[fic] The Ivy Crown, 5c/9

[da_ya_ri]

A few hours later, the others still weren't back from their tour of the surrounding fields, and Arthur had holed himself up in one of the two rooms they'd rented for the night. Daylight was fading slowly but surely, and Arthur had already lighted a few candles to aid his eyes, placing them along the edges of the table.

He didn't quite know why he'd bothered with the candles, though—the map looked the same in twilight, and he already knew it like the back of his hand from poring over it for an entire afternoon. His headache was raging unhindered by now, sending pinpricks of pain through his skull whenever he moved his head.

Next to him, Leon let out a sigh as though he felt the oncoming twinges of a migraine as well. Arthur had asked him to stay back and retreat to their rooms with him, because he knew that Leon's mind was the most strategically gifted among their group, aside from his own. And another pair of eyes couldn't hurt, after all.

He stared at the trail he had drawn across the map until it left an afterimage in his eyes. It was just a line drawn with soft wax, easy to wipe off the parchment again—he'd merely wanted to see the way they'd come. They'd traveled north from Camelot until they reached Treffynnon, and since then they had been going east, crossing the Northern Plains in a surprisingly neat line until they'd reached Cogeltone.

"The way I see it, sire," Leon spoke up from beside him, still with his customary courtesy although he was clearly deep in thought, "it looks almost as though we've been led here."

Arthur nodded absently; he'd reached that conclusion some time ago, and at least it made him feel less paranoid to hear it voiced out loud by Leon. The suspiciously straight line across the map couldn't be explained away by anything else. It looked like the Green Knight had been picking out their route for them, leading them eastward with strategically placed murders.

"Yes," Arthur replied, rubbing a hand across his face in an attempt to banish the ache from his temples. Leon was watching him, cautious and a little unnerved, like he was trying to guess what Arthur would say next. "And since we'll go after the others, we'll continue going eastward, it seems."

"But sire," Leon insisted, and moved as though to stop Arthur when he stepped away from the table. He quickly backed off when he caught sight of Arthur's raised eyebrows, although none of the insistence left his gaze. Apparently he had said just what Leon had expected.

"If we venture any further to the east," Leon said, quietly now, "we'll cross the border—"

"Into Mercia, I know," Arthur interrupted, bringing up a tired hand to pinch the bridge of his nose; it didn't help the pain, but he hadn't really thought it would.

"On the one hand we've got the peace treaty," the older knight continued, quietly now; Arthur recognized the respectful persistence in his voice from countless council meetings. "But for the crown prince and his entourage to just march into Mercia like that—with our patrols getting into skirmishes with Mercian forces in Escetia too, Bayard might see it as an act of war."

"I know," Arthur repeated, a little more vehemently, and Leon subsided into silence, carefully watching his expression to see if his words had taken hold in the prince's mind. It wasn't like Arthur had never thought of that during the past few hours they'd been holed up in here, but as far as he was concerned, there was no other option.

"From what the villagers told us, Percival, Elyan and the squires have already ventured into Mercia, probably under duress or enchantment," Arthur said, firmly holding Leon's gaze now, although he knew that he'd submit to whatever decision Arthur made—but he wanted Leon to know that his concern had been duly noted. "Act of war or no, I'm not abandoning them to their fate in potentially hostile lands."

After a pause, Leon replied, "Of course not, sire," his voice quiet but vehement, and Arthur inclined his head at him to show that he understood, that he knew Leon hadn't thought he would ever leave the other knights to their fate.

"We'll lie low," he answered, trying his best to sound reassuring, and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to get rid of the slight cramp he could feel forming there. "We'll avoid any roads, sleep out in the forest and set up night watches. We'll be as safe as we can be."

Leon nodded, deflating visibly, and Arthur knew he'd been just as set on following the others as he was. That was just another thing he appreciated in the older knight, and the reason why he'd asked him to stay—even if he did agree with Arthur, he always tried to draw his attention to different vantage points. And they'd known each other for such a long time that Leon nearly always knew what to bring to Arthur's attention to ensure that his outlook was as diverse as it could be.

Arthur looked down at the map again with a small smile, reassured in the knowledge that Leon couldn't see his expression—he'd walked over to stand at the window, idly gazing out into the evening. The village had gone quiet after the afternoon's flurry of activity; the door downstairs had slammed again and again, and Arthur guessed that the tavern was slowly filling with hungry farmers. None of the others had come back from the fields yet, but he already found himself thinking of dinner.

"Merlin?" Leon suddenly said from the window, his tone utterly confused. Arthur looked up, jolted out of his thoughts, but the older knight was still leaning on the windowsill, although he was now bending over as to better peer out of the dusty pane of glass.

Frowning, Arthur strode over, and Leon shifted to make room for him. The road outside was shrouded in twilight, deserted of the villagers that Arthur had heard bustling about all afternoon. The river looked like a slate of black, although the gentle sounds of waves lapping at the banks was audible even through the window.

Then he saw what Leon had been looking at, and felt his stomach drop. A horse was fast approaching in the distance, cantering along the road with full speed and kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Even from this far away, Arthur could see the figure bent over its neck, the horse's sheer speed whipping black hair around a white face as Merlin held on for dear life.

