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Chapter Text

Arthur collected clue number one on a cold and damp late autumn morning in the Darkling Woods.

Though it had to be hours past dawn now, the sun was nowhere to be seen as heavy fog lingered above the trees. Every other minute or so, a cold gust of wind would send brown leaves flying, and the faintest drizzle covered everything in tiny droplets of water.

It was a distinctly uncomfortable day for riding patrol, but it still needed to be done. Bandits had been springing up everywhere, trying to find a place to settle for the coming winter, occupying caves and ruins near the city.

Arthur buried himself deeper in his red cape, glad he had donned the lambskin gloves this morning. A glance at the muffled-up knights behind him told Arthur everyone else had come prepared as well. Sir Lionel’s boots were lined with rabbit fur, Sir Lucan had a scarf wrapped around his neck and Sir Bors had put on a helmet to hide the fact that he was also wearing a wool hat. Everyone had anticipated the day to be cold and dreary.

Everyone except, apparently, for Arthur’s idiotic manservant. Merlin was riding on his horse next to Arthur, shivering and trembling because he was wearing that ridiculous brown jacket. The one he kept wearing year-round, be it the middle of summer or winter. The one even Arthur, eventually, had recognised as being less than serviceable and therefore had aimed to replace.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Why aren’t you wearing your cloak?”

Merlin kept his eyes on the road in front of them. Only a vague murmur of “Cloak, sire?” made it known that he was actually listening.

It was the kind of casual disrespect only Merlin dared to show the Prince. Over the course of two years, Arthur had grown a strange appreciation for his manservant’s insolence. Still, that didn’t mean Arthur couldn’t find himself annoyed by it. He chanced another look back at his men. Sir Lucan seemed to be watching them, but he didn’t appear openly disapproving. Most of the knights had got used to Merlin riding by Arthur’s side and behaving improperly while doing so.

“As you might remember,” Arthur continued, allowing impatience to colour his voice, “I generously gifted you, my humble manservant, with a blue, fur-lined cloak. Where is it?”

Merlin shrugged, though the motion was barely distinguishable from his shivering. “I didn’t bring it.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Did you lose it?”

Merlin glanced at him sideways. It made him look guilty, even as he said, “No, of course not.”

In spite of the shifty look, Arthur was inclined to believe him. Simple incompetence suited Merlin better than a lie. “Then why, in the gods’ name, aren’t you wearing it?”

“I couldn’t find it,” Merlin replied.

“Then make an effort to relocate it!” Arthur retorted. “It’s freezing. You’re freezing.”

“I’ll manage,” Merlin said, before his teeth started chattering.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he said. “You’re going to catch another cold and then I will have to suffer through your sniffling and coughing whenever you’re in my rooms.”

“I apologise in advance, my lord,” Merlin replied drily. Then sniffled.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, this time with an edge of authority. “Next time, you will bring that cloak, do you hear me? I insist. I will leave you behind if you don’t.”

Finally, Merlin turned his head to look straight at him. He grinned. “Promise?”

Arthur groaned, but let the topic go and had soon pushed the conversation to the back of his mind. That was, until he realised that it had been, as mentioned before, the first clue.

Arthur collected the second clue but a few days later.

The week had been a busy one. Between the aforementioned patrols, a string of feasts and court events, and a fever outbreak in the lower town, Arthur knew Merlin had been running himself ragged.

Merlin tended to believe Arthur wasn’t paying attention to his manservant’s workload, but the Prince wasn’t actually all that oblivious or uncaring. He gave Merlin time off if he needed it. He simply didn’t make a big deal of it, presenting it as happenstance rather than a generous concession.

As it looked, Merlin needed more rest than a good night’s sleep could provide, that much was apparent from the shadows under his eyes and continuing sniffling from the cold he had caught, as predicted by Arthur.

It therefore came to Arthur’s complete surprise when he crossed the main square, on the very afternoon he had given Merlin off, and spotted him loading boxes onto a cart. The activity itself was already unusual. A royal manservant was not actually required to do heavy lifting unless explicitly ordered to by the royal he served. Arthur certainly hadn’t given any such orders. 

“Merlin,” he called out and approached the cart.

Merlin threw him a quick look, then made an unsuccessful attempt at hiding behind the box he was lifting. It looked heavy, far too heavy to be heaved by Merlin’s twiggy little wrists.  

Arthur stepped around the box and blinked at Merlin. Merlin blinked back.

“Sire?” he said. “Did you need something?”

“No,” Arthur replied and crossed his arms. “Which is exactly why I gave you half the day off.”

“Good,” said Merlin and lifted the box onto the cart. Again, his blue cloak was nowhere to be seen and he was shivering.

“Why are you doing this?” Arthur asked suspiciously. “Is this for Gaius?”

“No. It’s for Master Mave,” Merlin replied, then sniffed and ran his sleeve over his reddened nose.

Arthur frowned. Merlin, working for the Master of Storage and Supplies? “Why would he ask you to do his heavy lifting? We have other men for that. Men with actual muscles.”

Merlin had already wrapped his skinny arms around the next box. “I volunteered, if you must know. It needs to be done and people are busy. Now, if you don’t have need of me, I’d like to get this finished.”

“Right,” said Arthur and watched Merlin, somehow, find the strength to lift the very heavy-looking box up, though his eyes were squeezed shut as he did so and he coughed into his elbow a moment later. 

For a moment, Arthur considered ordering Merlin to stop, but then he turned away. If Merlin wanted to spend his free time helping other people out, it wasn’t Arthur’s job to stop him. But it was strange all the same, especially as Merlin was sick. It was also, as already mentioned, the second clue.

The third clue presented itself at the market but one day later. Arthur was walking the perimeters of the lower town, guards in tow. It was a thing done for appearance’s sake rather than in anticipation of any real threat. The people liked to see that the Crown cared, that the city was kept safe. Usually, sending any knight along with the guards was enough, but every once in a while, it didn’t hurt to have the Prince himself do his part and show his face.

Which was how Arthur spotted Merlin. In spite of the cold temperatures, he was still not wearing his warm cloak and his nose and ears had once more turned bright red. He was talking agitatedly to a merchant manning a stall. Arthur gestured at the guards to continue on their usual route while he stepped out of the formation to approach Merlin. He might not have done so if Merlin hadn’t looked so upset. He was raising his voice, too, something the servant didn’t tend to do, especially not with people that weren’t Arthur.

“... three silvers a piece last time! I’m not a bloody fool, Lunden!”

“Prices change all the time, lad,” argued the merchant, a thick-set, balding man. “It’s the way of things. One silver a piece, take it or leave it!”

Arthur came to a halt by the stall and cleared his throat. The merchant’s eyes widened in recognition, then he promptly ducked his head, muttering some honorific or the other.

Merlin, in contrast, glared at Arthur and crossed his arms. “What on Earth are you doing here? Are you spying on me?” he snapped.

“Watch your attitude,” Arthur admonished him. Merlin didn’t tend to bite at Arthur quite so quickly in such a public place, which meant whatever had him upset, it was serious. “What is going on here?”

Merlin uncrossed his arms. “Sorry, sire,” he said, though his voice was still tense. “It’s nothing.”

Arthur’s eyes shifted to the merchant. “Lunden, correct?” The man nodded, looking nervous. “Everything in order?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Lunden glanced at Merlin and licked his lips. “Just some heated haggling. Nothing to concern the Prince with.”

“What were you haggling over?” Arthur asked. For the first time, he realised Merlin was clutching a bag, though its contents were hidden from view. Arthur eyed Lunden’s wares. From the looks of it, he was selling dried herbs, spices and other ingredients.

“Merlin here tends to sell me things he collects in the forest,” Lunden explained. “Mushrooms, roots, and the likes.”

“I see,” said Arthur.

“We were disagreeing on the price, nothing more, Your Highness,” Lunden continued.

Arthur had no grounds on which to question the merchant’s honesty, were it not for Merlin’s tense face and averted eyes. Something was going on. “Is that right, Merlin?” he prodded.

Lunden stiffened and went pale about the nose, as if fearing Merlin would use his connections to the Prince to get the merchant into trouble over an unsuccessful barter. Of course, Merlin would never do such a thing. In all their time together, Merlin had only ever used his proximity to Arthur to help people.

Merlin proved him right by saying, “It’s as he says, Arthur, please don’t worry about it.”

It was a polite brush-off. Merlin didn’t want Arthur to interfere and as it seemed, there was no real reason to do so, either. Already, they were drawing attention, curious eyes flickering to see what the Prince might have to discuss in the market. Arthur should catch up with the guards, at any rate.

“Stop dawdling, then. I’ll expect my lunch to be served on time,” he told Merlin as way of goodbye, nodded at Lunden and was off. 

But the scene didn’t sit right with him and as it turned out, it was because it was the third clue.

Three clues, in the matter of a week, that something strange was going on with Merlin. Still, Arthur didn’t connect the dots, didn’t realise all of these things were correlated, until the Incident.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Arthur was absolutely and completely convinced of, it was that Merlin could be trusted. Arthur would stake his life on Merlin’s loyalty and integrity.

As royal manservant, Merlin had access to everything relating to Arthur, be it his documents, his food, or his money. It would have never occurred to Arthur, in a thousand years, that Merlin should not be trusted with any of it. Merlin wouldn’t sell information he had seen on a parchment on Arthur’s desk; he wouldn’t poison Arthur’s dinner, and he would never, of this Arthur was completely and utterly convinced, steal Arthur’s money.

Or so he thought, until the day of the Incident. It was a shocking enough occurrence that the event deserved capitalization. In fact, the Incident had such a profound impact on Arthur that it very nearly changed his view of Merlin's character.

A day after having seen Merlin at the market, Arthur returned early from a meeting with his father and found the doors to his chambers locked. Normally, that wouldn’t be any sort of problem. But Arthur had left his key ring with Merlin, who was supposed to be in Arthur’s chambers right now, pottering about. Arthur could have knocked to be let in, but didn’t much feel like playing petitioner at his own doors.

Perhaps Merlin had entered through the side entrance through the antechamber.

Arthur turned around, retraced his steps, then went through one of the narrow servants’ corridors. Sure enough, he found the door there unlocked. Arthur entered the antechamber and walked over to the curtain that led to the main room. He was not actually feeling the least bit suspicious and was certainly not aiming to conceal himself, but he happened to be quiet enough to walk in without Merlin noticing.

Maybe Merlin also failed to notice Arthur’s arrival because he was too occupied. He was busy, as it looked, stealing from Arthur.

On the table in the main room stood a small metal coffer. Arthur’s personal strongbox, filled with sacks of coins and the occasional jewel. It was open, unlocked with the key Arthur kept in his desk, which was in turn locked with another key usually attached to Arthur’s belt. But he had left the key ring with Merlin. He often did, no longer bothering with detaching whatever key his manservant needed that day to access the armoury or a storage room or the library. Arthur simply handed all of them over to Merlin, knowing he would never abuse that trust.

But what else could he be witnessing here but Merlin stealing? Arthur hadn’t ordered him to retrieve money to pay some merchant. He hadn’t given Merlin leave to take out his wages from Arthur’s funds instead of going through the steward. He hadn’t asked Merlin to count the coins and cross-check them with Arthur’s records. Merlin had no valid reason to be looking at his money.

Especially with such a guilty look on his face.

Arthur should confront him at once. He should make his presence known and demand an explanation. 

But he did not. Instead, he took a step back and slipped behind the curtain, standing in its shadow as if he were the common thief, not Merlin. From his vantage point, Arthur watched through the slit in between door and fabric, heart beating hard and fast in his chest.

Merlin’s hands were on the lid of the coffer. He was staring at the money in front of him, teeth worrying away at his lower lip. It seemed Arthur had caught him right before the act. The bags still appeared to be tied closed and Merlin was clearly considering them, perhaps thinking about which one to open, or how much he could take without Arthur noticing.

Arthur would certainly realise, at some point, that the numbers weren’t adding up anymore, but if Merlin played it smart, Arthur would chalk it up to a miscalculation and brush it off. Because the alternative would have been to consider that Merlin (the only one who had direct enough access) had stolen it, and that would have never occurred to Arthur before this moment.

Silently, he watched Merlin consider Arthur’s money, apprehension sitting hard and tight in his stomach. He didn’t know what he would do if Merlin went through with it. He didn’t want to find out.

Unbearably long seconds passed until Merlin abruptly closed the strongbox.

“No,” he said to himself, and Arthur almost sighed in relief. Merlin had been tempted, sorely tempted. But he hadn’t done it. He hadn’t stolen from Arthur. He had caught himself just in time and not abused Arthur’s trust.

Far less anxious – though no less disturbed – Arthur watched Merlin return the coffer and its key to their rightful places, then quickly retreated to pretend to be entering the chambers just now. This time, he made sure to slam the door a bit.

“Merlin,” he called out, aiming for his usual tone of authority mixed with arrogance. “Why does the Prince have to enter his own chambers through the side entrance?”

Merlin was busying himself with collecting laundry and throwing it in a basket. When he turned, he looked tense and distinctly pale except for the lingering redness about his nose. Clearly, his near-theft had left him shaken. It was surprisingly soothing to see. It underscored the fact that Merlin was not terribly good at being deceitful and that he was not somebody who would ever steal from Arthur under normal circumstances

But it had been a close call. Much too close a call. Which meant the current circumstances had to be far from normal.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Merlin said, then coughed. The lack of sarcasm and ready use of honorific fit his overall shaken demeanour.

Arthur immediately took pity on both Merlin and especially himself. After what he had just witnessed, he wouldn’t be able to keep up an appearance of normalcy for long. “You look dreadful. Why don’t you call it a day? You seem unwell.”

Merlin gave him a wonky smile. “Didn’t know you cared,” he said, but his usual cheek fell flat.

“Well, I can’t have you collapse in my chambers,” Arthur drawled. “I told you a week ago you should be wearing that cloak, and now you’re paying for your own foolishness.”

“I know,” murmured Merlin, then coughed again, as if on cue. “All right,” he added, “I’m going. I’ll arrange for somebody else to bring you dinner.”

With that he disappeared through the antechamber, taking the laundry basket with him.

Arthur waited until he had heard the door, then walked over to the desk. Merlin had left Arthur’s key ring there, as was their usual arrangement. On a whim, Arthur returned to the side entrance and locked it from the inside, then went to retrieve the coffer key from within his desk. After heaving the strongbox down from its place on the wardrobe, he settled down and went about meticulously counting the coins inside, comparing the numbers to the sums on his personal records. Just as he had thought, everything was in order. Merlin had not stolen a single copper. With a sigh, Arthur closed the lid of the coffer and leaned back, adopting a thinking pose.

