The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes Part 6

[stakeaclaim]

The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Part 6


In a discreet corner of an abandoned part of the castle, three men crept into a disused, cobweb strewn room.

‘Could we look more suspicious if we tried?’ one of them huffed.

‘Only if we waved a banner. We’re Conspirators and We Have a Secret,’ the older man replied.

‘I know it’s less suspicious if we meet in a public place but there are always prying eyes and ears tucked away in every corner,’ the youngest one explained patiently.

‘Why didn’t we just meet in our chambers? They’re private, we wouldn’t be overheard and it wouldn’t arouse suspicion.’

There was a moment’s silence to mourn their stupidity.

‘Um. Yes. Should have thought of that,’ Bedevere admitted. ‘We’ll meet in Caradoc’s room next time. Okay?’

Romford nodded his agreement.

‘Fine by me, I’d rather not skulk around in deserted rooms worrying about giant spiders. It’s undignified.’

‘Spiders?’ Caradoc looked around, a wild look in his eyes. ‘Giant spiders?’

‘What do you think made these giant cobwebs?’ Romford asked.

Like a nervous dog, Caradoc’s eyes swivelled uneasily as he eyed the darkened corners with their lurking shadows. He cautiously stepped out to the middle of the room, where he was less likely to encounter any eight-legged monstrosities, or at least would see them skittering across the open space and stand a fighting chance of reaching the door before they reached him. It wasn’t for nothing that he had a reputation as a strategist.

‘Don’t tease him,’ Bedevere chided, ‘you know he doesn’t care for spiders.’

‘So much for brave and fearless knights.’

‘You weren’t at the feast when we all awoke swathed in cobwebs. You can blame the witch all you want but giant spiders must have had a hand in it somewhere,’ Caradoc maintained stubbornly.

‘So these giant spiders have hands now? That I’d like to see,’ Romford scoffed.’

‘Do you really want me to mention how high places make you freeze in terror?’ Caradoc asked raising his eyebrows.

‘It’s not terror. It’s a rational and logical aversion. Heights are dangerous. Unlike poor, harmless spiders.’

‘Actually,’ Caradoc said thoughtfully, ‘if you’re being logical and everything, it’s not the height that’s dangerous, it’s the ground. Everything’s fine until you hit the ground.’

‘Thanks, I feel much better about it now,’ Romford grumbled, ‘I’ll just have to learn to fly won’t I?’

‘With that resolved can we get down to business now?’ Bedevere asked.

He was a bit alarmed when the two older knights looked like chastened children as they nodded and murmured their assent. When had he become the sensible one?

They were all aware that Bedevere visited Merlin in that spare hour after Arthur left and before he was due out on the practice field. He and Merlin had quickly developed a rapport based on a shared interest, namely the consumption of food. He claimed he was there to help Merlin clean up. Since this consisted of clearing the platters of leftover breakfast, it was technically true. And Merlin didn’t mind, it was the sort of ‘help’ he himself would have offered if he’d been Bedevere.

His sense of honour had rebuffed the suggestion that he should also chase after Merlin, refusing to taint his new and burgeoning friendship with deception or duplicity. But he wasn’t above probing Merlin to gauge how their plan was progressing. His role in the operation was to gently nudge things along from Merlin’s side.

‘I pointed out all of Arthurs’s good qualities - his courage, his loyalty, his skill at weaponry. And whilst Merlin agreed in essence, he felt obliged to point out that he’s still a prat,’ Bedevere reported.

‘Well… not entirely bad,’ Caradoc said, attempting to look on the bright side. ‘How did you get on with Arthur?’ he asked Romford.

‘Well, I pointed out that Merlin was naturally cheerful, occasionally helpful, sometimes clever, and not always tactless….’

‘Not always tactless? Was that really the best you could do?’ Bedevere protested. ‘I knew I should have written it down for you.’

‘I also remembered to say,’ Romford continued with a glare, ‘that he was loyal and brave. And, although Arthur agreed, he pointed out he’s still an accident prone idiot.’

‘Why did we think this was a good idea again?’ Bedevere groaned. ‘Arthur thinks that Merlin is completely useless at everything.’

‘Well, I played my part,’ Caradoc said. ‘You wanted Merlin to look as if he was good at something, so I staged some wrestling and arranged for Arthur to be there. Then I let Merlin win.’

‘Wrestling? Was that the best you could come up with?’ Romford asked, still smarting from Bedevere's criticism.

‘Yes,’ Caradoc replied shortly.

‘Did it work?’

‘Uh. It wasn’t entirely successful. I don’t think he believed for one second that Merlin beat me…..’

