[fic] The Ivy Crown, 5b/9

[dayari]

"Let's call a truce," Merlin said, more loudly than necessary, but his voice didn't shake, and he couldn't help but feel proud at least of that.

In the silence that followed, he told himself to be grateful for small favors-Arthur hadn't so much as flinched at the words, although he had yet to look up at Merlin. The whetstone had paused its incessant movement, and the hush seemed loud after the continuous scraping of stone on metal that had woken Merlin in the first place.

Around them, the knights were still asleep. Wan morning light was trickling in through the leafy canopy above them, but the sky was surprisingly cloudy after yesterday's heat-in spite of having curled up in his bedroll, Merlin had woken up with his fingers and toes numb from the cold. He had reluctantly opened bleary eyes to the image of Arthur sitting on a log a few paces away, sharpening his daggers with the absent, well-practiced movements of one who just wanted to occupy his hands.

To go and talk to him had been a snap decision, born of the restless, frustrated energy that he'd been keeping on a tight leash since Beltane. He'd tried to return to that stiff place of poised waiting that his mind had been stuck in all those weeks before their quest, but it hadn't worked-now that they had at least started to talk to (or well, shout at) each other again, he couldn't simply go back again. Taking one step forward and two steps back seemed to come more easily to Arthur, anyway, and after their conversation at Beltane, Merlin found his blood sizzling with the need to simply yank him forward for good.

And so he'd stretched and yawned, making a great deal of noise as he'd walked across the clearing to where Arthur sat, trying to alert the prince to his presence without being too obvious about it. He hadn't even known what he'd say to him, but it seemed as good a time as any to speak, to try to set a few of the things right again that had been knocked askew by his outburst between the fires. Talking would become more difficult as soon as they reached the next village and met up with the others again-and Merlin was nothing if not determined to make good of what time they still had.

Now, though, Merlin was starting to feel slightly guilty for forcing this conversation on the prince this early in the day. Arthur looked tired even in the grayish light of morning, and he glanced up at Merlin for a moment before shaking his head as if he was eternally questioning the extents of his manservant's stupidity.

"Merlin," Arthur sighed, although it sounded more resigned than irritated, like he'd subconsciously expected Merlin to come to him again before long. "Can't you go three days without pestering me?"

The words seemed familiar, but they lacked the customary bite of exasperation, and Merlin swallowed the dull sting of disappointment when he lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the grass opposite of Arthur. The ground was damp and cold, and he could feel wetness beginning to creep through his trousers, but he stayed where he was.

"No," he replied, softly now, and heard Arthur scoff before he put the whetstone to his shortest dagger again, dragging it down the blade. Merlin couldn't quite raise his gaze, and so he kept his eyes fixed on where he'd put his hands on his knees. "I've kept my distance for far too long. I thought it would be better, I thought it'd make it easier for you, but..."

Taking a deep breath, he ignored the rhythmic scraping sounds of the dagger being sharpened; he knew very well that Arthur was listening, no matter how preoccupied he pretended to be. "I can't let this go," Merlin finally blurted out, keeping his gaze firmly on the flattened grass just next to Arthur's left boot, because he knew he'd swallow down the rest if he dared to look him in the eye. "I- I can't let you go."

The whetstone paused, and Merlin imagined he could feel Arthur's incredulous gaze resting on him for a moment before the scraping picked up again. His ears felt hot in the crisp morning air-warmth was creeping into his cheeks from the burn of embarrassment at the back of his neck, but the words were out, and he was somewhat grateful that he couldn't take them back again now. Merlin waited, his eyes duly lowered, and felt his hands grow clammy the longer the silence stretched.

At last Arthur sighed again, although it sounded less tired than before, and Merlin fancied he could almost hear a familiar edge of exasperation in it, as though he was rolling his eyes, at least inwardly. But the prince's even voice betrayed nothing when he said, "What kind of truce did you have in mind, then?"

Merlin swallowed again. His stomach was roiling with nervousness, although a hopeful spark was starting to glow in his chest, a pinprick of light taken out of the compartment at the back of his mind and dusted off for just this moment. "You'll stop flying off the handle at me," he replied, trying to keep his tone just as calm and unaffected as Arthur's had been, "and I'll try to think before I talk."

Arthur seemed to turn that over in his head for a while, and Merlin waited with bated breath, a multitude of thoughts zapping through his mind, darting out of reach before he could fully grasp them. Maybe he could have worded that better, maybe he should have waited a bit longer before approaching Arthur again after Beltane-but if he was honest with himself, Merlin was just as tired as Arthur had looked that evening. He was tired of tiptoeing around the issue, tired of the ever-present tension between them, and if the first step in getting them to really talk again fell to him, he was more than glad to take it.

"No mean feat," Arthur finally said; there was a short, tense pause, and then he added in a mutter, more to himself than to Merlin, "On your part, that is."

Startled into looking up, Merlin found his gaze caught and hold by Arthur's, and he couldn't keep his breath from catching when their gazes met. It seemed so long since he'd last looked Arthur squarely in the eye, Merlin thought dizzily, because the familiar blue caught him off-guard now in the strangest way, causing his stomach to flip.

