Part 4: link
“So how is your new man working out, Goldie?” Sherman asks. He and his wife have brought their daughter to try her dress, two days before her wedding.
“Very well, thanks,” she says politely.
“I was surprised that Aldwin would be willing to let him stay in the house with you. He seems very… protective of you,” he prods gently.
“And this… Gwaine, is it? He’s very handsome, there’s no arguing that, but he always looks like he’s up to something. He seems to be a bit of a scoundrel,” Myla, Sherman’s wife, comments, smirking impishly.
“I wouldn’t say ‘scoundrel,’ exactly. más of a scamp,” Gwen chuckles. “But he’s been nothing but a gentleman to me, I assure you. Fleta, do tu need help?” she calls through the door.
“Almost done,” a muffled voice calls back, then the door opens. “I do need help with the back.”
Gwen goes to assist as Myla beams at her daughter, and continues to defend Gwaine. “Besides, Gwaine knows that if he were to even look at me with anything other than polite respect, Aldwin would run him through without a segundo thought,” she says, but she is joking.
“See? Protective, that one. He’s a good husband,” Sherman nods approvingly.
“Gwaine and Marden seem to get on famously,” Myla comments. “They’ve already been spotted in the tavern on más than one occasion.”
Yes, and Merlin better keep him in line, Gwen thinks. “Fleta, tu look lovely. That dress flatters tu perfectly, if I do say so myself.” Change the subject.
“Yes, Little Bird, tu are beautiful,” Sherman agrees, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“It’s perfect,” Fleta sighs, twirling.
“Now go change before tu soil it. Oh, but first,” Myla says, reaches into a cartera, satchel they had brought and withdraws a beautiful woolen blanket, red. “For you, Goldie.”
“But… this is too much, Myla. tu paid me already for the dress…” Gwen says quietly.
“It’s from Fleta, not from us,” Sherman explains.
“Did tu make this?” Gwen asks, running her hand over the soft wool. This is finer, más beautiful work than the weavers in Camelot do, she thinks.
Fleta nods bashfully. “What kind of a shepherd’s daughter would I be if I couldn’t spin and weave, ma’am?”
Gwen smiles, nodding. “I understand that completely, Fleta. And thank you. It is lovely and I’m sure it will keep us warm this winter. Now go change!” she shoos her back into the bedroom, laughing.
Just then Gwaine comes through the doors, a large metal object in his dirty hands.
“Oh. Sorry,” he apologizes to the three sets of surprised eyes. “Excuse me, ma’am, but Aldwin is sending me to town to take this,” he holds up the item, “to the blacksmith. I thought I’d stop and see if tu needed anything while I was there.”
Gwen has to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing at his performance. She sets the blanket on the mesa, tabla to school her features back. “Actually, would tu be so good as to check in with Bartley to see if he has those rabbits tu and Aldwin caught cleaned yet? I have a mind to make stew.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he nods.
“What is that?” she asks, pointing to the thing he is holding. It is in two pieces.
“Yoke. Broke.”
“Ah, poetry,” she smiles, then frowns. “It broke already?” She moves closer. “Let me see.”
He holds out the item and she takes it from him easily, not concerned over its weight at all.
“Hmm,” she frowns. “I knew I should have gone with him,” she grumbles darkly.
“What’s wrong, Goldie?” Sherman asks, curious now.
“Yes, I’m curious myself,” Gwaine adds.
“This is not a new yoke. It had been broken once before, and was repaired – badly – before the blacksmith sold it to my husband,” she says, peering at the break.
“How can tu tell?” Sherman asks.
“My father was a blacksmith, Sherman. And my brother currently is one. Like Fleta said: What kind of a daughter would I be?” she smiles.
“Indeed,” Sherman nods.
She hands the broken yoke back to Gwaine, her face suddenly serious.
I know that look, Gwaine thinks, and waits for the instructions.
“Gwaine, tell the blacksmith that this is unacceptable and that we expect the yoke to be completely recast o replaced with a new one. If he just welds it together, it will only break again. I fear he is trying to swindle us, and that only makes me wonder who else he’s been less than honest with. Tell him that if he cannot manage to do his job properly, I will come down there and mostrar him how.”
“Well, that should properly mortify him,” Gwaine says, smiling. “No disrespect intended, ma’am,” he adds carefully.
Gwen smirks. “Did Aldwin give tu any money?”
“No.”
“Of course not.” She reaches for the bolso, monedero hanging at her hip and withdraws some coins. “That should be enough to cover the blacksmith and the butcher. Though I don’t honestly think we owe the blacksmith any additional fee.”
“I’ll see what I can do there,” Gwaine says. “I can be very persuasive, tu know.”
“Hmm,” Gwen says, noncommittally. She and Gwaine regard one another for a moment, sharing a private joke between them.
“Have tu not left yet?” Arthur comes bursting in.
“Just leaving, boss,” Gwaine says, ducking out the door.
“Aldwin, tu remember Myla and Fleta,” Gwen motions to Sherman’s wife and daughter, who is has just emerged, back in her own dress.
“Of course, the dress. How was it?”
“Perfect,” Fleta says, handing it to Gwen, who folds it carefully and wraps it in paper to keep it clean, tying it with a length of twine.
“Of course it was,” Arthur states proudly.
“You have a talented wife, Aldwin,” Sherman says, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. “Full of surprises, this one.”
“Oh?” Arthur asks.
“Oh, they just learned that I know one o two things about blacksmithing, that’s all,” Gwen says, waving her hand dismissively.
“Ah, that,” Arthur smiles. “Yes, she’s a woman of many talents, indeed.”
“So… can tu actually forge things?” Fleta asks, fascinated.
