Chapter Text
The oppressive weight of the court stood at their backs. Merlin shifted, wishing he could do his usual trick and hide himself in the masses. They had arrived home in Camelot after days of hard riding. They were cold and exhausted, beaten down by all they had seen and burdened by their mysteries. Merlin wanted good food, a hot bath and the comforts of his bed. Not necessarily in that order. Instead, he waited three paces behind Arthur, Leon and Lancelot, trying to portray the mien of a dutiful servant as they made their report to the king.
Normally, such things were conducted without an audience. Today the whole damn court was in attendance. It made Merlin's heart ache for the families of those knights who had fallen. This was the first they would hear of their fate. The news would not be delivered tenderly and in private, but laid out for all the nobility of Camelot. Was that what Uther really wanted, or was he so overwhelmed by his desire to call Arthur to heel that he could not see the implications?
More likely, to Merlin's mind, he simply did not care.
At least they had been able to leave Mordred back at the Miracle Court. Gwen had stepped up, happy to get him settled. Mordred had seemed relieved, content to stay out of harm's way. Gwaine could have remained there too, except that he was just as stubborn as Merlin had first suspected. He had dismissed Arthur's suggestion almost before it left his lips, shaking his head in blunt refusal.
Nobody could exactly argue with his reasoning. He was the one who had discovered the patrol, after all, though whether Uther would ask for Gwaine's account. Already, those silver eyes raked their dusty, exhausted party. He had not even offered Arthur a chance to make himself presentable. A messenger had found them the moment they walked through the gate, demanding they present themselves in the throne room. Now, Merlin struggled not to grimace at his aching feet as he listened to Arthur deliver his report.
Whatever other lessons Uther may or may not have taught his son over the years, this was one he had learned well. He had a way of speaking the truth while leaving the details in shadow, glossing over some things while putting others on stark display. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed that the court were practically eating out of their prince's hand, hanging on his every word. It was a delicate balance. He knew Arthur hoped to alert his father to potential problems on the border without inciting further tensions.
He mentioned lawless bandits turning their coats to stir up trouble, but he maintained his silence on Rýne, his magic, and the black powder. He spoke of their defence of Bridgend, the loss of the people and how it had led them to where the raiders made their nest, yet he did not mention the old fort by name.
'And the patrol? Those knights were volunteers eager to assist you.'
Merlin chewed on his tongue. He might loathe Uther for all that he had done, but that simple statement had seemed true enough. Most of those they had found dead, he didn't know well, but Gedric...
He swallowed, the words around him taking on a tinny quality as memory assailed him. He had been both more and less than a friend. Someone to share his body and just a little bit of his heart. It hadn't been much. Two or three times, maybe. Greedy hands and eager desire. Still, you learned things of people when you shared their bed, and Gedric had been one of those men who believed in duty: young and naive. Too new a knight to have developed that wary edge to his thinking.
Now, Arthur's voice grew softer, his compassion painfully genuine, as if he knew how his next explanation would cut at some people in the room. 'We received reports while we were in Bridgend of trouble on the road. We departed immediately. We do not know what befell the knights you sent, but there were no survivors.'
They were such delicate words for what they had found. Merlin felt them ripple through the crowd. A tide of whispers arose at their backs, but Uther remained impassive on his throne, those features carefully controlled. One hand curled over his mouth, and that pallid gaze watched Arthur over his knuckles. His brow furled into a scowl, but there was no explosion of temper. Instead, his next words were honed knives, designed to wound.
'Five good knights. Dead. All because you failed to follow my orders.'
'Sire –'
'You were to scout and report back, not to involve yourself, but you knew better. Worse, you required help, and in doing so, you have cost us a great deal.'
Merlin clenched his jaw tight. It was that or spit out a protest: something that would probably get him flogged for his trouble. That Uther could sit there and offer up such bald-faced lies! As if he were not the one who had sent Arthur off with only two knights to his name in the first place, and then dispatched too few with too little experience as back up.
He wished he could believe that those at court were not so easily fooled. Some, he knew, would see through Uther's untruths, but there were many who followed him blindly. They would take him at his word, despite all evidence to the contrary, because they could not imagine questioning their king.
Gwaine's spine was like an iron bar, his shoulders stiff with his own disbelief. At least he had the common sense to hold his tongue, but even from this angle Merlin could see he was seething on Arthur's behalf. This had to be an eye-opening insight into the current politics of Camelot, and Merlin pitied him for it. Lancelot and Leon were doing their best to remain impassive, their outrage writ small and subtle. It made itself clear in the way Leon clenched his hands together behind his back while Lancelot's stance shifted in Arthur's direction: all mute support.