‘You shock and surprise me. Carry on, you may as well tell us the worst,’ Romford sighed.

‘Well, he turned bright red and came thundering across to us, and then pulled Merlin off me like he was a misbehaving puppy. I thought he was going to take him by the scruff of the neck and shake…..’

‘Oh….’

‘Is that jealousy? It sounds like jealousy to me,’ Romford said thoughtfully.

‘Jealousy? Surely that’s a good sign?’

‘It might be a good sign to you. But to me it indicates that my health is about to take a turn for the worst if I encounter Arthur when he has a sword in his hand. Have you seen the bruises from this morning?’

‘If it’s any comfort, I’m pretty certain that he wouldn’t really hurt you. And by hurt, I mean permanently maim,’ Romford said with a kindly smile.

‘Bedevere, tell him not to comfort me anymore,’ Caradoc pleaded.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Romford continued in a loud, hearty voice, as though volume and tone was all it took to make it true.

‘So what next?’ Bedevere asked.

‘I think we should set some of the others up with ways of approaching Merlin, share the princely hostility amongst our comrades,’ Caradoc suggested hopefully.

‘Your generous, sharing nature is truly a shining example to us all.’ Romford said with mock sincerity.

‘I do my poor best to cultivate such knightly virtues,’ Caradoc agreed placidly.

‘If you two have quite finished? Okay. I’ll try to elbow the others in the right direction,’ Bedevere volunteered. As someone who was ostensibly neutral in the Merlin campaign the other knights would take his encouragement at face value.

‘And we’ll review again in a few days,’ Romford agreed.

…

Days passed, and using privileged information gleaned during breakfast with Merlin, Bedevere carefully edged a few chosen knights in the right direction.

As a result Merlin was trying to shake off Willard.

‘It’s a beautiful evening, is it not? The sun, a fiery ball, setting on many-towered Camelot. Ah, see how its creamy complexion is painted rosy pink by the dying rays, like the blush that stains the faces of lovers.’

‘Uh….’

‘Look how the tower roofs gleam and the flags flutter so gracefully in the evening breeze. It paints an idyllic picture does it not? Come!’

He grabbed Merlin’s hand in his enthusiasm, and although Bedevere had insisted that Merlin would be more interested in the herbal and medicinal gardens, Willard was convinced that roses were the only way to go.

‘I must show you the roses! They smell so sweetly in the evenings. And rosebuds, pink and delicate as your lips, waiting for the warm touch of the morning sun to burst into bloom.’

‘I’d love to look at the roses, and I’m sure they’re perfect,’ Merlin said cautiously, ‘but I’m pretty certain the rosebuds are nothing like my lips.’

He had a scary image of fleshy, red flowers hiding full rows of sharp, white teeth. With that picture in his head was never going near the rose garden again.

‘But….’

‘Like I said, I’d love to, but unfortunately Arthur is waiting for me to attend him.’

‘In that case, of course, you must go. We can always gaze upon the scented blooms on the morrow.’

Merlin gave a confused smile, tugged his hand free and made haste back towards Arthur.

Only to be thwarted again.

Into this evening idyll a horse pranced proudly through Camelot gates, bearing an equally proud looking young rider. He was followed by a string of servants and packhorses.

‘Hey! You there!’
Merlin turned towards the party when he realised he was the one being hailed.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, trying to keep his tone polite despite needing to make haste.

‘Go fetch the Castle Steward. We require rooms and stabling for our horses,’ the youth demanded in haughty tones guaranteed to get Merlin’s back up.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m late and my master demands my services. If you ride into the courtyard someone will see to you,’ Merlin declined as civilly as possible.

He wasn’t quite sure why Arthur wanted him. Merlin had mentioned that he had arranged to have a drink with Gawain and Romford later, and Arthur informed him that unfortunately, he would be required.

It was probably just as well, he had a low tolerance for the castle’s mead and didn’t particularly want to end up singing and dancing on a table in front of hardened knights, who could drink all night with nary an urge to burst into song.

He gave an apologetic wave and despite loud protests from the nobleman and the servants, he dashed away.

So it was a bit annoying when he sprinted the rest of the way, arriving breathless and pink with exertion, for Arthur to have seemingly forgotten that he’d asked for him, raising his eyes enquiringly when Merlin burst through the door to his chamber.

‘What do you want?’

‘You said you needed me tonight,’ Merlin replied, not making any attempt to keep the accusatory note from his voice.

‘Ah yes.’

Arthur dropped the report he had been working on and strode over to the weapons rack. There he drew out a sword.

