because her father will have me killed if he finds me wooing her too vigorously.”
“He will, you know,” was Arthur’s comment. The prince sounded like he wouldn’t particularly mind seeing Fabian lose his blindingly-golden head.
Fabian, however, waved a negligent hand. “He’d never get me to the executioner’s block; the ladies dote on me far too much. That aside, today the Lady Vivian said nothing of the sort-only sighed a lot and told me that her love and affections belonged to another, and time and distance could not sunder them apart.”
“…‘sunder them apart’?” Merlin repeated uncertainly.
“That’s what she said,” Fabian mused. “I think her grammar is suffering along with her soul.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “But usually she favors you?” he prompted.
Fabian cocked his head, lustrous golden hair pooling on his shoulders. “All the ladies favor me,” he answered. “I suppose she’s just playing hard to get, eh?” He smoothed and straightened his immaculate clothes. “But do tell me-who exactly are you, sirs, to be asking?”
Belated as it was, Merlin was somewhat impressed that Fabian had thought to turn the interrogation around. Better still, the information he had given them included nothing they hadn’t already inferred.
“We’re friends of the king,” Arthur responded without so much as a hiccup of hesitation. “We’re visiting.”
“Sightseeing,” Merlin added helpfully.
“Right,” Arthur took up reluctantly, his jaw clenching, and Merlin wondered what he’d said wrong this time. “And we supposed we ought to get a better understanding of the workings of the court while we’re here. We’d hate to step on the wrong person’s toes.”
“I do that a lot,” Merlin volunteered. “Step on people’s toes.”
Fabian was beaming at him, and the young lord patted his shoulder fondly. “Delightful,” he said. “But you simply must come hunting with me tomorrow morning, then! Nobody knows the ins and outs of the court better than I do, and today promises lovely weather. Meet me in the courtyard early?”
Arthur stumbled over an answer, and Merlin couldn’t even produce words.
“Wonderful!” Fabian decided, golden eyebrows rising, his broad smile ever so slightly catlike. “I’ll see you then. Good day, gentlemen…”
With one last touch to Merlin’s arm, he drifted off in a rush of green silk and faint perfume.
Arthur was giving Merlin an incinerating look.
“What?” Merlin asked unhappily. “I thought ‘sightseeing’ was good; I thought he’d leave us alone.”
“Not that,” Arthur said impatiently. “Must you flirt with everyone we meet?”
Merlin stared at him. “Wh-I-flirt? I wasn’t flirting!”
“I can’t believe he snared us like that,” Arthur muttered, starting back to their room, where Collette had subtly signaled that she’d meet them as the party had been drawing to a close.
“He’s smarter than he looks,” Merlin noted, “and than he acts. That’s probably a good strategy in his position, really.”
Arthur’s eyes flicked sideways, and one of his hands rose to toy with the worn leather of his belt. “Evidently it’s effective,” he replied, “but I prefer antagonism I can see in order to fight it.”
“He’s not an antagonist,” Merlin protested, slightly surprised. “He invited us to go hunting. You love hunting. You’ll hunt anything, even if we end up with a curse on Camelot for it.”
“Cheap shot,” Arthur muttered.
Merlin grinned. “Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all, you rotter,” Arthur returned, unlocking their chamber door. “Let’s get a list from Collette of the eligible lords, then wait until we know Vivian’s occupied and speak to as many of them as we can.”
Merlin went to the bed and sat, and Arthur joined him. Merlin looked over, somewhat tentatively, as his doubts momentarily outweighed his optimism.
“What if she’s not in love with any of them?” he asked. “She seems to know how dangerous it is to show any man affection-it’s actually almost generous how she puts them off, since Olaf would ruin them. But maybe that means she wouldn’t dare to love anyone. Maybe that means she doesn’t even know how.”
That was a sad thought for Merlin Emrys. That was a twinge of tragedy, because Merlin loved so widely, so wholly, that losing the capability would mean cutting out his core.
“She’s strong-willed, though,” Arthur sighed, planting his hands behind him on the mattress and leaning back. “And vain. I can’t imagine that she’d pass up the chance to take her pick of worshipers.”
Merlin smiled. He could think of someone else who fit that description.
Arthur tapped his boot heel against the footboard. “Collette ought to be here by now. Go and fetch her, Merlin.”