He was halfway down the narrow staircase before he even realized he'd moved, Leon running along behind him as Arthur bounded down the stairs skipping two steps at a time. The tavern was filled with candlelight and laughter, a group of farmers having pushed two tables together at the back of the room to share pints of ale after a day's hard work. Arthur swerved to avoid bumping into a barmaid, laden down with a tray of food, but he didn't break his stride, his booted feet pounding on the hardwood floor as he ran to the door.

The evening air was soothing and cool on his face after an afternoon spent inside, and Leon bumped into his back when Arthur skidded to a stop on the road. His eyes needed a moment to adjust to the fading daylight, but he couldn't have missed Merlin's approach even if it had been completely dark. The horse's drumming canter got closer, the hoofbeats loud in the still air, and it was just rounding a bend in the road when Arthur turned towards the sound.

The horse skidded to a stop a few paces away, throwing its head back against Merlin's clumsy, frantic pull on the reins. Merlin immediately scrambled to get off its back, causing the animal to prance nervously. It seemed to struggle to keep its head held high, its flanks foamy with sweat, and the horse's heavy breathing sounded utterly exhausted.

"Merlin!" Arthur called, more sharply than he'd intended; he was already jogging towards him, his feet once again moving on their own accord. Merlin's head whipped up and around, and Arthur caught just a short glimpse of his white face and wide, frantic eyes before he lost his precarious balance and toppled out of the saddle.

Arthur winced when Merlin tumbled to the ground in a heap, but his fall hadn't been that far, and surely enough, the disheveled bundle that was his manservant twitched back into movement. Leon strode around them to catch the dangling reins of Merlin's horse, soothing it with quiet murmurs when it shied away from his touch at first.

Merlin scrambled back onto his feet, ignoring—or maybe just not seeing—the hand that Arthur had stretched down to him without thinking. His gaze flickered around like that of a skittish animal, catching on the looming hulks of the houses around them as though he realized for the first time where his frantic ride had taken him.

"Merlin," Arthur said again, more quietly this time, pitching his voice low. He automatically glanced behind Merlin, realizing that his hand had been resting on the hilt of his dagger the entire time. But there was nothing there, aside from the stretch of the road, looking more gray than earthy brown in the fading light.

"Arthur?" Merlin whispered, his eyes coming to rest on him with a look that Arthur hadn't seen in a long while. It reminded him of the countless times they'd been faced with some sort of danger together, and although the village was quiet around them, his heart kicked up into a higher gear. Fear was flickering in Merlin's too-bright eyes, along with the sort of frantic desperation that usually meant that he was going to do something stupid and reckless.

He pitched forward suddenly, barreling his weight into Arthur and pushing at him, tugging on his wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. "No, no, you— you have to get back inside, they're coming, I don't know if it's safe here," he babbled, a frantic, high-pitched stream of words as he braced the heel of his other hand against Arthur's shoulder and shoved.

Thoroughly stunned, Arthur went with the movement, stumbling back a few steps until he could wrench his arm out of Merlin's grasp. Merlin's breathing was fast and erratic; there was no telling how long he'd ridden at that pace, and he must have clung to the saddle the whole way here. Arthur let himself be pushed, almost tripping when his back suddenly collided with the door of the inn.

Leon caught his gaze over Merlin's shoulder, his face drawn and wary, and motioned to himself and the horse. Arthur gave him a curt nod as he fumbled with the door handle behind his back—Merlin's horse needed a good rubbing-down, given how drenched its fur was with sweat. He stumbled over the threshold, tugging Merlin along with him, and slammed the door shut behind them.

It was like being engulfed in a pocket of light and sound after the quiet twilight outside, but Merlin let out a gasping sigh of relief, sagging slightly in Arthur's hold. He didn't quite know when he'd gone from being pushed around by Merlin to propping him up, but he could feel Merlin trembling against him. His eyes looked huge in his pale face, but he still scanned the room with frantic intent, his gaze skittering across the chattering farmers and the barmaids as though to check for hidden threats.

"Upstairs," Arthur said quietly, almost whispering the word against Merlin's temple, and turned them around, keeping a surreptitious hand on Merlin's back as he pushed him towards the stairs. A few faces were turned in their direction, looking curious rather than hostile, but their gazes still made the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably.

He waved away the concerned look of the innkeeper, and pointedly closed the door to the stairwell behind himself after he'd manhandled Merlin through the gap. The stairwell was quiet again, dimly lit by what little light was streaming in through the tiny window at the top. Merlin stumbled a few times as they climbed the steps in silence, and Arthur guessed that his fatigue was finally catching up with him.

The door to their room closed behind him with a satisfying click, and Arthur just spared a short glance at where the candles were still burning on the table, briefly relieved to see that the map hadn't gone up in flames in his absence.

Then he turned to Merlin, who was leaning against the wall next to the door as though all his strength had left him now that he was safe again. He gulped in air with huge, trembling inhales, but his breath kept hitching like he wanted to speak. Arthur waited, his heart pounding, tension coiled into every muscle as he mentally prepared himself to run back downstairs and get Leon inside, in case Merlin had accidentally brought a straggling band of Mercian soldiers down on their heads.