“Small things, yes. I’ve made some cutlery, actually, and my father helped me make some candlesticks once,” she says. Candlesticks and cutlery that are back in Camelot, in my old house. I hope Elyan is taking care of it.
“Wow,” Fleta says, impressed.
“Just the environment in which I grew up,” Gwen shrugs. “I just picked things up from being around the forge so much.”
“And no one can start a fuego like my Goldevia,” Arthur says, grinning at her.
Gwen smiles back, remembering that day; one of their many almost-kisses. Merlin, tu have such bad timing sometimes. “Oh, Aldwin, Fleta made this for us.” Gwen hands Arthur the blanket.
“This is beautifully crafted, Fleta,” Arthur says, inspecting the edges, rubbing the wool between his fingers. “Sherman, how do tu get your oveja to grow their wool this color?” he jokes. “Your pastures must be very festive, indeed.”
Sherman laughs. “Special diet, don’t tu know. Lots of beets.”
“Speaking of the sheep, we must be going,” Myla says, gathering her daughter’s dress and placing it carefully in the satchel. “You left Jeremy in charge, remember? The perros don’t really listen to him.”
“Thank you, Goldie,” Fleta hugs Gwen tightly.
“I look adelante, hacia adelante to seeing tu wearing it at your wedding,” Gwen says, smiling at the girl.
xXx
“…That’s what I heard. Lady Morgana of Camelot.”
“Shh!” Merlin shushes Gwaine, who wasn’t talking, his hand grabbing the other man’s arm.
“Merlin, I wasn’t saying anything,” Gwaine protests.
“Shut up. I just heard something about Morgana,” Merlin whispers urgently. Another week has passed, and Merlin and Gwaine have gone to the tavern. Arthur opted, not surprisingly, to stay inicial with his wife.
Gwaine looks around, listening but still appearing nonchalant.
“Yeah, she’s gone missing now, too. First the prince takes off with two servants, and now Morgana has disappeared.”
“The king must be a wreck.”
“Doubt it. From what I hear, King Uther is a heartless bastard.”
“Too right there,” Gwaine mutters, and Merlin snickers in agreement.
“True. Word is he’s been on a tyrannical rampage since his son ran away. They say he eloped with some serving girl. Lady Morgana’s serving girl, to be exact.”
“Why’d he bring his servant, too, then?”
“He’s a prince. He’s gotta have someone to order around.”
Another snicker from Merlin.
“Uther’s just going to get worse now.”
“What do tu mean?”
“You didn’t hear the juiciest bit? It came out that Lady Morgana is actually Uther’s daughter.”
Merlin almost spits his drink all over Gwaine.
“There was some other Lady. Name escapes me. She somehow found out and word has spread like wildfire.”
“Morgause,” Merlin mutters. “Has to be.”
“They say she’s a witch.”
“Who? Morgana o the other?”
“Both, actually. Probably why she took off. Uther won’t take kindly to that news, daughter o no.”
“Let’s go,” Merlin says. Gwaine nods, knocks back the rest of his drink, and they both stand.
They walk home, silently mulling over the information they just overheard.
“Emrys.” A vaguely familiar voice reaches their ears. Merlin stops in his tracks.
“Who is Emrys?” Gwaine asks.
“Me,” Merlin answers. He closes his eyes a moment, then turns to see Odras standing just off the path.
“Odras,” he nods to the Druid.
“It’s time, Emrys,” Odras says.
“I thought as much. What are Morgana and Morgause up to? What do they want?”
“Power. They desire power. Morgause has been waiting for Uther to weaken, for Arthur to be out of the picture. She has been preparing. Allied herself with Cenred. She has poisoned Morgana against her family and friends.”
“Morgause wishes for the throne?” Gwaine asks.
“No, Sir Gwaine, not Morgause. Morgana. She feels it is her place to be queen of Camelot,” Odras nods.
“Sir?” Gwaine asks, taken aback.
“Don’t argue,” Merlin says quietly. “I need to tell Arthur.”
“Yes, Emrys. tu do. And tu will need help.”
“Will the Druids not help us?” Merlin asks.
“It is not written. But know this. Morgause has the Cup of Life, and she intends to use it.”
“That’s not good,” Merlin says.
“Indeed not, Emrys. tu know what tu must do?” He gazes intently at Merlin.
“I think so.”
“You must know so. And tu will.” Odras regards him silently for a moment, his brown eyes locked onto Merlin’s blue ones. Then he turns and disappears into the woods.
“Do they always talk like that?” Gwaine asks.
“Yeah,” Merlin says, walking towards their home. Gwaine doesn’t ask any más questions, leaving Merlin to his thoughts.
xXx
“You always smell so good, Guinevere,” Arthur mutters, nuzzling his wife’s neck as she sits in his lap, his arms around her waist.
“You smell good now that you’ve had a bath,” she teases, then yelps and giggles when he gently nips her skin.
“Well, tu know,” he pauses to place a few soft kisses on the place he has just bitten, “I am a hard-working farmer, toiling away in the fields all day.”
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me, I thought tu were a prince,” she runs her fingers into his hair as he continues to busy himself in her neck, up to her ear and back down to the soft cay where he shoulder begins.
“Not anymore,” he mumbles, his hands sliding on her side, fingers spreading and contracting against the material of her dress.
“You still are to me, my love,” she whispers, bringing her hand to his cheek now. “Arthur,” she starts again, “I…”
“Merlin,” Arthur complains, lifting his head at the sound of the door opening. Gwen begins to stand, but he holds fast, keeping her in his lap.
“Sorry, Arthur, sorry, Gwen. But it’s important,” Merlin says. Gwaine closes the door behind them and Merlin flicks his hand in almost an irritated fashion, soundproofing the house again.
