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“Gwaine,” says Arthur, letting out a long-suffering sigh, “any chance you could make yourself respectable before we reach Nemeth? I’d rather Rodor didn’t have more reason to think we’re uncivilised than he already does.”
Merlin snorts, and he cuffs him round the head while remembering Mithian’s recent visit to Camelot. Gwaine has tried to welcome her by showing her the best inns in Camelot, while Percival and Lancelot have had an enthusiastic demonstrative sparring match on the training ground; a little too enthusiastic if the axe embedded in the ground was anything to go by. It’s remarkable the visit has gone as well as it has.
“You have no room to judge, Merlin. What was it you and Gwen tried to do on the picnic? We went off hunting and you both came back soaking wet.”
Merlin clams up while Elyan, Gwaine and Leon roar with laughter. Gwen sticks her nose in the air primly. “I am the Queen of Camelot, you can’t speak to me like that.”
“And I’m the King.”
Gwaine straightens his cloak as they enter through the city gates, the whole party quieting. Arthur will never understand why he’s chosen these people to be part of his Round Table. (Alright fine, so they’re all incredibly brave and loyal to a fault, but honestly. At least his father’s men could conduct themselves with decorum). Rodor and Mithian are waiting on the steps, and he dismounts, inclining his head.
“King Rodor. Your Highness. May I present Queen Guinevere and my Consort, Merlin. These are my knights, Sirs Leon, Gwaine and Elyan.”
“A pleasure to meet you all. I have heard so much about you.”
Arthur notices Mithian’s look of amusement and groans internally, smiling politely. “All good things, I hope?”
“Indeed.” Rodor gestures to the castle. “Would you like to go to your chambers? I’ll have servants show you the way.”
Merlin pulls his cloak tighter around himself, shivering slightly. Arthur has no sympathy. He’s the one who refused warmer clothes.
But he does pull Merlin into a hug as soon as they’re in their chambers and he’s removed his chainmail, rubbing his arms to warm him up.
“You’re like an icicle, Merlin.”
“Just give me a cuddle, you prat, and shut up.”
“So demanding.”
Merlin pokes him in the chest. “Hush.”
“So,” says Rodor, sipping thoughtfully at his wine. “I hear Merlin used to be your manservant?”
Arthur smiles. “Yes. Until a few months ago.”
“And they’re still in the honeymoon phase,” murmurs Gwen, wincing. “Your elbows are sharp , Merlin.”
“Mmm, he is bony,” agrees Leon. Mithian chuckles and Merlin scowls.
“But yes, Rodor, he was my manservant. And Guinevere used to be Morgana’s maid.”
“Indeed? You are certainly different from your father.”
The other king doesn’t know the half of it, and Arthur eyes him cautiously. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“No, no.”
“Good.” He raises his goblet. “To Camelot.”
Rodor raises his own. “To Nemeth.” He beckons someone over, who approaches with a twinkle in his eyes, smiling. “This is Lord Accolon, one of my councillors.“
“Your closest councillor, Your Majesty.”
Arthur eyes the pair of them. Accolon reminds him of a more respectful version of Merlin, in looks as well as mannerisms.
“Well, it’s good to meet you.”
“And you. I’ve heard a lot about you, especially you, Merlin.” His eyes flicker gold and Merlin’s eyes widen. “May I speak with you?”
Merlin grins, nodding eagerly. “I’d love to. If... that’s alright with you, Arthur?”
“Of course.” Arthur can’t deny Merlin when he looks so excited. And it’s not often he gets to meet others with magic, after all.
“Go on then,” Rodor says, chuckling. “Just don’t stay too late. We do have a peace treaty to work on tomorrow, after all.”
Arthur’s bored. He came back to his chambers long ago, and now he’s lying on the bed, waiting for Merlin to return from whatever he’s getting up to with Accolon. And alright, he might be a little bit bitter, but still. He and Merlin don’t get much time alone together, and he was hoping they would tonight. No such luck, it seems.
Just then Merlin throws the doors open, storming in and collapsing onto the bed next to him. “That– that– that prat!”
Arthur raises an eyebrow, turning towards him. “I thought that was my insult?”
