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marguerite_26Title These Castle Walls Bleed Lies -- On A03
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marguerite_26
Artist:stellamoon
Summary: With his father unfit to rule and Camelot decimated, Arthur must assume the role of King. But the truths he discovers shake the foundation of all he holds dear.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, mention of Arthur/Gwen, Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: R
Warning: none
Word Count: 12k
Author's notes: This is a gift foraccioslash as thanks for her donation to Pakistan’s flood relief.
Thank you to my betasmelusinahp and faithwood; and thank you to stellamoon, lolafeist and ella_bane for the advice and cheerleading and the lovelies at Write All the Words. Your support was very inspiring.
And a massive ILU tostellamoon who agreed to contribute art to this gift to accioslash.
These Castle Walls Bleed Lies
Sunlight streamed through the windows of the throne room, lighting patches of the floor as the court gathered. He had stood in this room nearly every day of his life since he was thirteen; it should not seem so foreign, so frightening. The throne beneath him was hard and unyielding. The crown on his head pressed in on his temples, worsening the headache that had been threatening since breakfast. Beside him, Merlin fidgeted, a blur of movement in his peripheral vision.
“Merlin.” Arthur spoke through clenched teeth, hiding the conversation from their growing audience. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry!” Then, waiting a beat as if it were a punchline, Merlin added, “Your highness.”
Arthur's eyes snapped up in time to catch the cheeky grin. It disappeared immediately. Before he could reply, Sir Leon entered with a procession of people at his heels, all begging audience with the acting king -- the first audience since Camelot was lost and won again.
Merlin's distraction, as irreverent as riling Arthur at such a moment was, worked perfectly. Ready, Arthur squared his shoulders and waved Leon to begin.
The first to step forward was a peasant woman, her head bowed, clothes torn and filthy. When she raised her eyes to Arthur, it was Merlin who reacted first.
“Mother.” He moved to go to her but Hunith shook her head and gave him a small smile.
“Later, Merlin,” she whispered and focused her gaze on Arthur. “My Lord,” she began and Arthur's chest warmed at the kindness and hope she imbued in the honorific. “I come here to beg help of you.”
Arthur nodded for her to continue.
“Ealdor is once again overrun with bandits.”
“Ealdor is in Cenred's Kingdom,” he replied automatically.
“There is no one to help us, Sire.” Hunith's eyes watered and she looked so much like Merlin in that moment it made Arthur’s breath catch. “Cenred is dead and his army defeated. All around us, even the larger villages, those that were rich enough to warrant his attention and protection, are now in ruins.”
Arthur waved Lancelot forward. “There are many pleas for me to hear today,” he said in apology. “I will take your request under consideration. Until then you are our guest, Hunith.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“Lancelot, Hunith is Merlin's mother. See that she is given all that she needs.”
“Sire?” Merlin's eyes were on the retreating form of his mother, begging to follow.
“Your place is here.”
Merlin looked at Arthur, his lips pressed flat, then his eyes flickered to the gathered crowd, to the dozens of people that would be pleading with Arthur, each request needing to be weighed against the other. With a deep breath, Merlin stood a little straighter and lifted his chin.
“You'll see her tonight,” Arthur whispered then turned back to Sir Leon and requested the next person to be brought forward.
Arthur poured himself a goblet of watered wine and sat, absorbing the quiet of the empty room while he waited for his knights to gather. The stone table was rough and cold beneath his fingers. He'd had it retrieved from the castle of the ancient kings in the days following the battle. It fit surprisingly well in his father's private council chambers; it seemed fitting that the place where Uther kept his own council become the place Arthur would use to hear the advice of those who'd earned his trust. When he’d rescued his father from the dungeons, he’d vowed to himself he would not repeat his father's mistakes.
The day the table had been placed in this room, he and Merlin had stood quietly watching the men work, removing his father's large desk, finding the exact center of the room to situate it best. The moment it was done and the last chair had been put in place, the servants scrambled out to catch the end of dinner. He'd stayed behind, mesmerised by the setting sun that played across the room and made the stone shimmer as if enchanted.
Merlin's hand had landed on his shoulder. “This is good,” he'd said in a whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the spell. Arthur had nodded but hadn't turned; he hadn't wanted Merlin to see the brightness of his eyes.
This afternoon would be the first convening of the knights' council to review the needs of the land now that the most immediate post-battle needs of caring for the sick and burying the dead had been dealt with.
Leon was the first to arrive, taking his place at the table exactly where he’d sat that first day. Each in turn arrived, some shuffled spots – Arthur surprised himself in noticing. He knew the place he'd taken, while not the head of the table, as none existed, but directly opposite the door, was the same he'd chosen in the castle of the ancient kings. The markings beneath his hands were the same. It didn’t occur to him to select another.
Merlin was the last to arrive, stumbling in out of breath after, Arthur knew, racing through the castle to try to get there on time. Ignoring the empty place at Arthur's left, Merlin squeezed through to sit at Arthur's right.
“How is she?”
Merlin grinned, knowing he'd been caught-out. “She's with Gaius. There are a few… injuries.” Merlin grin slipped, but only slightly. “She'll be fine. I'm glad she's here.”
“Good. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes. Make sure she knows that.”
Merlin's grin brightened again and he nodded.
Turning to the gathered knights, Arthur caught each of their eyes one by one. He ended on Leon, and motioned for him to begin.
“Sire.” Leon cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I'd like to talk about the unrest in Cenred's kingdom. As we heard today with several people from the bordering villages, that land is in an upheaval.”
“As much could be expected,” Arthur said. “It will settle when Cenred's successor takes the throne.”
Leon shifted a bit. “The problem, Sire, is that isn't likely to happen soon. Cenred was killed weeks ago. After Camelot fell, Morgause boasted to the knights about his death. Then when the immortal army was defeated, they weren't just defeated they…” He waved his hands vaguely, but everyone around the room nodded in understanding. “But that left Cenred's kingdom without even a defeated army returning to them. Everyone. Every soul that had pledged their allegiance to Cenred was wiped out. Even mercenaries, soldiers and knights from neighbouring kingdoms that had joined Cenred's army.”
Arthur's gut churned as he looked between his men. All eyes were on Leon, lips down-turned. War was never pretty, but to lose maybe ten thousand men in the blink of an eye was horrific.
“So what Hunith was talking about today –”
“Was one symptom of a very large problem,” Gwaine provided. “Last night I talked with a few of the people waiting for your audience to get a feel of what to expect.”
“You met them at the Rising Sun, didn't you?” Merlin snickered.
“They may have had a free spot at their table and full tankard.” He grinned back, shameless. “And it was more of the same. A mother of five lost her husband and brother because they'd been in Cenred's army. She was left with nothing after the bandits tore through their village.”
“But why come here?” While Arthur felt for these people, his priority had to be Camelot. They were his.
“There is nowhere else, Sire,” Leon said. “You are the conquering king, without ever setting foot in their land.”
“That's –” He paused, unsure. He wanted to say it was ridiculous but it wasn't entirely. This was unprecedented. He looked around the table and saw a few shrugs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Before we get too far on this, I need to know if we do legally have a claim – a responsibility – to assume control of Cenred's lands. Guard!” He called out to the men stationed outside the room. When the door swung open, he requested, “I need to speak with Geoffrey of Monmouth.”
After the guard nodded and left, Arthur addressed the group again. “Beyond any of this we simply do not have the men. Camelot's army and her knights were badly depleted in the siege. We're at maybe forty percent of what were earlier this year.”
Leon spoke first. “There may be pockets of others, those that retreated knowing the battle was lost and went into hiding. Word has not yet spread that Camelot's been regained.”
“It will still be nowhere near enough to capture and maintain control of a kingdom in anarchy. It's barely enough to secure our own safety.”
“We have to do something,” Merlin sputtered.
Arthur shook his head. “We have no army, Merlin.”
“No, but you have people. People who are willing to defend their homes. The people in Cenred's kingdom will pledge their loyalty to you if you offer them stability. They will fight with you, not against you.”
“And Camelot is to be an army of peasants?” The words felt rancid in his mouth; those were his father's sentiments rather than his own.
Merlin's face shuttered. “You found honour enough in Ealdor fighting with peasants.”
“That was different.”
“It was not different. People want peace. They want to grow their crops and raise their families. You can give them that. Camelot can give them that. Show them that you are different and they will be loyal to you.” Merlin was nearly shouting by the time he'd finished. The room echoed with his last words.
Arthur's face was hot, hands trembling at being spoken to in such a way: full of faith and lacking in deference. He stared at the table, chest heaving while he tried to understand what he needed to do. The silence stretched out well beyond awkward. “Council is dismissed.” The words were thick and grave, torn from clenched teeth.
Chairs scraped across the floor as each knight stood and one by one left without a word. The chair to his right remained still.
“Arthur.”
“You are dismissed,” he snapped.
Merlin sucked in a surprised breath, and Arthur knew he must look furious but it wasn't really about Merlin. The weight of Camelot and Cenred's kingdom – what felt like all of Albion – pressed in on his shoulders. He didn’t look up, even after he heard the door close and he was alone. Deep in thought, his fingers idly traced the engraved words at his place of the table. His fingers tingled, sensitized from the rough friction before he’d even realised what he was doing. He stared at the strange markings; he didn't know what they meant but they felt powerful, the table was no longer cold beneath his fingertips.
A soft knock lured him from his thoughts. “Enter.”
The door opened and Geoffrey of Monmouth stood before him and bowed. “Sire.”
“Ah, yes. Geoffrey. Good.” Arthur sat up straighter and shook off his musings. “I need your thoughts on this situation with Cenred. The assumption seems to be that the kingdom is mine for the taking as I essentially defeated him and all his army in the Battle.”
Geoffrey frowned, considering. “It's an unusual situation, to be sure. He has no heir?”
“No heir. No knights. No rival for the throne that was not killed with the army of immortals, as I understand it.”
“I will need to refer to my books.” Geoffrey tugged at his beard. “But, yes. By all accounts that would make you conquering king.”
Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel at that news. Part of him had been hoping for a simple no, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of the possibility of such a large land being his own to merge with Camelot. He would take pride in creating a foundation for a stable prosperous land for both. “All right. Do what research you need to. I will need to know as soon as possible.” His fingers drummed the table as he spoke, and sparks of heat tickled his fingertips. He looked down at the contact between the table and his hand, but saw nothing. And yet. “One more thing, Geoffrey. These markings.”