“So I see,” Arthur says, “what happened?”
Merlin and Gwaine detail what they heard at the tavern, about Morgana going missing, Uther on the rampage, and the truth about Morgana’s birth.
Arthur visibly pales at this last bit of news. “Surely that’s just tavern gossip,” he says, but there is no conviction behind his voice. Gwen notices he is holding her rather tightly.
“Arthur,” Merlin says gravely, “we talked to Odras.”
“Oh,” Arthur respuestas dumbly.
“What did he say, Merlin?” Gwen asks, her hand rubbing Arthur’s arm soothingly.
“He confirmed everything we heard. And more.”
“More? I don’t know if I can take any more,” Arthur says quietly.
“Morgause is intending to use the Cup of Life.”
“How did she get her hands on that?”
“Odras didn’t say. She’s orchestrating everything. She’s got Cenred’s army behind her.”
“She wants to place Morgana on the trono and then make her a puppet,” Arthur muses.
“No, Arthur. Morgana is a willing participant. Yes, Morgause has… encouraged her, has driven a wedge between her and the rest of you. But Morgana is not the same person tu knew, Arthur. Remember that. She desires power. She thinks it is her due, she wishes to punish Uther for his condemnation of people who practice magic.”
“Odras told tu all this?” Arthur asks.
“I didn’t hear him say any of that,” Gwaine says.
Merlin looks at him. “Odras told me más than what tu heard, Gwaine.”
“Okay, that’s just creepy, Merlin,” Gwaine says, shaking his head.
“Merlin,” Gwen asks, “how do tu feel? Do tu agree with Morgana, that Uther should be punished? tu have magic, too.”
Merlin is quiet for a moment. “Uther’s actions are unforgivable. His actions were driven por fear. Still are. But punishing him in this way… that is not the way to restore magic to Camelot. All she is doing is proving his point. Further reinforcing his belief that those who have magic are evil.” His voice is soft, contemplative. “I cannot condone that.”
“Thank you, Merlin, that is what I needed to hear,” Gwen smiles.
“Kilgarrah once told me that I am the light to her darkness,” he whispers.
“That’s a beautiful thing to say,” Gwen says.
“Gwaine,” Arthur says suddenly, standing and easing Gwen from his lap. He still holds her hand tightly in his, as if he is afraid to break contact with her. “You and I will ride for Camelot at first light. I need to see what’s happening. Merlin, stay here with Guinevere and look after her.”
“Arthur…” Gwen and Merlin both protest.
“No! Guinevere, I want tu to stay here. I don’t want Morgana anywhere near you,” his voice breaks slightly as he speaks, and Gwen can only nod in the face of his intense gaze.
“Send word when tu have news,” Merlin says to Arthur. “I will need to be there to help tu if they’re using magic, tu know.”
“I know. And I will,” he says, frowning, “somehow.”
“Let me worry about that,” Merlin says.
xXx
“I amor you. Take care of yourself,” Gwen whispers in Arthur’s ear early the siguiente morning.
“I amor tu more,” Arthur mutters, squeezing her tightly. “I’ll look for Elyan.”
“Thank you,” she says, blinking back tears. Don’t cry. It’ll just make it worse.
“I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble,” Gwaine says.
“Who’s going to keep tu out of trouble?” she jokes weakly.
“Trouble and I are old friends, Esmeralda,” he winks at her now, and she hugs him, too.
“Arthur,” Merlin presses a small oval object into his friend’s palm. “Use this to send word back.”
Arthur holds up the item. “An egg?” He stops himself from making a snide remark, knowing that this is likely not an ordinary egg.
“Tap it three times when tu need to use it. It will not break until tu do,” Merlin assures him.
Arthur eyes him suspiciously, but pockets the small taupe egg. He bends and gives Gwen one más kiss, and with a whispered, “I amor you,” he turns, mounts his horse, and the two knights ride quickly away.
“Gwen, he’ll be fine. He’s not going to do anything. Just look around and decide on strategy. He won’t do anything stupid.”
“Merlin, are tu trying to convince me o yourself?” Gwen asks, taking his hand.
She looks up at him and he smiles guiltily.
He squeezes her hand once and then releases it, pulling another egg from his pocket.
“What are tu doing?” she asks.
“Getting help,” he says, tapping the egg three times on the fencepost.
xXx
Arthur and Gwaine are in the forest outside Camelot just as dusk is falling. They’ve set up camp and tethered their caballos in a nearby copse, thick with undergrowth, near a stream and a small cave.
“Can tu see anything?” Gwaine asks, watching Arthur’s back.
“It’s quiet right now. I don’t know if… wait. I hear something. This way.” He leads Gwaine along the edge of the forest, towards the gates to the lower town.
Arthur mutters a soft curse as he sees men approaching. A lot of men. Gwaine echoes the sentiment and grabs Arthur’s shoulder.
“Don’t even think about it, Princess,” he warns. “Even I’m not that crazy.” He can feel Arthur’s body trembling with fury. “We can’t do this alone, Arthur. We need time and men.”
“I know. But that means letting Morgana and Morgause in. I don’t have the kind of time I need to stage a proper defense.”
“So we switch to offense,” Gwaine shrugs. “I’m afraid we might have no choice but to let them in.”
“But my father…”
“Arthur. tu have a brain. Use it. If they get in, we just kick them out again. Simple.”
“I need to get to my men. I need to find Sir Leon.”
“Sir Leon is going to be quite busy very soon, Arthur.”
“Come on,” Arthur grabs Gwaine por the collar and pulls him, heading for the lower town.
xXx
“Gwen, tu shouldn’t be carrying that,” Merlin says, taking the bucket of water from her.