Arthur seemed- guarded, yes, but there was something else there, too, a slow, nearly unnoticeable brightening in his eyes that Merlin didn't dare think looked like hope, the same tentative warmth that was spreading through Merlin as well. There was nothing to do but hold his gaze and wait out the silence, with his heart thundering against his ribs with enough force that he wondered if Arthur could hear it. He found himself smiling, tentatively, but then he looked back down again, not wanting to see Arthur's features hardening into a scowl in response.

"If you... that is, if there's anything you- want to know," he stated awkwardly, and fought down a cringe when he heard the way his voice wobbled, "about me, I mean, and- and my magic, then feel free to ask."

The last words tumbled out on a hurried exhale, and Merlin wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers in the hush that followed. Even the whetstone had stopped its scraping, although the rushing of blood in Merlin's ears made up for the lack of sound. He wondered if Arthur knew what that last sentence had cost him, if he could see the way Merlin's fingers were twitching in quickly-aborted attempts to curl into defensive fists.

He glanced up just in time to see Arthur run a hand through his hair, making it stick up in errant golden tufts, and Merlin frowned a little at his own impulse to smooth it down again. It seemed out of place here in the middle of the woods, and most of all in the middle of this conversation-but like so many other things, being Arthur's manservant seemed to have become an ingrained part of his everyday routine. He hadn't been allowed to take care of Arthur's armor in months, let alone help him dress, but things like that still refused to get shoved into the locked drawer in the back of his mind.

"I don't even know where to start," Arthur replied eventually, sounding resigned but also a little wry, like he couldn't quite believe that they were having this conversation without shouting at each other.

Merlin's heart skipped a beat, and no matter how hard he tried to quell it, the surge of emotion went through him anyway. Surprise, trepidation, and underneath that hope, always hope, because if Arthur didn't know where to start, it meant that he did have questions. He tried to keep his eyes firmly fixed on his hands, although they were trembling now, and fought down his shaky smile with some difficulty.

"Wherever is fine with me, really," he said, his tongue nearly tripping over the hasty assurance. He couldn't think of what would be the right thing to say to coax Arthur further into the conversation, but his mouth kept moving anyway, errant words tumbling out. "I don't- Arthur, I swear I'm not trying to hurry you along, I just want you to know that you can ask me anything, and that we can talk about this-"

His gaze lifted, helplessly and without his consent, and now there was a hint of exasperation in Arthur's expression. The prince was fixing him with a look that told Merlin that he was ruining their manly moment of beginning reconciliation with his babbling, but Merlin couldn't have welcomed it more. This time he let himself smile, and although Arthur dropped his gaze back down to his dagger with a frown in response, Merlin exhaled a small sigh of relief.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment as Arthur examined the knife, scraping a callused fingertip over the blade to test its bite. The crease between his eyebrows looked like it'd been etched into his skin, although he seemed satisfied with the sharpened weapon at least. He put it aside and picked up his largest dagger, idly turning it over in the growing light to inspect the blade for flaws.

"Wherever?" he asked abruptly, and Merlin blinked both at the question and the resolve that he saw in Arthur's eyes when their gazes met again.

It took him a moment to comprehend what Arthur was asking of him, and his stomach did another backflip in reaction, his heart fluttering against his ribcage. But Merlin cleared his throat before he spoke, keeping his voice even and devoid of the dizzying surge of anticipation that crested in his chest. "Yes," he answered, and spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Ask me anything."

Arthur was quiet for a minute, as though he was sifting through an array of questions in his mind, trying to determine which was the most pressing. Eventually he shrugged one shoulder, and picked up the whetstone again, although he didn't put it to the blade-it looked like he was just trying to keep his hands occupied. Then he said, his tone carefully empty of any inflection at all, "The Green Knight called you Emrys."

Merlin sucked in a slow breath through his teeth in surprise-of all the questions he had braced himself for, this wasn't the first he had expected Arthur to ask. He still nodded, though, not wanting Arthur to assume that he was thinking carefully about his reply; it wasn't a difficult question to answer, after all, it was just unexpected.

"It's kind of a- well, it's a name," he said, stumbling over the words a bit. "I don't know how the Green Knight knew it, I thought no one but the druids did." He found himself hesitating just for a second, but then he forced the next words out anyway, reminding himself sternly that there were to be no more secrets. "Do you remember the druid boy, the one we saved three years ago?"

"Mordred, yes," Arthur replied, immediately catching on. His eyes were keen and alert with recognition, his gaze seeming to bore into Merlin's, the whetstone and dagger forgotten. Merlin blinked at him in utter surprise, and Arthur waved an impatient hand at him to go on. "He told me his name when I dropped him off with the other druids."

"Yes, well," Merlin muttered, shaking himself out of his momentary astonishment-now was not the time to muse about how ironic it was that Arthur and the boy had parted on good terms, even though Mordred was destined to bring about his downfall along with Morgana. "He-Mordred, I mean-was the first one who called me Emrys. And then when we met the other druids, those who, um..."

