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“Come on, let me out!”
The guards cast a sympathetic glance Merlin’s way before returning to their dice game. Merlin sighed, sliding down the cell wall before burying his head in his hands.
He was going to have to break out, wasn’t he.
Listen, it wasn’t his fault that Arthur couldn’t take a joke. Just because Merlin had gotten tired of Arthur ordering him about and filled his bath with water from the laundry (because if Arthur was expecting so much from him he might as well multitask), he sent his best servant to the dungeons! The sight of a spluttering Arthur rising from the water with a silk chemise draped over his head made it all worth it.
Except one of the reasons Merlin had been so frustrated was that there had been whispers of an Amphisbaena on the loose. He’d been searching for it these last few nights, often falling into bed for merely an hour or two before dragging himself upright to go wake Arthur. He was exhausted.
So of course, the day he snapped at Arthur and got thrown in the dungeons was also the day the Amphisbaena was reported to the king due to an attack on a nearby village that left several dead. Naturally, Arthur and the knights were sent out. Which could be fine, Merlin reasoned. The Amphisbaena could technically be defeated without magic, as long as fire was involved. Did Arthur know that, though? Somehow he doubted it.
So here he was, not where he needed to be. And there Arthur was, in danger once more. Merlin pushed himself to his feet. Nothing for it. After some judicious hay arranging, the lump under the blankets might conceivably be confused for a person. Merlin, chin resting on one hand, nodded.
Then he turned away and walked through the wall.
A bubble of space followed him as he ascended through the rock. Stairs appeared below his feet, which was comforting. It’s surprisingly easy to get lost walking through the ground if you don’t have a metric by which to judge your movement.
The golden glow of light from his eyes intermingled with a silverier light, and fresh air swirled down to meet the boy. Merlin grinned as he climbed up the last few steps, emerging into the night air of Camelot.
And came face to face with a terrified chamber maid. There was a moment of horrified silence before she averted her eyes, muttering, “Never question Merlin,” and scurried off into the night.
Merlin ran off in a different direction, grabbing his already packed bag and dropping by the kitchen to add new food before running off after the knights. Hopefully they hadn’t gotten into trouble yet.
They had.
The guards let Merlin pass, confused. No one was locked up in the dungeons right now, so it wasn’t like he could be visiting someone. But hey, how much trouble could that scrawny boy cause?
Merlin hummed to himself as he examined the cells. If he was to create a general escape route, it would have to include every cell, wouldn’t it? Who knows which one Merlin might get locked in. And there was that unfortunate case yesterday, with the father accused of using sorcery to heal his daughter. Of course, Merlin had gotten him out, but it would be much easier if he didn’t have to sneak people through the castle every time someone was unjustly sentenced. He’d never get any sleep.
It took weeks before Merlin had a solid plan. There hadn’t been a single spell that would fit the situation. A simple tunnel hidden behind mechanisms would be too easily discovered, allowing dangerous people to escape and guards to discover the exit. A memory spell would leave refugees uncertain why they were in the city and lead to easy recapture. No, Merlin knew what he wanted, and he investigated similar setups, getting a feel for their underlying magic. He returned to the clearing where he and Arthur met the unicorn, questioning Anhora about establishing conditions within spells. He traveled to the lake, where Freya shared of her unreality under the waves. He asked Morgana about the feel of her dreams, the texture and heft. Finally, he was ready.
In the dungeons, a song in an unknown language rebounded, sweetly sifting into the stones. Golden light like syrup poured over every surface. The guards outside had been charmed asleep with a poultice, but the song wove its way through their dreams, golden light drawing out their true desires and fears. One guard leaves the next day to take his family to the countryside. In later years, the honey from his farm is lauded as the best in the land and graces the royal table. The other throws himself wholeheartedly into training in his off hours, under the contemplative gaze of the prince. In the reign of King Arthur he ascends to knighthood and is known as Sir Ulric the Just.
But for the moment they slumbered as a golden net settled, capturing all of the cells within, and joyful laughter filled the corridors and rooms of the palace.
Ella trembled in the corner of her cell, manacles clanking as she shifted in her sleep. It had been a horrible day.
According to Steve, women had no place in the pottery business. It was difficult work that should be left to men. But her husband had died, and her children needed to eat. Hesitantly, she had taken up the trade and found her wares to be in demand. She slowly came to be recognized for her humble but sturdy earthenware and received regular customers. The commission from the palace had been the last straw for Steve, who had accused her of witchcraft before the king. They had found herbs in her home, which had been enough for Uther. She was to be executed at dawn. And then who would take care of her children?
