Chapter Text
If one were to take a stroll through the Citadel, one would find it in the midst of controlled chaos. Greenery had been woven along the stone walkways and hung from balconies, the sharp scent of leaves and flowers danced with the smells of roasting meat and freshly baked bread. Servants hurried between the corridors, voices raised in excitement, while guards moved through it all with practiced ease. The beginning of summer had to be celebrated, after all, and the king wasn’t one to shy away from showing off via grand celebrations.
If one were to enter Prince Arthur’s chambers, they would find an annoyed servant, smell the sweat wafting off the armour currently being cleaned, and hear the absolute incessant whining of the prince.
“Who even gives a bright blue ribbon as a token to a knight of Camelot? The obvious choice is red.” Arthur stopped pacing and sat down in the chair at his desk. “I pity Sir Tobin.”
Merlin continued scrubbing the armour. Arthur and the knights had been training more intensively the last few days, which meant Merlin had, somehow, become even more intimately familiar with the delightful smell of mansweat. He thought he’d got used to it by now, but his nose decided to surprise him.
Gods, Merlin hated tournaments.
“Which Lady was that again?” Merlin said conversationally.
Another thing that had intensified over the last few days was Arthur’s urge to gossip. Whenever Merlin needed to do a task in Arthur’s chambers, the man in question would find time to sit around and gossip with him. Not that Arthur ever called it that.
(“I am the prince of Camelot, Merlin. I don’t gossip.”
“Of course not, sire. You share passionate, princely observations.”)
“Lady Ysabel,” Arthur said, like that meant anything to Merlin.
“Right.”
Merlin learned quickly during these gossiping sessions not to bother memorising each and every name that came up. Keeping everyone straight proved to be too much of a pain in the arse, and only gave him a headache. In fact, as long as Arthur didn’t say anything really idiotic—rare as that was—Merlin found it best just to let him get his princely observations out of his system.
“Have you received your token yet? From Lady…”
“Aveline. And no,” Arthur looked at the door as if expecting said token to be delivered that very moment, “but the tournament doesn’t start until midday tomorrow. Plenty of time.”
“What do you hope to get?”
Arthur let out a long sigh. “It doesn’t matter what I get.”
Merlin stopped scrubbing. He turned to look at Arthur, who stared blankly at some of the reports on his desk, sitting somewhat slumped.
His Royal ‘what-idiot-gives-a-bright-blue-ribbon-as-a-token?’ Highness doesn’t care about what he’d get?
“I’ll be sure to recommend a bright blue sash to Lady Aveline’s maid.”
The glare he got would’ve been enough to cow even the bravest of knights.
Good thing Merlin wasn’t a knight.
Besides, the glare was much better than the blank stare and general sullen air that had suddenly appeared around Arthur. Merlin knew all about how the prince could get in a mood, especially with a tournament coming up, but it always ranged somewhere between irritable and angry. Not…whatever was going on with him now.
“I heard someone got a pressed flower. Sounds perfect for you,” Merlin teased.
“Shut up, Merlin.” The well-used sentence lacked its usual force and annoyance, but Merlin saw it as a win either way. And as an opening to continue not shutting up.
“Gwen and some of the other servants spent the day picking flowers yesterday, so Lady Aveline has plenty of choice. I’m pretty sure some of them are blue, too.”
“Guinevere has flowers?” Arthur sat up straight.
Merlin blinked. That wasn’t the response he’d expected. And Arthur’s sudden interest made Merlin suspect what his earlier mood had been about.
He went back to cleaning the armour, feigning indifference as he said. “Would you want to receive a pressed flower from Gwen?”
Silence.
No sound but the rasp of cloth on metal and the indistinct voices floating through the corridors and the Main Square below.
“Yes.”
Merlin kept his eyes on the armour. “Then what will you do to get it?”
“There’s nothing I can do!” Arthur spat. Wood scraped the floor as he stood from the chair. In the corner of his eyes, Merlin saw him standing at the window, looking down on the Main Square.
Now that was the kind of princely mood Merlin was used to.
“Why not?”
“She’s a servant. My father wouldn’t hear of it.”
Funny how all our problems always boil down to Uther.
Merlin stopped cleaning the armour—again—and turned to look at Arthur’s back. “He doesn’t need to hear of it.”
As Arthur’s eyes met his, Merlin raised a brow.
“Do you have any idea how many eyes will be focused on me? How every detail will be scrutinised? Anything I wear will be noticed and analysed. When people notice any sort of token that didn’t come from Lady Aveline, rumour and gossip will run rampant.” Arthur shook his head. “I won’t risk bringing Guinevere into that. Or unleashing my father’s ire upon her.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “What’s all the fuss about? It’s just a mock tournament. The whole assigned Lady thing is supposed to be in good fun, right? It’s not like you’re going to marry the damn woman.”
It was a tradition for the participating knights to have one of the visiting noblewomen assigned to them. The knights fight for their Lady’s honour, and they get a nice token—and a chance to shamelessly flirt—in return. Nothing serious.
Leave it to nobles to overcomplicate things.
Arthur snorted. “My father would be thrilled if the celebrations ended with a match between Lady Aveline and me. Though certain feelings aside, I would hate to meet my…you know…at one of these things,” he scoffed, “much too dramatic for my tastes. Just look at what happened with Leon.”
Another one of those instances where Arthur just expected Merlin to know certain information, even though he’d literally never heard of it. Usually by now, during the princely observations, he would ignore it and move on. However, he actually knew Sir Leon.
Not only that, but Merlin liked Sir Leon. Unlike a lot of the other knights Merlin encountered, Sir Leon was always civil toward him and actually acknowledged his existence. Along with that, his clear devotion to Camelot and her prince made it impossible for Merlin not to like the older knight. Sir Leon was certainly a lot more likeable than Arthur’s ever been, the royal prat.
Despite all of that, though, Merlin had never been able to get a good read on the man. Whenever they spoke, it was civil, of course, but Merlin always sensed a respectful distance between the two. Funnily enough, Merlin felt the difference in station between him and Sir Leon more than the one between Arthur and him.
