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The gold of Merlin’s eyes fizzled out as, yet again, his magic failed to clear the wrinkles from his skin and the hunch from his back, energy depleting further with every attempt. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel so weary.
“See?” His unrecognisable voice croaked as he leant heavily against the bars that were keeping him trapped in the small cell.
Everything had gone to plan; the disguise had been foolproof, the timing of his capture had been perfect, the accusations from Uther went exactly as hoped for. Gwen had been released from the dungeons; all blame for the enchanted poultice disregarded.
But neither he nor Gaius had factored in the possibility that the final step of his escape would fail so spectacularly. The ageing spell he had performed hours ago was really starting to take its toll and his inability to reverse the enchantment was causing him more distress than he cared to admit.
Gaius eyed him carefully and Merlin could see that the man was reluctant to admit what they were both thinking.
It had been a good idea. In fact— it had even been rather fun. Not only had he been able to use his magic right in front of Arthur without consequence; he had taken the very satisfying opportunity to tell Uther straight to his face exactly what he thought about Camelot’s ban on magic. Reminding the King of just how many lives he had ruined with his cruelty and prejudice had done more for Merlin than he realised it would.
And yes, he had considered the risks. Even in old age, there was a chance he could be recognised. Or worse, his magic wouldn’t be strong enough to hold the spell; his body reverting to its younger form without warning and exposing him as a sorcerer to those that would have him put to death.
He just hadn’t considered the possibility that his magic would be too strong. Too uncontrollable. That he would be facing death all the same. He had just wanted to save his friend; he hadn’t intended to face the pyre in her place.
“There might be a way.” Gaius frowned. “A potion that could reverse the spell.”
“How long will that take?”
The physician’s eyes turned sad. That was answer enough.
“Get me as much time as possible.”
Stall Arthur. That was his new plan.
Well, right now that was his only plan.
And when the prince finally came to see him, demanding to know the truth behind the poultice that Dragoon the Great had been hiding under his pillow, he did his best with the only leverage he had.
“You can’t execute me.”
“Is that so?” Arthur snarled, eyebrow raised in annoyance. “The penalty for using magic within Camelot is death. You enchanted a member of the royal court knowing full well the punishment for your actions. Now tell me the truth.”
The truth? Well okay…
“The truth is…if you kill me, you’ll never see your servant again.”
Arthur blinked in confusion, though he was quick to mask his surprise at the sudden pivot in topic. He had obviously been hoping for confirmation on whether his feelings had been caused by an enchantment or not. His servant probably couldn’t be further from his mind— until now.
And really, Dragoon wasn’t lying.
“What are you talking about?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed incredulously, arms folding against his chest as he tried to work out where this was going, and Merlin had to hope that Arthur cared enough at the thought of his servant being in danger to take his confession seriously.
So, he donned his slyest grin and stretched every croaked-out word. “Did you think I came here without taking precautions? I have your servant locked away, somewhere you’ll never find him… Unless you let me go.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth as his chin lifted with conviction. “Nice try, but I know where my servant is.”
“And where is that?” Dragoon spat out, stepping closer only to be met with the prince’s palm rattling the bars with a mighty whack.
“I’m asking the questions! Now tell me the truth about the poultice.”
Merlin’s stomach dropped so suddenly it seemed to weigh his feet right down to the floor. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak— he was stunned into silence, his mouth clamping shut obediently. Arthur hadn’t even considered taking the bait.
And despite his insolence over the years, Merlin had never seen the pure anger that currently blazed in Arthur’s eyes directed towards him before, and in that moment, he knew; there was no getting out of this.
The morning chatter emanating from the courtyard roused Arthur from his slumber and he groaned into consciousness, flinging one arm across his face in preparation for the burst of sunlight about to assault his eyes.
He had told Merlin off too many times to count but he never listened and one day he was bound to rip those curtains right off the rail with all that force he uses to open them. It was unnecessary and, quite frankly, just plain rude. What was the point in having a servant to wake you up in the mornings if they never did it right.
He groaned again, the noise quickly turning into a yawn, as he tried to force his body not to sink further into the pillows. He had a long day ahead and he already felt exhausted. Unwelcome dreams had plagued his sleep all night, forcing him awake at odd hours; dreams of Guinevere and fire and dark magic stealing away those he cared about.
