Fic: Merlin; G/PG; Equilibrium - Chapter 7
Title: Equilibrium (7/9 + Epilogue)
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: This part: 4209, Overall ~44000
Pairing/Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Percival (OC), Gaius, Nimueh
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, nor any of the characters. The version of Arthurian legend this was inspired by/based on belongs to the Beeb.
Warnings: Vague corruption of Arthurian Legend
Spoilers: Up to the Gates of Avalon
Author’s Note: Many thanks to wrennette for the beta work.
Summary: In this part: Arthur’s escape, Merlin rides to confront Nimueh and Percival learns a few things about himself and being a Crown Prince.
Previous Chapters: 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6
Arthur had played hide and seek with the palace guards most of his life, even when they did not know they were playing. It had been a game when he was younger to creep around the castle after nightfall and see how far he could get before he was quickly escorted back to his chambers. It had been fun.
He had been smaller then and even though he had played the game more recently - less for fun and more for breathing space - his increased size, along with the strangeness of his body, were causing him difficulties. He had hurried along the streets as fast as he could, darting behind walls and carts whenever he heard the stomp of approaching guards and he was already out of breath. He had been tired before he had even set out and Merlin’s bed seemed an age ago now.
“Search that side,” he heard his own voice say. He still sounded strange to his own ears, commanding in a way that reminded him of his father. He had never thought of himself like that. He had always seemed to himself a pale imitation of the King but he did not sound like that.
He flattened himself against the side of the nearest house, pulling his chest as far into the shadows as he could as the other him led the guard down the street past his hiding place.
He was the hunter, not the hunted, and he wanted nothing more than to charge the imposter and beat him into the ground. But then he would be arrested for assaulting the royal heir and for sorcery and no one would believe his story. He balled his hands into fists until his nails bit into his skin, and he gritted his teeth together as he heard his voice ordering his men around. A good knight would fight even against unbeatable odds but a good Captain knew when to pick his battles.
There was more to fighting than being good with a sword, and there was more to bravery than running in half cocked. He had to remind himself of that.
The staccato of the boots faded away, and his voice was nothing more than a memory. He waited a second longer for any stragglers. Keyon was always a few paces behind; Arthur had berated him about it more than once.
Sure enough, a few moments later there was a more hurried clatter of boots and Arthur risked a glance round the corner to see one of the newer members of the royal guard hurrying after the search party. He smirked at the sight and made a note to ignore Keyon’s lateness from now on, if the whole crazy situation was ever sorted out. Anyone else would have walked out straight in front of him; not realising there was one more guard to come. It was quite a good tactic.
He darted round the edge of the building and made for the wall. There were no obstacles between him and the gate he knew would be the least guarded - its sentries had a habit of drinking and playing dice - but that also meant there were no hiding places. It was the last step of his journey but it was the one with the highest risk.
Another thing to do when he was back in control: put guards inside every gate, not just in the gatehouses. He ran as silently as he could over the street towards the gate. His footsteps sounded too loud to his ears, straining for noise of the guard or anyone else.
He was within three paces of the gate and in full view of anyone walking past - the weak light of the half moon and the blazing torches at the gate house illuminating him clearly.
“Stop!” A voice yelled out. At first he thought it was him, before his brain caught up with the fact that his voice was not his at the moment.
He kept going, but the men in the gatehouse must have been more alert than usual, they had to pick this night of all nights, and he could already hear them coming out to find out what the commotion is.
“Stay where you are and turn around,” the voice of the Crown Prince rang out across the street. As he reached the gate and laid his hand on the latch, the door to the gate house swung open and a sword was held to his throat.
He did not want to fight these men. They were doing their jobs, protecting Camelot, and he would not have had it any other way. But if only they could have been five seconds slower he could have been able to work the gate latch and then he would have been gone.
Arthur straightened up and withdrew his hand from the latch, raising his hands at his sides slightly. He pivoted on one foot and turned to look his double in the eye. There was a curious moment where it was almost like looking in a mirror, except everything was the wrong way round.
“Percival,” he said, raising his chin. The imposter Prince’s eyes grew wide at the recognition.
“You… you’re under arrest,” the imposter, Percival, managed, despite his surprise. He was holding the sword wrong and Arthur wanted to correct his grip. The situation was too insane already, though, so he kept his mouth shut. “You are charged with sorcery, the penalty for which is death…” Arthur remembered those words, speaking them from the other side, or coming from his father.
“I understand,” he said, refusing to show anything. He schooled his face as he always had - to show nothing but resolve - and walked slowly forwards. “I will come without trouble.” He did not look away from Percival as he walked towards him and noticed the slight swallow of his throat and the twist of his mouth. He knew that look: it was one he saw in the mirror. The boy did not want to be here, he did not want to do this, but he felt he must. As he drew closer he spoke to him in a low voice.
“There is still a way out of this…” Arthur muttered, trying to hold Percival’s gaze. But the other man looked away uncomfortably.
