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The feast for the visiting lord, Lord Fychan, started out fine. Arthur gave a rousing speech to thank him for his allegiance and to welcome his second son to the ranks of Camelot’s knights. The lord seemed thankful for the invitation and the opportunity. The lord’s son, Dyfed, bowed low and showed his allegiance to Camelot just like he should.
But Merlin couldn’t shake the buzzing along his arms. He absently wiggled his shoulders in an attempt to shift his tunic enough to itch at his skin. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. As the night went on, he just got more antsy, unable to stand still behind the king’s seat on the dais. Instead, he wandered the hall and observed the various guests.
The Knights of the Round Table remained nearby now that he was among the crowd. One of them passed him every few minutes. A gentle pat on the back, a hand ruffling his hair, even an arm thrown over his shoulder from Gwaine helped ease some of his nerves, but none if it was enough to keep him stationary.
He wasn’t a Seer, but he knew something bad was going to happen.
“Merlin?” Gwen’s voice pulled his attention sideways. She stood near the wall with a water pitcher in hand, though she wasn’t meant to be serving at the feast.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed, hurrying toward her.
It was one thing to have the Knights here, they could protect themselves. Merlin only needed to worry about Arthur when Morgana begged off the feast for a headache. But he’d need to split his attention if Gwen was here too. He attempted to rush her out the side entrance, into the hall beyond, but she planted her feet.
“Listen to me!” she snapped, shoving her water pitcher into his hands.
Merlin caught it on instinct as she grabbed his ear and dragged him down to her level. He winced at the sharp pinch but bent obligingly. The water pitcher in his hands was way too light, and that’s when he realized it was empty.
“Olwen came to me about ten minutes ago. She said that she was in Lord Fychan’s rooms to change the linens when she found an unconscious man in the armoire,” Gwen explained quickly.
The groan tore out of him before he could stop it.
Of course! He should have gone to check the lord’s rooms as soon as he started to itch.
“I’m an idiot,” he said, slumping a little.
Gwen shook her head. “No, you’re overwhelmed and have too much responsibility. That’s why I’m here. Now, she called Gaius to examine him. He said the drug in his system will only hold for a day or so. Guess who disappeared this morning?”
Scanning his memory quickly, Merlin picked up and discarded half a dozen members of Lord Fychan’s household. The maidservant for his daughter was standing behind her on the dais. The three knights he brought with him as protection were seated at a table near the back of the hall. Lord Fychan’s servant was a crotchety old man who barely ever appeared, but Merlin saw him that morning in the kitchens.
Then, he got it. “His steward.”
“Exactly. A couple of knights are helping Gaius move Lord Fychan down to the physician’s chambers, but we need to stop whatever the steward is planning,” Gwen told him seriously. To her credit, she didn’t sneak any looks up at the dais where Arthur sat next to an imposter.
“We aren’t doing anything. You’re going to go back to Morgana’s room and make sure she doesn’t come running down here with a sword to decapitate a lord in front of the entire council. I’m going to get rid of the steward,” Merlin informed her, meeting her gaze seriously.
“Merlin.” Gwen’s head tilted dangerously, her eyes narrowing, the same way she looked at the knights when they implied she couldn’t help with something because she was a woman.
“It’s not about you being a woman,” he protested immediately. He reached up to take her hand and squeeze. “It’s because you’re my friend. And, if you’re here, I would be focused on protecting you instead of stopping the attack.”
This time, Gwen blushed prettily. “You can’t say things like that to just anyone, Merlin.”
Snorting, Merlin handed back her water pitcher. “You’re not just anyone. Do you promise you’ll get to safety?”
The hesitation showed she didn’t really want to. But, thankfully, Gwen listened to him in a way Arthur didn’t.
“Fine. But I’m letting Morgana behead him if you take longer than an hour,” Gwen said.
Grinning, Merlin waved her off.
Gwen turned and ducked out the door, letting it fall closed behind her.
“So, who are we beheading?” Gwaine asked, bouncing lightly on his toes when Merlin turned to see him waiting behind him.