It was such a shame that his bed was just so comfortable, his pillows still fluffed, the sheets cocooning him just right, the hubbub of the courtyard hazy enough to send him drifting right back to…
Just as he was about to doze off again, a wave of realisation jolted him back into awareness, heart picking up its pace as he moved his arm and glanced around the room.
All was quiet and exactly as he had left it the night before; chamber door still closed, yesterday’s clothes still strewn across the floor; no sudden sun, no unnecessarily cheerful greeting. No Merlin.
How odd.
He pushed himself upright, heart hammering a little faster as the old man’s words from last night ran through his mind. He wasn’t to be believed of course. It had simply been the desperate ramblings of a man faced with his own death. But what if…?
Arthur pushed away the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing into the cold floor. As much as he liked to complain about Merlin’s shoddy cleaning skills and too-chirpy wake ups and all-round lack of respect when serving the prince, timekeeping was actually rather low down on his list of issues.
Arthur stared at the door with a frown, almost daring it to open, and whilst there was the sound of a distant conversation filtering through, his very late servant failed to come bursting in.
He suddenly felt very wide awake.
Without a second thought, he crossed the room to grab a tunic and trousers from his wardrobe and began to dress himself because, yes, he was capable of doing that himself thank you very much. And also because there was a sudden fear sitting in his chest that maybe he should have listened to the desperate ramblings of an old man last night.
It took a few attempts for his head to find the correct exit out of the linen, the sleeves bunching at his wrists as he tried to escape, and there was definitely too much material at the end of his trousers or he wouldn’t have nearly tripped to his death. But then, as he stumbled across the floor like a drunk at the end of the night, fear turned to anger as the words of another old man ran through his mind.
He said he was going to spend the day in the tavern.
In the tavern.
Merlin was in the damn tavern.
And now everything made sense. Arthur huffed forcefully through his nose as he saw the mess of his room in a whole new light. Everything was as he had left it because his servant had decided that wasting away the hours, filling his stomach with endless quarts of mead, was more important that doing his job!
Grabbing his belt from the bedside table, his fingers fumbled to fasten it in his ire. It was maddening just how much he had to put up with sometimes. Of all the days Merlin had to choose to get inebriated! Had he not considered that there were more important things to be dealing with, such as getting Arthur ready, or preparing the courtyard, or even making sure that his friend was okay. Guinevere had been sentenced to death after all.
He struggled into his shoes and managed to half tuck in his shirt before he left the room, carrying his anger all the way through the castle until he reached the physician’s chambers.
Without thinking twice, he slammed a hand against the door, pushing it open with such a force that it met the wall behind it with a bang, and was about to yell for his lazy servant when the sight of Gaius’ head shooting up from where it had been resting against his arms froze him in his tracks. The physician stared at him in such shock at the rude awakening and Arthur instantly felt his cheeks flush.
“Oh, sorry Gaius.” He smiled apologetically, making a show of closing the door carefully behind him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Gaius blinked at him blearily before taking stock of himself and straightening out his cloak. He had clearly slept just as well as Arthur then, judging by the weary air about him. But it was curious that he hadn’t made it into his own bed, instead choosing the desk to rest his head. There were many vials and bowls and clusters of herbs cluttering his workspace and it was clear to Arthur that he was in the middle of brewing some potion or other. That could explain the late night.
“What can I do for you, Sire?” Gaius asked as he slowly got to his feet. He was watching Arthur warily, clearly surprised to be seeing him first thing in the morning.
“I’m actually looking for my servant.” Arthur turned towards Merlin’s door, directing his words a little louder in that direction so that the man in question could hear him. “Who was clearly too drunk to arrive on time for his duties this morning.”
A moment passed and Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he listened out for movement behind the closed door— the sound of Merlin tumbling out of bed maybe, cupboards slamming as he frantically tried to get dressed. Perhaps even a sorry Sire, I promise I was on my way, but there was nothing.
Right, that was it. No more time for subtleties.
“Sire—” Gaius reached out hesitantly and tried to stop him, but he was too quick for the old man. Arthur stalked towards Merlin’s door and pushed it open, fully prepared to drag his lazy servant out of bed if he had to.
And he would have, happily, if he hadn’t been greeted by a vacant bed.