Why on Earth, after two years of service, would Merlin turn around and risk his good standing with Arthur by considering theft? Did he really need money so very badly?

A sudden sense of clarity jolted Arthur. The three clues of the past week suddenly aligned in his head, painting a bigger picture. The missing cloak. The volunteer work. The argument with the merchant.

Yes, Merlin desperately needed money. So desperately, in fact, that he – and Arthur could hardly believe he was considering this – might have sold the cloak Arthur had gifted him, asked Master Mave for extra work, and trawled through the sparse late autumn forests to find something of value.

Lords, but Merlin was in trouble. Serious trouble. The kind of trouble that would lead to Merlin going to all these lengths and still finding himself tempted to steal from Arthur, rather than ask him for help.

That last thought hurt.

Arthur thought that, in spite of their usual banter and roughhousing, Merlin knew he could come to him with anything. Hells, Arthur had risked his life for Merlin, had gone to Ealdor to protect Merlin’s home, had defied his father many times over to protect Merlin in some way or the other. If Merlin needed money, he would have only had to say so, and Arthur would have given it to him!

He would have demanded to know the reason, of course.

Arthur shifted in the chair, abandoning the thinking pose in favour of tapping away at the desk with one hand while propping up his head with the other.

There was the crux of the matter. What reason could Merlin have to urgently need money? Enough of it that selling off herbs and a high-quality cloak or working extra hours wasn’t enough?

Hunith, Arthur thought. Had she fallen ill? Gaius would have treated her free of charge, surely. Had the harvest been so bad this year that she wouldn’t make it over the winter without Merlin’s support? But Merlin could have easily asked Arthur’s assistance for that. Arthur would have personally brought Hunith any supplies she needed, if he had to. Merlin had to know that much.

No, it had to be something serious, something Merlin would be ashamed or scared to admit to.

Arthur looked about the room, searching for inspiration among his own possessions.

Merlin was rather clumsy, wasn’t he? Perhaps he had broken something. Something expensive, something of value in the castle which he felt he needed to replace without anybody finding out. But Merlin had broken a few things before, most of them Arthur’s own, and he had always been honest about it, straightforward and very apologetic, too. And Arthur liked to think he had always reacted reasonably enough to alleviate any fears that he might severely punish Merlin for a simple, honest mistake.

What else, if not that?

Arthur’s eyes wandered until they caught on the set of polished wine goblets always set out on the sideboard.

Merlin tended to go the tavern, correct? Gaius had told Arthur as much, just once or twice, when he had been looking for his wayward manservant. Had Merlin racked up a huge tab at The Rising Sun and was now unable to pay off the debt? But for all the teasing Arthur tended to do, Merlin had never shown up hungover to work and he certainly wasn’t a drunkard. Otherwise, Arthur would have seen Merlin sneak a drink during an outing or help himself to Arthur’s wine at dinner.

No, Merlin wasn’t the drinking type.

Gambling, perhaps? Arthur knew the stories, of men becoming addicted to dice or cards, playing until they had lost everything down to their boots and were still left begging for another round. Perhaps Merlin hadn’t sold the cloak but lost it over a bad hand or a streak of terrible luck. It was not an entirely unlikely scenario and Arthur decided to hold onto that idea for now.

What else could be going on with Merlin apart from that?

Again, Arthur shifted in the chair. He ran a hand through his hair, some of the strands catching on his mother’s ring.

A girl? A demanding girl, one who expected lavish gifts? Arthur immediately dismissed the idea, then thought better of it. Merlin had never, in all their time together, mentioned a girl. Arthur had taken that to mean that Merlin either wasn’t interested in women – Arthur wasn’t ignorant enough not to know there were such men – or that he was simply too shy or too busy to carry on with one of the maids or lower town girls. But perhaps Merlin did have a special someone, someone he hadn’t mentioned to Arthur in fear of being teased, or chastised. He might have feared that the Prince would not approve of a liaison outside wedlock. Arthur wouldn’t have cared, except… He grimaced. If Merlin’s girl was with child… He shook his head and didn’t follow that thought further. He did, however, hold onto the idea of a girl being involved. Unfortunately, it made an alarming amount of sense.

Gambling, a girl – was there anything else?

If so, Arthur had run out of ideas. Without gathering more clues or, even better, some actual evidence, he could likely spend the rest of his life racking his brain.

Abruptly, he stood, suddenly filled with an urge to move. He ended up pacing about the room, all the while mulling over the mystery his manservant had become.

What to do?

The most direct approach would be to confront Merlin. Except that Merlin would likely deny anything was going on, then double down on his efforts to hide everything from Arthur. Too risky an approach, if the most honourable one.

A less direct approach, then. Arthur could have somebody make enquiries, at the tavern or among the servants. Arthur would have to choose someone discreet and trustworthy. Guinevere? No, she and Merlin were too close; she might not be able to keep this from him for long. Leon? Yes, there was a reliable man. The knight would do his best not to draw too much attention as he investigated around the town and castle.

There were also those enquiries Arthur could make himself. He would talk to the steward about Merlin’s wages, to check if he had been regularly paid. The man could also tell him if Merlin had asked for money in advance, or some such thing. Arthur would also ask the masters in the castle about any extra work Merlin might have taken on, like he had apparently done for Master Mave.

All that might give Arthur the information he needed to fathom out what on Earth had got into Merlin.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, Arthur went to put away the coffer and lock up its key in his desk. He attached his keyring to this belt, then winced when a thought occurred to him: He would be better off not giving Merlin all of his keys until he had found out what was going on. It wouldn’t do to tempt him again.

It would be like two years ago, when Merlin had been nothing but an insolent peasant thrust into the position of royal manservant, completely unprepared. Back when Arthur had detached the individual keys as needed, filled with distrust and suspicion.

He grimaced, then sighed, a sound coming from deep within his chest. Suddenly feeling incredibly weary, Arthur rubbed a hand down his face until it came to rest across his mouth.

Merlin nearly stealing from Arthur. How on Earth had it come to this?

Chapter Text

Arthur took Leon aside the next day, after training.

“I need you to do something for me, and I need you to be discreet about it,” Arthur told him, voice low but firm.

He had dragged Leon to the far end of the training fields, where Merlin couldn’t listen in. Arthur could see him over Leon’s shoulder. The manservant was busy picking up the discarded weapons with the help of some squires.

“Of course, sire,” Leon replied. His voice was carefully neutral, but the harsh line appearing between his eyes gave away his worry.

“It’s about Merlin,” Arthur revealed.

“Your servant?” One of Leon’s eyebrows ticked upwards.

Arthur quickly placed a warning hand on the knight’s shoulder to keep him from turning around and making it apparent that they were talking about Merlin. “I’d like you to make some enquiries, around the lower town and the castle.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered this. “What kinds of enquiries, sire?”

Arthur briefly looked past him again to track Merlin’s movement across the training field. He had his arms full with blunt training swords and was now approached by Sir Lucan, who added his own sword on top of Merlin’s pile, causing Merlin to sway a little. “I need you to ask around the taverns. Not just The Rising Sun, but the more dubious dives. I need to find out if Merlin frequents any of those establishments and if he does, if he’s accumulated any debts or made enemies there.”

Leon’s second eyebrow ticked up, giving him a distinctly Gaius-like flair. But he only nodded once, to show that he had understood.

Arthur’s eyes flickered over to Merlin again, who was now making his way towards the citadel to return the weapons to the armoury. “I’d also like you to ask around at the castle. Discreetly, as I said. I want to know whether Merlin is friendly with one of the servant girls. More friendly than he usually is, if you understand my meaning.”

Leon’s eyes widened a bit, but again, he only nodded curtly.

“I can’t stress enough how important it is that nothing about this comes back to Merlin. There can be no gossip, either.”

“I understand, sire,” said Leon. Arthur scanned the training grounds one more time, then turned his full attention on Leon, squarely meeting his eyes.

“I trust you on this, Leon,” he said firmly.

“And I will endeavour not to disappoint you, my lord,” Leon replied solemnly and bowed. When his head came up again, he had his lips pressed together just a bit too tightly, though.

Arthur let out a long exhale, then prompted, “What is it? I can see you have questions.”

“It was my understanding that you trusted Merlin completely, sire,” Leon replied, though he was careful not let a single note of what he might be feeling bleed into his tone. “Has he done something to merit this kind of… vetting?”

“I do trust him,” replied Arthur. It was true. He still did. He would have fired Merlin on the spot if he didn’t. “But I think he might be in trouble. Trouble he would not tell me about, even if I asked.”

“I see,” said Leon, and seemed to relax a little.

He cares about Merlin, Arthur suddenly realised. It warmed him to see that another nobleman had come to look out for his manservant. Merlin was, of course, a very likable person. But Arthur knew that most knights, while too respectful or judicious to make any such comments in Arthur’s presence, found their Prince’s attachment to the insolent servant strange, if not unsuitable.

Leon here didn’t seem to think ill of Arthur’s camaraderie with Merlin. This fact made it all the more clear that Leon was the best choice for this unusual assignment.

Arthur put his hand back on Leon’s shoulder and squeezed it as he said, “I appreciate this, Leon. Thank you.”

“I will report to you as soon possible, sire,” Leon promised, and they parted.

Arthur walked back to the castle, collecting Merlin on the way so he could get out of his armour and freshened up before meeting his father for lunch. Merlin was unusually quiet as he efficiently tugged at vambraces and plates. He was looking rather pale again and Arthur wondered if that was simply because of the lingering cold or because of the trouble he was keeping from Arthur.

“Anything the matter?” Arthur found himself asking. “You seem awfully quiet.” Though he knew it was unlikely, there was a part of him hoping Merlin would spill his secret if only Arthur appeared approachable enough.

But Merlin shook his head. “Just tired, sire.”

“Are you up to serving lunch? You know how my father can be…”

“I’m fine,” Merlin insisted, then smiled a little. “Look at you, all worried about me. Have you hit your head during training?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scoffed, automatically returning the usual banter before he could help himself. “I only want to make sure you don’t dump wine into my lap.”

“I haven’t done that in over a year,” Merlin replied indignantly. “I like to think I have improved as your manservant.”

“You have,” Arthur conceded, perhaps too pointedly.

Merlin looked up at him, eyes widening a little. “Now you really got me scared,” he quipped. “Are you sure Sir Kay didn’t manage to bash your brains in a little?”

“Quite sure,” replied Arthur, masking the oncoming sigh as a heavy exhale. If Merlin was picking up on Arthur’s attempts to appear open for a more serious conversation, he wasn’t taking the bait. At least they had bantered a little.

Merlin made it through lunch without embarrassing Arthur, but again, he was unusually quiet, offering none of his cheeky commentary when Uther wasn’t looking in favour of blending into the background like any other servant might have. Arthur almost forgot he was there, which was rather worrying.

In the afternoon, he sent Merlin off to help Gaius. Arthur knew the physician was still working hard to contain that fever outbreak in the lower town and could probably use a pair of additional hands. It was an excuse, though, to be rid of Merlin. This would give Arthur the opportunity to approach the steward without Merlin tagging along or hearing about it.

The steward, Lord Alymere, was a short, serious-looking man well past sixty summers. His title was a reflection of his standing at court. Alymere, Arthur knew, was of unlanded nobility and had no estate tied to his lordship, which meant he took his job all the more seriously.

Arthur also knew Alymere had originally frowned upon Merlin’s appointment as Arthur’s manservant, but as Merlin was a hard worker – no matter what Arthur liked to insinuate when in a bad or joking mood – the steward had come to grudgingly accept Merlin in the position.

Still, it wouldn’t do to make it look like Arthur wanted to get rid of him and give Alymere any ideas about replacing Merlin. He needed to be circumspect about this enquiry. He couldn’t outright ask if anything was amiss and there was only one way to broach the subject of Merlin’s wages without the whole thing appearing suspicious.

Arthur made a point of knocking at the steward’s office instead of simply striding in, aiming for respectful rather than authoritative.

“Your Highness!” Alymere exclaimed and immediately got up from his chair behind the desk. “May I offer you a seat? Would you care for a refreshment?”

“No need to bother yourself, I’ll be quick about this,” said Arthur, gesturing at Alymere to settle down as he sat himself.

Alymere did as he was bidden. “Anything I can help you with, sire?”

“I was wondering about my manservant’s wages. He’s been working here for two years now, has he not?”

Alymere gave a short nod. His face was guarded. “Yes, sire, I believe so.”

“Would it not be time to give him a raise?” Arthur mused, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

Apparently, not nonchalant enough. Alymere’s mask of polite deference slipped and Arthur suddenly found himself facing a scowling steward. “Insolent whelp!” he barked out and slammed his open hand on the desk with a loud thud.

Arthur’s eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”

Alymere immediately caught himself. “Ah, forgive me, Your Highness,” he said, wrinkled cheeks reddening a little. “It’s only that I specifically told the boy not to approach you about this. Clearly, he still has a hard time following the orders of his betters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Merlin asked me about a raise, two weeks ago,” explained Alymere. He was scowling again and his eyes were wandering towards the window as he recalled the conversation. “I told him it wasn’t his place to demand such a thing, that a raise was something that would be granted by his master in due time, if he was found worthy of such a reward. He was quite insistent, however, that he was deserving of more money.”

That didn’t sound anything like Merlin. At least, not like the old Merlin, the one who hadn’t been just a moment away from stealing from Arthur. Oh, Merlin had pestered Arthur about a raise plenty of times, but just like his never-ending demands about a day off or less chores, Arthur knew they were jokes and banter for the most part. Merlin, ironically, never seriously asked for anything he actually deserved.

“Is that so?” Arthur prodded, hoping for more information.

“I warned him not to speak of this to you, but clearly he didn’t heed my orders,” Alymere continued his rant. “Disobedient and impudent! Conduct unbecoming of a royal manservant! Why, I never!”

“Peace, my lord,” Arthur said, aiming for a soothing tone when he realised nothing good would come from this after all. “Merlin never mentioned this to me.”

“He must have insinuated it, then!” Alymere insisted. “He always seemed the sneaky type to me, Your Highness! A nobody from the countryside, you cannot trust those insidious—“

“Lord Alymere,” Arthur interrupted him, this time more firmly. “I’ve come here on my own accord. Merlin never said anything, directly or indirectly. I think I know better than to let myself be manipulated by a servant.”

Alymere blanched. “Oh—I—,” he stammered, his eyes flying to focus on Arthur before he lowered them all the way to his lap. “I humbly apologise, sire, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You didn’t,” Arthur assured him. “All is well.”