“I wish there was,” he muttered back.
Then the guard were around him, shoving him a little harder than he thought was absolutely necessary. He had to refrain from calling them by name, no need to add evidence to the Sorcerer lie. He considered, idly, telling them his true identity as they twisted his arms behind his back and frogmarched him to the castle jail. It might spread some doubt about ‘Prince Arthur’s’ veracity, but it would never be enough to get him out of jail. Who would believe the word of an accused sorcerer with no status against the heir to the throne? So he kept his peace.
He supposed that now the entire future of Camelot lay with Merlin. It almost made him laugh.
***
“Gaius?” Merlin finally poked his head around the door to his room. There had been no sound for hours. Downstairs the physician was already up and about. “Did he get out?”
Gaius looked up at him, a look of defeat on his face and shook his head. Merlin sank down to the floor and rested his head against the wall, staring into the middle distance.
“I have to get him out of there…” he said.
“Merlin, you have to get Arthur and the imposter switched back around,” Gaius repeated.
“But I can’t if he’s in jail for sorcery,” Merlin replied with a hollow voice. “If he’s in there they’ll just assume it was a spell to get himself out. They’ll still execute him, and knowing Uther they might execute the other one just for good measure.”
“Uther loves his son,” Gaius said, so firmly that Merlin was taken back by the faith the physician had in it. “He would not risk executing Arthur… if you manage to switch them back then we might have just enough of a chance to stay the executioner until the King finds proof.”
“But what if he has him executed today?” Merlin asked.
“Then you’ll have to be quick, won’t you?” Gaius said. “What is it you’re planning on doing anyway?”
“There’s a spell… in the book,” Merlin gestured roughly back into his room. “It recalls things to a place they once were. It’s used to find lost items, I’ve used it before and I think I can use it to get the totem, if I go to where Nimueh was when she cast the spell.”
“That... might actually work.” Gaius said.
“No need to sound so surprised,” Merlin gave him a weak grin. “After all, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s magic.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, then?” Gaius asked, and Merlin jumped to his feet. “Get on with it.” The young warlock sped towards the door, giving Gaius a sharp nod before running from the room.
One perk of being the Prince’s manservant was that everyone became so accustomed to your presence that no one paid you any attention. Merlin even managed to borrow a horse from the stable without raising an eyebrow. From what Arthur had told him of the place, riding would be far easier, and he needed every extra second he could get.
***
Nimueh looked down at the glassy surface of her scrying bowl. She could clearly see Merlin riding out of Camelot, his face set with determination. She smirked to herself and waved her hand over the water. As she did so the image changed and she was looking at Arthur throwing a peasant into the castle jail. A few muttered words and the image showed the truth. The positions of the players reversed and it was Prince Arthur who was in the cell.
Everything was coming together quite nicely. All she needed now was for Uther to execute his own son, and then he would be in such a state that there would be nothing stopping her from taking him down, gaining revenge for all her lost family and friends.
***
The cell was as cold as Arthur remembered it. The wind rushed in through the tiny barred window and he crossed his arms over his chest in seeming nonchalance.
The guard standing outside looked at him curiously, so he stared back as regally as he could, forgetting momentarily that he was in the wrong body. That just served to make the guard give him even stranger looks.
“What is it?” he asked, trying to sound disparaging but only managing angry.
“Nothing,” the guard said, turning away abruptly. “Just, the way you’re sitting, it reminds me of someone. I just can’t remember who.” Arthur looked down at himself, arms crossed, one leg extended into the middle of the floor, the other bent under him, slouched against the wall in a sprawl he had been perfecting since he was five. For all it was not his body, it could react a lot like it when he was not concentrating on it. He mused over that for a second, the guard forgotten in his reverie.
When he tried to move like himself he inevitably ended up feeling as though he had too many legs or falling over, when he did not think about it things seemed to go a lot more smoothly.
He could hear the scaffold being set up outside, his father always liked to make the execution of sorcerers a spectator sport - something he had personally always thought was distasteful. At least no one had mentioned the idea of putting the dead men’s heads on pikes on the castle walls, he worried sometimes that the King might try that.
There were muffled voices behind him - probably the guard change, although it seemed a little early - and footsteps. But he did not look up from his contemplation of the wall.
“They’re preparing the square for an execution,” a voice said so quietly that he almost did not recognise it as his own. He looked round quickly and found that the pair of them were alone.
“I know,” he said simply, trying to maintain his composure. The Prince, for so the man was now, he supposed, stood on the other side of the bars watching him with something that looked as though it might be guilt. Arthur was unsure; it was a rare occasion when that expression or emotion crossed his face. “So I am to be executed in the morning.”
“The King commands it.”
“The King does not know the truth,” Arthur pointed out. “This is your doing.” He looked into his own eyes and saw admission there. That was all he needed to work with. “You could stop this.”
“I can’t,” said Percival with a sigh. “You’ll kill me if I release you.”
“True,” Arthur admitted with a nod. “And if you don’t then the truth will be proven and you will die anyway.”