“Hmph.” He crosses his arms petulantly. “He deserves it. He didn’t even try to show me anything, he just spend his time asking about Emrys. I get hero worship but still!” He waves his hands around, nearly hitting Arthur in the face. “He didn’t even let me get a word in! He just kept asking me to show him things and teach him and said how good it was to meet Emrys at last!” He sighs, turning on his side. “And I know he just respects me, it’s not deliberate, but still. It’s annoying.”
Arthur smiles, stroking his cheek. “Oh great Emrys, however did you get away?”
Merlin swats him. “Oh shut it.” He rolls on top of Arthur. “I’ll talk to him more tomorrow. Politics are boring anyway. For now, I think we should make up for lost time. We haven’t been alone together since we left for Nemeth.”
“So... what can you offer us? For peace?”
Rodon eyes Arthur sharply over the table. He’s sharper than he appeared yesterday. Arthur determinedly doesn’t shuffle in his seat – it wouldn’t do for a king to look uncomfortable. “We will return the ancient disputed lands of Gedref. In exchange for the equivalent amount of your land.”
“On the Camelot border I presume?”
“Naturally.”
“Most of our land there is uninhabitable.”
“We have our own ways of fertilising it.” He nods at Merlin, avoiding any direct talk of magic – both kingdoms might be aware of its acceptance, and indeed Merlin, but it wouldn’t do well for Camelot’s courtiers to learn that another kingdom learned about it before they did. “It is a more than fair bargain.”
“Very well. Do you have any documents we can view? Just to reassure ourselves.”
“Of course. We’ll fetch them. Merlin.”
Merlin inclines his head as he stands, following him out of the room. Arthur falls into step as they walk down the corridor. The peace talks are going well so far. They have similar aims, and luckily, that seems to be enough.
“So... how are you enjoying your visit so far?”
Merlin nods. “It’s boring, but good. Especially because I don’t have to serve you for once, you prat.”
Arthur shoves him. “I haven’t made you serve me on official visits for years. I–”
He cuts off as a high scream echoes down the corridor. He straightens up abruptly and the smile vanishes from Merlin’s face, keen eyes darting around. “Where did that come from?”
“The councillors’ quarters.” He points straight ahead, and Merlin takes off running, Arthur just behind. He skids into the chambers of Rodor’s closest councillor and stops dead in his tracks. Arthur gently moves him aside.
Sir Accolon is lying prone on the ground, limbs at an unnatural angle, a pool of blood spreading around him. “Is he–”
Merlin jumps back into action at Arthur’s question, kneeling down beside him, uncaring of the blood soaking his breeches, and holds two fingers to Accolon’s neck. After a few minutes, he looks up at Arthur with a bleak expression.
“He’s dead.”
Arthur steps back as Merlin rocks back onto his heels, yelling, “guards!” But even in his slightly panicked state he realises that there weren’t any, and there’s no time to fetch them. He starts scouring the room. “Nothing. How can there be nothing?”
“Except this,” says Merlin, holding up a dagger. He runs his finger along the blade absently, wincing when blood wells up. “Ow!”
“That’s what happens when you touch a sharp blade,” says Arthur impatiently, wrapping Merlin’s finger with a torn piece of his tunic. He frowns. “Too sharp. He shouldn’t have made a noise like that if something this sharp pierced him.”
“So what–”
They’re interrupted by Rodor, Mithian and a pair of guards entering the chambers. Rodor and Mithian stop when they enter. Rodor gasps, his eyes widening in shock and grief.
“What happened here?” Mithian says sharply.
“Sir Accolon’s dead,” says Merlin sympathetically. “Stabbed, it looks like.” He exchanges a glance with Arthur. They both know how this looks.
Rodor strides over and punches the wall. “Damn it!” He rounds on Arthur and Merlin, eyes red-rimmed and... is he crying? He immediately feels sorry for Rodor. Despite his personal irritation with the councillor, he could see they were obviously close. “Guards! Arrest them.”
Mithian blinks. “Father– what– don’t you think this is rather hasty?”
“Most certainly not! They’re both covered in blood, and the boy is holding a dagger! They’re obvious suspects, why would anyone in our own court betray us?”
“Merlin is a physician,” says Arthur calmly, thinking fast. “He was examining the body, to see if he was still alive.”