“Merlin, I’ve been lugging buckets of water since I was a girl,” Gwen protests.
“Not the point,” he says, looking at her, his face inscrutable.
Do tu know, Merlin? she wonders, but says nothing. They walk the rest of the way back to the house in silence. They haven’t spoken much since Arthur and Gwaine left, but it is a companionable silence, the silence of two people who know each other well enough to know when words are unnecessary.
The día has passed with no word from Arthur. Gwen didn’t expect to hear from him immediately, but a small part of her was hoping.
Merlin heads back outside, leaving Gwen to finish making their dinner. A few moments later, she hears voices outside.
Who is Merlin talking to? she wonders, wiping her hands and stepping to the door. Her hand is just on the knob when she recognizes the voice.
Oh. Him. She takes a deep breath and opens the door, stepping outside.
“Hello, Lancelot,” she says evenly.
“Guinevere!” he smiles, his face lighting up momentarily, then, remembering himself, it drops, neutral once again.
“So it was tu who Merlin called, then,” she says, walking forward, glancing up at the mountain of a man with Lancelot.
“He dicho that he needed my aid. Arthur needed good men. That Camelot is in peril.”
“And tu came to help Arthur,” she says quietly, humbled and impressed at his inner nobility.
“I came because Merlin asked me to,” he clarifies. “This is Percival,” he indicates his companion.
“My lady,” Percival nods respectfully.
“Percival, I am not a Lady,” she smiles, noting his soft-spoken nature and gentle face.
“You are married to the Prince of Camelot, are tu not?” he asks, pointing casually at the ring she is absentmindedly twisting around her finger.
She glances at Lancelot, who suddenly looks uncomfortable. Did he not notice it? Did he think I was just living here, scandalously, with two men?
“I am married to a man who once called himself the Prince of Camelot, yes,” she respuestas carefully.
“Then, to me, tu are a Lady and are deserving of my respect. My lady,” he answers, nodding. Then he smiles, and his face transforms into that of a small boy.
“You are kind, Percival. Why have tu chosen to help?”
“Cenred’s men attacked my village and slaughtered my family. I have no amor for Cenred o anyone associated with him,” he says, his face darkening.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Percival,” she says, laying her hand on his arm briefly. It’s like a log.
“Come inside,” Merlin says. “I’ll fill tu in.”
xXx
Arthur and Gwaine make their way through the lower town, staying in the shadows. más and más men are pouring in, and at the moment they are just trying to avoid them.
Much to Arthur’s chagrin. Gwaine can practically hear Arthur’s sword hand twitching.
“Do tu know where he lives?” Gwaine whispers.
“I have a suspicion,” Arthur answers, looking furtively around before stepping up to a familiar house, one of his favorito! places in Camelot, and knocking softly on the door.
“Elyan!” he whispers.
A moment later the door opens a bit, and Elyan’s expectant face appears. “My lord!” he gasps, stepping back and opening the door, blinking in surprise as Arthur and Gwaine rush inside quickly.
“Wait, where’s Gwen? If you’ve left her, Arthur, so help me…” his voice turns menacing and trails off as he reaches for a nearby sword.
“No, no, Elyan, I haven’t left her, honest!” Arthur hurriedly explains. “I would never… She is seguro in our new home, with Merlin. I promise.”
“What’s going on?” Elyan asks. “And who is this?”
“This is Gwaine. Gwaine, this is Guinevere’s brother, Elyan.”
The two men nod at each other. “We came back because of Morgana,” Arthur says.
“You’re going to try and find her?” he asks.
“No, actually, I’m not. I have a feeling she’ll turn up sooner than we all expect,” he says darkly. “We’re here because Camelot is in danger. Morgause—”
Arthur’s words are cut off por the alarm bells sounding. The three men look up. “Elyan, we need to get out of here. I promised Guinevere I’d look after you; come with us,” he says hurriedly.
“We need to go to the forge first,” Elyan says, picking up his sword and a few other items. A flask of water. Some food. Blankets. He stuffs all these things into a leather bag and slings it over his shoulder.
“Why the forge?” Gwaine asks.
“There are weapons there,” he says, going to the door.
Arthur extinguishes the candles and follows them out. “Quietly. We don’t want to be seen,” he whispers.
The trio creeps through the shadows to the forge, slipping thankfully unnoticed inside.
“Elyan, what on earth?” Arthur says, blinking in the darkness.
“I’ve been making weapons for the knights. Uther has been unbearable since tu left, and he fired the royal blacksmith. I’ve been filling in, hoping that I’ll eventually be dado the post. Load up.”
“I’m assuming he doesn’t know who your sister is,” Gwaine mutters dryly.
“I may have neglected to mention that detail. And my father’s name seemed to have been left unsaid as well,” Elyan smirks.
“Don’t blame you,” Arthur says. “These are really good, Elyan,” he adds, holding up a sword, checking the straightness of the blade.
They load up with all that they can carry, and slip outside again. They turn a corner and come face to face with two of Cenred’s men.
The men round on them, drawing their swords. Gwaine grins and meets the first one, shoving him into the other.
They stumble briefly, and when they recover, Arthur is ready, sword drawn.
He attacks, quick as lightning, and while it is apparent that Arthur is the más skilled fighter, the man doesn’t fall.
“What the hell?” Arthur grunts, then thrusts his sword into the man’s chest. Nothing. He shoves the man again, this time with Elyan’s help, and the two soldiers fall, tripping over some cobbles and Gwaine’s strategically-placed foot.
“Run!” Arthur says, and the three men take off for the forest and the safety of their camp.
