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Camelot is receiving visitors from Nemeth once more. This time shouldn’t be any different than any of those following Arthur’s union.
But it is.
Merlin feels it, before the caravan has even properly arrived. When he sees her, he tenses. Almost shuttering, at the sight.
There they are. Just as he expected.
Outside her clothes, she wears - is shackled by - enchanted metal wrapped around both arms and legs.
They each have markings which Merlin is unfamiliar with, like nothing else he has ever seen before. (Then again Merlin has very limited experience with the binding of magic, so it may very well require the reverse of his usual language.)
They encase her from elbow to wrist and calf to ankle, enclosing her in with a pattern which spirals outward, reaching up like ivy on a cottage.
Whoever put them on her is attempting to make it look like a fashion statement and not, what Merlin regards as, the things manipulating her to their will. There are no chains attached, yet she is bound to do their bidding.
Merlin does not have the chance to speak with her. Not until he is serving the King, during the reception dinner.
Merlin has to reach over into her station to get at a plate set between Gwaine and one of the visiting nobility. Merlin takes the chance to whisper in her ear. “I am so sorry that they have done this to you.”
It would have been too impersonal of him to say so across the room, and the idea of not expressing some of his sympathy out loud makes him feel nauseous.
Merlin expected her to give a frown, at least a shrug, or maybe even a plea for his help. What he did not anticipate is the, seemingly genuine, smile.
The Druid barely moves her lips to say, “My Lord, no. It was my choice.” Her voice is soft, lilting.
If they did not have a shared kinship, or he did not already feel a connection to her, Merlin knows it would have made him sympathetic to her plight.
“My Lady would not allow me to come, without some reassurance that I wouldn’t commit a crime.”
“You think she is treating you well.” It is not a question.
Merlin abhors suffering, wants her to be happy. He has never wished for someone to tell him that they have been abused, before.
“I have not worked for her long. She does not know me well enough to trust that I can control myself.“
(Haysh wanted to be on the trip, for obvious reasons. She had to work very hard to earn the right, calling in several favors, all while she bargained and pleaded.)
The next part is the only sentence which serves to make Merlin relax. “In addition, if there were to be an exchange of rumors between the groups of servants, then I have wonderful proof that I haven’t done anything wrong.” Haysh lifts her arm, but conceals the gesture by using it to fill a glass of wine.
It is not until after their conversation is finished, that Sir Gwaine has processed what he overheard.
(They were careful, but it was almost as though her voice drew him in, attracting too much attention.)
“Did you just call Merlin a Lord?” Gwaine is incredulous, and has in no way thought about moderating the volume of his voice.
The reaction of those at the table is immediate. Total silence reigns over the hall.
“I-I apologize, Sir.” The only reason that Haysh has not dropped the jug in her hand is because the Druid has a death grip on it, so as to not to let her hands visibly shake. “I meant no disrespect. Please forgive me.”
Her statement only serves to make those around consider the incident more thoroughly.
Brows furrow with confusion. King Arthur is the first to speak. “But how could you have not noticed that he was a servant?”
Merlin stops Haysh before she can try to come up with a response. “I’m surprised my ratty tunic, and the general unbecoming demeanor, didn’t give it away. Or, you know, the standing.”
The joke has the desired effect of lessening the tension in the room after some of Camelot’s Dukes, more familiar with his antics, allow themselves a snort.
As the most used to it, it should be expected that it does not distract Arthur. “I asked you a question.”
The Druid glances at him, before her gaze inexorably returns to Merlin. Haysh has no idea what to do, and neither does he. There doesn’t seem to be any good options.
Merlin lets out a world weary sigh and nods, allowing her to answer freely.
Haysh swallows, before placing her burden upon the table. (At least, one of the physical ones. The other feels like it’s wrapping around her more and more tightly.) Then she turns towards the seat of honor, still with a bowed head. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid that I was not mistaken.”
This, of course, sets off a low murmur in the room.
It is stopped by the King’s raised hand. “Merlin doesn’t control any land.”
“I believe I have caused a great misunderstanding.” Haysh says it self-deprecatingly, likely knowing just how great the one she has caused truly is. “My people do not require control of land for one to be considered a Lord.”
“‘Your people.’” The King considers her.
Haysh takes a necessary steadying breath, plus another glance of confirmation. “I am a Druid, Your Majesty.”
And there is that tension again, ratcheting up one more notch. “The Druids consider Merlin a Lord.” Arthur apparently needs the confirmation.
“Some do. Others see him differently.”
That still does not calm the man. “But, even if land isn’t necessary there must be something that has to be controlled. Over what does he have dominion?”
“My heart.” She says it like it should be obvious. The awe in her voice is intermixed with preformed confusion about how it could be anything else.