Yet it was Arthur himself who caught Merlin's eye. His posture had not changed in the slightest, though the injustice of his father's accusations must sting. He held his head high, and his shoulders were straight but loose beneath his dusty chainmail. When he spoke, his tone was carefully edited to remove any hint of anger that might cause offence.
'As their commander, the responsibility for the deaths of the men lost on their way to Bridgend must lie with me. However, I cannot regret the act of asking for assistance to protect a border town that was decimated by a raid.'
'And yet, by your own report, you have removed the threat. The bandits no longer have their nest. They will not linger.'
'A garrison, even a small one, would have offered the people some much-needed security.'
'If they wished for security, they could move themselves to the citadel and pay the required taxes.' Uther's tone was final: the slice of an indifferent blade. His robes rustled as he rose from the throne, descending the dais until he stood in front of Arthur. They were of a height, but the wealth of his garments and the crown banding his brow gave Uther more presence, making him loom. When he spoke again, his words were softer, meant for Arthur's ears alone, though Merlin could just about make out what he was saying.
'You will see to it that the families of the lost knights are notified of their fate and compensated accordingly. Since the fault is yours, the coin will come from your own coffers. I hope that there is a lesson for you in all this, Arthur. One, perhaps, where you recall your place.'
Uther swept past, his stride unhurried as he made his departure. Around them, the court broke out into whispers, the nobles abandoning their watchful silence as they talked among themselves. Somewhere, Merlin could hear a woman sobbing softly, and his heart gave a heavy pang for her grief. Her feelings were something he could not ease. Arthur's on the other hand...
Yet before he could so much as twitch, he saw how Leon, Lancelot and Gwaine abandoned their poise, shifting around Arthur in a protective huddle. It didn't pass his notice that they also left space for Merlin, a gap between Lancelot and Gwaine that he filled without hesitation.
'That was bullshit,' Gwaine murmured, his voice low so as not to carry to anyone else, but by no means lacking in certainty. 'Every word of it. You know none of the blame lies with you, right?'
Arthur tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. For the first time, his mask slipped, and Merlin winced to see the hints of broken exhaustion that lined those features. It did not matter if what Uther had said was just another brutal manipulation of public opinion, there was part of Arthur – still desperate to please his father – that took it to heart.
'The truth matters little when it comes to politics.' Arthur sighed, shaking himself like a dog flinging off water. 'Enough of this. There's plenty to be done, but we can at least take the time to wash away the dust from the road. Let's get to the Miracle Court. And Merlin?'
'Yes, Sire?'
'I have no doubt my father will call on you. Tell him whatever you think he may want to hear.'
Merlin pursed his lips, sorely wishing he could turn Uther into a frog instead, but he reluctantly inclined his head. 'Anything I should know?'
'Right now, what matters most is that he does not looks too closely at Mordred, nor the circumstances in which we found him. Just do what you can.'
'Have you been picking up strays?' Morgana's voice drifted through the air, all courtly poise. Only the wicked sparkle in her gaze gave anything away as she took in Gwaine with a doubtful eye.
'Morgana, this is Gwaine. He was invaluable in the defence of Bridgend. Gwaine, this is Lady Morgana. Uther's ward.' That last was said with a heavy hint of warning, and Gwaine placed his hand over his heart as if offended. He did at least bow, but there was no mistaking the wink he cast in Morgana's direction.
'An honour, my lady.'
'Of course it is.' She insinuated herself a careful, chaste distance from Arthur's side. The knights fell back instinctively, giving the illusion of privacy. Even Gwaine did it without any apparent thought, as if such courtly manners were instinct, only half-forgot. Merlin lingered a little closer: an unnecessary chaperone. 'I need to speak with you at the Miracle Court. There are things you should know.'
'Has our father requested a meal this evening?'
'No. Nor is he likely to do so.'
'Then you and Guinevere should dine with us there tonight, assuming whatever you want to share can wait? I should bathe, at least.'
'Truer words have never been spoken.' Morgana gave her nose an elegant little wrinkle, looking over her shoulder at Merlin with a grin. 'You'll have to do it without Merlin's help, though. Gaius has been worried while you have been gone. I have to get more of my sleeping tonic anyway, and I intend to bring him to his uncle to ease his mind. I'm sure you can spare him for an afternoon.'
