Chapter 1
It really was much too early in the morning to be running at full speed down the hallways of the castle, the silver plate of sausages, breads and cheeses rattling threateningly in his hands. But Merlin was only too aware of the miserly bad mood Arthur would be in if he did not have his breakfast at its scheduled time – the pampered prat – and Merlin was already late. Arthur would always scold him, sometimes implying that his tardiness perhaps resulted from another late night at the tavern (at which Merlin could only internally curse his old mentor’s lack of creativity or variety in excuses for when the sorcerer is out probably risking his life to save that of his ignorant king), but his temper would usually dampen as soon as he bit into his sausages. Despite his earlier hurry, Merlin still halted momentarily outside the king’s chambers to chow down on one of said king’s temper-regulating sausages (Merlin’s so-called “having-to-deal-with-Arthur-in-the-morning”-tax), before balancing the tray on one hand, the other pushing the heavy doors open.
Arthur was already sitting by his desk, head hunched over some parchment Merlin recognised as the trade agreement with Mercia Arthur had agonised over the previous night, only setting it aside when his impudent manservant had whined about the late night and candle wax stains or any such nonsense. His eyes rose from the papers at the aforementioned impudent manservant’s entry, resting on the tray (and surely counting the usual missing sausage) before finding their way upwards to Merlin’s stunned face. Merlin quickly swallowed the final bit of sausage in his mouth, watching as Arthur’s attentive eyes followed the motion, one eyebrow raised. Yet, although they were both mutually aware of the breakfast thievery, he didn’t comment on it – he rarely did (and it was definitely not because Merlin looked so pitifully lanky that Arthur worried he didn’t get enough to eat).
“You’re dressed,” is all Merlin is able to say once his mouth is free again.
Arthur rolled his eyes – rather childishly.
“Yes Merlin, I’m not a complete idiot.”
Merlin however begged to differ, seeing the laces in the king’s shirt undone and tangled, revealing too much of his chest as he leant forwards against the desk. Merlin pushed down the stuttering beat in his chest, and chose instead to chuckle quietly, a wordless taunt asking ‘are you sure’ which made Arthur’s mood sour even more.
“You’re late again,” Arthur accused, tapping his pen against the desk and surely spilling more ink that Merlin would have to scrub out of the wood later.
“Well, someone had me polishing their armour for hours into the night,” Merlin snidely remarked as he set down the breakfast at the table, beckoning with his hand in a very un-servant-like manner for Arthur to come sit down and cease his complaining. Arthur huffed in irritation, but complied.
“Well, if the armour had been better maintained, you wouldn’t have had to spend so long each time, would you?” Arthur retorted as he (dramatically) stabbed at one of his remaining sausages. As if he knew anything about polishing armour. He only knew how to rub said armour into the dirt and grass. Merlin sighed (equally as dramatic) before turning around to tidy the room. There was no arguing with the king when he was like this.
“Right, right, my apologies, sire .” Merlin somehow managed to imbue the title with just enough sarcasm to convey his blatant disregard for Arthur’s superior station while still in the guise of proper deference. Arthur of course did not actually believe Merlin to be disrespectful, but had learned that his respect had to be earned, whether you were a peasant or a king. That is why his respect and approval had come to mean so much to Arthur – not that he would ever willingly admit this of course.
“My uncle has called for a council meeting this morning,” Arthur announced, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, priorly only interrupted by the sounds of chewing and folding sheets. Merlin stiffened at the mention of Arthur’s shifty uncle. He and Gaius had been sure of Agravaines betrayal for months now, ever since his alarming query about the sorcerer ‘Emrys’ – a name he could have only heard from Morgana. Merlin forced back the suspicion that creased his forehead as Arthur, oblivious to his manservant’s altered mood, prattled on. “And due to your tardiness we are now delayed, so I would advise you to make great haste.”
“Right away, sire.” Merlin agreed, making a moderate amount of haste in picking out the Pendragon-red cloak and brushing off Arthur’s boots before making his way back to the annoyed king.
“Why has Lord Agravaine called a meeting?” Merlin questioned hesitantly as he fastened the cloak.