He trailed off, a bit unsure of how best to put that into words, but judging from the minute tightening of the prince's features, he understood. Merlin swallowed at the unreadable look in Arthur's eyes, feeling his hands grow clammy with the echo of remembered haste to get to the Cup of Life. He wondered if Arthur remembered it as well, the palpable tension in the air when Arthur had resorted to the last desperate measure of holding his sword to a child's throat. As if on cue, Arthur looked away, his brow furrowing over downcast eyes.

"Anyway, they called me Emrys too," Merlin finished a bit lamely when he remembered what he'd originally planned to say. "They can sort of- speak without speaking. It's like hearing a voice in your head."

Arthur just nodded, accepting that bit of information without so much as a hint of incredulity. He let out a long sigh, and Merlin could tell that he was still trying to wrench his mind away from the memory of their encounter with the druids.

He waited in silence for Arthur to regather his thoughts, barely noticing that his backside felt frozen from the prolonged contact with the cold dewy ground. The growing light was glinting off the dagger that Arthur was still holding, thumb rubbing absent little circles into the leather covering the hilt, and Merlin found his gaze oddly transfixed by the motion.

"Do you know what he's planning, then?" Arthur asked at last, although he already sounded a bit resigned, like he didn't really believe that Merlin would be able to answer that question. Merlin frowned up at Arthur in confusion, taking in the prince's calm face, mildly astonished at the way his features seemed wiped blank of any expression at all.

"The Green Knight," Arthur elaborated, gesturing impatiently again when he realized that Merlin hadn't yet caught up with his thoughts. "Do you know why he killed those lords?"

Merlin felt his features close off against his will, and fought to keep the small sting of hurt from his expression, but he still had to take a deep breath to regain his balance. He sternly reminded himself that Arthur didn't know better, that Merlin couldn't expect him to trust him as implicitly as he'd done before within the course of a single stilted conversation. At least Arthur wasn't shouting, or worse yet, brandishing the dagger at him and demanding Merlin to tell him the truth-his hold on the well-worn hilt was still loose and absent-minded, and Merlin swallowed hard, taking some comfort at least from that.

"No," Merlin said, and to his relief, it wasn't hard at all to calm his voice this time. He met Arthur's gaze squarely, although he had to fight to keep his head held high, silently daring Arthur to believe him to be lying. "The first time I met him was at the feast. I never talked to him before Beltane. I have no idea how he knew that name, maybe he met some druids on the way here-I don't know."

There was just the barest hint of steel in his tone, and judging from the way Arthur straightened up where he was sitting on the log, he heard it as well. The silence stretched for a few too-long seconds, but Merlin refused to let his gaze skitter down and away, knowing only that he needed to convince Arthur of this now, once and for all-that he wasn't, and would never be, in league with anyone who wished him harm.

More words bubbled up in his throat, but he gritted his teeth to trap them inside. It wouldn't do to burst out with frantic assurances now. He had tried to let Arthur come to him in his own time, but although he'd barreled his way into this conversation anyway, he still wanted to give him enough space to react to whatever Merlin said to him. He had told Arthur once that he didn't expect him to go on like nothing had happened, and he wanted it to be true.

"What I do know," Merlin continued at last, softly now, "is that he's not evil."

Arthur frowned, jolted out of the mild shock that Merlin's decisive tone seemed to have sent him into earlier. He obviously remembered the first time Merlin had told him that, but Merlin was still glad that he'd tried again when he saw the thoughtful look entering Arthur's eyes. Now, he appeared ready to at least consider the possibility, instead of just dismissing it as an attempt at magic-related persuasion.

"At the feast," Merlin began haltingly, swallowing down his sudden nervousness when Arthur just gave him a blank look. "Your father-," and he'd expected the flinch, but it still made him feel guilty, as did the shuttering of Arthur's expression, and so he hastened to add, "-has he met the Green Knight before?"

That didn't seem to be the question Arthur had been expecting, if the widening of his eyes was anything to go by. He just stared back at Merlin for a silent moment, although Merlin was relieved to see the guarded look flit away to make room for astonishment. "Not that I know of," Arthur replied at last.

Sighing, Merlin nodded, and glanced down at his hands for a moment in contrition. "I really should have asked Gaius," he muttered, but when he caught sight of the prince's increasingly puzzled expression, he hurried to elaborate. "Gaius said something to me after the feast-well, it was more like he was talking to himself. He was poring over a book of folklore and muttering something about how he'd seen the Green Knight before."

Arthur's gaze turned incredulous, and he leaned forward a bit, as if he wanted to examine this new strange snippet of information from a different angle. "You're not seriously suggesting that the Green Knight has come out of a fairytale, are you?"

"Well," Merlin hedged, uncertainly, but Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and so he added, "no, of course not, that would be... strange."

"It would," Arthur agreed with a stern look. And it could just have been Merlin's imagination, spurred by how well this unexpected conversation had gone so far, but he thought there was something hidden in Arthur's expression, something almost like amusement twitching the corner of his mouth as he glanced down at the dagger again.