Geoffrey shuffled over to stand beside Arthur. Reaching out, he waved his hand over the engravings. “They appear to be words, Sire. I’m not sure what they say.”
“Can you find out?”
“I believe this may be from the language of the ancient kings. I have several tomes on that.”
Arthur stood. “Very good.” He moved to the door as Geoffrey sat, quill and parchment in hand, to copy the engraving.
“Sire,” Geoffrey stuttered, a nervous hitch to the word as his hand rested over the first of the markings. “The ancient kings accepted magic as a powerful tool to help their kingdoms flourish. I – I thought you should know.”
Arthur, heart thudding, looked down at the table and reached out again to feel the faint thrum of the stone. “I know.”
More confused than ever, he set off to see his father.
Uther was sitting up in bed. The pillows piled high around him, dwarfing his once broad shoulders. He'd lost nearly a stone since all this began. His cheeks were sunken and eyes red-rimmed. Beside him, a servant read from an old book, the tattered pages crinkling with each turn. Whatever it was, it did not hold the king's attention. He stared ahead, face devoid of any emotion.
“Father.” Arthur took a step further into the room. When the servant looked up, Arthur motioned their dismissal. “How are you feeling today?”
Uther startled then blinked several times as if chasing away his thoughts. A tentative smile appeared when his eyes fell on his visitor. “Arthur?”
Arthur's heart clenched at the confusion in his father's face. “Yes.” Forcing a grin, he took the abandoned seat and pulled it closer to the bed. “Father, are you comfortable?”
Uther rolled his shoulder and winced. Whether it was weeks in the dungeons or the rough treatment from Morgana's guards, the old injury to his shoulder had flared to near constant pain. “Gaius has changed my medication.”
“And is it better?”
“Mmm.” Uther stared off again, eyes blank.
Hoping talk of the state of the kingdom would bring his Father’s attention around, Arthur began his nightly update. “There are reports of chaos in Cenred's –”
Uther interrupted before Arthur could finish the first sentence. “I wonder if he could use magic to heal me,” he said simply, as if a passing thought that might as well be aired as not.
The air seemed to push out of his lungs as Arthur realised his father was in one of his less lucid states. “I don’t understand.”
“Could magic heal me, do you think? Make me healthy, that I could rule another year?” The words were quiet, a whispered secret. His father watched the flames rise in the hearth, his pale eyes growing wide and manic. “Another twenty?”
“Father, you aren’t talking sense.”
Uther laughed, crazed. It sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Oh, I think Gaius could manage it.” Uther frowned, looking directly at Arthur again. “Or another sorcerer, if not him.”
Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow, looking around the room to ensure that they were alone. “Gaius is not a sorcerer. Father, magic is banned. Please no more talk of this.”
“Banned!” Uther snarled. “Of course it is banned to those that would abuse it! Use it to rise up against me. Turn my own daught—” he gasped for breath, choking back a sob. “But just one more time. That I could fix this. That would be worth it.”
“You need to rest.”
“Yes.” Uther nodded, letting Arthur settle him into the bed. “But send Gaius to me in the morning. I must speak with him. He will understand. Some things are worth it.”
Arthur arranged the pillows, not meeting his father’s eyes, not wanting to see this unrecognisable man staring back at him. At last, he pulled the covers up and clasped his hands over his father’s, kissing the loose, snow-white skin of Uther’s knuckle.
Uther petted his hair, half-asleep already. “You’re a good man, Arthur.” His voice was barely more than a breath as he added, “You were worth it.”
Arthur head snapped up. Uther’s eyelids had already shut; the hand in Arthur’s hair stilled and fell away. Arthur shivered, despite the heat of the room, as he broke out in a cold sweat. His father’s last few words played over and over in his brain. He wanted to shake off their meaning. His father had been saying the strangest things in the past few days -- not lies so much as random thoughts that made no sense in context of the situation. Things that his father, if he were in his right mind, would never share. Something about his father’s words and all they implied could not be ignored. They felt too much like an accidental slip of honesty.
All the air seem to be sucked from the room as Arthur gasped for breath, his lungs burning with a desperate need for oxygen. He dropped his father’s hand and stumbled to the door.
The corridors were bustling, even hours after the sun had set. There was still so much to do about the castle, rubble to be cleared away, food and medicine to be delivered to those too injured or traumatised to see to themselves. All eyes were on Arthur as he made his way to the court physician's room. Reverent nods and sincere curtsies met him every few steps. He tried to meet every eye, but the thundering in his ears was disorienting. He focused on keeping himself together, shoulders back and head held high, while in his mind his world was being torn apart. Again.
Arthur found Merlin alone in Gaius’s chambers. “I need to speak with Gaius.”
“Arthur.” Merlin looked up from a table covered in bundles of dried herbs. “He’s in the servants' quarters of the west tower. There’s been an outbreak of fevers with all the damage that was done there. People are living without walls.”
Arthur huffed, exasperated at yet another issue laid at his feet when his world had just been turned upside down. “I’ll see to getting it evacuated until the repairs are done. The inner castle has plenty of empty rooms.” He waved his hand absently.
“You...” Merlin shook his head. “You don’t have to do everything yourself. That’s not what I meant today.”
“Fine.” Arthur shrugged, the argument from earlier the furthest thing from his mind. “You see to getting them moved.”
“Um.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Fine.” Merlin huffed, but he was smiling. The tension in the room dissipated a bit.
“Did you want to leave a message for Gaius? He’ll be back late.”
Arthur considered why he’d come here, if it had been to pass along his father’s request or to just find answers. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do either. “No. I just had a question about Father’s new medication.”
Merlin picked up a wrap of herbs and stood on a chair to hang them. “I’ll let him know.”
Merlin hung the bundle, fiddling with the string before reaching down and grabbing another. Arthur watched him work through the table, grouping the herbs, arranging then winding the string and tying the knot. The question was on the tip of Arthur’s tongue for a full five minutes before he spoke it.
“Merlin.” He took a step forward, laying a hand on the table. “That time with Morgause, before. When she showed me my mother.”
Merlin stilled; the hand lifting the next bundle of herbs trembled. Arthur’s stomach sank, guessing the truth already.
“Did you believe she was telling the truth?”
Merlin found his voice after a pause. “I told you, Sire,” Merlin said, his eyes not meeting Arthur’s. “She was manipulating you.”
“Yes.” Arthur touched a brittle twig of an unfamiliar plant. It snapped in his fingers, crumbling to a powdery dust. “I’m sure she was. But was it the truth?”
“She wanted you to kill your father.” Merlin spoke his well-chosen words with conviction.
Arthur laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder until Merlin lowered the bundle he’d been trying to hang and met Arthur’s eyes. “Do you believe what my mother, the vision of my mother, said was the truth?”
It was raining. Arthur could hear the crash of it against the windows as he waited out Merlin’s answer.
“I do,” Merlin said, at last.
Arthur’s fingers tightened until Merlin winced. They were close now, foreheads practically touching. “Don’t lie to me again, Merlin.” Arthur was ashamed to hear the crack in his own voice. “I need to trust you. I need to be able to trust you implicitly.”
“I couldn’t let you kill your father.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The shrill of his voice made him cringe and he tried to swallow his anger. “I must come up with the right decisions on my own merit, Merlin! Not because you tricked me into doing the right thing. Do not lie to me for my own good. You can’t lie to me. Promise me.” He wanted to shake Merlin, make him understand. All he could do was clutch him tighter.
“Arthur, I—” Merlin’s eyes were brimming and it dampened the fire that had been burning in Arthur’s chest.
The door creaked open and they broke apart.
“I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”
They turned to find Hunith in the doorway, eyes on the floor.
“No. I was just leaving.” Arthur’s throat tightened and he rushed out before he could witness the comfort from a mother that he would never feel.
The morning was again a blur. The audience took twice as long. Three new people from Cenred’s kingdom appeared, battered and bruised, penniless from the raids. The bandits were becoming more organised and fearless as time went on without opposition.
At lunch, Arthur bumped into Gwen, which inspired an odd combination of joy and confusion. They danced around each other, uncertain. She was still a servant, and Arthur had no idea how to make her not a servant without the type of grand declaration that was inappropriate for a kingdom in such unrest. She’d insisted there was much work to be done around the castle; she had quick, capable hands.
He could ask her to stop helping, to do something more dignified – she’d only smile and shake her head if he tried.
So they were back to passing each other in hallways and exchanging resigned glances as their lives took them in different directions, as if the kiss in the courtyard had never taken place.
He simply hadn’t had time to fix that.
Merlin unexpectedly brought him lunch in his chambers before the council meeting. Most days other servants seemed to pick up his chores. Fires were lit and laundry cleaned by young girls who kept their head bowed and mouths closed as they worked. At some point things had changed with Merlin, and Arthur hadn’t even realised it was happening. Now, seeing him hovering about the room without a clothes basket or fire poker, he seemed lost.
“Sit down.” Arthur set one of Merlin’s favourite sweet rolls at the place across from him. “Your fidgeting is giving me indigestion.”
“I’ve spoken with Helga. There are several rooms being cleared to move the servants from the west tower.” Merlin paused, took a bite and chewed slowly. “They’re to be set up in Morgana’s suite of rooms until the tower is hospitable again.”
Arthur eyes widened; Merlin gave him a toothy grin.
“I also might have mentioned that they are welcome to cut up the dresses they find for scarves and sashes to sell in the lower town.”
Arthur choked on a bit of cheese.
“They lost everything, Arthur. They need something to replace what meagre possessions they had. They’ll spread it amongst themselves.” He bit his lip, more tentative this time. “What else would you have done with them? Gwen would rather burn them than wear them.”
Merlin looked at him as if gauging his reaction and Arthur schooled his face to be suitably put out. “You should have consulted me.” He thought of the servants tearing into Morgana’s wardrobe and rebuilding their lives from the rags, and grinned. He tried to hide it with another forkful but Merlin’s snicker told him he’d failed.
“I thought so.”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
It was late afternoon by the time the knights gathered in Arthur’s private council chambers. They sat again at the table with no head, only two empty spots. One by the door and the other to Arthur’s left. Once everyone was settled in the identical spots of the day before, Arthur began.
“Geoffrey of Monmouth is looking into the situation with Cenred’s kingdom for any precedents that have been set in similar situations. I need to know if I have an obligation to these people beyond sympathy. Until then, I’d like to hear your thoughts on how to solve the most immediate problem: our lack of men.”
Lancelot spoke first. “Sire, there are mercenaries to the north, those that didn’t join Cenred’s army. They are not noble, and many not very honourable.” Percival snorted and Lancelot shot him a grin. “But they are able men that will do their job for you, should you pay them.”