“And the cut on his finger? Not a defensive wound, I assume you’ll say?”
“No, Merlin’s just a clumsy idiot.” Merlin opens his mouth to retort but Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Shut up.
“Nevertheless, they are the prime suspects, the only suspects. And as murderers, I’m afraid we cannot go through with the peace treaty.”
“ What?!” shout Arthur, Merlin and Mithian together.
“Father, you cannot be serious. That treaty is decades in the making!”
“And they have destroyed it in one fell swoop. Guards! Take these two to the dungeons, and lock the rest of their entourage in their chambers.”
Merlin and Arthur don’t resist as they’re led away. To struggle now would be tantamount to a confession. Arthur can hear Mithian and Rodor arguing all the way down the corridor.
The guards shove them roughly into a cell and slam the gate shut behind them. Arthur turns to Merlin.
“Are you alright?”
He nods, giving a wan smile. “It’s only cold iron that affects me, not regular iron. Thanks though.” He pauses. “What are we going to do?”
Arthur sighs, stretching out against the wall. “You tell me.”
Merlin eyes him curiously. “Are you alright? You’re never this nice.”
“We’re going to war if we don’t sort this out, Merlin. Excuse me for not insulting you as well as normal.”
“Well, I think it was a set-up,” says Merlin, apparently determined to ignore the very real threat of war. “Think about it. The sharpness of the knife, the positioning of the wound... he shouldn’t have screamed. And no defensive wounds. He knew his attacker.”
“You’re very good at this.”
Merlin shrugs uncomfortably. “I’ve been Gaius’ apprentice for years.”
Arthur sighs. There’s something the younger man isn’t telling him, but he isn’t surprised. A lifetime of hiding and secrets will do that to you.
“We need to find out who did this,” he continues, “and why.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Arthur says irritably. “Just ask the king if he’ll let us go free? After he thinks we murdered his best friend?” He feels a bit uncomfortable about it all. If he lost Merlin, he can’t imagine he’d be acting any more rationally.
Merlin’s eyes narrow in the direction of the steps. “No, but we could ask Mithian.”
“Wha–”
Footsteps approach and he scrambles to his feet, closely followed by Merlin, who wavers slightly. Not affected by normal iron his arse.
Mithian stops in front of their cell, crossing her arms and staring stonily at them. “So. What happened? I do not believe you did it, it makes no sense when the peace treaty was so near signing and I don’t believe you want war any more than we do, but I need to know what happened.”
Arthur sighs, the tight knot in his chest loosening slightly. At least someone believes them. “We were headed back to our chambers to fetch the document signing over Gedref when we heard a scream coming from near the councillors’ quarters. When we reached them he was already dead on the floor, a pool of blood on the floor surrounding him. The dagger was lying on the floor beside him when Merlin picked it up.”
“How did you hear a scream? According to our physician, that shouldn’t have been possible.”
“That’s what Merlin says too. Mithian, would you be able to get us a week? Just a week, to work out who set us up?”
“I’ll try my best. But my father’s devastated, he may be hard to convince.”
“I understand.” Mithian leaves, and he turns to Merlin. “What was that bullshit about only cold iron affecting you?”
“It’s true!”
“But?”
Merlin has the decency to look sheepish. “But cold iron is the same as regular iron.”
Arthur groans, cuffing him round the head. “You idiot. We’d better get out of here soon, because if you die I’ll kill you.”
“Er... how?”
“I’m sure I can work something out.” He beckons Merlin over. “C’mere. It’s cold. We’re huddling for warmth.” Merlin looks amused as he slips in by Arthur’s side, slotting into his arms.
“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
When Arthur wakes up, the first things he notices are Merlin’s elbow digging into his stomach, and Mithian looking at them, amused. He shifts Merlin carefully off of him, who grumbles in his sleep and turns over. Mithian snorts.
“You finally got together I see. I was wondering how long it would take. Your knights were all sick of your lovesick expression, by the way.”
He scowls. “I was not lovesick. What did your father say?”
“He agreed to a week. But you’re to be guarded at all times. He still doesn’t trust you, but he’ll give you a chance, since the alternative is war. Please don’t make us regret it.”
“I won’t.” He kicks Merlin in the side. “C’mon, sleepyhead. We’re getting out of here.”
