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Arthur Pendragon smiled, the first time he saw his father quietly conversing with Merlin, after a court council. The second time Arthur saw them conversing, he simply nodded and continued walking down the narrow corridor. The third time, he frowned while leaving the dining hall when the king asked Merlin to stay, after serving dinner. The fourth time, Arthur bit his lip to stifle comment when the king summoned Merlin from the training field to his strategy room. By the sixth, a green-eyed monster called jealousy had reared its ugly head and by the eighth, the creature had leaped to cling heavily upon Arthur’s back.
Feasting on Arthur's emotions, his monster fattened considerably when Arthur delivered harvest numbers to his father’s chambers late one evening. There, of all places, sat Merlin. Even sipping wine with the king, they lounged in royal leather chairs before a blazing fire while quietly conversing, yet again. Obvious to Arthur, the castle's corridors, empty council room and the after-dinner main table were not discreet or time enough for them. Arthur quickly handed his father his grain computations and turned, leaving.
Uther stopped him. “Arthur," he called. "While you were out hunting today, our southern patrol reported troubles on the Plains of Greenwich. Several of our outlying villages have been under recent raider attacks. Gather the knights and clean out that nest of bandits. Prepare to leave at dawn.”
“Yes, father,” he replied, terse in his hurried exit.
Merlin rushed to put down his goblet. Alarmed by the prince's terse departure, he quickly stood. "Sire, perhaps I should be leaving, too," he asked permission.
"Nonsense," he answered, and with a beckon of his hand, waving Merlin to sit back down. “In light of your accomplishments, Arthur can’t afford to rest on his laurels or this so-called destiny that you share will be one-sided. Besides, a little jealousy makes for improvement. Arthur is a grown man, now. He’ll get over it.”
Merlin obeyed but in silent alarm. “Yes, sire,” he said while slowly sitting, again. The king seemed to be placing him above his own son.
Uther resumed their conversations. “I’m most pleased to hear that Nimueh won’t be bothering Camelot, anymore," he announced, relieved. "Perhaps, more than the great dragon. However, I’m sorry to hear of Balinor, since learning the man was your father." He poured them more wine. "Now. What of this mysterious sword, capable of killing the dead?”
Arthur went straight to Morgana. Seeking her company to help lighten his jealous load, he remembered his father’s advice to spend more time with her. He entered her door just as Guinevere was leaving for the evening. They almost collided. His back made rigid by the weight of his monster, he managed to say, "Good night, Guinevere."
She noticed his strained demeanor as she bid him goodnight, too. Concern on her brow, she gazed back at him before she closed the door. As she gazed, Arthur tried to conceal his jealous beast with a casual stroll toward a window. Several seconds, he looked out over the torch-lit square.
Morgana sat at her vanity, leery of his visit. After all, she had tried to have his beloved manservant beheaded. She watched him through her mirror while silently anticipating his wrath.
Arthur forced a playful tone. "How long since we took a horseback ride together," he spoke, in his turn to face her.
“A horseback ride,” she asked, more leery.
"But first, I must away for a while," he said. "Once I return, we should spend more time together. Father explained to me, your um," he stopped and searched for delicate words. "Um, witch-hunt fiasco with Merlin. Jealousy can, indeed, be an ugly and burdensome creature.” He implied his own.
“Jealousy,” she asked, correcting him. “Is that what Uther,” but she suddenly stopped, struck by a second thought. "Perhaps, he was being a bit lenient to describe my feelings," she said. "It was more a rage that Merlin was taking so much of your time from me. Like he’s now doing to you, with your father.”
“So, you’ve noticed them, too," he exclaimed. “Just now, I went to Father's chambers and found Merlin there, big as you please! Having wine, no less! Father has never afforded me that honor! Not in his private chambers!”
Morgana concealed a little triumphant smirk before she goaded him further. “I’ve discovered Merlin there on several occasions, myself, sitting cozily and conversing, as if he’s the future king of Camelot.”
Thoroughly goaded, Arthur paced toward her. “What do you think they discuss," he insisted.
She pretended to be distressed by his question. Lowering her head, she rubbed soothingly across her troubled brow.
“Morgana," he now demanded and moved even closer to comfort her.