But then the prince sighed, his expression turning dark with an unnamed memory, although Merlin had a feeling that he knew what Arthur was thinking about, if his own hazy thoughts of roaring fires and a gleaming axe were anything to go by. His suspicions were confirmed when Arthur said, more to himself than to Merlin, "And now Gwaine will-"

"Lose his head, I know," Merlin finished for him when Arthur paused, although it was difficult to get the words out through the sudden tightening in his gut. "If he's not careful."

"Reckless, attention-seeking fool," Arthur said without heat, the insult obligatory rather than genuine. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say more, launch into an angry rant about how audacious it had been to simply step up in the prince's place without so much as consulting him first. But then he pushed the words back down with a deep breath, and Merlin guessed that he was saving the tirade for when Gwaine was awake.

"I'll talk to him," Merlin offered lamely, trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach tying itself into knots. He knew very well why he hadn't allowed himself to think at length about his friend's plight yet-the mere mental image of Gwaine having to stand firm against a stroke of that axe in the near future filled him with creeping dread.

Arthur snorted, a grim smile tugging briefly at his mouth. "Good luck."

Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that, but the silence was still oddly companionable, if not entirely comfortable, and so Merlin didn't feel pressed to break it. Arthur ran his thumbnail down the dagger with a faint scraping noise, examining the metal for nicks in the blade. He was frowning absently, more in concentration than in thought, and although he wasn't looking at Merlin, the pensive, discouraged look on his face still stung.

Merlin couldn't help but think that Arthur had probably expected him to know more about these things-not necessarily about the Green Knight, since they'd met the man only twice, but at least about how to save Gwaine from the fate of the dead lords. He was a sorcerer, after all, and if he was destined to become Arthur's right-hand man as far as magic was concerned, he was supposed to help with these things.

"Sorry," Merlin ventured at last, his voice glum. It would have been tempting to look away, but he forced his eyes to remain firmly fixed on Arthur-if he couldn't even offer any advice, he could at least be honest about it.

"What?" Arthur asked blankly, but a single confused glance seemed to be enough for him to deduce what his manservant was thinking. Merlin watched numbly as confusion flickered across the prince's features, followed by exasperation, and cringed a little as his expression finally settled on anger.

"No, Merlin you- you idiot," Arthur burst out, his voice suddenly raised with genuine frustration. He didn't so much as look behind him to see if any of the knights had woken, though. He just glanced away at the trees before looking back at Merlin, as if he had to force himself not to avert his gaze from his crestfallen expression.

"I'm not disappointed in you, for heaven's sake," he insisted, a little less loudly, but still vehement. His tone brooked no argument, and Merlin couldn't help but feel pinned by the fierce look in his eyes, as though Arthur was silently commanding him to believe him. "I don't expect you to know everything about these magical happeningsjust because you're a- just because you have magic too. So stop looking like I killed your puppy."

For a long moment, Merlin could do nothing but gape at him. He saw two of the knights stirring in their bedrolls over Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur swallowed like he was quietly going back over his words and wondering if that had been the right thing to say. A lump was forming in Merlin's throat, growing larger with the uneven pounding of his heartbeat, fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird.

"Yes, sire," he replied belatedly, not caring to disguise how his voice wobbled ever so slightly, although he did clench his hands in the fabric of his breeches. Swallowing hard, Merlin reminded himself sternly that now was not the time to show just how much that meant to him, hearing Arthur reassure him like that. No matter how smoothly this unexpected conversation was going, they were nowhere near out of the woods yet, and it wouldn't do to accidentally chase Arthur off with a display of feeling.

"Let's concentrate on meeting up with the others again for now," Arthur said, his tone gruff as he attempted to smooth down the tension in the atmosphere again. "If he really comes to meet Gwaine within one week, we'll find out more about the Green Knight soon enough."

Merlin's breath caught in surprise, hitched audibly in his chest no matter how hard he tried to quell his reaction. Arthur glanced up from where he'd been staring down at the dagger again, eyes widening in alarm as he took in the expression on Merlin's face. Merlin couldn't imagine how he must look, cheeks flushed and eyes fever-bright with emotion, but he made no move to avert his gaze, in spite of how hard his pulse was thudding in his throat.

"What?" Arthur asked, almost defensively, and this time, Merlin couldn't help a wide, slightly tremulous smile from stretching across his features.

The reply was easy enough to form, although it took Merlin a moment to get his voice to work. He pitched his tone low, like speaking too loudly would negate the words, and simply said, "You said 'we'."

Arthur gave him a startled look; his choice of words had probably been unconscious, but Merlin could see that it was catching up with him now. He grimaced a little, partly in exasperation and partly in faint embarrassment, although he merely sideswiped Merlin with his glare before he directed it down to the knife in his hands.

