Chapter Text
Arthur sighs. Merlin has slowed his horse and is peering dubiously at the path ahead. So it's one of these days, is it? Arthur should never have brought him on patrol. But when the King gave the order and Arthur sent Merlin to the stables, his manservant saddled a horse for himself too, as though it was just a given he was coming along. Honestly, Arthur hadn’t even known he could ride. But there he was, on the cobbles in the courtyard, the mighty charger Hengroen’s reins in one hand, the other wrapped in the mane of sweet little Acorn, the slim palfrey Arthur knew Gwen sometimes rode. And well, Arthur had to bite his tongue not to smile. Perhaps Gwen had been giving him riding lessons. He was very curious to see how Merlin handled himself on a horse. Everything Merlin did called into question anything Arthur had ever assumed about peasants and servants. So Arthur just went with it.
And then Arthur had caught Merlin singing under his breath as he double checked their food supply. "No more leech tank! No more scrubbing! Me and Acorn. On the rooooad… going on patrollllll… in the woooods." He was brimming over with the sort of happy energy Arthur associated with festival days and weddings, not dull, routine patrolling. And Merlin’s grin as they left the city was so wide, his eyes so bright, that Arthur couldn't even regret letting him attend, despite Sir Leon’s look of concern.
In fairness, for all Merlin's daily ineptitude, the forest is actually one of the few places he shines. He has been coming along on hunts for some time and for all he can moan and gripe, Merlin has shown himself to be remarkably resilient; he always keeps up with the long treks despite carrying the majority of the gear. He even managed one trip when Sir Kay and Sir Bedevere were pranking him by adding more rocks to his bags every few miles. In the end, the idiot was carrying the equivalent of a whole lynx in extra weight and didn’t even say anything until Sir Bedevere revealed the joke in sheer disbelief. Merlin might look scrawny, but there is some lean muscle there. None of the knights have looked at Merlin the same way since.
Merlin also has some basic physician training from Gaius, which came in handy when Sir Owain fell over the edge of a gully and managed to pull his arm right out of his shoulder. After dinner Merlin always boils water for tea and the camp smells of whatever fragrant leaves and flowers he has found during the day. Arthur used to wrinkle his nose at the idea but he has slowly become accustomed to the routine. It’s soothing before sleep and wonderful on chillier nights. The bramble leaf and honeysuckle tea is his favourite, always clears his head. And though Arthur will never say it out loud, Merlin is refreshing company. He irks Sir Kay and Sir Galahad no end with his prattling, but Sir Leon tolerates it well enough and Lady Morgana seems thoroughly entertained by him. Arthur can admit Merlin's cheeriness and odd comments often lighten the mood when the group are aching and tired.
And patrolling the length of the Escetir border is always such a dull duty. It usually lasts just under six weeks, there and back. It has to be done every year to report to the King that no, King Cenred is not invading and yes, the border markers are still in place. Sir Kay, Sir Galahad and Sir Leon have been Arthur’s go-to for years. But this patrol was already set to be unusual. Lady Morgana has been angling to come along ever since she proved herself in Ealdor. Then, when she saw Merlin in the saddle, she demanded they halt and wait for Gwen, who looked incredibly flustered to be pulled away from whatever duties she was in the middle of and told to pack for a full patrol. So now they have two servants along with them.
Plus Lancelot. They met him at the border. Arthur first wrote to him shortly after his departure from Camelot and they have managed to keep up regular correspondence. Lancelot may be a commoner, but he's already better than half Arthur's knights; they have excellent discussions on sword technique. Arthur enjoys his thoughtful responses to questions about life as an errant knight and the latest tactics employed abroad. Lancelot seems to learn something new to share every letter. Arthur will hire him as a sword whenever he is working close enough to the border for plausible deniability. There's no rule that says Arthur must ride only with knights. His father doesn't have to know.