Alymere nodded. Arthur decided he had made enough trouble for Merlin. It wouldn’t do to push the point.

“Perhaps you’re right, though,” said Arthur. “Merlin still isn’t all that experienced. We should postpone the raise for another six months or so.”

That did, indeed, seem to mollify the steward. “Quite right, sire,” he said. “Fifteen silvers a month is plenty of money for a farm boy!”

Arthur nodded his agreement, though privately, he found himself surprised at the sum. He had never bothered to check how much Merlin was paid, but was fairly sure the cook, Audrey, made more than that. Was that the whole reason Merlin was in need of money? Should Arthur consider topping it up with his own funds in the future? But even if fifteen silvers were too low a wage for a royal manservant, Arthur couldn’t imagine it would make Merlin consider theft.

Arthur thanked the steward for his time and was off, ruminating as he walked the hallways of Camelot.

While his meeting with the steward had certainly been informative, it hadn’t shed much light on why Merlin needed money, only that he was indeed going to great lengths to get his fingers on more.

Why now? Why so urgently? What kind of secret was Merlin keeping from Arthur? Why couldn’t he trust his Prince to help him? It was incredibly frustrating. Arthur arrived at his chambers with a sour taste in his mouth and an urge to throw something. Spying after Merlin was not something Arthur found himself enjoying.

Yet, once the next afternoon had arrived, Arthur sent Merlin off again, then approached the masters of the castle, trying to find out more.

“Yes, he’s been picking up odd jobs, here and there,” confirmed Master Mave. Arthur already knew Merlin had been stacking boxes for the man, but apparently, Merlin had been helping out sorting, carrying and loading supplies for the better part of the month.

“Did he say why?” asked Arthur.

“Ah, I’m not one to pry, Your Highness,” replied Mave with a shrug. “Would you like me to send the lad away, next time he asks? If he’s slacking—”

“No,” Arthur intercepted. “In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t mention this to Merlin at all. I was only wondering what he was up to. He looked a bit ill and I wouldn’t want him to overwork himself.”

Mave gave Arthur a rather fond look. “You care for the lad, eh, my lord?” he asked. The master had always been the forthright type. “Hard not to. Likable boy, our Merlin.”

“He’s a decent servant,” Arthur evaded, but Mave gave him a knowing smile and looked like he might have slapped Arthur on the back were he not the Prince.

The stable master, the kennel master, the armourer and even Audrey, the cook, all gave Arthur similar information. If the opportunity had presented itself, Merlin had shown up to help, earning himself some additional coin on the side.

Arthur wondered when and how Merlin was getting any rest and how unobservant a person Arthur had to be not to notice that his own manservant had been working jobs on the side for weeks.

What was worse, nobody seemed to know anything about why Merlin was doing all this. All Arthur had confirmed was that Merlin was in dire need of money, and he had already known that. It was vexing!

When Leon finally came to report back a couple of days later, Arthur found himself hoping the knight had heard something, even if that meant Merlin did indeed have a gambling problem or, gods forbid, a bastard son.

“Nothing,” Leon told him after training, however, and Arthur couldn’t help but let out a frustrated groan.

“Nothing at all?” he prodded, once more keeping an eye on Merlin, who was busy ladling out hot ale to shivering knights. Winter would soon be here and it had been freezing during training.

Leon shook his head. “I asked my own manservant about any gossip regarding Merlin. He can be trusted not to tattle, but he knew of none. No girls. Nobody has any qualms with him, either. On the contrary, the other servants speak very highly of Merlin. I went to the lower town myself to ask around. Most innkeepers said Merlin never even set foot in their rooms and if they knew him, it was because he assisted Gaius, not because he was a regular.” Leon retrieved a piece of paper from his armour. “I’ve heard a couple of other stories, though, about some of the knights. I’ve made some notes, if you care to know.”

Only half-interested, Arthur accepted the folded parchment and stuffed it past his own armour and down his tunic for later perusal. “I can’t believe nobody knows or has seen anything,” he told Leon, unable to conceal the growing concern in his voice.

Leon watched him carefully. “Have you considered confronting him?” he finally ventured. “I don’t know what exactly it is you believe Merlin has done, my lord, but he always appeared to be the honest, loyal type to me. I can’t imagine him keeping a secret from you for long.”

Once again, it struck Arthur that Leon seemed to genuinely care for Merlin and on a whim, he told Leon as much.

“Sire,” said Leon, eyes serious. “I faced that dragon with you, fully armed and armoured, and nearly died because of it. How could I not come to respect a servant willing to fight that beast with nothing but a shirt on his back? Merlin is devoted to you and to Camelot, perhaps more so than any knight, and I would hate to see him leave your side.”

Arthur let his eyes wander back towards Merlin. He had finished handing out drinks and was now busy collecting the mugs, respectfully lowering his head as he approached Sirs Bors and Lucan, looking every bit the servant. “You’re right. He’s brave and loyal. Which has me all the more worried about him. He hasn’t been himself for a couple of weeks now.”

“Your Highness, may I ask…?” Leon trailed off, perhaps fearing he was overstepping.

The knight was understandably curious, but Arthur didn’t want to tell him about the Incident. He didn’t want Leon to think ill of Merlin, especially not after what he had just said.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” Arthur said. “I’m determined to find something out eventually.”

And find something out, Arthur did, though it all came down to coincidence.

Over a week after the Incident, Arthur was lying awake at night. For an hour, he had tossed and turned in his bed. He was still worrying about Merlin. Now that Arthur knew something was going on, he kept seeing more signs. Their usual banter had started to dry up considerably. Merlin appeared jumpy and anxious. Two more times, Arthur spotted the servant work other jobs. On one occasion, he was late for work and claimed to have been in the woods to gather herbs for Gaius, though Arthur now knew he had likely been foraging for himself.

Arthur groaned as he stared at the canopy, then pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars. What in all hells was wrong with his servant? What kind of trouble had Merlin found himself in?

Finally, Arthur gave up on sleep and got up again. He sat down at his desk for a while, lighting a candle to go over some patrol reports to get his mind off things, but his eyes were too tired to keep it up for long. Eventually, he went to open the window, hoping some fresh air might clear his mind.

As he glanced down into the courtyard, he spotted a figure leaving the physician’s tower. Even in the dead of night, Arthur would recognise his manservant everywhere. Merlin was quickly making his way towards the drawbridge. As Gaius wasn’t with him, an emergency patient seemed an unlikely explanation.

Arthur suddenly was completely convinced that this nightly excursion had to be connected to the Incident. As fast as he could, Arthur threw on some clothes, wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and left. A couple of guards eyed him curiously as he passed them in the hallways, but when Arthur gave them a pointed look, they promptly averted their gazes. Arthur should probably make up some excuse for his father, should the King hear about this. Ever since Morgana had disappeared, he could be quite controlling.

When Arthur had finally made it to the drawbridge, Merlin was of course long gone. Arthur decided that there was no point in being subtle and approached the two guards manning the archway to the main square.

“My manservant, Merlin – did he just pass you by?”

The guardsmen looked each other. “I think it was him, Your Highness, yes,” said one of them.

“Did you happen to see where he was going?”

“Followed the main street towards the lower town, I believe.”

Arthur nodded his thanks, pulled up his hood and made to follow Merlin, when the other guard added, “I think I saw him near the eastern gate just a few nights ago when I was on duty there, my lord. I didn’t think anything of it, but…” He trailed off.

“Yes, that information might come in helpful. Good man,” said Arthur and the guard stood up a little straighter.

“Would you like one of us to accompany you, my lord?” he asked. “It’s quite late…”

“I brought my sword,” said Arthur. “Don’t worry about me.”

The guard looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end didn’t dare to question his Prince.

With nothing else to go by, Arthur made down the main road and towards the eastern gate.

Chapter Text

The city was quiet. As Arthur walked into the lower town, he passed a couple of well-dressed freemen following a servant who was holding a lantern as well as a handful of peasants loitering outside one of the shadier inns. Other than that, Camelot’s citizens seemed to have gone to bed.

As he approached the eastern gate, Arthur slowed down and started to look around for any signs of Merlin. But his manservant was nowhere to be seen. Where could he have gone? The city gates were long closed and there was no tavern around here, though Arthur knew that some of the less savoury establishments were not too far off if he were to follow the city wall further east. The idea of Merlin visiting a brothel seemed laughable, but Arthur had to consider every possibility, correct?

Before Arthur had to make a decision, a movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He turned his head to the right and, sure enough, in the narrow space between two houses he could just make out two shadowy figures. Arthur approached the little lane, on quiet feet and at an angle as to not draw attention to himself. He pressed himself against the wall of the house, then peered around the corner. This way, he could just make out faint voices.

One of them was undoubtedly Merlin’s, he realised with some excitement. However, it was hard to make out the words from a distance.

“…please… I have… more,” said Merlin. Even from just a few scraps of conversation, Arthur could tell he sounded unlike himself: meek and intimated. Arthur frowned and his hand automatically went for the hilt of his sword. Was somebody threatening Merlin?

Merlin seemed to be talking to a man, though his low, rumbling voice was even harder to hear than Merlin’s words. “…enough…”

“I’m trying!” Merlin replied. His voice had gone high-pitched and more frantic, which seemed to carry better. “I swear… everything I’ve got!”

“… gold…” said the man.

Arthur tensed. Whatever Merlin and the stranger were talking about, it involved money. There was hardly any doubt about it: This man had to be part of the reason why Merlin was in dire need of coin!

“Give me some more time, please,” begged Merlin. He sounded desperate.

The next snippet had Arthur wince. “…tell the Prince…”

“Please don’t! I swear I’ll do better,” promised Merlin pitifully.

Approaching footfalls had Arthur hurriedly retreat from his vantage point. Quickly, he crept a few steps along the façade, then hid himself in the shadow of the doorway, praying that the residents wouldn’t choose this moment to open the door.

Arthur held his breath as a figure left the alleyway. It was Merlin. He hadn’t bothered to conceal himself with a hood or mantle, and didn’t look around as he made his way up the road and towards the castle. He was rubbing a hand over his face as he hurried away. Was he crying? It was too dark to tell, but he had sounded upset enough before.

Arthur was about to follow, then thought better of it. He knew where Merlin was going. The other man was of much bigger interest to him. Arthur waited for more footfalls. But none were coming, so he sneaked back to the gap between the houses and peered around the corner.

Nobody was there.

Arthur stepped into the dark, narrow space and quickly made his way down the tight lane. Arthur prided himself on knowing his city, but even he didn’t recognise every nook and cranny, especially at night. The way was longer than Arthur had anticipated, leading past several more buildings and a fenced-off courtyard. Twice, he had to squeeze himself sideways through a very narrow passage. Finally, after some minutes, he came out on the other side. As he stepped out into the moon-lit street, he immediately got the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

At first, he didn’t see anybody, though another careful inspection of his surroundings revealed a shadowy lump to be not debris, as Arthur had first thought, but actually a man wrapped in tattered rags, huddled against a wall nearby.

Arthur approached him. “You there! Have you seen a man pass by here a few moments ago? He must have come from that alley over there.”

The man blinked up at him. Even in the dim light of the moon, Arthur could tell he was skinny and grimy, sporting matted hair and a wild beard. A beggar, most likely. His rags did little to keep the cold of an autumn night at bay and he was shivering.

“Who’s askin’?” he rasped, letting out a white puff of air as he spoke.

“That’s none of your concern,” Arthur replied.

“Ha!” the man croaked. “Important fella, are ye?”

Arthur could not quite hide his annoyance when he pushed, “Have you seen a man or not?”

The man shifted and pulled his rags more tightly about his person. “I might’ve…”

Arthur sighed inwardly. Spontaneous as this investigation had been, he hadn’t brought his purse to buy information. What else did he have to offer? He glanced down at himself, then said, “Tell me what you know and you shall have my cloak. It’s a good trade, with winter approaching.”

The beggar tilted his head. More respectfully than before, he said, “Mhm. A fine cloak, sir.” He paused as he considered the offer. “Aye, I saw a fella.”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall, bearded man. T’was a knight.”

Arthur leaned closer. “A knight? Are you quite sure?”

“Aye, sir,” the beggar confirmed. “Had a sword. Good quality, wasn’t none of ‘em scratched-up ones those guardsmen carry.” He waved a bony hand at Arthur’s sword belt. The blade was only just peeking past the cloak. “Like that.”

“How would you know a quality blade from a lesser one?” asked Arthur with raised eyebrows.

“Wasn’t always livin’ on the street, sir,” said the man with a shrug.

Arthur supposed he would have to trust the beggar’s word on that, however much that was worth. “Where did this knight go?”

The man raised his arm again, this time to point at a house across. “In there.”

Arthur turned to observe the building. It was a run-down, stone-built townhouse with a thatched roof, nothing remarkable about it. “Do you know who lives there?”

“T’is a boardin’ house,” said the beggar. “Always someone movin’ in, movin’ out.”

Arthur frowned. “Why would a knight go in there for lodgings instead of the castle?”

“Lodgin’? No,” said the beggar. “But for a game o’luck?”

“You mean gambling.”

The beggar nodded. “Has a roomy cellar, that buildin’, I hear…”

“I see.”

An actual gambling den, not just some men casually playing dice at a table. Arthur didn’t want to believe an honourable knight would frequent such an establishment, though it wasn’t impossible. More likely, though, was that the beggar had been mistaken, that it hadn’t been a knight, but some sellsword.

That would make far more sense, wouldn’t it? If Merlin did indeed have a gambling problem, as Arthur had already considered, and had debts accrued in this house, they might send a man after Merlin if he couldn’t pay. Men who knew that Merlin worked for the Prince, from what he had overheard. Perhaps they were threatening to get a message to Arthur if Merlin didn’t pay up.

A shame that Arthur couldn’t go in there to investigate now. The people of Camelot knew his face too well for that.

“Sir?” the beggar ventured.

“Yes, you’ve earned your reward, man,” said Arthur and pulled back the hood of his cloak.

The beggar hissed, then curled in on himself. “Ah—m’apologies,” he stammered, raising two hands in a submissive gesture. “I didn’t— Please, Yer Highness, I didn’t mean nothin’—”

Case in point: Even a beggar recognised his face in the middle of the night. Arthur shrugged off the cloak. “Peace. You did nothing wrong. I thank you for your help. It’s much appreciated.” He held out his cloak, but the beggar didn’t reach out, only ducked his head as far as he could. “It’s yours, as per our deal.”

“The guards’ll beat me blue’n’bloody if they catch me dressin’ a prince, m’lord,” the man murmured and curled up even further.

