Chapter Text
Six months ago
“Merlin of Eadlor. You have been found guilty of practising sorcery. Your sentence will now be read.”
Why the king even bothered was a mystery to the court, everyone there knew the punishment by hand, by the smell of smoke and the sound of screams in the courtyard they all had memorised. Arthur knew that the man on his knees had known that. It should not be any different for this man, even for the king’s servant, or former servant now. Arthur was about to disappoint them.
For the entirety of his trial Merlin had kept his gaze down, only responding with silent nods or shakes of his head. He kept his hands in his lap when the trembling had caused the chains to rattle, disturbing his silence. Someone ignorant would mistake the silence for fear, but Arthur knew him better - Merlin was too brave to cower on the floor, and he was never afraid of him. Well, he knew why now, in fact he never really knew the man he had secretly called a friend, did he.
Still, he refused to meet his master's eyes…his king's eyes. Arthur remembered this moment with crystal quality, and the questions filling his head. Was Merlin angry? Of course he was! He had been discovered, his plans to infiltrate Camelot had failed! Or was it shame? Oh, Arthur really hoped that he felt shame for his betrayal; Arthur was the one who had to clean up his mess. It was Arthur who had to stand at court over an hour assuring his advisors that they were safe and that the traitor was detained, it was him who held Gwen as she cried for the friendship she thought she had that was now dead.
Merlin should feel the greatest shame and guilt for the mess he had caused them. Then why did his silence and stillness feel to Arthur like another knife pressed to his neck, much like the one that had been close to slicing his throat a matter of hours before this very trial.
Arthur took a deep breath as he began to read from the paper. Preparing himself for the reaction about to erupt. “For the crime of practising sorcery, the penalty is death.” He watched Merlin, waiting for any kind of reaction. He saw none.
“However. This court finds reason to amend this sentence.”
Finally, Merlin’s head shot up. In his eyes, well it might not be hope, but it was hope. Arthur gritted his teeth as he continued.
“Instead, you shall live out your sentence in exile. You are hereby banished from Camelot, to enter my lands again will be on pain of death.”
There it was. Arthur had been betrayed and in response he is betraying his father and his values. All for a treasonous servant. He could hear his father turning in his grave. And yet, all he heard now was chains rattling as Merlin climbed to his feet.
“No.” he said. “No, you can’t. Please Arthur, don’t send me away.”
The king gripped his arm rest to refrain from strangling him. He had shown mercy, what more did this traitor want? “This…is your sentence.” He grinds out.
Merlin shook his head. “You don’t understand. I need to stay; I have to stay. I’m supposed to protect you. I can’t-”
Arthur hadn’t listened to the rest of the desperate man’s rambled lies. He got off his throne and approached Merlin. He kept talking until Arthur was right in front of him, only when his forearm was in his bruising grip did Merlin finally shut up. He pulled him in to whisper words only for Merlin to hear.
“The only reason you are not being marched to your pyre at this very moment is because I once thought that you cared for this kingdom. About her inhabitants. But clearly - I was wrong about a lot of things.” He let go and straightened to look down on the banished man. He chose to ignore the pang of regret he felt when the solitary tear ran a clean line down Merlin’s cheek.
“Take him back to his cell. He is to leave tomorrow morning.”
Arthur slowly woke to the near silent sound of movement in his chambers. He had gotten very good at waking up to small sounds, the absence of loud clumsiness made the quiet seem larger. He reached across the bed to the warmth of his wife. Gwen hummed lightly in her sleep as he pulled her onto his chest, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead hoping to enjoy a few more moments in bed.
He didn’t understand why he still had the dream. It has been six months now. Six months since Merlin had left, since he had been banished. Six months since he had revealed to have learnt magic or that he had been born with magic. And since he had used magic in front of Arthur and every member of the round table to see…to stop an outlaw in the woods and save their king's life.
Arthur shook his head. Before he could dwell any more on this his manservant came into view at the foot of his bed.