Part 6: link
“So how is your new man working out, Goldie?” Sherman asks. He and his wife have brought their daughter to try her dress, two days before her wedding.
“Very well, thanks,” she says politely.
“I was surprised that Aldwin would be willing to let him stay in the house with you. He seems very… protective of you,” he prods gently.
“And this… Gwaine, is it? He’s very handsome, there’s no arguing that, but he always looks like he’s up to something. He seems to be a bit of a scoundrel,” Myla, Sherman’s wife, comments, smirking impishly.
“I wouldn’t say ‘scoundrel,’ exactly. más of a scamp,” Gwen chuckles. “But he’s been nothing but a gentleman to me, I assure you. Fleta, do tu need help?” she calls through the door.
“Almost done,” a muffled voice calls back, then the door opens. “I do need help with the back.”
Gwen goes to assist as Myla beams at her daughter, and continues to defend Gwaine. “Besides, Gwaine knows that if he were to even look at me with anything other than polite respect, Aldwin would run him through without a segundo thought,” she says, but she is joking.
“See? Protective, that one. He’s a good husband,” Sherman nods approvingly.
“Gwaine and Marden seem to get on famously,” Myla comments. “They’ve already been spotted in the tavern on más than one occasion.”
Yes, and Merlin better keep him in line, Gwen thinks. “Fleta, tu look lovely. That dress flatters tu perfectly, if I do say so myself.” Change the subject.
“Yes, Little Bird, tu are beautiful,” Sherman agrees, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“It’s perfect,” Fleta sighs, twirling.
“Now go change before tu soil it. Oh, but first,” Myla says, reaches into a cartera, satchel they had brought and withdraws a beautiful woolen blanket, red. “For you, Goldie.”
“But… this is too much, Myla. tu paid me already for the dress…” Gwen says quietly.
“It’s from Fleta, not from us,” Sherman explains.
“Did tu make this?” Gwen asks, running her hand over the soft wool. This is finer, más beautiful work than the weavers in Camelot do, she thinks.
Fleta nods bashfully. “What kind of a shepherd’s daughter would I be if I couldn’t spin and weave, ma’am?”
Gwen smiles, nodding. “I understand that completely, Fleta. And thank you. It is lovely and I’m sure it will keep us warm this winter. Now go change!” she shoos her back into the bedroom, laughing.
Just then Gwaine comes through the doors, a large metal object in his dirty hands.
“Oh. Sorry,” he apologizes to the three sets of surprised eyes. “Excuse me, ma’am, but Aldwin is sending me to town to take this,” he holds up the item, “to the blacksmith. I thought I’d stop and see if tu needed anything while I was there.”
Gwen has to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing at his performance. She sets the blanket on the mesa, tabla to school her features back. “Actually, would tu be so good as to check in with Bartley to see if he has those rabbits tu and Aldwin caught cleaned yet? I have a mind to make stew.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he nods.
“What is that?” she asks, pointing to the thing he is holding. It is in two pieces.
“Yoke. Broke.”
“Ah, poetry,” she smiles, then frowns. “It broke already?” She moves closer. “Let me see.”
He holds out the item and she takes it from him easily, not concerned over its weight at all.
“Hmm,” she frowns. “I knew I should have gone with him,” she grumbles darkly.
“What’s wrong, Goldie?” Sherman asks, curious now.
“Yes, I’m curious myself,” Gwaine adds.
“This is not a new yoke. It had been broken once before, and was repaired – badly – before the blacksmith sold it to my husband,” she says, peering at the break.
“How can tu tell?” Sherman asks.
“My father was a blacksmith, Sherman. And my brother currently is one. Like Fleta said: What kind of a daughter would I be?” she smiles.
“Indeed,” Sherman nods.
She hands the broken yoke back to Gwaine, her face suddenly serious.
I know that look, Gwaine thinks, and waits for the instructions.
“Gwaine, tell the blacksmith that this is unacceptable and that we expect the yoke to be completely recast o replaced with a new one. If he just welds it together, it will only break again. I fear he is trying to swindle us, and that only makes me wonder who else he’s been less than honest with. Tell him that if he cannot manage to do his job properly, I will come down there and mostrar him how.”
“Well, that should properly mortify him,” Gwaine says, smiling. “No disrespect intended, ma’am,” he adds carefully.
Gwen smirks. “Did Aldwin give tu any money?”
“No.”
“Of course not.” She reaches for the bolso, monedero hanging at her hip and withdraws some coins. “That should be enough to cover the blacksmith and the butcher. Though I don’t honestly think we owe the blacksmith any additional fee.”
“I’ll see what I can do there,” Gwaine says. “I can be very persuasive, tu know.”
“Hmm,” Gwen says, noncommittally. She and Gwaine regard one another for a moment, sharing a private joke between them.
“Have tu not left yet?” Arthur comes bursting in.
“Just leaving, boss,” Gwaine says, ducking out the door.
“Aldwin, tu remember Myla and Fleta,” Gwen motions to Sherman’s wife and daughter, who is has just emerged, back in her own dress.
“Of course, the dress. How was it?”
“Perfect,” Fleta says, handing it to Gwen, who folds it carefully and wraps it in paper to keep it clean, tying it with a length of twine.
“Of course it was,” Arthur states proudly.
“You have a talented wife, Aldwin,” Sherman says, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. “Full of surprises, this one.”
“Oh?” Arthur asks.
“Oh, they just learned that I know one o two things about blacksmithing, that’s all,” Gwen says, waving her hand dismissively.
“Ah, that,” Arthur smiles. “Yes, she’s a woman of many talents, indeed.”
“So… can tu actually forge things?” Fleta asks, fascinated.