“The truth will not come out,” the man outside the bars said, but he did not sound convinced. “No one will ever believe you are more than a worthless peasant.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” Arthur asked, curiously.
“That’s how you saw me,” Percival replied, his voice hardening and Arthur could remember that tone. He was pushing Percival’s thoughts in directions the other young man did not want to go. “So that’s how everyone saw me.”
“You rely so hard on how other people see you?” the deposed Prince enquired.
“So do you,” Percival said. Arthur just smiled, wondering whether Percival had the same strange sensation of seeing his face controlled by another man.
“Do you respect me?” he asked, and Percival seemed taken aback by the seeming nonsequitur.
“You haven’t given me any reason to,” the seeming Prince responded bitterly.
“Then why should my opinion matter to you?” Arthur asked.
“Everyone’s supposed to do as the Prince says,” Percival said, suddenly, spitting out the words. “Everyone’s supposed to bow and scrape and do everything for you. You’re supposed to live life without having to lift a finger. You’re the best at everything - the bravest, the strongest, the most handsome. Everyone is supposed to love you.” Arthur could not help but laugh. It was such a naïve idea of royalty.
“I have to work at those things…” he pointed out, knowing that, if Merlin did not come through, if he could not convince Percival to stand down, or find some way of avoiding execution, then he was talking to the new Crown Prince of Camelot. He would at least leave him wiser. “I have to be the best because I am the Prince. I have to work harder than everyone else to be the best… apart from the handsome part - which is a little irksome of itself.”
“But no one treats you like that…” Percival pointed out. “The lower servants do, perhaps, but no one who knows you. They speak to you with veiled contempt, or open mockery. They don’t show you any respect and they continue with their lives.” He slapped one hand against the wall in frustration. “Even the knights laugh about you and make comments behind your back. And that manservant of yours… he was…”
“Making comments to your face?” Arthur asked. “Merlin’s without a doubt the worst manservant I ever had… before you fired him that is.”
“I had to…”
“But he was amusing,” Arthur continued solemnly. “I mean, he has no idea of any of the proper protocols, and whenever he speaks with my father he ends up in the stocks, which is always good for a laugh. Whenever he tries to help with anything he trips over his own feet and the first time he dressed me for a tournament he forgot my sword… my sword.” He grinned and noticed that Percival was staring at him in confusion.
“How could you keep him, if he was that incompetent?”
“He’s getting better slowly… very slowly,” Arthur answered, “and like I said, the amusement value.”
“And he talks to you like a human being,” Percival added. Their eyes caught and Arthur wondered whether Percival might not actually be quite good at the Prince thing if he put his mind to it, although, that did not mean he in any way sanctioned the reversal of their positions.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “he does.” And he was probably dying at that very moment in an idiotic attempt to save Arthur’s life. Merlin seemed to careen from one suicidal last stand to another. “I don’t know what Nimueh told you…”
“Nimueh?” Arthur watched himself pull closer to the bars. “That’s her name?”
“Yes,” he said, “and she wants to ruin Camelot. She’s using you for her own means.”
“She wants justice,” Percival corrected, although he still sounded unsure. Arthur shook his head quickly. If he could just drive enough doubt into Percival’s mind he might be able to live through this.
“No, she wants revenge.”
“Because your father killed her kind! He still does kill her kind, the fact that you’re locked up just because I said you were a sorcerer proves that.”
“Sorcery can be used to accomplish great evil,” Arthur said, keeping his face calm. He could not allow himself to be pushed by this boy. “My father wishes to protect Camelot.”
“She… If I let you go, I’ll die.”
“You honestly believe that she will protect you when she has got what she wants? When I am dead she can cause far more damage to Camelot by revealing that fact.” Perhaps logic was not the best way to go, but Percival was being unreasonable.
“She doesn’t want you dead,” Percival protested. “Well… she does, but that’s not why she sent me.” Arthur sat up straighter, confused. It was entirely possible that the sorceress had been lying to Percival, trying to win his allegiance by saying that the death was not her plan, but a necessity, but he was at a loss to think of anything else she could want.
“Why did she send you then?” he asked, “if not to cripple Camelot, why?”
“She said…” Percival paused for a second looking confused. “She said she wanted to speak to someone. She said that was all she wanted, and that in the process we’d… we’d show you what it was like not to be the Prince.”
“She went to all this trouble because she wanted to talk to someone?” Arthur asked incredulously. A smile slowly spread across his face. He had not been far off when he had thought that this young man reminded him of Merlin, the pair of them had a similar idiocy.
“That’s what she said…” but even Percival looked unconvinced at the moment, the Prince’s brow scrunching slightly.
“And you thought that was reasonable?”
“It… At the time it all seemed reasonable,” Percival admitted with a defeated tone. “She was there and she was talking and everything she said seemed to make sense.”
“She must have enchanted you,” Arthur scoffed. “So… who was it then?”
