Chapter Text
Merlin wheezed, slumping down at the top of the tower steps to get his breath back. Everything hurt, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. It was not a sharp pain, but the low grumble of a body pushed to the edge of endurance.
An afternoon had passed since Arthur had wrestled him into the weight harness, and already he hated it with a passion. At first it had been fine, but before long it had started to drag at him. He had not realised how exhausting it could be carrying around a few little lead blocks. Arthur had told him not to take the stairs too quickly, but it had slipped his mind. That was why he was breathing like a landed fish, trying to find the strength to regain his feet.
The door behind him opened and shut, and he briefly wondered if it was Gaius come to put him out of his misery. Except the voice that greeted him was wry and familiar, a little laugh hidden beneath its words.
'I bet you're thinking a few unflattering things about Arthur right now.'
He let his groan be Morgana's answer. He should get to his feet, at least. She was still a lady and he a servant, but he didn't have the energy. Instead, he stayed where he was, propped on his elbows with the edge of one of the steps digging into his spine. He heard the patter of Morgana's slippers and the rustle of her skirts, and when he opened his eyes, it was to find that she was perched on the stair down by his boots. Her green gaze watched him, but though they danced with mirth, there was also a thoughtful slant to her expression.
'I think he's trying to kill me,' Merlin complained, managing, with far more effort than he would like, to sit up. 'Slowly and painfully.'
Morgana leaned back against the wall, her dark curls cascading over the sumptuous fur that lay around her shoulders. She'd be getting her gown dusty, but she seemed not to care. Instead, she spoke carefully, as if feeling her way through the conversation.
'When I arrived at Camelot, having just lost my father, the court was full of sympathy. They had so many kind words to offer me, but I was devastated. Worse, I was now the ward of a man I hardly knew. Then, there was his son, who to me seemed spoilt and cruel.' She picked at her skirt before meeting Merlin's eye. 'Arthur never once said that he was sorry for my loss. That whole first week, he barely uttered a word to me. I thought he was trying to pretend that I didn't exist.'
Merlin could well believe it. He had no real notion of what Arthur had been like as a boy, but surely innocence would have meant he doted on his father and hung upon his every proclamation? He had been bad enough when Merlin met him, steeped in Uther's prejudice and indifference. How much worse had it been during his boyhood?
'But?'
'But...' Morgana's smile was soft and nostalgic. 'Eventually, he came to my room and gave me something. Everyone else offered me gems or furs or trinkets, trying to win my favour or appear worthy in Uther's eyes.'
Merlin leaned forward, wincing as his body squealed in complaint, but he ignored it. Morgana had his undivided attention now. 'What was it?'
'A practice sword.' A sharp, bright slice of a grin curved her lips. She and Arthur rarely spoke of their childhood together, but it was clear the memory was one she treasured. 'That, and his time. He was twelve summers old, a squire still, but he had been training since he could walk. He did not promise to keep me safe. He taught me how to do it for myself, even though his father would probably have thrashed him if he ever knew.'
She gestured to the harness hidden under Merlin's clothes. 'He has never been shown how to be affectionate, not really. Uther thinks such things are beneath a prince, but when Arthur is left to his own devices, it's how he shows people that he cares. He equips them, prepares them.... Makes sure they can stand on their own two feet.'
'He's torturing me because he cares?' Merlin raised one eyebrow. Somehow, he doubted that. After thinking about it for most of the day, he had decided Arthur was bored and lost, still baffling through what they'd found at the fort and Osgar's place in the whole mess. Merlin was someone he could control, and so he had become the unwilling centre of his attention.
Except that thought did not sit right with him. It didn't explain the way Arthur had looked at him as he'd strapped him into the harness, his gaze glittering with something Merlin couldn't pin down. Nor did it excuse how his hands had lingered, just for a moment, on Merlin's hips, his fingers warm and possessive.
'He's helping you learn how to protect yourself, should you ever need it.' Morgana smirked at him. 'Which, considering the trouble you often find yourself in, might not be a bad thing.'