“And of the others, of which you have spoken?”
This is why Arthur inspires loyalty within his council. His citizens follow the King for his morals. His Knights follow Arthur for his abilities and leadership skills. But his council gives him advice, not with the expectation that it shall be followed to the letter, but that it will be listened to and considered thoughtfully.
Haysh cannot help but to be honest with The Once and Future King. (She feels the compulsion alongside her own desire not to lie.) Even if she was willing to risk a punishment, Haysh would not be capable of lying to him.
She allows herself only a wry smile, to showcase her desire to please him. “He is many things to many people. If he so desired, I am sure, he would be considered the controller of the skies, the sea, or even nature and all of its creatures. Not of the land.”
The last part comes out a bit too derisively.
The Druid brings her gaze to his shoes, avoiding his gaze. “But no one is speaking of such things now.”
“Then what does it mean to you?” He asks like the answer is so simple to give, and just as easily understood.
Haysh prays to all the Gods, that she will get them out of this without causing any more harm. “It is an affirmation of loyalty, Sire.”
This causes Arthur to raise an eyebrow. “You pledge loyalty to Camelot?”
Haysh shakes her head, slightly. “No, Your Majesty. My loyalty must be to the Kingdom of which I reside. I have pledged it to Merlin of Ealdor - without any expectation of its acceptance.” (Haysh does not know where she heard of his birthplace, but it is a welcome addition which makes her statement more believable.)
To the others she says his name like it holds power, but Merlin hears it roll off her tongue like she is testing it out.
As if she would prefer to say something else.
The King is growing less patient with the Druid. “Then why do it at all?”
She chooses her words carefully. “It is a reminder.” Haysh turns her head to catch Merlin’s eye, “Of the people who would do what he asked, if called upon.”
“You would go to war for him?”
Haysh cannot help the derisive laugh she lets out. (It bubbles up from within her, without any warning of it coming.) “I apologize, Your Majesty, but that is not our way. He knows this. He would never ask us for such a thing.”
“You are sure.” Just as Arthur is.
“I do not have the level of experience with him, as those closest to him, but I do know something of the one that I would swear myself to.” Haysh does not wish to be seen as making fun of a King, but he has not thought about it from her point of view. “He abhors when peaceful people are twisted into violent ones.” (Not violence itself, that may be necessary.)
Arthur has turned more thoughtful than serious. “Then what do you offer?”
Haysh once again addresses Merlin. “Our healers would offer the Court Physician’s Apprentice instruction in their methods. Our trades and craftsmen would give the servant lessons in whatever he requested. Those tasked with protecting our camps, following the Purge, would offer their abilities in the battle against Morgana. Just as the Catha have before them.”
It is not her alone who speaks the next part. “We would give what we can, My Lord.”
One of the Nemeth party exclaims, “The Catha?”
“Indeed.” Haysh holds back her smile this time. “I have also been told that some of Camelot’s Knights swore allegiance to him above their own King. He inspires loyalty wherever he goes.”
“How has he inspired loyalty within your people?” The King is all too aware of Merlin’s capacity to get people on his side, but he has to ask anyway because he needs to know.
She studies him. “I believe you still do not comprehend what he means to us.”
“Which is?”
Haysh bites her lip while questioning herself. (Fighting an internal battle without even realizing how severe it’s gotten.)
“Well?”
Treading carefully would be best for her own safety and that of any other Druid who comes after her. “Your Majesty, I believe it best if I were not to insult a deceased King. Or a living one.”
“If necessary I would pardon you from treason, on the basis of providing valuable information.” He must know what’s happening.
“It is not treason...” (The proper phrasing comes in a flash.) “Merely speculation about what actions would have been taken, were certain circumstances different.”
“Please enlighten me.” It is not a request.
“Sire, may I ask you why you agreed to stop the persecution of Druids?”
Now the King is the one to say something as though it were self-evident. “I made a promise to the restless spirit of a young Druid boy who had been wronged.”
“Am I permitted to speak of your father?”
Arthur reluctantly waves her on.
“A man’s word can be his bond, but many will find reasons for why they cannot keep their promises. The boy was restless, you gave him your word to give him peace. Once he had it, a person could argue that obligation to him had been fulfilled. A lesser man would’ve said that a promise must only be kept with the living. A parent might have stated that lying to a child for their sake happens regularly.” Haysh pauses to ready herself for the next bit.
“Get to point.” The King grits his teeth.
“Your father saw Druids as corrupted by our way of life. I did not know him, I cannot presume such things. But I ask what are your thoughts? Would he follow a deal made with a group that he did not see as human?”
She checks, again. “Do you still have no idea what Merlin represents to us?”