“Who was what?” Percival asked stupidly, and Arthur would give anything not to have heard himself sound so gormless.
“Who was it she wanted to have this little chat with?” he asked, speaking to Percival as though their positions were reversed and Percival was a complete idiot.
“That’s what I didn’t get…” Percival said, hesitating again.
“Spit it out… I haven’t got all day,” Arthur commented with a wry grin, glancing out of the tiny barred window at where the sun was beginning to rise. Percival swallowed visibly at the reminder of the real Prince’s coming execution.
“She wanted to talk to your manservant - Merlin.” Arthur blinked, his mouth opening in amazement. “She was not happy when she found I’d fired him. She wanted me to bring him out to her in the forest.”
“She’s in the forest?” Arthur asked, coming to his feet without any conscious effort. Percival’s eyes opened wide in fear, despite the bars between them. “Where?”
“To the North.” He said uncertainly. Arthur crossed Percival’s body over to the bars in two easy strides, pinning the so-called Prince with a glare that lost none of its potency by coming through another’s eyes.
“And she’s waiting for Merlin?” he asked. Percival nodded warily. “Why him? Why would she want to talk to him?” There was no answer. “She must have said something - anything - given you a hint about what she wanted him for.”
“Maybe they’re friends…” Percival suggested.
“Impossible,” Arthur said, dismissing the idea automatically. “Besides, if they were friends then I’m certain she’d have a better way of communicating with him than swapping our appearances and having you lure him out under false pretences.” He rolled his eyes, sometimes it was highly exasperating to be surrounded by idiots. “And the idea that Merlin has anything to do with magic is laughable. He can barely handle a buckle. What did she say?”
“Just that she wanted to talk to him…” Percival said nonplussed.
“And you thought she would go to the trouble of having the Crown Prince executed just so she could have a few words with a manservant?” Arthur asked again, incredulously. Percival shrugged slightly. “You did not think that at all strange?”
“She’s a sorceress,” Percival snapped back, “how am I supposed to fathom what’s going on in her mind?”
“Well, I’m fairly certain that if she wants to see Merlin it’s not so that they can talk… though why she’d want him…” He shook his head; there was no time for that line of thought. It could wait until later. If Nimueh really wanted Merlin, and her major plan was not merely to have him executed, then Merlin was riding right to her. He gripped the bars tight, trying to channel his frustration into his hands. There was no doubt in his mind that Merlin was in very real danger, even if Nimueh was not looking for him. The plan which had seemed such a… well, not a good idea, but not completely hopeless, now appeared ridiculous.
“Let me out of here…” he said in his most commanding tone. Percival took a step back from the bars and straightened up. Arthur realised he had gone too fast.
“I can’t. She was right. The only chance for me to live is if you die. I’m sorry,” He avoided looking Arthur in the eye. “I never meant for it to get this far. I never really meant for it to happen at all. But now - I can’t let you go.” He smiled sadly. “It’s you or me, and I don’t want it to be me.”
“If you don’t let me go, I will kill you,” Arthur promised, his voice as cold and deadly as he could make it with the unfamiliar vocal cords.
“You’ll never succeed…”
“Merlin’s going to die, unless you let me out.”
“He’s just a manservant to you,” Percival said in confusion. “Why do you care?”
“Because…” Arthur paused before he spoke dropping his hands to his sides and drawing in a breath. “Because he’s one of my subjects as much as anyone else…”
“Try again,” Percival snapped, bitterly. “That’s just Princely propaganda. ‘all of my people are of equal value to me… I will not allow any one to die.’”
“It’s true,” Arthur insisted.
“You just want to save your own neck,” Percival said. “You’ll get out of here and you’ll forget all about him and try to prove that you’re you.”
“That can wait…” Arthur said, truthfully. “Merlin can’t… the idiot’s gone after Nimueh alone and she’s going to kill him because he couldn’t defend himself if you built walls around him.” He sighed and grimaced. It looked as though he would have to resort to something he had hoped never to do again. “Please… you hold both our lives in your hands. What has he ever done to you?”
“He insulted me,” Percival pointed out.
“No - he insulted me which, given your record, you should be praising him for, not condemning him.” Arthur argued, wondering when he had switched from arguing his case to trying to make Merlin and Percival best friends. “In fact, if you two met… before all of this… he’d probably have shaken your hand and bought you a drink for trying to get me to stand aside.”
“I’m sorry,” Percival said, actually sounding remorseful as he pulled away from the bars, walking slowly towards the stairs. “I can’t.”
“Then you are guilty of murder just as much as Nimueh is… and not just my own.” Arthur called after him, but Percival did not look back, just kept on walking. As soon as he had gone, the guard came back in and slouched against the far wall. The first rays of sunlight were falling through the window as Arthur lay back down on the pallet the jail liked to think of as a bed. He should probably get some rest. There was no reason to get executed while not looking his best and, if there was an opportunity for escape, he would be no good to Merlin if he couldn’t stay awake.