“Maybe, I shouldn’t," she said. Still hesitant as if frightened, she slyly yet truthfully admitted, "Uther already made me look the fool when I tried to warn him. Merlin is not what he appears.”
Arthur stepped back and gazed down at her for the longest moment. While gazing, he inadvertently chuckled. "That Merlin is what," he asked, fighting his laughter. "A sorcerer? Who tried to kill you? Twice?" Losing his struggle, he said, "You made yourself look the fool, there.”
Morgana stared up at him in anger. Obvious to her, Arthur was too stupid to see that his own manservant was a warlock. Such stupidity could land her on the same chopping block if he unwittingly repeated her words to Uther. Suddenly frightened by that prospect, she quickly lied. "Perhaps, I did go a bit overboard to stress my point. I was only trying to protect Uther.”
“From Merlin,” he asked, then he outright laughed at her.
“Yes, Merlin,” she yelled, infuriated by his laughter. Infuriated more by his stupidity, she started to rant. “I warn you! Merlin has a secret agenda! Your father’s life is in danger! All our lives are! But you are too stupid to see!”
"Morgana," he tried to calm her.
She would not be calmed. “You have no idea! You, who walk around with your pompous head rammed up your arrogant ass! You, without a clue of what’s transpiring under your very nose and too ignorant to smell the stench surrounding you! You, our big brave prince! Instead, you are the hapless fool! May the gods have mercy on us, all, if you are to become king of Camelot!”
Her words felt like tons to a body already burdened with jealousy. She now heaved incompetence upon his back. Staggered by the added weight, his eyes pleaded to understand her sudden cruelty. Far from the playful banter they once shared, he now saw that his father was right. Morgana had changed tremendously in the year she had been away. Not only had she grown heartless but seemed even sinister.
Morgana suddenly stormed to her door and held it open for him. “You can just leave my chambers, you naïve, silly child!”
“Morgana,” he pleaded with eyes now fraught near to tears.
“Grow up, Arthur,” she snapped and she started tapping her foot for him to leave.
Arthur squared his shoulders. Walking out, he grew determined that she would not see him slump from all the weight. He had come to her for comfort but left feeling persecuted.
Dawn had yet to clear the horizon but the courtyard already bustled with men, horses and wagons, preparing for the Plains of Greenwich. Arthur stood over his desk and dried his face in his morning wash-up. “Merlin,” he said, while trying to sound casual. “We might be away as many as three, four weeks. I know that the armory, kitchens and squires are proficient in their jobs. Still, I want you to check the wagons to ensure that we have adequate supplies.”
“Of course, Arthur,” he answered as he moved about the chambers to pack. He added Arthur’s toiletries to his case logic on the table, already containing several changes of clothing and extra armor.
Arthur tried now to sound captivating. “Fascinating land, the Plains," he said. "An expanse and beauty like no other. I assume that you’ve never been there," he asked.
"No," he answered with a quick glance at his back. He knew that Arthur beat around another topic that practically burrowed a hole in his skull to get out.
In his riveting tone, Arthur described the Plains of Greenwich. "This late in the harvest, a man straddling a horse has been known to disappear in the tall sage. It can be a very treacherous place, too, with soft shifting earth and hidden gorges." The words finally burrowed through his skull and he asked, "Did father tell you what to expect, once we reach the Plains?”
“The king,” he asked, pretending ignorance. However, he had long expected Arthur to ask why he constantly conversed with Uther.
“Yes," he answered, struggling to be casual, again. "Last night, during your chat with father in his chambers?”
“No, um, he didn’t mention the plains."
His back to Merlin, Arthur furrowed, aware that Merlin evaded him. Reduced to asking his manservant his own father's words, he tried to hide the strain on his face created by his cumbersome loads. Overly burdened, his anger rose and he suddenly insisted, “Then, what did father mention?"
“Nothing, in particular.”
“Nothing,” he snapped in his angry turn to face Merlin. “And all of these other conversations, too," he demanded. "Nothing, as well?”
Merlin stared into the case logic. Despite days of contemplation, he saw no choice but to give the only answer that he could conceive. A response that he hoped would lessen Arthur's jealousy. Forcing a smile, Merlin looked at him as he said, “We’ve been discussing you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, um. Since I spend more time with you than your father, he's been asking how you’re doing, like, um, training the guard and settling disputes and commanding the knights and such.” Quickly, he added, "But I keep insisting that I’m not qualified to answer his questions.”