Merlin's breath seemed to slow a little as the seconds dragged by—he really was struggling to speak, Arthur had to give him that much—and finally he gasped out, "Hounds."

Arthur blinked, thoroughly taken aback, and stopped his hand from where it'd been straying towards his daggers again. "What?"

"There were," Merlin tried, but had to pause and suck in another breath. He gestured aimlessly towards the window. "I was—"

"No Mercian soldiers?" Arthur interrupted, and felt most of the tension drain out of him when Merlin shook his head and gestured again. He caught him by the forearm mid-flail and bodily shoved him across the room, ignoring the cut-off protesting noises Merlin made in reaction. Only when Merlin's thighs bumped into the bed did he let go, and predictably, Merlin plopped down on the mattress like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Arthur stepped back and out of Merlin's personal space, hovering for a moment before he moved to lean against the table. "Calm down, you're safe," he said, a little gruffly. The words made him feel stupid, since he had no idea exactly what Merlin had been fleeing from, but he didn't know what else to say. "Catch your breath."

Merlin deflated visibly, and nodded after a moment, dragging his sleeve across his face to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. He was still pale, but not quite as translucent as before—color was slowly returning to his cheeks, drawn by the warmth in the room.

There was a creak of wood at the door, and Arthur spun around, his dagger already half drawn when he recognized Leon in the figure that carefully poked his head inside. He was moving slowly, waiting for their gazes to meet until he stepped fully into the room—Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and stepped back.

"A stablehand is taking care of the horse," Leon said in a hushed voice. His eyes darted from Arthur to Merlin and back again, and he closed the door behind himself. "Are you alright?"

Merlin nodded, and even managed a faint smile. His breathing had slowed, and a little of the instinctive panic had left his eyes—in fact, he was starting to get that look on his face that Arthur knew so well, the one that spoke of dawning realization of having done something stupid or unnecessary.

"I— sorry," Merlin said awkwardly, still winded but at least capable of coherent speech. Or well, as coherent as his speech ever got. "It was—"

He trailed off, visibly gathering his scattered thoughts. Leon shifted closer, looking more relaxed as well, now that Merlin didn't seem on the verge of a panic attack anymore. "I was just riding through the fields," Merlin started again after a moment, "keeping an eye out for shepherds, and I— I saw the forest in the distance, but I swear I didn't go anywhere near it."

Arthur just nodded, a little nonplussed when Merlin's earnest gaze met his. Of course he would have given Merlin a stern talking-to if he'd actually ventured there all by himself, but it was at least a day's ride from Cogeltone, so he knew very well that Merlin couldn't have reached it even if he'd tried.

Merlin seemed satisfied with that, though, because he took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his trousers. "And suddenly there were those huge dogs," he continued. "They were so big, I thought they were wolves at first, and they just— watched me, for a moment."

He fell silent again, and although Arthur saw his throat work as he swallowed, he appeared determined to carry on and justify his breakneck ride back to the village. Arthur tried to rein in his expression and pull his eyebrow down from its doubtful perch on his forehead, but it didn't quite work.

"Their eyes were golden," Merlin said, softly now, and it seemed to take an age for him to raise his gaze to meet Arthur's again. His tone was measured, wrestled into a deceptive calm by Merlin's self-control, but Arthur saw the imploring expression in his eyes anyway.

It took him a few seconds to catch on, but then realization set in. In his limited experience, golden eyes meant sorcery—Merlin was saying that the dogs had been magical, if they had indeed been there. Arthur felt his features harden into an impassive mask and folded his arms across his chest, an uncalled-for surge of irritation bubbling up in him.

How dare Merlin imply his knowledge of magic right in front of Leon? It'd been bad enough when he'd done the same at Treffynnon, although he'd learned later that Lancelot had already known. On the other hand, a tiny voice piped up from the back of Arthur's mind, maybe Leon knew, too. Maybe Arthur was the last one Merlin had told.

Leon blinked upon finding himself the target of a sudden princely glare, and Arthur tore his gaze away with some difficulty, shoving his unkind thoughts to the back of his mind. Even if Merlin had told Leon (which seemed unlikely if one thought about it rationally), Arthur doubted that the older knight would have kept something like that from his prince.

"They were crouching down in the grass, I didn't see them until they were right in front of me," Merlin continued in a rush, like he'd seen the shutters close behind Arthur's eyes and was desperate to talk them open again. "My horse reared up and I almost fell, and then it just bolted and ran all the way back here."

There was a short silence, but although it looked like Merlin wanted to say more, he closed his mouth after a moment's consideration. Arthur kept his gaze studiously fixed on something just above Merlin's left ear, which was slowly reddening now, and ignored the prickly feeling that told him that Leon was looking between them and trying to figure out when the mood had tipped over into tension.

"Are you sure about what you saw, then?" Arthur asked at last, doubtfully, making no attempt to disguise the dismissal in his tone. "You were probably just drunk."