“You’re way too excited about the prospect,” Merlin said. He tugged the wine jug out of Gwaine’s hand and ignored the way he pouted. Turning, he almost got away before Gwaine’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and tugged him back.
“I don’t think so, mate. Not this time. I’ve been sent to figure out what the plan is.” Gwaine nodded toward where the rest of the knights spread themselves around the room, almost like they were on patrol. They leaned at different tables, strategically placed to cover the entirety of the hall. They held too much tension and their eyes were too sharp as they laughed with knights they rarely spoke to outside training. The sight almost made him frown.
“Plan for what?” Merlin asked, because he didn’t have a plan yet. And also the Knights didn’t know anything was actually wrong. Merlin dug his nails into his forearm when the itch became unbearable. He gritted his teeth as he scratched violently and wished it would stop.
“The plan for whatever’s making you twitchy,” Gwaine said, sending a pointed look at his arm. Glaring, Merlin forced himself to stop scratching.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I have no idea that when you get like this, ten times out of ten we get attacked. So, we’re beheading someone. I’m thinking the Lord, but I’m open to suggestions,” Gwaine said, rolling onto his heels and flicking his hair out of his eyes.
Merlin forced himself not to make a face and instead just look like he was speaking freely with Gwaine, a common enough sight in Camelot. He couldn’t kick him in the shins like he wanted to, not in front of this many people. Lord Fychan’s people might be fine with him being friendly with some of the knights but too much disrespect would be noticed, no matter how much Gwaine deserved it.
“Ugh, fine. That’s not actually Lord Fychan. The real lord is in Gaius’s chambers, unconscious. The imposter is his weasel-y steward. We need to figure out how to stop whatever he’s planning,” Merlin said, grimacing. He hated having to involve the Knights. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because they had questions afterward. And he didn’t have any good answers.
“Great. I’ll let Leon know. You warn Arthur,” Gwaine said, turning to start back toward the other Knights.
Merlin managed to avoid throwing his hands up in exasperation — mostly because Gwaine’s jug of wine was decidedly not empty — but only barely.
It would have made more sense to have Gwaine go up to the king and warn him instead of sending a servant. At least then, Arthur would probably believe them. But Gwaine managed to scamper away surprisingly quickly, and someone needed to protect Arthur while they killed — arrested? — the steward.
Thankfully, when Merlin looked up at the dais, he made direct eye contact with Arthur. He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the wine jug in his hand. When he looked back up, Arthur rolled his eyes but held his cup up and tipped it like a man who needed a refill. He tilted his head in question, but Merlin ignored it as he hurried toward the dais.
A hand patted him gently as he slid past Elyan, who would have his back if he needed it.
When Merlin appeared at Arthur’s shoulder and leaned forward to fill his goblet, his fingers brushed against the underside of Merlin’s wrist, a clear question.
“My lord,” Merlin greeted, then moved to Arthur’s other side to lean in and fill Lord Fychan’s cup.
He felt Arthur tense when Merlin shifted to lean his hip against the high table and put his body between Arthur and the lord. A quick glance at everything on the table told him that there wasn’t anything he didn’t recognize from the kitchens. No mysterious powders or unknown herbs sat as garnish. The imposter hadn’t gotten too close to Arthur’s cup, so the chances of poison were low.
A tingle of magic raced down Merlin’s arm as he poured the ale, and Merlin dipped his head to hide the glow of his eyes while he enchanted the liquid. It took more magic than a tincture would, but this was the only way he knew to expose the truth before anything bad happened.
He stood up straight when he was done and stepped back, just far enough to be considered proper.
Arthur looked at him, no longer joking or annoyed. Instead, he stared pointedly at where Merlin was digging his fingers into the curve of his elbow. Merlin bit down on a curse as he forced himself to stop itching, damn it!
Merlin met Arthur’s gaze and blinked innocently.
That’s when the imposter took a long drink from his cup; and Merlin looked immediately for the Knights. Relief ran through him when he saw, somehow, the Knights had moved to surround the dais. Gwaine himself hopped up near the edge of the table as the enchanted ale did its work.
