Chapter Text
Gwen and Lancelot speak quietly to each other that morning. She wipes at her eyes a few times, but her earnest entreaties fall away as their conversation grows longer. She’s nodding by the end and Arthur is trying hard not to think of what they may be saying to each other, glancing over as he helps ready the horses and trying to remind himself of Gwen’s words not one night before.
Gwen throws her arms around Lancelot in a hug and Arthur has to tear his eyes away to glare at the horse’s saddle as he adjusts it for the fifteenth time.
Nothing has happened.
“I thank you all for your service,” Lancelot calls to them all, prompting three heads to turn his way. He had shouldered his bag, filled with provisions and what spare change they could hide when he wasn’t looking, and seemed to be bidding a final farewell to the party. “Truly, I could not have left that castle without you. Thank you, and farewell. May we meet again someday.”
“Better circumstances would be nice,” Arthur quips, the joke feeling dead on his lips, but still lifting a hand in parting. Lancelot cracks a smile at the poor line anyway and Arthur feels sad to see the young man go. He nodded to each of them in turn, eyes resting on Gwen a touch too long, before echoing his hope for blessings upon the group and disappearing into the forest.
When next Arthur turned to survey the area, to be sure they were ready to go, Guinevere walked towards him, eyes shining from unshed tears, determination etched into her face. Her back was straight, her chin held high, and Arthur wasn’t… quite sure what was going to happen.
“Arthur,” she said bluntly.
“Guinevere,” he said, slower.
“I would like to learn to use the sword. Properly.”
He tilted his head a little. “Would you rather be asking Morgana? She was the one to begin teaching you in Ealdor, no?”
She shook her head. “I know the basics, Arthur, but I would rather progress. I don’t have much more time than Morgana, but I’m confident that I can line up a lunch or so while you are on the field. I don’t…” She took a deep breath, seemingly determined to keep his gaze the whole time, although he had no intention of looking away. “I don’t wish to be taken unawares again. Morgana knows the sword better than me. I can think of no better teacher than the best swordsman of Camelot.”
Arthur blinked in surprise, although he supposed he shouldn’t be. Gwen, the Gwen he remembered, had taken up the sword properly once they were married, when she had to be worried about enemies as the Queen. But then, they were officially, or maybe unofficially, together now and her position in the palace would only become more dangerous with time. Hell, she had been taken this time just on account of being Morgana’s maidservant.
Gwen remained silent, but a small smile pulled at Arthur’s face, crinkling his eyes, as he remembered their sparring sessions. Sensible Gwen. She had gotten quite good at the blade, if he recalls correctly.
Finally, she cleared her throat quietly, blinking him back to the present. An apologetic smile formed and he nodded obligingly. “It would be my honor.”
- - - - - ~*~ - - - - -
To say it was an uncomfortable ride back to Camelot would be an understatement. Merlin could feel Sir Leon’s gaze all the way back, tracking his movements as he set up camp, as he prepared the horses, as he rode behind Gwen and Arthur. Merlin stayed up sweating half the night, convinced Sir Leon would stab him in the back for the life-saving trick he pulled at Hengist’s castle.
It occurred to him that maybe Sir Leon was waiting until they got back to the castle proper, so he wouldn’t have to immediately explain Merlin’s absence to Arthur after he dealt with him. Or maybe so he could snitch to Uther directly instead. Merlin swallowed thickly.
Merlin hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time with the knight, but he’d always found him to be a nice enough sort, especially as far as knights went. Gwen liked him, which would have been a comfort, except that this was still Camelot. And Sir Leon was the Second of the Knights of Camelot.
So yeah. It was an uncomfortable trip.
The brief respite Merlin got from the burning eyes occurred right before they made it to Camelot and even that was just because Arthur had taken Sir Leon aside to have a quiet conversation with him for a few moments. In the meantime, Merlin talked to Gwen quietly, trying not to think about what Arthur and Sir Leon’s conversation was about, instead asking after how she was doing the morning after. Especially after Lancelot’s heartfelt goodbye. She says she’s doing better, and will be quite well once they reach Camelot, which appears to be mostly true.