Merlin bristled instantly, and Arthur made the mistake of meeting his gaze—the contact was brief, but long enough for him to see the confused hurt lurking behind the indignation in Merlin's eyes, like he didn't understand why Arthur's tone had suddenly turned so cold. "I barely had half a cup of diluted wine at lunch—"

"It doesn't take much to distort your perception," Arthur interrupted, deliberately harsh, and ignored the pulling twinge in his chest when Merlin's mouth snapped shut again as though against his will.

He pushed away from the table, suddenly itchy and restless, and shifted his gaze to Leon with some difficulty. The older knight just looked nonplussed, rather than hurt and slightly sad like Merlin did, and so Arthur found it easier to let his eyes rest on him. "The others should be back soon," he said, not caring when his voice came out too harsh. "I'll order dinner for us."

Leon nodded distractedly, but Arthur didn't miss the way his gaze flitted back to Merlin, his brow furrowing in thought. He couldn't tell if he was just wondering about the tension in the air, or if he was still thinking about what Merlin had told them, and Arthur told himself that he didn't care either way.

Merlin made a quiet, confused noise when Arthur crossed the room to the door, and for a moment he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from whirling round again. He almost asked Merlin to move his luggage into the other room, because of course Merlin had put his stuff on the bed opposite of Arthur's, like he'd been wont to do since they'd first stayed in an inn.

But then he forced the words back down from where they'd been poised on his tongue, although he did slam the door on his way out. He didn't even know where the useless, rekindled spark of anger had come from this time—maybe it was just Merlin's presumptuousness that had set him off again. The meaningful look that Merlin had given him kept snagging on his consciousness like thorny undergrowth, and renewed irritation bubbled up within him at the memory.

It was like Merlin suddenly thought that everything between them had been set right after their conversation in the forest, while it really hadn't. True, they'd reached what had seemed like a temporary truce, but maybe it hadn't felt quite as precarious to Merlin as it had to Arthur. Maybe Merlin hadn't thought anything of admitting him into his confidence like that just a few minutes ago—maybe he'd just assumed that Arthur would accept it, or welcome it, even.

And maybe he would have, if it hadn't been for Leon's presence. Arthur took a deep, steadying breath before he wrenched open the door to the tavern, letting light and sound flood over him and dull the sharp edge of that last thought. The farmers' laughter had gotten more raucous in the meantime and more candles had been lit, but the innkeeper's smile was still welcoming as he spotted Arthur moving through a throng of giggling barmaids.

Heading for the bar, Arthur shook his head to rid it of the useless train of thought. It wouldn't do to relapse into his previous brooding state of mind just because of a misguided look. It wasn't what he felt he should do at this point, although that didn't mean he had any idea what would be the right thing to do—he could, of course, just ignore Merlin for the rest of the day and carry on like nothing had happened tomorrow.

He sighed, and resisted the urge to run a frustrated hand through his hair. Even though their conversation in the forest had gone surprisingly well, it still felt like they were stumbling along through the dark most of the time, and little by little it was starting to get on his nerves.

At the hunting lodge, Merlin had told him that he'd never expected him not to react, and back then it had been strangely reassuring. But more and more often, Arthur found himself stuck wondering what Merlin did expect, or whether he even expected anything at all.





Moonlight was spilling through the window, illuminating the floorboards and the worn furniture. The inn was quiet aside from the occasional laughter drifting up from the tavern, but although that sound was strangely comforting rather than annoying, Merlin still couldn't sleep.

Earlier, Gwaine had taken one look at his expression and surreptitiously tried to sneak some wine into his cup all throughout dinner. He probably thought that whatever had happened would be the stuff of several nightmares, and while Merlin appreciated his friend's efforts to ensure him a deep sleep, he still didn't succumb. As exhausted as he was from the hard ride, he was sure he'd sleep like a log anyway, and he wanted to keep a clear head.

Arthur had made stilted conversation with all of them, but Merlin could tell that the long day was taking its toll. He'd seen the map spread out over the table in their room, and knew that the prince had stayed at the inn with Leon to pore over it all afternoon and try to figure out what to do next. It went without saying that they'd follow the others into the forest, however haunted the innkeeper said it was. But even Arthur on a rescue mission wasn't reckless enough not to recognize the risk they were going to take, barging into Mercian lands like that.

Merlin shifted, pulling the covers a bit more tightly around himself, and let out a long sigh. Now that he was lying here with his body tired but his mind wide awake, he was beginning to regret not having taken Gwaine up on the offered alcohol. Arthur was either out cold or just pretending to be asleep on the other side of the room, but his breathing had slowed and lengthened an age ago.

It seemed a bit too regular to be genuine, though. Merlin only had to turn his head to look at him; all he could see of Arthur in the moonlight was a lump under rumpled blankets, a splotch of dark color where his head was resting on his pillow. It was too dark to make out the rise and fall of his chest, but Merlin could tell by the slight rasp in his breathing that he was lying on his back.

"Arthur," he found himself whispering, almost involuntarily—he just wanted to test if Arthur really was asleep or if this was just a relapse into the avoidance that he'd thought they'd gotten over by now. The prince didn't stir, though, and Merlin shifted to lie on his side, raising his voice. "Arthur?"