Lord Fychan coughed. Again and again.
“Father?” Dyfed burst up from the table he was at, but another knight grabbed him and held him still while the imposter’s face melted in a grotesque display.
Lord Fychan’s features shifted into that of the steward, who was a younger, much less fortunate-looking man. A large, beak nose and oily, dark hair formed. The clothing he wore hung off skinny shoulders; and the lanky man squeaked when he realized he’d melted into himself.
The hall went silent as everyone turned to look.
Merlin grabbed Arthur’s chair and yanked it back when the man grabbed his dinner knife in a panic. He swung it sideways, toward Arthur’s unprotected chest.
The instinct to step forward had Merlin moving, but Arthur jerked forward and caught the man’s wrist. He twisted violently, the crack of bones breaking loud. He caught the knife before it could fall, bursting out of his seat. His arm crossed Merlin’s chest and shoved him back two stumbling steps, putting himself between them.
The steward, stupider than most, launched himself at the king.
Arthur caught him and shoved him back before bracing himself for another attack. Whatever the steward originally planned, he’d given up on that in favor of wild attacks. Merlin glanced at the knights and guards, who were now holding various members of Lord Fychan’s staff at sword point. Too many looked toward the dais and would see his eyes flash gold if he did anything.
Unfortunately, the king wasn’t going to give him a choice if he kept meeting the bastard’s attacks.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it ended.
A sword tip appeared through the middle of the steward’s chest. Blood bloomed along the fine, dark blue cloth of his tunic. The blade twisted before tugging out with a gut-wrenching sucking noise, and the body fell. It hit a chair on the way down, the loud clatter making more than one person jump.
Gwaine stood behind him. “Oh, shit, I was supposed to behead him. Sorry, Merls, I forgot.”
Slowly, Arthur turned to stare at Gwaine with exasperation clear on his face. He relaxed his ready stance, twisting the knife in his fingers before throwing it onto the table with a clatter.
“Eh, that works just as well,” Merlin said, shrugging. He ignored the look Arthur shot him, half questioning and half ready to smack him. Instead, he waved Lancelot and Elyan over. “Elyan, can you take Dyfed and his sister to Gaius’s chambers? That’s where Lord Fychan is now. He was drugged, but Gwen said he should be fine.”
Elyan ducked his head before he marched off toward the lord’s son.
Merlin turned to eye the guards at the door. Two of them broke away, starting forward. He recognized them as ones who were uniquely willing to help Merlin move a dead body without questions. Grinning, Merlin said, “Lancelot, Bran and Lleu will help you with the steward. Take him to Gaius, he’ll want to examine him to figure out how he managed to impersonate someone.”
Turning to the guards, Lancelot nodded to them.
A hand landed on Merlin’s shoulder, fingers gripping tight.
“I think that ends the evening. Thank you for everyone who joined us. I apologize for the display,” Arthur said, waving off the few lords and ladies who lingered. The imperious tone scared the rest of them away. Then, he marched Merlin into the halls and up to his rooms.
The guard at the door nodded to them and opened the door so they didn’t have to.
Arthur didn’t let him go until the door closed. Then, he turned to settle the lock in place .
Relief ran through Merlin to be back safely in Arthur’s chambers. The itching he’d felt all evening melted away and left him feeling a hell of a lot better. He shook out his arms and let the tension fall, relieved at a job well done.
He started over to the wardrobe to get Arthur’s night clothes out. Once that was done, he needed to get the fire going. He hadn’t had time to come up and start it earlier. After that, he could cast a warming spell to speed up the process, since Arthur was oblivious and wouldn’t notice if Merlin cast a warming spell directly on his feet while making eye contact — he’d very nearly done it before. It was honestly a little concerning. Maybe he should have Gaius check his eyes, just to be sure he didn't need glasses.
“Nothing to say?” Arthur asked, voice sharp and expectant.