Arthur sighed, though perhaps the beggar had a point. He put the cloak back on, then offered, “I can come back with some coin. You were promised a reward and I’m a man of my word.”

The man didn’t reply and Arthur wondered if he was still shivering from the cold or had started to tremble in fear, too.

On a whim, Arthur asked, “What’s your name?”

The beggar didn’t look at him when he murmured, “Harlan, Yer Highness.”

“Harlan. Will you be here tomorrow?” Again, the beggar didn’t respond. Too afraid, Arthur realised. With Merlin around, it was sometimes easy to forget how intimidating a prince had to appear to a mere peasant. Arthur softened his voice considerably when he continued, “I’m not asking to send the guards after you, Harlan. You have committed no crime by answering my questions.”

More silence, then a very hesitant, “Aye, m’lord. T’is my usual spot.”

“Then you shall receive your money tomorrow.” Arthur made to leave, then thought better of it. He added, “In fact, I would ask another favour of you, if I may.”

The beggar uncurled just a little. “M’lord?”

“The man – this knight. I’d like to know whether he leaves tonight or tomorrow, and in which direction he goes if he does. It would be much appreciated if you could keep an eye out.”

“I’ll try, m’lord,” said the beggar, though he still sounded cautious.

“I thank you, Harlan,” Arthur said. “Until tomorrow.”

With that, Arthur left to make back to the castle. He couldn’t linger and have anybody else recognise him. He had already risked his father’s ire by walking about the lower town at night without any guards. As he crossed back over the drawbridge, he made a point of nodding at the guards so they knew he had returned. It wouldn’t do for them to raise an alarm because they thought him missing.

When he lay in his bed again, Arthur found himself even more agitated than before, wondering about Merlin and threats and gambling. When Arthur eventually did find sleep, it was short and restless.

The next morning, Merlin looked dreadful. His cold finally seemed to have passed, but there were dark shadows under his eyes and he went about his chores even more clumsily than usual, almost upending a serving of sausages right over Arthur’s head. Clearly, Arthur wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

Arthur decided to put him on light duty and Merlin seemed relieved when Arthur told him he would find himself a squire for training and to see about some sewing and mending instead.

In the afternoon, he sent Merlin off to Gaius’s again. If Merlin started to find it suspicious that Arthur kept sending him away, he certainly didn’t let it show. Arthur went to retrieve a handful of coins from his coffer, then left for the lower town again.

It took him a while to follow his steps from the night before but eventually, he recognised the narrow alley and the boarding house. Sure enough, Harlan was sitting across from it, his head of matte hair buried in his rags. He appeared to be asleep.

Arthur waited for a group of craftsmen to pass them, then stepped closer and cleared his throat. The beggar’s head came up, though he immediately ducked it again when he recognised Arthur.

“M’lord,” he murmured.

“I’ve come with your reward,” Arthur said in a low voice and reached into his purse. When the beggar didn’t make any move to hold out his hand, Arthur crouched down and let some silvers and coppers fall into the man’s lap.

The man stared at the money. “T’is far too much, Yer Highness,” he said timidly.

“It’s really not,” replied Arthur. “Now, have you got any more information for me?”

Harlan straightened up a bit, quickly gathering the coins in his bony hands before they could slip away.

“Aye, m’lord,” he said, clutching the money to his chest. “Yer fella left at dawn. Made right for the castle.”

“The castle? Are you sure?” Arthur asked.

“Followed him m’self, m’lord,” Harlan said, bobbing his head. “Yer fella was sneaky about it, too. Waited for a group o’servants to walk in with. Reckon he didn’t want’em guardsmen payin’ attention.”

“I see. Could you describe his face?”

The beggar shrugged. “Dark beard, sharp nose, t’is all I know.”

Arthur nodded, then reached in his purse to get out a small gold coin. “I thank you. I hope this is enough to get you off the streets during winter.”

Harlan stared at the money. He licked his lips, then snatched the coin from Arthur’s outstretched hand. When he spoke, his voice was rough, “Thank you, m’lord, for yer kindness.”

“Be well, Harlan.”

Arthur straightened from his crouch and made his way back to the castle, wondering about what Harlan had told him. A bearded, sharp-nosed knight, who spent his nights gambling and was threatening Merlin? It sounded fantastical, but what reason would the beggar have to lie?

He was still mulling everything over when he had returned to his chambers. Merlin hadn’t returned yet, so Arthur poured himself some wine and settled down at his desk. As he nursed his drink, his eyes fell on a folded piece of parchment to his left. Leon’s notes, he realised. He had never bothered to look at them, occupied as he had been with Merlin’s secret.

Arthur set down his goblet and reached for the parchment, smoothing out the wrinkles with his thumb as he began to read:

frequent visits to The Rising Sun – Sir Alynor, Sir Bors, Sir Ector
Sir Lucan – thrown out of The Red Oxen (scuffle over a game of dice)
Sir Galahad – involved with a woman near the western gate

Arthur frowned. It was a well-known secret that many a knight went drinking at the tavern, and bastard children born from peasant women were common enough among the nobility that Sir Galahad’s indiscretion didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur. Sir Lucan, though… scuffle over a game of dice. Arthur probably wouldn’t have thought twice about this had he looked at the notes a few days prior. Now, though, this titbit immediately drew his attention. Sir Lucan, a gambler?

He tried to picture the man in his head. He was dark of hair, and wore a full beard, did he not? And his nose – definitely distinctive.

Arthur refolded the piece of parchment and shoved it into a desk drawer. Then he leaned back in the chair, stretching his head all the way back until he was looking at the ceiling.

Sir Lucan had always struck Arthur as an honourable man. He was a good fighter, reliable on patrol, well-liked among the knights. Even knowing he had been thrown from a local tavern, Arthur had no reason to believe the man to be involved in anything dubious, especially anything involving Merlin.

Still, Arthur found himself trying to remember if there had been any time Merlin and Sir Lucan might have been in contact. Except for the usual circumstances like training or riding patrol, nothing came to mind.

Say Sir Lucan’s gambling went further than the occasional game of dice at the local taverns. Say Sir Lucan was indeed the bearded knight Harlan had seen entering the notorious boarding house. Where did that leave Merlin?

Perhaps the two of them had gambled together and Merlin owed Lucan money after too many a game lost. It would also explain why the man in the alleyway had threatened Merlin with going to the Prince – Sir Lucan could approach Arthur any day, if he needed to.

Still – a knight, gambling with a servant in some disreputable gambling house? A servant the knight knew to be the Prince’s personal manservant? It all sounded rather ludicrous.

Should Arthur pursue this lead? Question a knight’s honour over a troubled servant? Without any evidence but a random piece of information he had got from Leon and a beggar’s tale that might as well be a lie? Were this about any other servant – except, he immediately amended, for Guinevere – Arthur would never consider doubting a knight.

Arthur was startled from his thoughts when Merlin entered his chambers.

“Sorry, I forgot the time grinding herbs for Gaius,” said he and made his way over to the table. “He’s been running out of fever potions. Here, I’ve got your dinner now.”

Arthur stood and walked over, taking his wine with him. As he settled down to eat, he took his time to observe Merlin. He was still looking paler than usual. His eyes were tired and his hand was trembling a little when he topped up Arthur’s wine. It was so very clear that, whatever trouble Merlin was in, it was taking its toll on him. Nobody could keep up the pace Merlin had been at for the past weeks.

Arthur hated seeing him like this. He wanted banter and insolent replies and jokes that took Arthur down a notch, not whatever this was. He wanted the old Merlin back, the one that didn’t nearly steal from Arthur.

Perhaps he should pursue that lead on Sir Lucan, honourable knight or not. After all, Merlin had proven his worth many times over. He was every bit Arthur’s man as any of the knights.

Chapter Text

Once more, Arthur decided to approach Leon. Fortunately, the knight took Arthur’s request in stride and agreed to keep an eye and ear on anything concerning Sir Lucan, promising to report unusual observations to the Prince.

Sure enough, not two days later, Leon took Arthur aside after a council meeting they had both been asked to attend. “Sire, do you know Gareth?” he asked, voice low as he leaned all the way in.

“Gareth…” Arthur took a moment to think before recognising the name. “Gareth of Nemhain? Sir Lucan’s squire?”

“The very same,” Leon replied. “It seems he’s in some sort of trouble.”

This had Arthur immediately go on high-alert. Another young man in trouble, again with a possible connection to Sir Lucan? “Trouble how?” he asked.

“I overheard him talking to another squire near the training fields. Gareth seems to be under the impression that he might soon lose his position with Sir Lucan and be sent away from Camelot.”

Arthur frowned. Surely, if a squire had done something to warrant losing his position at King Uther’s court, Arthur would have heard about it. It would, after all, bring dishonour on the squire’s family. “Did he say why?”

Leon shook his head. “No, and he seemed to regret mentioning anything of the sort immediately after having it let slip. He swore the other squire to absolute secrecy and when he left the fields, he looked quite pale.”

Arthur mulled this over for a moment. “I need to question him,” said Arthur. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

Leon seemed to take in Arthur’s face, perhaps looking for clues. “Coincidence, sire?” he asked.

Arthur paused. Leon had been doing Arthur’s dirty work for several days now, without actually knowing what was going on. Didn’t he deserve to be trusted with this? Arthur glanced around. The council chamber was empty now, safe for two lords speaking in the far corner. Still, Arthur pulled Leon even further away and turned their backs on the lords.

“A week and a half ago, I walked into my chambers to find Merlin with his fingers in my coffer,” he started. Leon looked positively shocked at this revelation, and Arthur was quick to continue, “He didn’t take anything. Stopped himself just in time. But it was clear he needed money and when I started to pay more attention and ask around, I found out that Merlin has been taking on odd jobs and selling his possessions. Which is why I had you make enquiries, see what sorts of trouble he might be in to need money.”

“I see,” said Leon. “And Sir Lucan?”

“A few nights ago I followed Merlin into the lower town where I overheard a man threaten him over gold. I didn’t see his face, but I have reason to believe that man to be Sir Lucan, and that Sir Lucan might spend his nights gambling. You remember noting down that he was thrown from a tavern over a game of dice?”

Leon nodded.

“It might very well be that he frequents a gambling den in the lower town. If so, he’s spent at least one complete night there, from what I could gather so far.”

To Leon’s credit, it only took him a moment to school his features after hearing all of this. When he spoke, his voice was calm and considering. “You believe Sir Lucan is threatening both Merlin and the squire, and that it has to do with the gambling.”

“I haven’t got any definite proof,” Arthur admitted. “But I know Merlin isn’t a thief. Whatever is going on has him properly scared, scared enough to consider stealing from me. Now that squire appears frightened, too, if what you have heard is anything to go by.”

Leon nodded thoughtfully. “If you wish to question Gareth, it can be arranged. In a manner that wouldn’t draw attention, of course.”

“Good. Let’s not bring him to my chambers, then. Let’s not go to Gareth’s room, either. We can’t have people gossip and Sir Lucan find out about this if he is indeed threatening the squire.”

Leon looked thoughtful for a moment. “Are you free tonight, sire? I will approach Gareth and have him follow me to the armoury on some guise.”

“Yes, I’ll wait there by nightfall.” Arthur placed a firm hand on Leon’s forearm. “Leon, I really appreciate your help in all of this.”

“Anything for you, sire,” said Leon and bowed respectfully.

Arthur smiled, though he felt just a tad humbled. For all intents and purposes, the knights of Camelot were bound to Uther first, but he had an inkling at least some of them might be Arthur’s men all the same.

That night, Arthur lingered at the armoury, sending everyone else he encountered off under the pretence of doing an impromptu inspection. Before long, he could hear a voice in the hallway.

“… so sorry, Sir Leon, I was sure I had taken proper care of Sir Lucan’s battle axe,” said a young voice that had to belong to Gareth. He sounded chastened.

“I will keep you until you have removed every spot of rust, is that clear?” Leon replied authoritatively – the First Knight disciplining a wayward squire.

Arthur turned to see Leon push the squire into the armoury. Gareth was perhaps fifteen summers old. With his unruly dark hair and slim statue, he immediately reminded Arthur of Merlin. The boy’s eyes widened when he recognised Arthur. Promptly, he bowed, fumbling his way through a Your Royal Highness. When he straightened again, Leon had barred the door behind them. Gareth took one long look at the locked door, then threw a panicked glance at Leon.

Arthur could tell the exact moment Gareth realised this was not about a rusty weapon. He paled, chanced another wide-eyed look at Arthur, then lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Gareth,” said Arthur. “We need to talk.”

The squire started worrying at his left wrist in a nervous gesture. Gareth really was a boy yet where it counted, not a hair on his chin and just starting to gain some muscle. Arthur and Leon exchanged a look, then Arthur jerked his head towards a bench in the corner. Leon took a firm hold of Gareth’s shoulder, guided the squire through the room and pushed him onto the bench. The boy didn’t even glance up, let alone put up a fight, seemingly accepting his fate.

It wasn’t like a young nobleman, especially one training to become a knight, to be so easily intimidated. If Sir Lucan was indeed threatening Gareth, it had been enough to cow him.

Leon went to position himself by the door, arms crossed, which left Arthur staring at Gareth’s bowed head. The squire was sitting with hunched shoulders and fidgeting legs. On a whim, Arthur settled down next to him on the bench. He placed his forearms on his legs, leaning forward. From this angle, he could see that Gareth was sporting a rather alarming pallor and was biting down on his lower lip so hard, Arthur was surprised he hadn’t drawn blood yet.

“It has come to my attention that you find yourself in some sort of trouble,” Arthur spoke up, aiming for a soothing tone. “I’d like to find out what is going on, Gareth.”

Gareth snuck Arthur a side-way glance but when he saw Arthur was looking right at him, his eyes snapped back to his knees. “Sire?” he said weakly.

“Is it true that you think you might be sent away from Camelot?”

Gareth squeezed his eyes shut and said nothing.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” promised Arthur, softening his voice. “In fact, I’d be glad to offer my help if somebody is threatening you.”

Still, Gareth didn’t say anything, but from the way he was curling his fingers against the bench, knuckles going white, Arthur could tell he was on the right track.

“Is it Sir Lucan?” Arthur prodded.

Gareth took in a sharp breath, but then he nodded jerkily.

“What kinds of threats is he making?”

This time, Gareth shook his head.

“You can tell me,” Arthur assured him. “Nothing you say will leave this room.”

“I can’t,” Gareth said miserably.

“Look, Gareth,” said Arthur. “I’m the Prince. Whatever it is that is going on, I far outrank Sir Lucan. I can protect you from him if need be.”