Much as Arthur liked to deny it, they were friends. More often than not, Merlin was more Arthur’s friend than servant.
When it came to Sir Leon, however, they were nothing more than servant and knight.
“What happened with Sir Leon?”
“The same thing that will happen to me if I’m not careful. Except with a different ending.”
Once again, Merlin found himself rolling his eyes. If nobles had a tendency to overcomplicate things, they had a compulsion to be needlessly overdramatic.
“How informative, sire. Where would I be without you?”
Arthur—finally—turned his back to the window and faced him. “What did I tell you about being clever, Merlin?”
“That you’re jealous of my superior intellect?” Merlin said with a smile.
Arthur’s eyes glinted as a grin slowly spread on his face. “You can go and apply that fabled superior intellect to mucking the stables.”
Merlin’s smile dropped.
Great. Now he could get more intimately familiar with the smell of horse shit.
Llamrei nickered as Merlin finished mucking out her stall. He wiped the sweat off his brow. The weather really was too hot for this—not that any kind of weather was good for mucking out the stables. Hot, cold, wet, dry, windy—the task would be shit either way.
Give me a tournament any day.
As he exited the stables, a flash of Camelot red caught his eye. Sir Leon stood in the Main Square by himself, looking at the stables. The sound of hoofbeats crept up behind Merlin. A familiar brown mare was being led out of the stables by one of the stableboys.
“Tomas,” Merlin called out, walking up to Sir Leon’s horse and the stableboy. “I’ll handle it. I know the stablemaster is running you ragged.”
Tomas smiled. “Thank you.” He handed the reins to Merlin without any fuss.
Since Arthur was fond of ordering Merlin to muck out the stables whenever he was annoyed with him—which was often—Merlin got to know the stableboys rather well. True bonds were forged in shovelling horse shit, after all.
Besides, with Arthur’s earlier comment still fresh on his mind, and seeing Sir Leon standing all by himself, Merlin wanted to approach the knight.
“Merlin,” Sir Leon sounded surprised to see him as Merlin led his horse towards him, though the small smile on his face reassured Merlin his presence wasn’t unwelcome. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, my Lord.” While making some last-minute adjustments to the saddle, Merlin swore he saw a small frown on Sir Leon’s face at his words.
That’s what I get for acting like a proper, etiquette-loving servant, Merlin thought wryly, losing whatever boldness urged him to lead Sir Leon’s horse to him, instead of letting Tomas do his job.
Not one to back down—or to know when to shut up—Merlin kept the conversation going, even though it wasn’t necessary in the slightest. “Practising for the jousting part of the tournament?”
It was minimal and quickly hidden away, but Sir Leon cringed. “Ah. No. I no longer participate in tournaments such as these.”
“That’s a shame,” Merlin remembered Sir Leon’s skill during the jousting tournament from a while ago, along with Arthur’s whining when Sir Leon let him win because he was the prince. “Why not?”
“It simply does not suit me.” Sir Leon mounted his horse and gave Merlin a slight nod. “Thank you for your assistance. Have a good day.”
With that dismissal, he rode off.
Merlin didn’t have time to think any more about his conversation with Leon, as Arthur had decided to take a page out of the stablemaster’s book and start running Merlin ragged. Whether it was as a punishment for earlier that day or Arthur’s tendency to get foul-tempered and antsy when a tournament was coming up, Merlin didn’t know.
What he did know was that carrying weapons and shields from the armoury to multiple pitched tents near the duelling pitch was hell for his arms.
What he also knew was that preparing multiple guest chambers for late arrivals did not help the ache in his arms.
On the plus side, for the first time in days, Merlin’s and Gwen’s tasks overlapped. Something they took full advantage of by participating in a tried-and-true activity of theirs.
Gossiping.
Whereas Arthur would never call it that, Gwen didn’t share such reservations.
“Gods, I’ve missed this,” Gwen said, right after having told Merlin about one of the visiting Lords being caught snogging another Lord’s wife. “It’s been hectic! I’ve got so much to tell you about.”
“I can’t wait to hear it,” Merlin shot her a quick grin, “though I should warn you, there’s a chance I’ve already heard it.”
Gwen frowned. “Really? How? You’ve been holed up in Arthur’s chambers or the armoury most of the time. I know for a fact you haven’t even interacted with any of the visiting nobles or their servants.”
“I have my ways.” Merlin smiled at the annoyed look that got him.
Gwen shrugged, busying herself with the bed. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t want to hear what happened to Morgana.”
Merlin stilled. Images of Uther finding out about Morgana’s magic filled his mind. Would she be burned at the stake like the witches before her? Or would Uther at least grant her a swifter death than that?
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. If Uther had discovered Morgana’s magic, he would’ve heard of it before now. And Gwen would never be so casual about it.
“What happened to Morgana?” His voice rasped, and he cleared his throat.
Gwen finished making the bed. “You first.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Otherwise, you can use ‘your ways’ to find out.” Gwen giggled when Merlin let out a long, dramatic sigh.
“Very well. You have outwitted me.” Merlin paused for dramatic effect—who said only nobles could be dramatic?—”I have a source.”
“Oh? Who?”
Merlin smirked. “Arthur.”
Watching the name sink in for Gwen was a delight. Her brows shot up, and her eyes widened, before they narrowed with a frown as she tried to tell whether Merlin was being serious or not. Clearly deciding he had been telling the truth, she barked out a laugh.
“Arthur? Seriously?”
“Oh, yes. He’s the prince of Camelot and the prince of gossip.”
She chuckled. “Here I thought men couldn’t multitask.”
“Oi!”
They continued preparing the guest chambers as Gwen told him about what happened to Morgana. When she mentioned a Lord gifting a brush, Merlin perked up.
“I’ve heard about that! He gave her a horse brush instead of a hair brush, right?”
How one could even make such a mistake was beyond him.
Gwen looked a little put out. “Yes, that’s right.” Her voice lost a bit of its enthusiasm, which hurt his heart to hear.