“Good morning, Sire.” George greeted him with a still face and hands behind his back. “I have laid out your wardrobe for the day, sharpened your sword for training later today, polished your shoes and if you and her majesty so wish it, I would be honoured to serve you both your breakfast.”
Gwen turned in Arthur’s arms; “Good morning, George.” She said sleepily as she got out of bed. Arthur smiled at how she then moved to help the servant set the table despite protest. She had now been a noble for three months and still struggled to kick the habit of helping her former colleagues. And honestly, Arthur hoped she never did, it reminded both her and him of the equality the round table stood for.
After breakfast and getting dressed with clinical precision the royal pair moved through the hall side by side to the council chamber. When they entered, the round table was already in full attendance. Everyone stood respectively as they entered. Arthur nodded at the familiar faces. His original knights and now councillors. The seat at his right hand now taken by Gaius, he greeted him with a respectful nod. Arthur found that he rarely got anything else from him these days. Taking their seats, business continued as usual. Discussing grain numbers and reading messages from their allies. Arthur found himself looking to the side of the room and feeling confused when it was George standing by the pillar with a jug of water before reminding himself that he hadn’t been there in ages and wouldn’t be again. And besides, what Lancelot and Percival were currently talking about was far more important.
Yes, Arthur remembered. He had sent the pair out on a patrol after reports of increased bandit activity.
Percival stood to address the council. “The patrol sent to scout the Darkling Woods was indeed attacked by resistant outlaws, the rumours that they are rising in numbers seem to be correct.”
Arthur nodded. “The patrol, I trust since I have seen no panic from Gaius, you were able to dispatch this attack effectively.”
“Easily Sire.” Percy continued. “That however was not the problem. We were able to capture one of the bandits and he talked. He said that they were operating out of an abandoned fortress in the woods. The bandit himself was only a boy and hadn’t been to the fortress himself, or so he claimed. But he said that they had been given orders not to steal valuables from the villages, but the villagers.”
There were multiple murmurs of ‘slavery’ and ‘filth’ around the table, Arthur had to bite his tongue not to join it. “You are sure of this?” he asked, choosing to be productive to hide his disgust.
Lancelot nodded. “We found no real valuables among the slain, only chains and restraints. Even a caged cart further on in the forest.”
“This is grave news indeed.”
“You said that the boy you interrogated had never been to the fortress.” Guinevere stood regally in her crimson dress.
“No.”
“But did he have an idea of where its location may be? There are only a handful of ruins in the Darkling Woods, it could help us narrow it down.”
“The boy is down in the dungeons awaiting sentencing. We can question him more.”
“Did he put up a fight?” Gwen asked.
“He is young, your majesty.” Lance said. “He didn’t resist when arrested, or when questioned. I expect he will be open to helping us.”
“Good and when he is finished, he shall be released.”
Arthur silently enjoyed the squirming of the older knights as they looked around wondering if they would all accept the verdict of their peasant queen. But when the topic continued without comment they settled down.
Barely two days later, Arthur was saddling up on his war horse with his knights and a small section of his army to ride out to the fortress. The captured bandit had been fed, watered and let go within a morning and a plan of attack drafted within a day. Arthur marvelled that he had built a council of trusted advisors that were so efficient and driven to helping their people, it filled him with pride every day.
As they rode out of the city and into the forest chatter and banter began. With his main circle of knights riding with him at the front the conversation quickly turned to the group's most recent tavern adventures and courting misfortune. Arthur smiled along with them, but he saw Gwaine riding at the far back of the group, his eyes on the side of the road. That had become a habit of his at late, tagging along at the back of the group.
Arthur didn’t lie and say he didn’t know what caused this change. He had been silently surprised that Gwaine hadn’t gone with Merlin when he left. It was no secret that the two of them were close, perhaps to close for Arthur’s liking. There were times when he questioned who it was Gwaine was more loyal to, his king or his king’s manservant. Afterall, it had been Gwaine’s idea to take Merlin on that godforsaken hunt in the woods. ‘Make it a surprise, let him think that they forgot what day it was and have a small celebration in the forest on his birthday’. It was a good idea, Merlin loved being in the forest, Gwaine knew that and Arthur knew that too.