“Good. Send word out immediately.” Arthur mentally tallied a vague sum to his current man count. It still fell far short of what they needed. “Unfortunately, that will barely fill in our army to support Camelot’s needs. What other suggestions are there, if we are to” — Arthur’s eyes flickered to Merlin — “venture into Cenred’s Kingdom?”
Gwaine cleared his throat and looked around the room as if deciding whether or not to speak. “I don’t know politics or what it takes to conquer a kingdom, but I’ve spent many years in Cenred’s lands. And not just in the taverns.” He winked at Merlin, and Arthur had to stop his lips from curling at their familiarity and focus on what Gwaine was trying to say. “I’d offer the local farmers a day’s work in exchange for a meal, or a bed for the night. They’re good people, strong men, willing to break their backs to fix a neighbour’s roof.”
Beside Arthur, Merlin was nodding and looking at Arthur as if the solution was right there in front of them. But it was never about whether these people were worth saving or not. The practical side of it was that he couldn’t just will it to be done, as Merlin seemed to think. He waved Gwaine to continue.
“All right, let’s say you go into these villages. Tell them who you are, what you are trying to do. Talk to them. Don’t conquer them.”
Merlin cut in, practically bouncing off his chair. “And maybe offer them more than future promises. Give them something – some grain from the stores or some gold to replenish what the bandits have taken.”
“Yes. That would go far.” Gwaine was nodding too, getting excited, as a plan seemed to take form between the two of them.
But Arthur still could not fathom it. “How could we afford this?”
Ignoring him, Merlin continued, “And in exchange, ask their men to join you in fighting for their own freedom.”
Arthur shook his head. “Untrained men will be slaughtered in battle.”
Arthur’s eyes widened when Leon voiced his support of the idea. “These are bandits, not an invading army. The villagers should be taught to defend their own homes.”
“I cannot teach the men of every town we encounter.”
Lancelot chimed in. “You have us, Sire. And the other knights. Leave one or two of us behind in each village to protect the villagers and train the men there.”
It was conditional on these people wanting help, wanting peace. And went against every kind of battle strategy Arthur had ever read.
“There will be those that will not want this,” Elyan argued, as if reading Arthur’s mind.
“There will be.” Gwaine looked between Arthur and Elyan as if determining whom to address. “Then we’ll move on. Leave that town to its own purpose – and see in another six months. They will change their minds as the towns surrounding them flourish under your protection and the bandits find them an easy target.”
Arthur sank into his chair, letting his head fall back. He stared at the cobwebs gathered in the far corner of the ceiling, mind racing to catch up with all the suggestions and possible outcomes. “There are too many unknowns. We’d be spreading ourselves thin without any guarantees that these people will stand with us.”
The room fell quiet. Arthur could hear the rustle of fabric as they shifted about in their chairs. It was too much of a risk, but still he wished there was a way. If they could do this, if there was a way, it would be brilliant.
“All right, we will set this aside for now. I will look into a few things. In the meantime, we have our one kingdom to see to. Let’s go over what was asked of us this morning.”
There were nods around the table, everyone seemingly happy with the delay rather than an outright decision.
“We can't do it.” Arthur threw down his quill in frustration. The ink splattered along the parchment. The records keeper would be annoyed at him for that, but it was the least of his worries. “There's not enough money in the treasury. And there's nothing left in the grain stores from this past winter.”
Merlin was tight-lipped, not arguing as he fussed about with the fire.
Arthur scowled at the back of his head then picked up his quill and made another note on the margin of the report he'd been poring over for the last hour.
“Maybe something will come up?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You may go. I'm sure you're anxious to get back to your mother.”
“Thank you, Sire.”
Arthur watched the door close, grateful to be alone with his thoughts. He'd been to see his father before retiring, only to find him worse – babbling about things that would be treason from any other man. When Gaius arrived with his medication, Arthur had pulled him into the antechamber.
“His mind is going, Sire,” Gaius had explained. “I fear dementia.”
“But the things he talks about…”
“Ramblings of a man who has lost all sense of reality.” Gaius had looked him in the eyes, his voice steady. “Pay them no mind.”
Arthur's shoulders tensed; he was more confused than ever. “I see.” Arthur had wanted, had hoped to get something more out of Gaius but Gaius was loyal as ever. The question was: was he loyal enough to lie, straight-faced, to the prince?
“The best I can do is sedate him as his body heals, and maybe with it, his mind.”
“I-” Arthur had looked at his father, so small, curled in on himself in that large bed. “Do what you think is best. But make sure he is comfortable. We can't have any servants overhearing his ramblings, as you say. I'll limit who is permitted into this room to only the most trusted servants.”
“Very good, Sire.” Gaius had bowed with a stiff deference that set Arthur's teeth on edge and set him wondering about secrets kept and lies told all in the name of loyalty. Loyalty to whom, he wondered.
The candles were burning low and the report margins were covered in his scribbles when the knock came.
Arthur huffed at the interruption. “Enter,” he snapped, the frustration of the evening eating at his nerves.
“Your highness.”
Arthur looked up in time to see Hunith's gentle curtsey. “Hunith!” He stood and walked towards her with a wide grin. “Is everything all right?” He motioned for her to sit, but she shook her head.
“Yes, Sire. You are more than generous in your hospitality.”
“No more that you were to me.”
A sly smile snuck across her face, and he recalled with a bit of humility the food he'd turned down and wondered how many grumbled complaints she'd overheard.
“Merlin tells me you are doing everything you can to help us. I wanted to thank you.”
Arthur waved off the thanks. “I may not be able to do anything.” He looked back at the table covered in a mess of parchment. “Merlin shouldn't get your hopes up.” The words were tired, bitter with defeat.
“Sire.” She approached him, her gentle smile and kind eyes drawing the tension out of his shoulders. “It matters that you think us worthy enough to try.”
She took his hands in hers and squeezed them gently. Her hands were rough, callused and worn. His were ink stained.
“You are doing so well, Arthur. Your mother would be proud.”
He pulled away, needing more space in the suddenly hot room. He closed his eyes and bit down on the tremble in his bottom lip. He may have been spoken to like this once, as a child. A nursemaid might have soothed him after a scraped knee, or patted his head for getting his sums to add properly. If it had ever occurred, he had no memory of it.
After a long time, he turned back, embarrassed at how deeply her kindness had affected him.
She gave Arthur a watery smile and tapped his cheek. As she quietly slipped out the door, she stopped. Head bowed, she whispered, “When the time comes, my Lord, I beg you to forgive him.”
It was a long time before Arthur could find sleep that night. Hunith’s words turned over in his head until the wee hours of the morning, and still he could make no sense of them.
The next morning beside Arthur’s breakfast platter, Merlin set down a leather sack. Arthur eyed it then looked up at Merlin, who sported a ridiculous grin, which said he thought himself very clever this time and thought Arthur couldn’t possibly argue otherwise.
Weighing the sack in his hand, Arthur narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t coins, but heavy enough. The feel was more of a handful of pebbles. “You’re not going to just tell me, are you?”
Merlin chuckled.
With a huff, Arthur loosened the string and looked inside. Merlin snorted and Arthur knew his jaw had dropped. He poured the contents carefully onto the table.
Jewels of different shapes, sizes and colours glittered in the morning sun. Arthur picked up a large ruby, the size of his thumbnail, thick and square. It was beautifully cut, shimmering in the palm of his hand as the light caught each facet.
“Where in the hell did you get these?” He put the ruby back into the pile. There were another dozen at least of that size and twice that amount of smaller gems.
“Morgana’s crown.” Merlin laughed. “I removed all her jewellery and such from her rooms before the servants moved in. There was so much of it! The crown alone – as you can see – well, this would go far, yeah? In your campaign to win Cenred’s kingdom. The peasants know the worth of these stones; they’d use them in trade.”
The excitement in Merlin’s voice was contagious, and, as Merlin babbled, Arthur felt hope spring in his chest, warm and tingly.
“I mean, it’s not the same as a gold coin. But the gold from the crown! I talked to Gwen, and she said the mint would melt it easily. You should have seen her smile when she said that! She guessed a few hundred coins from the crown alone. It’s all more valuable to common people than a brooch or something that can’t be divided up amongst families and... you’re not saying anything.”
Incredulous, Arthur looked from the pile of jewels to Merlin’s expectant face. It would certainly go far, dispersing one or two of the stones amongst poor families. Earn their trust. Maybe enough for a dozen towns. Maybe enough to pay for fifty men, or more.
“And you... how did you ever remove these without damaging the stones?” He’d once watched a jeweller change the setting of his father’s ring. It had taken him nearly an hour to remove three stones with expert hands. He knew stones could shatter or chip under the pressure if not removed properly.
Merlin fidgeted under his gaze. “With... tools and such.” He waved his hands. “Tools made for these things. It took – um – all night?” His voice raised at the last as if it were a question and not an answer.
“I’m sure it did,” Arthur replied, confused.
“Gwen said she would take the gold to the mint tonight, if I finished off the rest of the jewellery. But I wanted to ask you first.”
“Ah. So now you want my permission?”
Merlin lifted his shoulders and gave his best innocent grin.
“What am I going to do with you?” He placed a hand on the back of Merlin’s neck and Merlin tensed. Arthur laughed. “It was a very clever idea. Do the rest of Morgana’s bobbles. Let’s make something good come of her vanity.”
They exchanged a smile then tucked into a shared breakfast. With every bite, Arthur eyes fell to the pile of gems then to Merlin. There was a sparkle in Merlin’s eyes when Arthur gave him even the smallest praise, and Arthur realised how much her loved to see it there.
Arthur stopped short as he turned a corner on the way to the council chambers. At his side, Merlin whispered, “What is it?”
He didn’t bother to reply. His attention was at the other end of the corridor, on Lancelot bowing deeply to Gwen and her bright smile as she set down a bucket of water. Arthur stayed where he was, half-hidden by a pillar.
“My Lady.” Lancelot’s voice was gallant, smooth in a way that Arthur never seemed to manage around Gwen. “Let me relieve you of your heavy burden.”
“Sir Lancelot. You are too kind.” Her voice was warm and as she clasped Lancelot’s hands. Arthur blinked, unsure whether to believe what he was seeing. “Lancelot, I'm so proud of you. A knight!”
“Thank you, my Lady.” Lancelot bowed. “Arthur is a good man.”