“I don’t know, Merlin, perhaps that is something we would have found out by now had we been on time.” Merlin had to suppress yet another eyeroll. His annoyance softened however as his eyes fondly fell upon the utter mess Arthur had made of his shirt laces. Merlin’s practised hands made quick work of untangling and retying the knots, being careful so as to not brush his fingers against the exposed skin. Arthur had gone uncharacteristically still as Merlin worked. Their synchronised breaths seemed to fill the room in lieu of any other sounds, making Merlin’s ears heat up nervously, his fingers slightly shaking as he hurriedly finished with the laces. It’s not often Merlin feels so nervous around Arthur; only in these moments when the world around them stills, cutting out anything that would seek to distract them from being the only two people left that mattered.
Today that distraction would take the form of two insistent knocks on the door reminding them of the actively delaying council meeting, causing Merlin to jump two steps back before even realising it.
“Right,” Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin immediately and decisively pushed back the thought that he looked almost as discomposed as Merlin felt. “Right. The Council awaits.”
~~~
“We have received some rather disconcerting reports that the Lady Morgana is travelling to Essetir in search of the elusive ‘Truth Seekers’ who are said to reside near the ancient ruins of Lugh. These sorcerers are rumoured to be in possession of an amulet which bestows the wearer with any truth they most desire: the Amulet of Truth,” Agravaine shared his report with the countenance of someone announcing the battle has already been lost, his words heavy and his face pulled into a deeply concerned frown – an immaculate act by all accounts. Merlin stood by the wall behind the round table, scrutinising first Agravaine’s face, then turning to gauge Arthur’s reaction from his carefully masked expression. “I can only imagine what Lady Morgana could do if she were in possession of this amulet.”
Arthur’s eyebrows creased infinitesimally – the only change in his expression revealing his concern.
“With such an artefact she would be able to learn all of Camelot’s secrets,” Arthur theorised, slowly leaning forward to rest his head against his hands. Merlin could practically see the catastrophic possible scenarios reflected in his brooding eyes. “We would practically be defenceless.”
No one said a word as the implications of Agravaine’s report sunk in, and the serious nature of the situation dawned on the faces of the knights and other counsellors, all reflecting the king’s grave expression. They now only awaited Arthur’s instructions, attentively watching their leader’s contemplative gaze. Merlin too watched with bated breath, dreading –yet already knowing– what Arthur would say.
“We must find the amulet before Morgana reaches it.” Arthur concluded, looking up from his hands at Agravaine. “I will ride out with my knights–” and Merlin , was the unsaid implication, “–and destroy it to keep Camelot safe from all who would seek to use it to bring her harm.”
“My lord, no!” Agravaine called out in feigned shock. “You are our king, and, with no heir to speak of, Camelot’s only hope! This mission is far too dangerous to risk your safety.”
“The dangers posed by this mission is exactly why I must go myself,” Arthur smiled fondly at his uncle and Merlin felt his throat tighten. “It is far too important to leave to anyone else.”
“Are you implying that we’re useless without you?” Gwaine teased, trying to lighten the dire mood of the council. Arthur rolled his eyes, secretly grateful for the knight’s attempts.
“Well, last I checked, you have yet to best me in a duel, sir Gwaine,” Gwaine looked like he wanted to protest, “Fairly ,” Arthur emphasises significantly, thinking back to their previous duel when Gwaine had used dirty tricks to distract him (perhaps suggesting that the maids were flirting with a certain manservant by the spear racks behind them), managing to trip him up and land him on his back the second he looked away. Arthur huffed uncomfortably under his suggestive smile – he clearly also remembered.
“In any way, I trust you all with my life. But although I am king, I am also the best fighter we have,” he said this without any arrogance; they all knew Arthur was the greatest knight in Camelot. Possibly in all of Albion. “We will have a greater chance of success if we all ride together.” Arthur glanced at Merlin so quickly no one but him had noticed the king’s eyes wander.
“Very well, my lord.” Agravaine sighed, ostensibly conceding to his king’s command.
Merlin scowled at Agravaine’s pretence. This whole mission with the Truth Seekers located in enemy territory felt like a trap Agravaine and Morgana were neatly setting out for Arthur to obliviously step right into. Merlin’s gaze shifted to Gwen, who stood on the other side of the room with a golden pitcher in her hands (a transparent pretence; Merlin knew that Arthur really wanted Gwen around for council meetings because he valued her honesty and her advice in the rare occasions she deemed it appropriate and important to voice it, only waiting for the right time to formally appoint her as an official advisor to the king). She was staring straight ahead with a complicated look in her eyes. At the mention of Morgana, Gwen’s face would crease to betray the conflicting emotions raging inside her, switching between sorrow, anger, and longing. Merlin was aware that she had never quite been able to let go of her hope that Morgana could be saved. Even as she suffered through losing Lancelot to the Dorocha, even as her logical mind was angry at Morgana for betraying Camelot –for betraying her– she still couldn’t bring herself to hate the beloved friend she had served all her life.