Arthur stared at him but without the relief that Merlin had hoped. "I see," he uttered. “Then, father truly must value your opinion," he concluded. Truth be told, Arthur highly valued it, too.
Merlin tried again to ease his jealousy. “I do spend more time with you than anyone else. I guess that’s what the king is looking at.”
"I guess," he spoke aloud but his thoughts said, "father must find his new son more competent than me and he seeks his counsel even concerning myself." Arthur turned from Merlin and resumed his morning wash. Goaded by his green-eyed monster now feasting on a banquet of inept feelings, he said, “During our travels, you’ll be bringing up the rear to monitor our wagons’ axles.”
Merlin turned, too, and continue to pack. "Yes, Arthur," he said, aware the menial task was designed to separate them. Backs to each other, both cringed from the roar of their silent enemy, now deafening from deep within the chasm that Uther was creating between them.
Five wagons laden with food and supplies for forty men, the platoon made its way to the Plains of Greenwich. Slow and tedious travel, the terrain changed from sloping mountains to rocky hills with rapid rivers then flat lands with softly flowing streams. The first week, Merlin doubted if Arthur spoke six sentences for his ears, alone. Mainly, "that will be all," he said. Arthur insinuated that Merlin leave his tent. Other times, Arthur simply pointed his head toward the exit. A few times, Merlin left on his own to prevent the heartache of being told or pointed to leave.
Another week from village to village to gather information was the same. Once the platoon left the last village, a field of tall sage a mile in width stood between them and Eland’s kingdom. Through the grass the raiders came, the villagers told the knights. At least fifty, on some occasions. Several scouts led the platoon as they left in pursuit.
The sage was as brown as the earth, itself, with only days of life left before it crumbled to its origin. Guiding frightened and blindfolded horses, the scouts missed seeing the enemy, entirely, when suddenly the tall sage began to move all around them. Camouflaged with brown mud in the brown grass, the raiders easily surrounded the platoon. Then, came battle cries and the sounds of clacking steel. All heard; barely seen. Chaos ensued.
Merlin crouched low with his eyes following Arthur through his trail of bent grass. Only glimpses of the prince, Merlin saw him slay four near the battle's perimeter. Three of those, Arthur cut down in rapid succession. Suddenly, Merlin saw Arthur hesitate as if confused.
A blade then flickered in the grass, moving within Arthur's periphery. Through rustic sound and reflex alone, Arthur turned while swinging his own.
Merlin never saw why he swung. Instead, he glimpsed as confusion changed into stark horror on Arthur's face. From his crouch, his golden eyes wielded a sword, killing an enemy approaching Arthur’s side. Then another, approaching his back. All the while, Arthur stood frozen and staring down at the ground in front of him.
What seemed a few moments later, everything went still. The horrid moans of the injured and dying made coarser by the rustic sage was all that could be heard. Strong in number but the raiders had been untrained and ill-equipped. Another half-day was spent dragging bodies from the grass. All, except two. Merlin watched Arthur hastily conceal those two bodies in a small gorge. The rest, they burned in a pile at Eland’s border.
Traveling back to Camelot, Arthur spoke only one sentence to Merlin. One order, which he repeated at least a dozen times. “Leave me be.”
Several days after the Greenwich campaign, Merlin lie awake in his bed recalling the times that Arthur had shoved him, slapped him, doused him with dirty mop water, thrown a tin cup against the back of his head, wielded a blade inches from his neck… However, he drifted to sleep that night with thoughts of how to conceal Arthur’s latest behavior until he could find a solution.
Rising in the early morning, Merlin rushed for his broken piece of mirror with hopes that his face didn’t look as badly as it felt. He suddenly grimaced that it did. The grimace brought pain. “No way to conceal this,” he exhaled, then concocted his best fabrication.
Joining Gaius at the breakfast table, he spoke before the old man had time to say more than, “Merlin!”