Suddenly, her troubled dreams faded, followed by something more substantial. She found herself in the palace corridors, jars in one hand, a dagger in the other. Where had she gotten a dagger?
It was dark and the palace seemed deserted, except for a figure in red up ahead. As she drew near, she found it was the crown prince, seemingly absorbed in a painting hanging on the wall. His back was to her, and he did not seem to hear as she passed directly behind him, continuing down the corridor toward the kitchens.
The scene dissolved and she found herself suddenly lost in a roaring torrent, cold shooting through her skin to her bones and turning her desperate attempts to swim to shore into wild thrashing. She despaired – facing a fate of death by fire she instead was taken to an earlier icy grave – but before she was lost, she found herself being pulled from the whitewater by a pair of arms and deposited on the bank. Spitting up water and quaking, she looked up at her rescuer. “Thank y-” the words died in her throat.
The old man’s eyes were glowing gold.
She screamed and threw herself backward, trying to get some space between her and the danger. Her hand landed on a dagger, and she raised it in his direction, arms trembling with fear. The old man, she noticed, was also soaked through and seemed exhausted.
“I won’t hurt you, miss. What would be the point after I went through all that trouble to save your life?” he grumbled as he sat down. Waving a hand at himself, he dried his clothes with a gleaming flash of the eyes. She tried to back away further but stumbled over a stone, yelping as she fell. The dagger clattered off into the distance.
He started to raise his hand her way but stopped, looking hesitant. “Would you let me dry you off? It’s snowing, in case that escaped your attention.”
Sure enough, white flakes were drifting down. Ella rose to her feet, shaking. “I’ll find my way from here on my own, thank you.”
“But you’ll freeze! And then all my hard work will have been for nothing!”
She shrugged; chills wracked her body. “I never asked you to save me.”
Turning to walk away, she was stopped by a quiet voice. “And who would take care of Evelyn and Tybalt then?”
Fury overtook her and she swung back, taking a few angry steps in his direction. “Don’t you go near my children!”
He raised his hands in submission, shaking his head. “I won’t, but you need to be there for them. I can help you. If you don’t want me casting spells on you…”
A shed rose with a creak from the earth next to him and he reached down, lifting up a set of clothing. Dry. It looked miraculously dry. Ella’s legs were shaking now. She bit her lip. Evelyn…Tybalt…
Fine!” Striding over, she snatched up the dress and opened the door to the hovel. Stepping inside, the chills retreated, and she found herself in darkness which resolved into a new scene.
Steve.
Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the dagger clenched in her hand.
Her nemesis was in his home, seated beside a bed on which lay a form buried under a pile of blankets. He was clutching the person’s hand, speaking to them in frantic whispers.
“Michael, please, you have to stop. It isn’t worth it, not if I lose you. Please, just come back to me.”
And now Ella realized who it was. Michael, Steve’s cheerful partner who had died crafting the statue that graced the King’s courtyard. It was a magnificent statue, flowing in form, majestic in stature. But Michael’s health had declined as he spent night and day working, until it became too much to bear, and he died shortly before it was completed. The other craftsmen were left to add the finishing touches, and Steve had never been the same since.
Steve, who was weeping quietly into the bedclothes. Steve, who had condemned her and her children to a painful death.
She sighed and lowered the dagger, stepping over to place a hand on his shoulder. He startled, turning in her direction with tear-filled eyes. “Ella? What are you doing here?”
“I know this is hard for you, Steve. Let me know if there’s anything we can do. Maybe we could get the others to help, and Michael could direct us from the ground? Then he wouldn’t need to put in such long hours.”
Steve’s face was drawn in grief, and he turned back to the bed. “I fear it is too late, even if he works no more. He will not wake these last few days. But… thank you, Ella. For trying.”
She nodded, emotions still roiling within, and puttered around, cleaning up the dishes stacked about, the clothes scattered across the floor. When she’d done what she could, she cast one more glance at the dispirited potter before walking out.
Only to find herself in a new chamber. It was of stone, with two branching tunnels leading away and a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace beside her. In front of her was a table with two chairs, one of whom was already filled with a familiar old man.
“You! You’re the one who pulled me from the river!”
As soon as she said this she was filled with uncertainty. Had there actually been a river? How had she gotten there? Had it been a memory or a dream?
The old man chuckled. “Well, well. It seems you do remember. I wasn’t entirely sure how this would go for someone else.”
“Who are you?”