Gareth threw Arthur another side-way glance. “You would do that, sire?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.” Arthur aimed for a reassuring smile. “I swear it on my honour.”

Gareth swallowed audibly. For a moment, it looked like Arthur hadn’t got through to him. Then, abruptly, he straightened up on the bench and drew back his shoulders, as if suddenly infused with some knightly bravery.

“Sir Lucan has been taking all of my money,” he revealed.

Arthur exchanged a meaningful look with Leon, then said, “Go on.”

“At first, he said it was in exchange for my training, my equipment, my armour and so forth, and I believed him,” Gareth continued, voice gaining confidence with every word. “But then the other squires said that they didn’t have to pay for that, so I realised he was lying to me. When I confronted him about it, he said I should call myself lucky to be his squire and if I didn’t hand over every coin my parents sent me, he would tell the King that I was a liar and a coward, a thief, too. That I wasn’t fit to be a knight and should be sent home in disgrace.” Gareth threw Arthur a desperate look. “I’m not anything of the sort, Your Highness, you must believe me. I try to live up to the Knight’s Code, best as I can.”

“I believe you,” Arthur was quick to tell him.

“Sir Lucan, he keeps pushing for more coin,” Gareth went on, clearly bolstered now. “But I haven’t got any more. I already gave him all I had. He wants me to write to my parents to ask for more…” He shook his head and fell quiet.

“Thank you for your trust,” said Arthur and clapped an encouraging hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, telling me this. Be assured, you will not lose your place at court over any of this.”

Gareth let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said and looked so grateful it momentarily made Arthur’s heart ache a little. The poor boy had been nearly crushed by the weight of this and hadn’t dared to tell anybody in authority who might help. Much like Merlin.

“Now, Gareth. Do you have any idea why Sir Lucan might be in need of money?” Arthur asked.

Gareth shook his head. “Sorry, sire.”

“Did you happen to notice that Sir Lucan left the castle at night?”

Gareth seemed to think this over. “Yes, sire,” he said. “He does leave the castle at night sometimes, I believe.”

“Have you any idea where he might be going?”

“No, sire. I assumed the tavern. I know some of the knights…” He trailed off, perhaps unwilling to tattle.

Arthur nodded. He exchanged another look with Leon, still a quiet observer at the barred door. He was frowning at Gareth, appearing troubled by what had been revealed about a fellow knight.

“One more thing,” said Arthur. “Do you know my manservant?”

Gareth smiled a little. “Merlin? Yes, I know him, sire. All the squires do. Merlin’s doing a squire’s work, most of the time.”

That coaxed a smile out of Arthur, too. “I suppose that’s true.” He sobered again. “Did you ever see Sir Lucan talk to him?”

“Ah, yes, sire, I did, a couple of times,” replied Gareth, looking thoughtful. “But I didn’t hear what they were talking about.”

“How did Merlin seem to you when you saw him talking to Sir Lucan?”

Gareth frowned. “Intimidated, maybe? But he’s a servant, so…” He trailed off.

“I see.”

Gareth’s frown deepened. “Is he being threatened by Sir Lucan, too?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” Arthur told him. He stood and Gareth hurried to follow. “You’ve done well, Gareth. You can be certain that none of what has been said here will come back to Sir Lucan, not unless there will be consequences. If you have reason to believe he is about to go to my father with some made-up tale, come to me and I will speak up on your behalf and defend your character.”

“Thank you, sire,” said Gareth and bowed low.

“And not a word about our conversation here to anyone, is that understood?” Arthur added firmly.

“Of course not, sire.”

Leon unbarred the door and sent Gareth off with another warning and a firm clap on the back, then closed the door again and leaned against it, arms crossed. “That was certainly enlightening,” he said.

Arthur started pacing about the armoury, stringing the pieces together. “Here is what we have. Lucan is a gambler, enough of one to be thrown from The Red Oxen over a game of dice. He blackmails his squire to get money from him, likely to do more gambling. Chances are, he is blackmailing Merlin, too, for much the same reason. The question is, what is he blackmailing Merlin with?”

Leon made an all-encompassing motion with his hand. “Could be anything, sire,” he said. “Lucan is a knight, Merlin just a servant. One word to the king or to you, about Merlin being a thief or even just showing disrespect…”

“You’re right,” said Arthur and stopped pacing to look at him. “Still, wouldn’t Merlin come to me if he was threatened with something like that? Why turn into an actual thief by stealing from me instead of telling me about Lucan’s threats?”

Leon tilted his head. “You believe it must be something serious. Something Merlin wouldn’t tell you about.”

“Something with some substance to it, too,” replied Arthur. “Lucan must have stumbled upon a piece of information, something that could actually get Merlin into trouble if I knew about it. I refuse to believe Merlin wouldn’t tell me if some knight threatened him over something so harmless as mouthing off.”

Leon rubbed a hand over his chin, scratching at his beard in thought. “Proof of a significant crime, then.” He hesitated, clearly unwilling to put voice to what sorts of criminal acts Merlin might have committed.

Arthur only nodded grimly. He didn’t like the list of possibilities, either: assault, treason, murder… He shuddered. He couldn’t imagine Merlin doing any of that.

“What’s the next step, then?” asked Leon. “Confront Lucan? Charge him?”

“On what grounds? All I’ve got is tales. If this were to be brought before the King, Lucan outranks Gareth, and even if I get Merlin to talk, what’s the word of a servant worth?” Arthur shook his head. “There’s no action I can take here. Not without reliable evidence.”

Leon hummed his agreement. “So we need actual proof,” he added.

“That we do. I want to see this man stripped of his knighthood,” Arthur replied firmly. “Gambling is one thing, but blackmailing? Threatening those that should be under his protection? Lucan is going against everything the Knight’s Code stands for. I don’t want a man like that in our ranks.”

Leon seemed to agree, if his grim nod was anything to go by. “We need to catch him in the act,” he said.

“Yes, with either you or I as a witness, for it to have any standing before the court,” Arthur agreed. “We should gather evidence for his gambling. My father isn’t likely to disgrace a knight in good standing on words alone, even on mine.”

“We need to catch him at the gambling den,” said Leon. “Intercept him when he’s there. Perhaps the owner is keeping records, too, so we’ve got something on parchment.”

“We could raid the house on a night we knew him to be there,” Arthur suggested. “I will ask my father for permission, but I’m sure he’ll agree such an unregulated establishment has no place in Camelot and should be closed down.”

Leon nodded. “We’d need an informant, someone to watch the house so we’d know when Lucan is there. Must be somebody Lucan doesn’t recognise so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

Arthur smirked. “I think I know somebody we could ask.” He would have to go back to the lower town sometime soon.

“And the blackmail, sire?” Leon added. “We should catch him in the act there, too.”

“Agreed,” said Arthur. “But I think I’ve got a solution for that as well.” At Leon’s questioning look he added, “I think it’s time I finally talked to Merlin.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Arthur was awake and dressed before Merlin arrived. When the servant entered Arthur’s chambers, his arms filled with a stack of laundry, his eyes went wide when he saw Arthur sitting at his desk, ready for the day.

“Gods, am I that late?” Merlin asked with a quick look out of the window.

“You’re fine,” said Arthur, then gestured at the chair at the other side of the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, Merlin.”

Merlin came to an abrupt halt half-way across the room. “Is something the matter?” he asked, apprehension plastered all over his face.

Arthur fixed him with a hard look. “You and I need to have a talk.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide. For a moment, he simply stared at Arthur. To the servant’s credit, though, he didn’t stall any further than that. Instead, he went to set down the laundry on Arthur’s bed, then bravely approached the desk and sat down on the chair. Arthur watched him for a moment longer until Merlin began to fidget, plucking at his sleeve as he lowered his eyes to stare at the top of the desk.

If Arthur hadn’t already known something was going on with Merlin, this would have been a dead give-away. Merlin wasn’t nervous around Arthur. Under normal circumstances, he would have given a snappy remark by now, about how Arthur was wasting his time and should get a move on, or some such thing. But no cheeky comment was coming.

“Sire?” Merlin asked instead, his voice anxious. It was Gareth all over again.

Arthur decided that a direct approach was probably best. “Why don’t you tell me about Sir Lucan?” he asked and watched Merlin go very, very still.

“Sir Lucan?” he said, voice just a bit faint. He still wasn’t looking at Arthur. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t bother pretending you’ve got no idea what I’m referring to,” said Arthur firmly, aiming for his best I-am-the-Prince-and-you-will-obey-me-in-this tone.

Merlin seemed intimidated enough by it at first. He curled in on himself, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders. But when he started to speak, it was a denial, “Arthur, I really don’t—”

Arthur cut him right off. “Stop! Look at me!”

Very slowly, Merlin raised his head. Arthur was taken aback. Merlin didn’t just look nervous, he looked positively terrified. Nearly all colour had drained from his face and his lower lip was trembling. For the dozenth time in the past days, Arthur wondered what on Earth Merlin might be hiding, what terrible secret Lucan could be threatening him with that warranted this kind of reaction. Judging from Merlin’s expression, a serious crime was looking more and more likely. 

A spiral of cold dread wormed its way up Arthur’s spine. He promptly crushed the feeling. This was not the time for panic.

“I won’t have you lying to me, is that understood?” he said, aiming for authority and confidence in the face of the unknown. He would find out the truth in just a moment.

Merlin only nodded, wide-eyed and still impossibly pale.

“No more secrets,” Arthur continued, in a voice that bore no argument. “Now talk!”

For a long moment, they both simply looked at each other, heavy silence filling the room.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Merlin finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were suddenly glistening with unshed tears and Arthur, gods help him, couldn’t help but immediately soften at that. A crying Merlin always got under his skin. 

“Look, Merlin, don’t be such an idiot,” he said gruffly. “You can trust me. I only want to help you. You know that, right?”

Merlin gave another jerky nod, though his face seemed to tell a different tale, filled with fear as it was.

“I’m aware Lucan has been threatening you,” Arthur continued, trying to offer Merlin an opening. “I want to know why.”

This seemed to give Merlin pause. He worried at his lower lip for a second, bravely blinking away the sheen in his eyes. Then he asked, slightly less shaky than before, “He hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“No,” Arthur admitted. “I’d rather hear it from you, anyway.”

Merlin let out a long, shaky exhale. “Right,” he said, though perhaps more to himself than Arthur. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face. When he looked up again, he seemed more collected than before and some colour had returned to his cheeks.

“Lucan has been threatening me,” he admitted.

“Threatening you how?” Arthur prodded. Gods, would he have to draw every little detail out of Merlin?

“Blackmail. Wants me to pay him in return for him keeping my secret.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “And what secret might that be?”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Merlin,” Arthur growled.

“He thinks—” Merlin cut himself off. “He’s got—” Again he stopped, then pressed his lips together.

“Out with it this instance!” Arthur ordered, now at the edge of his seat and running out of patience.

“He says he has proof that I’m a sorcerer,” Merlin blurted, then snapped his mouth shut again.

Arthur stared at him, momentarily struck speechless. Had he heard right? That was the reason? That was why Arthur had been going to all these lengths to investigate? Lucan was threatening Merlin with exposing his secret of magic?

Arthur couldn’t help himself: He sagged in his chair and let out a barking laugh, fuelled by a sudden wave of sweet, sweet relief.

“Lords above, Merlin, are you serious?” Arthur asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity. “You’re letting yourself get blackmailed over such a ridiculous claim?” He wiped a hand over his face as another chuckle escaped him. “Gods, Merlin, I almost had myself convinced you murdered somebody.”   

Merlin didn’t look like it was a laughing matter to him. “It’s a dangerous claim, Arthur,” he hissed. “A claim that, in Camelot, could get me beheaded!” He had started to sound just a bit indignant there and was glaring rather than staring.

It was an improvement where Arthur was concerned. Seeing Merlin so scared had been horrifying. At least, the servant had some of his old spirit back.

“If it were true, yes,” replied Arthur. Gods, this was such a relief! Just a baseless accusation that Merlin was a sorcerer. Nothing to worry about. “Really, Merlin! I think we’ve all been thoroughly cured of the idea that you, of all people, could be a sorcerer. Don’t you remember the witchfinder?”

“Yes, I remember Aredian,” Merlin replied, voice tight. “I remember Gaius nearly dying on the pyre because of him.”

That had Arthur sober a little. Of course, Merlin had reason to be scared. It was only that, after spending so much time figuring this out, Arthur had expected the worst! Merlin, a sorcerer? Laughable! Merlin wasn’t corrupted like that!

“Did Lucan show you this proof of sorcery he supposedly holds?” asked Arthur.

Merlin ducked his head. “Does it really matter? Aredian had false proof that Gaius was a sorcerer, did he not? It was enough to condemn him.”

Arthur had to admit Merlin had a point there. “So instead of coming to me to get this sorted, you went out of your way to work extra jobs and forage the forest to pay Lucan off, like a complete and utter buffoon.”

Merlin’s head snapped up again. “You know about that?” he exclaimed.

“Do you really think of me as so unobservant?” Arthur retorted and narrowed his eyes when he realised that, judging from Merlin’s stunned expression, his servant really did think him just that oblivious. The thought made a rush of anger bubble up. “Yes, I’ve put two and two together. Selling the cloak I gifted you?” he added harshly. “Really? That’s how you show your gratitude?”

At least, Merlin had the decency to blush at that. “Sorry,” he said, eyes on his lap again.

“Oh, you better be,” Arthur growled, but took a moment to reign himself in when Merlin cringed back in his chair. Arthur shouldn’t let his anger get the better of him. He let out a long breath of air that turned into a sigh half-way through. Eventually, he continued, “I must say, I never thought I could find myself so disappointed in you.”

Merlin hung his head.

“I saw you with my coffer that day,” Arthur added and watched Merlin flinch. “It’s what started my investigation into all of this, seeing you with your fingers half-way into my money.”

Merlin was curled up tightly now, looking small and pathetic in the chair. He had started worrying away at his wrist in a way that left angry, red marks. “Arthur,” he said, sounding about ready to choke on guilt. “I’m so sorry. You know I’d never—”

“I know,” Arthur intercepted. “You didn’t steal that day. You wouldn’t be sitting here if you had. I hope you realise how much trust I have in you to let even an aborted attempt like that slide. Trying to steal from the Prince is a serious crime, do you understand that?”

Merlin looked up at Arthur with sorrowful eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

“I could have had you flogged,” Arthur continued. “Hells, I could have had your fingers cut right off your hand just for taking the key out of the desk!”

Merlin’s voice was filled with nothing but genuine remorse. “I know. I’m so very sorry, sire. I shouldn’t even have thought about it. There’s no excuse.”