It wasn't as if Merlin could argue with that. Most of his friends knew nothing about what he got up to while he was supposedly in the tavern. His normal life was riddled with him getting himself into difficulties, never mind his more secret, magical activities. 'I just wish it didn't hurt so much.'
Her laugh was gentle and musical, stripped of its usual mockery. Instead, it sounded almost fond, and Merlin mustered a lopsided grin.
'Can you stand?' She rose gracefully to her feet, leaving Merlin feeling like a lumbering bear in comparison. Arthur had been right, his thighs bore the worst of the ache, and something told him it would get worse before it got better. Still, he managed to clamber upright, shuffling his way into the healing rooms to deposit the bag of herbs he had retrieved for Gaius.
He would have loved to stay and chat, to breathe in the peace and let the familiarity settle him, but he did not even have time to perch on the bench before the evening bell rang.
'I'm sorry, Gaius. Arthur wants us all at the Miracle Court.'
'Do not fret, my boy, and thank you for this.' He patted a hand against the bulging pack. 'I was not looking forward to combing the icy woods for supplies.'
'I'll try and drop 'round tomorrow.' He sighed, his heart beating with a subtle ache. He had told Gaius of what the dragon had said, the day after he had learned the truth. His uncle had given him the time and space to speak of it, letting him work through some of his grief, halting and uncertain.
He had also promised Merlin he would write to his mother about Balinor. Merlin felt guilty for that; she should hear it from him, and yet he didn't have either the strength or the right words. Instead, his uncle relieved him of that particular burden.
He stepped forward, smiling when Gaius grunted in surprise at his embrace. A moment later, those old arms returned it, strong and sure.
'I would love to see you,' Gaius said at last. 'For now, however, you had best get going. And Merlin?'
'Yeah?'
'If that harness I can feel beneath your clothes starts to chafe, come to me. I have a balm I give to the squires when they first start trying to build their strength. It should make things easier.'
Merlin groaned before inclining his head. 'It's Arthur's idea. I'm hoping he'll get bored in a day or two.'
'I truly doubt you will be so fortunate.' Gaius patted his shoulder, his blue eyes fond as he urged him towards the door. 'Now, be off with you. And give my best to Lancelot and the others.'
'I will.'
Merlin stepped over the threshold, pausing in surprise when he saw Morgana waiting for him. He had thought she might make her own way to the Miracle Court. He stammered out an apology for keeping her, stopping only when she gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.
'Walk with me?' She could have made it a command, but there was something lighter in her tone than a mistress bossing about a servant. 'So far, Uther has found no suitable reason to keep me away from the Miracle Court, but I am not to go there by myself.' Morgana sniffed in disapproval. 'Never mind that the house lies only a stone's throw from the castle and is well within the High Town.'
'It can still be dangerous, my lady. Especially as the days grow darker. Perhaps the king is just looking out for you?'
Morgana's scathing expression was probably treasonous, and Merlin kept his own face carefully impassive. In Arthur's rooms, far from the court, he could be more honest about his thoughts. Here, where the walls had ears? He did not dare say a word out of place. Especially as Uther appeared colder and more vicious than ever – as if he knew Arthur was slipping out of his grasp and was happy to punish the entire kingdom for his own son's so-called rebellion.
Sometimes, he wondered if he had done the right thing by helping Lancelot become a knight. Then he thought about how much Arthur had changed in just a few short weeks, and he could not bring himself to regret it. It was as if all Arthur had really needed was to step out from his father's shadow. It was not that he became a new man, but rather that he had the space and freedom to truly be himself: a king that Albion would never forget.
'I can look after myself,' Morgana retorted, rolling her eyes before mustering a smile. 'Come on. We should hurry, or the others will eat without us.'
She quickened her pace, leaving him to match her stride or be left behind. Evening threw its cloak over the world, and he drew in a deep breath as he stepped into the courtyard, wondering if the scent of snow on the air was his imagination. At his side, Morgana shivered, shifting fractionally closer. If it were Gwen, Merlin would tuck himself against her shoulder to share a bit of warmth, but he did not dare. Instead, he walked a bit faster, then a bit faster still, making a game of it as Morgana gave a breathless little laugh and hurried to keep up.