‘A sword lesson? At this time?’ Merlin asked dubiously.
Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘No, Merlin. Look at this sword and tell me what you see?’

He thought he caught what Arthur was talking about… but maybe he could distract the prince if he babbled enough.

‘Well, it looks like a practical sword, you know, pointy and everything. The hilt looks to have a good grip, the blade…,’ he stumbled for a second.

‘Yes, Merlin, the blade?’

‘Is long?’

‘There’s rust on my sword.’

Merlin could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.

‘Are you sure it’s rust? Maybe it’s….’ He couldn’t think of anything else red that might legitimately stain a blade. Except blood. He imagined that would be an even more disastrous example of good housekeeping.

‘Rust, Merlin,’ Arthur said ominously.

‘Well, it’s your third best sword and you never asked me to clean it.’

‘Your job, Merlin, is to anticipate my needs.’

‘What you need is a kick up the….’

‘Complete that sentence and you’ll spend the morning in the stocks.’

‘So you want me to clean your third best sword?’ Merlin asked.

‘No. I want you to clean all my weapons.’

‘You realise I could have been having a drink with Gawain and Romford?’

‘All of them, Merlin.’

He really was insufferable. Merlin was determined not to utter a word all night to the stupid prat.

However, the task turned out to be quite relaxing once he’d found a rhythm. A stone to sharpen, one cloth to clean and one to polish, leaving a slight sheen of oil, which made the sword gleam in the lamp light.

Arthur was still working on his report, the scratch of the quill the only sound. It was companionable, and the silence was peaceful.

Unfortunately, there was only so much peace and quiet Merlin could handle.

‘It’s changed here recently,’ he said, finally breaking his vow of silence after toughing it out for all of five minutes. ‘Everyone is being really nice to me.’ Merlin continued as he carefully examined his work.

‘Um hm,’ Arthur replied noncommittally and focused on his report. He suspected that Merlin was now going to launch into stories showing all the ways the knights had been ‘nice’ to him, and he really didn’t want to hear it.

‘Willard talks funny doesn’t he? And I’ve never met someone who gets so excited about roses.’

‘Um hm.’

Roses? Arthur almost smiled. Willard would have had more luck with Merlin if he’d suggested the herb garden.

‘You know that after the Feast of Lughasa there is a servant’s ball? Montague has offered to teach me to dance. Although I’m not quite sure that he knows what he’s taking on,’ Merlin said with a slight note of concern at the thought of setting his wild, uncoordinated movements to music. He had mentioned it to Montague, but had been reassured that the elegant knight could teach anyone to dance.

‘Um hm.’

‘And Sir Percival has been great. It normally takes four trips to carry up all the water for your bath. Percival saw me and offered a hand.’

‘Um hm.’

‘And he can carry four buckets at a time.’ Merlin was clearly impressed with Percival’s bucket carrying skills. ‘And he didn’t spill a drop!’ This was said with unalloyed admiration.

Sloppage was something of an issue for Merlin, as the small river he usually left in his wake would testify. It never entered his head to be careful as he scooted merrily along with his water-filled pails, until the time King Uther’s boot heel had skidded over the water-slick stone and he had let loose with an un-kinglike roar of anger. Merlin had quickly hidden his buckets behind a tapestry and come rushing forward to aid the King.

‘What the hell is this?’ Uther had demanded.

Merlin had blinked and said,’ I think there’s a leak. In the roof….’ He’d congratulated himself on his fast thinking. Until….

‘In the roof? Are you mentally deficient? There’s another three floors above here!’

‘Oh… yeah….. Um. I’ll just get it cleaned up, shall I?’

The King hadn’t answered, but left in a red swirl of cloak and anger. Merlin had puffed out a long breath, relieved to have avoided the stocks, and vowed to be more careful in future.

‘Then Sir Percival said that he’d be happy to help anytime,’ Merlin finished triumphantly.

‘Uh hm,’ Arthur replied and mentally made a note to ensure that Percival would be too weary to carry four buckets of water each evening.

‘Are you even listening?’

‘Um hm.’

‘You know, you could introduce it into their training. Carrying buckets of water is a very important skill.’

‘Um h…. What are you twittering on about?’

Arthur really couldn’t let that go, and he finally looked up from the report.

‘I was just saying….’

‘I heard what you were saying,’ he replied with an irritated frown.

‘So…?’

The frown melted. ‘So… I think it’s an excellent idea.’

Arthur smiled a wide snakelike smile. So far, he’d displayed remarkable forbearance, listening to Merlin prattling on about how wonderful the various knights were, he felt entitled to some revenge.