Her eyes had watered every now and then throughout the day, but then Arthur would squeeze her hand or point something out and she would smile at him like the sun and the tears would dry. Whatever got sorted last night, Merlin’s glad, as Arthur seemed more relaxed and Gwen looked happier than ever, even if it's just before the gates. He never finds out what the conversation between the knights was about.
Merlin is not looking forward to whatever Sir Leon considers getting sorted. Of course he hadn’t said anything about it outright, but. Still.
Arthur leads Gwen away all too quickly once they get to the Camelot proper, probably to see Morgana’s reaction, and hands over the reins to Merlin, leaving him to mourn over the absence of a third party. He starts sweating almost immediately under Sir Leon’s glare, but slowly goes through the ritual of unpacking the horses after a hard trip. When he tries to take his time in the stable, feeding them, brushing them, going for the shovel to really clean the place after so long, really, it’s like the grooms never even—
“Merlin.”
Merlin holds his breath, squeezing his eyes shut, like if he can’t see Sir Leon maybe Sir Leon won’t see him.
“A word.”
He releases the breath, deflating as the air leaves his lungs. Pressing his mouth into a line, he slowly puts the shovel back and carefully makes his way across the stable, hunching his shoulders up gradually as he gets closer to the knight.
The Stable isn’t exactly out of the way, but it isn’t teeming with people around either. Tyr is usually around somewhere, but this was his lunch hour. Why Sir Leon knew this is beyond Merlin. Or… maybe he hadn’t cared to check and Merlin was simply… extremely unlucky. Either worked. But in any event, it meant that the back of the stable was especially private and closed off. Yay!
Merlin still didn’t see it coming.
To Sir Leon’s credit, he didn’t kill him right away. No, he just grabbed him, shoved him against the wooden structure, and pinned him with one hand over his mouth. The other very carefully held a dagger to Merlin’s throat. Merlin tried not to swallow too hard and didn’t think about the way his dignity left him with the high-pitched yelp before the pin.
“The only reason you are still alive right now is because the chandelier saved the Prince. Is that understood?” Sir Leon hissed.
Merlin nodded hastily. He usually complained about wanting just a little bit of credit for his hard work at keeping Arthur alive, he just didn’t think… he didn’t want the recognition to come like this.
“If I see any flash from your eyes, you say one word I don’t understand, then the Prince has a new servant. Is that understood?”
Merlin nodded a little slower this time. He really wanted Sir Leon to know that he got the point here.
“Good. Now. I am going to remove my hand. You have this one chance to explain yourself. If you scream, that is your last chance. Understand? Good.”
Merlin breathed in shakily as Sir Leon withdrew his hand, making sure that Merlin was still pinned the whole time.
“I’ve–” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again, “I’ve– I’ve always had magic.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I’m being serious! I was born with it. I only learned— I mean, you can ask— that is…”
“Someone here knows you have magic?” Sir Leon demanded, eyes growing wider.
“I– I mean. Maybe?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why are you here, Merlin? Why are you so close with the Prince? He changed after you arrived. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing!” Merlin protested, “Nothing, I swear! I came to apprentice under Gaius and one thing led to another and suddenly the King’s made me a royal servant! I didn’t even want the position!”
“What changed?”
“Nothing! I just told you, I haven’t touched—”
“No, you said you didn’t want the position. Now you do. What happened?”
Merlin shrugged with his freer shoulder, trying very hard not to think of a certain dragon in a certain dungeon. “I don’t know. I don’t know why Arthur’s changed either; I thought he was enchanted, too. But then… nothing happened and he kept it up so I thought… I don’t know, I thought we were becoming friends.”
“The Prince doesn’t have friends,” Sir Leon says quickly, matter-of-fact, like he’s repeating something he’s heard before many many times. He frowns a little at this, as if just now registering the phrase. “Or, he didn’t, rather.”