They spilled into the Miracle Court through the front door, the two of them gasping in relief to escape the blade of the wind. The whole house smelled of warm, nourishing food, and Merlin's belly growled in furious approval.
'I'll go help Gwen bring up the plates,' Merlin decided, tilting his head towards the stairs that led up to Arthur's rooms. Already, he could make out the camaraderie of the knights and hangers-on: low voices and Mordred's boyish, piping tones. 'You might as well get by the fire and warm up.'
'That's an excellent idea. Don't drop anything.'
Morgana's teasing words trailed after him as he ducked into the kitchen. Though significantly smaller than the one in the castle, it carried that same bustling, hectic mood. Merlin had learned long ago that the best option was to keep out of the way until they were ready for him. Gwen had the same idea. It was tempting to step forward and help, but the hierarchy among the servants was just as strict as that of the nobility. It was not their place. Perhaps while they had been setting up the Miracle Court, allowances were made. Now the household was established, and they both knew not to depart from their roles.
'I meant to go and accompany Morgana,' Gwen murmured, chewing her lip and blowing a curl back from her face. 'She insisted I not trouble myself when I came here earlier today.'
'I made sure she was safe,' Merlin promised, frowning when Gwen gave him a sly, worried look. 'What?'
'You should be careful. I heard whispers in the laundry rooms.'
'What sort of whispers?'
Gwen sighed, her fingers twisting in the cloth of her skirt before she turned to face him. She folded her arms across her chest, and Merlin shifted forward. It was unlike her to look quite so worried, and when she spoke again it was in little more than a soft hiss, as if she didn't want her words to reach unkind ears.
'About you and the Lady Morgana. You've been seen in her company more than once. Alone. I don't just mean escorting her through the streets, either.' She reached out, her hand resting on the back of his arm. 'Merlin, you must be careful. You know how rumour is. There doesn't need to be any truth to it, and if Uther hears so much as a hint of impropriety...'
'I know.' He sighed, swallowing his excuses. Gwen wasn't the one who needed to hear them. Besides, she was right. Walking through the corridors with Morgana was one thing – and even then, she should be chaperoned – but sharing soft conversation on the stairs to Gaius' healing rooms was another. Perhaps nobody had seen them, but in Camelot, even the shadows had eyes. 'You won't get in trouble, will you?'
'No, but you might.' She reached out, straightening the collar of his jacket before offering him a smile. 'I just worry, that's all.'
Merlin wished there was something he could say to ease her concern. Worse, it wasn't as if Gwen was aware of the huge secret he carried with him every day: the death sentence waiting to happen. Her focus was on the machinations of court. They both knew all too well how easy it could be for a servant to fall victim to it. They had little in the way of rights or protections, and when it came down to it, their word was worth nothing to the king.
More to the point, there were very few nobles in Camelot who would trouble themselves with the plight of the serving class. They were meant to fend for themselves and pray they never fell under any sort of suspicion.
It made him think of Morgana's story– how Arthur showed he cared by seeking to let others stand on their own two feet. Perhaps he had the right idea in trying to build up Merlin's strength. Not just that of his body, but that of his character as well. Camelot's court was a bear pit even when things were normal. Now, with the king and prince at odds, it was thrice as treacherous.
And Arthur, in his own way, was preparing Merlin for whatever he may face as a result.
'I'll be more careful,' he promised, thinking of Uther the last time he had stood before him. There had been a harsh edge in those eyes, and when Merlin had turned to go, that voice had offered its warning: low and cold.
"If I find out you have been deceiving me, I will make sure you live to regret it."
Merlin had stammered something in response before making his escape, his body trembling. It was easy to forget, sometimes, just how ruthless Uther could be. Here, in the Miracle Court, he felt safe amidst friends that he trusted. Camelot as a whole was far more suspicious and far less forgiving.
'Ready!'
The call of the cook had him moving without thought, picking up trays and following Gwen up the stairs. They met Gwaine and Lancelot half-way, who both promised to aid them in the fetching and carrying.