He shut his eyes, but sleep refused to come.
***
On to Chapter 8
-
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: This part: 4209, Overall ~44000
Pairing/Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Percival (OC), Gaius, Nimueh
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, nor any of the characters. The version of Arthurian legend this was inspired by/based on belongs to the Beeb.
Warnings: Vague corruption of Arthurian Legend
Spoilers: Up to the Gates of Avalon
Author’s Note: Many thanks to wrennette for the beta work.
Summary: In this part: Arthur’s escape, Merlin rides to confront Nimueh and Percival learns a few things about himself and being a Crown Prince.
Previous Chapters: 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6
Arthur had played hide and seek with the palace guards most of his life, even when they did not know they were playing. It had been a game when he was younger to creep around the castle after nightfall and see how far he could get before he was quickly escorted back to his chambers. It had been fun.
He had been smaller then and even though he had played the game more recently - less for fun and more for breathing space - his increased size, along with the strangeness of his body, were causing him difficulties. He had hurried along the streets as fast as he could, darting behind walls and carts whenever he heard the stomp of approaching guards and he was already out of breath. He had been tired before he had even set out and Merlin’s bed seemed an age ago now.
“Search that side,” he heard his own voice say. He still sounded strange to his own ears, commanding in a way that reminded him of his father. He had never thought of himself like that. He had always seemed to himself a pale imitation of the King but he did not sound like that.
He flattened himself against the side of the nearest house, pulling his chest as far into the shadows as he could as the other him led the guard down the street past his hiding place.
He was the hunter, not the hunted, and he wanted nothing more than to charge the imposter and beat him into the ground. But then he would be arrested for assaulting the royal heir and for sorcery and no one would believe his story. He balled his hands into fists until his nails bit into his skin, and he gritted his teeth together as he heard his voice ordering his men around. A good knight would fight even against unbeatable odds but a good Captain knew when to pick his battles.
There was more to fighting than being good with a sword, and there was more to bravery than running in half cocked. He had to remind himself of that.
The staccato of the boots faded away, and his voice was nothing more than a memory. He waited a second longer for any stragglers. Keyon was always a few paces behind; Arthur had berated him about it more than once.
Sure enough, a few moments later there was a more hurried clatter of boots and Arthur risked a glance round the corner to see one of the newer members of the royal guard hurrying after the search party. He smirked at the sight and made a note to ignore Keyon’s lateness from now on, if the whole crazy situation was ever sorted out. Anyone else would have walked out straight in front of him; not realising there was one more guard to come. It was quite a good tactic.
He darted round the edge of the building and made for the wall. There were no obstacles between him and the gate he knew would be the least guarded - its sentries had a habit of drinking and playing dice - but that also meant there were no hiding places. It was the last step of his journey but it was the one with the highest risk.
Another thing to do when he was back in control: put guards inside every gate, not just in the gatehouses. He ran as silently as he could over the street towards the gate. His footsteps sounded too loud to his ears, straining for noise of the guard or anyone else.
He was within three paces of the gate and in full view of anyone walking past - the weak light of the half moon and the blazing torches at the gate house illuminating him clearly.
“Stop!” A voice yelled out. At first he thought it was him, before his brain caught up with the fact that his voice was not his at the moment.
He kept going, but the men in the gatehouse must have been more alert than usual, they had to pick this night of all nights, and he could already hear them coming out to find out what the commotion is.
“Stay where you are and turn around,” the voice of the Crown Prince rang out across the street. As he reached the gate and laid his hand on the latch, the door to the gate house swung open and a sword was held to his throat.
He did not want to fight these men. They were doing their jobs, protecting Camelot, and he would not have had it any other way. But if only they could have been five seconds slower he could have been able to work the gate latch and then he would have been gone.
Arthur straightened up and withdrew his hand from the latch, raising his hands at his sides slightly. He pivoted on one foot and turned to look his double in the eye. There was a curious moment where it was almost like looking in a mirror, except everything was the wrong way round.
“Percival,” he said, raising his chin. The imposter Prince’s eyes grew wide at the recognition.
“You… you’re under arrest,” the imposter, Percival, managed, despite his surprise. He was holding the sword wrong and Arthur wanted to correct his grip. The situation was too insane already, though, so he kept his mouth shut. “You are charged with sorcery, the penalty for which is death…” Arthur remembered those words, speaking them from the other side, or coming from his father.
“I understand,” he said, refusing to show anything. He schooled his face as he always had - to show nothing but resolve - and walked slowly forwards. “I will come without trouble.” He did not look away from Percival as he walked towards him and noticed the slight swallow of his throat and the twist of his mouth. He knew that look: it was one he saw in the mirror. The boy did not want to be here, he did not want to do this, but he felt he must. As he drew closer he spoke to him in a low voice.
“There is still a way out of this…” Arthur muttered, trying to hold Percival’s gaze. But the other man looked away uncomfortably.
“I wish there was,” he muttered back.