Arthur emitted a soft snore that tapered off into a grunt, and Merlin heard the rustle of sheets as he sat up abruptly, his eyes reflecting the moonlight with a brief glitter as his gaze darted across the room, looking for what had roused him. "Where— what?" he mumbled; there was a clatter of metal on wood as he reached for the small knife he'd put on the small, wobbly table next to his bed.

"It's just me," Merlin whispered back, slightly guilty because obviously Arthur had been asleep.

"Merlin," Arthur said, the name rushing out on a sigh that already sounded more exasperated than sleepy, but he slumped back into the pillows again. "What is it?"

"Um," Merlin mumbled, toying uselessly with a crease in his blankets, the wind taken out of his sails; he'd just wanted to test if Arthur was avoiding him again, but now Arthur was demanding an explanation for why he'd been woken. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of something to say, but the words that finally tumbled out were, "Do you think we'll find Percival and Elyan?"

There was a pause, and then Arthur shifted with another rustle of the blankets, and although Merlin couldn't see his face clearly in the darkness, he could picture his incredulous look. "You woke me up just to ask me that?"

"I thought you were just pretending to sleep," Merlin replied defensively before he could stop himself, and very nearly bit his tongue when he realized what he'd said. His own tiredness was slowing him down to the point that he forgot to mince his words around Arthur like he'd never had to before. There was no real reason for it even now, except for how Merlin had adopted the habit of treading carefully around Arthur after he'd told him about his magic, and it had been so long that it was hard to shake off.

"Why should it matter to me whether or not you think I'm asleep?" Arthur asked, and Merlin blinked at what little he could see of him in the darkness for a moment, jolted out of his thoughts.

"I don't know," he replied, shifting into a half-sitting position. He couldn't concentrate properly while lying down, and it seemed that Arthur had woken up a little more and recognized some sort of warped challenge in Merlin's words. "You've been avoiding me."

Another short silence, and Arthur let out a long sigh, but although he sounded tired, he wasn't trying to deny the truth in Merlin's words. Merlin released a slow breath of his own, not quite knowing what that meant—but at any rate, it gave him reason to hope that this midnight conversation wouldn't derail into another argument.

"Even if we find them," Arthur replied at last, and it took Merlin a moment to catch up and realize that Arthur was just answering his first question, "we'll have to wrestle them out of those sorcerers' control first."

The sorcerers. Of course. Merlin swallowed, and wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his blanket, feeling like they'd gotten a whole lot closer to the crux of the matter. Arthur's carefully controlled voice showed no sign of mistrust, but Merlin imagined that it was there underneath the calm veneer.

"Maybe they were druids," Merlin offered; as appeasements went, it was probably rather weak, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. "Even you have to admit they're a peaceful people."

Arthur snorted humorlessly, the sound a lot more real than the flat, wooden quality that his voice had taken on just a moment ago. He shifted again, and Merlin thought he saw him lean his head back into the pillows to look towards the window.

He probably just wanted to sleep, or at least to have this conversation in broad daylight where he could glare Merlin back into silence, but now that Merlin had started this talk, Arthur seemed unwilling to end it by snapping at him. As dangerous as the subject of magic still was around him, Arthur obviously was capable of reining in his temper—which was no mean feat, considering what he'd been taught for all his life.

The thought made Merlin smile a little, and he let it run its course under the safe cover of darkness, grateful that Arthur couldn't see him. But then Arthur sighed once more, like he'd been turning Merlin's suggestion over and over in his head but kept coming to the same conclusion, and replied, "It probably wouldn't take long even for the most peaceful of people to be corrupted by power."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did, Merlin felt like he'd just been doused in icy water. He stared at Arthur, the glitter of his eyes in the dark and the silhouette of him leaning back into his pillows, and thought, vaguely, that he probably hadn't meant anything by that. At any rate, he didn't appear to be waiting anxiously for Merlin's reaction; the silence seemed baffled rather than tense. But for a long moment, it was all Merlin could do to gape at him and try to wrap his mind around what Arthur had just said.

"Do you think I'm— corrupted, then? Is that it?" Merlin spat at last, the words coming out too loud in the nocturnal quietude although his voice wobbled dangerously. Even in the dark, he practically felt the startled look Arthur gave him—he probably hadn't expected that kind of reaction, and maybe he hadn't even meant it like that, but right then, Merlin didn't care.

"You probably think I made up the whole thing with the hounds too, for some nefarious reason," he said, an unexpected surge of bitterness tightening his throat. He looked away to the window, trying to ignore the way his vision was blurring at the edges. "Maybe I lured you here to slaughter you and your best knights in some godforsaken cave in the middle of Mercia—"

"Merlin," Arthur began, but Merlin didn't let him get a word in edgeways, too tired and raw to even stop and think about the note of uncertainty in Arthur's tone. Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave, whether from today's hard ride or something else, he didn't know, and in a corner of his mind, Merlin knew he was overreacting, but he still couldn't stop the jumbled torrent of words that poured out of him.