“Well, that didn’t end the way I expected, but at least nobody important died,” Merlin told him, throwing the door to the wardrobe open. He tugged out Arthur’s favorite, ragged sleep shirt and a pair of hose that were worn soft.
“Merlin,” Arthur warned, voice low and dangerous.
Throwing the sleep clothes over the edge of the changing screen, Merlin turned toward the fireplace. He barely managed to avoid running right into Arthur, who had, apparently, been following him.
“What?” he asked, one hand flying out to press into Arthur’s chest when he almost trampled him. The warmth of his body was nice on Merlin’s cold fingers, but he frowned when Arthur made no move to shake him off or get out of the way.
“You knew something was wrong,” Arthur said. His light blue eyes focused on Merlin’s face, scanning for something. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Merlin asked, eyebrows drawn together. When Arthur didn’t immediately answer, he tried to duck around Arthur to go toward the fireplace again. He sighed when Arthur’s hand clamped on his wrist. It wasn’t painful, but it forced him to stop. Merlin turned to Arthur fully. “What was I supposed to say? I’m having one of my funny little feelings? Yeah, right.”
Arthur’s grip tightened when Merlin rolled his eyes and tried to pull free. “Just… stop for a second, will you?”
Blowing out a sigh, Merlin forced himself to stay still like he hadn’t all night. He watched Arthur, who was grimacing like he’d taken a blow to the stomach and had to breathe through it. It was an odd look to have over something so stupid.
“The Knights noticed you were jittery. They positioned themselves to help. You talked to Gwaine, so you must have told him something was wrong. Why didn’t you just tell me?” Arthur asked again. He looked between Merlin’s eyes like the truth might be there. But Merlin really didn’t know what he was looking for or what he wanted him to say.
Then, Arthur wilted. “This is about Agravaine, isn’t it?”
Merlin flinched, unable to help it.
He grimaced as soon as he saw Arthur’s face fall, but he forced himself to speak through the ache in his chest when he remembered that mess. The only good thing to come out of it all was Morgana coming home. Finding out she was enchanted saved them a lot of heartache. But any reminder of Arthur’s uncle still made Merlin want to scream, even over a year after his death.
“It’s not,” Merlin denied, because he hadn’t even thought about Agravaine over the course of the night. He’d had more important things to focus on.
“But you thought I wouldn’t believe you if you told me about Lord Fychan,” Arthur said, tone brooking no argument.
Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but the words stalled on his tongue.
He didn’t think Arthur would believe him, no. But he hadn’t expected the Knights to believe him either. Just like he wouldn’t have said anything to Gwen if she hadn’t appeared and warned him. None of that had to do with the situation with Agravaine.
“I don’t… know,” Merlin trailed off. He met Arthur’s gaze when he made a questioning noise low in his chest. “I’m serious. I don’t know.”
Arthur’s thumb rubbed along the inside of his wrist. Then, he pulled him toward the fireplace where he’d originally been trying to go anyway. Tilting his head, he ordered Merlin to sit, and he did, but he also piled the wood in the fireplace and started the fire as Arthur dropped onto the thick, decadent rug next to him.
“When you say you don’t know, do you mean you don’t know if you thought I’d believe you or that you don’t know if it’s about Agravaine?” Arthur asked in a low voice while the flames spread along the wood.
Merlin bit down on the urge to sigh loudly. He didn’t want to answer that question. So, he stared into the flames and tried not to imagine the many, many pyres he’d seen lit in King Uther’s Camelot. And he spoke to the flames instead of his friend, “I didn’t think you would believe me. But I don’t think that just started happening after Agravaine got here.”
He didn’t look to see Arthur’s face. He didn’t want to know what he thought of that.
There were too many memories vying for first place in his mind. He remembered Arthur believing him — and then sacking him — within his first week in Camelot. He remembered how often Arthur shrugged off his warnings of danger, how he told him magical creatures wouldn’t die by manmade metals but still went out to fight them anyway. He remembered the dozens of times they’d been on patrol; and Merlin told him not to go that way or to stop early for the night or to go around the Valley of the Fallen Kings for fuck’s sake, and none of it worked.