“You’re right, there isn’t. And if you ever put me in a position like that again…” Arthur trailed off, unsure what threat he was trying to make here. It wasn’t like he actually thought himself capable of punishing Merlin with anything worse than a couple of days in the dungeons or a round of the stocks.

Merlin seemed to understand all the same. He nodded mutely, eyes serious, then ducked his head again, appearing well and truly contrite.

Arthur let Merlin squirm for a bit before he continued, “What you should have done, is come to me. You know I would have never believed Lucan’s laughable claims. I wish you’d shown the same trust in me as I’ve shown you.”

“Sorry,” Merlin repeated miserably.

“Yes, I know you are,” Arthur sighed. Lords, this entire conversation was exhausting! Should have ordered some liquor to go with this, he thought, rubbing two fingers over the bridge of his nose.

He leaned back in his chair and tipped his head to look at the ceiling. He needed to take his eyes off his servant for a moment. A timid Merlin, Arthur found, was not something he wished to be confronted with very often in his life. He preferred his manservant cheeky and unimpressed in the face of royalty. Their entire relationship was based on Merlin recklessly challenging a prince. Damn Lucan for scaring him into submission!

“What now?” Merlin ventured in that moment.

Arthur glanced at him and was gratified to see Merlin had collected himself enough to sit straight again and meet his eyes. That was more like it!

“Now, Merlin,” he said with a smile that was all teeth, “we’re going to take Lucan down.”

Merlin quietly listened to Arthur’s information about Gareth and the plan he had come up with. Perhaps it was the lingering remorse over keeping secrets and nearly stealing from Arthur, but Merlin didn’t offer a single comment. Instead, he quietly nodded along until finally agreeing to do his part.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, sire, anything you ask,” Merlin replied, without the slightest trace of sarcasm or hesitation.

“Good. I’ll have everything arranged.”

Likely sensing they had reached the end of this dreadful conversation, Merlin started to get up from the chair.

“Oh, and by the way, Merlin?” Arthur spoke up. Merlin halted. “I’m sure it goes without saying that you’ll be on stable mucking duty for the next two months. I want Llamrei’s box to be spotless. Hengroen’s, too. No asking the stableboys for help, either. I’ll let the stablemaster know.”

Merlin sighed another, “Yes, sire,” though they both knew he was getting off far, far too lightly. Arthur didn’t have it in him to dole out some other punishment, though. Really, weeks of getting blackmailed probably was punishment enough.

When Arthur left for training after breakfast, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and that was despite wearing pounds of heavy armour. Merlin hadn’t done anything truly disastrous or unforgiving. A simple claim of sorcery, Arthur could handle.

At the training fields, he paired up with Leon, updating him on recent developments between the sparring. All the while, Arthur kept watching Merlin at the side lines. When the last of the drills were coming to an end, Lucan approached Merlin to grab one of the prepared waterskins. Tall, bearded, and sharp-nosed – Arthur supposed the knight cut an imposing figure, especially to servants and squires.

Now that Arthur knew what to look for, it was impossible to mistake the gleam in Lucan’s eyes for anything other than malice. The man was good, Arthur had to admit, keeping up a friendly demeanour in public, but the way he leaned into Merlin, the way he was smirking rather than smiling screamed I’m threatening you. Merlin, in turn, was ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, clearly intimidated even now, in spite of knowing he had Arthur’s support.

How had Arthur missed this for a month? Perhaps Merlin hadn’t been too far off thinking Arthur unobservant.

But then, what reason would Arthur have had to mistrust a fellow knight? The idea of superiority of those born of noble blood had been ingrained in Arthur from birth. Questioning a knight’s honour based on a servant’s strange behaviour? Unthinkable! And that was precisely what Lucan had been betting on all along – his rank and reputation.

Well, not for much longer, Arthur thought and made sure not to stare any more, lest he drew Lucan’s attention.

That afternoon, Arthur approached his father.

Uther had just finished up yet another meeting and was still pouring over some documents in the council chambers when Arthur walked up to him. The King glanced up and Arthur stiffened a bit when his father immediately frowned in disapproval. Uther had become even harsher ever since Morgana’s disappearance. He was almost unreasonably stern, with days of quiet despair sprinkled in between.

“Ah, Arthur,” he said, his voice not boding well. “Good. I would have had you summoned momentarily.”

“Sire?”

Uther straightened up, sending Arthur a damning look. “I’ve been hearing reports. What have you been doing prowling the lower town? Sneaking out of the citadel late at night, too, I’m told?”

Of course, word had finally made it to the King. Arthur had sought out Harlan again just the day before.

Luckily, Arthur was not unprepared for this particular rebuke. He laced his fingers behind his back, aiming for an air of confidence. “Actually, that is what I came to talk to you about, Father.”

Arthur was pleased to see the surprise in Uther’s face. It was nice to be one step ahead of his father for once. After a moment of silence, Uther made a beckoning motion at him and Arthur continued, “It has come to my attention that there have been some problems with an illegal gambling den in Camelot.”

Uther raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”

“I know a certain laissez-faire approach to these kinds of establishments can be useful to maintain morale amongst the people,” Arthur continued. “Still, this particular location has started to become rather disruptive.”

“Disruptive how?” Uther asked.

“Involving the nobility.”

Uther frowned. “You’re being rather vague.”

“Because I have no concrete proof, only talk,” Arthur admitted, then bowed his head. “With your permission, sire, I would like to gather evidence and see this gambling den closed if it proves to be as much of a problem as I believe it to be.”

Uther tilted his head in thought. “What do you need?”

“Some funds from the royal treasury. A troop of guardsmen, to raid the den. Permission to incarcerate any noblemen I might find there until they can be brought before Your Majesty for judgment.”

Uther studied him. Arthur tried not to fidget, meeting his father’s steely gaze as evenly as he could. Finally, the King said, “I commend you for showing initiative on this, as the Crown Prince should. Very well. Take what you need, you have my blessing.”

Arthur suppressed a triumphant grin, hiding the remaining smirk with another bow of the head. “Thank you, Father. I won’t disappoint you.”

Chapter Text

Merlin stared into the pouch of gold, eyebrows raised sceptically. “You want me to pay him off with this?”

Arthur, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, smirked at his manservant’s baffled expression. “Problem?”

Merlin held up a large gold coin, twice as thick as the common currency of the land and embossed with a dragon’s head. “What kind of money is this? I’ve never seen this sort of coin before.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s part of the Pendragon hoard,” Arthur informed him. “Minted upon my father’s coronation and stashed away in the royal treasury ever since. A reserve fund, if you will.”

“Won’t this make Lucan suspicious?” Merlin asked. “He must know I can’t have got this legally. It stands out!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That’s the whole point. It needs to be easily traceable. He’ll believe you stole it from me, which makes sense. We both know you’ve got enough access for that.”

Merlin ducked his head a little, Arthur was gratified to see. A bad conscience would do the idiot good, make him think twice about keeping things from Arthur again.

“What makes you believe he’ll use this? Won’t he be afraid to get caught with it?” Merlin cautioned.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “He’s a gambler, one who’s resorted to blackmail and frequenting an illegal den. I doubt he or anyone else will care what kinds of money he’s bringing to the table, as long as it’s worth something.”

Merlin put the coin back into the purse and tied it up neatly. “So, just hand it over?”

“A bit of acting, if you please,” drawled Arthur. “Make it convincing. You’ve just stolen official funds directly from the Crown to get him off your back. That’s a capital offence, Merlin. We’re talking treason, far worse even than nicking a couple of silvers from the Prince’s personal moneybox.”

“Right, sorry,” Merlin murmured and Arthur almost felt bad for reminding him again. Almost.

“Yes, well,” he said. “Just, don’t make a mess of it. I’m counting on you to get this right.”

Merlin’s eyes sought out his. “I won’t disappoint you, sire.”

The again went without saying, and Arthur only just kept himself from reaching out and ruffling Merlin’s hair. It shouldn’t be so difficult to hold a bit of a grudge against one’s fool of a manservant. He settled on a light punch for Merlin’s shoulder instead. “You remember the meeting point?”

Merlin glared a little. “How could I possibly forget that alley?”

“Off you go, then,” Arthur said and pushed Merlin towards the door. “Report back at once. I’ll be awake. He might be tempted to gamble it away tonight.”

Arthur settled down at his desk to work away at some letters, though he found himself repeatedly looking out of the window to track the moon slowly rising above the citadel towers. Finally, the midnight bell rang, telling Arthur Merlin would be meeting Lucan right about now.

Before long, Merlin had returned, walking in through the antechamber. “It’s done,” he said, but he looked pale, even in the low, flickering light of the candles.

“Everything went well?” Arthur asked with a frown.

“Yes. Got all kinds of excited about the gold. Called me a sneaky little bugger to have got my hands on it,” Merlin reported.

“Told you he wouldn’t mind,” Arthur said but still, Merlin seemed oddly tense, considering their scheme had been a success so far. “Are you all right? Did he threaten you again?”

Merlin gave Arthur a weak smile. “Same old. Wants me to get more money until next month, or he’ll show you proof of my sorcery.”

Arthur huffed. “Well, that was only to be expected. Of course he’d want to milk you until the end. Yet another reason why you should have come to me at once instead of…” He made a waving motion, trying to encompass all that had happened.

“You’re right,” Merlin agreed, though he remained subdued as he made his excuses and left.

His attitude gave Arthur pause. Shouldn’t Merlin be as relieved as Arthur that the secret was finally out and that he had nothing to fear? Arthur supposed it had been a trying time for Merlin, more so than for Arthur himself. Perhaps once Lucan was dealt with for good, Merlin would be back to his old self and they could put all of this behind them.

With the money planted on Lucan, it would only be a matter of time until the knight would go gambling again. Arthur had half-expected him to run off to the boarding house right away, but it was one night later that a guardsman knocked at Arthur’s door, jolting him awake.

“It’s time, my lord,” came a muffled voice.

Arthur jumped from the bed already half-dressed, slipped into his boots, grabbed a cloak and his sword and made for the door.

In the courtyard, Leon was already waiting with a group of guards. Leon had hand-picked the lot, knowing they could keep their mouths shut and weren’t in the habit of tipping off the likes of Lucan.

“Sire,” Leon greeted him. “He’s gone in. Your informant said he looked so eager to play he was all but rubbing his hands together.”

“Good. Everyone prepared?” Arthur asked, eyeing the guards as he pulled on his gloves.

Leon inclined his head. “Ready when you are, sire.”

They were off to the lower town a moment later. As they approached the boarding house, Arthur had some of the men split off to guard possible exit routes in case anyone went out the back or a window during the raid. On the opposite side of the building, a man was leaning against a wall, arms crossed. Arthur had to do a double take. Harlan had trimmed his beard and his long hair had been shaved off. He was wearing decent clothes now, including a warm cloak, undoubtedly thanks to Arthur’s money. Arthur stepped closer, which had the man hurriedly abandon his pose for a lower-than-necessary bow.

“Harlan. Almost didn’t recognise you,” Arthur said good-naturedly, then grew more serious. “He’s in there for sure?”

“Aye, m’lord,” Harlan confirmed. “Didn’t take my eyes off ‘cept to go tell ‘em guards about him.”

Arthur nodded, then gave Leon the signal to start the raid.

They didn’t bother knocking. Without warning, eight guards, along with Leon, entered the boarding house. Arthur’s hands twitched towards his own sword. He dearly wanted to join in as he heard the commotion and sounds of a struggle from the inside, but they had decided against it. Instead, Arthur was waiting outside, eyes alert as the guards finally started to escort out whom they had found gambling in the cellar: two men dressed like merchants, a well-off freeman, three dubious-faced ruffians who might very well be bandits or raiders, a man whose pointless pleas for mercy revealed him to be the owner of the establishment and, finally, Lucan, who was led out by Leon.

Lucan was arguing with Leon as he was pushed past the entrance, beseeching the First Knight to sweep the whole thing under the table out of some sense of knightly brotherhood. He immediately snapped his mouth shut when he recognised Arthur, however. The Prince suppressed a triumphant smirk, aiming for an air of grim disapproval instead.

“Sir Lucan,” he said sternly. “A knight of Camelot? Gambling in this sort of establishment?” Lucan averted his eyes, embarrassed, and curved his back in an apologetic sort of bow. “Leon, relieve the man of his weapon for the time being and bring him to the dungeons with the rest of them.”

“The dungeons?” Lucan exclaimed, though he didn’t put up a fight when Leon removed the sword from his belt. “Sire, on what grounds?”

“Anyone connected to this establishment is to be held overnight, nobleman or not,” Arthur told him.

“Your Highness, surely, if you’d let me explain—”

“You’ll explain yourself to the King, come tomorrow,” Arthur dismissed him coolly.

Lucan was smart enough to keep his mouth shut from that point on.

“He used the gold?” Arthur murmured into Leon’s ear as one of the guards led Lucan away.

Leon nodded. “Found a couple of coins on the table already.” He discreetly showed them to Arthur, then led the guards and their prisoners up to the castle. The other patrons were looking anything between angry (the ruffians), disgruntled (the merchants) and scared (the owner), though all of them ducked their heads and stayed silent when they realised the Prince was handling the matter personally.

Arthur went to thank Harlan, then followed, watching Lucan hang his head as he was led into the citadel and directly to the dungeons. Arthur would have loved to let the man stew there for a couple of nights out of sheer malice, but a nobleman had the right to address the King in a timely fashion.

The next day, when Uther was holding court in the grand throne room, Lucan was brought up from the dungeons, rumpled-looking and unwashed but none the worse for wear. Arthur had come prepared, with both a pale Merlin and an apprehensive-looking Gareth waiting amongst the crowd.

As Lucan was brought before the King by Leon, Arthur stepped down from his place on the dais to address his father from the floor.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “Last night, I had Sir Leon lead a raid on a gambling den in the lower town. Among the patrons of this establishment, we found Sir Lucan.”

Lucan – a nobleman currently uncharged of any serious crime – was not in chains or on his knees, but had come to stand before the throne, fingers laced loosely behind his back, looking embarrassed rather than worried.

“What say you, Sir Lucan?” Uther addressed the knight.

“Your Majesty,” Lucan replied, bowing his head respectfully. “It is true. I was there last night, playing cards. It is, I must admit, a weakness of mine.” He looked appropriately shame-faced at this admission and the members of the court murmured their disapproval.

“Conduct unbecoming of a knight of Camelot, no doubt,” said Uther, but Arthur heard what he didn’t say. Unbecoming, but not necessarily a matter to be brought before the King.