That might have been where he'd gone wrong right from the start, he thought dizzily when Arthur paused for just a fraction too long. Whenever he'd thought of talking his way back into Arthur's good graces, he had never taken his own pain into account, the way it had worn a groove into his thoughts during those first two weeks when Arthur hadn't talked to him.

But now it was slopping over the edges of his control, after he'd kept it locked away for too long, thawing along with everything else between them. And somehow it was so unfair that it chose now to flare up and mingle with anger, especially when he remembered the tentative steps they'd already taken towards reconciliation.

"Oh wait," Merlin exclaimed, interrupting whatever else Arthur might have said, had he been given the chance, "maybe I'm in league with the Green Knight too! Maybe I summoned him by magic and let him loose on the nobles, regardless of the fact that he's going to chop my friend's head off now—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," Arthur snapped, genuinely angry now, and Merlin swallowed hard, pathetically grateful that he'd been cut off. "I never— you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" Merlin volleyed back, well aware that he sounded almost hysterical, but also beyond caring. His thoughts felt jumbled, like Arthur had physically shaken him back and forth to knock some sense back into his head. The memory of how Arthur had guided him through the tavern earlier rose in his thoughts, unbidden but not unwanted, and Merlin took a deep, slow breath, remembering how it had felt to be dragged out of hazy panic by Arthur's hands on his arms alone.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, thinking more carefully about what he was going to say, now that a few careless words had set Merlin off like that. Merlin found that he could loosen his death grip on his blanket, and pried his fingers apart one by one as he waited for Arthur to speak. Something small in his chest unfurled with relief, and for once it didn't occur to him to tamper the tentative warmth.

Finally, Arthur took a deep breath, much like Merlin had done a moment ago, and he couldn't help but realize that this conversation must be far from easy for him, too. But Arthur's voice didn't waver when he said, "Magic corrupted Morgana."

Merlin blinked over at him through the darkness, barely able to make out the faint shine of his hair in what little moonlight reached the back of the room. He hadn't quite expected that, although he knew he should have seen it coming. Morgana had nearly destroyed everything, after all, Arthur's kingdom, his people, and his family—it was only logical for him to remember a red tree on a black backdrop and the vacant look in his father's eyes whenever he thought of the ways magic might be used for evil.

"Morgause corrupted her," Merlin corrected quietly. He was treading on thinning ice, and after everything she'd done, it wasn't his place to defend Morgana anyway, but the memory of holding her, of how she'd struggled for every breath in his arms, made him feel like he should. "And— and her fear."

Arthur sighed, like it was hard for him to believe that Morgana had ever been afraid of anything. Merlin thought back to when she'd still been dreaming, to the many times he'd said nothing when Gaius gave her increasingly strong sleeping potions, and then to the one time he had. At first she'd just been confused and afraid, and even after everything else, he couldn't blame her for that.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that, and Merlin was too tired to even feel surprised that the silence wasn't all that awkward. Maybe both of them had just used up their share of awkwardness for the day when Merlin had told him and Leon about the hounds. He could hear Arthur's breathing on the other side of the room, sounding oddly hesitant as though he was trying to think of something to say, but Merlin found himself glad when he remained silent. He didn't think he could take another half-argument tonight.

His jaw cracked audibly when he yawned, and Arthur let out a huff that could have been a chuckle. "We should probably sleep," he said. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Will we go to the forest?" Merlin asked, grateful for the somewhat less dangerous topic, although it felt odd to cut off their previous conversation just like that. They hadn't really come to any conclusion, at least not about Morgana, but it also seemed pointless to continue—it was of no use darkening the atmosphere between them again just because of what she had done.

"Yes," Arthur replied belatedly; Merlin got the feeling that he'd nodded before remembering that Merlin couldn't see him. He wondered if all Arthur saw of him was a dim silhouette as well, a hazy outline against the brightness of the white blankets, just barely visible in the moonlight. The thought that Arthur hadn't seen his expression earlier was reassuring, even though he knew that they couldn't always rely on the cover of darkness to talk.

But if they went to the forest, it would be a long day for Merlin indeed. He sighed, barely managing to stifle another yawn. He'd end up tense and guarded throughout the entire ride, waiting for magical mayhem to be set off by their arrival in the haunted lands. As careful as he knew Arthur and the others would look out for any danger, Merlin knew that it fell to him to keep an eye out for supernatural threats. With the memory of his encounter with the huge golden-eyed dogs still fresh in his mind, he could only hope that they weren't in for any more unpleasant surprises.

"Well," Arthur said awkwardly, after he'd waited long enough for Merlin to speak, jolting Merlin out of his thoughts. The blankets rustled, and Merlin glanced over at him just in time to see Arthur slip beneath his covers again, the shadows on the blanket shifting with the movement. "Good night, then."

"Good night," Merlin replied, still distracted but willing to let their talk trail off for now. It would be of no use to go around in circles even longer, and of even less use to continue speculating about Morgana. What was done was done, after all, and Merlin didn't particularly want to talk to Arthur about her anyway. He was just trying to set things right between them again, and Morgana had nothing to do with that. He didn't want to be the one who ended up justifying her actions to Arthur just because he happened to have magic too.