Now, either Merlin had risen early and tidied his room before going about his morning chores, or the bed before him had not been slept in.
If you kill me, you’ll never see your servant again.
The sorcerer’s threat shot through his mind again, but he forced it away as he turned to face the physician. There was obviously a very reasonable explanation for all this, but as he wordlessly raised an eyebrow questioningly, Gaius looked almost unsure of what to say.
“He didn’t come home last night.” Gaius offered reluctantly, but it did little to assuage Arthur’s belief that his servant was simply off not doing what he should be.
“From the tavern?” He asked, silently hoping for once that that was the case.
Gaius’ gaze flitted towards the supplies littering his desk before offering Arthur a reassuring half-smile. “I’m afraid so, Sire.”
Arthur swallowed down the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat and left the physician to his morning duties. “Very well. Thank you, Gaius.”
As he gently closed the door behind him, he felt a sickness begin to settle in his stomach. He’s seen that smile on Gaius before. And for a man so used to delivering bad news, he’d never quite learned how to hide it very well.
He didn’t have time for this!
He thought to himself as he marched across the courtyard towards the lower town.
Running around Camelot searching for his servant of all people.
He offered morning salutations to those that bowed to him along the way.
He had an execution to prepare for.
He knocked on the tavern door, more mindful this time of who he was disturbing behind it.
And yet, here he was, willingly doing something he could have sent literally anyone else to do in his stead.
“Good morning, Sire.” The owner of the tavern greeted the prince with obvious surprise, taking a moment to gather his wits and welcome him inside.
“Matthew.” Arthur nodded at the man, because despite what others may think of him, he did actually make the effort to learn the names of his people. Or at least, those that owned the establishments he frequented. “I’m looking for my servant. I hear he spent the night here.”
He ducked through the doorway, casting an eye around the room. It was a strange place to view in the daylight, looking so much bigger without the crowds that would no doubt be filling the seats by the night’s end. A faint aroma of the previous evening’s mead still lingered in the air and, judging by the cloth and bucket resting atop the bar, Arthur had interrupted the morning preparations.
“Merlin?” The tavern owner frowned, brushing a hand across the top of a stool should the prince wish to sit down. Arthur declined; he didn’t plan on staying for long. “I haven’t seen that boy in weeks, Sire.”
Arthur’s stomach dropped, despite the very empty space having already told him that his servant wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
If you kill me, you’ll never see your servant again.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sire.” Matthew answered honestly.
“He wasn’t here yesterday?” Arthur pushed anyway.
Matthew paused like a deer in the torchlight, racking his brain for whether or not he had somehow missed the prince’s servant lodging in the corner of his tavern into the early hours. “Um…I’m afraid not, Sire.” He hesitated, unsure of the appropriate etiquette for the situation. “…Do you need help looking for him?”
“No.” Arthur plastered on an unconvincing smile as he turned to leave, keen to continue with his search elsewhere. “No, I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
Dragoon was lying, of course, because that was what sorcerers did. Just trying to save his skin when faced with his own demise. But Arthur couldn’t bring himself to begin the execution proceedings without making sure.
The air turned cooler as he descended the steps to the dungeons, the sparse number of torches lining the walls doing little to heat the underground space. And with only one prisoner locked away awaiting his fate, it was eerily quiet. There was a chance that the sorcerer was sleeping but, in Arthur’s knowledge, that probably wasn’t the case. The prisoners often spent their final night wide awake and praying the dawn never broke.
Sure enough, as Arthur stopped a few feet away from the occupied cell, it was clear that the sorcerer had endured a long night. Sitting hunched against the wall, the man’s face was turned away from him, sight locked on the slither of light entering through the small window at the top of the wall. He must have heard Arthur approach, yet he clearly refused to make the first move.
Arthur’s voice was low as he spoke, too impatient for any pretences. “Where is he?”
“Who?” The man replied, head still turned away, and Arthur felt a burst of anger start to fizz inside his chest. He didn’t have time for this.
“Don’t play games with me.” He bit out. “My servant. You claim to know where he is, so where is he?”
The sorcerer pushed himself off the bench and crept closer, feet shuffling against the floor. As he reached the bars, he wrapped both bony hands around them as he rasped out a question. “You’ll stop the execution?”