“What– oh, hello, Mith.”
She snorts again. “Hello, Merlin. Come on. I’m taking you to your chambers.”
Merlin yawns. “Don’t you need guards?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m perfectly proficient with a knife.”
When they reach it, she stands back to let them enter their chambers. “I’ll bring you the documents you need, but you’re not to leave here.”
“Right. Do you have a map of whose chambers surround Accolon’s? And the physician’s report.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She exits, and Merlin walks determinedly over to the basin, scrubbing at his hands, his wrists, as Arthur realises they’re both still covered in blood.
Merlin scrubs and scrubs, and Arthur strides over, pulling his hands away and holding them to his chest. He does this every time there’s blood, when he’s feeling guilty for something.
“Come on. Scrubbing your skin raw won’t help.” And then, when he doesn’t respond, “ Merlin. Snap out of it.”
He looks up, eyes guilty. “Sorry.”
“Don’t feel guilty, it wasn’t your fault and that won’t help.” Merlin takes a deep breath, responding to Arthur’s commanding voice (his “king voice”, as Merlin calls it). He changes his clothes, cleaning them with a flash of his golden eyes, and sits down on the bed. Arthur joins him. “Better.”
“Mm-hm.” Merlin pauses. “I’ve been thinking–”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“ I’ve been thinking. Why was Accolon even there? Surely he should’ve been at the peace treaty. Unless someone wanted him there, tricked him.”
“You have a point. So we need to work out who tricked him.”
“Unless there’s more than one person.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.” He pushes Merlin backwards onto the bed. “Now sleep. It’s getting late and we can’t do anything tonight anyway.”
“Prat,” Merlin mutters, before turning onto his side and falling asleep almost immediately. Arthur tucks a curl of hair behind his ear, amused. He’s always like this.
Mithian appears at their door the next day carrying a bundle of scrolls and a breakfast tray. Arthur frowns as she strides in.
“Don’t you have servants to deliver that?”
“We do. But I’m bored. Father won’t let me go hunting with an assassin on the loose, and I’m not sitting around sewing. So I’ve come to help you.”
Merlin yawns, scrubbing at his eyes. “I thought he was convinced it was us?”
She shrugs. “He’s more conflicted now that he can think properly.”
“I’m sorry for his loss,” says Arthur. “And tell him that we don’t blame him for his actions.” Him and Merlin discussed it with Gwen that morning when she turned up for the day to help solve the problem, the guards apparently convinced that a woman wouldn’t cause any harm. She’s admitted that none of them would have acted any better had someone they cared for been killed (Merlin sheepishly told them about when he hit Nimueh with a bolt of lightning for harming his family).
“Thank you.” She picks up a sausage. “Eat, and then we can start.”
The three of them obey, clustering around the table. Once they’re finished, Merlin demolishing his food like he hasn’t eaten in days, Gwen clears the tray off the table and they spread the parchment over the desk. Mithian pulls a scroll towards her.
“This is the map of the councillors’ chambers,” she says, tapping it. “Most of them were at the peace treaty though. The only ones missing were Aglovale, Balan and Cador.”
Gwen shakes her head. “No, Aglovale was with us. I remember because he kept hitting on me.” She makes a disgusted face and Merlin muffles a snort.
“How did Elyan take it?” asks Arthur curiously. His blood’s boiling but she can take care of herself. And it’s not like Elyan would let anything happen to her anyway.
“About as well as you would expect. His hand kept twitching for a sword the entire time we were there.” Merlin smiles. “But enough about him. Balan’s two sons were missing as well.”
“Only one now. We got the news yesterday. His older son Madoc was killed on patrol. It’s just Bors, and at sixteen he wouldn’t be joining important negotiations yet.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow. “But he wasn’t there?”
Mithian shakes her head. “No.”
“So that leaves us with Balan, Cador and Bors who could’ve done it.”
“But how do we narrow them down?” asks Merlin. “Is there any reason any of them wouldn’t have been able to run away in time?”
“None,” groans Mithian. “I’m going to check what the physician’s written.”
Merlin squeezes in next to her. “I’ll help.”
Late that night, they’re still going. There’s seemingly no way of narrowing down the suspects. No-one who lived further away could’ve done it, but that’s as far as they can get.