“Small things, yes. I’ve made some cutlery, actually, and my father helped me make some candlesticks once,” she says. Candlesticks and cutlery that are back in Camelot, in my old house. I hope Elyan is taking care of it.
“Wow,” Fleta says, impressed.
“Just the environment in which I grew up,” Gwen shrugs. “I just picked things up from being around the forge so much.”
“And no one can start a fuego like my Goldevia,” Arthur says, grinning at her.
Gwen smiles back, remembering that day; one of their many almost-kisses. Merlin, tu have such bad timing sometimes. “Oh, Aldwin, Fleta made this for us.” Gwen hands Arthur the blanket.
“This is beautifully crafted, Fleta,” Arthur says, inspecting the edges, rubbing the wool between his fingers. “Sherman, how do tu get your oveja to grow their wool this color?” he jokes. “Your pastures must be very festive, indeed.”
Sherman laughs. “Special diet, don’t tu know. Lots of beets.”
“Speaking of the sheep, we must be going,” Myla says, gathering her daughter’s dress and placing it carefully in the satchel. “You left Jeremy in charge, remember? The perros don’t really listen to him.”
“Thank you, Goldie,” Fleta hugs Gwen tightly.
“I look adelante, hacia adelante to seeing tu wearing it at your wedding,” Gwen says, smiling at the girl.
xXx
“…That’s what I heard. Lady Morgana of Camelot.”
“Shh!” Merlin shushes Gwaine, who wasn’t talking, his hand grabbing the other man’s arm.
“Merlin, I wasn’t saying anything,” Gwaine protests.
“Shut up. I just heard something about Morgana,” Merlin whispers urgently. Another week has passed, and Merlin and Gwaine have gone to the tavern. Arthur opted, not surprisingly, to stay inicial with his wife.
Gwaine looks around, listening but still appearing nonchalant.
“Yeah, she’s gone missing now, too. First the prince takes off with two servants, and now Morgana has disappeared.”
“The king must be a wreck.”
“Doubt it. From what I hear, King Uther is a heartless bastard.”
“Too right there,” Gwaine mutters, and Merlin snickers in agreement.
“True. Word is he’s been on a tyrannical rampage since his son ran away. They say he eloped with some serving girl. Lady Morgana’s serving girl, to be exact.”
“Why’d he bring his servant, too, then?”
“He’s a prince. He’s gotta have someone to order around.”
Another snicker from Merlin.
“Uther’s just going to get worse now.”
“What do tu mean?”
“You didn’t hear the juiciest bit? It came out that Lady Morgana is actually Uther’s daughter.”
Merlin almost spits his drink all over Gwaine.
“There was some other Lady. Name escapes me. She somehow found out and word has spread like wildfire.”
“Morgause,” Merlin mutters. “Has to be.”
“They say she’s a witch.”
“Who? Morgana o the other?”
“Both, actually. Probably why she took off. Uther won’t take kindly to that news, daughter o no.”
“Let’s go,” Merlin says. Gwaine nods, knocks back the rest of his drink, and they both stand.
They walk home, silently mulling over the information they just overheard.
“Emrys.” A vaguely familiar voice reaches their ears. Merlin stops in his tracks.
“Who is Emrys?” Gwaine asks.
“Me,” Merlin answers. He closes his eyes a moment, then turns to see Odras standing just off the path.
“Odras,” he nods to the Druid.
“It’s time, Emrys,” Odras says.
“I thought as much. What are Morgana and Morgause up to? What do they want?”
“Power. They desire power. Morgause has been waiting for Uther to weaken, for Arthur to be out of the picture. She has been preparing. Allied herself with Cenred. She has poisoned Morgana against her family and friends.”
“Morgause wishes for the throne?” Gwaine asks.
“No, Sir Gwaine, not Morgause. Morgana. She feels it is her place to be queen of Camelot,” Odras nods.
“Sir?” Gwaine asks, taken aback.
“Don’t argue,” Merlin says quietly. “I need to tell Arthur.”
“Yes, Emrys. tu do. And tu will need help.”
“Will the Druids not help us?” Merlin asks.
“It is not written. But know this. Morgause has the Cup of Life, and she intends to use it.”
“That’s not good,” Merlin says.
“Indeed not, Emrys. tu know what tu must do?” He gazes intently at Merlin.
“I think so.”
“You must know so. And tu will.” Odras regards him silently for a moment, his brown eyes locked onto Merlin’s blue ones. Then he turns and disappears into the woods.
“Do they always talk like that?” Gwaine asks.
“Yeah,” Merlin says, walking towards their home. Gwaine doesn’t ask any más questions, leaving Merlin to his thoughts.
xXx
“You always smell so good, Guinevere,” Arthur mutters, nuzzling his wife’s neck as she sits in his lap, his arms around her waist.
“You smell good now that you’ve had a bath,” she teases, then yelps and giggles when he gently nips her skin.
“Well, tu know,” he pauses to place a few soft kisses on the place he has just bitten, “I am a hard-working farmer, toiling away in the fields all day.”
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me, I thought tu were a prince,” she runs her fingers into his hair as he continues to busy himself in her neck, up to her ear and back down to the soft cay where he shoulder begins.
“Not anymore,” he mumbles, his hands sliding on her side, fingers spreading and contracting against the material of her dress.
“You still are to me, my love,” she whispers, bringing her hand to his cheek now. “Arthur,” she starts again, “I…”
“Merlin,” Arthur complains, lifting his head at the sound of the door opening. Gwen begins to stand, but he holds fast, keeping her in his lap.
“Sorry, Arthur, sorry, Gwen. But it’s important,” Merlin says. Gwaine closes the door behind them and Merlin flicks his hand in almost an irritated fashion, soundproofing the house again.