“I know it looks bad," he rushed to explain. "And it's why I don’t frequent the tavern. Not when a friend leaves a large debt, there.” He even forced a smile despite his swollen jaw and blackened eye. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“I certainly hope not,” he said with a frown. He then rose to get an ointment. “I’m surprised that you’d allow a fist that close to your face. Let alone, two solid blows,” he inquired, suspiciously.
Quick to contradict him, Merlin countered, “and risk being accused of sorcery, again?” He grabbed an apple for his breakfast and rushed for the door before Gaius could ask more questions. In his rush, he said, “It might not look pretty but at least it’s still attached to my neck.”
“What about the healing salve,” he called, holding out the small jar.
Merlin backtracked, grabbed it under Gaius' suspiciously raised brow then quickly left. He went to the kitchens to fetch Arthur's breakfast. However, he found Arthur already gone and he stood gazing about his empty chambers. Gone, too was Arthur's training armor. Scattered shaving supplies, soapy washbasin water and crumpled hand towels told Merlin that Arthur had valet himself. To dissuade further reproach, Merlin meticulously cleaned his chambers. He then went to thoroughly muck his horses.
A bushy redheaded and freckled-faced stable boy greeted him with endless babble. “Blimey," he said, while staring at the side of Merlin's face. "The prince mentioned that you were under the weather and the reason that you didn’t go on his hunt with him, today. Now, I see what he meant!”
Merlin felt obligated to spin his tavern yawn, again. The sixth time, before noon.
The boy seemed convinced and he added, “Prince Arthur said that he wasn’t expecting you to come to the stables today but if you did, to just fetch his chain mail from the armory, put it back in his quarters and then take some time off. You lucky ducky. He said that he’d send for you when he needed you, again.”
Merlin meticulously mucked the stables, instead, now thoroughly convinced that Arthur was avoiding him.
Ecstatic, astonished or downright frightened, Guinevere didn’t know how she felt, except relief that she had managed an appropriate reply. As she continued down the castle hallway while carrying fresh linen for Morgana’s bed, she dared to glance back.
The king had spoken “good morning” to her, in passing. He even had said, “Guinevere.”
She entered Morgana’s chambers still flabbergasted that Uther could recall her name.
The king failed to notice her shock. His thoughts elsewhere, he continued through the winding corridors of his castle. Moments later, Gaius looked toward his opening door. “Sire. To what do I owe this pleasure,” he asked, surprised, but was beckoned to continue pounding at his mortal and pestle.
Uther appeared in no hurry. He moved slowly about the room, casually noting the numerous medicines. He lifted a yellowish vial and he asked, “This is for?”
“Lady Allenby’s migraines,” he answered with a similar ease, waiting for the king to state his visit.
“I’m not surprised," Uther huffed. "That bloodhound sniffs her nose at every door of my castle. Perhaps, I should be asking her my son’s troubles.”
“Troubles, sire?”
Uther felt grateful that Gaius took the hint. “For several days, now,” he said, cautious to weigh his words. “I was hoping that you, or perhaps Merlin, could shed some light on his strange new behavior.”
“Strange, my lord,” he implied that he expound.
Uther graciously accepted his discretion, as well. “Arthur has been rather short-tempered, of late," he admitted. "I would venture to say, angry. It seems, at the entire world. But my beseeches make matters worse.”
“I’m sure that we can get to the bottom of this,” he reassured Uther while beckoning toward a seat at his eating table. “You said, of late?”
After a brief hesitation, he took the offered bench. Following another hesitation, he slowly resumed. “I first noticed when Arthur returned from the Plains of Greenwich. Raiders from Eland’s kingdom were attacking our outlying villages. I’m sure that Eland’s outrageous taxes were at fault. The man leaves his subjects dirt poor. Still, no justification to attack mine. I instructed Arthur to clean out their nest. Upon his return, he conveyed his success but he's said little else. Each time I inquire, he seems to grow more angry,” he stopped, unwilling to continue.
Gaius leaned toward him with gentle persuasion. “Remember, Uther, I’m your friend.”
He slowly nodded. “And you have been for a long time, now,” he said in a tone of reminisce, then he reflected. “Before, when Arthur attempted to… kill me… it concerned his mother. Now, he raises his fist, ready to strike at me but for no apparent reason.”
“I see.” Gaius imagined but more so Merlin’s face. “And you’re convinced that something occurred on the Greenwich campaign?”
