Chapter Text
Arthur walked over the battlements, passing by the guards and soldiers ready to attack the Saxon armies that had arrived and stood scattered across the horizon. The soldiers nodded to him in respect, and the guards offered their reports. They were keeping their distance. Sir Leon, who had returned victorious from his skirmish on the western road, flanked him diligently.
Arthur stood at the centre of the battlements and looked out over the courtyard below, where more men had gathered. “The enemy is at our doorstep. They will be hungry and tired. And they will not be expecting our gates closed,” Arthur called out with a booming voice. On the steps to the castle he spotted Merlin, who looked at him as though he was life itself.
“Their leader misdirected us in the same way that Normans have attempted in the past. They sent us West. They sent us East. While their king infiltrated our Citadel.”
The people looked up to him. Across, his father stood on the balcony with Lady Morgana by his side. She looked positively regal in her dark red dress, her jewellery once more gracing her neck, hair, and fingers.
“Today, we will go out there and show them,” Arthur continued, bellowing down to his people. “We will not fall for their trickery!” He was pleased when a murmur began, agreeing with him. “We have already killed their king. And we shall take their armies down! The Saxons will never take Camelot!”
The people around him on the battlements around him began to cheer. Down below, voices were loud, preparing themselves to rush out there.
Arthur lifted his sword to them. “For the love of Camelot!”
In unison, the voices shouted up at him, people waved their spears, shields, and swords, feet stamped and hands clapped.
“Open the gate!” Arthur called out.
Beside him, Sir Leon lifted his horn and blew it. Arthur had asked him to take the role of calling to his footmen, since they had had the earlier victory out on the field. It had surprised Leon, but he had bowed and taken the role gratefully.
In the distance, the Saxon warriors were paying attention to what was happening. They were orderless, scattered into groups instead of forming lines. They lacked vision and leadership.
The gate slowly rolled up, with loud metal croaks. When it was lifted, a single horse was slapped on the rear, sent forward with its only cargo strapped to its back.
That had been Arthur’s idea, proposed to his father, and based on one of the historical tales. Uther had been lenient that he hadn't completed his history test, purely on account of slaying yet another sorcerer. His papers had been found among the rubble and, absurdly, Geoffrey was grading them while Arthur prepared his men for war.
On the battlements, the soldiers stood ready with their bows and arrows, and the guards with their spears. The horse galloped down the familiar lane towards unfamiliar people. On its back it carried the remains of King Beroun, his two daggers hanging neatly in their sheaths, cleaned and well, from the horse’s neck. Beroun’s head still graced one of the pikes in front of the city, but none of the Saxons had dared to come that close.
When the horse came close to the strangers, it took them some time to approach it. Arthur had chosen a gentle horse, though he would be sorry if the beast would be slain. It only carried the message after all. King Beroun wasn’t strong enough, neither are you.
The Saxons began to respond and call to each other, panic clear in their actions as they decided whether the siege was worth it. It was unlikely that any survivors from the western road had joined them, so their forces were certainly smaller now.
“Now, Sir Leon,” Arthur called out.
Sir Leon blew his horn three times. It was the signal for his group of knights and soldiers to flank the Saxons from the North, riding out on horseback. It drove the foreign armies within the range of their archers.
“Ready… Loose!” Arthur called out. “Ready… Loose!”
It took two rains of arrows to cripple their remaining forces. By now, the horseback formation was too close, and their arrows might kill their own men.
Before midday, the threat of the siege was over.
***
Two days later King Uther offered a great feast in honour of Camelot’s most recent victory.
Prince Arthur and Sir Leon had run through the Darkling Woods in search of any hiding troops until they deemed the coast clear enough for smaller patrols. Though hardly any men had fought, and there were only a handful of injuries, the defeat of the Saxons ignited the fire in the hearts of all people in Camelot. The feast was raucous and jubilant.
The nearly finished painting of Prince Arthur, which resembled him in a rough, stylistic way, hung beside King Uther’s and Lady Morgana’s finished works. Despite several details missing, it was a fair work of art and would tell its own story throughout history.