“Er, sorry about that. But it’s Morgana we’re talking about; Arthur would be one of the first people to hear about it. And he’s been in a right old gossipy mood lately.”
“Don’t tell me Arthur has replaced me,” she teased.
Merlin put a hand on his heart. “Never. You’ll always be my favourite.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know next time I see him.”
“I’m sure he’ll agree with you.”
The besotted fool.
A knock on the door startled them. The door opened, revealing a somewhat unkempt and dead-eyed woman in her thirties, standing slightly hunched. “Can my Lady’s possessions be moved in yet? She grows impatient.” Her voice was quiet and monotonous.
Something started buzzing in the back of Merlin’s mind.
“Oh! Apologies, Maelis, we’re nearly finished. By the time you make it back to her, we’ll be all done,” she smiled at the woman, “right, Merlin?”
“Right,” Merlin said flatly, unabashedly staring at the woman, Maelis. There was something about her. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Nothing she had said or done—as far as Merlin knew—was cause for concern. But there was a familiarity there; one that made dread slither its way into Merlin’s stomach.
Maelis said nothing. Simply shut the door, the sound of footsteps indicating her return to her Lady.
The air in the room changed. Like a sudden pressure had left.
Merlin’s eyes widened.
Magic!
How hadn’t he sensed it before? His easy camaraderie with Gwen must’ve distracted him.
Another magic user in Camelot. Merlin knew from experience that it tended to bring bad things along with it. What was he dealing with this time? Another assassin? A tortured soul seeking vengeance for the death of a loved one caused by Uther’s purge? Who would be the target? Only Uther? Or Arthur and potentially others as well?
Shit! Am I dealing with another Nimueh here?
Merlin really didn’t feel like being poisoned again.
Poison!
As a maid, Maelis would have access to the food. And the feast would bring plenty of opportunity and chaos for her to poison someone without being noticed.
“Merlin? Are you alright?” Gwen put a warm hand on his arm.
“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—did Maelis seem a bit odd to you?”
Gwen looked at the door with a frown. “Maelis? No, not really. A bit sad and quiet, maybe, but can you blame her? I certainly wouldn’t be happy if I had to serve Lady Elowen.”
Merlin wracked his mind trying to remember if Arthur had ever mentioned a Lady Elowen. Nothing. At least, not that he could remember. Now he wished he had bothered more with learning all the names.
“Who’s that?”
Gwen snorted. “Now she is an odd one. And poor Leon, having to see her again. No wonder he fled to the woods, and I doubt we’ll see him at the tournament. The feast will be the first time in years they’ve been in the same room together.”
Sir Leon getting mentioned again? What happened to him?
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, right! You wouldn’t know!” Gwen chuckled at herself. “Alright, so…”
Merlin’s dread surrounding Maelis and Lady Elowen worsened as he listened to Gwen’s tale. Apparently, four years ago, during the exact same celebration, Sir Leon had Lady Elowen assigned to him for the tournament. According to Gwen, they must’ve gotten along well, since they didn’t merely announce a courtship afterward, but a trial marriage, lasting a year and a day. The night before they had to decide whether they wanted to get officially married, Sir Leon called the whole thing off.
“Nobody knows why he did it. Leon never said, and Lady Elowen had been too…hysterical about the situation, so nobody could make any sense of it,” Gwen said. “Afterwards, Leon never participated in this tournament again, and Lady Elowen never visited again. I wonder what changed her mind this year.”
The magic maid’s Lady had a—messy at best—history with the First Knight of Camelot? Whatever little doubts that Merlin still had in regard to Maelis’ bad intentions evaporated. They must be planning something. There was too much coincidence for that not to be the case.
He needed to find out what their plan was and put a stop to it.
Merlin sighed internally.
Why couldn’t there ever be a normal, danger-free celebration?
The obvious target was Sir Leon. How couldn’t it be? But Merlin wasn’t willing to rule out any danger to the lives of others. He knew that those who meant the nobility of Camelot harm had no qualms about hurting innocent people. Collateral damage wasn’t new.
One thing that worried him—besides the fact there were two threats roaming free through the Citadel—was Sir Leon being alone in the woods. Merlin had seen first-hand that Sir Leon was an incredibly skilled fighter, but he was facing a magic user and a Lady who—given they’ve spent a year together—likely knew his strengths and weaknesses.
Thinking back on his earlier conversation with Sir Leon, Merlin couldn’t remember sensing any magic near or on him. At least Sir Leon was safe in that regard. Merlin hoped he hadn’t been too distracted to sense magic, as he’d been with Gwen.
So, for ease of mind and the fact that it could come in really handy, Merlin had rushed to Gaius with a question.
“A tracking spell?” Gaius stopped puttering around the physician’s chambers. “What on Earth would you need a tracking spell for?”
Merlin blinked.
Maybe I should’ve led by explaining what the situation is.
“So, I want to be able to track them, so I know whether they’re still in the Citadel and not going for a trip in the woods.”
Gaius kept silent with his arms crossed. The Eyebrow on full display.
Merlin avoided his gaze, looking around the chambers as if he didn’t live in them. The place smelled of herbs and ointments—as it always did—but it wasn’t as poignant as usual. How many herbs did Gaius end up donating to the kitchens for the feast?
“Do you have any proof? It really might all be a coincidence.”
The gruff voice jolted Merlin out of his thoughts. He crossed his arms. “When is it ever a coincidence? Those two are here to cause harm, I’m sure of it.”
“You’ll need more than that to convince the king—”
“Who says I’m going to the king with this?”
Gaius huffed. “Very well, but Arthur will need proof—”
“Oh, I’m not going to Arthur.” At Gaius’ confused look, Merlin continued. “I’ll handle it myself. Nothing new.”
Not being believed was getting annoying, and trying to convince those with power that he was telling the truth wasted too much time. And for what? Most of the time, he ended up facing whatever threat reared its ugly head by himself, either way.
“Are you sure that’s wise, Merlin?” Gaius’ brows drew together.
Merlin shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
He endured the scrutiny of Gaius’ gaze as the old man inspected him for…something.