He'd thought he could stop haranguing Arthur about magic, he had thought he would be strong enough to back off and let him make his own decisions of what to think and which beliefs to discard. Once more, Merlin wondered about how spectacularly that particular plan was failing. It wasn't like he'd planned to keep getting into snappish discussions about it, but whenever the opportunity presented itself, he could never bring himself to stay away.

All the same, Merlin mused as he settled deeper into his cocoon of blankets, he knew that couldn't change Arthur's stance on magic all by himself. He was Arthur's servant, he'd been his confidant, maybe even his friend. And at the same time, he was just a man—a man with extraordinary power, but a man nonetheless.

But Arthur was just a man, too. And men could change their views, even if kings couldn't, and no matter how often one of them ended up snapping at the other these days, Merlin was unwilling to let go of the hope that Arthur would. They just needed time, and something to keep their minds off of everything at least once in a while—and well, judging from how this quest was going so far, they had both aplenty.

The thought was enough to drain the last of the tension out of Merlin's muscles, and he felt himself sink a little deeper into the mattress. He let his eyes droop shut and fell asleep to the steady sound of Arthur's breathing from the other side of the room.





"You," Merlin said firmly as he strode into the tavern and pointed an accusing finger at Gwaine with the other hand on his hip, "need an attitude adjustment."

"Merlin, my man!" Gwaine exclaimed with a grin, waving him over and accidentally slopping wine on his previously clean tunic in the process. "Come have a drink with me! This wine is really good!"

Merlin pulled a disapproving face, but he still shuffled over to him and plopped down in a chair on the other side of the table. He eyed the remains of the rich breakfast that the innkeeper had laid out for them—bread and cheese, little honey cakes that melted on his tongue, and some of the best smoked ham Gwaine had ever eaten. A plate of freshly-cut salmon completed the picture, dragged out of the river just an hour ago, as the innkeeper had proudly exclaimed.

Gwaine hadn't been all that surprised when he'd come downstairs in the morning to find Arthur, Leon and Lancelot already halfway out the door. Apart from Lancelot's disapproving look, nobody had commented on his lateness, though, and they'd gone outside to prepare the horses for a full day of riding as Gwaine had sat down to help himself to some breakfast. Apparently the innkeeper was as observant as his supply of alcohol was unending, because he'd hurried to Gwaine's side with a pitcher of wine the moment the door had shut behind Arthur and the others.

Now, though, Gwaine was glad to find that he wasn't the only one who'd overslept. Merlin looked better than he had last night—the dark circles under his eyes were gone, and he seemed altogether more alert to his surroundings, if also less jumpy and tense. Gwaine still had no idea what had kept him in such a state of alarm all evening, but he was relieved that Merlin had snapped out of it by now.

"Here, have some," he said jovially, pouring some wine into the empty mug in front of Merlin; Merlin grimaced when his sleeve was drenched in alcohol. "If we're going to venture into the Big, Bad Forest of Secret Sorcery or whatever it's called today, we'll need all the liquid courage we can get."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but ignored the wine as well as the lavish breakfast. He rested his forearms on the table and just looked at Gwaine for a moment, his gaze flickering across his face as though to search for any signs of tiredness or distress. Gwaine simply blinked back at him, wondering if Merlin was indeed nervous about today—he'd just been joking before, but there was nothing like a stiff drink in the morning to calm upset nerves.

"I think we have to talk," Merlin said quietly, and Gwaine gave a sympathetic nod, thinking that he'd been right—at least until Merlin took a deep breath and added, "about the fact that you feel the need to be suicidal."

Gwaine paused in the act of raising another piece of bread to his mouth. Honey dripped down onto his sleeve, and he wiped it off with absent annoyance. That was not what he'd expected to hear, and frankly, he didn't know how else to react except for with confusion.

"Suicidal?" he repeated at last, when Merlin just continued to fix him with that steely look. "I have no idea what you're—"

"The Green Knight," Merlin interrupted, the words bursting out of him as though he'd been holding them back for quite some time—and well, he probably had. "Beltane, the challenge, that's what I'm talking about. Ring any bells?"

Frowning, Gwaine put the bread down to preserve the rest of his shirt and leaned back in his chair. Merlin looked— not angry, not quite, but upset and puzzled at the same time, and to his own surprise, being the reason for that expression made something squirm in his chest. He didn't think anyone had ever looked at him like that before, maybe save for his mother, who'd had her hands full keeping him out of trouble when he had been a child.

"There's no need to worry about me, Merlin," Gwaine told him, doing his best to sound reassuring, in the hopes that it would wipe that look off of Merlin's face. "I knew what I was doing—"

"No need to worry?" Merlin repeated, incredulous and not looking all that much calmer. "You've agreed to a beheading game with a foreign knight, and you're telling me not to worry? He'll kill you! I mean, have you seen that axe?"

