There was not a headsman in Camelot that would fell Merlin.
“Sir, when Gaius did his rounds in the villages, Merlin saw to my wife. It took him four days. I cannot raise an axe against such a man, magic or no.”
“He spoke to my brother on the fields after the battle. There was nought he could do, but he spoke with him. Gave me his last words. My lord.”
“He sharpened my blade last, sire. I was out for a cough and he did it himself. I can’t kill a man with the axe he sharpened.”
In fact, Arthur hadn’t asked for the headsman, just as he hadn’t asked for Merlin to be in the dungeons. He wasn’t entirely sure when his kingdom decided to plod along without him, but Arthur seemed to have blinked and everyone decided to just carry on.
If Arthur had half a mind, or even a quarter, he supposed it was because that look Merlin had given him in the dungeons still hadn’t left him. It had frozen him, stunned him more throughly than a blade. The confession he hadn’t so much as suspected. I have magic.
He’d known something was wrong for months, or at least, the two months it had been since his father died. Merlin had pulled him aside after the mourning had finished and asked him to take a day off with him in a month. Arthur had tried to get a rise out of him, the king’s manservant for two minutes and you’re asking for a break already, but it had been met somberly, with none of the matching humor.
Arthur had been like a groomer before putting down a hound. Merlin had woken him late, fetched all his favorites, and told him they were going out into the woods. He’d already gotten the horses saddled and packed, all they had to do was leave.
It was the first real breath Arthur had taken since putting on this suffocating weight of the crown. The endless meetings and decisions and people trying to test how long his patience would last.
It was a perfect day, which was why he knew something was wrong. They had chatted endlessly, about nothing. Merlin told him snippets of gossip and Arthur had the freedom to choose his words about fellow nobles carelessly. The freedom of honesty over diplomacy.
Merlin had set up a sort of camp for them by the river, pulling out all sorts of foods and a blanket. To sit and bask in the sun for a while, watching as Merlin ran his hands through the grass as he did Lamerei’s mane.
Too soon they were due back. Though they did not allow that to spoil their enjoyment.
When the horses had been returned to the stables and Merlin had brought up their dinner, tossing grapes at Arthur with the accuracy of someone who spent time in the pillory and not aiming for it, their enjoyment gentled. There was a peacefulness in the dark that wasn’t the same brightness as the noon sun on a clear day. Arthur had allowed a single glass of wine for them both, though Merlin hadn’t seemed to finish his.
It has been a soft day, a warm one. Theirs above all else.
“I have one last thing for the day, sire. Though I must apologize that it will quite ruin the mood.”
Merlin had led him out of his chambers and towards the dungeons. And still Arthur could fathom no reason why.
Not until he had walked himself into a cell, a hound putting itself down, and confessed.
Merlin did not look as though he would be moved, and Arthur could not divine what to say. He felt submerged beneath ice. Rigid and airless, unable to claw his was towards the surface. Towards sense.
He’s shown little courtesy, though he wasn’t sure Merlin would fault him, dazed as he was. Arthur had drifted back up into the castle, leaving Merlin to the quiet cell. Merlin hadn’t offered him anything else, but then Arthur hadn’t asked him too. It was not the sort of thing that could be settled, no score would calm that piece of himself, and he suspected for Merlin, it was the same.
His morning had begun with a sort of parade. First, the headsmen, who had made it clear none in the citadel or lower town would be bought for any price. Maybe even the whole of the kingdom. Though Arthur had not offered one.
Next, his staff. George had no prattle for him, the kitchens only scraps. The steward would not meet his eyes and the laundresses had tinted his tunics.
The guards would not acknowledge him or so much as look at him. But then, he knew it would be the knights he had to worry about. Gwaine found him in the middle of listening to all the castle staff.
“This is how you reward his loyalty?”
It could be none but Gwaine who said this, interrupting Arthur’s dawning understanding that Merlin has spent the last month putting his affairs in order. Putting Arthur’s affairs in order by speaking to almost every staff member he could about what to do in his absence. Who to have take on Merlin’s tasks, since he’d guessed that Arthur would decline all attempts at taking a new manservant. And Merlin’s own reluctance to suggest one since none could guarantee their loyalty. Oh yes, Gwaine had said something.
“What would you have me do?”
Gwaine looked like he would fight his way through the laundresses and throttle him.
“Getting him out of that blasted dungeon would be a start.”
Arthur gestured for the laundresses to leave, he didn’t want to risk Gwaine’s direct approach being too direct.
Gwaine was standing before him now, before the throne, and Arthur was focused on his sword. Not drawn, but there all the same.
He nodded, because of course Gwaine of all people would get to the point. Arthur looked from the sword to Gwaine’s face and no longer saw outrage.
“You didn’t put him in the dungeons.”
Arthur was tempted to laugh.
“No. He did that himself, last night. Closed the door behind him.”
Gwaine blew out a breath and muttered a few words under his breath that Arthur himself had often cursed, selfless, idiot.
At this Arthur did laugh.
“When has he ever given the impression that he listens to me?”
Gwaine seemed to be really looking at him now.
“So how do you plan to get him out?”
And that was the question, wasn’t it.
“Well, the headsmen won’t execute him. The staff have been trying to impress upon me that there really is no one who can take over his responsibilities. His duties to the king. My guards won’t acknowledge me and so far only one of my knights has turned up to discuss treason. Where are the others?”
“I pulled the short straw. The rest are down with him, though I think there was a line last I checked.”
He still hadn’t thawed completely. He felt numb as one did after a blow, though he could still move his arms. Gwaine has forcing him through his range of motion, conversationally leading Arthur through his paces. Not letting him falter or quit the session altogether. Not after only a single blow.
“Could you send someone to the kitchens? Don’t say it’s for me but have it sent to the library. And ask Gaius to meet me there. I think we’ll have to have a long talk with Geoffrey.”
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