“You can call me Emrys.”
The old man’s eyes once more flashed gold and the other chair was pushed back. She was instantly on her guard, but unlike in the previous dreams, there was no dagger handy. She stayed where she was, at the edge of the firelight.
Emrys sighed. “Suit yourself. It appears you have passed the trials, although you didn’t allow me to help you in the second. Seeing as you’ve been accused of sorcery, your fear of it leads me to conclude you’re not guilty of the crime of which you have been condemned. Which any basic botanist would know. Seriously, condemning someone to death because of peppermint?”
She nodded, hesitant. Where was he going with this? She knew she was innocent, but it didn’t change anything. The king was mad for executing sorcerers, and he didn’t care if a few extra townspeople fell too.
“There are two tunnels here. One leads into the lower town, the other outside of Camelot. Pick one and go. I would suggest leaving Camelot; once the guards figure out you’ve gone, they’ll start searching.”
She found her voice. “I can’t leave. My children are still young, and my husband died many years ago. There is no one else to care for them.”
He harrumphed, crossing his arms. “That’s true, I suppose. Would you be willing to trust me to lead the children outside the city?”
Her blood ran cold. Her breath escaped in a hiss. “Don’t you dare go near my children, you monster.”
An inscrutable look flashed across his wrinkled face before it was replaced with calm unflappability once more.
“Fine, fine. It would just be easier than lugging you about in the place that’s looking to kill you. I’ll meet you near the blacksmith’s shop on Second.”
Emerys gestured toward the tunnel to his right, rising and disappearing on the spot. Ella was left alone, frozen. She hesitantly moved toward the right tunnel, glancing down the left, which similarly disappeared into darkness. As she entered the tunnel, the scene dissolved once more and she arrived with a jolt on the streets of Camelot.
The feel of the cobbles underneath her bare feet and the cold night air on her skin, along with the rush of nauseating scents that is so distinctly Camelot, brought into focus how unreal all the previous events were. Definitely dreams, and yet here she was, outside the cell and not tied to a pyre. She hesitated before rushing toward her home. Tybalt and Evelyn must be beside themselves.
When she arrived at her home, she found her friend Lily leaving. Ella rushed in as she disappeared down the street. Collecting her children and a few belongings, she was making her way toward the door when Emrys appeared.
“I should have known better. Does this look like the blacksmith’s shop to you?”
“Stay back!” Ella pushed her children behind her, where they clung to her skirts, sniffling. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” Tybalt asked, and she softened, smiling down at him. “Nothing, sweetie, we’re just going on a trip.”
“And who’s that man?”
“The one who’s going to get you out of the city.” Emrys harrumphed. “Look!” He pointed at Tybalt’s hands where they’re clutching Ella’s skirts, and Tybalt’s eyes widened as a pear appeared in one.
“Mommy, look! Look, it’s my favorite!”
Ella glared at the old man. “Tybalt, give it here. We don’t know where it came from, it’s not safe to eat.”
“Come on, Ella, I’m not going to hurt them. But we do need to get you guys out of here, and that will be easier to do if the children aren’t crying.”
Ella reluctantly conceded the point. After sneaking about to avoid patrols, they reached the walls just as the alarm sounded and a ruckus started near the palace. Emrys swore, and Ella covered the children’s ears.
“Sorry, sorry, I just thought we’d have more time. We’re nearly there though.”
He held out his hand and his eyes flashed golden. Before her, the stones moved aside, revealing an empty archway. “Go, quickly!” Ella started forward and hesitated. “Are you coming?”
“Do you need me to? Think you can handle things from here?”
She waffled. “It’s just, I’ve never been in the woods on my own. And what about bandits?”
Emrys sighs. “Okay, okay.”
In the woods, Emrys said, “Do you have a place to go?”
Ella nodded. “My sister. We’re far enough from the capital that it’s unlikely the soldiers will find us. I can tell her things got too hard raising kids in the city on my own.”
“How far are we talking?”
“A couple days journey.”
Another long-suffering sigh.
"Where's Merlin?"
"Er, the taverns are running a special for these next few days, Sire. For a local festival, you wouldn't have heard of it. I believe he has made a holiday of trying all the nearby taverns."
"Oh, I see."
Somehow, the new dungeon exit made even more work for him. Ella and her children were not the last to need an escort through the woods at night, and finally, Merlin had had enough.
He sighed before stepping out of the bushes into the camp.
Iseldir?