When Merlin actually falls asleep at the table, head dropping into his stew, Mithian calls it a night. “We all need some sleep, or we won’t be able to think straight tomorrow.”
Merlin jerks upright as Arthur stamps his foot. “What? No, I’m fine. Keep going.”
Gwen pushes him and he falls against Mithian’s shoulder. She looks amused, arching her eyebrow.
“Go to bed, Merlin. You’re no use exhausted.”
“No. I c’n do it.”
Arthur gets up and steers him onto the bed, sighing exasperatedly (only mostly for effect). His eyes fall shut as soon as his head hits the pillow. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly, pulling the blanket over the younger man.
“And you Arthur,” says Gwen sternly. He makes to protest, but she cuts him off. “I know you. If someone doesn’t force you, you’ll be up all night trying to figure this out.” He scowls. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean she has to say it. “I’m not going until you do. So unless you want to keep a poor lady up all night...”
“Poor lady my ass,” grumbles Arthur, marching over to the privacy screen. Mithian snorts. Once he’s done he sits down on the bed petulantly. “Happy?”
“I suppose,” says Gwen with a regal sniff. He narrows his eyes (she only does that to annoy him) and she and Mithian sweep out the room.
“She’s been spending too much time with Morgana,” he mutters grumpily, lying down on his side to watch Merlin. It’s like the stress falls off him when he’s asleep, one of the only times he seems fully relaxed.
He awakes to the scratching of quills and the rustling of parchment, and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “It’s not even light yet Merlin, what–”
Merlin grins at him, hand not stopping its frantic scribbling. “I remembered that the dagger has an inscription on the hilt so I’m drawing it.” He finishes the last line with a flourish and beckons Arthur over. “Come see.”
Arthur wanders over, bending over the parchment. He stares at the amount of detail in Merlin’s sketch, mostly focused on the elaborate hilt with a few sketchy lines for the blade.
“How do you remember all this?”
Merlin shrugs. “Good memory.”
“Very good,” Arthur murmurs. He ducks away from Merlin’s cool hand attempting to feel his forehead. “What was that for?”
“You complimented me. I just wondered if you were feeling alright.”
Arthur makes a rude gesture with his hand and goes back to studying the sketch. “MS. What do these initials stand for?”
Merlin shakes his head. “Not sure. I hoped Mithian might be able to help.”
He slumps down into a chair. “Great. So all we can do is wait.”
“Yep.” Merlin sits down next to him. “I doubt they’ll be too long though. Unlike you, they can actually get up in the mornings without being dragged out.”
Arthur scowls. He’s up now, isn’t he?
As it turns out, though, Merlin’s right for once, and they don’t have to wait long before the girls arrive. “You’re up already?” says Gwen exasperatedly. “I thought I told you to sleep.”
“Merlin remembered something.”
“Mmm.” Merlin passes the sketch to them. “Mith, the initials MS mean anything to you?”
She frowns, thinking. After a few moments her eyes light up. “Madoc Savage.”
“Lord Balan’s son? The one who died?”
She nods. “They’re his initials. Which means that dagger’s probably Bors’ now, unless he left it to anyone else, which knowing him is unlikely. They were very close.”
“Well, we can ask Bors that,” says Arthur, standing up. The others follow suit. “Mithian, will you fetch Rodor?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not allowed to leave you alone. Gwen?”
“Of course.” She hurries off and the other three stride towards Bors’ chambers.
Mithian enters first and Bors, who’s eating his breakfast, jumps to his feet. “What do you want?”
Mithian raises a regal eyebrow. “Just to ask you a few questions.”
Bors’ eyes dart to the servant’s entrance. Merlin moves to cut him off.
“You’re here to arrest me. I haven’t done anything wrong, and you’re going to arrest me!”
“Why would we be arresting you if you haven’t done anything wrong?” asks Arthur. “We don’t even have any guards.”
“Yes but– you still–” His eyes are wide with panic and he acts hastily, throwing a dagger in their direction. Merlin throws up a shield but it’s hardly necessary anyway, the weapon missing them in the boy’s panic.
“Please, Bors,” says Mithian, “calm down. You won’t get anywhere throwing daggers at us.”