His eyes flicker downward, as if thinking this over, before flicking back up and pressing Merlin harder. “But nothing’s happened, you’re right. It’s been months and not nearly enough has happened. Is that because of you? Are you repelling it somehow?”
“Who– What? What hasn’t happened? What did I do?”
Sir Leon huffs in frustration and his voice gets lower, his words more enunciated. “The magic, Merlin! Not nearly enough magical events have happened in the last year or so. Is that because of you?”
“You– you know about all the weird things that happen in Camelot?”
Sir Leon looks at him in exasperation. “I’m a Knight of Camelot, Merlin. Of course I know about the ‘weird things’ that happen in Camelot. Dealing with it is part of the training. And Camelot is usually a hotbed for this type of activity until you came around. So what have you been doing?”
“Doing? I’ve been– I’ve just been… dealing with it, I guess.” Merlin felt astonished, blown away. Whatever he was expecting from the confrontation, it wasn’t this.
Sir Leon looked at him critically for a few moments. “And why should I believe you?”
Merlin thought it over. Sir Leon was giving him the unprecedented opportunity to defend himself. But Merlin had seen Camelot trials; there was nothing substantial enough to defend his claim, and the fact he had magic at all meant straight to the gallows. But he wasn’t… he wasn’t being tried for having magic with Sir Leon, it seemed. He was… Merlin wasn’t quite sure what was happening, he realized. But Sir Leon reminded him of Arthur, almost. He cared for Camelot more than its laws.
Maybe, at his core, Sir Leon was a good man. And maybe Merlin could trust that.
So he shrugged.
“I have magic,” he started weakly. “You can ask my mother or Gaius. I’ve been using magic since I came to Camelot and I don’t expect I’ll be stopping anytime soon if I have a say. But since I got here… I dunno. I’ve always used it for Arthur.”
Sir Leon contemplates this. Times like these, Merlin wished he was able to read minds. He almost wished he was able to stay with the Druids to learn the skill.
Merlin jumped as Sir Leon looked back up at Merlin quickly. There’s a steadiness to his eyes that Merlin doesn’t know what to do with.
“Fine,” he said at last. “Fine, let’s say for a moment that I believe you. That Prince Arthur’s change in behavior is because he finally internalized his proper role. That you’re –what, a druid? That magic comes to you naturally?– and you’re here to get an education out of Gaius.”
Merlin held his breath, waiting to unleash the onslaught of questions bubbling inside him and pushing against his grinding teeth. He wasn’t a Druid, at least that he was aware of, but if it put him in Sir Leon’s good graces concerning his magic…
Sir Leon’s grip tightened, just barely, but noticeable enough given the situation.
“You’re on probation, Merlin. I’m keeping an eye on you. If the Prince changes any further, or I see you perform any magic around him or in any other unauthorized manner, I will process you like any other sorcerer. Is that clear?”
Merlin laughed weakly, the noise dying on his lips at Sir Leon’s hard stare. “Y-Yes, sir.”
Sir Leon held him like that for what seemed like a long, long time…
…But eventually unpinned him and removed the knife. Merlin chanced a deep breath, feeling the weight of Sir Leon’s hand on his shoulder.
“And Merlin?” Merlin made a noise of acknowledgement, trying to keep his feet under him as he battled a wave of lightheadedness. “From now on, if anything… magical… ly weird occurs around the Prince, you come to me. I’ll handle it.”
“But–” Merlin huffed and gasped. “Before–”
Sir Leon looked unimpressed. “Who do you think kept Camelot in one piece before you came along? Do you think it all started with your arrival?”
Merlin tried not to flush at the reprimand. While Camelot certainly had its… extreme issues, he couldn’t say it wasn’t in… some sort of… piece. Instead, he suddenly became extremely interested in his shoes as he shuffled his feet around, also trying not to feel like a small child under his mother’s disapproving gaze. “Are you… are you going to tell Arthur?”