He also knew that Lancelot originally wanted to go with him after his sentencing but had chosen to stay only when Merlin himself had told him to. The memory of the two crying and hugging in his cell the night before he left was still fresh in his mind. Perhaps he had asked Gwaine the same, but Arthur hadn’t seen it. In fact, he didn’t even think he remembered if the two of them had said goodbye. All he knew was that Gwaine had changed after that.
Although Arthur supposed that they had all changed in the absence of Merlin. Elyan was certainly more suspicious of all he came across and Percival spent more time with Lance and their current friends, clinging to what he knew. Most may say that Leon hasn’t changed at all, but Arthur knew him since they were boys and he saw how he now rarely spoke his mind in council and preferred to keep his thoughts to himself. Lancelot…well the only real thing that Arthur thought had changed about him was the way he now looked at his king. There was still the fierce respect and loyalty that he suspected would die with the knight, but an emotion he wasn’t sure of now sat in his eyes and Arthur didn’t really want to dwell on it.
“What do you think, Gwaine?” Elyan asked, snapping the man out of his tree watching.
“What?”
“Hocking Percival up with Ana from the Rising Sun, or would Clair be better able to handle him.”
Gwaine smiled his easy smile, a rare treat nowadays. “I don’t know. Isn’t Ana only like 5 foot tall, Percy might squash the poor dear.”
“Hey!”
“What about Candus from the kitchens? She’s a nice girl.”
“And why would you know about Candus, Gwaine?” Leon asked with a teasing smile disguised as his senior knight's judgy face.
“You wound me, Leon.” Gwaine placed his hand on his heart.
Elyan laughed. “You know who we should hook someone up with. Gwaine, then see how long they last before they lose their mind.”
“Oh no, I don’t think I hate anyone that much.” Arthur said. That got a laugh out of them, well, everyone except Gwaine that is. He returned to his staring at nothing.
But oh well, it was probably better. They were less than an hour away from the estimated location. It was time to focus.
Seeing them run like cowards gave him no satisfaction. However, it was a weight off his shoulders that casualties would be non-existent on both sides. The stronghold, or what it once was called, was a tall building with tumbling turrets and a crumbling courtyard that had until an hour ago housed at least a few dozen outlaws. Said outlaws were now all galloping away on horseback or just high tailing it on foot.
“The perimeter is secure,” Gwaine reported as he jogged up to Arthur. “-we are about to enter the building.”
Arthur nodded and waved a signal to Leon. “Forward!” The first knight ordered.
Entering the stronghold was just as uneventful. The only sound in the corridors was the tapping of their boots and the light jingle of chainmail. It didn’t take long until they found a staircase that would lead down to what Arthur assumed would be cells.
With torches in hand, they descended into the darkness to find…nothing. Nothing and nobody. What was clearly a recently renovated and fortified dungeon built to house countless prisoners was now completely empty. Arthur investigated a cell; it was plain with chained cuffs attached to the floor. He gently touched the unlocked door, and it swung open with a whining squeak. He stepped into the cold dark room, a chill running down his spine.
He knelt to the chains on the floor, picking it up slowly.
“Leon.” Within seconds the man was at his side in the cell. “Is this what I think it is?”
Leon sighed and nodded his head.
“Cold iron.” Arthur spoke the word like the devil's ice.
“There’s more.” Percy's voice came from down the corridor. They walked down the rows of cells and found that each one was fitted with the cuffs. Upon closer inspection they found that the material was everywhere. The bars were made of it, the keys and nails keeping the jail in place were all cold iron.
“This is a prison built for sorcerers." Arthur said quietly.
“All the cells have been checked.” Gwaine said. “There is no one here. Not one prisoner.”
“They obviously weren’t good at catching any sorcerers at least." Elyan joked.
“Yeah…at least.”
“Keep searching the dungeon. See if you can find anything on who these outlaws were.”