‘You do?’ Merlin asked doubtfully.

‘Absolutely. And then I’ll add scrubbing floors and making beds to their training regime, shall I?’

He asked raising his eyebrows enquiringly.

‘Well….’ Personally, Merlin was all for it, but the question smacked of a sarcasm so heavy that even he noticed it.

‘And mucking out stables, of course. Do you know why I think it’s a good idea?’

‘It would build strength and character in your knights?’

‘Because that worked so well with you, did it? No, because after only ten minutes training they would still manage to do a better job than you.’

‘No, they wouldn’t….’ Merlin’s argument trailed off because, yeah, they probably would. Besides, he suddenly realised that he’d begun to argue against something he was actually in favour of, not that any of the knights would ever muck out stables, but if they did, then he was totally onboard with the idea.

‘But what am I thinking!’ Arthur smacked a hand dramatically to his forehead. ‘If they did all that, what would you do? You’d be bored.’

‘Uh, no,’ Merlin replied tentatively. He knew this must be leading somewhere and probably nowhere good; so he followed the path Arthur was mapping out for him with trepidation.

‘Oh but you would. I mean, if Kay is busy scrubbing the floors then whose bed would you loll around in? Or if Caradoc is mucking out then who will indulge you with a public display of foreplay?’ Arthur asked sweetly.

Merlin turned pink.

‘We were wrestling! I told you, he’s teaching me to wrestle!’

‘You were sitting on top of him, leaning over him and had his hands pinned above his head!’

‘I was winning!’

‘Really? You honestly think you were winning a wrestling competition against Caradoc?’

‘Yes.’

Actually, he had thought it strange at the time.

‘The same Caradoc who is twice as broad as you with legs like tree trunks?’

‘Maybe?’

Thinking about it, there was definitely something a bit off about it.

Arthur looked heavenward. Merlin was almost scary in his naiveté. It was getting more than a little irritating. Everywhere he went there was Merlin, almost as if it was planned. And whenever Arthur saw him it seemed like someone always had their hands on him. Always with some stupid explanation as to why it was necessary.

Of course, it didn’t bother him, as such…. But, for example, he didn’t think it particularly fitting that his manservant and one of his knights should be rolling around on the ground in a public place. What sort of example was that? Which is the only reason he interfered. Teaching Merlin how to wrestle? Pfft. How Merlin could have fallen for that line was beyond him.

‘Were you really born yesterday?’ he asked.

And swiftly, before Merlin could open his mouth to answer what would clearly be a rhetorical question to anyone else, he shook his head and said, ‘Never mind.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Merlin apologised.

‘I should think so.’

‘I didn’t realise you liked Caradoc in that way.’

Arthur looked at him blankly, not quite getting his meaning.

And Merlin’s confidence stuttered a little.

‘You just seem to be, well, uh, jealous?’

‘I seem to be…? You really are an idiot, Merlin.’

‘But there were others practicing out there, and it was only me you yelled at…,’ Merlin persisted.

Thinking about it, Arthur realised that there may have been other men practising wrestling moves. He hadn’t really noticed at the time, but he seemed to remember a few peripheral bodies. Strange, he was normally quite observant.

‘I did not yell, as you so charmingly put it. I issued a princely reprimand,’ Arthur informed him.

‘You issued a princely reprimand. Loudly. And only at me!’ Merlin said indignantly.

Perhaps he had been a little focused on Merlin. But not for any reason other than the sheer incongruity of his manservant sitting astride one of his knights. Even replaying the image in his mind caused a restlessness, an energy and urgency that he didn’t know what to do with.

‘Tell me, do you like him… I mean Caradoc?’ Arthur asked, without looking at Merlin, afraid of what those expressive eyes would reveal.

‘Yes, of course, he’s very nice,’ Merlin replied after considering for a couple of seconds.

Arthur’s heart sank. He kept his face blank, but he was honest enough to recognise that disappointment was too mild for what he felt. Merlin and Caradoc. He wanted to punch, kick, stab….

He kept his head down. Couldn’t speak for fear of what words would fight their way out. Couldn’t look at Merlin, not sure he could remain composed.

He needed to think about this. And to his ponderings he would also have to add how much Merlin amused him, the foolish way they tried to give their lives for each other, the disturbing intensity of his eyes, the weird sensation of falling whenever the two of them touched, the resentment when others touched him….

It was becoming increasingly troubling.