Arthur could see the man’s face much clearer now. Compared to the brazen old man he had found lurking in his chambers, the man in front of him was so much more weary, almost unable to stand without support. That’s what a sleepless night in the dungeons did to a person, he supposed.
Not that Arthur had room to feel sorry for him. The sorcerer knew what he was risking when he put that poultice in Arthur’s bed. And while Arthur may never get the truth about the enchantment placed on him and Guinevere, he could at least get answers about this.
“Tell me where he is and I’ll speak to the King.” Arthur stood his ground. Chin raised and back straight, he took control of this unwelcomed negotiation. “Unless you were lying to me?”
Dragoon hesitated for a moment, observing Arthur carefully through the bars, before sighing heavily, eyes turning downwards. All the fight seemed to drain out of him and for a moment, Arthur thought he had gained the upper hand. It hadn’t taken much but the old man had finally broken. But then the clack, clack, clack of approaching footsteps put an end to his near win.
“Sire.” Leon spoke out as he paused at the foot of the stairs. “They’re ready.”
And Arthur knew his hands were tied. He couldn’t stop this without just cause and the old man just refused to give him any. He gestured for Leon to wait a moment as he stepped closer to the bars, face steeled in a final attempt at gaining answers.
“Your crimes have already almost cost an innocent person their life.” He whispered, unwanted desperation bleeding out as he spoke. “I cannot stop this execution, but you can still do the right thing.”
Dragoon’s sad gaze lifted to meet his and Arthur’s stomach turned as he was caught off-guard by the familiarity. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t know this man, had never seen him before these past few days, and yet that blue was just so familiar. He tried to push away the feeling, but a heaviness crept into his chest and refused to budge, his nerves instantly on edge as if almost certain of what the man was about to say, like he’d witnessed this exact gaze before. And if he was right, it meant his time had run out.
“…I can’t. I’m sorry.”
The low bass of the steady drumbeat echoed across the courtyard, signalling the impending execution. The mutterings of the crowd were hushed but eager, a hundred pairs of eyes growing impatient to catch a glimpse of the latest sorcerer to cross Camelot’s path. There was quite a turnout, Arthur noted as he led the guards to the centre of the square, their prisoner flanked securely on either side.
His father was watching stoically from the castle’s balcony, overseeing the proceedings from far enough away that he wouldn’t get his hands dirty. Because that was Arthur’s responsibility, to ensure the sorcerer made it onto their pyre, to secure them to their death. To be the last words they heard, the last face they saw.
It was never a joy to hear their screams, but at least the act always brought a sense of balance back to the world. A wrong being righted as justice was served.
But as the pyre grew closer and his feet grew heavier, the too-steady beat of the drum brought the sickness back to his stomach as it portended not one death, but two.
The volume of the crowd grew as the onlookers were faced with the latest source of evil to wreak havoc on their kingdom, their brave jeering only possible thanks to the wall of guards between them and the man they mocked. Arthur knew they wouldn’t be nearly as bold if faced with the sorcerer alone.
And as if on cue, the taunts turned to screams as Dragoon lunged for the crowd, a wicked spell rolling off his tongue and setting the pyre ablaze before he could be tied to it. It only took a few seconds for Arthur and his knights to lose control of the situation, but in one instant the sorcerer was there and the next he was gone, leaving a distressed Gaius and a disappointed King in his wake.
His father’s admonishment could wait.
“Gaius! Are you alright?” Arthur spared a moment to rush over and steady him, horrified that the sorcerer had chosen him as a target. Gaius took Arthur’s hand gratefully and brushed himself down before allowing an affirming nod. Satisfied that the physician was unharmed, he led his men straight back into the castle in search of their fugitive.
He sent three men to the west corridor, three towards the throne room and led the remaining three in the opposite direction. It was a large castle and the sorcerer could be anywhere, but as they methodically searched room after room, finally he spotted something up ahead – a flash of red whipping behind a corner. Sword drawn and ready, he rushed his men forward only to nearly skid across the floor in disbelief as he stopped himself in his tracks.
“Merlin?!” He couldn’t stop himself from blurting out when faced with the very last person he expected to see. All this worrying and his servant had clearly been fine all along. “Where is he? The sorcerer?”
“Umm.” Merlin voice broke as he pointed clumsily towards the nearest doorway. “He went that way.”