“But Arthur won’t confide.” Uther sounded lost.
“Perhaps, Merlin knows what happened," he suggested. "If so, I think that he’d be more open to my inquiry.”
“I believe you’re right,” he agreed, while remembering how adamantly Merlin had protected Morgana’s secret. Standing to leave, he said, “No matter the hour or circumstance.”
“I’ll come to you, forthwith.”
Uther left with a tinge of hope on his worried brow.
As Gaius resumed work, he looked up at his door, again. “Merlin. Back so soon,” he asked, only moments after Uther left, wondering if their paths had crossed in the hallways. “I thought you’d still be traipsing after Arthur.”
Merlin went straight for a bucket to fetch wash water after the dirty mucking detail. “He gave me some time off,” he offered, casually.
“Because of your tavern brawl,” he asked, playing along.
“Maybe," he evaded, leaving, again.
“Or, maybe it’s Arthur's guilt?”
Merlin stopped with his back to Gaius. Obvious to him, the old man had learned more. Seeking what he knew, he gingerly asked, “why do you say that?”
“It seems, you’re not the only one that Arthur is directing his anger toward.”
Merlin cringed that his fabrication had unraveled so quickly. Turning to face Gaius, he insisted, “Arthur just needs a little more time to work this through. I'll handle it.”
“By the looks of your face, I think that you're not handling it, very well. Uther has much more experience with his son. He should be told.”
“And I will, if I can’t get through to Arthur. Tomorrow,” he promised.
“One more day, Merlin. No longer.”
He nodded while leaving.
A hunting trip that lasted well into the night, Merlin knew that Arthur continued to avoid him. Still filled with determination, Merlin entered his chambers hours before dawn and stood at the foot of his bed.
In the dim moonlight, Arthur woke with a start. “Merlin,” he cried out.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized but he held his ground.
Arthur scowled as he shifted his legs off the bed to sit up. “You better have a damned good explanation for waking me at this hour!" He started rubbing at his face. "What do you want," he insisted.
“The same as before. To talk.”
“Merlin, I’ve told you a dozen times, already! Leave me be!”
“But Arthur, this is eating you up, inside.”
“And what knowledge have you of my insides," he demanded. "You, who confide nothing!"
“Arthur, please! What happened on the Plains was an accident," he said, yet again.
“And one, which I cannot afford!” Arthur ran his rough and nervous hands through his sleep-tousled hair. Unable to face the tragedy, he stood and started to pace beside his bed. Angry and edgy, he demanded, "I need for you to Leave.”
“No.”
He stopped pacing and glared at Merlin. “What did you just say to me!"
“I said, no! Arthur, you have to face what happened in the,” Abruptly, he stopped. His heart leaped to see Arthur pounce the few feet between them. Arthur grabbed him by his jacket, slammed his spine against the bedpost and drew back his fist but bruises shadowed in the moonlight and wide tearing eyes left Arthur trembling, instead. An already battered face was crying out to him, ‘you have done this to me, before.’
Merlin watched the same stark horror that he saw on the Plains of Greenwich envelop Arthur, again. His eyes still tearing, he begged, “Arthur, please, talk to me. Or talk to your father. At least, let me tell him about the Plains.”
"No," he moaned out as he slumped his forehead upon Merlin’s shoulder. “Not father. Not when he already prefers your company and counsel to mine. I could not bear to see myself dwindle further, in his eyes.”
“But Arthur, you've got this all wrong.”
“Do I," he demanded, raising his head. "Then, I ask, again! Explain to me, all of this time that you've spent with father! Explain to me, your endless conversations and even in his private chambers! Explain to me, that he now calls you son.”
No answers that Merlin could give, his thoughts screamed, ‘Damn you, Uther! Damn your oath of secrecy! Your endless questions! Damn you, for placing me above your own son!’ The only words left to him, he apologized, “I’m sorry, Arthur… I’m so sorry…” Desperate to comfort them both, he sought their time-tested method to help ease their pains. Holding Arthur tightly, he started kissing about his cheek while speaking near his ear. “I can't change what happened on the Plains. I would, if I could. But I can't. I’m so sorry…”
Arthur tried to pull from his embrace while swaying his head. “Don't start this, Merlin, if you've not come to me prepared. I fear that I won't be able to stop myself.”