Gwen finally returned Merlin’s sympathetic stare, giving him a reassuring smile and shaking her head as if to tell him she would be fine.
“Then it is decided. Uncle, I am making you regent in my absence. I want you to begin making preparations in case our mission goes wrong. Double the patrols and lay out additional patrol routes to the northern outlying villages close to the border with Essetir,” Agravaine bowed his head submissively. “Sir Leon, prepare the knights for departure. We set out immediately.” Leon nodded resolutely, the first knight readily raising to the occasion.
Merlin knew his tasks instinctively, and quietly snuck out of the throne room to find Gaius.
~~~
The old physician was carefully pouring a fine blue powder into a glass when his bumbling ward came crashing into the room with a distressed cry of “Gaius!”, making him knock over the glass which promptly spilled powder over his desk and floors. Gaius sighed pointedly, and looked up to see Merlin’s sheepish smile.
“Oh, sorry.” Merlin apologised, grabbing a broom to help Gaius clean up the mess.
“No matter,” Gaius conceded with a wave of his hands. He sat down on the bench as Merlin began gathering the spilled powder. “Whatever could it be that had you bursting into the room in such a hurry, Merlin?”
“Agravaine,” Gaius straightened immediately at the way Merlin spat the name, “has come with a report that Morgana is looking for something called the amulet of Truth, and Arthur has decided to go out and find it first. But it has to be a trap, I can feel it, Gaius.”
The physician rose from the bench with a hum and looked through his collection of books, his eyes running rapidly over the titles before finding the one he was looking for. Merlin, having finished cleaning up and putting away the broom, came to stand next to him as he searched the pages. He stopped at a page depicting a rounded stone the colour of petrified amber; warm and golden.
“The Fírinne stone , a magical artefact with the ability to grant a desired truth to its wielder, protected by the ancient Truth Keepers.” Gaius read.
“‘Keepers’? Agravaine called them Seekers.”
“They have no need to seek truth,” Gaius remarked. “In the Old Religion, the Keepers were said to already be privy to all the secrets of the world and of magic itself.”
“What, can they, like, read minds?”
“Not quite. They are connected to both the magic of the earth and to the magic within the people of Albion, both active and dormant. According to the stories held by the old priestesses, the Keepers were once a group of brothers, themselves priests of the Old Religion, whose innovation and power allowed them to gain the ability to read the information stored in the world’s magic. However, once they learned of the terrible danger –and of the terrible burden– of this magic, the brothers sealed the key to this power away in what became known as the Fírinne stone: the amulet of Truth. In this form, the power is contained – reduced to revealing only the immediate desired truth of the bearer. The Keepers then hid the stone away and guarded it from those who wanted to use its power for harm. Those who sought the amulet’s power would be judged by the Keepers, only granted to those whose true desire was judged to be pure.
Before the Purge, their true location was known only to the High Priestesses, but now this knowledge has vanished along with the Old Religion.”
“Agravaine said they resided somewhere in Essetir, by the ruins of Lugh.”
“Morgana…” Gaius muttered.
The old king’s ward (and now not-so-secret bastard daughter) had technically become the new High Priestess under the guidance of her deceased half-sister Morgause. Of course she had learned of the Keepers location and told Agravaine.
Merlin’s bad feeling only got stronger.
“Gaius, I have to start packing to leave before Arthur has a fit. He’s probably looking for me already,” Merlin shuddered at the thought of Arthur furiously stomping through the castle halls yelling his name in that way that simultaneously curdled his blood and made his heart pound erratically. “Is there anything else in the book about the Keepers or the amulet that could be useful?”
“The priestesses warn that there is a price to pay for using the amulet. It says here that, ‘to learn that which you desire most, your heart will be wrought and torn within its chest; this is the price we pay for truth’.” Gaius read in a sombre tone, but looking up he could not see that blasted boy anywhere.
“Price to pay, got it.” Merlin yelled as he rummaged inside his room to hastily pack before rushing out the door to find Arthur. “Thanks, Gaius!”
“Be careful, my boy!” Gaius yelled after his ward, sighing heavily as the familiar worry settled around his old heart.