“I’m not a dog,” Merlin objected, staring.
Arthur grinned wickedly. “Go on, Merlin!” he enthused. “Go on, find Collette! There’s a good boy.”
“I think you’re the one with a mental affliction,” Merlin said, but he went.
He started back the way they’d come, and then he realized-of course Collette was a little delayed; she wasn’t likely to take the secret-passage shortcut just to hurry back to them. Besides, in Merlin’s experience, the slowest-running servant tended to get promoted to room-cleaner after a party like that one.
He supposed he might as well head back there and help her; the two of them would finish the job faster, and he wouldn’t have to listen to one of Arthur’s laziness rants, which he had catalogued alphabetically by opening sentence by now.
Amazingly enough, Merlin, some of us actually take pride in our work.
That was one of his favorites; he always interrupted with “What do you mean, ‘our’?”
Can’t you pay attention for the two minutes it takes to finish something?
Merlin would purposefully let something on the other side of the room catch his eye.
Every time I turn around, you’ve managed to create a new disaster.
That wasn’t laziness; that was consistency. That was talent.
For the love of all that’s sacred-!
Arthur would bury both hands in his hair at the start of that one, and then it would stick that way, and Merlin wouldn’t tell him.
Grinning to himself as he progressed through the Hs, Merlin swung around a corner, hoping that the vague resignation settling in his stomach wasn’t his brain’s way of telling him he was lost again.
Perhaps it was instead his gut’s way of telling him that he was in deep, deep trouble.
Grimy, travelstained, and bruised, the man at the other end of the hall cut a very different figure than he had at their last encounter. All the same, the malicious simper was the only feature Merlin needed to see-there was no one in the world that he would have been less happy to find opposite him right now, unless Nimueh were to be raised from the dead.
“I know you,” the jester said slowly, the corners of his lips curling like paper in a flame. “You’re Merlin. You’re Prince Arthur’s boy.”
Merlin swallowed, taking one unsteady step away, then another, and a third. A deep and persuasive instinct was urging him to flee.
“Merlin,” Trickler said again, wrapping his tongue around the R. “The very boy who brought me here.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Merlin blurted out, stumbling back another step. There was something wrong with Trickler now-something different than before. There was something around him, some field, some aura, and Merlin could feel it. He could sense it rippling, raging, pulsating with pent-up energy crackling as it pushed for freedom. There was a new gleam in Trickler’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you just break the chains?” Merlin went on helplessly, backing cautiously away.
Trickler took one skipping step forward to follow. Broken bells jingled tinnily.
“I broke the chains, Merlin,” came the singsong reply. “I shattered them into a hundred shards and flung them at the soldiers who had locked me up. I severed one man’s jugular with a single piece. Just like butterflies, Merlin-exactly like butterflies.”
Merlin bit his tongue, then focused on crafting a judicious response-a response that wouldn’t get him killed. He took one more careful pace backwards.
“Why’d you let Alined treat you that way?” he inquired, steadying his voice. “I mean-even when you were doing everything he said, he was awful to you. You had the power to escape him all along.”
Trickler tilted his head, doglike, birdlike, with the smile that made Merlin’s stomach turn-cold and almost vacant, except that you could see the predator’s intelligence. Something had snapped. Trickler would be no one’s fool.
“King Alined is my brother,” Trickler murmured, his smile flickering wider at Merlin’s shock. “That’s why I’ve spared him again. That’s why I always have; that’s why-that’s why we worked so hard…”
Trickler paused, gazing into space, his hands flexing. Merlin didn’t hesitate: he spun on his heel and ran.
He hurtled down the first corridor he saw, flooded with a tide of relief to match the adrenaline when no dead end abbreviated his intended path. A burst of magic seared the wall just behind him, sizzling, and Merlin’s boots skidded as he glanced over his shoulder to find Trickler skipping blithely into sight, raising his hand again, and Merlin jerked his own arm up faster, halting in mid-step and whispering the words to lift a shield.
Trickler’s eyes widened delightedly.
“Arthur’s boy,” he mused, “and Uther’s bane. Isn’t that a pretty picture?”
Merlin clenched his fists, his opalescent barrier shimmering.