Sir Kay is predictably sniffy about having women and commoners along. But Sir Leon is placid as usual, and Sir Galahad seems more or less happy. And the mixed group works surprisingly well together. For someone who has only been riding a few weeks, Merlin is fantastic with the horses. He has a good instinctive knowledge of how to soothe them, which perhaps comes from his farming background. Already Arthur has noticed fewer incidences of the horses spooking. Gwen and Merlin save the knights a ton of grunt work on the road, so the meals come quicker and everybody is less grumpy. Gwen is fastidious about armour and weapons maintenance; none of the knights dare slack under her watchful eye. She now insists on random checks since noticing Sir Galalad’s left gauntlet had several rusty rivets.
The biggest change has been the reaction from the villages they pass through. Lancelot, Gwen and Merlin charm everyone they meet - they now get the nicest rooms in the inns everywhere, even from places that Arthur always knew previously to be cold and formal. The food and ale they are given is markedly improved. The commoners are brilliant at picking up hints from the servants about the best little known paths and shortcuts, the next market days, even bits and pieces of local songs and folklore that end up being told around the next campfire.
Arthur is not expecting any danger, this is a routine patrol and scout mission. Nevertheless, he insisted Gwen and Merlin promise to retreat immediately if any conflict does arise. Bandits should look twice at such a large, well-armed group, but it’s not impossible for them to set an ambush. Both servants did very well in Ealdor, but they have far less training than even Lady Morgana. Arthur knew better than to tell her not to engage in a fight, but he insisted she take her bow and commanded that she use it from a safe distance or she will not be coming again. The look she returned did not fully inspire confidence, but at least she didn’t argue. If she tests him, he will prove he is not bluffing. His father will have his head if she is hurt. She is remarkably capable and deserves a chance, but Arthur is not yet King, there are limits to what he can do.
After a couple of weeks on the road, he realises he wants this new patrol configuration to last. He is nurturing secret plans to commission matching blue cloaks for Lady Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot and Merlin, since he can't exactly give them the official red. He’ll have to think of a name for them, to mark them as a sort of secondary support tier for the knights. His kdays, perhaps. That would make Merlin laugh.
But nevertheless, there have been times when Arthur has questioned his own sanity at the undertaking. Lancelot doesn’t say anything but will stare very hard if any of the group starts with the more ribald banter that used to be a staple. Gwen always looks very disappointed if Arthur accepts the best and largest servings of the shared meals, which have always been his due. Now she gives out meticulously equal portions. Arthur supposes it’s fairer, they’re all riding the same distance and if anything, he’s actually doing less of the physical labour. But he misses the extra, especially on days when they’re tightening their belts. Although Merlin does sometimes sneak him pieces of meat when Gwen isn’t looking. And he is brilliant at finding little wild treats to chew as they go along: raw beech nuts or hazelnuts in winter, young lime leaves or red clover in summer.
But Merlin comes with his own odd, little inconveniences. He’s full of strange whims and superstitions. As a primary example, he has now come to a complete halt and is frowning at the path ahead. He catches Arthur's eye.
"Alright, Merlin?" Arthur says, pausing beside him.
"I'm not sure we should go down there," says Merlin.
Arthur stares ahead at the wide, bright path, dotted with bluebells either side.
"Any particular reason you don't like this path that I've gone down countless times and never had a problem with?"
Merlin doesn't smile. He's biting his nails, which can’t be hygienic. Arthur resists the urge to grab his hand and still it. Merlin looks back and forward and back again. His voice is low and urgent. "I've just got - "
"A bad feeling?" Arthur sighs.
"Yeah. Sorry."
Arthur clicks his tongue as he considers the options. Sir Leon is looking pained. He gets on with Merlin well enough, but doesn't like when Merlin makes such suggestions. Several times he has pointed out to Arthur that Merlin is untrained, though he's tactful enough not to say so in front of the whole group. Arthur doesn't think he's jealous as such, but cautious of relying too much on a manservant for tactical advice, which Arthur supposes is fair enough. There's just something about Merlin that Arthur can't explain. Merlin's not always right, but he does sometimes pull out a completely wild card idea that turns out to be brilliant.