Despite wanting Merlin’s company, he was now at the point where he dismissed Merlin once his bath was prepared, dressed each morning before Merlin came to his room, and tried like hell to avoid physical contact. Which, seeing as Merlin was his manservant, was like asking the sand not to touch the sea.

‘I mean, everyone likes him. But he’ll always like you best,’ Merlin hastened to reassure him.

It took a few seconds for the words to filter through to his brain, but then relief poured through Arthur. It was ridiculous, but Merlin actually thought….

‘Look. It’s not Caradoc, alright? We’re not…. I don’t like him in that way.’

Merlin nodded agreeably and obviously did not believe a word.

‘If you say so,’ he replied.

He was being so obtuse that Arthur felt like stomping his feet. He managed to refrain as he hadn’t given in to that particular impulse since he was s demanding 5-year old.

‘I’ve heard that another potential knight has turned up,’ Merlin said with a casual change of subject that Arthur seized upon with relief.

‘Has he arrived?’

‘I think that’s who I saw earlier. Were you expecting him? A nobleman on a charger? Well more of a youth, really. And a retinue of servants.’

Arthur nodded.

‘Oh yes, Pembroke’s son, a cousin of Wessex, I believe. He is quite young. Kay will be relieved. He’ll be the veteran and we’ll have a new youngster to mock. I’ll take a look at him tomorrow and maybe test him the next day.’

The rest of the evening passed without incident, except Arthur didn’t get much completed on his report. Surreptitiously watching Merlin as he worked in the lamp light seemed far more interesting. He was quite fascinating. The small frown and peek of tongue as he became totally absorbed in his task, and then a satisfied smile when he’d finished, and the weapon was shining to his satisfaction.

His hair was growing longer, Arthur noted. Merlin’s head was bowed and locks of dark hair curled at his nape. Arthur had to shake his head to clear it of sappy thoughts, such as reaching out and tracking the line of his neck, wrapping the curls around his fingers or tracing the shell of his ears.
In the end, Arthur gave up pretending to write his report, took one of the weapons and sat down next to him. Merlin gave a smile, Arthur rolled his eyes and they worked happily together polishing the weapons.

…

When Bedevere turned up for breakfast the next morning, he found an out of sorts Merlin prodding half-heartedly at something that might have been pig, until Merlin shredded it to something unrecognisable. He suspected that Merlin had recently been purposely overloading Arthur’s breakfast table so that there would be enough spare for him. He felt a wave of affection for his new friend.

‘Why so downcast this morning?’ he asked.

‘I’m not really. It’s just that…. Do you think Caradoc is the right person for Arthur?’

This one Bedevere could answer without hesitation.

‘No, definitely not. In fact, I can tell you that he is completely enamoured with the Lady Jemima.’
If anything, Merlin looked even sadder.

‘Oh, poor Arthur,’ he sighed.

‘What makes you say that?’ Bedevere asked as he speared a sausage.

‘He got really annoyed when he found me and Caradoc wrestling and thought we were, well, doing something else completely different and inappropriate, which we definitely weren’t. And not just his usual amused annoyance, but genuine, unamused annoyance.’

Luckily, Bedevere all ready had an idea of what Merlin was trying to say and didn’t have to spend half the morning trying to untwist the statement into some semblance of sense.

‘So you think…?’

‘Arthur was jealous,’ Merlin said miserably.

‘Has he shown any other bouts of jealousy?’ Bedevere questioned.

‘Not really. I mean, at first I thought it was Gawain he liked. I know they used to have a thing, and Gawain is very handsome and good at all those knightly things that impresses Arthur so much. And when they were playing piggy-in-the-middle with my chainmail, it seemed like they were showing off to each other. Although it’s hard to tell with Arthur. It’s not so much that he shows off, he just has to win everything.’

‘So that’s it. No other displays of jealousy or temper?’

‘Well…. He turned a bit mean last night. Over Kay as well as Caradoc. And he snapped when I mentioned how kind Percival has been recently.’

‘Merlin do you notice a common factor through all these incidents?’

‘Yeah. They all involve his knights. So you’re saying he’s really protective of all his knights?’

Bedevere stopped eating. Was Merlin really that dense? He waited in silence until he had Merlin’s full attention.

‘Merlin. The common factor is you.’

‘How do you mean, me?’ Merlin’s brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend what Bedevere was getting at.

‘Arthur get’s annoyed when you roll around with Caradoc, he snaps when you praise Percival. He was mean when you lay on the bed with Kay. Are you seeing the thread here?’

‘Um, me? He doesn’t want his knights to be friends with me?’

Bedevere sighed. Surely no one could be this modest and self-effacing.

‘He’s jealous of them.’