Sir Leon made a low noise; Merlin couldn’t tell if it was amusement, confusion, disgust, or something else. He held his breath again, but not for nearly as long.
“No.”
He breathed out.
“No, I won’t inform the Prince right now. Given my place, I may have some discretion with how I carry out my orders. But the Prince answers directly to the King and has little in the way of leniency when giving reports. Given you appear to be… friends with His Highness, I won’t force him to balance his responsibility to his father and King.”
Merlin held up his hand slowly, clearly showing off his movement, before placing a hopefully-comforting hand on Sir Leon’s shoulder. He tried not to remember Arthur’s rather large secret of his relationship with Gwen, which wouldn’t get anyone murdered if found out. “Um, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a pretty good friend to Arthur.”
Sir Leon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but finally released him. “I am his Second,” he said, like it explained everything. “I am sworn to him.”
- - - - - ~*~ - - - - -
Gwen hesitantly knocked on the door. “Morgana?”
She heard the shuffling of fabric and the light footsteps of her mistress before the door swung open. Morgana looked out, wrapped in her night shawl, surprise and concern on her face. Her eyes were still a fading red from their tearful reunion earlier that day.
“Gwen! Are you alright? It’s late; I thought you would be home by now.”
“I’m perfectly alright. I just… well, I wondered if I might ask you something.”
“Of course, of course!” Morgana moved aside and let her in. Gwen murmured her thanks with a hurried smile and shuffled inside. Morgana sat them on the bed and turned to face her, eyes open and intent. “Now, what can I help you with?”
Gwen opened her mouth, but the question died on her lips. It was ridiculous, really. No way she could have known. No reason to bring it up at all, actually, but… But those words…
Morgana laid a hand on the bed, getting her attention. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Gwen. You can speak freely, you know that.”
Gwen smiled uncertainly at her, then breathed in deep. If it didn’t go well, she could always blame it on her time and they could part ways, never to speak of it again. Okay. Might as well go for it.
“Back when… Before you… That is, when you ran to get help. When I had been kidnapped in your place.” Obviously she remembered that, but Gwen stumbled over the time anyway as she attempted to get out the proper words for this next part. “You told me that you knew I would get home. Or, well, you said that Arthur had said I would make it home.”
There. Morgana shifted, and while a smile graced her face, it had hardened slightly. Gwen was onto something. Still, Morgana saved face, “Slip of the tongue. My apologies. I must have been trying to say that Arthur would come for you and that you would make it and mixed them up in the rush. I hope it didn’t bother you when you had other things to… occupy your time.”
“Morgana, you said it quite clearly, even in the midst of all that… stress.” She took a deep breath. “Morgana, please, do you know about Arthur?”
“What about Arthur?”
“The future. The future with Arthur. The future that Arthur knows.” If Morgana truly did not, then Gwen could have it off as courtship concerns or that her time in the dungeon had been more trying than she let on. But if Morgana did know…
Morgana fell silent, studying her face. Gwen looked back, trying to straighten her posture, to match whatever it was Morgana was searching for.
“He told you, too?” Morgana whispered at last. “About the… the future? Where he…?”
“Dies?” Gwen said weakly.
Morgana leaned forward suddenly, placing a hand over hers, eyes wide. “He told you? Truly?”
“Not much,” Gwen admitted, a bit startled, “but yes.”
“He hasn’t told me much, either!” A thousand thoughts seemed to race behind her eyes, but she blinked and her eyes flickered to the door. “Do you think Merlin knows?”
That also took Gwen aback, but then she hadn’t expected it to go this easily. The question made sense, though, the young men were hardly apart for long. “Merlin? I’m not sure. He is a true friend, to be sure, but I doubt there are any secrets he would be able to keep from us after all this time.” As mischievous as he could be, this seemed too much for him to keep quiet, at least to Gwen.