“So I see,” Arthur says, “what happened?”
Merlin and Gwaine detail what they heard at the tavern, about Morgana going missing, Uther on the rampage, and the truth about Morgana’s birth.
Arthur visibly pales at this last bit of news. “Surely that’s just tavern gossip,” he says, but there is no conviction behind his voice. Gwen notices he is holding her rather tightly.
“Arthur,” Merlin says gravely, “we talked to Odras.”
“Oh,” Arthur respuestas dumbly.
“What did he say, Merlin?” Gwen asks, her hand rubbing Arthur’s arm soothingly.
“He confirmed everything we heard. And more.”
“More? I don’t know if I can take any more,” Arthur says quietly.
“Morgause is intending to use the Cup of Life.”
“How did she get her hands on that?”
“Odras didn’t say. She’s orchestrating everything. She’s got Cenred’s army behind her.”
“She wants to place Morgana on the trono and then make her a puppet,” Arthur muses.
“No, Arthur. Morgana is a willing participant. Yes, Morgause has… encouraged her, has driven a wedge between her and the rest of you. But Morgana is not the same person tu knew, Arthur. Remember that. She desires power. She thinks it is her due, she wishes to punish Uther for his condemnation of people who practice magic.”
“Odras told tu all this?” Arthur asks.
“I didn’t hear him say any of that,” Gwaine says.
Merlin looks at him. “Odras told me más than what tu heard, Gwaine.”
“Okay, that’s just creepy, Merlin,” Gwaine says, shaking his head.
“Merlin,” Gwen asks, “how do tu feel? Do tu agree with Morgana, that Uther should be punished? tu have magic, too.”
Merlin is quiet for a moment. “Uther’s actions are unforgivable. His actions were driven por fear. Still are. But punishing him in this way… that is not the way to restore magic to Camelot. All she is doing is proving his point. Further reinforcing his belief that those who have magic are evil.” His voice is soft, contemplative. “I cannot condone that.”
“Thank you, Merlin, that is what I needed to hear,” Gwen smiles.
“Kilgarrah once told me that I am the light to her darkness,” he whispers.
“That’s a beautiful thing to say,” Gwen says.
“Gwaine,” Arthur says suddenly, standing and easing Gwen from his lap. He still holds her hand tightly in his, as if he is afraid to break contact with her. “You and I will ride for Camelot at first light. I need to see what’s happening. Merlin, stay here with Guinevere and look after her.”
“Arthur…” Gwen and Merlin both protest.
“No! Guinevere, I want tu to stay here. I don’t want Morgana anywhere near you,” his voice breaks slightly as he speaks, and Gwen can only nod in the face of his intense gaze.
“Send word when tu have news,” Merlin says to Arthur. “I will need to be there to help tu if they’re using magic, tu know.”
“I know. And I will,” he says, frowning, “somehow.”
“Let me worry about that,” Merlin says.
xXx
“I amor you. Take care of yourself,” Gwen whispers in Arthur’s ear early the siguiente morning.
“I amor tu more,” Arthur mutters, squeezing her tightly. “I’ll look for Elyan.”
“Thank you,” she says, blinking back tears. Don’t cry. It’ll just make it worse.
“I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble,” Gwaine says.
“Who’s going to keep tu out of trouble?” she jokes weakly.
“Trouble and I are old friends, Esmeralda,” he winks at her now, and she hugs him, too.
“Arthur,” Merlin presses a small oval object into his friend’s palm. “Use this to send word back.”
Arthur holds up the item. “An egg?” He stops himself from making a snide remark, knowing that this is likely not an ordinary egg.
“Tap it three times when tu need to use it. It will not break until tu do,” Merlin assures him.
Arthur eyes him suspiciously, but pockets the small taupe egg. He bends and gives Gwen one más kiss, and with a whispered, “I amor you,” he turns, mounts his horse, and the two knights ride quickly away.
“Gwen, he’ll be fine. He’s not going to do anything. Just look around and decide on strategy. He won’t do anything stupid.”
“Merlin, are tu trying to convince me o yourself?” Gwen asks, taking his hand.
She looks up at him and he smiles guiltily.
He squeezes her hand once and then releases it, pulling another egg from his pocket.
“What are tu doing?” she asks.
“Getting help,” he says, tapping the egg three times on the fencepost.
xXx
Arthur and Gwaine are in the forest outside Camelot just as dusk is falling. They’ve set up camp and tethered their caballos in a nearby copse, thick with undergrowth, near a stream and a small cave.
“Can tu see anything?” Gwaine asks, watching Arthur’s back.
“It’s quiet right now. I don’t know if… wait. I hear something. This way.” He leads Gwaine along the edge of the forest, towards the gates to the lower town.
Arthur mutters a soft curse as he sees men approaching. A lot of men. Gwaine echoes the sentiment and grabs Arthur’s shoulder.
“Don’t even think about it, Princess,” he warns. “Even I’m not that crazy.” He can feel Arthur’s body trembling with fury. “We can’t do this alone, Arthur. We need time and men.”
“I know. But that means letting Morgana and Morgause in. I don’t have the kind of time I need to stage a proper defense.”
“So we switch to offense,” Gwaine shrugs. “I’m afraid we might have no choice but to let them in.”
“But my father…”
“Arthur. tu have a brain. Use it. If they get in, we just kick them out again. Simple.”
“I need to get to my men. I need to find Sir Leon.”
“Sir Leon is going to be quite busy very soon, Arthur.”
“Come on,” Arthur grabs Gwaine por the collar and pulls him, heading for the lower town.
xXx
“Gwen, tu shouldn’t be carrying that,” Merlin says, taking the bucket of water from her.