Whatever it was, Gaius must’ve found it. He sighed. “Have you read anything about such spells yet?”
Merlin fought back a smile. “A bit. All I remember is that they require constant attention to keep active, and it costs more to do so the further away the target is.”
“Causing quite the headache and mental fatigue after only a little while,” Gaius said. “That is—if you use such a type of tracking spell.”
“Type?” Merlin uncrossed his arms. “There’s more of them?”
“Yes. You should pay more attention to that grimoire I gave you,” Gaius scolded, then walked to the table and sat down, gesturing for Merlin to join him.
“The spell I have in mind will require a good amount of stealth and time management on your part, and most importantly of all,” Gaius gaze drifted down to Merlin’s neck, “your neckerchief.”
Merlin never thought the day would come that he needed to enchant his neckerchief, but come it did.
The spell came in two parts. The first one was enchanting an object that the caster has on their person most of the time—hence the neckerchief. The object would act as an anchor for the actual tracking spell itself, essentially replacing the role the caster would have to play. Gaius warned him it wouldn’t make him immune to headaches and mental fatigue, but it would take longer to get there and should be more dulled.
A side-effect Gaius failed to mention was an itchy nose, of all things.
Speaking of, Merlin sniffed and scratched his nose again.
The second part of the spell was the more difficult one. Merlin had to ensure that both Maelis and Lady Elowen touched his neckerchief, thus marking them as the ones being tracked. Not only that, but the tracking would only last six hours, after which Merlin either had to do the process all over again or figure out something else.
Merlin hoped Sir Leon would return before the time ran out. He wasn’t sure how much safer he’d be in the same walls as the ones who threatened him, but at least Merlin and a whole bunch of guards and other knights were there as well.
In the Citadel, Sir Leon wouldn’t stand alone.
Merlin knocked on the doors to Lady Elowen’s chambers.
Maelis opened it only far enough so Merlin could see her and nothing else. Her lifeless eyes narrowed in suspicion at the sight of him. “May I help you?”
“Is Lady Elowen here?” Merlin put on a smile he’d been assured was charming.
“What business have you with my Lady?”
“Oh! Apologies, I hadn’t introduced myself,” Merlin slapped his forehead in a ‘oops-I-forgot’ gesture. “I’m Prince Arthur’s manservant. He sent me here to retrieve Lady Elowen’s token for Sir Corin.”
Maelis cocked her head in an almost animal-like fashion. “Why would the prince be bothered with such things? It’s not for him.”
Merlin looked both ways and then leaned closer to Maelis. “Between you and me,” he whispered conspiratorially, “the prince won a bet against Sir Corin, meaning he is the one who will receive Lady Elowen’s token, while Sir Corin receives Lady Aveline’s. But this is meant to be a secret.” He winked.
The door flew wide open. Arms grabbed him and yanked him inside the chambers.
“The prince wants my token?” Lady Elowen’s eyes glinted. She was decked in fine jewels, had long brown hair that curled at the ends, striking green eyes, and fair skin. Merlin could tell—from an objective point of view—that the Lady Elowen was a beautiful woman.
“Y-yes,” Merlin said, taken aback by the sudden kidnapping and the vice grip she held on his arms, “but I must reiterate, my Lady: this must remain a secret. No one can know the tokens have been swapped. That’s why a small token would be preferable.”
“Of course.” She let go of his arms, and the first thing Merlin did was scratch his nose.
Damned spell. My itchy nose better be worth it.
“I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for His Highness,” Lady Elowen said as she took off one of her rings and held it out to Merlin.
Moment of truth.
Merlin unwrapped the neckerchief from his neck and, with it in his hand, took the ring from her. The fabric brushed her hand, and Merlin felt a thrill jolt his spine.
His magic pulsed, and a part of it clung to Lady Elowen’s hand, marking her.
Merlin bowed as if in deference to the Lady, but used the motion to ‘accidentally’ drop the ring. It landed with a soft clink somewhere on the ground. Merlin, with his head still bowed, used his magic to shoot it further away from him.
“Apologies, my Lady, I seemed to have dropped the ring,” Merlin forced an edge of panic into his voice, “please, forgive me!”
“It’s alright,” her eyes hardened, and a smirk played on her lips, “Maelis can find it.”
The magic maid in question nearly fell down in her haste to get on her knees and search for the ring. Almost frantic to obey her Lady’s command, to an extent Merlin had never seen a maid or servant do before, and certainly never did himself.
What had Gwen said about Lady Elowen again? That she wouldn’t be happy serving her?
Merlin’s chest tightened.
He knelt next to Maelis, smiling softly at her. “Here, I’ll help you. I dropped it, after all.”
Maelis merely nodded in response.
Why did she serve Lady Elowen? Some fucked up sense of loyalty?
Eyes looking at the ground, he used magic to move the ring closer to Maelis, so she could find it. Once she did, they both rose, and Merlin used the same trick with his neckerchief to get her to touch it.
His magic marked both women.
Merlin folded the ring into the neckerchief and put it in his pocket. He bowed to Lady Elowen once again. “Thank you kindly, my Lady.” And left the chambers.
After Merlin left Lady Elowen’s chambers, he hurried to Sir Corin’s to give him the ring. He might’ve felt bad about lying to Lady Elowen if it weren’t for the fact she was a threat to Sir Leon and a shitty mistress. The latter fact about her made Merlin’s gut squirm. To what extent was Maelis a true accomplice? Just how independent of an actor was she in all this? He couldn’t imagine willingly serving Lady Elowen if she was comfortable behaving the way she did while another person watched. Sure, Merlin was ‘merely’ a servant, but he was the prince’s manservant. How much worse was she behind closed doors?
Unfortunately, the tracking spell was only for the targets’ movements, not their conversations.
“MERLIN!” Arthur’s voice boomed through the corridors.
Merlin grimaced.
The servants and guards went on as if nothing had happened—well used to it. As Merlin hurried past them to get back to Arthur’s chambers, some gave him a slight nod as if to wish him luck.