Merlin just stared and blinked, before saying, ‘But he doesn’t even like me!’

‘You know better than that. Think Merlin.’

‘I suppose. I mean, he does call me his friend. Normally when he wants something....’

‘He defied his father to bring back that flower to heal to you, and was thrown in the dungeon for his efforts.’

‘He calls me an idiot and inept and the worst manservant ever.’

‘Yet he keeps you by his side.’

‘So you really think…?’

‘I’m not one hundred percent sure. But there’s something there, even if Arthur doesn’t realise it yet.’

But something could be anything, affection; a brotherly bond, gratefulness for saving his life or just the pull of their mysterious destiny.

‘You feel something for him too, don’t you?’ Bedevere asked gently.

Merlin let his fork drop and nodded slowly.

‘Yeah. I feel something.’ He gave a small laugh, which betrayed little in the way of amusement. ‘It frightens me a bit. The things I’ve done, the things I’m prepared to do for him, scares me.’

Really, he should have picked up on it earlier. His first act for Arthur had been to kill a grieving, vengeful mother. Since then, he’d killed immortals, Sophie and Ulfric. Their ending had been violent and explosive. And when he considered it afterwards, remembered dragging a deathly pale Arthur from the lake, he’d been glad that he’d done it. Then when Arthur was doomed to die, he offered himself in his stead and almost lost his mother and Gaius as well. Was there nothing he wouldn’t give, nothing he wouldn’t take for Arthur?

And Bedevere understood a small part of Merlin’s fears, because like him, there was very little he wouldn’t do for Arthur. He would be leaving Camelot shortly and returning home, and there he would become the ruler his father could only dream of being. And he would do it not through any filial need for approval, but for Arthur, who would need strong Lords at his back when he became king. Bedevere would negotiate, take to the battlefields, pledge his troth and build alliances. All for Arthur.

‘It’s just love, Merlin. We all live and die for love.’

But Merlin was doubtful.

Sometimes it was as if he and Arthur were caught in a web of someone else’s making, and they were strung out and trapped, without choice or freewill, acting through something that had been foreordained. It worried him. But this wasn’t a concern he could raise with Bedevere.

They chatted for a while but Bedevere could tell that Merlin’s thoughts were elsewhere, so he took his leave earlier than normal, and considered Merlin’s position.

At first, Project Falcon had been all about helping Arthur, but Bedevere found himself thinking more and more of Merlin. Arthur’s initial assessment had been right. There was something about Merlin. He was an odd mixture of friendliness, openness, confidence and naiveté, walking through Camelot without heed of opinions or social mores, as though they didn’t apply to him. As blunt with royalty as he was with servants, but remaining untouched by their outlook or opinions, and simply going his own way and following his own ethics.

It came to Bedevere that, essentially, Merlin had no fear of anyone or anything.

The source of his fearlessness Bedevere couldn’t even guess at, but Merlin was the antithesis of Bernadette, where she felt constraint, Merlin found freedom. Where she tried to please all, Merlin pleased only his conscience. If Arthur was holding back because of the power a prince has over a servant, then someone needed to show him it was no power at all when the servant refused to acknowledge it.

As Bedevere’s footsteps echoed down the hall, Merlin quickly cleared the remains of breakfast from the room, taking the platters and cutlery back to the kitchen, and steeling himself for his next encounter. With some apprehension he made the familiar journey down the steps and into the bowels of the castle.

Maybe the light attracted the dragon or maybe he was beginning to sense when Merlin was present because this time Merlin didn’t need to call to him.

His torch flickered in a rush of air. A heavy clank of chains, fetid breath, the smell of sulphur and brimstone, and the dragon was before him.

‘You are troubled, young warlock,’ he stated with a blink.

However many times Merlin saw him, he always felt awed when he was in the presence of this magical beast.

‘Yes. I… I need to know.’

‘Need? Ah, need. Such a small word for something so vast. And what is it you need to know?’ the dragon asked, a mocking edge to his voice.

‘What is this thing between me and Arthur? Why do I feel so much? Why do we give so much?’

‘It is fate. It is destiny. Why do you even ask?’

The answer stung him. It was just what he’d been afraid of.

‘Is that all it is? This connection, this need, is just the pull of destiny? We protect each other, would give our lives for each other because destiny says we must?’

He felt cheated and hurt and manipulated.

A rumble reverberated through the cave and Merlin could feel his temper rising when he realised the dragon was laughing at him.

‘What do you think destiny is? You think it is a path imposed by the gods?’ the dragon enquired archly.

‘Yes!’