There is the beginning of realization in his voice, but somehow Haysh can tell that it is only of the magnitude of his respect for the Manservant. “What does he represent?”
“A living, breathing, adult witness . Not one of your Knights. Sworn to do as you ask, and put away their own pride or morals, if requested. No. Merlin is someone known for disregarding societal strictures, and not listening to orders if he thinks that they are hurting people.”
The room around them looks properly chastised.
Haysh tempers the fire in her tone. “I personally believe you to be an honorable, just King. Merely raised to believe that potential tools are inherently evil. I am but one woman. For some he is regarded as the reason that we are free.” (The question of being one woman has not yet been settled, but Haysh didn’t know that when she said it.)
“You saw him as your hope.”
Haysh nods, once more. “In the bleakest of days, we were told by our elders of a man. One who represented not simply living without fear, but potential acceptance back into the fold of society.” Oh, how Merlin appreciates this woman’s penitent for double meanings.
Finally, the King turns his gaze away from her, back to the man in question. “You didn’t react to her calling you that, have they done it before? Did you know?”
“Not in those words.” Merlin tries to soften the blow, “No one really explained it to me. I just thought it was a weird thing that they insisted upon.”
The last part causes Haysh to turn towards him. (Body on a swivel, as though she were not in full control of its movements.) Tilting her head and forgetting all of the etiquette she worked so hard on, before. “No one explained it to you?” Haysh sounds worried, but distant. Her eyes are almost glassy. “Has anyone ever spoken of fate in plain language?”
“No, it all comes out in whispered riddles.” There’s a derisive snort in there. “That’s the way that it always is.”
His words result in an immediate change within her countenance. Her stance shifts and Haysh is holding herself with greater authority, more regally, than some Queens. “Destiny is a very fickle thing for morals. They toil away trying to change things out of their grasp, and then give into that which is not yet set in stone. Is this clear enough for you?”
He hesitates to nod. “What was it you said about speaking plainly?” Merlin really needs to stop biting the hand that feeds him.
It wouldn’t do well to exasperate someone who seems more capable of helping with his problems than anyone else that he’s ever met.
“Mortals are fallible.” It does not get spit out of her mouth, but it’s a near thing. “Even seers and prophets can make mistakes. Some destinies are written before the people in them are born. Some come to be upon reaching maturity, while others are only set in stone later in life. There are those who cannot be saved and those who must be.”
The language used makes ever intent meaningfully communicated, but only for his ears. Merlin’d almost feel excited to learn, if he wasn’t concerned about what was happening to Haysh.
There is, however, only one topic which Merlin desperately requires an answer for. “Why did your people take responsibility for a man whose Fate is known?”
For him, it is very lucky that Mordred was one of those sent on patrol. (For the Gods, it was but a wave of a hand to have it arranged.)
“We would not be Druids, if we did nothing to help him. Some view it as atonement on his behalf. Even if there are those who do not wish to take on the guilt, or culpability.” There is a pause in her speech, gathering thoughts and parsing out what he must know from what she has been told. “Prophets often believe themselves to be the conveyers of important knowledge, but there comes a time where they do not see what will happen, instead it is only one potential. The Calleach does not control access to the Veil, she merely presides over it.”
Before Merlin can see the connection between those two, he is asking, “Well, then, who does?”
“The Triple Goddess. She has control over the Fates of the undecided.”
Something within her has been pushing for, building up to, this moment. Now Haysh feels as though it is taking over. She is saying words on topics for which she knows nothing.
Her voice takes on a distinctly different quality. “I give you a warning . There will come a time where you must make a choice. Our people are trusting you to pick wisely. You have our faith, but there can only be so much of it.”
“A choice. How will I know which is the right option?” Merlin has felt the change within her. It is almost as though Haysh is but a vessel for those who came before her. (Those who died so that she might live.) Her own ancestors, as well as others of her group that were destroyed by a mad tyrant.
“You know where your responsibilities lie.” This time he is not pleased by her smile. It is a wide, gaping thing. From beings who have not had physical forms since before he was born. “No one survives angering the Triple Goddess. Not even Golden Kings.”
Oh, “I understand you. Now, you must release her.”
“Very well, My Lord.” The Emrys , he hears in his mind, is comprised of more voices than he could ever hope to count.
As though her strings have been cut, Haysh falls onto her knees.
Arthur is rising from his chair, “What the hell is going on?”
Merlin tries to make him go back to it with hand signals, alone. “Don’t worry, she’s fine. Sometimes playing into people’s delusions works better than others.”
The King is floored. Never has Merlin been so stupid. “Are you really trying to convince me that this was all a shared psychosis between you two?”
Merlin shrugs and puts on his most guileless expression. “It was worth a try.”