"Oh, shut up," he said, sullenly, and Merlin bit the inside of his cheek to keep a relieved, slightly hysterical laugh from tumbling out of his mouth. It wouldn't do to tease Arthur now either, no matter how easy it would have been just then-but Merlin still relished in the mere fact that the urge was there, almost dizzying in its unfamiliarity after it had been gone for so long.

Dimly, Merlin noticed that Leon was sitting up in his bedroll by now, surveying the clearing with a bleary look that skimmed right over the two of them, as though he wasn't in the mind for listening in on a private conversation this early in the morning. Lancelot stirred too, rolling over onto his back as his hand instantly went to the knife next to his bedroll; but then he caught sight of Leon and relaxed, remembering where he was.

Another silence had fallen between them, but although this one was tense and slightly awkward, Merlin was surprised at his own lack of a need to break it. Arthur kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on his dagger, and it could just have been Merlin's imagination, but he thought he saw a hint of a flush creeping up his neck, as if he could feel Merlin's eyes on him like a physical touch. Merlin probably would have bumped his shoulder with his own if he'd been sitting next to Arthur just then, but this was nice too, a different, more hesitant kind of intimacy inherent in simply watching the morning light sift through Arthur's hair.

The morning's quietude shattered when Gwaine woke up with a groan and a curse, although Leon had taken care only to prod him gently until he roused. Even from a distance, Merlin could see him blink up at the canopy of leaves for a moment until the memory of where they were kicked in again. His dark hair was utterly disheveled when he sat up, but he didn't seem to mind. He just grimaced down at himself, and started to complain loudly about having placed his bedroll in the middle of an ant trail.

Merlin saw Arthur roll his eyes at the corner of his vision, and looked back at him just in time to see the prince's back straighten in reaction to the waking of the others. He rose from his perch on the log with a fluid, graceful motion, not seeming to feel the cold that surely must have seeped into his thighs. The long dagger snapped back into its sheath with a hissing sound, the whetstone was put away into the small pouch on Arthur's belt. He didn't speak, but for the moment, Merlin was content to just watch him, let his gaze track the set of Arthur's shoulders and the absent, well-practiced movements with which he fixed the daggers back on his belt.

But he glanced down at Merlin for just a moment before he turned to face his knights, his expression curiously bemused, as though he wanted to assure himself that they really had talked, for once without shouting at each other or one of them stomping off. Merlin almost smiled at the thought-it was just like Arthur not to have noticed their astonishing progress until now. But in the end he quelled the urge, and settled for holding Arthur's gaze as calmly as he could, ignoring the prickling rush in his belly, and hid nothing.

Arthur gave him a nod, an almost unnoticeable dip of his chin that didn't look so much as a mark of respect as one of acknowledgement. Then he stepped over the log and towards their camp, calling out for Gwaine to stop being a ninny and go wash up in the nearby stream if there really were ants crawling all over him. Even with his back turned to Merlin, the line of his spine was easy and relaxed, and this time Merlin allowed the smile to break through, and didn't second-guess the sense of victory that swelled in his chest.



All things considered, the anxious gaze of Cogeltone's innkeeper reminded Arthur of the mild terror he had left in his wake at Torpelei-except that this time, he hadn't intended to get this kind of reaction.

The man was practically shaking, wringing his meaty hands on the tabletop where he'd sat down with them for a drink. He'd seemed delighted to have guests, even for one night, and had happily prattled on about how sowing was proceeding, the fish stock in the nearby river, and about everything that was currently happening in and around Cogeltone that might be of interest to weary travelers.

Arthur had let him talk for a while, sipping on his mug of diluted wine-it was only early afternoon, he didn't want to become too tipsy to get anything done for the rest of the day. But he'd waited to get down to business until Merlin and Gwaine had finished carrying their luggage upstairs and joined them around the table. It had been odd enough that neither Percival, nor Elyan, nor the squires had greeted them on their arrival, and he'd wanted all of them assembled before he inquired after his other knights.

The smiling reddened face of the innkeeper had paled as soon as Arthur had asked when he'd last had any guests, though. He had lowered his gaze to the table, and Arthur got the impression that he was thinking hard and fast, trying to furnish a quick lie, but when their eyes met again, Arthur knew that he wasn't going to. The innkeeper's eyes were still fixed on him, pleading, and Arthur felt his wariness increase as he unconsciously moved to sit up straighter.

"It wasn't our fault!" the innkeeper burst out, tugging on his thick fingers in an absent, desperate movement. "We tried to keep your friends from leaving-I told them not to enter the forest, I told them that any travelers who ventured in there were never heard of again-"

He subsided into silence once more, and Arthur exchanged a tense glance with Leon. Gwaine and Lancelot had both leaned forward and were bracing their elbows on the wooden table, and for once Gwaine was leaving his wine alone. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Merlin lean back and fold his arms across his chest, like he wanted to fade into the background to observe the situation from a different angle.

"Our friends?" Arthur asked at last, keeping his tone calm and unassuming in an attempt to ease the frightened worry on the innkeeper's face.

Confusion flickered across the man's features. "Well, they were dressed for hunting, just like the lot of you," he replied, gesturing at their leather garb. "And they said they were going to wait for you to meet them here and go on a prolonged hunting trip together."