Arthur felt Merlin tugging at his shoulder, silently begging him to move, but Arthur was frozen in place.
“He will make a great king,” Gwen said, proud, formal. She and Lancelot shared a look that Arthur couldn't quite name.
“You will be happy with him.” Lancelot stumbled over the words and things became clearer.
Arthur swatted Merlin’s fist on his sleeve and shot him a warning look. He was not leaving. When he looked back, Gwen's face had hardened in a way Arthur had never seen.
“And is that why you left all those months ago? You decided I would be happy with him?” There was a chill to her tone that carried down the corridor and made Arthur’s neck rise in gooseflesh.
“He is in love with you.”
“He hasn't spoken to me in a week.”
“Gwen.”
“I have not forgiven you for leaving me without a word.”
Arthur could barely hear the words, barely process them over the ringing in his ears.
Lancelot stepped away and began pacing back and forth. “He is a prince and a good man.”
“And you are a knight and a good man.”
Lancelot stopped, brow furrowed and lips down-turned. “What you said to me then, when Hengist had you in his dungeons...”
Merlin’s hand was no longer tugging at him. His fingers had curled on Arthur’s arm, his other hand held Arthur’s shoulder, grounding him. Arthur leaned into the comfort of it.
“You were frightened and alone.” Lancelot looked up at her and his eyes were so filled with emotion that Arthur’s cheeks burned to witness something so intimate. “You are free to love whom you choose.”
“Am I?” she said, her voice cracking as she picked up the bucket. “Am I really?” She spun on her heel, blinking wildly as she walked away.
Lancelot stood for a moment longer, watching her disappear. With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes and walked off in the other direction.
Arthur waited in Merlin’s strange embrace until his head cleared enough to let him move. When he finally felt like he could breathe again, he clenched his teeth and walked quickly to the throne room in long powerful strides, Merlin blessedly silent at his shoulder.
His people were waiting for an audience with their acting king.
The morning had been long. It was to be the last pleas to the king for a long while and people seemed desperate to have their issues raised, as passionately and as detailed as possible. Arthur’s head pounded from skipping lunch. Being barely able to make eye contact with Lancelot wasn’t helping. He accepted the wine Merlin poured for him gratefully and sat at the round table with his gathered knights. Geoffrey of Monmouth stood, books and parchments clutched in his arms, hovering at the back of the room.
“Geoffrey.” Arthur nodded as the old man entered his council chambers. “What have you found?”
The table had the same two vacant seats. When Arthur motioned for Geoffrey to join them, he chose the one in front of the door. Everyone else was seated as they had been for the previous three days as if their names were etched on the spots.
“Sire,” he began. “I have found a number of similar situations to this one but none quite like it.”
“Hardly surprising.”
“In the great war of Cornelius Sigan, he had invaded lands to the souths, only to be pushed back...”
Arthur cleared his throat, in no mood for a history lesson. “In your opinion, what are Camelot’s obligations and rights at this moment?”
Geoffrey blinked, startled at the interruption before collecting himself. “In my opinion, Cenred’s kingdom belongs to Camelot unless it is claimed by someone else before Camelot solidifies her claim.”
Around the room heads nodded to Geoffrey’s words. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”
With that settled, it was time to make some decisions. Arthur set aside his frustrations of the moment and began to plan. “We have two issues: our lack of men and our lack of resources to entice recruits. We believe we have a solution to the latter.” He flicked a glance to Merlin, who grinned.
He looked to Lancelot and his first thought was to send him far away, but he buried it quickly as petty. “Lancelot and Percival, I want you to send word to those you met in your travels, any who may be interested in supporting our campaign.”
“Right away, Sire.”
“Gwaine and Leon – I’d like you to go fishing. Take a group, the size of small patrol, and go east to the towns inside Camelot’s borders. See what men will join us and be taught to fight.”
Merlin jumped in to add, “Planting season’s almost over. There may be a few farmhands with some idle days ahead. If you could guarantee they’ll be back for harvest--”
“We cannot guarantee they will be back at all, Merlin. They aren’t going on a holiday,” Arthur snapped. Then, more calmly, he turned to Leon. “We can say we need them at least until harvest. But we don’t know more. Bring back as many as you can in three days. We’ll train them here and mix them with our remaining army; their inexperience will be less noticeable.”
Leon and Gwaine nodded at each other, then back at Arthur.
“Percival and Elyan, if Gwaine and Leon are successful, you will do the same to the west.” There were no concerns raised and every face had a set, determined look. Arthur began to believe. “If we have enough men, I want to set out to Cenred’s borders by month’s end.”
He was about to dismiss everyone when Geoffrey cleared his throat.
“Is there anything else?”
“The translations you requested.” Geoffrey pushed a large stack of parchments toward Arthur.
Arthur stared at the pile, confused for a moment, but then he remembered. “Oh, yes. The table. What did you find?” Arthur kept his hands folded in front of him. He’d rather not read twenty pages of scribbles that he knew Geoffrey could summarise in under two minutes.
Geoffrey looked around the room, tugging at his beard and appearing oddly uncomfortable. A thrill ran down Arthur’s spine at the thought that there was indeed something important about this table, these etchings.
Picking up the pile he’d moved toward Arthur, Geoffrey carefully leafed through the parchments until he found what he was looking for. “Here we are,” he said, pulling one from the stack.
He cleared his throat again. “As you suspected, Sire, the markings at each place on this table have meanings. It was believed that this table of equals, with each placement bringing forth different gifts, would produce the strongest kingdoms.”
“In front of you -- Bargu.” Geoffrey read carefully from the sheet then pointed at the letters under Arthur’s fingertips. “Meaning High King.”
Arthur’s pulse raced as Geoffrey spoke. It felt right. Bargu. Interesting how the seat had drawn him in.
Geoffrey pointed to the empty spot at Arthur’s left, the one Gwen had sat in and which had remained empty since the table had been brought to the castle. “This place is Éadlufu, meaning Love.”
Arthur glanced at Lancelot and saw the longing in his eyes as he stared at the empty chair. Remorse twisted in Arthur’s gut.
Geoffrey went on, clockwise, naming the ‘gifts’ each placement was intended for. With each, Arthur’s conviction grew that the people at the table had not been randomly chosen or seated. Sósfœstnes, Fidelity, was Elyan’s place. Ellenweorc, Heroic Deed, was Gwaine’s.
Next Geoffrey indicated the spot in which he sat himself and with mild embarrassed said, “Rœsbora, Leader in thought.”
Geoffrey added Mœgen, Bodily Strength for Percival and everyone snickered.Scamu, Modesty and Aeoling, Chief Prince were Lancelot and Leon respectively.
Around the room, there were smirks and sincere nods, acknowledging the accuracy of each placement.
But after Leon, Geoffrey paused. “Many of these have various translations. It’s a complicated process.” He began to leaf through the pages as though to prove his point. “I went with the most consistent.” He took a deep breath and looked at Merlin, who was restless, squirming in his chair like an errant child, pink eared and biting his lip. Arthur was tempted to lay a hand on his shoulder. There was no question in Arthur’s mind that Merlin’s gift to the kingdom was valuable, whatever the name his placement had been given in years past.
“I –” Geoffrey shuffled through his papers again.”This marking, Sire. There was only one meaning that I could find.”
Arthur waved him along, impatient.
“That marking is Drylic - Magic.”
Geoffrey handed the parchment to Arthur, a circle with the words and translations in each spot.
On another day, he might have simply laughed at the thought of Merlin having magic. But his perception of the world around him was slowly being torn apart, eroded with each wave of truth that crashed against his convictions. Today it felt like he knew nothing at all for certain. When the time comes, forgive him, Hunith had asked. Arthur stared at Merlin, the frantic bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. His eyes were shut and he was shaking his head almost like a tremble, quick jittery movements. And Arthur knew.
Gwaine’s cough broke the silence and snapped Arthur out of his thoughts.
He needed to say something. It was only right to say something flippant, to blow off the weight of the accusation that if taken seriously would mean Merlin’s life. But all the words caught in his throat. He didn’t dare look away from Merlin, look at his knights and let them see the treason in his eyes.
“Council is dismissed,” he choked out at last, eyes falling to Geoffrey’s notes, the word Bargu and at its right hand, Drylic.
After a dozen heartbeats of dead silence, the room emptied in a flurry of noise. Merlin, the last of them, hovered. Arthur could feel the tension coming off him in waves, but he refused to look up from the parchment in his hand and the scratched words that turned his world upside down once more.
PART 2
Author:
marguerite_26Artist:
stellamoonSummary: With his father unfit to rule and Camelot decimated, Arthur must assume the role of King. But the truths he discovers shake the foundation of all he holds dear.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, mention of Arthur/Gwen, Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: R
Warning: none
Word Count: 12k
Author's notes: This is a gift for
accioslash as thanks for her donation to Pakistan’s flood relief. Thank you to my betas
melusinahp and faithwood; and thank you to stellamoon, lolafeist and ella_bane for the advice and cheerleading and the lovelies at Write All the Words. Your support was very inspiring. And a massive ILU to
stellamoon who agreed to contribute art to this gift to accioslash.Sunlight streamed through the windows of the throne room, lighting patches of the floor as the court gathered. He had stood in this room nearly every day of his life since he was thirteen; it should not seem so foreign, so frightening. The throne beneath him was hard and unyielding. The crown on his head pressed in on his temples, worsening the headache that had been threatening since breakfast. Beside him, Merlin fidgeted, a blur of movement in his peripheral vision.
“Merlin.” Arthur spoke through clenched teeth, hiding the conversation from their growing audience. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry!” Then, waiting a beat as if it were a punchline, Merlin added, “Your highness.”
Arthur's eyes snapped up in time to catch the cheeky grin. It disappeared immediately. Before he could reply, Sir Leon entered with a procession of people at his heels, all begging audience with the acting king -- the first audience since Camelot was lost and won again.
Merlin's distraction, as irreverent as riling Arthur at such a moment was, worked perfectly. Ready, Arthur squared his shoulders and waved Leon to begin.
The first to step forward was a peasant woman, her head bowed, clothes torn and filthy. When she raised her eyes to Arthur, it was Merlin who reacted first.
“Mother.” He moved to go to her but Hunith shook her head and gave him a small smile.
“Later, Merlin,” she whispered and focused her gaze on Arthur. “My Lord,” she began and Arthur's chest warmed at the kindness and hope she imbued in the honorific. “I come here to beg help of you.”
Arthur nodded for her to continue.
“Ealdor is once again overrun with bandits.”