Arthur stared at him, dumbfounded, and instantly any concern shifted to frustration. “And you didn’t stop him?”
Merlin cleared the croakiness from his throat, eyes gawping owlishly as he tried to pluck an answer from his slow-moving brain. “…he was too fast.”
“He’s a doddery old man!” The prince huffed as his servant looked back at him with a more blank look than usual and Arthur would have called him out on his incompetence if the boy’s knees hadn’t buckled beneath him without warning. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t fine.
Suddenly faced with an armful of servant, Arthur ordered his men to continue the search as he lowered Merlin down to rest against the wall. Crouching down beside him, Arthur kept one steadying hand on his shoulder as the boy swiped tiredly at his eyes.
“I’m okay.” Merlin’s reassurance was quiet and breathless and all too implausible for Arthur to actually consider listening to. His pink-tinged cheeks held an unusual peakiness, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. What on earth had happened since Arthur last saw him?
“The sorcerer, he said— I thought you were—” Arthur paused to reign in the rasp of fear he unintentionally let slip. “Where have you been?”
Merlin tipped his head back and Arthur winced as it collided with the wall more solidly than either of them expected. Though, seeming seconds away from falling asleep where he sat, Merlin barely reacted. His half-lidded eyes were blinking rapidly in a poor attempt at staying open and the hand reaching up to feel the back of his head barely held the strength to stay lifted.
Maybe the questioning could wait.
Arthur glanced in the direction his knights had fled, disappointed not to see them making a swift return, Dragoon in tow. It was only a matter of time. He trusted his knights to find him and by the afternoon bell, he had no doubt the sorcerer would be returned to the pyre.
“Come on.” He hefted Merlin onto his feet before he had a chance to protest and pulled one arm across his shoulders to keep him upright.
The walk back to the physician’s chambers was slow and silent, made even slower by Merlin’s clumsy feet and unrestrained weaving before Arthur pulled him in against his side and forced him in a straight line. Merlin accepted the manhandling without complaint, the only protests were those floating in through the window from the crowd still gathered in the courtyard, confused and discontented at the unexpected stay in execution. But Arthur knew they would be easily dealt with.
The King’s incoming disdain, not so much. But that was still a problem for later.
The rate at which Merlin was flagging was cause for concern and Arthur was getting rather tired of the returning queasiness that had been making itself known all day. He gave Merlin a little shake as they walked.
“Uh-uh, no falling asleep yet.”
Merlin groaned but forced himself to straighten up and make it the rest of the way on two feet.
Carefully pushing the door open revealed Gaius to be waiting for them, almost expectantly.
“Merlin!” The physician gave a heaving sigh of relief as he rushed over to check on the boy, gentle hands cupping his face and tilting it this way and that as he gave him a once-over.
“I’m okay, Gaius. Just tired.” Merlin reassured him and Arthur was surprised to see that was all it took to satisfy the man’s unspoken questions, instructing Merlin to head straight to bed. He had been missing for at least a day, had he not been the slightest bit worried? Arthur, though he loathed to admit it, been going out of his mind all morning yet Gaius had remained completely unfazed by his ward’s disappearance?
Except, when Arthur glanced back as he helped Merlin to his room, he couldn’t help but notice the pinch of Gaius’ eyebrows as he followed them in nor the slight wringing of his hands as he watched Merlin climb under the covers.
Whether it was Arthur’s presence that was holding him back or the fact that Merlin looked to be moments away from drifting off, Arthur could see the physician’s desperate need to check on his ward further. Not to mention the need to ask exactly the same questions that Arthur was dying to get answers for.
But they would have to wait, he supposed, as he watched Merlin’s eyes flutter closed without resistance, not even the impatient buzz of conversation from outside nor the two people looming over him enough to keep him from falling asleep. And in the middle of the day, no less.
Whatever the sorcerer had done to him had clearly taken everything out of him, not that Arthur was surprised. He had fallen victim to magic before; he knew the toll it could take on one’s body to fight off whatever malevolent curse it had been infected with. So for now, he would allow his servant the remainder of the day to rest.
But come tomorrow, once Merlin was awake and refreshed and free from the remnants of sorcery, Arthur would get the answers he needed.
And once Dragoon was re-captured, Arthur might even allow himself to feel a little joy when he watches justice be rightfully served.