Arthur nodded slowly, turning that piece of information over in his head. It made sense that the others had made up the story about a hunting trip-it would have seemed strange for them to stay in a small village near the border to Mercia without any reason. Apparently Percival and Elyan had taken the orders of keeping a low profile to heart.

"When did they leave, then?" Leon suddenly asked, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. The older knight still looked guarded, but Arthur could see that he was trying to keep any and all traces of wariness from his voice, so as not to make the innkeeper even more nervous.

"Two days ago," the man replied readily, although a faint sheen of sweat was beading on his brow by now. His gaze skittered around the table in search of something to hold on to, and he shook his head plaintively when his eyes met Arthur's again. "I tried to remind them that they'd been supposed to wait for you-"

"I believe you," Arthur interrupted, stopping the tumble of words with a placating gesture. He held the man's gaze, and tried to make his voice sound calm and reassuring. "I'm sure they had a good reason for leaving. No one here blames you."

The innkeeper sighed, sounding like the exhale was wrenched out of him, and deflated visibly, sagging a little in his chair. While it didn't quite break, the tension in the air lifted noticeably, and Arthur felt his shoulders droop a little in reaction. Whatever had happened to Percival, Elyan and the squires, this man was not responsible for it-he was just a simple villager.

True to form, Gwaine finally took another swig from his mug, muttering that he didn't understand how their friends could have left behind the supply of such excellent wine. A little color returned to the innkeeper's cheeks when he smiled distractedly, clearly pleased at the compliment. But he still seemed preoccupied when he gave Arthur a thoughtful look, and his tone was still cautious when he asked, "You're not- from Mercia, then?"

"No," Arthur replied, and exchanged a short glance with Lancelot, who looked just as astonished at the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," the man hedged, folding his hands on the tabletop-they were red from where he'd been kneading them in his anxiety, although he seemed calmer now. "Cogeltone is quite close to Mercia, the border is barely a day's ride away, and sometimes soldiers from Bayard's- King Bayard's army come here to hunt."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, pausing for an anxious moment as though to brace himself for being called out on his slip-up. But Arthur kept his features blank and unassuming, and after a moment, the innkeeper went on.

"They always come from the south, just like your friends," he went on. "No one wants to pass through the forest, so they take the old southern road instead. Sometimes they stay for longer than a few days to go on hunting trips, and, well-when your friends said they were here to hunt, I just assumed they'd come from Mercia."

He fell silent again, but although his words had been casual enough, Arthur could hear that he'd chosen them carefully, trying to keep them as nondescript as possible, and that was enough for him to deduce what had been left unsaid. The soldiers must have pushed the villagers around, intimidated them, maybe even taken gold and provisions-at any rate, they had succeeded in thoroughly cowing the innkeeper. The thought made a slow, burning anger begin to simmer in his gut, but he gritted his teeth against it, resolving to send a carefully-worded letter to Bayard as soon as he was back in Camelot instead.

"What happened to make our friends leave?" Leon inquired. He looked like he was just relaxing back in his chair, idly sipping his wine, but Arthur saw the veiled, intense scrutiny in his eyes. Apparently the older knight had secretly appointed himself to be the one to ask the questions this time around. The thought almost made Arthur smile; to his own surprise, he didn't mind handing over the position all that much.

"I'm not sure," the innkeeper replied. He didn't seem completely at ease, but at least he didn't look frightened anymore, just a bit cautious. "They arrived here five days ago to wait for you-they were my only guests, at least until some strange folks in cloaks came in a day after that."

Arthur frowned, pushing the thought of Bayard to the back of his mind to concentrate on the matter at hand. Gwaine put his mug down with a clang; it was empty, but he didn't look like he was about to ask for more wine.

"They drank with your friends," the man continued after a moment. "I'm not one to eavesdrop, but they talked long into the night. And the next morning they all left together." He shrugged, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "I tried to stop them, remind them that they'd been supposed to wait for you, but they wouldn't listen. It was strange..."

He trailed off with a sigh, and Arthur saw his fingers twitch as though he wanted to knead them again. But he kept his hands still in the end, and just looked at Arthur with a faint echo of the same pleading expression from before, like he was silently asking him not to get angry with him for what he was going to say next.

"It was strange," he repeated, taking a deep, steadying breath, "because they didn't seem like themselves-I didn't know them well, but it was still odd. Their eyes looked all glazed, and they didn't react when I tried to convince them not to go to the forest. They just kept repeating that it was fine, and that they were welcome there."

No one moved or said so much as a word in the silence that fell when the innkeeper stopped speaking, but Arthur knew even without looking that the others were thinking the same thing. People in cloaks, and his knights being oddly out of it the morning after-sorcery seemed like the only possible explanation. Almost against his will, Arthur's gaze flickered to Merlin, but Merlin wasn't looking at him-he was keeping his eyes fixed on the innkeeper, though Arthur could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders that he could feel the weight of his gaze.

