Trials | Merlin FanFiction (Merthur)

Chapitre Dix

One month later, and the ice was thawing, the snow was more of a weekly thing than a daily thing--and Merlin was never going to take Camelot's generally mild winters for granted again, not when there was still plenty of winter left to go sour--and it was time to find out who had responded to Arthur's call.

The stand of trees was well away from Camelot, and from prying eyes, but that didn't mean that there weren't spies. They rode into the clearing cautiously, Arthur first and flanked by Merlin on his right and Lancelot on his left.

Immediately they had the full attention of the gathered knights, and more than a few men at arms. Merlin couldn't really count them, they were moving around too much, but there looked to be well over fifty--far more than Arthur had anticipated attracting. He heard the whispers, "that's the wizard," "I would never have thought," "wouldn't think Arthur would allow it," "he doesn't look like much," and straightened his back defiantly, trying not to show his nervousness. On Arthur's other side, Lancelot looked grim and forbidding, hand resting on his sword hilt.

"Thank you for coming," Arthur said, chin up and shoulders square. He looked like a prince, Merlin thought, and tried to banish the thought before he could feel any admiration. Arthur would never let him hear the end of it if he got all soppy. "I--appreciate the loyalty that you show me, and I know the danger that you face in order to be here. I know you love Camelot as I do, and wish only for her prosperity and security. I did not desire to follow this course, but I have no other choice. I am glad," and Arthur dropped his voice, looking around, "that I will make this fight with you at my back and at my side."

Gawain stepped forward, on foot, and walked without any hesitation to face Arthur. Arthur dismounted and tossed Merlin his reins, then gave him his hand, and Gawain kissed it, knelt and drew his sword, held it out to Arthur between his hands. The blade seemed to glimmer in the dim, thin winter light.

"I pledge my sword to and to your service, my lord, for the rest of my life," Gawain said, low but steady, and Arthur bowed his head and laid a hand on Gawain's sword, closing his palm around the blade.

"I accept your sword into my service," he said, and then touched his palm, whole and unmarked, to Gawain's head. "And I thank you for it."

One by one, the men stepped forward, knelt, and swore, and Arthur accepted their oaths. Merlin mumbled under his breath, searching for dishonesty, searching for treachery, but there was none that he could find. Lancelot was like stone beside Arthur, but when Merlin glanced over, he thought he saw wetness on his face, and his eyes glittered.

With the knights recruited to the cause, the pace of preparation accelerated. Men still came most days to join Arthur, and sometimes with them came the supplies an army needed: weapons, food, clothing, horses. Arthur had councils of war with Brydain and other Druid leaders who came to the town--Warleggen, as Merlin learned it was called--as well as Lancelot, almost every day. The town was a whirl of activity, of movement, noise and energy, far different from the sleepy hungry quiet Merlin remembered from winters in Ealdor.

Lancelot continued to train the Druids in the art of warfare and combat, and Arthur took over instructing the knights and the soldiers from Camelot. They needed to be housed, and Brydain ceremoniously allowed them to share barracks-space in his Great Hall. No squires had come with them, for the most part, and so a few youths from the villages were asked to come and assist them. But for the most part, the knights took care of their own gear and mounts, with moderate amounts of good-natured grousing and reminiscences of their own squire days .

Merlin, meanwhile, prepared in his own way.

Merlin pulled up the hood of his cloak a little more securely, muttered his spell a last time, and stepped out into the crowd of the market. It didn't matter how many times he did this, he always felt like he was wearing a sign, but as always no one else seemed to notice, and no one seemed to recognize him. Still, he felt oppressed and nervous, the stone towers of the castle looming over him. Camelot felt bleaker and more barren every time he came, the pyres sometimes still smoking.

They hung suspected traitors now, people thought to be conspiring with Arthur as well as sorcerers. Arthur's face had gone white when Merlin had returned from one of his trips to break that bad news to him. He'd waved Merlin away, face twisted slightly, and Merlin had lowered his head and gone without comment, made sure the door was latched and locked behind him, and deliberately didn't listen to the rough, raw sounds that came through the wood.

He could feel Arthur back at Warleggen, tense and anxious, waiting for him to come back. That gift had come a week after the arrival of the knights in Warleggen, the first time he'd returned to Camelot alone. He'd been a day away from Warleggen when the awareness washed over him, Arthur worrying, affection and concern wrapped up together until Merlin couldn't find the seams between them. The sudden connection was startling, and he'd almost fallen off the horse.

Since then he'd felt it whenever he and Arthur were parted, and it was starting to feel almost normal to have Arthur's regard tucked into the back of his head.

He sidled up to the guards at the main gate, waited until they were distracted by a man with a donkey loaded with sacks, and slipped in behind their backs, walking as quiet and careful as he could. He waited to hear the shouts, as he always did, but none came, as they always didn't, and involuntarily he relaxed a bit.

The castle was exactly as he remembered it. Merlin hurried through the corridors, filled with scurrying servants with blank, pinched faces who didn't pay any attention to him, spell or no spell. He'd started going back to Camelot when he'd pointed out--in an epic argument that lasted most of a day and ended with two broken dishes and Arthur's riding boots set on fire--that Arthur himself had said that they needed information. They had to know what Uther and Aelfric were planning, how many men they had, how well supplied they were, and what the response from other kingdoms had been to the civil unrest in Camelot.