“I’ve saved Uther’s life a dozen times,” he said. “I’m not dangerous; I’m nobody’s bane-”
“And yet he would watch you burn,” Trickler remarked, pensive, pondering. “Do you find that strange? Isn’t that how it always goes? Would you die for Uther’s pride, Merlin?”
“What difference does it make?” Merlin cut in, his eyes on the rags and tatters of Trickler’s finery. The sorcerer was a desperate man; he’d say anything he needed to, imply whatever he wished. None of the philosophy was important now. “Did you kill that guard?”
Trickler smiled and swung a halfhearted spell at Merlin’s shield, which shuddered but held. “What if someone finds you here?” the jester inquired. “What if the prince finds out what you really are?”
“Get out,” Merlin told him. “Leave Olaf alone. What do you want? Haven’t we all suffered enough from what you and Alined did?”
Trickler pushed up his sleeves, angled his head curiously again, and murmured a long set of words, of which Merlin recognized enough to start fortifying his shield, steeling himself against what was to come.
What came was a tremendous blow, all furious lightning and slamming force, the resonation of which burrowed through Merlin’s gleaming bulwark, bright light searing with a hint of sulfur. Merlin’s heart was in his throat, choking him as it swelled and pounded, and he couldn’t muster the words for reinforcement, let alone retaliation. His hands were tingling, and his head spun. Hoping desperately that his defenses would hold, once again Merlin turned and ran.
Trickler’s laugh rang on the pale walls, following him with a poignant derision, but he heard no footsteps in pursuit.
These halls were all the same-all stone and dust, all sharp-angled labyrinth-and Merlin was just racing through the castle taking any passage that appeared. It was all twists and turns; all switches and switchbacks; all slick floors and narrow halls devoid of humanity. Why was the whole world empty when he wanted to collide with someone?
Panting, gasping, staggering, Merlin stumbled to a halt in some indistinguishable intersection. He bent double, trying to catch his breath, some rational part of him knowing beyond a doubt that he needed to clear his head and focus on his next move. He swallowed, straightened, and looked around-more halls, more stone. It struck him that he should try to make his way outside, where he could seek out a guard and plead for an escort back to his and Arthur’s room-or send for Captain Harper. Maybe both; Harper should know that Trickler was loose and violently-inclined. Merlin gnawed at his lip, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know where Trickler was now, and he still didn’t have the faintest idea of the sorcerer’s larger intentions. Was he just hiding to keep out of Alined’s hands? Could he mean further harm to Vivian-and why? What more could he do to her now?
Merlin rubbed his face with both hands, sorting through his options, searching for clarity amongst the muddle of potentialities.
A heavy hand descended on his shoulder, and Merlin screamed.
The hand relocated with the speed of a sprung trap, settling over his mouth instead, and Merlin scrabbled at it heedlessly until he heard a familiar voice by his ear.
“Slow down, there, Merlin.” It sounded torn between a chuckle and concern, and Merlin relaxed. “I thought you were going to pop right out of your skin.”
Harper’s warm, steady palm retreated, and Merlin turned to him, managing a shaky smile.
“Bad news,” he said.
-
“Merlin,” Arthur gritted out, leaping from a surly slouch to upright anger in the blink of an eye. “What in the hell-”
“Trickler’s here,” Harper announced, folding his arms, before Merlin could speak. “Merlin ran into him.”
“Merlin would,” Arthur sighed.
“We’re putting the guard on special alert,” Harper continued, starting to pace the room now, clasping his hands behind his back. “But if he’s already inside…”
“There are enough secret passages and unused rooms to sustain him as long as he likes,” Collette filled in, twisting her hands in her apron.
Arthur cocked a hip to set his hand on his sword hilt, which made Merlin feel even less disposed to try to speak.
“Then we’ll have to draw him out,” the prince declared.
Harper frowned. “You’ve got your job,” he noted, “and I have mine. Let’s keep them separate-they’re equally important. People will notice tighter security, and suspicions are only going to keep rising from there. You two shouldn’t waste any time.”
Arthur fingered the pommel of his sword. “If we catch Trickler, there will no longer be a threat, and Merlin and I will have much more room to maneuver. Can’t you use a few more men? Why divide our power?”
Detecting the first strains of a lengthy argument, Merlin went and sat down at the table beside Collette, who gently touched his arm.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
Merlin summoned a smile for her. “I’ll manage,” he said.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked urgently.