'Don't eat it all before you get to the table,' Merlin called out, laughing as Gwaine pressed a hand to his heart as if stricken. 'Save some for the rest of us.'
'Can't make any promises, friend.'
Between the four of them, they made short work of it, and dinner was a noisy, graceless affair. They all sat at the round table, and it didn't slip Merlin's notice that they had each chosen a distinct seat of their own. It had taken time. Gwaine had shifted around twice before seeming to find the best spot, and Lancelot and Gwen had drifted together, but through Merlin's eyes, at least, they were where they belonged.
Arthur and Morgana had claimed their space and never moved from it. They sat on opposite sides, facing each other: held in balance. Mordred perched at Morgana's left, talking happily. The others had asked the druid boy, when he first joined them, if he could read the writing on the table. His denial had been both honest and surprising. Morgana showed no signs of recognition either, which made Merlin wonder why he and he alone could comprehend the meaning of the runes emblazoned in the wood.
Each one was more than just a word: they carried undertones and subtleties. Sometimes it felt like every time he looked at them, he saw a little more of their meaning. That was why, out of everyone, he had been more flighty in where he sat. He knew where he belonged: his body ached with it, but to take his seat there felt too much like a confession. Now, after a long day, he only had the strength for surrender.
Arthur didn't even blink when he sank down at his left hand. He merely shifted to make a bit more space and shoved three huge pieces of pheasant on his plate. 'Eat that, then have two more.'
'I'll be sick!'
'No, you won't. That harness won't help you get any stronger if you don't eat enough, and you can't afford to get any skinnier.'
'He's right,' Gwaine toasted Merlin with his flagon of mead. He sat to Mordred's left, setting his cup down on a rune that read "strength". At first glance, Merlin had thought it meant physical force and wondered at it. After all, Gwaine was a good knight, but he was no stronger than the rest of them. Yet it did not take him long to realise there was more to it than that. There was a flavour of devotion and an edge of daring heroism which seemed to fit the man perfectly. 'Eat your fill and then a bit more. Maybe in a month or two you'll look less like a strong wind might snap you in half.'
'I look fine,' Merlin grumbled, trying not to think of how often his mum had bemoaned his skinniness, even while they struggled to scratch together enough food to live. The memory of those hungry years made him reach for his fork as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him.
Lancelot and Gwen were talking among themselves: a shy back-and-forth that gained warmth with every moment. From what he could make out, they were speaking about Tom's forge. Lancelot listened, rapt, to Gwen's explanation of how she helped her father at the anvil. It was good, watching how she lit up at the attention, and even better was Lancelot's genuine interest. Merlin's romantic heart gave a happy surge to see two of his friends building something between them. It was soft and fragile yet, but he hoped it would grow in time.
Gwaine laughed at something Mordred said, while Leon and Arthur were sharing their thoughts on training that day. They would never admit it, but they were fretting over Pellinor's knee, which he had injured during a riding accident in the summer. Now, the cold caused the ache to rise up anew, and Merlin made a mental note to ask Gaius about it. Chances were Pellinor wouldn't go to the old healer voluntarily, but perhaps there was an elixir that would ease his discomfort.
It wasn't until all the plates were cleared that Arthur sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the pewter handle of his tankard in idle thought. All around the table, people leaned in, ever face intent as they waited for him to speak. There wasn't a soul among them who did not realise something had been amiss with Arthur since Colm's visit. Even Mordred looked hungry for news. Merlin was the only one who had any clue about it. Perhaps, between them, they could help Arthur find his way once more.
'I suspect many of you have questions.' Grim amusement coloured Arthur's tone, as if he knew they had all noticed and worried over his moods. 'I wish I had more than a sparse few answers to give you. If I'm honest, I've learned something that troubles me greatly, and I do not know how to proceed.'
'Something to do with Sir Colm's visit.' Leon stated it as fact, an anchor on which the rest of them could rely. In front of him, the rune for "duty" gleamed in the candlelight. Merlin's gaze traced its shape, feeling how it hummed against his magic, whispering to him of confidence and certainty. Leon had been raised in Camelot; he knew his place. Yet his oaths to the kingdom were not a chore. They were part of his character, making him steadfast and reliable to the man he deemed deserving of his loyalty. 'I noticed that you have been out of sorts since his departure.'