Then the guard were around him, shoving him a little harder than he thought was absolutely necessary. He had to refrain from calling them by name, no need to add evidence to the Sorcerer lie. He considered, idly, telling them his true identity as they twisted his arms behind his back and frogmarched him to the castle jail. It might spread some doubt about ‘Prince Arthur’s’ veracity, but it would never be enough to get him out of jail. Who would believe the word of an accused sorcerer with no status against the heir to the throne? So he kept his peace.
He supposed that now the entire future of Camelot lay with Merlin. It almost made him laugh.
***
“Gaius?” Merlin finally poked his head around the door to his room. There had been no sound for hours. Downstairs the physician was already up and about. “Did he get out?”
Gaius looked up at him, a look of defeat on his face and shook his head. Merlin sank down to the floor and rested his head against the wall, staring into the middle distance.
“I have to get him out of there…” he said.
“Merlin, you have to get Arthur and the imposter switched back around,” Gaius repeated.
“But I can’t if he’s in jail for sorcery,” Merlin replied with a hollow voice. “If he’s in there they’ll just assume it was a spell to get himself out. They’ll still execute him, and knowing Uther they might execute the other one just for good measure.”
“Uther loves his son,” Gaius said, so firmly that Merlin was taken back by the faith the physician had in it. “He would not risk executing Arthur… if you manage to switch them back then we might have just enough of a chance to stay the executioner until the King finds proof.”
“But what if he has him executed today?” Merlin asked.
“Then you’ll have to be quick, won’t you?” Gaius said. “What is it you’re planning on doing anyway?”
“There’s a spell… in the book,” Merlin gestured roughly back into his room. “It recalls things to a place they once were. It’s used to find lost items, I’ve used it before and I think I can use it to get the totem, if I go to where Nimueh was when she cast the spell.”
“That... might actually work.” Gaius said.
“No need to sound so surprised,” Merlin gave him a weak grin. “After all, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s magic.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, then?” Gaius asked, and Merlin jumped to his feet. “Get on with it.” The young warlock sped towards the door, giving Gaius a sharp nod before running from the room.
One perk of being the Prince’s manservant was that everyone became so accustomed to your presence that no one paid you any attention. Merlin even managed to borrow a horse from the stable without raising an eyebrow. From what Arthur had told him of the place, riding would be far easier, and he needed every extra second he could get.
***
Nimueh looked down at the glassy surface of her scrying bowl. She could clearly see Merlin riding out of Camelot, his face set with determination. She smirked to herself and waved her hand over the water. As she did so the image changed and she was looking at Arthur throwing a peasant into the castle jail. A few muttered words and the image showed the truth. The positions of the players reversed and it was Prince Arthur who was in the cell.
Everything was coming together quite nicely. All she needed now was for Uther to execute his own son, and then he would be in such a state that there would be nothing stopping her from taking him down, gaining revenge for all her lost family and friends.
***
The cell was as cold as Arthur remembered it. The wind rushed in through the tiny barred window and he crossed his arms over his chest in seeming nonchalance.
The guard standing outside looked at him curiously, so he stared back as regally as he could, forgetting momentarily that he was in the wrong body. That just served to make the guard give him even stranger looks.
“What is it?” he asked, trying to sound disparaging but only managing angry.
“Nothing,” the guard said, turning away abruptly. “Just, the way you’re sitting, it reminds me of someone. I just can’t remember who.” Arthur looked down at himself, arms crossed, one leg extended into the middle of the floor, the other bent under him, slouched against the wall in a sprawl he had been perfecting since he was five. For all it was not his body, it could react a lot like it when he was not concentrating on it. He mused over that for a second, the guard forgotten in his reverie.
When he tried to move like himself he inevitably ended up feeling as though he had too many legs or falling over, when he did not think about it things seemed to go a lot more smoothly.
He could hear the scaffold being set up outside, his father always liked to make the execution of sorcerers a spectator sport - something he had personally always thought was distasteful. At least no one had mentioned the idea of putting the dead men’s heads on pikes on the castle walls, he worried sometimes that the King might try that.
There were muffled voices behind him - probably the guard change, although it seemed a little early - and footsteps. But he did not look up from his contemplation of the wall.
“They’re preparing the square for an execution,” a voice said so quietly that he almost did not recognise it as his own. He looked round quickly and found that the pair of them were alone.
“I know,” he said simply, trying to maintain his composure. The Prince, for so the man was now, he supposed, stood on the other side of the bars watching him with something that looked as though it might be guilt. Arthur was unsure; it was a rare occasion when that expression or emotion crossed his face. “So I am to be executed in the morning.”
“The King commands it.”
“The King does not know the truth,” Arthur pointed out. “This is your doing.” He looked into his own eyes and saw admission there. That was all he needed to work with. “You could stop this.”
“I can’t,” said Percival with a sigh. “You’ll kill me if I release you.”
“True,” Arthur admitted with a nod. “And if you don’t then the truth will be proven and you will die anyway.”