Arthur’s cue. “Sire, I must regrettably inform you that the issue runs far deeper than that.” The hall hushed, all eyes turning on him. “It has come to my attention that Sir Lucan has resorted to blackmail and threats to fund his addiction to gambling.”

Lucan’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t speak up. Meanwhile, Uther had leaned forward in interest.

“I know of at least two people Sir Lucan has been extorting for money for several weeks. His squire, Gareth of Nemhain—” Gareth stepped forward, bowing nervously before the King. “—as well as my own manservant, Merlin.” Merlin left his usual spot at Gaius’s side, bowed low and made to stand a step behind Gareth, as was proper. From the shocked look on Gaius’s face, the physician hadn’t known about Merlin’s troubles. “Both have confided in me.”

Lucan turned his head to stare at them both. His mouth became a tight line when he realised Arthur knew more than he had led on last night. Undoubtedly, he was already racking his brain, trying to come up with a defence.

“These are serious accusations,” said Uther. “Squire, what do you have to say?”

In front of the crowd of staring and whispering courtiers, Gareth gave a quick recount of all that he had told Arthur. Merlin, in contrast, only confirmed he had also been threatened, knowing as well as Arthur did that his word bore little weight here, and understandably unwilling to mention accusations of sorcery in front of the King if it could be avoided.

“Your Majesty,” Lucan spoke up when Merlin had finished. “As much as I respect the Prince, these allegations rely entirely on the testimony of a wayward squire and a commoner.” He glared at Gareth for good measure. “Young Gareth here is clearly trying to save his neck, knowing that I was about to approach Your Majesty about his terrible misconduct. The boy isn’t fit to be a knight. As for the servant, I don’t know what the fool is talking about.”

Uther turned towards Arthur expectantly. “You have further evidence, I hope?”

“I do,” Arthur confirmed. “As Your Majesty will see, the patrons of the gambling den were handling rather unusual currency last night.” He gestured at Leon. “Sir Leon, could you show the King what you found?”

Leon nodded and reached into his pocket. “These coins were found on location and promptly confiscated, Your Majesty.”

The knight handed the money to Uther, who held up one of the thick, gleaming coins for inspection. “This is Pendragon hoard coin,” he informed the court with a frown. The crowd promptly broke out in murmurs.

Arthur looked at Lucan, who had started to shuffle nervously on the spot. “Sir Leon, would you relieve Sir Lucan of his purse?”

Leon stepped forward. Lucan tensed and for a moment, it looked like he would put up a fight, but then he let Leon remove his purse and hand it to the King as well. Uther opened the pouch and removed a gold coin. His face darkened. “Sir Lucan,” he growled, causing another stir amongst the courtiers. “How did you get your hands on money that is supposed to be locked away at the royal treasury?”

Sir Lucan went pale behind his beard. “Your Majesty— I—” he stammered.

Arthur would have loved to see him squirm some more, but wanted the matter dealt with. “Sire,” he intercepted. “After hearing about Sir Lucan’s extortion, I asked my manservant Merlin to play along and pay Sir Lucan off with gold I had personally retrieved from the royal treasury. Money that is quite distinct and thus easily traced back.”

Arthur turned a little, making a show of addressing the court at large. “There is no valid reason why Sir Lucan should carry this kind of money. It’s either he stole the coins himself, or he accepted them from Merlin’s hands.” Over the rising murmurs of the courtiers, Arthur announced, “This proves beyond a doubt that Sir Lucan has indeed stooped to blackmail.”

Uther nodded gravely, handing back the pouch to Leon.

Meanwhile, Lucan’s eyes had gone wide and beseeching, fixed on the King. “Sire, I—” he spoke up, but Uther held up a hand and he promptly fell silent.

“Sir Lucan, I can hardly believe it,” he said, his voice hard and merciless. “Blackmail? Extorting your own squire? Have you got no honour?” He paused and it was clear only his glare was still keeping the fidgeting Lucan quiet. “The Knight’s Code is clear on this matter. Gambling is a weakness I could have excused. But extortion? Lying to your King before the entire court?”

“Your Majesty, please,” Lucan finally dared to intercept. “I’m entirely innocent in all of this! This must be the boy’s doing!” He pointed at Merlin, who stiffened on the spot. “Sire, that servant is a sorcerer. I know this for a fact. He must have bewitched the Prince and hexed those coins into my purse! I admit to being a gambler, but I never blackmailed anybody and I didn’t bring that money to the table, either, I swear it!”

Unbelievable, Arthur thought. Lucan was not going down without a fight and Merlin, the fool, didn’t even speak up to defend himself, but had resorted to staring at his feet.

Arthur, however, had him covered. “Please, spare us your tales,” he scoffed. “I have investigated this matter thoroughly and there is no doubt that you are guilty. Sir Leon vouched for it as well. Has he been bewitched by Merlin, too? Your squire as well? There is no sorcery involved and you know it!”

“I have proof for his sorcery, my lords!” Lucan insisted, eyes flying between Arthur and Uther. “I swear it on my honour! Let me take you to my chambers—”

“If,” Arthur interrupted, “you did indeed have proof that my manservant is a sorcerer, it would have been your duty to come to the King or I with that information at once!” Lucan opened his mouth to reply something, but Arthur talked right over him, addressing his father, “Your Majesty, he’s trying to make a fool of all of us, lying to our faces to try and save his skin. Why didn’t he speak up at once? Why not during Merlin’s testimony?” He looked at Merlin, who was still ducking his head. “My servant isn’t a sorcerer; we’ve heard those kinds of baseless accusations against him before. He’s been nothing but loyal to Camelot and I, as Crown Prince, personally vouch for his integrity and good character.”

Fortunately, Uther seemed to agree. He didn’t even spare Merlin a look, once more addressing Lucan.

“The Prince is right. You should have accepted my judgment with the humility and remorse befitting a nobleman, instead of adding even more lies,” he said, voice filled with nothing but disdain. “You are no longer fit to call yourself a knight of Camelot. You are to be stripped of your title and banished from this court, effective immediately. I won’t have you sully these halls for longer, either. You shall be escorted from the city this instant. You will be allowed the use of your horse so you can return to your family’s estate, where you will undoubtedly be received in disgrace. Any belongings remaining within the castle will be sent after you.” He waved at the door. “Guards!”

Lucan sank to his knees. “Your Majesty, please, I swear I can prove my innocence!” But two guards had already stepped forward and he was dragged from the throne room under the scandalised eyes of Camelot’s courtiers and petitioners.

“An unfortunate matter. Let it be a lesson to us all!” Uther announced to the court at large.

"What would you have us do with the owner and other patrons of the gambling house, sire?" asked Leon.

"The establishment has proven to be disruptive enough to tempt a sworn knight into addiction and turn him into a liar and blackmailer," Uther replied. "Have the owner flogged and banished from the city. Fine the patrons and put them in the stocks to make an example of them."

"What of Gareth, sire?" asked Arthur.

"A new knight will be appointed to train him in due time after consulting with the boy’s family." Uther looked at Gareth. "Squire, it’s a shame your training so far has been conducted by a dishonourable man. Sir Leon, as First Knight, will see to you for the foreseeable future until other arrangements have been made."

With the whole matter satisfactorily resolved, Arthur stepped back onto the dais to sit at his father's side and hear petitioners. From his seat, he let his eyes wander, looking for Merlin. He wanted to enjoy the servant’s relief and throw him a told-you-all-will-be-fine-you-idiot look in return. But Merlin hadn’t returned to Gaius's side. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day’s hearings.

Arthur later found him in his chambers, scrubbing the floors.

"There you are!" he exclaimed. "Where did you leave to so quickly after the hearing? Making sure Lucan was escorted from the city?"

"Someone told me to muck the stables as punishment," Merlin muttered towards the floor.

Arthur laughed. "Well-deserved punishment, too. I hope you learned your lesson, you great oaf. Next time you're in trouble, tell me at once. I will take care of it." He pointedly nudged Merlin's leg with a boot as he passed him. "Understood?"

"Yes, sire," Merlin sighed and went back to scrubbing. More quietly, he added, "No need to be such a supercilious prat about it."

Ah, there’s the cheek! Arthur thought with some satisfaction and sat down at his desk, putting up his feet and crossing his arms behind his head. "You really ought to thank me, Merlin.”

"I will start thanking you if you stop walking over my freshly washed floors with your dirty boots!" Merlin told him with a glare.

Arthur grinned back at him. Yes, normalcy was returning already. Before long, they would have put the Incident at rest, too, and things would be as they had always been.

“You’re right though,” Merlin added, and the bite had disappeared from his voice. He had straightened up a bit to sit back on his heels and was looking up at Arthur from the floor, clutching the brush in his lap. “Thank you for taking Lucan down, Arthur. I know you went out of your way to help me and I’m more than grateful for that. I mean it.”

Arthur waved his hand at him, suddenly uncomfortable in the face of Merlin’s sincere gratitude. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t do it just for you. We can’t have a man like that among the knights.”

“Of course not, sire,” said Merlin drily, but threw him another grateful look all the same before going back to his scrubbing.

For the rest of the day, Arthur found himself in a fantastic mood, only enhanced by the plentiful dinner – consisting entirely of Arthur’s favourites – which Merlin served him that night, and the hot, pleasant-smelling bath he got drawn on top. A grateful Merlin made for a fantastic manservant!

However, long after Arthur had climbed into bed that night, he found himself tossing and turning, filled with a sudden, inexplicable sense of unrest. An insistent voice at the back of his mind didn’t let him fall asleep, telling him that things didn’t quite add up. He let the day’s events pass through his mind once more. Finally, he frowned, got up and dressed himself again.

It was a hunch. Perhaps he was completely wrong about this. But his gut feelings and inklings had served him well in his dealings with Lucan and Merlin this far, hadn’t they?

He would go and investigate just one more time. Just to make sure he really had this all figured out.

Chapter Text

Merlin had done a lot of foolish, careless things in his life. But none of them had ever had such far-reaching consequences as losing his book of magic.

“He has the grimoire?” Gaius exclaimed, looking about ready to topple right off the bench and faint onto the floor of the infirmary.

“Had!” Merlin stressed hurriedly. “Had the grimoire. I’ve got it back now.”

Gaius needed more than just a moment to collect himself from his shock. He almost looked ill and Merlin felt a wave of guilt crashing down on him for once more troubling his guardian. “Merlin,” Gaius wheezed eventually, clasping a hand to his chest. “You will be the death of me. Mark my words!”

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin replied miserably, cringing a little. He had done a lot of apologising as of recent.

“How on Earth did Lucan get a hold of the grimoire?” Gaius asked, eyebrows raised in the most intimidating of arches.

Merlin rubbed a hand over his neck. “Well…”

One would think that two years of hiding his magic in a place that would have him set on fire were his secret ever revealed would have taught him to be careful. Not careful enough, apparently. Otherwise, Merlin would have never taken the grimoire out of the physician's tower and to the library.

Merlin had wanted to do research on some of the terms and places he had found in the magic book and it had simply been such a chore to go back and forth between infirmary and library to cross-reference everything. A book in a place filled with books? Hardly suspicious! So he had brought it with him, settled down in the far corner of the library and done his research.

Eventually, Geoffrey of Monmouth had shown up behind him, shooing Merlin away as he was wont to do and Merlin, in his haste and panic not to get caught, had taken the wrong book back home. He had realised his mistake half-way across the castle and promptly retraced his steps, but when he had finally convinced Geoffrey to let him back inside, the grimoire was not where he had left it.

At first, Merlin had been convinced Geoffrey must have accidentally put the book on some shelf and Merlin vowed to return and find it. But the next day, Sir Lucan had approached Merlin in the armoury where Merlin had been sharpening Arthur’s daggers.

“Saw you in the library the other day,” he had said and Merlin had flinched so badly he had very nearly cut himself. “Didn’t know a servant like you could read. Made me curious. Interesting book, I must say. Tell me, Merlin, how much is your secret worth?”

Merlin had lived in fear ever since. The book did not only contain spells – condemning in and of itself – but was littered with notes in Merlin’s handwriting. Arthur would recognise his scrawl at once. He had complained about it often enough. If the Prince got his hands on that book, Merlin was done for.

“How could you have been so careless!” Gaius hissed after Merlin had finished his tale.

“So very sorry.”

“That book will never leave these quarters again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Gaius,” Merlin sighed and made sure to look appropriately chastened.

In spite of Gaius’s ire, though, Merlin couldn’t help but feel relieved. Finally, for the first time in weeks, he was no longer in a constant state of desperation and bone-crushing fear. Lucan was gone. The book was back under the floorboard. Arthur hadn’t found out about his magic. All was as it should be.

“You can count yourself lucky Arthur didn’t follow up on Lucan’s claims,” Gaius told him sternly.

Merlin nodded miserably. “I know. I left the throne room as soon as I could to retrieve it.”

Gaius shook his head, then rubbed a hand over his face. “You need to be so much more careful, Merlin. After what happened with the witchfinder…” He trailed off and shuddered.

Merlin swallowed. “I know, Gaius. Believe me, I learned my lesson. Being blackmailed…” He looked away.

Living under Lucan’s threats had been the kind of torture Merlin wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Trying to come up with enough money to satisfy Lucan had been exhausting enough. He was already working two jobs and didn’t need more work on top. But the constant stress and disturbed sleep, the dread whenever he saw Lucan around the castle or the training grounds, the necessity to hide everything from Arthur… On top of all that, he hadn’t even dared to confide in Gaius, fearing his reaction.

Of course, he had tried to get the book back, every chance he got. But he had only been able to sneak into Lucan’s chambers a few minutes at a time without drawing attention and he hadn’t found the book then. With each passing day, he had become more and more scared, more and more desperate…

Some of his past turmoil still seemed to show on his face, because Gaius leaned across the table and reached out with a hand to pat one of Merlin’s. “It’s over now, my boy. You can thank Arthur for that.”

“Already did,” Merlin replied with a crooked smile.

It had been heart-felt gratitude, too. Arthur’s interference had not only saved Merlin, but likely kept him from doing something he would come to regret. Towards the end there, the stress of it all had almost been too much. Merlin had been coming closer and closer to crossing the line.

Not only had he nearly stolen from Arthur – and just the thought that Arthur knew about that drove hot, prickling shame up Merlin’s spine – but late at night, lying awake and filled with fear, Merlin had considered even more drastic measures to rid himself of Lucan.

Without the grimoire, Merlin hadn’t been able to look up any specific spells that could have helped him, but he instinctively knew how to use his magic for violence. He didn’t need an incantation to push people into walls, to hurt them, to kill them…

But he had only ever done those things to protect Arthur, directly or indirectly. And besides, had a knight of Camelot suddenly vanished, someone would have investigated the matter and might have traced it all back to Merlin.

