Chapitre Trois

                                    

                                          
"Arthur?" Merlin asked, a week later, clearing away the supper dishes. Arthur always preferred to eat in his rooms, away from Morgana and the king, but lately he'd been doing so even when there were official banquets that would normally call for the presence of the prince.

 Merlin couldn't really blame him--the royal banquets were becoming increasingly interminable, with Aelfric making polite comments that Merlin viewed with increasing suspicion. Some of them were casual, and some of them were more pointed, and some of them seemed to be genuinely curious. Taken one by one, they appeared to be only remarks and praise for Arthur's loyalty, on his readiness to rule, on his devotion to his father. But Merlin hadn't missed how each time Aelfric praised Arthur's devotion to the crown with such smooth delivery, such benevolence, Uther's look of dissatisfaction lasted just a little bit longer.

 Merlin knew that Arthur had noticed, too. There was a tension in his shoulders almost all the time now, and Merlin couldn't make it stop. He'd tried, with banter and with massages and, one ill-fated time, by letting Arthur beat the hell out of him under the guise of "training". That had resulted in Merlin being bruised from shin to collarbone and calling Arthur every foul name under the sun, while Arthur lay flat on his back helpless with laughter at Merlin's complete incompetence with a sword and at Merlin calling him a "diseased kin to a whore-poxed rat", which Merlin had decided to call a half-victory. But nothing could make it go away for long.

 The long and short of it was, Arthur had started taking his supper in his rooms rather than with the court. Merlin rather liked it because Arthur away from the massed nobility of Camelot had an earthy sense of humor and a far more casual attitude than Arthur, Crown Prince could ever have, so supper was a great deal more interesting and pleasant. However, he had a bad feeling that it also meant that Aelfric now had a free hand in the conversation at the high table.

 "Yes?"

 Merlin had spent a week trying to think of a good way to phrase this, and failing, so he didn't try. "What is the rule of succession in Camelot?"

 Arthur gave him a narrow look, and bit off the rear half of a marzipan unicorn with perhaps excessive zeal. "Why do you ask?" His voice was ominous, and Merlin sighed.

 "Oh, no reason," Merlin tried without much conviction, and Arthur predictably rolled his eyes and gave him a shrewd a look, like he was trying to read Merlin's mind. Merlin tried to look harmlessly curious, but was pretty sure that Arthur was not convinced. He was also sure Arthur knew exactly why he was asking, and he waited with resignation for Arthur to order him off to the stocks again.

 "Why don't you ask Geoffrey," Arthur said after a minute, and Merlin let out his breath in a whuff of surprise that he wasn't being told off outright.

 "Er, well," he said, not quite sure how Arthur was going to react to this part.

 Arthur put the unicorn down, fully focused on him now.

 "You already asked Geoffrey," he said, without any surprise.

 "He told me to go away," Merlin admitted, warily, and Arthur smiled, what looked like in spite of himself.

 "And you won't tell me why you want to know, of course," he said. Merlin tried his best harmless expression. "Even though that information is held in reserve for the royal family and their most trusted advisors, and one of the most closely guarded secrets of the kingdom."

 Merlin honestly couldn't think of anything to say to that. Arthur was looking at him with a penetrating stare that made him feel utterly transparent. There was a thoughtful silence that Merlin fought the urge to fill with babble, and waited tensely for Arthur's decision.

 "Tell him that I've given you permission to know," Arthur said, eventually, picking the marzipan back up and looking away, and Merlin felt a warm sensation in his chest.

 "Thank you," he said, "sire," he added quickly at Arthur's mock-severe look. "Thank you, sire. Er, more marzipan?" He offered the platter, a fantastical menagerie of animals. Arthur picked up a dragon and bit off it's head.

 "You're welcome," Arthur said.



                          


 It was really amazing, Merlin reflected, watching Geoffrey bring him piece of parchment, carefully folded in thirds and thirds again and bound with a faded red linen tie, what having permission got you. He should think about trying to get it more often.

 "Here," Geoffrey said, placing it in front of him carefully. Merlin heard the hint of disapproval.

 "Thanks," Merlin said, undoing the tie and unfolding it gingerly. It looked old, the edges worn, the writing spiky and dark. "That's all I needed," he added helpfully, as Geoffrey continued to hover over him, frowning slightly.

 Geoffrey's frown deepened, but he nodded curtly and stepped away. Merlin waited until he was back at his desk, staring pointedly in Merlin's direction, before smoothing the parchment flat on the table to read.

 Ten minutes later, he folded the parchment back up mechanically, mind racing. As he'd expected, Arthur was Uther's heir, but what he hadn't expected was that the royal line didn't stop there. Uther had a few distant kin, although Merlin had never heard of them before now. If something happened to Arthur before he produced an heir, he would be succeeded by Uther's cousin and the cousin's offspring.

 The cousin's name, recorded at the very bottom of the page, was Baron Aelfric.

 Merlin handed Geoffrey back the neatly folded and bound packet, trying not to look disturbed. Inside, though, his mind was racing.