“He didn’t get close enough,” Merlin responded, as it was technically the truth.
“I guess that’s something to be thankful for,” she resolved. She motioned to a piece of paper on the table, upon which there looked to be a column of names. “Here-I was listing the lords at court most likely to have Lady Vivian’s favor.”
Merlin’s rising hope nose-dived again. It was a long list.
“Maybe we can get them all to come to us,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe we can write them notes or something-you and I could deliver them; we could ask them to visit us at various times. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about Vivian seeing us, either.”
“Arthur,” Harper stated, raising his voice just a fraction over the prince’s, letting it drop again when Arthur’s jaw snapped shut. “Thank you, truly, for the offer, but we can take care of it. It’s more important that you make the Lady Vivian your first priority.”
Merlin watched Arthur’s closed expression. Had the prince actually been outwilled? Arthur’s stubbornness was legendary, at least in Merlin’s mind. This was the bloodless equivalent of a fight to the death.
“We’ve had experience with all manner of sorcery,” Arthur said, levelly, his hand on his sword hilt. “Send us a message if you change your mind.”
Merlin stared in wonder. Olaf had employed some kind of god.
Speaking of the incredible being, Harper smiled, and Merlin detected a shade of relief in the expression. “I will,” he promised. “Thank you.” Before another argument could escape Arthur’s tenuous restraint, Harper set a hand over his heart, half-bowed, and smartly marched off to gather forces against the threat.
Collette cleared her throat tactfully, straightening the list on the tabletop, and Arthur rubbed at the back of his head, drew a deep breath, and joined them.
“Let’s get to work,” he said.
-
They’d written and delivered a dozen missives by the time they settled to go to bed, Arthur blowing out the candles all on his own for once. Merlin stretched extravagantly, then curled up among his pillows, wrapping his arms around one of them.
“Goodnight, Arthur,” he said, closing his eyes.
Arthur grunted something unintelligible in reply, and the mattress wheezed as he collapsed onto it. The prince had been vaguely petulant all evening, though he’d taken pains to speak politely. After all this time, Merlin didn’t even take offense-Arthur was anxious, and this was how it always showed. He would be better-humored in the morning, when they had tasks set out and were moving and accomplishing things. Arthur was no good at standing still, at planning, at hoping for the best instead of reaching out to take it. Merlin nestled into his pillow, smiling a little. He was still a prince, and rightly so. The wisdom bit would come.
The night deepened. Merlin dozed.
“Warlock…”
He started awake.
“Merlin…”
Merlin sat up, batting the blankets aside, scouring the darkness of the room. Furniture and floor were bluish in the moonlight, the shadows thick, and Arthur’s breathing was rough-edged with gentle snores.
“I’m here, Merlin…”
Heart pounding in his ears again, Merlin scoured the dimness, swiveling, searching for a sign, for an anomaly, for the horror tucked away and poised to pounce-
“Mer… lin…”
Trickler’s voice, so close-too close; it had to be under the bed, buried in his blanket nest, knitted into his pillow-where was it? How? The room had cooled; he gasped in prickling air and begged his eyes to breach the darkness; he could at least know where to run-
“Merlin…”
Too close. Too close to be anywhere except inside his mind.
Merlin could hear it now-could detect the unique echo of invasion, the way a voice played off of nothing but the inside of his skull.
“Come to me, Merlin, or I will come to you.”
Merlin held both hands over his ears, thinking it might be different, that he might be able to block it out this time-
“I’m coming, Merlin.”
“Stop,” Merlin whispered, clutching at his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, drawing his knees up to his chest. Maybe he could become so small that he would disappear.
“Merlin-”
A hand grasped his shoulder, and he jerked away, writhing, swallowing a ragged scream, but then he dared to look. It was Arthur, having slipped down from the bed; the prince’s eyes were bleary and bewildered, and he caught Merlin’s arm again.
“What the-”
“I’ll find you-”
“-hell is wrong with you-”
“Merlin?”
The unison made Merlin want to tear out his eardrums and crush them underneath his heel. He clenched his fingers in his hair, ignoring the faint, increasing pain as Arthur’s grip tightened.
“Merlin,” Arthur persisted, “what’s wrong?”
“I know you, Merlin.”