“The truth will not come out,” the man outside the bars said, but he did not sound convinced. “No one will ever believe you are more than a worthless peasant.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” Arthur asked, curiously.
“That’s how you saw me,” Percival replied, his voice hardening and Arthur could remember that tone. He was pushing Percival’s thoughts in directions the other young man did not want to go. “So that’s how everyone saw me.”
“You rely so hard on how other people see you?” the deposed Prince enquired.
“So do you,” Percival said. Arthur just smiled, wondering whether Percival had the same strange sensation of seeing his face controlled by another man.
“Do you respect me?” he asked, and Percival seemed taken aback by the seeming nonsequitur.
“You haven’t given me any reason to,” the seeming Prince responded bitterly.
“Then why should my opinion matter to you?” Arthur asked.
“Everyone’s supposed to do as the Prince says,” Percival said, suddenly, spitting out the words. “Everyone’s supposed to bow and scrape and do everything for you. You’re supposed to live life without having to lift a finger. You’re the best at everything - the bravest, the strongest, the most handsome. Everyone is supposed to love you.” Arthur could not help but laugh. It was such a naïve idea of royalty.
“I have to work at those things…” he pointed out, knowing that, if Merlin did not come through, if he could not convince Percival to stand down, or find some way of avoiding execution, then he was talking to the new Crown Prince of Camelot. He would at least leave him wiser. “I have to be the best because I am the Prince. I have to work harder than everyone else to be the best… apart from the handsome part - which is a little irksome of itself.”
“But no one treats you like that…” Percival pointed out. “The lower servants do, perhaps, but no one who knows you. They speak to you with veiled contempt, or open mockery. They don’t show you any respect and they continue with their lives.” He slapped one hand against the wall in frustration. “Even the knights laugh about you and make comments behind your back. And that manservant of yours… he was…”
“Making comments to your face?” Arthur asked. “Merlin’s without a doubt the worst manservant I ever had… before you fired him that is.”
“I had to…”
“But he was amusing,” Arthur continued solemnly. “I mean, he has no idea of any of the proper protocols, and whenever he speaks with my father he ends up in the stocks, which is always good for a laugh. Whenever he tries to help with anything he trips over his own feet and the first time he dressed me for a tournament he forgot my sword… my sword.” He grinned and noticed that Percival was staring at him in confusion.
“How could you keep him, if he was that incompetent?”
“He’s getting better slowly… very slowly,” Arthur answered, “and like I said, the amusement value.”
“And he talks to you like a human being,” Percival added. Their eyes caught and Arthur wondered whether Percival might not actually be quite good at the Prince thing if he put his mind to it, although, that did not mean he in any way sanctioned the reversal of their positions.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “he does.” And he was probably dying at that very moment in an idiotic attempt to save Arthur’s life. Merlin seemed to careen from one suicidal last stand to another. “I don’t know what Nimueh told you…”
“Nimueh?” Arthur watched himself pull closer to the bars. “That’s her name?”
“Yes,” he said, “and she wants to ruin Camelot. She’s using you for her own means.”
“She wants justice,” Percival corrected, although he still sounded unsure. Arthur shook his head quickly. If he could just drive enough doubt into Percival’s mind he might be able to live through this.
“No, she wants revenge.”
“Because your father killed her kind! He still does kill her kind, the fact that you’re locked up just because I said you were a sorcerer proves that.”
“Sorcery can be used to accomplish great evil,” Arthur said, keeping his face calm. He could not allow himself to be pushed by this boy. “My father wishes to protect Camelot.”
“She… If I let you go, I’ll die.”
“You honestly believe that she will protect you when she has got what she wants? When I am dead she can cause far more damage to Camelot by revealing that fact.” Perhaps logic was not the best way to go, but Percival was being unreasonable.
“She doesn’t want you dead,” Percival protested. “Well… she does, but that’s not why she sent me.” Arthur sat up straighter, confused. It was entirely possible that the sorceress had been lying to Percival, trying to win his allegiance by saying that the death was not her plan, but a necessity, but he was at a loss to think of anything else she could want.
“Why did she send you then?” he asked, “if not to cripple Camelot, why?”
“She said…” Percival paused for a second looking confused. “She said she wanted to speak to someone. She said that was all she wanted, and that in the process we’d… we’d show you what it was like not to be the Prince.”
“She went to all this trouble because she wanted to talk to someone?” Arthur asked incredulously. A smile slowly spread across his face. He had not been far off when he had thought that this young man reminded him of Merlin, the pair of them had a similar idiocy.
“That’s what she said…” but even Percival looked unconvinced at the moment, the Prince’s brow scrunching slightly.
“And you thought that was reasonable?”
“It… At the time it all seemed reasonable,” Percival admitted with a defeated tone. “She was there and she was talking and everything she said seemed to make sense.”
“She must have enchanted you,” Arthur scoffed. “So… who was it then?”
“Who was what?” Percival asked stupidly, and Arthur would give anything not to have heard himself sound so gormless.