Merlin followed Arthur when he left the dais and joined his knights at the lower tables. He remained silent while Arthur shared jokes with them and talked boisterously. He smiled to himself when Sir Bedivere and Sir Gwaine laughed heartily at the prince’s jokes and felt a sense of fierce price when Arthur rejected the attention of one of the maids.
In response to Arthur’s cup remaining empty, Merlin casually leaned in and filled it with a light red drink. One or two of the knights found it curious that Arthur was no longer favouring any of the women, but they found that soon the same attention turned to them. One way or another, the ladies would find their companionships or battle for their ranks if they wanted.
“What the hell is this?” Arthur asked after sniffing his drink.
“Strawberry cider, my lord,” Merlin answered and tried very hard not to grin.
“This is vile!” Arthur declared.
“I’m working on it,” Merlin whispered to him and stood back again.
Arthur shot him a curious glance over his shoulder and proceeded emptying the cup in one go.
Merlin’s heart danced with delight. He and Arthur now shared moments together every morning and every evening, and if possible in between as well. Whatever Uther had unleashed by limiting Arthur’s prowess was all there for Merlin to relish. His world felt complete, or close enough to it, knowing that Arthur loved him too.
“That’s it for now, I’m afraid. I must retreat.” Arthur slammed his cup on the table and got a couple of nods and greetings from his men. Sir Gwaine eyed him curiously, but decided not to speak. He and Beth had enjoyed a decent time, somewhere in the middle ranks, and Gwaine wasn’t going to let anything happen to that.
“Time to go,” Arthur said lightly to Merlin as he passed without a single glance. Merlin followed him out without hesitation. He knew their secret wouldn’t be hidden forever. Someone would figure it out. Someone like Gwen, perhaps, or Lady Morgana, who saw what others did not. Until then, they proceeded unquestioned.
Once in the hall, Arthur dragged Merlin out to the gardens where they kissed under one of the archways. Merlin could taste the terrible cider on Arthur’s tongue. They felt each other’s bodies and sampled skin with their mouths, until they saw the light of a patrol’s torch headed their way. They hastily made their escape back through the corridors.
“Where are we going?” Merlin asked.
“There’s something I need to do,” Arthur said. “Come.”
Merlin followed him towards the catacombs where Arthur picked up a torch and led the way. “I wanted to ask you,” Merlin began. “What was the secret Buonamico told you?”
Arthur grinned. “I can’t tell you that, of course.”
“No, I suppose not,” Merlin said. Their voices echoed against the cool stones as they descended further. “But what sort of secret was it?”
At last, Arthur paused and looked over a row of urns, stored on dusty shelves. “He told me his real name.”
Merlin blinked and felt a shiver go through him. He might have expected that. “Do you think he traveled to escape, as much as to paint?”
“Quite possibly. Here we go, hold this.” Arthur offered Merlin the torch and picked up an urn. “This way.”
“Where are we going?” Merlin asked him again.
Arthur turned to climb the stairs up to the gardens again. “You know, as I was listening to the old tales, there was one story that struck me the most. I heard him tell you about the great warrior Achilles and his servant Patroclus. When the young lover died in battle, Achilles was enraged. And I believe it.”
“Did you observe the similarities to you and me?” Merlin wondered aloud.
“Some, yes,” Arthur admitted. They walked silently through the garden gate to the cemetery. Arthur held the urn under one arm and passed the headstones in silence.
Merlin followed him quietly, watching how the flames caught the shapes of Arthur’s figure this way and that.
Arthur paused at last, regarding a headstone with clear inscriptions, near an old tree whose leaves whispered in the gentle evening wind. “The story I saw more fitting was not ours. It is a story that won’t be told by anyone, but it may yet be respected.”
“This is Sir Marcus’s grave,” Merlin remarked. The letters were clearly carved out, quite fresh, compared to many others around them.