After entirely too much bowing and scraping, a druid shuttle service was initiated. Whenever someone was caught who Merlin expected to need an escort from the city, he used mindspeak to alert his agents in the city, who sent for a representative from a nearby camp. Merlin wasn’t sure of the details – did the city agents escort the people for a ways and then execute a handoff? Or were there designated guides hiding in the woods nearby waiting for a call? But he knew it worked. Furthermore, the druids had accepted escapees into their camps who had nowhere else to go. Not everyone was as intimidated by magic as Ella. And what better place to hide refugees from Uther than amid lifelong refugees from Uther?
Everything was going wonderfully until it was ruined by Arthur.
Merlin was humming happily as he shook out Arthur’s tunics, getting ready to hang them. Arthur sat behind him, supposedly working on writing a speech that Merlin knew he would end up writing anyway. Why he even bothered to pretend anymore was beyond him.
“What’s going on with you?”
Merlin turned, eyebrow raised, to see Arthur tapping his quill against the paper, expression troubled.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Arthur gestured, frown lines deepening. “Normally, you’d be trying to convince me that I should reconsider and try to get the king to change his mind. We both know it’s unlikely that the girl they dragged in today is guilty of sorcery. Matthius has been trying to convince her to court him for months now. His accusation is petty and most likely provoked by jealousy.”
Merlin winced. This was true, and he supposed it was suspicious how little he cared who was thrown in the dungeons nowadays. “Yes, Sire, but it appears you have come to those conclusions on your own. I guess something’s made it through that thick skull of yours.”
He ducked and a goblet banged into the wall several feet from him, splashing wine everywhere.
“Always making more work for me,” he grumbled.
Arthur smiled that obnoxious smile he knew- knew! Would get under Merlin’s skin. “That reminds me! When you’re done here, my breeches need mending, the floor needs scrubbing, the dogs need exercise, my armor needs polishing…”
Merlin groaned. No matter how much he tried to cut down on his duties, Arthur would always manage to find a way to make more work for him.
“Have you seen Arthur around?”
Gwen shook her head. “Sorry, no. Morgana and I have been inside most of the day today. Have you checked the training field?”
He did so. No Arthur.
“Leon, has Arthur been around today?”
Leon nodded absently. “We had training this morning, and I think I saw him headed down to the dungeons.”
“The dungeons?!”
Merlin took off, running through the likely suspects. There was an assassin a few days ago who had been captured by the knights before reaching Merlin and Arthur. He had failed the first dream trial, stabbing Arthur in the back, and unceremoniously was dumped back into the cell bleeding. But the assassin was executed, and Merlin couldn’t remember anyone else being sent there. Unless there had been a trial today?
He found Arthur in the cell, patting at the walls.
“…Sire?”
Arthur glanced over his shoulder. “Oh good, Merlin. Bring me a torch, why don’t you?”
“Why are you feeling up the walls?”
The prince stopped still, turning to glare at Merlin. “Merlin. We’ve had over half of our prisoners escape the dungeons in the last few months without the guards being knocked out. They left right under their noses.”
Grabbing a torch from the wall outside the cell, Merlin approached. Arthur took it and held it close to the wall, looking for movement of air.
“Do you think the guards are in on it?”
Arthur made a noise of denial. “Different guards every time, and several are loyal beyond question. No, it’s got to be something about the cell.”
Merlin shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t think Arthur would find anything this way, but well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made rash decisions with magic before with unexpected consequences.
The prince continued thinking out loud. “I’ve had them put in different cells, but that seems to have minimal effect. The only consistency seems to be that the people disappear at night, around the change between the second and third watch.”
Several hours poking around the cells led to nothing, and Merlin slowly relaxed. It appeared Arthur wasn’t going to figure out anything this way.
At least, so he thought.
His rude awakening came in the middle of the night. Someone was going through the trials. Curious, Merlin entered the fireplace room, gazing in the fire to scry the events.
And gasped.
Arthur reached out to grab his own shoulder, sheathed in its red jacket.
Arthur came face to face with himself.
Confused blue eyes met one another, and the other Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What trickery is this?”
Arthur couldn’t answer him. He’d been striding down the corridor, looking for his erstwhile servant, and then he had seen a familiar figure. He hadn’t been able to believe his eyes and went to check its reality. And now…
The other Arthur drew his sword with a ringing noise. “Guards!”
All Arthur had was a dagger, which stood no chance against a sword in expert hands. If this was some form of Arthur, they would be. Unless it was a disguised sorcerer, inexperienced at sword play? He set his jaw and moved into a defensive stance.
No guards came, and other Arthur gritted his teeth before charging.