Lady Morgana coughs and Arthur looks across to her. She is curious and has one eyebrow raised, as she does every time Arthur lets Merlin speak out of turn. Arthur is not going to address that. He doesn't have to explain himself to her. Sir Kay and Sir Galahad also pause their horses. They're clearly not amused. Arthur catches a stormy look between them. He can admit that when it was just those two and Sir Leon who patrolled with him, things were a lot more proper and efficient. But they were also a lot less fun.
"Any reason why this road is giving you a bad feeling?" Arthur hedges, hoping for a clear, defendable reason he can back.
Merlin fidgets. "I'm not sure. I just. I think there's danger ahead. I feel... something feels... wrong. Like there's a trap."
"Sire, the whole point of a patrol is to find and clear the area of any danger," Sir Galahad points out.
"And it's difficult enough having brought a bunch of tourists along without them getting cold feet every few miles," mutters Sir Kay.
"Everyone here has proved their worth," says Arthur firmly. "That's not the problem."
Sir Kay says something so quietly that Arthur doesn't catch it, but Lancelot looks shocked. Gwen is frowning.
"Sir Kay?" Arthur says politely. "I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you?"
"Nothing, Sire, I misspoke. My apologies."
"Lady Morgana has thrice beaten you in tourney, and Lancelot has once as well. Do you really want to make me think hard about who deserves to be here?"
"No, Sire. My apologies,” Sir Kay says loudly. And then he mutters, “by all means do halt our progress so you can hold your servant's hand."
This time Arthur catches it. He stares at Sir Kay, with all the ice he can muster. "Are you done? Merlin's caution has proved invaluable several times. He has excellent hearing and instinctive knowledge of the forest."
"Of course," says Sir Kay. "Forgive me."
Obsequious git. Arthur pointedly looks away from him. He catches his manservant’s eye and is startled by the look on his face. Merlin is known to look gormless fairly often, but right now it’s particularly comical: his mouth is slack, his eyes are wide, he looks about ready to fall off his horse. Perhaps it's worth complimenting him more often to see him so sweetly baffled. Arthur smiles at the thought and Merlin looks even more unnerved.
But ultimately Arthur sighs. He can’t indulge every hesitation. "In this instance, we will proceed," he says. "Something amiss should be investigated. Let’s all be on our guard."
Merlin nods but doesn't look happy about it.
"No unicorns down there, are there?" Arthur whispers to him. Merlin smiles and shakes his head.
They move forward once more, Sir Leon and Arthur in front, Lancelot and Lady Morgana next, Merlin and Gwen after them and Sir Galahad and Sir Kay at the rear protecting their backs. For a while all seems well. There's a gentle breeze and warm, late afternoon sun. No noises but the gentle clop of their horses’ hooves. But eventually the way bends and Arthur spies a crowd ahead, their horses poised, all just waiting in the centre of the road. Not hiding, but clearly armed. They don't look like bandits. But they're all very still, clearly alert, watching their approach.
"Who's there?" Arthur calls, careful to remain out of range. "Why are you blocking the road?"
The group are neatly clothed in matching black and grey cloaks: some of King Cenred's border guard. It’s a mixed group of various ages and genders. Magic is legal in Escetir and Arthur knows that neither the elderly nor women are allowed to join the military forces, unless they have some skill in sorcery. He peers at them. Twelve in total. Eight of them are men of fighting age. The rest (two women - one old, one young and two very old men) almost certainly have magic. Though for all Arthur knows, perhaps they all do.
There's a small noise from behind. Someone has groaned. "Are you alright?" Arthur hears Gwen whisper.
He glances back and sees Merlin has put his hand to his head.
"Fine," Merlin whispers back. "Sudden headache, that's all."
Sir Kay tuts loudly.
"Focus, all of you," Arthur murmurs.
King Cenred's guards are approaching. Arthur's hand is on his sword hilt. A tall, striking man with brown hair and a thick beard stills his horse, then raises his hands. He must be the leader. The others raise their hands too. Arthur doesn't relax completely, not when sorcery is a possibility, but he's curious; the group doesn't seem aggressive.