‘Foolish warlock,’ the dragon whispered sibilantly. ‘Destiny is only what is and what will be. The reasons are your own.’

‘And what I feel?’ Merlin called as the dragon lost patience with the conversation and began to beat his wings.

‘Is what you feel,’ he replied and took to the air.

With troubled thoughts, Merlin began his climb back up to daylight.

It wasn’t long before he came to the conclusion that the dragon had spoken remarkably plainly. Their shared destiny didn’t cause their actions. Rather, their actions would bring about their destiny. And their actions were inspired by how they felt.

Merlin loved Arthur. That was all there was to it.

Loved his dry humour, his courage and bravado, his strength of mind and even his bouts of prattishness. Because his good heart and his care and protectiveness of others, more than made up for it. As for the way he looked…. Merlin was grateful that Arthur had taken to dressing and disrobing himself. Bath time had always been difficult, but washing his hair, touching him, watching Arthur close his eyes in pleasure, sensual and relaxed beneath his hands, that had been ecstasy and torture, and had haunted too many of Merlin’s nights.

But what the emotion was on Arthur’s side Merlin still couldn’t decide. Arthur had been willing to risk a lot for him, but the prince was so steeped in chivalry he would no doubt do the same for anyone. And whether Bedevere was correct in his assumption that Arthur was jealous was a moot point. It was clear that the lesson of Bernadette remained with him and Arthur was far too noble to allow himself to love a servant again.

The irony was, the one thing that could make Arthur realise that power was evenly balanced between them, was the one secret Merlin could never share. It became depressing, even tragic, if he thought on it too long.

But this morning he had promised Gaius that he would collect some plants that grew near the marshes. Meandering in the forest on a lovely day never failed to cheer him, and he was happy to have some quiet time away from the knights and Arthur and the hurly burley of castle life. Out there he didn’t have to worry about his magic but could release it from its constraints, let it expand and breathe again. Without magic words to guide it, it simply flowed naturally.

Blackberries plumped and ripened to his touch, stained his fingers as he plucked them, some finding their way to the basket and some to his mouth. Multi-hued butterflies lost their shyness and fluttered to his hand. Birds sang their songs of nests and eggs, and whirling kestrels shouted their joy of the hunt.

The colours, the sounds, the taste of summer and the morning sun dappling through the trees, dancing and changing with the flutter of leaves, made feel alive. Made him feel a part of the forest, the air, the sky, connected to it all in some wild and untamed way.

He casually flicked away the buzz of insects so that there was only the sound of….

‘Merlin!’ a voice cried out.

Turning he saw Kay rushing towards him.

‘Gaius said you were collecting plants from the marsh. I thought you might care for company?’

Merlin repressed a sigh, but supposed that at least Kay did actually know stuff about plants. It was almost painful to rein his magic back and keep it subdued.

They selected a path through the sucking mud, chatting easily as they made their way to the area the plants grew.

He described what he was needing - woundwort, looking not unlike nettles but without the sting. Marsh mallow, which should have a delicate bloom. Gaius used flower, leaf and root to treat coughs and inflammation of the lungs.

‘You must be a pretty good student to absorb all this knowledge so easily,’ Kay said admiringly.

At the same time Merlin let loose a yelp.

‘Okay, that one might actually be a nettle,’ he admitted.

‘Easy mistake,’ replied Kay kindly.

He volunteered to dig up the marsh mallow while Merlin went looking for a doc leaf to crush over the sting However, a sound caught Merlin’s attention. They weren’t far from the castle so it could be anyone, but Merlin’s naturally curious nature had him peering though the undergrowth.

‘What is it?’ Kay hissed.

Merlin put a finger to his mouth to shush him. Kay immediately nodded. Maybe there was some use to all those ridiculous hand signals that Arthur was so keen on.

There on one of the hidden paths was a small group of men.

‘I recognise that one,’ Sir Kay whispered. ‘I believe these are the remnants of the bandits we routed.’

‘Who is the boy at the front?’ Merlin asked.

‘That I don’t know.’

They watched a while longer. Until suddenly the boy’s head whipped around and he seemed to be gazing in their direction. They could both see the glow of his eyes and feel his look; it was like a chill through their bodies. Merlin immediately slammed up barriers.

The boy stared for a few seconds more and then shifted his gaze and continued his surveillance of the forest. The chill they had felt, passed. Apparently satisfied, the boy gave a signal and the group moved on.

‘Was that sorcery?’ Kay asked nervously. ‘A sorcerer with that group of miscreants? We need to get back to Arthur. This can’t be good.’