Steel clanged against steel, and Arthur did all he could, but the superior reach of the other Arthur’s sword was overwhelming. He found himself gasping on the floor, dagger falling out of loose fingers, as the sword impaled him on the spot.
An iron tang filled his mouth and he spluttered before the world spun away.
Strong arms pulled him from the water, and Arthur coughed up the water that had insinuated itself in his lungs. He raised his head, intending to thank the rescuer, only to watch his eyes fade from gold back to blue. Arthur leapt to his feet, taking several steps back before falling into a defensive position.
“Sorcerer!”
The old man nodded, looking frail as he lowered himself on the rock.
“That’s me. Although I prefer the name Emrys if you don’t mind.”
He waved his hand and Arthur started forward, scooping up a dagger lying on a rock. Before he could strike, he noticed the effect of the spell. The man was now dry. Emrys raised an eyebrow.
“Jumpy one, aren’t you.”
Arthur clenched his jaw. “Sorcery is illegal in Camelot.”
“I’m aware. Would you prefer to leap back in the water then, Porridge-for-Brains?”
“At least my brains haven’t been replaced by empty air.” Arthur snapped back without thinking, in a way that felt too familiar.
He lowered the dagger slightly.
“Why would you save me? You know who I am and what I must do.”
“Which is?”
“Return you to Camelot to be tried.”
“And burned. No thank you, Lord Pratdragon. I’ll stay out here if you don’t mind.”
“That’s not an option.”
Emrys sighed a world-weary sigh. “Will you at least allow me to dry you off before you catch your death of cold?”
Arthur gave a dry laugh. “And get myself enchanted? No.”
“I promise the spell will only dry you. On my magic.”
“I don’t believe you.” Arthur scrutinized the old man. Could he really fault him for saving his life? Even if it was with magic. And now, even when under threat, he asked permission to cast spells with the aim of helping someone else. Finally, he made up his mind.
“Leave and never show yourself at Camelot. If we cross paths again, I will treat you as my enemy.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Only to find himself on a quiet island.
Gaius was there, along with a woman who looked vaguely familiar. And Gauis was… he was…
“Let me take her place.”
“So shall it be.”
He was dying.
The old man slumped to the ground, frail head falling and shifting his sparse wisps of hair. He stilled, even as Arthur tried to rush forward and found himself pinned in place. The witch grinned over Gaius’ limp body as clouds brewed above.
And Arthur’s bumbling servant ran in, chest heaving. “No!”
The witch cackled and Arthur threw himself against his restraints, bellowing unheard in the background. “Merlin, you idiot! She just killed- she killed Gaius- you can’t- please Merlin!”
The two were yelling at each other, and Arthur heard something he didn’t understand, something about how Merlin- Merlin bid his life for Arthur’s, what did that mean, and then it became Arthur’s worst nightmare.
Because Merlin’s eyes were flashing gold. The spell winged harmlessly off the witch, because of course if Merlin were a sorcerer he would be just as bad at that as he was at everything else. This must be just a dream, then, some ridiculous dream about what his friend would do if he were a sorcerer and Gaius died.
The witch was trying to convince Merlin to join her side, and he was refusing. Arthur felt pride well up in him even as he shook his head. “You had to anger the powerful witch, Merlin, didn’t you-”
But then abruptly it was not okay again, because a fireball was erupting from her hands and rocketing toward Merlin, and Arthur screamed, but it was too late, too late to do anything, because his friend- his friend-
The fireball impacted and Merlin was thrown against the wall with a crack. He fell to the ground. He didn’t move even as Arthur begged, as Arthur pleaded-
“Pity. We could have ruled this world together.”
And Arthur roared, because how dare she insinuate that Merlin was only useful for what he can do, when his luminous smile echoed across his friends’ faces and his awful jokes broke through the incredible stress and tension of the court. When he courageously followed Arthur and the knights into danger time and time again despite not knowing how to fight. When Merlin’s fingers dexterously danced across shelves and gently cupped flowers and reverently stroked unicorns. When he saw the good in anyone and anything, even Arthur’s sorry hide.
The bonds broke and he was running, running, and Merlin’s alabaster face was in his cupped hands. The rain must have started to fall because he saw it splashing off Merlin’s pale cheeks. The witch was saying something in the background but Arthur was ignoring it because raven locks were spilling across his bent knees and he called to anyone, anyone who could hear him, that this could not be, that Merlin could not-
Sapphire eyes opened, widening when they meet his. Joy had little time to break through as Merlin reversed their positions. Scildan!