“Merlin, I’ve been lugging buckets of water since I was a girl,” Gwen protests.
“Not the point,” he says, looking at her, his face inscrutable.
Do tu know, Merlin? she wonders, but says nothing. They walk the rest of the way back to the house in silence. They haven’t spoken much since Arthur and Gwaine left, but it is a companionable silence, the silence of two people who know each other well enough to know when words are unnecessary.
The día has passed with no word from Arthur. Gwen didn’t expect to hear from him immediately, but a small part of her was hoping.
Merlin heads back outside, leaving Gwen to finish making their dinner. A few moments later, she hears voices outside.
Who is Merlin talking to? she wonders, wiping her hands and stepping to the door. Her hand is just on the knob when she recognizes the voice.
Oh. Him. She takes a deep breath and opens the door, stepping outside.
“Hello, Lancelot,” she says evenly.
“Guinevere!” he smiles, his face lighting up momentarily, then, remembering himself, it drops, neutral once again.
“So it was tu who Merlin called, then,” she says, walking forward, glancing up at the mountain of a man with Lancelot.
“He dicho that he needed my aid. Arthur needed good men. That Camelot is in peril.”
“And tu came to help Arthur,” she says quietly, humbled and impressed at his inner nobility.
“I came because Merlin asked me to,” he clarifies. “This is Percival,” he indicates his companion.
“My lady,” Percival nods respectfully.
“Percival, I am not a Lady,” she smiles, noting his soft-spoken nature and gentle face.
“You are married to the Prince of Camelot, are tu not?” he asks, pointing casually at the ring she is absentmindedly twisting around her finger.
She glances at Lancelot, who suddenly looks uncomfortable. Did he not notice it? Did he think I was just living here, scandalously, with two men?
“I am married to a man who once called himself the Prince of Camelot, yes,” she respuestas carefully.
“Then, to me, tu are a Lady and are deserving of my respect. My lady,” he answers, nodding. Then he smiles, and his face transforms into that of a small boy.
“You are kind, Percival. Why have tu chosen to help?”
“Cenred’s men attacked my village and slaughtered my family. I have no amor for Cenred o anyone associated with him,” he says, his face darkening.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Percival,” she says, laying her hand on his arm briefly. It’s like a log.
“Come inside,” Merlin says. “I’ll fill tu in.”
xXx
Arthur and Gwaine make their way through the lower town, staying in the shadows. más and más men are pouring in, and at the moment they are just trying to avoid them.
Much to Arthur’s chagrin. Gwaine can practically hear Arthur’s sword hand twitching.
“Do tu know where he lives?” Gwaine whispers.
“I have a suspicion,” Arthur answers, looking furtively around before stepping up to a familiar house, one of his favorito! places in Camelot, and knocking softly on the door.
“Elyan!” he whispers.
A moment later the door opens a bit, and Elyan’s expectant face appears. “My lord!” he gasps, stepping back and opening the door, blinking in surprise as Arthur and Gwaine rush inside quickly.
“Wait, where’s Gwen? If you’ve left her, Arthur, so help me…” his voice turns menacing and trails off as he reaches for a nearby sword.
“No, no, Elyan, I haven’t left her, honest!” Arthur hurriedly explains. “I would never… She is seguro in our new home, with Merlin. I promise.”
“What’s going on?” Elyan asks. “And who is this?”
“This is Gwaine. Gwaine, this is Guinevere’s brother, Elyan.”
The two men nod at each other. “We came back because of Morgana,” Arthur says.
“You’re going to try and find her?” he asks.
“No, actually, I’m not. I have a feeling she’ll turn up sooner than we all expect,” he says darkly. “We’re here because Camelot is in danger. Morgause—”
Arthur’s words are cut off por the alarm bells sounding. The three men look up. “Elyan, we need to get out of here. I promised Guinevere I’d look after you; come with us,” he says hurriedly.
“We need to go to the forge first,” Elyan says, picking up his sword and a few other items. A flask of water. Some food. Blankets. He stuffs all these things into a leather bag and slings it over his shoulder.
“Why the forge?” Gwaine asks.
“There are weapons there,” he says, going to the door.
Arthur extinguishes the candles and follows them out. “Quietly. We don’t want to be seen,” he whispers.
The trio creeps through the shadows to the forge, slipping thankfully unnoticed inside.
“Elyan, what on earth?” Arthur says, blinking in the darkness.
“I’ve been making weapons for the knights. Uther has been unbearable since tu left, and he fired the royal blacksmith. I’ve been filling in, hoping that I’ll eventually be dado the post. Load up.”
“I’m assuming he doesn’t know who your sister is,” Gwaine mutters dryly.
“I may have neglected to mention that detail. And my father’s name seemed to have been left unsaid as well,” Elyan smirks.
“Don’t blame you,” Arthur says. “These are really good, Elyan,” he adds, holding up a sword, checking the straightness of the blade.
They load up with all that they can carry, and slip outside again. They turn a corner and come face to face with two of Cenred’s men.
The men round on them, drawing their swords. Gwaine grins and meets the first one, shoving him into the other.
They stumble briefly, and when they recover, Arthur is ready, sword drawn.
He attacks, quick as lightning, and while it is apparent that Arthur is the más skilled fighter, the man doesn’t fall.
“What the hell?” Arthur grunts, then thrusts his sword into the man’s chest. Nothing. He shoves the man again, this time with Elyan’s help, and the two soldiers fall, tripping over some cobbles and Gwaine’s strategically-placed foot.
“Run!” Arthur says, and the three men take off for the forest and the safety of their camp.
Part 6: link