Gwaine turned and continued down the corridor with a group of soldiers.
“Arthur.” Lancelot stood in the stairway, his face serious. “We may have a problem.” he nodded his head gesturing for them to follow.
They followed Arthur as Lance led them into what looked like a command room. A map of the nearby villages laid out, and letters thrown about messily on tables and chairs. Lance picked up a stack of papers and handed them to Arthur.
“I was looking around and I found what appears to be contracts.”
“Contracts?” Elyan asked.
“Agreements of service. Someone paid these men to gather up sorcerers”
Arthur flicked through the papers. “Someone with enough money to provide these barbarians with the weapons, food and resources to do it. This was a fully funded operation.”
“And I for one haven’t heard of any outlaws with nearly enough wealth in order to do that.” Arthur looked up to meet his knight’s eyes.
“If it wasn’t an outlaw then-”
Arthur was cut off with a chorus of deafening shouts. All five of the knights’ heads turn to the sound of the voices. Nanoseconds passed before the group raced out the door and down the stairs back to the dungeons. Already most of the soldiers that were down there had either raced to investigate or had turned to leave, several had retreated to corners to throw up. As they moved through into the dark basement they saw the small light of a single torch on the floor in a chamber in the back. The room was large with next to nothing in it besides crates of miscellaneous belongings; people’s gloves, water bottles and random pieces of clothing. The moment they entered the room they were accosted with the smell. Not of rot or mildew but of burning. Arthur knew that smell. Everyone in their party knew that smell.
Arthur stopped in the threshold when he saw what was clustered in the back of the room. He froze, many of the knights turned away, unable to look at it.
“They were good at it…” Elyan whispered in a hollow voice.
The corpses had been piled up at the back of the room. Twisted and shrivelled and dried, charred black and barely resembled people at all. Bile rose in his throat when he realised that he couldn’t even determine the corpses' faces in this state. He had seen burnings all his life. Heard their screams writhe on for what seemed like forever before eventually giving up. But he had always left with his father after that, never stayed long enough for the flames to stop to reveal a blackened body underneath.
He was so lost he hadn’t realised that no one now stood around him. His knights had left in one direction towards someone kneeling against the dark wall around the boxes. With a dark clarity Arthur realised what that random ‘junk’ was in the crates. He didn’t know why he was surprised; it was customary to remove any objects of value off a person before their execution. Why waste the resources?
As Arthur got closer to the person they were crowding over, he was shocked to find that it was Gwaine. The knight was shaking on the floor, holding something to his chest so close and tightly Arthur could hardly see it. When he got closer, he was even more surprised to see the tears running down the man’s face. Thick hot tears fell off his cheeks and landed on his knees below where he hugged something so close it was like he was protecting it from the world.
“Gwaine what is it?” he asked softly. The knight didn’t reply. Just turned away from them to lean his forehead against the wall
“No.” he whispered between his breaths. “No, it…it can’t-”
“What did you find?” Arthur placed his hand on his shoulder and tried to turn Gwaine to face them.
He froze.
He let go of Gwaine and stumbled back.
The room went silent as all the knights saw as well.
They stayed that way for hours for all Arthur knew. Looking at what Gwaine held in his shaky hands.
Finally, Arthur shook himself out and stormed up the stairs.
“Everyone!” He bellowed to the many soldiers loitering around uselessly. “There is to be a mile wide search of this area! The strong hold, the forest and the villages beyond it! I want every stone unturned and any man you find brought to me unharmed and alive!”
The men quickly got to work. Shaken by their king's harrowing presence. As they tripped over themselves to obey his orders, Arthur stood frozen in the corridor of cells. He refused to turn around back to that room of death. He wouldn’t look or even go near the poor forgotten bodies until one man was in his presence alive and well. Because he had to be, he couldn’t be in that mess of burnt flesh and blood. Merlin couldn’t have been captured or held here. It wasn’t true, he didn’t, none of those bodies could be him. But he knew that the scrap of fabric Gwaine held onto was his. He had given that neckerchief to him himself, it was a birthday present.