“Merlin-”
“He’s in my head!” Merlin blurted out, squirming, fighting Arthur’s grasp. “He’s-like the others; he won’t-”
“You’re mine.”
“Stop!” Merlin howled, clawing at his ears. “Leave me alone, please! I don’t-”
Arthur struck like lightning, immovable hands closing around Merlin’s wrists, holding them away no matter how Merlin struggled to pull free.
“Have you lost your mind?” the prince hissed. “Stay still! There’s no one here!”
“He’ll find me-” Merlin managed breathlessly.
The next he knew, his nose was being squished into Arthur’s collarbone. The prince had one firm arm wrapped tightly around him, the other hand restricting both of Merlin’s at once. Merlin wriggled helplessly, but more hesitantly now, composure slowly seeping back. The blind, careening terror was fading into a lower beat of rational fear. Arthur’s cheek brushed his, warm and slightly rough, and the prince’s voice was soft.
“Merlin,” he said, “I’ve got you. No one’s here. No one’s coming. No one is going to find you.”
“Yeah,” Merlin panted, more concerned now with Arthur’s all-too-tangible proximity than with Trickler’s potential. “I-I know. It’s fine. Sorry. I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”
Arthur released Merlin’s hands-his fingers had been tingling with the beginnings of numbness-and drew back. Swallowing hard, meeting the prince’s dark, calm eyes, Merlin thought the worst was over.
Then Arthur’s palm flattened itself against his cheek, fingertips at his temple, heel at his jaw, too warm and far, far too real.
“You are a thousand mysteries at once,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s voice shook as he forced himself to speak. “May I take that as a compliment, Sire?”
Arthur used his leverage on Merlin’s face to shove him gently. “Not on your life, idiot.” The prince unfolded to his feet and brushed the wrinkles out of his nightclothes. Merlin blinked up at him as the cold rushed in, and Arthur met his gaze for a long, quiet moment.
“Sorry,” Merlin managed again.
“Come here, Merlin,” Arthur replied.
Uncertainly, Merlin clambered up to await instruction.
Arthur climbed onto the far side of the bed and then held the other half of the covers back.
“If you mention snoring,” he said, “you can go straight back to sleeping on the floor.”
Staggered, Merlin stood dumbly, staring at the hollow in the sheets. “I-it’s all right; I couldn’t-”
“Get into the bed, Merlin.” Arthur sounded almost bored, but a careful glance revealed that his eyes were strangely bright.
“But-”
“Now.”
Merlin steeled himself and obeyed.
“Are you made of knees and elbows?” Arthur inquired over the creaking of the bed-frame.
“No,” Merlin muttered, attempting to become as inconspicuous as possible. “Mysteries, like you said.”
“Your tongue is going to get you executed someday,” Arthur informed him through a yawn.
Merlin thought of half-guttural, half-delicate words and wondered if he was right.
-
Merlin awoke when Arthur dropped his neckerchief onto his face, from some height.
“Early,” Merlin groaned, fumbling to pull it off. It wasn’t a particularly coherent objection, but it got the point across.
“That’s right, Merlin,” Arthur told him, tossing a coat onto his back despite his attempts to squirm out of the way. “Time to go hunting, which you got us into.”
Merlin dragged himself off of the bed and stood, scrubbing at his eyes. “Not my fault.”
Arthur smirked. “This is what you get for flirting with Fabian.”
Merlin pulled the knot on his neckerchief too tightly in his surprise and had to gasp before he could speak.
“I wasn’t flirting,” he protested; “I was humoring him, like I humor you every minute of the day.”
“Perfect,” Arthur fired back. “Humor me today and don’t embarrass me in front of an entire hunting party.” He frowned. “People are used to you in Camelot. Other people don’t tend to understand why I let you get away with your behavior.”
“I keep you honest,” Merlin pointed out. “And slightly less arrogant than you would be otherwise.”
He smiled winningly as Arthur shot him a black look.
-
He kind of missed the black look by the time they were out in the forest, surrounded by unfamiliar trees and unfamiliar companions. Traipsing around trying to help Arthur kill things was never pleasant, per se, but at least it was consistent and comprehensible-Merlin had no idea how any of these lords and their lackeys would respond to someone who tripped over his own feet as often as his tongue.