Morgana leaned back slightly and nodded. “You’re right. I’d rather not confront him without proof.”
“I suppose we could always ask Arthur.” Gwen shrugged slightly. Morgana raised an eyebrow, amused.
“And did you ask Arthur before confronting me?”
Gwen blushed and stammered, “I suppose not. But that was— what I mean to say is— The circumstances being what they were—”
She laughed and patted her hand. “Not to worry. We can talk over it all together if Arthur brings it up again. We’ll bring each other in. Us girls have to stick together, after all.”
Gwen sighed, relieved, then looked back at Morgana a little more hesitantly. “Do you… do you believe him?”
Morgana… Morgana started slowly, carefully picking and choosing one word after the next. Gwen had seen her do it before at dinners with the King and Arthur, but she seemed especially troubled now. No, not troubled, but… she couldn’t quite pin it down, but this seemed especially important now. As if she was convincing herself, or talking it through just now.
“I have known Arthur almost half my life. I’d like to think I know him well. And there is no doubt he has changed greatly in the last months. Matured, I think. While death seems… fantastical, he does seem to have knowledge of the future and I cannot imagine Arthur using magic. Not willingly, at least. Yes… yes, for now, I do believe Arthur.”
- - - - - ~*~ - - - - -
She paused as she passed by the laundry room, a snippet of conversation catching her ear despite the general motion and cacophony of this part of the castle.
“–House of Tregor?”
She knew the House of Tregor; she had worked the Castle for many years and knew their close friendship with the Pendragons. It was Gwen speaking; poor girl had gotten back from quite the ordeal a few days ago, so word said. Not that she condoned gossiping, especially about the nobles. The Masters of the House, they were, and they deserved their respect and, most importantly, their discretion.
Still. It was good to know what was going on… about the castle.
So she slowed, bearing her load from the garden onto her hip, adjusting the cloth overtop with her free hand as she casually leaned against the doorframe. It was slightly ajar, which she supposed accounted for the sound, and by leaning back just so she could see a girl or two through the crack. Best only to use that when she needed, lest the girls catch her taking an unnecessary break.
“I’ve been up the past two nights with Saylor, I haven’t heard a thing,” …Saf, yes, Saf, said. Poor little boy, he’d been coughing up croup-like the past few days. She had heard that Klaes, Saf’s husband, had been with the boy the first few nights, but Saylor’s been better since his mother’s been with him.
“Oh, how’s he doing?” That’d be Wassa. New girl, a bit oblivious, but a good worker it seemed.
“Much better, much better. Klaes’ll be lookin’ after him tonight if he needs to, but he’s doin’ much better. Now don’t leave us hangin’, Gwen, what have you heard? Are they comin’ ‘round soon?”
There was a moment of silence before Gwen began and it became clear why she paused. “No, I’m sorry to say they aren’t. …I heard the House of Tregor had been completely wiped out.”
There were some sad but understanding hums that went around the room. She nodded to herself as well, feeling the grief the Pendragons must feel at losing such a trusted ally. The Lady Catrina had visited often in her youth; while she had such particular requests, she had heard that the Lady was also very gracious. This type of tragedy was not unknown, especially not in Camelot, but still. A tragedy was a tragedy.
“How’d you hear about this, Gwen?”
“Oh, you know…,” she replied nervously.
She almost readied her basket to keep walking when Wassa’s voice piped up and stopped her dead in her tracks.
“It must’ve been the Prince,” she said matter-of-factly, “you can see the way he looks at her, I’m sure he spills all sorts of things around her.”
“Wassa!” Saf hissed and the snapping of a wet towel followed before Wassa cackled. “That’s not proper! Stop teasing the poor girl.”
“I’m only stating facts, Saf, everyone can see it.” Another snap. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”
Gwen remained silent. She went cold.
“Oh, don’t feel bad, Gwen, I–”
“Oh, Lin!”
She quickly fled the hallway, deeply disturbed by the revelation.