“Ealdor is in Cenred's Kingdom,” he replied automatically.
“There is no one to help us, Sire.” Hunith's eyes watered and she looked so much like Merlin in that moment it made Arthur’s breath catch. “Cenred is dead and his army defeated. All around us, even the larger villages, those that were rich enough to warrant his attention and protection, are now in ruins.”
Arthur waved Lancelot forward. “There are many pleas for me to hear today,” he said in apology. “I will take your request under consideration. Until then you are our guest, Hunith.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“Lancelot, Hunith is Merlin's mother. See that she is given all that she needs.”
“Sire?” Merlin's eyes were on the retreating form of his mother, begging to follow.
“Your place is here.”
Merlin looked at Arthur, his lips pressed flat, then his eyes flickered to the gathered crowd, to the dozens of people that would be pleading with Arthur, each request needing to be weighed against the other. With a deep breath, Merlin stood a little straighter and lifted his chin.
“You'll see her tonight,” Arthur whispered then turned back to Sir Leon and requested the next person to be brought forward.
Arthur poured himself a goblet of watered wine and sat, absorbing the quiet of the empty room while he waited for his knights to gather. The stone table was rough and cold beneath his fingers. He'd had it retrieved from the castle of the ancient kings in the days following the battle. It fit surprisingly well in his father's private council chambers; it seemed fitting that the place where Uther kept his own council become the place Arthur would use to hear the advice of those who'd earned his trust. When he’d rescued his father from the dungeons, he’d vowed to himself he would not repeat his father's mistakes.
The day the table had been placed in this room, he and Merlin had stood quietly watching the men work, removing his father's large desk, finding the exact center of the room to situate it best. The moment it was done and the last chair had been put in place, the servants scrambled out to catch the end of dinner. He'd stayed behind, mesmerised by the setting sun that played across the room and made the stone shimmer as if enchanted.
Merlin's hand had landed on his shoulder. “This is good,” he'd said in a whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the spell. Arthur had nodded but hadn't turned; he hadn't wanted Merlin to see the brightness of his eyes.
This afternoon would be the first convening of the knights' council to review the needs of the land now that the most immediate post-battle needs of caring for the sick and burying the dead had been dealt with.
Leon was the first to arrive, taking his place at the table exactly where he’d sat that first day. Each in turn arrived, some shuffled spots – Arthur surprised himself in noticing. He knew the place he'd taken, while not the head of the table, as none existed, but directly opposite the door, was the same he'd chosen in the castle of the ancient kings. The markings beneath his hands were the same. It didn’t occur to him to select another.
Merlin was the last to arrive, stumbling in out of breath after, Arthur knew, racing through the castle to try to get there on time. Ignoring the empty place at Arthur's left, Merlin squeezed through to sit at Arthur's right.
“How is she?”
Merlin grinned, knowing he'd been caught-out. “She's with Gaius. There are a few… injuries.” Merlin grin slipped, but only slightly. “She'll be fine. I'm glad she's here.”
“Good. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes. Make sure she knows that.”
Merlin's grin brightened again and he nodded.
Turning to the gathered knights, Arthur caught each of their eyes one by one. He ended on Leon, and motioned for him to begin.
“Sire.” Leon cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I'd like to talk about the unrest in Cenred's kingdom. As we heard today with several people from the bordering villages, that land is in an upheaval.”
“As much could be expected,” Arthur said. “It will settle when Cenred's successor takes the throne.”
Leon shifted a bit. “The problem, Sire, is that isn't likely to happen soon. Cenred was killed weeks ago. After Camelot fell, Morgause boasted to the knights about his death. Then when the immortal army was defeated, they weren't just defeated they…” He waved his hands vaguely, but everyone around the room nodded in understanding. “But that left Cenred's kingdom without even a defeated army returning to them. Everyone. Every soul that had pledged their allegiance to Cenred was wiped out. Even mercenaries, soldiers and knights from neighbouring kingdoms that had joined Cenred's army.”
Arthur's gut churned as he looked between his men. All eyes were on Leon, lips down-turned. War was never pretty, but to lose maybe ten thousand men in the blink of an eye was horrific.
“So what Hunith was talking about today –”
“Was one symptom of a very large problem,” Gwaine provided. “Last night I talked with a few of the people waiting for your audience to get a feel of what to expect.”
“You met them at the Rising Sun, didn't you?” Merlin snickered.
“They may have had a free spot at their table and full tankard.” He grinned back, shameless. “And it was more of the same. A mother of five lost her husband and brother because they'd been in Cenred's army. She was left with nothing after the bandits tore through their village.”
“But why come here?” While Arthur felt for these people, his priority had to be Camelot. They were his.
“There is nowhere else, Sire,” Leon said. “You are the conquering king, without ever setting foot in their land.”
“That's –” He paused, unsure. He wanted to say it was ridiculous but it wasn't entirely. This was unprecedented. He looked around the table and saw a few shrugs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Before we get too far on this, I need to know if we do legally have a claim – a responsibility – to assume control of Cenred's lands. Guard!” He called out to the men stationed outside the room. When the door swung open, he requested, “I need to speak with Geoffrey of Monmouth.”
After the guard nodded and left, Arthur addressed the group again. “Beyond any of this we simply do not have the men. Camelot's army and her knights were badly depleted in the siege. We're at maybe forty percent of what were earlier this year.”
Leon spoke first. “There may be pockets of others, those that retreated knowing the battle was lost and went into hiding. Word has not yet spread that Camelot's been regained.”
“It will still be nowhere near enough to capture and maintain control of a kingdom in anarchy. It's barely enough to secure our own safety.”
“We have to do something,” Merlin sputtered.
Arthur shook his head. “We have no army, Merlin.”
“No, but you have people. People who are willing to defend their homes. The people in Cenred's kingdom will pledge their loyalty to you if you offer them stability. They will fight with you, not against you.”
“And Camelot is to be an army of peasants?” The words felt rancid in his mouth; those were his father's sentiments rather than his own.
Merlin's face shuttered. “You found honour enough in Ealdor fighting with peasants.”
“That was different.”
“It was not different. People want peace. They want to grow their crops and raise their families. You can give them that. Camelot can give them that. Show them that you are different and they will be loyal to you.” Merlin was nearly shouting by the time he'd finished. The room echoed with his last words.
Arthur's face was hot, hands trembling at being spoken to in such a way: full of faith and lacking in deference. He stared at the table, chest heaving while he tried to understand what he needed to do. The silence stretched out well beyond awkward. “Council is dismissed.” The words were thick and grave, torn from clenched teeth.
Chairs scraped across the floor as each knight stood and one by one left without a word. The chair to his right remained still.
“Arthur.”
“You are dismissed,” he snapped.
Merlin sucked in a surprised breath, and Arthur knew he must look furious but it wasn't really about Merlin. The weight of Camelot and Cenred's kingdom – what felt like all of Albion – pressed in on his shoulders. He didn’t look up, even after he heard the door close and he was alone. Deep in thought, his fingers idly traced the engraved words at his place of the table. His fingers tingled, sensitized from the rough friction before he’d even realised what he was doing. He stared at the strange markings; he didn't know what they meant but they felt powerful, the table was no longer cold beneath his fingertips.
A soft knock lured him from his thoughts. “Enter.”
The door opened and Geoffrey of Monmouth stood before him and bowed. “Sire.”
“Ah, yes. Geoffrey. Good.” Arthur sat up straighter and shook off his musings. “I need your thoughts on this situation with Cenred. The assumption seems to be that the kingdom is mine for the taking as I essentially defeated him and all his army in the Battle.”
Geoffrey frowned, considering. “It's an unusual situation, to be sure. He has no heir?”
“No heir. No knights. No rival for the throne that was not killed with the army of immortals, as I understand it.”
“I will need to refer to my books.” Geoffrey tugged at his beard. “But, yes. By all accounts that would make you conquering king.”
Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel at that news. Part of him had been hoping for a simple no, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of the possibility of such a large land being his own to merge with Camelot. He would take pride in creating a foundation for a stable prosperous land for both. “All right. Do what research you need to. I will need to know as soon as possible.” His fingers drummed the table as he spoke, and sparks of heat tickled his fingertips. He looked down at the contact between the table and his hand, but saw nothing. And yet. “One more thing, Geoffrey. These markings.”
Geoffrey shuffled over to stand beside Arthur. Reaching out, he waved his hand over the engravings. “They appear to be words, Sire. I’m not sure what they say.”
“Can you find out?”
“I believe this may be from the language of the ancient kings. I have several tomes on that.”
Arthur stood. “Very good.” He moved to the door as Geoffrey sat, quill and parchment in hand, to copy the engraving.
“Sire,” Geoffrey stuttered, a nervous hitch to the word as his hand rested over the first of the markings. “The ancient kings accepted magic as a powerful tool to help their kingdoms flourish. I – I thought you should know.”
Arthur, heart thudding, looked down at the table and reached out again to feel the faint thrum of the stone. “I know.”
More confused than ever, he set off to see his father.
Uther was sitting up in bed. The pillows piled high around him, dwarfing his once broad shoulders. He'd lost nearly a stone since all this began. His cheeks were sunken and eyes red-rimmed. Beside him, a servant read from an old book, the tattered pages crinkling with each turn. Whatever it was, it did not hold the king's attention. He stared ahead, face devoid of any emotion.
“Father.” Arthur took a step further into the room. When the servant looked up, Arthur motioned their dismissal. “How are you feeling today?”
Uther startled then blinked several times as if chasing away his thoughts. A tentative smile appeared when his eyes fell on his visitor. “Arthur?”
Arthur's heart clenched at the confusion in his father's face. “Yes.” Forcing a grin, he took the abandoned seat and pulled it closer to the bed. “Father, are you comfortable?”
Uther rolled his shoulder and winced. Whether it was weeks in the dungeons or the rough treatment from Morgana's guards, the old injury to his shoulder had flared to near constant pain. “Gaius has changed my medication.”
“And is it better?”
“Mmm.” Uther stared off again, eyes blank.
Hoping talk of the state of the kingdom would bring his Father’s attention around, Arthur began his nightly update. “There are reports of chaos in Cenred's –”
Uther interrupted before Arthur could finish the first sentence. “I wonder if he could use magic to heal me,” he said simply, as if a passing thought that might as well be aired as not.
The air seemed to push out of his lungs as Arthur realised his father was in one of his less lucid states. “I don’t understand.”