The leader has very blue eyes. "Prince Arthur. Well met, your Highness,” he says, bowing low. The others copy the action. ”I am Sir Finn. We are King Cenred’s border guard. We do not wish to fight you. The King has noted your peaceful patrols over many years and thanks you for maintaining the border with honour."
Arthur is surprised; he makes sure to keep his face blank. "Of course," he says.
"However," the man continues, "We cannot let you pass with your sorcerers. Travelling so close to our border with such strong magic is considered an act of war. Of course, this has not been negotiated before, so King Cenred is willing to be reasonable and simply offers a warning, this time. He fully trusts you will cooperate. Please send your sorcerers back or retreat as a group."
Arthur blinks. "Sir. You know who we are. Obviously, there are no sorcerers amongst us."
Sir Finn frowns. "Will you lie to us outright? Do you think us stupid? Come now, Prince Arthur."
Arthur glances at Sir Leon who gives a tiny tilt of his head, confirming the man is making no sense.
"Magic is outlawed in Camelot," says Arthur.
Sir Finn laughs. "Of course, of course, King Uther's supposed hatred for magic is well known. We have heard tales of your purges and executions. But we are not your enemy; you do not have to maintain the lie with us. You may have fooled Nemeth and Gawant, but you cannot fool us. Magic is legal in Escetir; we have not forgotten our knowledge. We know King Uther uses magic when necessary. And tales of magic in Camelot are more and more frequently heard across Albion, most often linked to deeds in your name. You cannot hide, Prince Arthur. Please. Surrender your sorcerers and go in peace."
Arthur can hear his heart in his ears. He's not sure how to play this. If the knight is bluffing, weaving a tall tale in order to stir up an excuse for an attack, then perhaps another outright dismissal will cow him enough to let them pass. But if he truly believes it, perhaps he simply needs reassurance? The idea that Arthur and his father are secretly working with sorcerers is such outrageous, blatant nonsense, that Arthur would laugh it off if Sir Finn didn’t look so serious. But he must defuse the situation. No one truly wins a war. He needs to clarify.
"I swear, I don’t understand,” he says. “What sorcerers? What stories?"
"Do not lie to me," Sir Finn raises his voice and Arthur fights to stay calm, unsure of how this confrontation is slipping so far from his control. "We are not so gullible, do not insult us! The Gryffin, a creature that can only be slain by powerful magic was terrorising Mercia, Anglia and even Escetir for many months. None of our sorcerers could stop it. And yet it somehow found its end in Camelot, supposedly at the hand of one of your knights."
Arthur tries to make sense of this wild claim. But before he can ask Lancelot to explain, the man has continued. "Your city was plagued by a legendary afanc, as we heard from many travellers. And you yourself claimed to have killed it. However, an afanc can only be killed by the power of wind and fire elements magically combined. So unless you're confessing your own magic, you'll understand if we don't believe you."
Arthur remembers the torch of fire he had lifted, and true, there had been a great gust of wind at the right moment, but that was just the luck of it.
"Your father murdered all the dragons and all the dragonlords. All except one. The Great Dragon Kilgharrah never left Camelot and is rumoured to still be chained beneath the city."
Arthur only just manages not to laugh out loud. Such fanciful tales. He'd like to hit this ridiculous knight over the head and have done. But he must remember that he is trained for diplomacy.
Still, Sir Finn must read some of his amusement in his face because his look has gone very cold. "Do not take me for a fool," he hisses. "Think on your next words carefully."
Arthur stiffens. If it comes to it, there are twelve of the Escetir guard against six: himself, three of Camelot’s finest knights, Lancelot and Lady Morgana. All of King Cenred's knights are well trained and notoriously vicious. Even so, Arthur's confidence in his people is high enough to think those odds are doable. However, some or all of the guard could also be trained in sorcery. There is little hope against that which Arthur barely even understands. If it weren’t for the shaky treaty, Arthur is sure his father would insist Arthur cut them all down on sight. For many years Arthur would have agreed that such evil should not be allowed to fester. But recently… well, since the unicorn and the little boy druid… and Merlin’s friend Will, who saved Arthur’s life at the cost of his own… since the blue orbs in the Balor caves… Arthur has started to wonder if the situation may be more nuanced than his father has ever allowed.