Arthur sighed, giving Merlin what he thought was a deeply unnecessary glare before inclining his head. 'A candle-mark. No more. We need you back at the house.'
Morgana beckoned him with the crook of one finger. He just heard Gwaine's wistful murmur of "lucky sod" before Morgana led him off down one of the corridors, her stride far more swift than elegant.
'Is everything all right, my lady?' It was not that he didn't believe her claims – Gaius was known to worry – but he would normally find Merlin himself. 'Is Gaius hurt? Ailing?'
Morgana stopped, her skirts swirling as she turned to face him, eager to offer reassurance. 'No, nothing like that. Though you're not wrong to think I might have an ulterior motive. I know how Arthur is. He will gloss over the truth in the name of my "feminine sensibilities." What he is doing? What he has already done?' She paused, drawing in a deep breath. 'It's given me hope for the future. I do not wish to be on the outside looking in, picking up scraps of information from him and hearing nothing but lies from Uther. I want to be a part of it!'
She sighed, pressing her fingertips briefly to her brow before dropping her arm back to her side. 'I was hoping that you, at least, would be honest with me.'
Merlin smiled, resisting the urge to reach out and rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder. To do so would be a thousand miles beyond the bounds of propriety, and he did not need that sort of trouble. Yet Morgana was like Arthur in some ways: isolated by her rank and by the pedestal Uther had built for her. Gwen was as much her friend as her servant, but he could see how she hungered for more. She was not the type of woman content to be an ornament at court. She had already proven that much.
He shifted his shoulders in a shrug and offered her a crooked grin. 'What do you want to know?'
Morgana's smile could have lit up the whole kingdom, creasing the corners of her eyes as they walked side-by-side. Here, in the narrower corridors approaching the healing rooms, there were fewer people to witness their camaraderie. Merlin still kept a touch of respectful distance, if only because the other servants would not hesitate to gossip, but they were close enough that Morgana could speak softly.
'Is he all right? Truly? I heard bits and pieces of gossip about what happened at Bridgend. It sounded like a messy business.'
'There were no real injuries, though that was mostly thanks to Gwaine. They fought well, but he got in the way of a blow meant for Arthur.'
'Ah, perhaps that explains it. Is he Arthur's latest knight?'
Merlin huffed a laugh. 'Not yet, but he's a step closer than he was. He's not much of a fan of nobles, despite the fact he probably was one, once. I believe he's still making up his mind about Arthur.'
'And Camelot itself is not exactly a gleaming beacon of honour.' Her lips pursed tight. 'I tried to reason with Uther as best I could about the patrol, but he did not listen. I don't think he wanted to hear it.'
That was no surprise. 'Arthur was furious when we found them. Five knights with barely a year of service under their belts, if that? All of them slain. How did Uther even justify it?'
'He claimed it would be good experience and that a smaller party could reach Bridgend more swiftly.' Morgana pulled a face. 'His reasons were sound enough, and it helped that we were already a number of knights down. Uther intensified patrols along the eastern border as soon as you left. Perhaps at first glance it was a coincidence, but...'
She bowed her head before glancing his way. 'Maybe I am too cynical. It was almost as if he was making sure there were no one available to help Arthur should he call upon them.' She waved an elegant hand as if to dismiss her own words. 'I have no proof of that, of course.'
'Just a feeling?' Merlin nodded. He would not put it past Uther to give himself plausible deniability to the court. It was a dangerous game: a bid to exercise control, maintain his approval among the nobility and put Arthur in his place.
At the moment, Uther's desire to cling to power overruled any concerns for his dynasty. It was a short-sighted path to take, and Merlin hated how this whole mess had tangled into such a wretched, political snarl. All he had wanted to do was give Arthur some support in a court that so often left him to stand alone. Now it had ended up a vicious, petty little war between the kingdom's monarch and its prince. 'Maybe I should never have asked Arthur to make Lancelot a knight.'
'Don't.' Morgana's hand rested on his arm, light and fleeting. It was a whisper of physical contact, there and gone again, but it was enough to get his attention. 'I have watched Uther hammer out all that was good and kind in Arthur until what was left was a picture of perfect duty. I used to fear for this kingdom and what it would become when he finally came to the throne. Now, for the first time, I actually have hope.
'You've given Arthur something to aim for other than his father's approval, which has always been an impossible goal.' She paused at the bottom of the steps to Gaius' tower room, her gaze soft. 'You've offered him a chance to show that there is a good man under all that bluster. I wanted to thank you for that.'