“Could magic heal me, do you think? Make me healthy, that I could rule another year?” The words were quiet, a whispered secret. His father watched the flames rise in the hearth, his pale eyes growing wide and manic. “Another twenty?”
“Father, you aren’t talking sense.”
Uther laughed, crazed. It sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Oh, I think Gaius could manage it.” Uther frowned, looking directly at Arthur again. “Or another sorcerer, if not him.”
Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow, looking around the room to ensure that they were alone. “Gaius is not a sorcerer. Father, magic is banned. Please no more talk of this.”
“Banned!” Uther snarled. “Of course it is banned to those that would abuse it! Use it to rise up against me. Turn my own daught—” he gasped for breath, choking back a sob. “But just one more time. That I could fix this. That would be worth it.”
“You need to rest.”
“Yes.” Uther nodded, letting Arthur settle him into the bed. “But send Gaius to me in the morning. I must speak with him. He will understand. Some things are worth it.”
Arthur arranged the pillows, not meeting his father’s eyes, not wanting to see this unrecognisable man staring back at him. At last, he pulled the covers up and clasped his hands over his father’s, kissing the loose, snow-white skin of Uther’s knuckle.
Uther petted his hair, half-asleep already. “You’re a good man, Arthur.” His voice was barely more than a breath as he added, “You were worth it.”
Arthur head snapped up. Uther’s eyelids had already shut; the hand in Arthur’s hair stilled and fell away. Arthur shivered, despite the heat of the room, as he broke out in a cold sweat. His father’s last few words played over and over in his brain. He wanted to shake off their meaning. His father had been saying the strangest things in the past few days -- not lies so much as random thoughts that made no sense in context of the situation. Things that his father, if he were in his right mind, would never share. Something about his father’s words and all they implied could not be ignored. They felt too much like an accidental slip of honesty.
All the air seem to be sucked from the room as Arthur gasped for breath, his lungs burning with a desperate need for oxygen. He dropped his father’s hand and stumbled to the door.
The corridors were bustling, even hours after the sun had set. There was still so much to do about the castle, rubble to be cleared away, food and medicine to be delivered to those too injured or traumatised to see to themselves. All eyes were on Arthur as he made his way to the court physician's room. Reverent nods and sincere curtsies met him every few steps. He tried to meet every eye, but the thundering in his ears was disorienting. He focused on keeping himself together, shoulders back and head held high, while in his mind his world was being torn apart. Again.
Arthur found Merlin alone in Gaius’s chambers. “I need to speak with Gaius.”
“Arthur.” Merlin looked up from a table covered in bundles of dried herbs. “He’s in the servants' quarters of the west tower. There’s been an outbreak of fevers with all the damage that was done there. People are living without walls.”
Arthur huffed, exasperated at yet another issue laid at his feet when his world had just been turned upside down. “I’ll see to getting it evacuated until the repairs are done. The inner castle has plenty of empty rooms.” He waved his hand absently.
“You...” Merlin shook his head. “You don’t have to do everything yourself. That’s not what I meant today.”
“Fine.” Arthur shrugged, the argument from earlier the furthest thing from his mind. “You see to getting them moved.”
“Um.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Fine.” Merlin huffed, but he was smiling. The tension in the room dissipated a bit.
“Did you want to leave a message for Gaius? He’ll be back late.”
Arthur considered why he’d come here, if it had been to pass along his father’s request or to just find answers. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do either. “No. I just had a question about Father’s new medication.”
Merlin picked up a wrap of herbs and stood on a chair to hang them. “I’ll let him know.”
Merlin hung the bundle, fiddling with the string before reaching down and grabbing another. Arthur watched him work through the table, grouping the herbs, arranging then winding the string and tying the knot. The question was on the tip of Arthur’s tongue for a full five minutes before he spoke it.
“Merlin.” He took a step forward, laying a hand on the table. “That time with Morgause, before. When she showed me my mother.”
Merlin stilled; the hand lifting the next bundle of herbs trembled. Arthur’s stomach sank, guessing the truth already.
“Did you believe she was telling the truth?”
Merlin found his voice after a pause. “I told you, Sire,” Merlin said, his eyes not meeting Arthur’s. “She was manipulating you.”
“Yes.” Arthur touched a brittle twig of an unfamiliar plant. It snapped in his fingers, crumbling to a powdery dust. “I’m sure she was. But was it the truth?”
“She wanted you to kill your father.” Merlin spoke his well-chosen words with conviction.
Arthur laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder until Merlin lowered the bundle he’d been trying to hang and met Arthur’s eyes. “Do you believe what my mother, the vision of my mother, said was the truth?”
It was raining. Arthur could hear the crash of it against the windows as he waited out Merlin’s answer.
“I do,” Merlin said, at last.
Arthur’s fingers tightened until Merlin winced. They were close now, foreheads practically touching. “Don’t lie to me again, Merlin.” Arthur was ashamed to hear the crack in his own voice. “I need to trust you. I need to be able to trust you implicitly.”
“I couldn’t let you kill your father.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The shrill of his voice made him cringe and he tried to swallow his anger. “I must come up with the right decisions on my own merit, Merlin! Not because you tricked me into doing the right thing. Do not lie to me for my own good. You can’t lie to me. Promise me.” He wanted to shake Merlin, make him understand. All he could do was clutch him tighter.
“Arthur, I—” Merlin’s eyes were brimming and it dampened the fire that had been burning in Arthur’s chest.
The door creaked open and they broke apart.
“I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”
They turned to find Hunith in the doorway, eyes on the floor.
“No. I was just leaving.” Arthur’s throat tightened and he rushed out before he could witness the comfort from a mother that he would never feel.
The morning was again a blur. The audience took twice as long. Three new people from Cenred’s kingdom appeared, battered and bruised, penniless from the raids. The bandits were becoming more organised and fearless as time went on without opposition.
At lunch, Arthur bumped into Gwen, which inspired an odd combination of joy and confusion. They danced around each other, uncertain. She was still a servant, and Arthur had no idea how to make her not a servant without the type of grand declaration that was inappropriate for a kingdom in such unrest. She’d insisted there was much work to be done around the castle; she had quick, capable hands.
He could ask her to stop helping, to do something more dignified – she’d only smile and shake her head if he tried.
So they were back to passing each other in hallways and exchanging resigned glances as their lives took them in different directions, as if the kiss in the courtyard had never taken place.
He simply hadn’t had time to fix that.
Merlin unexpectedly brought him lunch in his chambers before the council meeting. Most days other servants seemed to pick up his chores. Fires were lit and laundry cleaned by young girls who kept their head bowed and mouths closed as they worked. At some point things had changed with Merlin, and Arthur hadn’t even realised it was happening. Now, seeing him hovering about the room without a clothes basket or fire poker, he seemed lost.
“Sit down.” Arthur set one of Merlin’s favourite sweet rolls at the place across from him. “Your fidgeting is giving me indigestion.”
“I’ve spoken with Helga. There are several rooms being cleared to move the servants from the west tower.” Merlin paused, took a bite and chewed slowly. “They’re to be set up in Morgana’s suite of rooms until the tower is hospitable again.”
Arthur eyes widened; Merlin gave him a toothy grin.
“I also might have mentioned that they are welcome to cut up the dresses they find for scarves and sashes to sell in the lower town.”
Arthur choked on a bit of cheese.
“They lost everything, Arthur. They need something to replace what meagre possessions they had. They’ll spread it amongst themselves.” He bit his lip, more tentative this time. “What else would you have done with them? Gwen would rather burn them than wear them.”
Merlin looked at him as if gauging his reaction and Arthur schooled his face to be suitably put out. “You should have consulted me.” He thought of the servants tearing into Morgana’s wardrobe and rebuilding their lives from the rags, and grinned. He tried to hide it with another forkful but Merlin’s snicker told him he’d failed.
“I thought so.”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
It was late afternoon by the time the knights gathered in Arthur’s private council chambers. They sat again at the table with no head, only two empty spots. One by the door and the other to Arthur’s left. Once everyone was settled in the identical spots of the day before, Arthur began.
“Geoffrey of Monmouth is looking into the situation with Cenred’s kingdom for any precedents that have been set in similar situations. I need to know if I have an obligation to these people beyond sympathy. Until then, I’d like to hear your thoughts on how to solve the most immediate problem: our lack of men.”
Lancelot spoke first. “Sire, there are mercenaries to the north, those that didn’t join Cenred’s army. They are not noble, and many not very honourable.” Percival snorted and Lancelot shot him a grin. “But they are able men that will do their job for you, should you pay them.”
“Good. Send word out immediately.” Arthur mentally tallied a vague sum to his current man count. It still fell far short of what they needed. “Unfortunately, that will barely fill in our army to support Camelot’s needs. What other suggestions are there, if we are to” — Arthur’s eyes flickered to Merlin — “venture into Cenred’s Kingdom?”
Gwaine cleared his throat and looked around the room as if deciding whether or not to speak. “I don’t know politics or what it takes to conquer a kingdom, but I’ve spent many years in Cenred’s lands. And not just in the taverns.” He winked at Merlin, and Arthur had to stop his lips from curling at their familiarity and focus on what Gwaine was trying to say. “I’d offer the local farmers a day’s work in exchange for a meal, or a bed for the night. They’re good people, strong men, willing to break their backs to fix a neighbour’s roof.”
Beside Arthur, Merlin was nodding and looking at Arthur as if the solution was right there in front of them. But it was never about whether these people were worth saving or not. The practical side of it was that he couldn’t just will it to be done, as Merlin seemed to think. He waved Gwaine to continue.
“All right, let’s say you go into these villages. Tell them who you are, what you are trying to do. Talk to them. Don’t conquer them.”
Merlin cut in, practically bouncing off his chair. “And maybe offer them more than future promises. Give them something – some grain from the stores or some gold to replenish what the bandits have taken.”
“Yes. That would go far.” Gwaine was nodding too, getting excited, as a plan seemed to take form between the two of them.
But Arthur still could not fathom it. “How could we afford this?”
Ignoring him, Merlin continued, “And in exchange, ask their men to join you in fighting for their own freedom.”
Arthur shook his head. “Untrained men will be slaughtered in battle.”
Arthur’s eyes widened when Leon voiced his support of the idea. “These are bandits, not an invading army. The villagers should be taught to defend their own homes.”
“I cannot teach the men of every town we encounter.”
Lancelot chimed in. “You have us, Sire. And the other knights. Leave one or two of us behind in each village to protect the villagers and train the men there.”
It was conditional on these people wanting help, wanting peace. And went against every kind of battle strategy Arthur had ever read.