"Your sorcerers are clearly powerful," Sir Finn goes on. "Are you not ashamed, Arthur Pendragon, to hide behind their protection? Ashamed that you cannot face danger on your own merit? Ashamed to cheat in your tourneys and think us oblivious?"
"I would never cheat!" says Arthur before he can help himself. This is going too far.
"You steal their glory for yourself. At least the sorcerers in Escetir are named. Valued. Celebrated. Protected. Only Camelot is petty enough to pretend themselves above magical aid. We've ignored such ridiculous claims as long as we were at peace. But bringing magic to our border is an act of aggression."
"There are no sorcerers here!" Arthur insists. He doesn't know how he can possibly convince them. "I assure you, we mean you no harm."
Sir Finn pauses. Arthur waits, meeting his gaze with pride. He has nothing to be ashamed of.
"If you believe yourself telling the truth," he says finally. "I suppose King Uther may have hidden it from you. Or perhaps, we are mistaken after all. Of course, you understand why King Cenred must be careful in these dangerous times. If there is truly no sorcerer in your party, you won't mind if I check?"
"Check how?"
"This stone."
He nods to a young man nearby who pulls a large, blue stone from his pocket.
"What is it?"
"It affects magic users. It causes them pain. The more magic they have, the greater the pain. Let each of you hold it for ten seconds and you shall pass unchallenged."
"How can I trust it won't hurt any of us anyway? If some of your guard have magic, you can surely control the outcome?"
"We cannot. This is an ancient test. You must trust me. If you will not take this test, you must retreat or we will arrest you. Anyone from Camelot who returns to the border will be shot on sight."
"Here," says the young woman with a deep frown. "I have a little magic. Let them see the stone’s effect on me."
Arthur bites down on his tongue. To have magic announced so casually is a shock. He can feel Sir Kay and Sir Galahad tensing beside him, moving closer to protect him. He gives the signal to wait and watch, knowing they are desperate to cut down the danger before she can strike with blows they cannot parry. The sorceress dismounts and removes her glove. The man with the stone hands it to her. She groans and there is a horrible sizzling sound like meat in hot oil.
"See how it burns her,” says Sir Finn.
Arthur can feel the heat of it. He is horrified at the torture, the pain twisting the woman’s features. She drops the stone and falls to her knees, her shoulders shaking. She pants and then, after a few moments, lurches back up and whispers something. Her eyes glow an unnatural colour. The enormous blister on her palm shrinks and then smoothes out into healthy skin once more. Arthur is astonished. It might perhaps be wholly an illusion. But if it were real… to have such a healing skill would be invaluable on the battlefield.
The young man retrieves the stone. "See?" says Sir Finn. “You have my word. If you had magic you would be feeling it by now. The stone's proximity would have you weak and ill. We tolerate this sensation since we must protect the border, but for powerful sorcerers, it can be excruciating up close."
"Clearly, we're all fine," Arthur points out.
"So you have nothing to fear holding the stone."
Arthur looks back and considers his Knights. Sir Galahad and Sir Kay are wary. Sir Leon nods at him. They don't seem to mind, even if touching a known magical artefact is against all protocol. Gwen and Lady Morgana look very serious but also nod. Lancelot's face is blank; Arthur can’t read it easily but he is holding himself very still. If Arthur didn’t know better he would say Lance was worried. Perhaps he suspects a trick. Merlin looks pale and is trembling. Arthur is annoyed that he can’t look more composed at this crucial moment, but of course he would be jittery: there's probably some old folktale warning against touching magic stones.
"Fine,” Arthur declares. "We'll each endure your test. Merlin, tie the horses," he calls as he signs for everyone to dismount. While Merlin leads Hengroen away, Arthur holds out his hand for the stone.