He opened the door without knocking, finding a pacing prince. “You called?”
Arthur whirled on him, pointing a finger in his face. “Have you been telling people that I’m in love with Lady Elowen?” he looked about ready to murder Merlin on the spot.
He took a step back—just to be safe. “What? No!”
“Really? Then why did Morgana just come here to tease me about my non-existent interest in Lady Elowen, and when asked, said she heard servants talking about a rumour originating from you.”
So much for ‘I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for His Highness’.
“Well…” Merlin dragged it out to buy time to think of a suitable lie to save his arse.
“Merlin,” Arthur warned, voice low.
“Look,” he said, still scrambling to come up with something. Arthur’s narrowed eyes told him his time was up. It prompted Merlin to say the first brilliant thing that he could come up with.
“I was only joking?”
A beat of silence passed. Merlin scratched his nose.
“Joking?”
Arthur looked at him as if he were the greatest idiot to have ever walked the Earth. At least it seemed to have shocked him out of his anger. So…silver lining?
“Yes,” Merlin grimaced, “I came across her maid in the corridors. She was upset about something Lady Elowen had said, so I decided to cheer her up.”
“By making me the butt of the joke?” Arthur yelled, indignant. So much for that silver lining.
“Er. Yes?” Merlin backed away as Arthur lunged for him. He held his hands up in surrender. “Look, I thought it was obvious I was joking! I didn’t know she’d take it literally!”
Merlin did feel a little bad for having put Arthur in this situation. He knew from experience how draining such rumours about yourself could be, and a few nosy villagers were nothing compared to the court of Camelot.
Merlin ducked as Arthur threw the nearest object—a goblet—at his head. “I just wanted to cheer her up! Lady Elowen doesn’t strike me as a kind mistress, and her maid looked so sad. I couldn’t do nothing!”
Something he’d said must’ve struck a chord with Arthur, as he calmed down enough to stop his murder attempts.
“Since you’re in such a mood to be funny,” Arthur smiled sweetly. The sight made Merlin want to anger him again, his rage being much less scary, “you can help tomorrow’s entertainment set up. Fools should stick together, after all, wouldn’t you say, Merlin?”
Merlin sighed. He’d been right to be afraid. “Yes, sire.”
Must be nice to sit around in your chambers all day doing nothing except making evil plans.
Merlin rolled his arms, wincing at the motion. Everything hurt. He was sore in places he didn’t even know could get sore. His ears still rang from all the noise. The small cut on his face—a gift from one of the knife throwers—continued to bleed.
While he had suffered, Maelis and Lady Elowen had remained in her chambers.
“Don’t tell me I went through all this for nothing!” Merlin complained once he got back to Gaius, who fussed over his battered state and gave him a salve to help with his sore muscles.
Which were all of them.
“It was to make sure they weren’t going after Sir Leon, was it not? Their staying in the same place would be a good thing.” Gaius put a bowl of stew in front of Merlin and took a seat opposite him.
“Yes, but I’d hoped they would leave the chambers at least once! Give me a chance to sneak around and maybe find something useful. All I’ve got is a hunch that they’ll strike during the feast by using poison, and that Sir Leon is the target.” Merlin shoveled the stew into his mouth as fast as possible, earning a frown from Gaius.
“How much longer will the spell last?”
Merlin choked, dropping his spoon. A clatter and a series of coughs filled the chambers.
The Eyebrow appeared as Gaius stared him down. “You don’t know, do you?” His voice was dry.
“I, er, didn’t keep count.”
A sigh.
“Of course you didn’t.” Gaius pointed his spoon at Merlin. “I did so warn you.”
“It’s still active, though!” But probably not for much longer was left unsaid.
“Hm.” Was all Gaius had to say to that, his disapproval evident. “Sir Leon should be returning soon.”
“How do you know?” Merlin finished the last of his stew.
“He hasn’t been sleeping well these days, and I told him he could come by this evening for a sleeping draught.” Gaius fixed him with a stern look. “He doesn’t want anyone to know, so you better not start another rumour.”
Merlin groaned. “That was an accident!”
Gaius’ estimation had been correct. On his way back to finish the last of his chores in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin spotted a brown horse bearing a familiar man entering the Main Square. Abandoning his duties, Merlin rushed outside.
Tomas moved towards Sir Leon, but Merlin intercepted him. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it.” He smiled at Tomas, hoping to distract him from his panting.
Tomas looked a little confused. “You already helped me earlier, you don’t have to again.”
“It’s no problem, Tomas. Really.”
The stableboy shot a glance at the steadily approaching Sir Leon. “A-alright then.” He looked back at Merlin with a tentative smile. “Thank you.”
Merlin scratched his nose—damned spell—and bid Tomas a good night. He mentally checked the tracking spell. The pair were still in the chambers. Sighing internally at his wasted efforts, he walked up to Sir Leon.
Sir Leon looked contemplative, a small frown on his face. He hadn’t even noticed Merlin walking up to him, so he cleared his throat.
Sir Leon jolted. “Merlin!” he composed himself again. “Good evening.”
“Good evening. Did you have a nice ride?” Merlin took the reins of the horse as Sir Leon dismounted.
“It was fine, thank you.” The words were stilted.
He made to leave. Merlin’s heart quickened. Scrambling for something to make him stay so Merlin could keep an eye on him, he blurted out: “I have news about Arthur!”
Sir Leon paused. “Is something wrong?”
“According to him, there is.” Merlin jerked his head, signalling for Sir Leon to follow him as he led the horse back to the stables. Sir Leon fell into step beside him without complaint, even though a servant had essentially ordered him to follow.
Merlin had to keep Sir Leon’s attention for long enough for the horse to be stalled. Luckily, there was a subject of conversation Merlin knew would keep his interest.
“I wanted to let you know that you might hear a rumour about Arthur. Under pain of death, I must inform you it’s untrue.”
“Pain of death?” Sir Leon sounded amused.
They arrived at the stables. Merlin scratched his nose.