The innkeeper looked mildly worried again; after having found out that they were no Mercians, he'd probably deduced that they were from Camelot. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache he felt coming, and tried to rearrange his features to look calm and unassuming, to show the man that he wasn't about to get on his case for daring to so much as insinuate that sorcery was at work here.

"You said you were worried for them because they went to the forest," Arthur stated carefully, hoping to get the man talking again.

After a befuddled pause, the man nodded, perhaps a bit too frantically. "Nobody in their right mind would go there," he replied, and Arthur saw his surprised relief when he caught on to the shift of Arthur's attention. "It's a haunted place, full of strange sights and sounds that can turn any traveler around."

The innkeeper just seemed glad that Arthur wasn't interrogating him about his stance on magic, and prattled on, comfortable with the subject of local folklore. "It was the site of a great battle centuries ago-hundreds of people were slaughtered. A great warlord from the west was conquering our lands with his army."

He paused again, but this time the moment of hesitation was shorter than it had been before. "It's said that the warlord used magic," he ventured; it must have been easier for him to talk about it now, when he'd already seen their lack of an outraged reaction to the subject. "His soldiers would not tire nor fall-our people drove swords through their guts and shot at them with crossbows, but they could not be killed."

Merlin suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, but this time Arthur didn't turn to look at him-he was fairly sure that they were thinking the same thing anyway. All too clearly, he remembered another immortal army, raining systematic destruction on Camelot under a banner coated in red and black. Leon frowned, clearly having caught on as well, and Lancelot and Gwaine exchanged a wary glance. Arthur leaned back and swallowed hard, fighting to control the churning that had started up in his stomach. Now was not the time to dwell on battles long past and allegiances that had been lost all along.

"We lost, quite spectacularly," the innkeeper stated bluntly. "The immortal army slaughtered anyone who dared to stand in their way. Some tales tell the story of how there was only one man left in the end who nobly defended the forest, but he never stood a chance either."

"And you're saying that there are ghosts in the forest now?" Lancelot asked, his tone as polite and unassuming as though he had no doubts as to the existence of spirits whatsoever.

The innkeeper shrugged lightly, and in a quiet corner of his mind, Arthur was pleased to see his complexion returned to its healthy ruddiness-this topic didn't seem to bother him as much as the subject of Mercia had. "I wouldn't know," he said, somewhat regretfully, like he wished he could give them a better answer. "I've never been there myself, but I've heard stories. Travelers get thoroughly lost until they walk around in circles and don't even notice. There's strange apparitions at night, the animals seem to watch your every step, and any paths disappear or change course as they see fit. It's a dangerous place."

"And now the others are getting lost in there as well," Leon muttered, more to himself than to the others, but the innkeeper nodded anyway, giving him an apologetic look.

Arthur rubbed at his forehead again, but the occasional painful twinge refused to be dislodged, and he heaved a long sigh, already regretting the wine, diluted though it had been. Lancelot's forehead was creased into a worried frown, but Gwaine was now eyeing his empty mug with a mournful expression, like he really wanted to ask for a refill but didn't quite dare to break the tense silence.

In spite of his admirable attempt at discretion, the innkeeper noticed the look, because he rose from his seat at once, making a detour to the bar to pick up the pitcher of wine he'd deposited there earlier when he'd first sat down to talk to them. Gwaine grinned up at him while he got his mug refilled, but Arthur refrained from glaring at him-he knew how well Gwaine could hold his drink, even this early in the afternoon.

"It's odd how many people have been traveling through Cogeltone lately," the innkeeper said conversationally as he moved around the table. Arthur leaned forward, but it was too late-a stream of wine splashed into his cup, and this time he hadn't even had the time to add water. "There was that lady a few months ago, then another woman a few weeks later, and now there's you folks and your friends-"

"A lady?" Merlin suddenly asked, interrupting; Arthur turned to look at him, mildly astonished at the urgency in his voice. But the innkeeper just nodded, not seeming to have noticed his tone, and moved to refill Leon's mug too.

"A lady passed through these parts a few months ago," he confirmed, not heeding Leon's protesting gesture. "She was interested in the forest as well-asked around for a bit, wanted to know if it was indeed the site of that legendary battle against the immortal army. For some reason she seemed especially interested in the tales about the forest's defender."

Merlin stared at him with slowly dawning confusion, a puzzled look spreading across his features like he had no idea how to integrate this piece of information into whatever picture in his head had made him dig deeper in the first place.

He opened his mouth to reply, but Leon cut in before Merlin could speak, apparently not having noticed his frown. "And the other lady?"

The innkeeper chuckled, oblivious to Merlin's slightly frustrated look as well. "She was something else entirely," he replied, and put the pitcher down with a clang, now that everyone around the table was supplied with alcohol once more. "The first one was beautiful, but she was... well, not. I know I'm not the most handsome fellow around either, but even I am a whole lot gentler on the eyes than that loathly-"

Something clicked and locked in Arthur's mind, his memory flashing back to the sheltered hunting lodge near Torpelei, and to what he had promised there. It felt like that conversation had taken place only yesterday, although it had been over a week since they'd parted ways with Erik. But Arthur still remembered how Erik had insisted that his sister was not ugly, and how worried he'd seemed about her, until Arthur had promised to keep an eye out for her throughout the rest of their journey.