“Sir Marcus, like Achilles, lost his mind after he lost his love,” Arthur said and knelt down. He placed the urn right next to the headstone. The letters in ink read Sir Timotei.
“You’ve put them together,” Merlin said, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.
Arthur put an arm around Merlin’s waist and sighed. Together they stood for several minutes honouring the significance of the battles these knights had fought, on and off the battlefield. When the wind picked up and the torch sputtered, Arthur steered them around and walked them back the way they came. If Merlin’s cheeks were wet, Arthur didn’t remark on it.
***
Arthur was fiddling with his mother’s ring, sitting in a chair on the other side of his desk. It was a few days since the feast, and there was a blessed rain covering the land, cooling it at last. Merlin was sitting in the desk chair and was reading to him from an old book about obscure countries, and Arthur was barely paying attention.
“Arthur!” a deep voice called.
“Yes, father!” he sat up straight and pulled his feet off the desk at once when he realized his father was in the room.
“What is the meaning of this? Why are you not on the training fields? Why is Merlin reading in your stead?”
Arthur slipped the ring back onto his finger. “He was testing me, father, on new historic subject matter. I have asked Sir Leon to do the afternoon trainings.”
“You are skipping your duties to your knights!” Uther called out.
“I can’t train the men and be aware of the important tales of history, father! Besides, Sir Leon is well capable and needs the additional challenge.”
Uther looked at both of them and said stoically. “Your test results came in.”
At once, Arthur was to his feet. “How did I do?”
“Geoffrey says it was abysmal.”
Arthur’s heart sank. He had done his best after all.
“But it was better than expected,” Uther finished. “You passed, but only just.”
“Ha!” Arthur called out in joy. He looked at Merlin with cheerful delight, only to realize his mistake. He recomposed himself and calmed his voice. “You know that I was interrupted by an assassination attempt on my life?”
“Of course,” Uther said. “That’s why you will complete the remainder of your test before the week is out.”
“Father!”
“That is final, Arthur. I won’t tell you again.” Uther strode to the door and opened it roughly.
A messenger boy had just arrived with a letter and paled at the sight of the king. He bowed deeply and waited for the king to pass before tripping over his feet into Arthur’s chambers to deliver to him a rolled up note with a black lace tied around it.
“This came for you, sire,” the boy said.
“Who is it from? There is no seal.”
“I don’t know. The rider only said it was a gift.”
“Thank you. You may go,” Arthur dismissed him and waited until the boy had left before opening it. “Merlin, come and see this.”
The chair screeched over the tiles as Merlin pushed it back. “What is it?”
Arthur rolled out the paper over his side of the desk, behind the piles of books and held it flat with paper weights.
“Oh!” Merlin cried out. “He did it!”
The message was a charcoal sketch on thick paper. On it, they saw a picnic in a mountainous area in the late afternoon. On one side, there was a man sitting at an easel and working on art. Around him sat three women, who all resembled one another. One held a child in her lap, and the two younger ones were playing some game together.
Arthur felt Merlin’s hands fold around his shoulders and a kiss placed on his crown. “There’s something attached.”
In the corner, there was a small paper parcel sealed with the minimum of wax and no seal used. When Arthur took his knife and opened the parcel, it contained small, reddish seeds.
“I think these are for Gaius,” Merlin remarked. “That’s the last ingredient he needed to destroy the powder. These plants don’t grow here, so we would have needed to wait for the traders from Kent to come again.”
“Are you certain about destroying it?” Arthur asked. “Knowledge is power, after all.”
“Unequivocally,” Merlin said. “There is a fine line between power and abuse of power. I stand by my convictions.”
Arthur heard Merlin’s words. He wasn’t just talking about the golden powder, but about both paths laid out for them and the decisions they would both need to make in life. He offered Merlin the parcel and placed his hands on top of Merlin’s. “You are my voice of reason, Merlin. My vision, my centre. I hope you never change.”
Merlin leaned down to kiss him, before replying, “You are my whole world, always and forever.”
THE END