‘You go, I’ll track them for a while and then return to Camelot to let you know where they’re camped,’ Merlin suggested.

‘No. You go back and fetch Arthur. I’ll follow them. I can leave a trail that Arthur and the others will recognise.’

He couldn’t think of a counter-argument so just nodded his agreement. As Kay left, Merlin muttered some words to protect the knight from the probing eyes of the sorcerer.

When he returned to Camelot he looked a bit of a mess. His boots were mud-caked, his trousers and tunic spattered with dirty marsh water, and he smelt like a bog.

He glanced across to the practise field and even from this distance he could pick out Arthur. Something about the way he moved; all lethal grace and easy strength that made him stand out from the others.

He was supposed to have another lesson after the knight’s training had finished. Although not particularly proficient with a sword, at least he wasn’t quite the menace he’d been when he first began. Arthur was threatening to let him loose with a mace. Merlin wasn’t too sure about that. At least a sword went wherever you pointed it. There was something unpredictable about the way a mace moved, like it had a mind of its own.

As he tried to rush towards Arthur, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
‘You! You’re the churlish knave who ignored my express order!’

It was the young nobleman from the night before.

‘Yeah, sorry. But like I said, my master….’

‘Your master?’ The youth looked him up and down with disdain. ‘And who is your master? The local peat cutter?’ he sneered.

Merlin was about to deal with the situation in his normal fashion when suddenly Gawain was approaching, distracting him.

‘Leave him alone, boy.’

‘And who the hell are you to interfere?’ the nobleman demanded arrogantly. ‘At home we have a way of dealing with disobedient peasants.’

‘You’ll find that here, everyone is treated with respect they’re due,’ Gawain replied mildly.

‘I’ll treat people with respect when they learn respect! What exactly are you going to do about it?’

‘I won’t have to do anything,’ Gawain said calmly but there was a glint in his eyes that Merlin had never seen. Gawain was the most honourable and most good-natured knight he knew. But that glint reminded him that even the gentlest of knights were lethal killers.

‘Touch him,’ Gawain continued, ‘and you will answer to his master.’

‘Really? As though I’m frightened of some bog-trotter.’

Merlin couldn’t be bothered with this little drama; he had more important things on his mind, such as bandits, sorcerers and Kay needing help. He shrugged away the grip on his shoulder and turned his back on the angry youth, content that Gawain would deal with the situation.

‘How dare you turn your back on me!’ the youth screeched.
Merlin didn’t see the blow coming. A gauntleted fist smashed into the side of his face and then he fell, banging his head when he hit the ground.

Just as Merlin could pick out Arthur from any distance, so Arthur had the same uncanny awareness of Merlin. He heard the shout, turned to see a figure falling to the ground, and immediately knew who it was.

He stopped mid-sentence and powered into a run. The bastard was pulling back his foot to kick at Merlin whilst he was down. But Gawain was finally moving, and in no time at all he had the perpetrator pinned to the ground, wrists held firmly in one hand and the other settling around his neck.

‘Get of me,’ the man yelled. ‘Do you know who I am!’

Arthur ignored him and went straight to Merlin, heart in his throat when he saw the blood at his temple. He brushed the hair away to take a look, and found more blood matted through his hair, and forced himself to remember that head wounds always bled a lot.

‘Hey. Are you alright?’

There was no answer.

He did a quick check for broken bones and finding none, he lifted Merlin up.

‘Sire? What do you want me to do with him?’ Gawain asked.

Arthur eyed the man coldly.

‘Nothing. I’ll deal with him myself. And thank you, Gawain.’

‘Who was that?’ the youth finally asked as he gasped for breath through strong fingers that squeezed none to gently around his neck.

‘That was the Prince. And the man you hit? His personal servant. And those men coming towards you? Are the men who would take you apart if Arthur hadn’t told us to leave you alone.’

‘But he’s only a servant!’

‘He’s Merlin. And he’s been challenged and has beaten better people than you.’

‘You challenge peasants! What place is this?’

‘Does he remind you of anyone?’ Caradoc asked Bedevere.

‘I never hit a servant in my life,’ Bedevere replied defensively.

‘What will the Prince do to me?’

Gawain finally released his wrists and stood up. He gave a shrug.

‘I don’t know. And I find I don’t really care.’

‘But if Merlin is seriously hurt then you should just begin running now, whoever you are,’ Romford advised.

‘I’m Geraint and I’m the Lord….’

‘You may be cock of the walk where you come from. Here you are no one, until Arthur says you are.’

Geraint blinked back tears. He’d been hoping for a more auspicious first day.

Part 7