"I'll thank you not to speak of a noblewoman in that manner," Arthur said pointedly, and the innkeeper cut himself off straight away, looking mildly startled.

"I meant no offense," the man added hastily when Arthur didn't say anything else and just fixed him with his stoniest look. "Trust me, sir, you would be saying the same thing if you'd seen her, she was the most unsightly-"

"Where did she go?" Lancelot cut in, keeping his tone polite although he looked slightly disgruntled at having to witness this discourtesy towards a woman. Gwaine was not-so-subtly rolling his eyes, but Arthur was well aware that if the man had been talking about a woman Lancelot knew-Guinevere, for instance-he would already be held at swordpoint. That thought sent a slight twinge through him, although it wasn't all that hard to shove it to the back of his mind again.

"She stayed here for a night and left the next day," the innkeeper replied, not seeming to notice the mildly offended looks they were all leveling at him. "She'd met up with some shady cloaked people, and I didn't ask where they were headed."

Leon let out a sigh, and Arthur was privately amused to see him press his fingers to the bridge of his nose in much the same manner as he had done before. "Not the same cloaked people who probably enchanted our friends and lured them away?"

The innkeeper paused, and just stared at the older knight in utter surprise for a moment, like that thought had never occurred to him before. But then comprehension began to dawn in his eyes, and he nodded slowly as the facts visibly clicked in his head. "They might have been," he answered. "I wouldn't swear to it, but now that you mention it..."

He trailed off, clearly lost in comparing his memory of both cloak-wearing groups. Leon just shook his head and took another sip of his wine; he didn't say anything, but his expression spoke volumes of how he was wondering how anyone could have missed that blatant connection.

Arthur hadn't expected to find so much as a trace of Erik's sister-Ragnelle, if he remembered correctly- out here, near the Mercian border. He was surprised, if also a little dismayed; it wasn't like he'd forgotten his promise before, but so much had happened since they'd left Torpelei that he felt like the matter had been pushed to the back of his mind without his consent. First they'd investigated another nobleman's strange demise in Watenhale, then Gwaine had foolishly agreed to have his head lobbed off in the near future.

She'd probably been enchanted as well, and led away into the forest just like his knights had been, for whatever reason. There was no telling what the sorcerers wanted with her, and Arthur just hoped they'd find her in time. Of course he was concerned about Percival, Elyan and the squires as well, but he knew that they, at least, could hold their own in a battle if worse came to worse.

"Maybe the shepherds saw something," the innkeeper suddenly spoke up again, startling Arthur out of his thoughts. He looked vaguely apologetic again, like he really wanted to give them more information to work with, but found his sources lacking. "It's almost a day's ride to the forest, and if the lady and your friends really were headed there, they must have passed our shepherds on the way."

Leon visibly brightened at the prospect of actually doing something to find the others, instead of sitting around and talking. Arthur nodded slowly, sifting through his memory in search of just the right section of their maps-as far as he knew, Cogeltone was surrounded by pastures, and they'd need to fan out to talk to all of the shepherds who might have seen something. And he didn't think swooping down on them as a group would work anyway; he didn't want to intimidate them, after all.

"We'll go and talk to them, then," he decided, and Gwaine drained the last of his mug with a noisy slurp that earned him an eyeroll from Lancelot. Even though he could only see Merlin from the corner of his eye, Arthur could tell that he looked just as relieved as Leon did. None of them seemed even remotely afraid of the prospect of having to go near the supposedly haunted forest, and although Arthur hid his smile, he allowed himself a brief moment of pride.

Gwaine stood up and stretched, arching the kinks out of his back, but as far as Arthur could tell, he was as steady on his feet as ever-he just looked a little more flushed than usual. The innkeeper bent over the table to collect their mugs, and the others rose from their chairs as well.

"We were sad to see them go," he stated, pensively, and turned to Arthur again. "Your friends, I mean. They never bothered any of us, and even helped out a bit around the village-chopping wood, helping the farmers mend fences and all that."

After a moment, Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgement, not quite knowing what to reply-he couldn't very well tell the man that basic human decency was expected of the knights of Camelot. But if his assumptions were correct, the villagers hadn't received anything like decency from the Mercian soldiers either, and they probably hadn't been expecting it.

"I hope you find them," the innkeeper said after a pause, a little uncertainly, as though something in Arthur's gaze had given him an inkling of who he was talking to. Arthur very nearly rolled his eyes (what was the point of traveling incognito if people recognized him anyway?) but held his gaze.

He knew that look, the questions mingling with cautious hope in the innkeeper's eyes-he'd seen it first in Ealdor, and although this was a thoroughly different situation, he found himself responding as he had then. Arthur nodded again, and drew himself up to his full height, placing a brief supportive hand on the man's forearm. "I hope so too."


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