Arthur shifted, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling free a letter. He handed it over to Leon to read, talking all the while.
'We found Osgar dead after the raid at Bridgend. Whether he had taken part in the fight, I cannot be sure. I only know that he was ordered to infiltrate the bandits and send information back to Camelot. By my father's command.'
'Uther?' Surprise lay thick in Morgana's voice. 'That makes no sense. Why would he command a failed knight to play at spy?'
'I have no idea. He has people trained in espionage. I cannot be sure why he chose Osgar, and it puts into question how much my father may know about what was happening at Bridgend. Did he send me and a paltry patrol out to check when Osgar did not report back, or was he acting on some unknown information?' Arthur shook his head, taking a gulp of his drink before setting it down again. 'Was he already aware of Caludahn and the rogues who made it their home? I feel there is more to all this than I first believed, and I do not like the notion that he withheld the truth from me.'
'Much like you kept secrets from him.' Gwaine gave an apologetic shrug. 'You kept your mouth shut about which fort they were in, and the black powder. You mentioned nothing of that bastard Rýne.'
'For good reason. I considered confronting him over Osgar, but...' Arthur trailed off, propping his chin on his hand. The ring on his index finger gleamed in the candlelight. 'I do not think he would offer me the truth.'
Leon's chair creaked as he shifted, passing the note to Gwaine with barely a second thought. Morgana leant in, her green eyes sharp as she read over his shoulder, her frown deepening with every moment.
'Are we sure it was Uther who issued the command? The letter is written by Hoel. It does not bear the king's signature. Could Hoel have given the order, acting without your father's knowledge?'
'I suppose there's no way to be certain. Colm said Osgar went to Uther asking to be of aid to Camelot, and this is the result, but it is possible that Osgar never spoke with my father. However, if I ask Hoel...'
'No, that will not go well.' Lancelot propped one elbow on the table, his brow furrowed in thought. 'If he was obeying Uther's orders, he will no doubt report your questions to the king. It could worsen already noticeable tensions. If he acted alone, it would tip him off that we are aware of that fact and may make him act rashly.'
'When did Osgar leave Camelot?' Gwen arranged her cutlery more neatly upon her plate. When they had first started meeting like this, she had been hesitant to speak up. Now it warmed Merlin's heart to see her readily joining in their musings. 'How long has this been going on? Did he have time to report anything back before he met his fate?'
'We've been assuming he took that wound to the gut at Bridgend, but it could have been that the bandits knew they had a traitor in their midst. They may have been toying with him even as he tried to ingratiate himself.' Leon shrugged. 'Osgar was eager, sure enough, but he was an earnest, honourable sort. I do not see him taking to spy work with ease. Logically, it makes little sense to use an amateur.'
'Unless whoever gave the order did not want any record of it.' Merlin squinted, staring more at his own thoughts than anything in the room around him. 'If Uther used a proper spy, he would have to tell the spymaster. Worse, if they were discovered in Mercian territory –'
'It could inflame the already hostile situation.' Leon nodded along. 'He makes a good point, Sire. If your father ordered this, the choice of Osgar may have been for plausible deniability with Bayard. He could say Osgar acted alone – that he'd genuinely gone to join with the bandits. If it was Hoel, then it's far easier to trick an eager, would-be knight into "helping" than it is to try and use one of the proper spies. The risk of discovery would be too great.'
'So the real question is: did your father really order Osgar off to Caludahn, or was it his manservant working alone?' Morgana mused.
'And how do I even begin to find that answer?' Arthur ran his hand back through his hair, looking up at the ceiling as if praying for enlightenment. 'I cannot sit around and wait for the next calamity to befall Camelot. Not if I can prevent it, but I can see neither the shape nor size of what awaits us. Nor am I sure who is involved. I only fear that something is coming – something we may be ill-prepared to fight.'