“There will be those that will not want this,” Elyan argued, as if reading Arthur’s mind.
“There will be.” Gwaine looked between Arthur and Elyan as if determining whom to address. “Then we’ll move on. Leave that town to its own purpose – and see in another six months. They will change their minds as the towns surrounding them flourish under your protection and the bandits find them an easy target.”
Arthur sank into his chair, letting his head fall back. He stared at the cobwebs gathered in the far corner of the ceiling, mind racing to catch up with all the suggestions and possible outcomes. “There are too many unknowns. We’d be spreading ourselves thin without any guarantees that these people will stand with us.”
The room fell quiet. Arthur could hear the rustle of fabric as they shifted about in their chairs. It was too much of a risk, but still he wished there was a way. If they could do this, if there was a way, it would be brilliant.
“All right, we will set this aside for now. I will look into a few things. In the meantime, we have our one kingdom to see to. Let’s go over what was asked of us this morning.”
There were nods around the table, everyone seemingly happy with the delay rather than an outright decision.
“We can't do it.” Arthur threw down his quill in frustration. The ink splattered along the parchment. The records keeper would be annoyed at him for that, but it was the least of his worries. “There's not enough money in the treasury. And there's nothing left in the grain stores from this past winter.”
Merlin was tight-lipped, not arguing as he fussed about with the fire.
Arthur scowled at the back of his head then picked up his quill and made another note on the margin of the report he'd been poring over for the last hour.
“Maybe something will come up?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You may go. I'm sure you're anxious to get back to your mother.”
“Thank you, Sire.”
Arthur watched the door close, grateful to be alone with his thoughts. He'd been to see his father before retiring, only to find him worse – babbling about things that would be treason from any other man. When Gaius arrived with his medication, Arthur had pulled him into the antechamber.
“His mind is going, Sire,” Gaius had explained. “I fear dementia.”
“But the things he talks about…”
“Ramblings of a man who has lost all sense of reality.” Gaius had looked him in the eyes, his voice steady. “Pay them no mind.”
Arthur's shoulders tensed; he was more confused than ever. “I see.” Arthur had wanted, had hoped to get something more out of Gaius but Gaius was loyal as ever. The question was: was he loyal enough to lie, straight-faced, to the prince?
“The best I can do is sedate him as his body heals, and maybe with it, his mind.”
“I-” Arthur had looked at his father, so small, curled in on himself in that large bed. “Do what you think is best. But make sure he is comfortable. We can't have any servants overhearing his ramblings, as you say. I'll limit who is permitted into this room to only the most trusted servants.”
“Very good, Sire.” Gaius had bowed with a stiff deference that set Arthur's teeth on edge and set him wondering about secrets kept and lies told all in the name of loyalty. Loyalty to whom, he wondered.
The candles were burning low and the report margins were covered in his scribbles when the knock came.
Arthur huffed at the interruption. “Enter,” he snapped, the frustration of the evening eating at his nerves.
“Your highness.”
Arthur looked up in time to see Hunith's gentle curtsey. “Hunith!” He stood and walked towards her with a wide grin. “Is everything all right?” He motioned for her to sit, but she shook her head.
“Yes, Sire. You are more than generous in your hospitality.”
“No more that you were to me.”
A sly smile snuck across her face, and he recalled with a bit of humility the food he'd turned down and wondered how many grumbled complaints she'd overheard.
“Merlin tells me you are doing everything you can to help us. I wanted to thank you.”
Arthur waved off the thanks. “I may not be able to do anything.” He looked back at the table covered in a mess of parchment. “Merlin shouldn't get your hopes up.” The words were tired, bitter with defeat.
“Sire.” She approached him, her gentle smile and kind eyes drawing the tension out of his shoulders. “It matters that you think us worthy enough to try.”
She took his hands in hers and squeezed them gently. Her hands were rough, callused and worn. His were ink stained.
“You are doing so well, Arthur. Your mother would be proud.”
He pulled away, needing more space in the suddenly hot room. He closed his eyes and bit down on the tremble in his bottom lip. He may have been spoken to like this once, as a child. A nursemaid might have soothed him after a scraped knee, or patted his head for getting his sums to add properly. If it had ever occurred, he had no memory of it.
After a long time, he turned back, embarrassed at how deeply her kindness had affected him.
She gave Arthur a watery smile and tapped his cheek. As she quietly slipped out the door, she stopped. Head bowed, she whispered, “When the time comes, my Lord, I beg you to forgive him.”
It was a long time before Arthur could find sleep that night. Hunith’s words turned over in his head until the wee hours of the morning, and still he could make no sense of them.
The next morning beside Arthur’s breakfast platter, Merlin set down a leather sack. Arthur eyed it then looked up at Merlin, who sported a ridiculous grin, which said he thought himself very clever this time and thought Arthur couldn’t possibly argue otherwise.
Weighing the sack in his hand, Arthur narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t coins, but heavy enough. The feel was more of a handful of pebbles. “You’re not going to just tell me, are you?”
Merlin chuckled.
With a huff, Arthur loosened the string and looked inside. Merlin snorted and Arthur knew his jaw had dropped. He poured the contents carefully onto the table.
Jewels of different shapes, sizes and colours glittered in the morning sun. Arthur picked up a large ruby, the size of his thumbnail, thick and square. It was beautifully cut, shimmering in the palm of his hand as the light caught each facet.
“Where in the hell did you get these?” He put the ruby back into the pile. There were another dozen at least of that size and twice that amount of smaller gems.
“Morgana’s crown.” Merlin laughed. “I removed all her jewellery and such from her rooms before the servants moved in. There was so much of it! The crown alone – as you can see – well, this would go far, yeah? In your campaign to win Cenred’s kingdom. The peasants know the worth of these stones; they’d use them in trade.”
The excitement in Merlin’s voice was contagious, and, as Merlin babbled, Arthur felt hope spring in his chest, warm and tingly.
“I mean, it’s not the same as a gold coin. But the gold from the crown! I talked to Gwen, and she said the mint would melt it easily. You should have seen her smile when she said that! She guessed a few hundred coins from the crown alone. It’s all more valuable to common people than a brooch or something that can’t be divided up amongst families and... you’re not saying anything.”
Incredulous, Arthur looked from the pile of jewels to Merlin’s expectant face. It would certainly go far, dispersing one or two of the stones amongst poor families. Earn their trust. Maybe enough for a dozen towns. Maybe enough to pay for fifty men, or more.
“And you... how did you ever remove these without damaging the stones?” He’d once watched a jeweller change the setting of his father’s ring. It had taken him nearly an hour to remove three stones with expert hands. He knew stones could shatter or chip under the pressure if not removed properly.
Merlin fidgeted under his gaze. “With... tools and such.” He waved his hands. “Tools made for these things. It took – um – all night?” His voice raised at the last as if it were a question and not an answer.
“I’m sure it did,” Arthur replied, confused.
“Gwen said she would take the gold to the mint tonight, if I finished off the rest of the jewellery. But I wanted to ask you first.”
“Ah. So now you want my permission?”
Merlin lifted his shoulders and gave his best innocent grin.
“What am I going to do with you?” He placed a hand on the back of Merlin’s neck and Merlin tensed. Arthur laughed. “It was a very clever idea. Do the rest of Morgana’s bobbles. Let’s make something good come of her vanity.”
They exchanged a smile then tucked into a shared breakfast. With every bite, Arthur eyes fell to the pile of gems then to Merlin. There was a sparkle in Merlin’s eyes when Arthur gave him even the smallest praise, and Arthur realised how much her loved to see it there.
Arthur stopped short as he turned a corner on the way to the council chambers. At his side, Merlin whispered, “What is it?”
He didn’t bother to reply. His attention was at the other end of the corridor, on Lancelot bowing deeply to Gwen and her bright smile as she set down a bucket of water. Arthur stayed where he was, half-hidden by a pillar.
“My Lady.” Lancelot’s voice was gallant, smooth in a way that Arthur never seemed to manage around Gwen. “Let me relieve you of your heavy burden.”
“Sir Lancelot. You are too kind.” Her voice was warm and as she clasped Lancelot’s hands. Arthur blinked, unsure whether to believe what he was seeing. “Lancelot, I'm so proud of you. A knight!”
“Thank you, my Lady.” Lancelot bowed. “Arthur is a good man.”
Arthur felt Merlin tugging at his shoulder, silently begging him to move, but Arthur was frozen in place.
“He will make a great king,” Gwen said, proud, formal. She and Lancelot shared a look that Arthur couldn't quite name.
“You will be happy with him.” Lancelot stumbled over the words and things became clearer.
Arthur swatted Merlin’s fist on his sleeve and shot him a warning look. He was not leaving. When he looked back, Gwen's face had hardened in a way Arthur had never seen.
“And is that why you left all those months ago? You decided I would be happy with him?” There was a chill to her tone that carried down the corridor and made Arthur’s neck rise in gooseflesh.
“He is in love with you.”
“He hasn't spoken to me in a week.”
“Gwen.”
“I have not forgiven you for leaving me without a word.”
Arthur could barely hear the words, barely process them over the ringing in his ears.
Lancelot stepped away and began pacing back and forth. “He is a prince and a good man.”
“And you are a knight and a good man.”
Lancelot stopped, brow furrowed and lips down-turned. “What you said to me then, when Hengist had you in his dungeons...”
Merlin’s hand was no longer tugging at him. His fingers had curled on Arthur’s arm, his other hand held Arthur’s shoulder, grounding him. Arthur leaned into the comfort of it.
“You were frightened and alone.” Lancelot looked up at her and his eyes were so filled with emotion that Arthur’s cheeks burned to witness something so intimate. “You are free to love whom you choose.”
“Am I?” she said, her voice cracking as she picked up the bucket. “Am I really?” She spun on her heel, blinking wildly as she walked away.
Lancelot stood for a moment longer, watching her disappear. With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes and walked off in the other direction.
Arthur waited in Merlin’s strange embrace until his head cleared enough to let him move. When he finally felt like he could breathe again, he clenched his teeth and walked quickly to the throne room in long powerful strides, Merlin blessedly silent at his shoulder.
His people were waiting for an audience with their acting king.
The morning had been long. It was to be the last pleas to the king for a long while and people seemed desperate to have their issues raised, as passionately and as detailed as possible. Arthur’s head pounded from skipping lunch. Being barely able to make eye contact with Lancelot wasn’t helping. He accepted the wine Merlin poured for him gratefully and sat at the round table with his gathered knights. Geoffrey of Monmouth stood, books and parchments clutched in his arms, hovering at the back of the room.