“I may have been the one to start the rumour,” at Sir Leon’s raised brows, Merlin hastened to add, “but I hadn’t meant to!”
He led the horse into its stall. Sir Leon followed him in.
Sir Leon exhaled through his nose. “What did you do?”
“Well,” he was about to take the saddle off the horse, but Sir Leon surprised him by doing it himself. Suddenly unaware of what to do with his hands, Merlin flapped them against his side, “I came across Lady E—” He paused, no longer certain he wanted to bring up Lady Elowen. Sir Leon looked more relaxed than when he first arrived at the Main Square, and Merlin knew Lady Elowen must be a sore subject for him, “across one of the visiting Ladies’ maid crying.”
Merlin told Sir Leon the same thing he’d told Arthur as the pair took care of the horse. He found himself pleasantly surprised by Sir Leon’s continued help, and he proved to be a good listener. The air between them grew comfortable.
Of course, that was the moment Lady Elowen and Maelis decided to start moving.
And of course, that was the moment the tracking spell had run its course.
Merlin swore under his breath.
At least my nose stopped itching.
The pair were done with the horse and exited the stables. Merlin scanned the Main Square for any abusive mistresses or magic maids, all the while continuing his story in order to keep Sir Leon at his side. “Then one of the knife throwers wanted to get in a bit of practice before the big show tomorrow.”
“That must have been unpleasant,” Sir Leon said with a small smile.
Merlin opened his mouth to say something else. The back of his neck prickled. He tensed.
They were being watched.
He didn’t need the tracking spell to know it was them.
Sir Leon halted in his step. He stood rigid, and the smile had been wiped clean off his mouth, replaced by a guarded look in his eyes and a neutral expression.
Could he feel their stares, too? Did he know it was them?
Merlin forced himself to relax. Just keep him with you so you can protect him. “It was awful. The bloody bastard nicked my cheek! And he hadn’t even apologi—”
“Do you mind if I accompany you to Gaius? He has something for me,” Sir Leon interrupted, looking almost nervous. “That is, if you have no duties elsewhere.”
Merlin jumped at the chance. “No, I’ve finished all my chores”—he hadn’t—”and I wouldn’t mind the company. I’ve still got to tell you about the juggler who managed to drop all the plates.”
Sir Leon kept Merlin company as they walked to Gaius. Merlin kept up the story, though it had come to a point where he started making things up just to keep it going.
Sir Leon seemed less receptive to it than before. Like Merlin, he kept checking their surroundings. Merlin was glad he’d decided not to mention Lady Elowen by name, seeing as the earlier feeling of being watched had already been enough to rattle Sir Leon.
They arrived at the physician’s chambers.
“Ah, Sir Leon. I’ve got your,” only the slightest hesitation as he glanced at Merlin, “medication.”
Annoyingly, Gaius hurried to retrieve the sleeping draught. Which meant Sir Leon would be leaving Merlin’s presence soon. While Lady Elowen and Maelis skulked around the Citadel.
He needed to stall.
“Oh. Are you sick?” Merlin asked, turning fully to Sir Leon.
Gaius shot him a stern look as he walked past Merlin and held out the draught. “Here you go.”
Sir Leon took it, looking a little put out. “No. I have been having some trouble sleeping, is all.”
Merlin’s heart fluttered a little. Gaius had said Sir Leon didn’t want anybody else to know about his sleeping issues, yet he told Merlin.
He fought back a smile. “Ah. That’s unfortunate.” He pointed at the sleeping draught. “It’s best to take this now. It could be a while before you feel the effects.”
Gaius’ glare burned at the back of his head.
“You had not told me that, Gaius. You said the effect was immediate.” Sir Leon’s attention was on Gaius, allowing Merlin to place himself behind the knight.
Gaius spluttered. “That is—it’s not—Merlin is—” Merlin motioned at Gaius from behind Sir Leon, hoping it signalled to him to play along. “—What I meant to say was that the timing of the effect varies from person to person. Perhaps for you, it would take longer. Though I’d advise you to wait—”
Merlin muttered a sleeping spell under his breath. He couldn’t afford Gaius ruining his plan.
Sir Leon fell backwards, where Merlin was ready to catch him.
He’d greatly overestimated his own strength.
Merlin groaned as Sir Leon’s weight fell on him. Essentially falling to the ground himself, he managed to cushion Sir Leon’s fall.
Gaius looked outraged. “Merlin!”
“What? I had to find a way to keep him here. The tracking spell is gone, and Lady Elowen and Maelis were watching us in the Main Square.” Merlin put his hands underneath Sir Leon’s armpits. “Now help me move him to a cot.”
“You can move him yourself, since it’s your mess. What am I supposed to tell him come morning when he wakes up here?”
Merlin grunted as he dragged Sir Leon to the nearest cot. “That it turned out the draught was fast-working for him after all, and that you offered him a cot since he was too tired to make it back to his own chambers.” Merlin got him on the cot with an undignified ‘poof’.
Gaius muttered multiple complaints as Merlin pocketed the sleeping draught and put wards on the door and windows.
“It’s a good thing you were born when you did. If we had met when I was young, your antics would’ve aged me to what I look like today.”
“Oi!”
The first rays of dawn streamed into the chambers. Gaius had gone to sleep himself at some point, but Merlin had stayed awake. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. He knew the day would be awful—likely murder attempt on Sir Leon aside. The chaos, stress, and noise that accompanied tournaments and feasts were hard enough to deal with without adding sleep deprivation to it.
Gaius woke up and prepared breakfast for them in complete silence.
“How do you plan to keep near Sir Leon today?” Gaius kept his voice low as Sir Leon continued sleeping off the spell nearby. “Arthur will be needing you. You’ll spend most of your time by his side.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Merlin whispered. “I already know Sir Leon won’t be participating in the tournament. Do you think anyone will notice his absence before the feast?”
“Absence from what?”
“The goings-on of Camelot.”
Gaius frowned. “Merlin, what are you planning to do?”
“Since nobody expects him at the tournament, I figured we could hide him in my quarters until the feast.”