Merlin met Gwen's eye over the table, wondering if she was thinking along the same lines as him. To the nobles, servants were practically interchangeable; most of them treated the help like part of the furniture. They forgot they were their own people, with rich lives and plentiful secrets. Hoel was an arrogant man of late middle-age, prone to flashy clothes and a sneering attitude. He also ranked highest of everyone, being manservant to the king. Perhaps if he were more pleasant, he would be better liked, but that was not the case. There were plenty among the staff who would be happy to bring him down a peg or two.
'I could search Hoel's rooms –'
'No.' Arthur's refusal was blunt and almost instantaneous. He scrubbed a hand down his face... 'You're already too much of a target. Perhaps another servant – one who isn't associated with the Miracle Court.'
'And how do you know you would be able to trust them?' Merlin demanded. 'Half of them hate Hoel, true enough, but they're also scared of him. Besides, most of the chambermaids can't read. They won't know what they're looking at even if it was staring them in the face.'
It was a good point. Most of Camelot's lower servants weren't taught their letters. He and Gwen were unlikely exceptions.
'If you get caught...' Gwen raised both her eyebrows, speaking volumes without uttering a word. She didn't need to. It would not end well for Merlin. Hoel had the ear of the king: his accusation would carry weight.
'The chances are good that he'll just think I'm stealing. The fact that Uther knows I'm not getting paid might back that up. Besides –' He carried on before anyone could point out that a servant accused of theft was still in a world of trouble. '– If he is up to something and he catches me, he won't report it. He won't want to draw attention to himself. Not if he's trying to hide what he's up to from the king.'
Doubt wrote itself on every face around the table. Even Mordred looked pale at the possibilities. Gwaine drummed his fingers in a rapid tattoo, the spark of mischief in his gaze notably diminished. 'I'd say someone of rank should do the rummaging, since that'd at least protect them from what came after, but I'm guessing that's out of the question?'
Arthur sighed. 'If I didn't care about keeping my suspicions quiet, I could conduct an official raid on Hoel's rooms, but I would rather this didn't get back to my father. Discretion is the best course, and Merlin is right. A servant raises fewer eyebrows.'
'I'll do it.' Gwen raised her hand awkwardly, pursing her lips tight, but there was a vein of iron in her spine that Merlin had long ago learned to respect. 'Hoel likes me better than Merlin, since I've never actually insulted him to his face. Besides, I sometimes help out the chambermaids with changing the bedsheets. If I'm discovered, it won't be so bad.'
'Are you sure, Gwen? I don't want you getting hurt.' Morgana's hands were white knuckled around the edge of the table.
'Why don't you both go?' Lancelot looked at Merlin, his shoulders shifting in a shrug. 'The two of you carrying out chores won't raise many eyebrows, and you'll have each other as backup. No knight works alone. I don't see why it should be any different for you.'
'Lancelot is right.' Leon leaned forward, his chair creaking softly. 'If nothing else, it would do you well to have someone standing watch. Perhaps there's a way we can make discovery less likely? A distraction? What is likely to catch Hoel's attention?'
Merlin considered the vain, spiteful man, and the answer was obvious. Gwen clearly had the same thought, because they spoke at the same time. 'Trouble in the laundry room.'
Gwen grinned at him, and though she still looked nervous, a glow of intrigue sparkled in her eyes. She continued in a hurry. 'Hoel fusses over his own clothes almost as much as those of the king. Most of his wages go on fine garments. The laundresses hate it.'
'All we need is a bit of an accident.' Merlin nodded. 'I'll see what favours I can call in. They like me down there. They'll help, and they probably won't ask any questions.'
'My father is holding a feast at the week's end,' Arthur added slowly. 'Mistakes happen in a busy room, especially when half the court is clamouring for clean finery.' He drew in a deep breath, his scowl making it clear he did not like the plan but could not think of a better alternative. 'All right. We find out how Hoel is involved in all this, and we go from there. But listen to me, both of you. At the first sign of trouble, get out. Don't linger. Do not take any risks.'
Merlin met Gwen's eyes across the table, knowing they were of the same mind. One way or the other, they would find the answers Arthur needed.