So Merlin had gone back, had brought Arthur information as well as money, the crucial gold and silver that Arthur used to pay the Druids for the hard-earned crops and horses that were flowing into Warleggen and the surrounding hamlets, given generously but still irreplaceable and precious. He couldn't train men, and there was only so much magic he could practice before he frightened the horses and the men equally, and Arthur was doing most of his own chores now to show solidarity with his men. But he could spy, slipping in and out of Camelot like a breeze, listening, watching, snooping around.

"I won't get caught, don't worry," Merlin had told Arthur, reassuringly. Arthur had snorted, and sat down, his body language indicating surrender.

"Fine," Arthur said at last, grudgingly. "I suppose if anyone's experienced at snooping where they don't belong," he added with dark amusement, "it would be you."

"Oy!" Merlin had chucked a piece of broken crockery at him, and was rewarded with Arthur's smile, rueful and small but real, and that had been that.

But that wasn't what he was here for now.

Merlin founds the stairs that led down and followed them, fast and quiet, ready.

The dungeons were cool but not more so than the castle, deep in the earth. Merlin slipped across paving stones worn smooth with age, the darkness flickering with torches, following the sound of men and dice.

He rounded the corner, saw the guards bolt to their feet in surprise, hands going to their swords as the table crashed to the floor, and raised his hands. "Draethen," he said fiercely, and they were flung back against the wall, two of them crying out in pain as their backs cracked ominously against stone, swords clanging as they dropped to the ground. On man slumped unconscious, bleeding from the head. The fourth landed against a light sconce and crumpled to the ground, blood pooling under his motionless form.

Merlin ignored them all, stepped over the body and didn't look at them men cringing in fear, moaning in pain; he stepped past them, reached up and blasted the lock of the dungeon open with sheer raw anger, the ancient rusty metal shattering under the force of it.

A huddled form in the corner of the cell didn't move.

"Gaius," he said, voice breaking just a little, and the form stirred, moved slowly. Merlin stepped further into the cell, and helped Gaius stand, the lined face discolored with bruises, manacles tight on his wrists.

"Merlin," Gaius said, weakly, and put a hand on Merlin's face.

"I'm getting you out of here," Merlin said gently, carefully easing the manacles free with magic and delicate fingers, wincing at the shredded flesh beneath. "Come on."

"How did you know," Gaius said, and coughed. Merlin closed his eyes and carefully wrapped Gaius up in power, lifting most of his weight off his feet. The way Gaius sagged into the support, slumping defeated and worn, told Merlin more than he wanted to know about his exhaustion and weakness, but there was no flinching, no pain. Whatever Uther had done to him, it hadn't involved injury.

"Morgana," Gaius managed, and Merlin nodded, peering back up the staircase and then slipping up it, Gaius holding tightly to his shoulder.

"I know. We're going to get her."

It wasn't one of Merlin's spells that had alerted him to the latestdevelopments in the castle, but a Druid spy. He'd ridden into Warleggen at agallop, pony lathered and blowing hard, springing from the saddle to come toArthur. Merlin hadn't been close enough to hear what he said, but he sawArthur's face go pale and hard, and he definitely heard Arthur's incredulous"What?!"

It was Morgana, of course. Three days ago, following the execution of afamily--man, woman, four small children--who stood accused of selling horsesand mutton to one of Arthur's Druid allies, she had stood in front of Uther inopen court, accused him of blindness and obsession, called him a kinslayer, andspat on the floor at his feet.

Uther, furious at being defied so blatantly, had ordered her pilloried in thestocks for a day and a night, then confined her to her quarters, shackles onthe door. When Gaius protested, he was imprisoned in the dungeon. When Gwentried to creep in to attend to Morgana, she was flogged in the market square.

By the time the spy had finished telling the story, Merlin was by Arthur'sside, one hand on his sword arm, dragging him away before the anguished rage onArthur's face could erupt in a manner that would only make him feel worse whenit passed.

"Arthur," Merlin said, reaching out a hand to touch his back. Safe intheir hut, Arthur shuddered but permitted the touch, his body rigid and eyesdark.

Arthur turned suddenly, clutching at Merlin's shoulders, fingers painfullytight as they dug into muscle, but none of that really registered as Arthurburied his face in Merlin's neck, breath hot on his skin. He was shaking, andMerlin tentatively petted his back, long soothing strokes that seemed to easehim. The desperate grip eased. Merlin didn't move, didn't step away, andArthur's breathing slowly evened out.

"I cannot go," Arthur muttered, a long time later, and Merlin sighedwith relief that he didn't have to argue the point. Arthur returning to Camelotwould be suicide--even with Merlin's spell, the risks were too great. "Youmust bring her back here."

"I will," Merlin murmured, and let his hands stop, resting lightly,carefully on Arthur's waist. "I promise I will. I'll bring them allback."

He set out an hour later, Lancelot and four knights with him, taking nothingbut bread and water and remounts for them all, and Morwen, a woman Brydain saidwas the best healer he had. They rode all night and all day and all nightagain, the horses trembling and exhausted before they reached the outskirts ofCamelot, the spires of the castle reaching tall across the sky.