“Are you mad?” Gaius raised his voice, causing Sir Leon to stir. The spell was beginning to wear off.
Merlin shushed him. “Nobody knows he’s here, and I’ve spent all night putting protection charms on his clothes. And you yourself know how well I maintain the wards on my own door. Besides, you’ll be here at various parts of the day.”
“And how will you keep him here?”
“Cast the same spell on him again.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Merlin.” Despite his words, the disapproval started to melt away from Gaius’ face.
“I’ve been playing a dangerous game ever since I stepped foot in Camelot.”
Gaius’ eyes softened. He sighed. “I assume you’ve thought of another lie?”
Merlin grinned. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
As expected, the day had been awful so far. Arthur’s mood was worse than usual, as he chewed Merlin out for neglecting his duties the night before. The tight schedule surrounding the tournament and the feast meant Arthur couldn’t punish him by ordering Merlin to do a chore he hated, but he promised Merlin he’d remember his ‘insolence’.
The events of the day flew by in a flurry of tasks, cheering, shouting, biting words from Arthur, smells of food, pushing through crowds, getting bumped into—all the while mentally checking on the wards and protection charms while worrying about Sir Leon.
Oh, and then there were Lady Elowen and Maelis to constantly keep an eye out for and worry about, too.
Safe to say, by the time the feast neared and Sir Leon needed to be woken up, Merlin was dead on his feet.
But could he rest? Of course not! There was still a feast where he needed to stand for hours serving nobles, having to keep an eye on Sir Leon, Lady Elowen, and Maelis—along with any food or drink they touched. If poison was even their planned method of an—incredibly likely—assassination plot on Sir Leon. So Merlin also had to be prepared for literally anything else the two of them could attempt to do.
As always, he faced it alone.
Merlin cursed whichever dollopheaded idiot had made the seating arrangements for the feast.
Why?
Because Lady Elowen was seated right next to Sir Leon.
What have I done to deserve this?
The one thing Merlin did have going for him was the fact that Sir Leon was seated near Arthur, which meant he could not only keep a better eye on them, but hear them if he strained his ears.
Unfortunately, everyone was being loud.
Despite all the etiquette lessons he must’ve endured and the mask Merlin knew nobles had to wear, Sir Leon had a much too rigid posture and a permanent frown.
Merlin’s heart went out to him.
He’d woken him up two hours before the feast to ensure Sir Leon still had enough time to prepare himself for it.
And recover from being put under a sleeping spell.
Twice.
The things I have to do for destiny, Merlin thought wryly.
At least Sir Leon had believed Merlin’s lie about the sleeping draught affecting him quickly and the strength of it—plus his multiple days of sleep deprivation—knocking him out for such a long time.
Though his acceptance of the lie may have been entirely due to his grogginess.
And embarrassment.
The poor man had stammered out apologies and fled the chambers, looking rattled.
And now he looked miserable for all to see.
Lady Elowen kept forcing Sir Leon into conversation. Either she was blind or she ignored his mood. Maelis stood behind her Lady’s chair, trying to become part of the wall until Lady Elowen called on her.
Uther stood from his chair at the head of the table. Silence descended over the crowd of nobles and servants.
All eyes stared at the king, except for one.
Merlin kept his gaze trained on Lady Elowen.
Uther gave a speech welcoming the visiting Lords and Ladies to the Citadel, praising the knights who’d participated in the tournament for their bravery and strength—Arthur in particular, subtly boasting about his son’s victory, which Arthur preened at—and wishing for a bountiful summer.
He raised his goblet. “To summer’s beginning. To strength unbroken. To Camelot.”
“To Camelot!” people cheered, all the nobles raising their own goblets.
The doors to the Banquet Hall opened, and the smell of roasted meat filled the air as dozens of servants hurried inside carrying plates of food.
This was it. If Lady Elowen and Maelis were ever to make their move, it would be during the very feast that just commenced.
Merlin narrowed his eyes at the pair.
Bring it on.
“The garden has truly started to get a bit more colour ever since I got those marigolds, though my garden could never compete with yours.” Lady Elowen put a hand in front of her mouth to hide a giggle. Merlin rolled his eyes at the sight. “Tell me, do the gardens of your brother’s estate still have those lovely white roses?”
(“Merlin.”)
“No.”
Lady Elowen gasped. “Why ever not?”
Sir Leon took a bite from his honey-glazed duck. Probably to stall for time. “The cost of import became too great.”
(“Merlin.”)
“Such a shame! I would’ve loved to see those roses again.” She took a sip from her wine, and Sir Leon flinched slightly. Lady Elowen peered at his goblet. “You’ve hardly touched your wine! Is it not to your tastes? I had Maelis bring along some of the wine from my father’s estate.”
Merlin perked up.
Sir Leon glanced at Maelis. “I see you have replaced Edith.”
“Indeed, I have. Edith was released from my services a few months ago.” Lady Elowen smirked. “Maelis became mine not long after, and she has served me much better than Edith ever did.”
(“Merlin!”)
“Now, about that wine,” she said, motioning for Maelis to come forward.
Merlin’s heart skipped a beat. Was this it?
He moved to intercept Maelis, but a sudden vice grip on his arm stopped him in his tracks. Merlin whirled around only to be met by the sight of a seething Arthur.
“Are you dumb and deaf?” Arthur hissed.
Merlin blinked, looking from Arthur to Maelis and back to Arthur. He didn’t have time for one of the prince’s temper tantrums. “What?”
(“Maelis, pour Sir Leon a better drink.”)
“I’ve called for you three times! Remind me, what is your job again when I call for you?”
(“That will not be necessary, thank you.”)
“Merlin!”
Merlin startled. His eyes had drifted back to Sir Leon and Lady Elowen without him knowing. “Hm? Oh, yes. I agree.”
(“I must insist, Leon. I remember well how much you favoured this wine.”)
Arthur turned to—who Merlin assumed was—Lady Aveline. “Apologies for my manservant. He’s an idiot.”
Lady Aveline smiled, which made her look even more lovely in her light purple gown and with her intricately braided blonde hair. “It’s quite all right. It is rather loud in here.”