'It was nothing, my lady.'
'I doubt that.' She raised one dark eyebrow before she trotted up the narrow stairs. Merlin followed her, thinking about how Arthur wasn't the only person who had changed since all this started. Back in the spring, Morgana had been like an effigy, pale and glassy. Now, it was as if she had stepped out into the sunlight once more.
He recalled her vivid dreams about Sofia, the Sidhe who had tried to sacrifice Arthur, and Gaius' quiet suspicions that Morgana had magic of her own. He had warned Merlin not to utter a word of it, claiming it was likely not even Morgana herself knew of her power, and he had grudgingly held his silence.
Now, between the shifting politics of Camelot and the beguiling presence of the Miracle Court, he wondered if the truth would find its way out. He had never seen Morgana as comfortable in her own skin as when she lingered in the house that had once been Ygraine's. It was as if she were peeling off a mask to reveal what lay beneath. With Mordred in attendance, openly magical and accepted by Arthur and his knights, would things change all the more?
Would there come a day when Morgana felt she could accept what she was and Merlin no longer had to hide?
'I've brought you a visitor, Gaius.'
Morgana stood aside with a flourish, and Merlin grinned as he found himself enveloped in Gaius' arms. The familiar scent of herbs washed over him, and for the first time in days, he relaxed. This room had been a sanctuary to him for months before they ever discovered the Miracle Court. Now, he soaked up the comfort on offer, letting it ease the jagged edges of his nerves.
'My boy.' Gaius eased back, giving him a probing sort of look. 'Some of the stories we have heard... Sit, eat something. Tell me what happened at Bridgend.'
'I will let you two catch up,' Morgana said softly, accepting the small vial Gaius offered her with a smile. 'I shall see you later at the Miracle Court, Merlin.'
'Of course, my lady.' He smiled as she departed, only to blink in confusion at the rather judgemental arch of Gaius' eyebrow. 'What?'
'Have a care, my boy. Uther would not hesitate to punish someone he thought had compromised Morgana's virtue.'
Merlin spluttered at that, trying to ignore how hot his ears felt. 'There's been no compromising!'
'Of course not.' There was something faintly insulting about Gaius' dismissal, but he carried on before Merlin could protest. 'You know that is not the way of the court. Truth matters little. It is what people believe that holds the most sway. Now.' He went to the pot bubbling over the fire, doling out some sort of stew that made Merlin's stomach roar in approval. 'Tell me of your travels. What happened at Bridgend?'
Gaius listened attentively as Merlin told him of the town and the raid. He did not utter a word until he mentioned the man who had died of a sword to his gut. Then, his expression folded in sympathy, as if he understood how much that one failing would have bothered him. He wasn't wrong in that regard. The memory stole up on him at odd times – the slick of blood under his hands and the light fading from the man's eyes. Every healer acknowledged that they could not save everyone, but that didn't make the truth any easier to bear.
'You did well, Merlin,' Gaius promised him. 'Some things cannot be helped and some wounds cannot be healed.'
'He'd come to help the town. He lived outside the walls, apparently. They knew his name, at least. Balinor.'
Across the table, Gaius froze like a deer caught in the archer's sights, that old head cocked to one side. 'Did you say "Balinor"? A man a bit shorter than you? Stocky build? Dark hair?'
'Greying, but... yes. I suppose so. Did you know him?'
Gaius' breath left him in a shivering rush as he slumped where he sat, looking into the remnants of the stew as if he could divine the secrets of the world from the gravy. 'I once knew someone by that name, and it is not one I have heard before or since. During the height of the Purge, it was not only sorcerers that Uther put to the axe or flame. Anyone he deemed even adjacent to magic was in danger. There used to be men and women known as Dragonlords. They had the ability to speak to dragons – to control them. In Uther's mind, they were a threat.'
Merlin bowed his head. He did not need to ask what had happened to them; he could imagine. He thought of Kilgharrah locked up in his cavern and wondered who, exactly, had put him there.
'There was one who I aided in his escape. He was compassionate, kind: a good soul. There were so few I could help. I was too lacking in courage – complicit in my silence.' Gaius' gaze held the far away look of a man lost in his own regrets, and Merlin's hand twitched against the tabletop. Gaius did not speak of the Purge often, and when he did, it was always with the same, distant tone, as if he were there, locked in the past, rather than sitting in front of Merlin.