Which was really saying something, in Merlin’s case.
The situation was all the more worrying given that he wasn’t in a position to alienate anyone, as they needed the courtiers’ favor if they were going to close in on Vivian’s true love by collective hearsay.
Thinking about it, the plan sounded even shakier if you put it like that.
Focusing, Merlin saw that Arthur was deftly conversing with a broad-shouldered lord who seemed to be taking to him, ceding him conspiratorial smiles already. The prince worked quickly and effectively with everything he attempted, as far as Merlin could tell.
Merlin realized, none too happily, that he should try his best to keep up. It couldn’t be too hard to befriend a nobleman and get him talking about Vivian. In fact, odds were she was everyone’s favorite subject right now, especially in her altered state.
Cautiously, he sidled up beside a friendly-looking lord-young, with curly blond hair and blue eyes, whose name Merlin could justify asking, because he hadn’t been told and merely forgotten, as was the case with much of their company.
“Nice weather,” Merlin ventured.
The lord smiled at him. “Could stand to be a little cooler,” he remarked, tugging at his collar and pulling a face, “but rather nice, yes.”
“I’m not from around here,” Merlin added, thinking that Arthur would not approve of advertising their connection to Camelot. “It’s really very… interesting.” Hopefully that was a sufficiently noncommittal word.
The young lord grinned. “I imagine,” he replied. “No one rules quite like our Olaf does, eh?”
“No one I’ve met,” Merlin noted. “And no one raises a child like he does-the Lady Vivian’s like a goddess. I know I’ve never seen that before.”
“Oh?” the lord inquired, smiling still, amused now. “By our example, I would have thought all kings’ heirs were deified.”
“Only in their own minds,” Merlin replied, resisting the urge to glare at Arthur’s back.
“I suppose Lady Vivian is special in that way,” the lord said, holding a branch aside for Merlin and nodding at the half-gushing, half-disbelieving thanks. “I guess if you worship anyone enough, she’ll start to think it’s her due.”
“D’you think she feels that way about anyone?” Merlin asked, struggling to sound casual. “She could elevate someone that way-using the power of her position, if she liked someone enough.”
The lord laughed, his pale eyes sparking. “Vivian?” he prompted. “She wouldn’t take that kind of risk for anyone. Honestly, I don’t think she would want to exert the effort. She’d prefer to be the only one in the court we all gaze up at. Wouldn’t you protect your glory instead of sharing it?”
“Nonsense,” a new voice cut in, and Merlin turned to see the red-faced, bulky man who owned it. There was a spear balanced against his shoulder, and there was something of a deep investment in his earnestness. “She’s besotted with someone now-haven’t you heard?”
Merlin’s first lord frowned. “I hadn’t,” he said. “That’s unlike her. Must be some kind of ploy-we’ll all pay more attention now, won’t we? If she changes her habits and won’t explain?”
“You haven’t seen her,” the larger man contended. “She’s all out of sorts, and everyone’s looking at her sideways; it’d be mad to put on that kind of an act.”
A third lord popped up, slightly startlingly, at Merlin’s elbow-younger even than the first, dark and sprightly, with shining eyes.
“Maybe she’s mad, then,” he suggested cheerfully. “Wouldn’t that be a fitting end for the siren?”
“No one deserves to go mad for love,” the larger lord demurred.
“You would know?” the newest chirped.
“She’s not mad anyway,” the first interjected. “Olaf would never let her be seen in court if he thought she’d lost her mind.”
“But what better way is there to put us off?” the youngest retorted. “No one wants damaged goods.”
The brawny lord growled. “I’ll damage your goods if you don’t stop defaming her-”
“Defaming?” came the bright reply. “My dear sir, you have me all wrong: defamation is when it’s not true. This is slander.”
Only the most sharply-honed of self-preservation instincts permitted Merlin to dive out of the way as the big lord descended upon the littlest, roaring about Vivian’s upright moral character and unassailable reputation-impressively, in almost exactly those words.
Instantaneously, the other noblemen had gathered around the fight, in which the younger lord was holding his own rather well, using his agility very much to his advantage. Bets were made, calls of encouragement rang through the forest, and Arthur gave Merlin a look that clearly demanded, What the hell did you do this time?
Helplessly, Merlin shrugged.
[PART I] [PART III]