“You are too kind, my Lady.” Arthur’s glare made it clear he thought the kindness was unwarranted.
Merlin looked at Arthur’s and Lady Aveline’s empty goblets. “More wine?”
“Ah! He can be taught!” Merlin managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Arthur for his comment in full view of Lady Aveline, but it was a close thing.
He poured wine in their goblets, all the while eyeing Maelis. She merely stood close to the Lady Elowen, holding a jug of ‘wine’.
(“Come now! This is a feast, is it not? It would be an insult to the king to refuse to take even a single sip. He himself has finished a goblet already!”)
Keep refusing, Sir Leon. And keep her far away from your goblet.
“Some water as well, Merlin,” Arthur said.
Merlin filled the nearest cup with water and—
(A sigh. “Very well.”)
He stilled, causing water to splash out of the cup.
Onto Arthur.
“Merlin!”
Sir Leon raised the goblet to his mouth.
“Don’t!” Merlin rushed towards him.
The bob of Sir Leon’s throat told him he was too late.
Merlin yanked the goblet out of his hand to prevent Sir Leon from drinking anymore, some of the wine spilling on the table as he put the goblet down and out of reach. His mind raced to remember the best cures—or if need be, healing spells—to combat poison.
Sir Leon looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
“You insolent boy!” Lady Elowen stood up from her chair and slapped Merlin.
Merlin’s hand flew to his cheek, too stunned to say anything.
Sir Leon looked at Lady Elowen as if she’d gone mad.
“I’d advise you to keep your hands to yourself, my Lady.” Arthur appeared at Merlin’s side. He stared down Lady Elowen with a clenched jaw.
The Banquet Hall quieted down as more and more people noticed the commotion.
“What is the meaning of this?” Uther’s sudden voice made Merlin flinch. If Lady Elowen told Uther what he’d done, he’d be lucky if a night in the dungeons was the only punishment he faced.
“This servant stole Sir Leon’s goblet right from his hand!”
Uther frowned. “Is this true?”
“The Lady must be mistaken, father.” Arthur stepped in front of Merlin, shielding him from Uther’s eyes. Tomorrow morning, Merlin was going to draw him the nicest bath imaginable. “Merlin has spent the entire time near me, doing his duty.”
“What?” Lady Elowen’s shock was almost funny. “He’s lying, Your Majesty!”
“Are you calling my son a liar?” there was no mistaking the threat in his voice.
She looked around the room, desperate. Her eyes landed on Sir Leon, who looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him up. “Sir Leon,” she put one hand on his arm and another on his chest. He stiffened at the contact. Batting her eyelashes at him, she continued: “won’t you tell His Majesty what truly happened?”
…Was she flirting with Sir Leon?
Arthur’s disgusted face made it clear Merlin wasn’t the only one to notice.
Sir Leon glanced at Merlin before looking at the king. “I spilled some wine by accident, Your Majesty. Merlin came to clean it up.”
If Merlin were any different, he would’ve kissed Sir Leon right then and there.
Uther hummed. “A mere misunderstanding, then. Very well. Calm yourself, Lady Elowen, and let the merriment continue.”
“Thank you,” Merlin whispered to Arthur.
“Come on, Merlin.” His voice had lost its edge, and he walked back to his seat.
Murmurs and snickers echoed through the Banquet Hall. Nobles peered at Lady Elowen before smirking and whispering something to the ones seated next to them.
Her face flushed red. She slammed her hands on the table. “No!” she turned to Sir Leon, who stared blankly in front of him. “Why won’t you defend me? Don’t you love me?”
He snapped out of whatever mood he’d been in. “No.”
Merlin and Arthur snorted simultaneously, then looked at each other in surprise.
“You!” Lady Elowen raged, pointing at a now terrified-looking Maelis. “You dare betray me?”
Maelis pressed herself against the wall. The fear in her eyes was the most emotion Merlin had ever seen them hold. “I did as you asked. It should’ve worked!”
Some of the guards inched closer to the scene, ready to break it up if necessary.
Lady Elowen sneered. “Don’t lie to me, you miserable witch!”
Merlin sucked in a breath. The sudden silence in the Banquet Hall was stifling.
“Witch?” Uther’s tone was sharp.
“Yes, Your Majesty! This maid is a witch. I’ve seen it myself.”
The guards surged forward. They seized Maelis, who let out a wail at the rough treatment. They forced her to her knees and her hands behind her back.
“A witch at my feast. Tell me, what do you have to say for yourself?” Uther said, looking down at Maelis with nothing but cold disdain.
Maelis bowed her head and trembled. Merlin couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman, even if she’d planned on enchanting Sir Leon with some kind of spell. Everybody knew that a maid getting accused of being a witch by a noblewoman in Uther’s court was a death sentence. The celebration’s bonfire would turn into a pyre.
“Nothing?” Uther’s voice was almost mocking. “So be it. Throw her and Lady Elowen in the dungeons and prepare a pyre. The witch burns at dawn.”
Merlin’s eyes found Morgana’s. She looked sick, but made an effort to keep herself composed lest Uther notice.
They had the same thought: that could be me someday.
He shivered, feeling goosebumps on his arms.
“What?” Lady Elowen tried to shrug off the guards who seized her.
Uther looked at her like she was a complete idiot. Merlin could see the family resemblance to Arthur. “You admitted yourself to being in league with the witch. I’ll decide on a fit punishment for you later. Take them away.”
Maelis got hauled to her feet by one of the guards. She was mouthing something.
Spell!
“Silence her!” Uther must’ve reached the same conclusion.
She threw her head back, headbutting the guard with the back of her head.
Maelis’ eyes flashed gold as she screamed the remainder of a spell Merlin hadn’t heard before.
Guards tackled her to the ground. People stood up, ready to flee.
The wine left in Sir Leon’s goblet, and the part that had spilled on the table, evaporated. A red mist filled the air. People looked on in fear as the mist condensed together into one giant, floating ball.
It exploded.
The spell went airborne.