“I won’t get anywhere anyway!” yells the boy. “I know what happens to murderers, and I don’t want to die!”
He throws another dagger, which rebounds, the shield flaring blue. When he reaches into his belt for another weapon, Merlin sighs, eyes glowing gold. After a beat he reappears behind Bors, throwing a dagger to Arthur and dropping the rest with a clang. “Did your brother give you a full set?”
Bors lets out a squeak and jumps a foot in the air, wheeling round. “They were a birthday present! And now he’s dead, and it’s the king’s fault!”
Mithian bristles. Merlin says calmly, “why did you kill Accolon then?”
“That’s none of your business!” Arthur moves closer, fairly confident in his ability to evade the boy’s attacks, his sword held loosely against his unarmed opponent.
“I’m warning you Bors, give it up. Now.”
“No!”
Arthur watches Bors closely. The teenager’s desperate, which makes him more dangerous despite his lack of a weapon.
Or... his previous lack of a weapon. Somehow, he’s acquired another knife, and he attacks Arthur with abandon, desperate, but still good. Arthur quickly reassesses – he may not be able to throw daggers but he can certainly wield them. He parries the boy’s strikes easily enough though, closing in.
The boy, sensing danger, switches tactics. He lunges for Merlin, taking him by surprise where he’d been watching Arthur closely, ready to intervene if necessary, and puts the dagger to his throat.
“Drop the knife,” he says shakily. Arthur does so, unwilling to risk Merlin’s life (even though he could easily save it himself). “Now let me out of here, and I’ll let him go.”
Mithian doesn’t move. Neither does Arthur. The teenager looks around wildly, starting towards the unblocked servant’s entrance, but Arthur cuts him off.
“Please, Bors,” he says, watching the teenager hold the dagger to Merlin’s neck, arm wavering. “You don’t have to do this. You won’t be executed, just let him go.” Merlin watches carefully, leaning back so the blade doesn’t cut into his neck.
“No! No, you won’t, I killed someone and I’m going to die, stop tricking me!” He shoves Merlin away, and Arthur, thinking it’s safer, approaches Bors cautiously.
Bors lashes out with his dagger desperately, clumsily, and Arthur feels himself being pushed aside, a warm body landing on top of him, blood soaking through their clothes. He shoves Merlin off hurriedly, feeling his pulse. “Merlin, are you alright? Where are you injured? What– why are you smiling like that?”
“It’s just my arm, you dollophead.” He sits up, arm held awkwardly. “Where’s Bors?”
“My father’s guards took him away,” says Mithian. “You were too busy to notice. He’ll be exiled, I expect, but nothing more. He’s just a child.” She eyes Merlin’s arm. “You really should get that seen to, you know.”
“It’s alright, I’ve had worse.”
“That,” says Arthur, putting his arm around the younger man and steering him towards the physician’s chambers, “is not very reassuring.”
Arthur stands outside Bors’ cell, arms folded, Merlin standing next to him with his arm in a sling. Despite his insistence that it’s “not too bad”, it was deep enough to require stitches and is now heavily bandaged.
“Why would you do it, Bors? Kill Accolon. You nearly started a war.”
“My brother... he said it would be better with Accolon dead. That Rodor was getting bad advice, and the kingdom would be better off without the councillor.” He sniffs. “I believed him, he was very convincing, and it was what he would’ve wanted me to do, and I thought it would honour him, but I– I panicked. It wasn’t easy, like he said, well the actual strike was, but killing wasn’t. That was my scream.’’
“And the war? Why frame us?”
“You were the most likely option for Rodor to accept. The war... that was an accident.”
On Bors’ part, maybe, but he’s not convinced about the brother. They step aside as Rodor approaches, offering them a small apologetic smile.
“Bors. You are hereby exiled from Nemeth. You return to the pain of death.” He unlocks the cell. “Your father’s going to meet you at the city gates. Leave, now, and never return.”
As they watch the teenager leave, shoulders slumped, Arthur asks Merlin the question he’s been wondering since their confrontation.
“Why didn’t you use magic earlier? When Bors had you at swordpoint?”
Merlin looks sheepish. “I forgot I could use it in front of you.”
Arthur swallows his guilt and slings his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “Only you, Merlin. Only you.”