The only time Arthur believed him was when there was hard proof right in front of his eyes, and only if he’d personally seen it. Too often, Merlin’s magic warned him abstractly. He had no proof. And it wasn’t enough to be taken seriously in Camelot.
Or maybe it just wasn’t enough to be taken seriously by Arthur.
A warm palm settled on the back of his neck. The touch was gentle and reassuring but never enough. Merlin curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He didn’t want to be close to Arthur right now. He just wanted this night to end.
“That’s my fault,” Arthur said in a quiet voice.
Merlin’s gaze snapped to him.
The self recriminating smile that tilted his lips made Merlin frown. But Arthur didn’t let it go. “I should have believed you, and not just about Agravaine. You’re freakishly perceptive, did you know that?”
Merlin just stared because, duh.
Sighing, Arthur leaned into his side, letting his arm drape over Merlin’s back. His warmth snuck in through the thin tunic Merlin wore and helped him relax just a touch.
“I would appreciate if you tried one more time,” Arthur said slowly, like he was picking each individual word as he said them. When Merlin raised his eyebrows, he squeezed the back of his neck again. “To trust me with things like this. To warn me, if something is wrong. I swear to you on my honor as a Knight of Camelot that I will take any warning you give seriously.”
“You shouldn’t say that,” Merlin said, frowning.
“Why not?”
“Because! I’m a servant. And you have more important things to worry about,” Merlin shot back, shaking his head and leaning away.
Arthur kept a firm hold on him, though, and shook his head seriously. The usual good humor on his face was nowhere to be found. Instead, he gazed at Merlin with intense resolve. “You’ve earned my regard. Besides that, you may be a servant but you’re also my best friend and the person I trust the most in this castle.”
The disbelieving face Merlin made was instinct alone. It made Arthur flinch, a flash of hurt there and gone on his face.
“I deserve that, okay? I do,” Arthur argued when Merlin started to shake his head, intent on apologizing. “You’re right, I haven’t listened to you. Not when it matters. But, if you’ll let me, I’ll do better.”
“Why is it such a big deal?” Merlin asked, because it never mattered before; and he couldn’t figure out why Arthur was harping on it now, of all times. He’d stopped other lords from killing the king without ever talking to anyone. Why did it matter that Arthur knew?
Arthur seemed to lose his temper just a bit. Just enough to snap, “Because you could get hurt!”
That… wasn’t what Merlin expected.
Arthur groaned and leaned forward so his forehead pressed against the back of Merlin’s shoulder. He spoke into his tunic, “Because you got between me and danger — again — and did something to get the imposter to change back to himself and didn’t even really step out of the way when that was done. He could have attacked you.”
Merlin leaned his chin on his knee. “Yes… but he didn’t.”
“But he could have. And if I’d known what was going on, I could have reacted faster,” Arthur told him. And, somehow, Merlin now had a limpet of a king draped over his back, slipping his arms around his chest and dragging him into a tight hold. It wasn’t quite a hug, but Arthur held on.
“Then, you could have gotten hurt,” Merlin reminded him, because it was important that the king have some sense of self preservation.
“Don’t care,” Arthur said into his back.
“Did you forget that you’re the king?” he asked, confused.
“It doesn’t matter. I want you safe,” he said, squeezing his chest.
Merlin reached up to do… something. He wasn’t sure what. He ended up gripping Arthur’s wrist lightly. His steady pulse beat against his fingers.
“Just, give me another chance to prove it to you, okay?” Arthur said in a low voice, pulling his head up so he could set his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. Cheek to cheek, they both watched the fire.
Leaning back slowly, Merlin let Arthur take some of his weight.
In the quiet of the night, safe in Arthur’s chambers, it was easy to be believe. So, Merlin said, “I’ll try.”
Arthur pressed his lips into Merlin’s shoulder, but he was so warm and comfortable Merlin didn’t flinch. Curled together, they watched the fire until the moon was high in the sky and took another careful step toward the Golden Age of Albion.