“Geoffrey.” Arthur nodded as the old man entered his council chambers. “What have you found?”
The table had the same two vacant seats. When Arthur motioned for Geoffrey to join them, he chose the one in front of the door. Everyone else was seated as they had been for the previous three days as if their names were etched on the spots.
“Sire,” he began. “I have found a number of similar situations to this one but none quite like it.”
“Hardly surprising.”
“In the great war of Cornelius Sigan, he had invaded lands to the souths, only to be pushed back...”
Arthur cleared his throat, in no mood for a history lesson. “In your opinion, what are Camelot’s obligations and rights at this moment?”
Geoffrey blinked, startled at the interruption before collecting himself. “In my opinion, Cenred’s kingdom belongs to Camelot unless it is claimed by someone else before Camelot solidifies her claim.”
Around the room heads nodded to Geoffrey’s words. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”
With that settled, it was time to make some decisions. Arthur set aside his frustrations of the moment and began to plan. “We have two issues: our lack of men and our lack of resources to entice recruits. We believe we have a solution to the latter.” He flicked a glance to Merlin, who grinned.
He looked to Lancelot and his first thought was to send him far away, but he buried it quickly as petty. “Lancelot and Percival, I want you to send word to those you met in your travels, any who may be interested in supporting our campaign.”
“Right away, Sire.”
“Gwaine and Leon – I’d like you to go fishing. Take a group, the size of small patrol, and go east to the towns inside Camelot’s borders. See what men will join us and be taught to fight.”
Merlin jumped in to add, “Planting season’s almost over. There may be a few farmhands with some idle days ahead. If you could guarantee they’ll be back for harvest--”
“We cannot guarantee they will be back at all, Merlin. They aren’t going on a holiday,” Arthur snapped. Then, more calmly, he turned to Leon. “We can say we need them at least until harvest. But we don’t know more. Bring back as many as you can in three days. We’ll train them here and mix them with our remaining army; their inexperience will be less noticeable.”
Leon and Gwaine nodded at each other, then back at Arthur.
“Percival and Elyan, if Gwaine and Leon are successful, you will do the same to the west.” There were no concerns raised and every face had a set, determined look. Arthur began to believe. “If we have enough men, I want to set out to Cenred’s borders by month’s end.”
He was about to dismiss everyone when Geoffrey cleared his throat.
“Is there anything else?”
“The translations you requested.” Geoffrey pushed a large stack of parchments toward Arthur.
Arthur stared at the pile, confused for a moment, but then he remembered. “Oh, yes. The table. What did you find?” Arthur kept his hands folded in front of him. He’d rather not read twenty pages of scribbles that he knew Geoffrey could summarise in under two minutes.
Geoffrey looked around the room, tugging at his beard and appearing oddly uncomfortable. A thrill ran down Arthur’s spine at the thought that there was indeed something important about this table, these etchings.
Picking up the pile he’d moved toward Arthur, Geoffrey carefully leafed through the parchments until he found what he was looking for. “Here we are,” he said, pulling one from the stack.
He cleared his throat again. “As you suspected, Sire, the markings at each place on this table have meanings. It was believed that this table of equals, with each placement bringing forth different gifts, would produce the strongest kingdoms.”
“In front of you -- Bargu.” Geoffrey read carefully from the sheet then pointed at the letters under Arthur’s fingertips. “Meaning High King.”
Arthur’s pulse raced as Geoffrey spoke. It felt right. Bargu. Interesting how the seat had drawn him in.
Geoffrey pointed to the empty spot at Arthur’s left, the one Gwen had sat in and which had remained empty since the table had been brought to the castle. “This place is Éadlufu, meaning Love.”
Arthur glanced at Lancelot and saw the longing in his eyes as he stared at the empty chair. Remorse twisted in Arthur’s gut.
Geoffrey went on, clockwise, naming the ‘gifts’ each placement was intended for. With each, Arthur’s conviction grew that the people at the table had not been randomly chosen or seated. Sósfœstnes, Fidelity, was Elyan’s place. Ellenweorc, Heroic Deed, was Gwaine’s.
Next Geoffrey indicated the spot in which he sat himself and with mild embarrassed said, “Rœsbora, Leader in thought.”
Geoffrey added Mœgen, Bodily Strength for Percival and everyone snickered.Scamu, Modesty and Aeoling, Chief Prince were Lancelot and Leon respectively.
Around the room, there were smirks and sincere nods, acknowledging the accuracy of each placement.
But after Leon, Geoffrey paused. “Many of these have various translations. It’s a complicated process.” He began to leaf through the pages as though to prove his point. “I went with the most consistent.” He took a deep breath and looked at Merlin, who was restless, squirming in his chair like an errant child, pink eared and biting his lip. Arthur was tempted to lay a hand on his shoulder. There was no question in Arthur’s mind that Merlin’s gift to the kingdom was valuable, whatever the name his placement had been given in years past.
“I –” Geoffrey shuffled through his papers again.”This marking, Sire. There was only one meaning that I could find.”
Arthur waved him along, impatient.
“That marking is Drylic - Magic.”
Geoffrey handed the parchment to Arthur, a circle with the words and translations in each spot.
On another day, he might have simply laughed at the thought of Merlin having magic. But his perception of the world around him was slowly being torn apart, eroded with each wave of truth that crashed against his convictions. Today it felt like he knew nothing at all for certain. When the time comes, forgive him, Hunith had asked. Arthur stared at Merlin, the frantic bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. His eyes were shut and he was shaking his head almost like a tremble, quick jittery movements. And Arthur knew.
Gwaine’s cough broke the silence and snapped Arthur out of his thoughts.
He needed to say something. It was only right to say something flippant, to blow off the weight of the accusation that if taken seriously would mean Merlin’s life. But all the words caught in his throat. He didn’t dare look away from Merlin, look at his knights and let them see the treason in his eyes.
“Council is dismissed,” he choked out at last, eyes falling to Geoffrey’s notes, the word Bargu and at its right hand, Drylic.
After a dozen heartbeats of dead silence, the room emptied in a flurry of noise. Merlin, the last of them, hovered. Arthur could feel the tension coming off him in waves, but he refused to look up from the parchment in his hand and the scratched words that turned his world upside down once more.
PART 2
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-31 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 12:48 am (UTC)Accioslash is a big Hunith fan, so I couldn't miss out on including her. And Arthur totally need a mom in this fic, even if only briefly. *pets him*
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-31 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 12:52 am (UTC)I adore the Round Table and those names!!! They are canon!!! Please let them come up in S4! Thank you! :)
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Date: 2011-01-31 11:36 pm (UTC)“Am I?” she said, her voice cracking as she picked up the bucket. “Am I really?” She spun on her heel, blinking wildly as she walked away.
I just gotta say before I read the next part, this fic and this bit in particular do Gwen such justice. I dislike how the writers of the show pigeonhole her as a romantic lead because she's the only non-evil woman in the middle of the sausage-fest that is Camelot, and rarely ever characterize her as any but that. And this line just really strikes a chord with me on that level, because Gwen isn't happy with it either.
So much love for your Gwen being a person with feelings instead of a convenient girlfriend. <3
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 12:58 am (UTC)I'm so glad that bit of dialogue stood out to you. I have many thoughts on this part of Gwen. I do feel like now that Lancelot is back she is a bit trapped. She's committed herself to Arthur and yet I think the show made it clear that she chose Lancelot, only... he didn't let her chose him. He took off and took the choice away. Which actually is a perfect set up for infidelity, (whether or not the show chooses to go there) because she is no longer able to marry simply based on love. And if Arthur knew that, I think he would want no part in that (as we saw in the ep with Elena).
er... tl;dr!!! sorry. Thanks for reading! :)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 12:23 am (UTC)I love the way you're dealing with Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot
I'm thrilled that stood out to you. It's a topic I wish was explored more as Lancelot and Gwen give writers a perfect way to show a bit of conflict in Arthur and a bit more intimacy with Merlin. The situation is complex.
Also, the names on the round table? Hello new head-canon.
I assume you saw the credit at the end of the fic that is actual canon? Which is just BRILLIANT and God, I hope we see it come up in S4!!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 05:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 12:30 am (UTC)Thank you so much. You hit the nail on the head with everything I was trying to accomplish here and even the little thinks like the horrifying concept of 20 more years of Uther's reign facilitated through magic. *shivers*
I'm just beyond chuffed that you got so much out of this.
♥♥♥
no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 12:08 am (UTC)I love what you did with the names on the round table. I was waiting with bated breath for the moment they got to Merlin's!
And Hunith! I really enjoy when she and Arthur interact in fanfiction and I felt this lovely, painful squeeze in my heart when she asks Arthur to forgive Merlin before the truth is known. ♥ sigh ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 12:33 am (UTC)This!!! so much! :)
Accioslash is a huge Hunith fan so there was no way I could leave her out of a fic. :) Thank you so much for your great comment. I'm totally beaming right now. <3
no subject
Date: 2011-02-03 01:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-10 04:06 am (UTC)YOU GENIUS.
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Date: 2011-03-12 01:38 am (UTC)I can't thank you enough. ♥♥♥
no subject
Date: 2011-03-01 04:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-12 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-09 08:55 pm (UTC)Great beginning! Reading the next part now :3
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Date: 2011-03-12 01:40 am (UTC)Glad you liked the small bit of payback to Morgana. *g*
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Date: 2011-03-12 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-14 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-14 07:40 pm (UTC)<3
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Date: 2011-09-21 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-10 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 07:38 pm (UTC)I'm loving this to bits and pieces so far, by the way.
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Date: 2012-01-10 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-10 04:52 pm (UTC)This eye opening moment was both sad and revealing: Uther petted his hair, half-asleep already. “You’re a good man, Arthur.” His voice was barely more than a breath as he added, “You were worth it.” This broken king is finally being open. It was a bittersweet way to almost get to the truth and having Merlin confirm that Morgause's vision was true was a blow.
Arthur was already reeling from that information when he discovered Gwen's feelings for Lancelot. Now he has to deal with Merlin's betrayal, too? The poor man doesn't have time to steady himself before something else shakes the foundations of his world. It's fantastic.
In all the exhaustion and drama, Merlin rooting through Morgana's belongings and seeing them dismantled is a cathartic bright note. She's mostly responsible for this chaos so it's great to see her things being used to bring the kingdom back together.
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Date: 2012-01-10 11:08 pm (UTC)Thank you!