“And you’re absolutely certain nobody saw you take the book from Lucan’s quarters?” Gaius asked with a worried frown.

“Quite sure. After the verdict, I went right up to the guards and volunteered to pack up Lucan’s belongings,” Merlin told him. “It was the perfect cover to go through his things alone without anybody becoming suspicious.”

It had taken him over an hour to find the book, wrapped in a cloak and wedged deep within a chest, the lock of which Merlin had had to blast open with magic. He had smuggled the grimoire back to the tower under his tunic.

“Good thinking,” said Gaius, then let out a sigh. “Still, Merlin. You need to be so much more—”

“Careful, yes. Got it.” In the face of Gaius’s raised eyebrows, he added, “I swear it, Gaius. I’ll be keeping my head down from now on.”

Fortunately, the matter was dealt with now. Lucan had been banished from Camelot, never to return, and even if he did, who would believe him about Merlin? He was disgraced! His word was worth nothing!

And it was all thanks to Arthur. Arthur, who had gone out of his way to protect Merlin, had realised something was wrong without Merlin having to tell him, had apparently led a thorough investigation to expose Lucan. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Arthur wasn’t as oblivious or easily fooled as Merlin liked to believe.

It was merely the topic of magic where ignorance came into play, through no fault of Arthur’s own. In a way, it was flattering that he had, once again, simply refused to believe Merlin could be a sorcerer. Arthur had grown up hearing that sorcery was synonym with deceitful and evil. He didn’t believe Merlin capable of those things. Therefore, Merlin could never be a sorcerer.

I, as Crown Prince, personally vouch for his integrity and good character. Gods, hearing those words at court – Arthur trusted Merlin. He cared for Merlin. It made Merlin feel equal amounts giddy and guilty. Giddy, because Arthur was so very clearly his friend, in spite of rank. Guilty, because Merlin had had to lie again, about the magic, about everything. He desperately wanted to tell Arthur the truth. He wanted rid of this terrible burden. But…

If you ever put me in a position like that again… Arthur was right. If Merlin ever revealed his secret, he would force Arthur into making some drastic decisions. Send a friend to his death or essentially break with his father, the King? Merlin couldn’t ask that of the Prince. No, things would have to go on as they always did, at least until the day Arthur would sit on the throne himself.

The next morning, Merlin fully expected a return to normalcy. But when he showed up at Arthur’s quarters, the door was locked and the Prince gone. One of the guards down the hallway waved Merlin over.

“His Royal Highness has given you the day off,” the man said.

“The whole day?” Merlin asked, stunned.

“It seems so.”

Merlin frowned. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like the Prince at all.”

The guard only shrugged and turned away.

Merlin supposed he should be grateful for the unexpected free time. Instead, it made him nervous. He didn’t like inexplicable, unusual things happening around Arthur. Usually, that meant sorcery was involved. Therefore, instead of going to enjoy a free day like a normal person would, Merlin tried to track the Prince down.

He found him easily enough. Arthur was on the training grounds, but one look told Merlin he would do well not to bother Arthur. The Prince was busy beating a training dummy into submission with his sword. There was straw and wood all over the place from where he had hacked two other dummies to pieces, and the other knights were giving Arthur a wide berth. No wonder – the Prince looked positively livid and about ready to turn his sword on anybody who dared approach him.

Arthur had had some bad days before, usually involving unreasonable demands from the King or other bad news. He didn’t appear cursed or enchanted to Merlin so he decided to keep his distance for now and returned to the infirmary, where Gaius was glad for Merlin’s help.

True to the guard’s word, Arthur didn’t call for Merlin for the rest of day. Merlin spotted the Prince a few times around the castle when Merlin was out delivering some medicines for Gaius, but their paths didn’t end up crossing.

By the time he had dinner with Gaius, Merlin had chalked the day off as a rare but welcome reprieve after weeks and weeks of stress.

He was almost ready to go to bed when Arthur showed up in the physician’s tower, offering up only the faintest of knocks before entering Gaius’s rooms.

“Sire!” Gaius exclaimed and automatically got up from the bench. “Are you injured?”

Arthur shook his head, waved away the formality and closed the door behind him. He looked tense, but not necessarily upset. Still, Merlin didn’t like this, the Prince showing up here late at night.

“I’m sorry, did you have need of me after all? I was under the impression I had the day off,” he said, aiming for a placating tone.

“So you did,” Arthur said. “I’ve come to talk to you, Merlin.”

Merlin tensed. He exchanged a quick look with Gaius, whose face gave away his own apprehension. Arthur sounded calm enough, but he was frowning a little, too, and the whole situation immediately set Merlin’s teeth on edge. The last time Arthur had wanted to talk…

“Now?” Merlin asked with a look at the window, trying and failing to keep the rising anxiety from bleeding into his voice. It had long gone dark outside.

Arthur nodded as he approached. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to Gaius and across from Merlin, lacing his fingers on top of the table. Merlin, more unconsciously than not, mirrored his position.

“Yesterday night,” Arthur said in a very neutral sort of voice, “I went to have a look at Lucan’s chambers.”

Merlin tried his best to keep his expression in check, even as a feeling of dread immediately started to rise up his throat.

“Oh?” was all the response he managed.

“I just thought it was a bit strange,” Arthur continued and his eyes seemed to be pinned on Merlin now, alert and assessing. “Even as he was dragged from the throne room, Lucan insisted he had proof that you had used magic. It made me curious, why he would be so insistent. I just thought I’d check, see if I found anything unusual, something that could have made him think you actually were a sorcerer.”

Merlin felt his hands start trembling and he laced his fingers together all the more tightly, willing them to still.

“When I went to his chambers, everything had already been neatly packed up. I went through his things anyway, just to make sure. Didn’t find anything, though,” Arthur continued, his voice still calm and even. “Don’t know what I expected, really. I knew there was no proof to be found because you are not a sorcerer. I know that for a fact.” He paused. “Or I thought I knew that.”

Merlin’s heart started picking up speed so fast, it momentarily made him feel faint. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Gaius shift nervously.

“Because here’s what’s odd, Merlin,” Arthur went on. “When I asked around this morning, the guards told me that it was my personal manservant who had volunteered to clean up Lucan’s chambers, right after the hearing.” Another pause. “The same manservant who told me he had gone to muck the stables.”

Merlin swallowed and did his very best to meet Arthur’s gaze unflinchingly. He didn’t know what else to do. Speaking up certainly wasn’t an option.

“I wondered, you know,” Arthur said, “why you didn’t come to me about Lucan. Why you didn’t trust me enough. You had to know I wouldn’t believe some made-up nonsense about you using magic. We’ve been through this before. You once confessed to being a sorcerer yourself and I didn’t believe it then, either!”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly and Merlin had to unlace his hands and dig his fingers into the wood of the table to steady himself.

“Then I kept wondering: Why wouldn’t he tell me? Have I really given Merlin so little reason to put his trust in me? Have I been such a bad master?” He tilted his head a little. “Have I been such a bad friend?”

At this, Merlin mutely shook his head. Because Arthur wasn’t a bad friend. Not where and when it counted. He would have liked to tell him that, right then. But he couldn’t speak. Something was constricting his throat, two ice-cold hands pushing down on his windpipe, nearly cutting off all air.

“That’s good to know,” Arthur said. “So you do trust me?”

Merlin nodded and something in Arthur’s face gave. He looked softer, somehow, and when he spoke again, his voice had gone gruff in the way it always went when he was trying to mask some emotion.

“I realised,” he said, “that there is one other reason why you wouldn’t tell me. Why you would be scared to tell me. Something that would explain why you looked so terrified when I first told you I knew about Lucan.” He hesitated again, searching Merlin’s face. Whatever he found, it made him frown deeply. “Merlin,” Arthur added. “The truth now, and only the truth. Lucan… he did have proof, didn’t he? Proof that you’re a sorcerer. That you used magic.”

For a moment, Merlin actually forgot how to breathe. A hundred ways to say no, to deny the truth jumped to the forefront of his mind, somehow immediately swept aside again by the sheer openness of Arthur’s face: plainly worried, plainly caring, but – and this was the important, the incredible part – not a bit of anger, or fear, or betrayal.

He couldn’t lie to Arthur. Not again. Not when he looked like that.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered. “He did.”

“Proof that you made disappear, when you left the throne room in such a haste.”

Merlin swallowed. “Yes.”

“Because you actually are a sorcerer.”

Merlin took a shaky breath. This was it. “Yes.”

Arthur seemed impossibly calm then, not the faintest tremble or twitch about him as he looked at Merlin. Merlin had always imagined Arthur would either shout or attack if he found out, but Arthur seemed to be coming to terms with it quietly. It probably helped that he had already figured it out for himself and had only sought to have it confirmed.

Arthur’s composure somehow soothed Merlin’s own frantic nerves. The secret was out and with every passing second Arthur wasn’t screaming in his face, it looked like that revelation might not actually be a complete disaster.

Finally, the Prince chanced a sideway glance at Gaius, who had gone pale, but steadily met Arthur’s gaze.

“You knew,” he said, and Gaius nodded gravely. “But I already guessed that much.”

Arthur leaned back on the bench and when he raised his hands from the table, Merlin couldn’t help but flinch back. But Arthur only went to rub both hands over his face and let out a long, long groan.

“Lords, Merlin,” he said, his voice muffled. Finally, he let his hands fall to his side. “How long?”

Merlin grimaced. “A long time.”

 “Since before you’ve come to Camelot, then?”

“Yes.”

Arthur pressed his lips together and seemed to need a moment to stomach that.

“What was the proof?” he finally asked. “What did Lucan have on you?”

“I own a book of magic,” Merlin confessed shakily. “Lucan got a hold of it.”

Arthur seemed to rake his eyes over Merlin for a moment, as if to assess him, then closed his eyes and let out another sigh. Merlin chanced another glance at Gaius, but his guardian’s eyes were trained on the Prince. He seemed to be watching the entire situation with a lot less alarm and a lot more careful consideration than Merlin might have thought possible, given the circumstances.

“You’re taking this… rather better than I thought,” Merlin ventured eventually, then cursed himself an idiot. Did he want to get killed?

Arthur’s eyes flew open and he immediately pinned Merlin with a glare. “I just spent nearly two weeks trying to find out what terrible secret you might be hiding from me,” he snapped. “Believe me, Merlin, I was prepared for the worst.”

Merlin hunched his shoulders. “Is this… the worst?” he asked shakily.

Arthur, by the gods, made a sound very much akin to a snort. Perhaps it was one. “My manservant of two years, who I’ve come to trust completely, turns out to have been a sorcerer in disguise all along? Yes, pretty high on the list,” he said drily.

Merlin stared at him. He was still waiting for the shouting to start, the other shoe to drop. “What— what will you do now?”

“I have no idea,” Arthur admitted.

“Will you tell your father?”

“Will I tell my—” Arthur glared again. “No, I bloody well won’t tell him! I just stood in front of the entire court proclaiming I could never believe you to be a sorcerer! I vouched for you, you idiot!” Merlin raised his hands in a defensive gesture, shrinking back, and Arthur let out another sigh at that. “Merlin,” he added, his voice suddenly turning incredibly weary, “The longer I investigated Lucan, the more I realised how much I was willing to do for you, how much I was willing to overlook. I think I might have helped you cover up a lot of things that Lucan could have revealed.” He paused, then added gravely, “I think I’m willing to overlook this, too.”

This… couldn’t be happening. Surely, this was not how things were supposed to go.

“Overlook that your manservant is a sorcerer,” Merlin said with disbelief.

For the first time since Merlin’s confession, Arthur turned his head away, fixing his eyes on a wall. “Here is what I realised once I had figured this all out,” he said, voice rough. “You’re a sorcerer, yes. Believe me, I was very, very angry when I finally allowed myself to come to terms with that. It was good you were on the other side of the castle at that time, or I might have done something unthinkable…”

Merlin swallowed as he remembered the state of the training dummies. Arthur had a point.

“Then,” Arthur continued, “I took some time to look at the facts. For two years, you have lived at Camelot, in close contact with me, yet you never attacked me. When somebody finally found out about your secret, you let yourself get blackmailed and threatened. You didn’t attack Lucan with magic, either. Instead, you went out of your way to get your hands on money, working side jobs, selling herbs… And though you were tempted, you didn’t steal from me. So either, you’re just an incredibly shoddy and incompetent sort of sorcerer—”

Merlin let out a snort that might also have been the start of a sob.

“—or you’re simply not an evil one.” Finally, Arthur glanced back at him and it was that look, a look filled with nothing but calm and trust, that was Merlin’s undoing.

“No, Arthur,” Merlin whispered and suddenly, there were tears in his eyes and a big lump in his throat, “I’m not evil.”

“Of course not,” Arthur said gruffly. “I think I know that much, you idiot. The longer I think about all of this I realise…” He trailed off, then added, “You saved my life a few times, didn’t you? With magic?”

Merlin nodded and ran a sleeve over his face. It came back wet. Gods, this was— Merlin had no idea what he was feeling right now, but it was very nearly making his chest explode.

At some point, Gaius had got up and fetched the tea pot from the fire. He set down a cup in front of Merlin, brushing an encouraging hand over his back before retreating from the table, giving them both room to breathe and talk.

Merlin took a few more minutes, sniffling and rubbing at his face. It should have been embarrassing, having a break-down in front of Arthur, but the Prince kept quiet and didn’t look like it was bothering him in the slightest.

“What now?” Merlin finally asked when he had calmed a bit, fingers curled around the steaming cup in front of him.

“Now,” Arthur said and leaned forward again, placing both forearms on the table and fixing Merlin with a stern look, “you will quit lying to me. You will tell me everything. I mean absolutely everything. I am done putting pieces together.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said immediately. He paused, then added bravely, “Arthur, you must know, there are things I’ve done for you, for Camelot… You’ll be so incredibly angry—”

“Everything,” Arthur interrupted, holding up a hand. “The good, the bad, unfiltered. I think I deserve that much if I am to consider keeping this under wraps.”

Merlin nodded. Part of him desperately wanted to keep hiding. The dragon, Morgana… Surely, if Arthur knew about those things, he would lose this strange sense of calm and steadiness he was still radiating and vow to throw Merlin on the pyre after all.

But Arthur was right, too. He deserved to know. He deserved Merlin’s trust. Lying wasn’t an option anymore.

“All right,” Merlin said and braced himself. “Maybe let’s start with the fact that I was born with magic…”