Merlin tightened his hold. “I knew that you'd need me in one way or another,” he whispered, between more kisses. “If not to unburden your mind, then at least your body. I’m prepared.”
To his words, Arthur abandoned all sense of awareness and lost himself completely in Merlin’s reprieve. Each thrust seemed an expulsion of a death from his conscious. Another and another and another, until he appeared to reach two, in particular. Despite all the force and might that he could summon, those two deaths would not expel. Still, he tried, and he tried…
Merlin fought tears to brunt the guilt of those two deaths. He fought tears, to see the twisted face of a soul with no hope of salvation. He fought tears, to hear the grunts of a tormented animal with saliva dripping from its mouth and mucus running from its nose. He fought tears, to watch Arthur break.
Broken, too, he realized, was their time of boyish struggle or playful wrestle, when each vied to claim a cherished prize. Merlin felt them becoming men, now, and on a predestined journey that would strain their last sinews to survive.
When Arthur finally slumped heavily upon his chest, Merlin grimaced under the weight and he struggled to shift them to their sides. He prayed that Arthur quickly would drift to sleep as he turned from him. Covering his mouth with hopes that his trembling body would go undetected, Merlin did cry. He felt that Arthur had used him as a punching bag, once again.
Not, at all, as Merlin had intended or the results he had hoped to obtain, he now knew that Gaius had been right. Uther had more experience with his son. For Arthur's sake, Merlin decided that he would tell his father after dinner, that same night.
Guinevere served dinner to the king, prince and the lady Morgana at the royal supper table. As she worked, she often glanced down at Arthur. Concerned by his silent and strained behavior, she felt that he had been avoiding her. Barely a word had he offered her since returning from the Plains. A single head nod, “Guinevere,” was all that he had mustered each time their paths crossed in the corridors. His tense and angry demeanor left her skeptical of Merlin's tavern tale, as well.
Seated across the dinner table from Arthur, Morgana noted Guinevere's concerned glances at him. Disillusioned by her own status, she spoke offhand, while straightening her lap napkin. “We’re fortunate that Arthur is restricted to bedding his manservant," she uttered, "or we’d have a host of little bastards, running about the castle.”
Guinevere was mortified but she managed to maintain an unfazed face. It didn’t matter. Arthur already had leaped to his feet, leaning, knocking over table settings and grabbing at Morgana. She managed to escape his grasp and slide from her chair just as Uther jumped up shouting, “Arthur! Arthur!”
Still, he stalked alongside the table in hard pursuit with Morgana running for the nearest exit.
Uther suddenly heard a more piercing shout, "Arthur Pendragon!" come from his side.
The tone seemed to grab hold of Arthur and buckle him to his knees. He held the table to keep from slumping completely to the floor, fearful that he was losing consciousness.
Guinevere then rushed and knelt before his face. Seeing it twisted in agony, she pleaded, “Arthur, what’s wrong? What's happening to you?”
“Guinevere, help me. Help me, please,” he begged. Finally, he began to cry. His first tears for the tragedy on the Plains of Greenwich.
“I’m here, Arthur, I’m here,” she assured him. She then pushed out the end chair to sit. Coaxing his head onto her lap, she gently spoke while rubbing his temple. “Everything is going to be alright, Arthur. Everything is going to be alright…”
Uther moved into a distant corner, half hidden behind a pillar, while watching his son cling to her lap. After a while, Arthur started to speak. With her gentle urging, he told her of his horrors on the battlefield. Of how a hat had fallen from a mud-covered enemy he had slain, revealing a woman with long red hair and hazel green eyes. Then, of how he had severed the head of a boy, no more than ten, with matching features, undoubtedly trying to avenge her death. When he finished, his father saw what seemed a separate peace enter his son’s angry and troubled face. Uther conceded that perhaps this is why he will marry this woman, while easing out.
As Arthur sat with his head in her lap and his arms gripped about her waist, Guinevere continued to stroke his temple. For the longest while, she spoke gently to him. “I know that you suffer dearly to first have killed a mother, then, her child," she said. "But I no longer could love you if you did not suffer. For, if you did not suffer, it would mean that you have no humanity."