“Who was it she wanted to have this little chat with?” he asked, speaking to Percival as though their positions were reversed and Percival was a complete idiot.
“That’s what I didn’t get…” Percival said, hesitating again.
“Spit it out… I haven’t got all day,” Arthur commented with a wry grin, glancing out of the tiny barred window at where the sun was beginning to rise. Percival swallowed visibly at the reminder of the real Prince’s coming execution.
“She wanted to talk to your manservant - Merlin.” Arthur blinked, his mouth opening in amazement. “She was not happy when she found I’d fired him. She wanted me to bring him out to her in the forest.”
“She’s in the forest?” Arthur asked, coming to his feet without any conscious effort. Percival’s eyes opened wide in fear, despite the bars between them. “Where?”
“To the North.” He said uncertainly. Arthur crossed Percival’s body over to the bars in two easy strides, pinning the so-called Prince with a glare that lost none of its potency by coming through another’s eyes.
“And she’s waiting for Merlin?” he asked. Percival nodded warily. “Why him? Why would she want to talk to him?” There was no answer. “She must have said something - anything - given you a hint about what she wanted him for.”
“Maybe they’re friends…” Percival suggested.
“Impossible,” Arthur said, dismissing the idea automatically. “Besides, if they were friends then I’m certain she’d have a better way of communicating with him than swapping our appearances and having you lure him out under false pretences.” He rolled his eyes, sometimes it was highly exasperating to be surrounded by idiots. “And the idea that Merlin has anything to do with magic is laughable. He can barely handle a buckle. What did she say?”
“Just that she wanted to talk to him…” Percival said nonplussed.
“And you thought she would go to the trouble of having the Crown Prince executed just so she could have a few words with a manservant?” Arthur asked again, incredulously. Percival shrugged slightly. “You did not think that at all strange?”
“She’s a sorceress,” Percival snapped back, “how am I supposed to fathom what’s going on in her mind?”
“Well, I’m fairly certain that if she wants to see Merlin it’s not so that they can talk… though why she’d want him…” He shook his head; there was no time for that line of thought. It could wait until later. If Nimueh really wanted Merlin, and her major plan was not merely to have him executed, then Merlin was riding right to her. He gripped the bars tight, trying to channel his frustration into his hands. There was no doubt in his mind that Merlin was in very real danger, even if Nimueh was not looking for him. The plan which had seemed such a… well, not a good idea, but not completely hopeless, now appeared ridiculous.
“Let me out of here…” he said in his most commanding tone. Percival took a step back from the bars and straightened up. Arthur realised he had gone too fast.
“I can’t. She was right. The only chance for me to live is if you die. I’m sorry,” He avoided looking Arthur in the eye. “I never meant for it to get this far. I never really meant for it to happen at all. But now - I can’t let you go.” He smiled sadly. “It’s you or me, and I don’t want it to be me.”
“If you don’t let me go, I will kill you,” Arthur promised, his voice as cold and deadly as he could make it with the unfamiliar vocal cords.
“You’ll never succeed…”
“Merlin’s going to die, unless you let me out.”
“He’s just a manservant to you,” Percival said in confusion. “Why do you care?”
“Because…” Arthur paused before he spoke dropping his hands to his sides and drawing in a breath. “Because he’s one of my subjects as much as anyone else…”
“Try again,” Percival snapped, bitterly. “That’s just Princely propaganda. ‘all of my people are of equal value to me… I will not allow any one to die.’”
“It’s true,” Arthur insisted.
“You just want to save your own neck,” Percival said. “You’ll get out of here and you’ll forget all about him and try to prove that you’re you.”
“That can wait…” Arthur said, truthfully. “Merlin can’t… the idiot’s gone after Nimueh alone and she’s going to kill him because he couldn’t defend himself if you built walls around him.” He sighed and grimaced. It looked as though he would have to resort to something he had hoped never to do again. “Please… you hold both our lives in your hands. What has he ever done to you?”
“He insulted me,” Percival pointed out.
“No - he insulted me which, given your record, you should be praising him for, not condemning him.” Arthur argued, wondering when he had switched from arguing his case to trying to make Merlin and Percival best friends. “In fact, if you two met… before all of this… he’d probably have shaken your hand and bought you a drink for trying to get me to stand aside.”
“I’m sorry,” Percival said, actually sounding remorseful as he pulled away from the bars, walking slowly towards the stairs. “I can’t.”
“Then you are guilty of murder just as much as Nimueh is… and not just my own.” Arthur called after him, but Percival did not look back, just kept on walking. As soon as he had gone, the guard came back in and slouched against the far wall. The first rays of sunlight were falling through the window as Arthur lay back down on the pallet the jail liked to think of as a bed. He should probably get some rest. There was no reason to get executed while not looking his best and, if there was an opportunity for escape, he would be no good to Merlin if he couldn’t stay awake.
He shut his eyes, but sleep refused to come.
***
On to Chapter 8
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