'I do not know where he went, nor how he lived. As far as I am aware, he was the last of his kind. If it was, indeed, the same man who gave his life in defence of Bridgend...' His sigh was soft, a mournful whisper, and when he met Merlin's gaze the glimmer of tears nestled behind his lashes. 'There are times when I wonder if it will ever be possible for magic to recover from the Purge. Since Arthur broke with his father and moved to the Miracle Court, I had found something like hope, but...'
Merlin wet his lips, scraping his spoon around his bowl to scoop up the last of the gravy. He had not realised how hungry he was until Gaius had set it in front of him. 'When the dragon down in the cavern said about Arthur uniting all Albion, I couldn't begin to believe it. I'd just met him, and he was nothing but a prat.'
'Are you saying your opinion has changed?'
Merlin snorted. 'Yes and no. He's still a prat, but then I think of what he's done since the summer: he's stood up to his father about the First Code, opened up the Miracle Court, accepted its magic...' He thought, too, of Mordred, but some instinct urged him to silence on that matter. It was not that he did not trust Gaius, but he did not want to rouse his fear. 'I would never have believed that could be possible. He proved me wrong.' His shoulders twitched in a shrug. 'I'm just saying that there's cause for hope. More than there has been before. Magic might still find its way back.'
Gaius gave him a fond look across the table. 'You know, from what you told me the dragon said, he never mentioned magic.'
'No, but I don't think you can "unite all Albion" while still chopping off people's heads for casting spells. The dragon didn't just mean the lands; he meant the people, too.'
'I pray that you are right, my boy.' Gaius reached across the table, patting the back of his hand gently. 'And who knows, perhaps the man who died in Bridgend was a different Balinor and the last Dragonlord still lives on. Speaking of which, have you had any more discussions with our scaly friend of late?'
Merlin grimaced, because if he was honest, he had been avoiding the dragon at every possible opportunity. There was something about the beast that made him wary – an instinct that warned him Kilgharrah's words could not always be taken at face value. He had his own motives for his actions, and Merlin could never quite shake the feeling that Kilgharrah saw him as little more than a pawn in some great game.
'He's a bit of a last resort,' he admitted, 'but I think I'll have to speak with him soon. He seems to have answers to pretty much everything.'
'But are they answers you can trust?'
Merlin sighed. 'They're all I've got.' He set the bowl aside, taking a quick glance around the healing rooms. 'Do you need help with anything? I should probably get back to Arthur, but I can spare a bit of time...?'
Gaius waved him off, amused, as if he had always known that having an apprentice would be a temporary arrangement. 'I am glad to see you have all returned to us in one piece, my boy. As for the work in here, I have it in hand. I'll warn you if that changes. Be off with you.'
He uttered a cheerful farewell, plucking open the door and loping down the stairs, his mind full of Arthur, the knights and the Miracle Court. He wondered how Mordred was settling in and hoped that the place didn't make his power that much harder to hide. The trip to Bridgend may have been a trial, but Merlin's magic had settled in him once more, no longer a fizzing, surging force beneath his skin, but something he could live with. Would it start to misbehave again once he was back in those four walls, or would matters have improved?
He was so lost inside his own head that he did not notice the knight striding towards him. Instead, a gauntleted fist caught in his tunic, slamming him none-too-gently into the wall and holding him there. Merlin's curse of complaint fell on deaf ears, and he scowled into the face of Sir Locke, his right hand wrapped around his wrist as he tried to pull himself free.
'You're called before the king, boy.' It was a brittle snap of a command, all teeth, and Merlin knew he shouldn't talk back. Some of the knights were always looking for an excuse, and nobody would bat an eye if one of them struck a servant. Still, he had never been the best at keeping his mouth shut.
'You could have just asked like a normal person.' He winced as Locke snarled, shaking him like a rat before shoving him gracelessly along the corridor.
'Move. You've kept His Majesty waiting long enough.'
Merlin glared over his shoulder, straightening his tunic and wincing at the bruises he could feel blooming across his skin. This was the kind of knight Uther favoured: bullies and brutes. They married with his idea that anything worth claiming was won by force, and more to the point, they followed him blindly and without question. In theory, every knight was Camelot's, but in practice there was a clear and subtle division of loyalties, these days, and those that sided with Uther were ruthless to say the least.
So it was that he made his way through the castle, his mind awhirl and his heart high in his throat. It was no surprise. He had known this was coming; he just wished he'd had a bit more time. Now, rather than returning to the sanctuary of the Miracle Court, he marched straight into the lion's den.
He could only hope that he made it out unscathed.