Arthur watched open mouthed as Merlin, still kneeling protectively over him, called down lightning, incinerating the witch. Merlin’s lower lip trembled as he brushed a thumb across Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur was speechless.
“How did you get here? You’re still recovering from the Questing Beast, you prat. You should be resting.”
A sob caught in Merlin’s throat as Arthur’s hand reached to cover his. “Trust me, I’m confused by all of this as well. Magic, Merlin? When did you start that?”
Merlin still looked incredibly sad. “Born with it, I’m afraid.” Suddenly, his head snapped up. “Gaius!”
By the time Arthur joined him, Gaius was alive but frail, casting suspicious glances Arthur’s way. He kept attempting to start a conversation but seemed unsure of what to say. With Merlin’s nod, Arthur scooped the older man up, and they started for the boat.
The world swirled away and was replaced by a stone room with a fireplace, an ancient figure gaping at something he saw in the fire.
Arthur was unsteady on his feet, unbalanced by the loss of Gaius’ weight, and staggered into a chair. His voice came out in a croak.
“What… what was all that?”
The old man leapt up and took the other chair, surprisingly spry for his age. He coughed.
“Well, well, Arthur Pendragon. It appears you have passed my trials.”
Arthur squinted at the old man. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Do I know you?”
“Emrys.”
“Ah right! The sorcerer at the river. Was… was that real?”
Emrys looked uncomfortable. “I crafted these trials to test if people were worthy of being permitted to escape imprisonment.”
Arthur slapped the table, rising to his feet. “I knew it! I knew people were escaping more frequently than usual!”
He started toward the old man, who rose, hands up in a placating gesture. “Yes, yes, but you have to admit Uther has a tendency to kill first, ask questions later. Half of the so-called sorcerers I tested were deathly afraid of magic – it was just the most sure-fire way their enemies had of getting them executed.”
Arthur slowed to a stop, biting his bottom lip. Yes, he had noticed that too. “Still, it’s not right that one man should decide whether people are innocent or guilty.”
Wryly, Emrys replied, “Like a king does?”
Arthur burned with embarrassment. He walked into that one.
“You never answered my earlier question. Were those scenes real?”
Emrys rolled his eyes, and that feeling of familiarity rose again. “I don’t know, Arthur, do you remember stabbing yourself to death in the corridor? Or an old man rescuing you from a river?”
“And the last one?” Arthur’s voice was quiet.
Emrys hesitated. The silence stretched on for a bit too long before he muttered, “Why should it be any different than the others?”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward, but before he could reach the older man, Emrys said, “Left tunnel to the woods, right tunnel to lower town,” and disappeared.
Merlin was ready to be asked to join a manhunt for an old guy named Emrys the next morning. Arthur must have found his way back to his own room last night, because he was there, buried under his blankets and grumpily refusing to rise.
Nothing was said about Emrys during breakfast, and Merlin decided to try his luck.
“So, Sire, did you find anything out about how people are escaping the dungeons?”
His back was turned so he missed Arthur’s scrutinizing look. “Should I have?”
Merlin faced him, grinning as he stretched his hands over his head. Arthur’s stare was directed at his tunic, and he frowned, looking for a stain but seeing none. He shook his head and continued. “Oh, I just heard a rumor that someone decided to test the comfort level of the cells. I’m sure it went great, speaking as a long-term resident. Really soft floors.”
And now Arthur’s gaze was piercing. “Oh, is that so? I forgot how much that place is like a second home to you. Actually, now that I think about it, you haven’t been there when the guards went to release you the last few times. Care to explain?”
“I couldn’t possibly.” Merlin demurred, with a grin that said everything.
Arthur groaned. “Merlin, you watched me go over the cells with a fine-toothed comb yesterday! And you didn’t say anything?”
Merlin’s grin widened. “Oh Sire, I wouldn’t dare tell you how to use your time, and you were having such fun…”
Merlin’s snarky grin is met by Arthur’s obnoxious one. “But luckily for you, I’m perfectly capable of telling you how to spend yours. Let’s see, the stables need mucking out, the laundry needs doing, Cook has requested help in the kitchens, all of the practice swords need polishing, my armor needs the dents beaten out, and… I believe it is best if all of this is done in the official ceremonial outfit.”
Merlin’s jaw dropped open. “You wouldn’t!”
Arthur’s hand dropped firmly on Merlin’s shoulder and that grin grew ten sizes too large. “Oh, Merlin. I most certainly would.”