"Oh, yes," Gwaine said enthusiastically, welcoming the distraction, but judging from the darkening of Merlin's expression, he didn't approve of the appreciative grin that had broken out across Gwaine's face on its own accord. "A formidable weapon indeed, and heavy, I couldn't have wielded it one-handed—"

"Yes, but think of your head," Merlin insisted, somewhat desperately. He'd shifted forward in his chair, leaning towards Gwaine as though to convince him of the seriousness of the situation by sheer force of will. "It will roll, and then what? You'll be headless!"

Gwaine sighed, and used the moment of silence to stuff the previously neglected piece of bread into his mouth. In a way, he understood Merlin's worry—Merlin wasn't a true knight, no matter how often he'd bravely tagged along on their adventures and done his best to help even without a sword. He didn't understand the challenge of adventure that send a thrill down Gwaine's spine whenever he thought of his promise to the Green Knight, like crisp morning air rousing him to alertness after a good night's sleep.

Something about that thought made him pause, though, and Gwaine suddenly realized that meant he was a true knight—or rather, that he'd grown into it somewhere along the way without noticing. It seemed ironic that that sent a faint stir of alarm through him, rather than the memory of the Green Knight's axe that Merlin had tried to invoke.

He shook his head to dispel the flicker of uncertainty, and swallowed down his mouthful of honeyed bread. "What do you suggest I do, then?" he asked simply, spreading his hands. "Break my word? I think not."

Merlin mumbled something about stupid knights, stupid honor, and prats rubbing off on him, but Gwaine gallantly chose to ignore that. He picked up a piece of salmon, and carefully formed it into a roll before popping it into his mouth. Merlin watched in silence as Gwaine chewed and nodded in appreciation of the taste—after all the months he'd spent at Camelot, it wasn't quite the best salmon he'd ever eaten, but it came close.

"The Green Knight, he—," Merlin begun, and swallowed, dropping his gaze to the table, studying the remains of the huge breakfast, still without any inclination to eat. Hand already raised to take another slice, Gwaine paused. "I don't know how, but— he's magic."

Gwaine grinned easily, relieved when Merlin caught sight of his expression from under his eyelashes and a little of the discomfort left his features. "I'm from Caerleon," Gwaine pointed out; a look around the table revealed that there was still more than enough bread left for both of them, even if Merlin did suddenly remember how hungry he must be.

For the moment, Merlin just blinked at him in confusion, though, obviously not knowing what to make of that statement. Gwaine sighed, long-suffering, and waved an idle hand. "I'm not half as scared of magic as you people in Camelot are," he explained, catching the incredulous look Merlin gave him. "So what if the Green Knight has magic? He also has a formidable axe. And he's a man of honor, he would never resort to sorcery in this game."

Merlin still didn't look reassured, but at least he lifted his head again. His ears had gone slightly red, as though something about the talk of magic made him squirm inside, although Gwaine didn't understand why. "How do you know that?"

"He promised," Gwaine replied, and scooped up a generous amount of butter on his knife before smearing it on another piece of bread.

"Yes, I was there, I remember," Merlin said slowly, after a moment of silence had passed, like he'd wanted to give Gwaine the opportunity to elaborate on that. "But how can you be so sure he'll keep his word?"

Gwaine opened his mouth to answer, already frowning because it was just obvious, but then he realized that he had no idea what to reply. Rationally, he couldn't be sure that the Green Knight would stay true to his promise—he'd met the man only twice, and he'd encountered tangible proof of his magic in every ivy-overgrown house they had seen on their way. If one looked at it from Merlin's point of view, it really did seem like a foolhardy thing to trust somebody who'd let his head get lobbed off, only to calmly pick it back up again as though nothing had happened.

"I don't know," Gwaine stated at last, although he almost wished he'd lied when he saw Merlin's face fall. "I just am."

Sighing deeply, Merlin raked his fingers through his hair like he wanted to clear his thoughts. Gwaine watched him, taking in the tension in his shoulders that he'd missed before—he wondered what had brought this on, if Merlin had lain awake all night worrying about Gwaine's fate. A few days had passed since Beltane, after all, but maybe he'd just been too preoccupied with other thoughts until now—certain blond thoughts, Gwaine suspected.

"Merlin," he said, and put the bread down to reach across the table and put his hand on Merlin's arm. Even through the sleeve of his tunic, he could feel the tension wrought into Merlin's muscles, and he squeezed, trying to reassure him with the touch since he didn't seem to be all that good at it with words. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm rather looking forward to the rest of this adventure, to be honest."

"That's what's bothering me," Merlin muttered, but he gave Gwaine a small smile. It was short-lived and didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Gwaine let go of Merlin's arm to finally pick up the bread he'd buttered, and stuffed it into his mouth in one go, just to see Merlin roll his eyes at him. The whole matter was obviously far from over, but Merlin seemed willing to let it go for the moment—he took a deep breath and shook himself, as though to chase those thoughts away, and eyed the rich breakfast once more, but this time with vague intent.

His eyes were still troubled when he picked up a slice of salmon, but Gwaine seemed to be safe from further scoldings for now; at any rate, he trusted the food to steer the focus of Merlin's attention away from him. He leaned back in his chair and savored the bread, satisfied—but just before Merlin took his first bite of fish, Gwaine thought he heard him mutter something about definitely having to get some help.






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