Chapter Text
Gwen was up all night pacing the floors of Guildhall. Once the sun rose on Arthur’s coronation day, it didn’t take long to figure out he wasn’t in the city. The members of the committee were furious that he went behind their backs after it was decided he stay behind.
“I’ve never heard of a king missing his own crowning,” Simmons had grumbled.
Of course, Gwen knew Arthur would find a way to accompany the others in search of the Cup, but they should have returned by now.
Before midday, the committee decided to send troops to Cumbria to find Arthur and his men. The soldiers were just leaving the barracks when word of an incoming ship reached the city. It made port not long after. The knights had returned, Arthur with them. Cars had been sent to collect them and bring them to Guildhall, where Gwen, Gaius, and the committee waited.
All was silent in the hall until, all at once, a clamouring of voices and shouts came from the street outside the windows. Gwen, along with everyone else in the room, turned towards it. A mass of news reporters and camera operators had convened outside of the hall awaiting the king’s arrival.
“Well,” the Commissioner said, putting out his cigarette, “I assume they’re here.”
Gwen was torn between relief and dread. She knew, the moment Arthur walked into the hall, there would be consequences for his actions. She only hoped he had the Cup of Life with him. Ending the war with the Neos would be compensation enough for defying the committee.
Still, she felt she should warn Arthur as to what he was walking into. Without concern for the calls of her name, she fled from the room and down the corridors until she reached the exit. On the steps, bathed in bright spring sunlight, she overlooked the seething throng before her. People—citizens, reporters, and photographers—had crowded around the cars, and soldiers attempted to hold them at bay. Eventually, a path was formed leading to the hall, and the car doors opened.
At once, the clattering became louder. Recorders and microphones were pushed into the knights’ faces as they walked past, but they kept their heads down. Nathara was with them, and was the only one who looked at the crowd head-on, as if daring them to sling a question her way.
Gwen’s eyes narrowed on Lancelot, who thankfully looked unharmed, when he ducked his head out of the car. Halfway to her, he at last looked up and caught her eyes. Something in his gaze was pained. Gwen’s gut sank as she feared the worst.
Gaius appeared at Gwen’s side. She saw him scan the crowd, his brow deepening with every passing moment he did not find the face he was looking for.
Gwen did the same, and breathed a little easier when she saw Arthur emerge from one of the car’s passenger seats. He carried himself tersely, and was holding his right arm stiffly against his torso. The reporters surged forward, their arms flying around the soldiers, who formed a tight barricade with their bodies. Arthur didn’t pause to give them a sound byte. Gwen watched him curiously, and the void in perfect stride with his footsteps was not lost on her.
When Arthur brought his gaze up, it latched onto Gaius; and he took in a steadying breath.
The knights moved up the stairs and passed between Gwen and Gaius.
“Elyan?” she asked helplessly, but he only gave her a severe look and followed the others through the doors.
When Lancelot came forward, she swept him into an embrace. In it, she felt his stress leave him.
“I was worried. You should have been back hours ago. What took so long?”
When the hug broke, she kept her hands on his arms. He looked down solemnly. Something was affecting him. It was enough to tell her their mission had failed, but it was more than that. This was something deep, personal.
She recalled Arthur’s demeanour, and Merlin’s absence.
“Where is Merlin?” she worried, taking a quick look around in hopes of spotting him. He was nowhere. “Lancelot?” she begged off his silence.
Lancelot looked down the steps, to where Gaius had met Arthur. Arthur was speaking in hushed tones, his hand on Gaius’ shoulder.
“Let’s go inside,” Lancelot said. Once through the doors, the cacophony of the crowd muffled, he told her, “He was captured by Morgana. We believe the Cup was placed there to draw him in. We spent hours searching for him, but he was gone.”
Gwen tried to steady herself with a breath. It didn’t work. With all her might, she attempted to convince herself that Merlin would be okay. “We’ll find him,” she said, sounding more certain than she let on. She was sure, though, that he could see the fright in her, and she saw his.
She could not imagine what Arthur was feeling. It was a miracle he’d been convinced to return to Winchester at all, one of which Gwen was thankful. They needed to come up with a plan, not to react rashly.
In that moment, Arthur came through the doors. He didn’t so much as glance at her as he started into the main hall where the committee was gathered. She called his name, but he didn’t even appear to hear her. Then, Gaius came through, every line on his face sombre.
“Gaius,” Gwen said, her voice full of emotion. “You mustn’t worry. He will be all right.”
Gaius’ lips thinned and he regarded her with soft gratitude. “We must believe that is so.”
The three of them together continued to the hall to meet the rest.
“—don’t you think that’s what she wants us to do?” Gwen heard Simmons yelling even before they reached the doors. “You cannot bring our army into the Neos’ base so half-cocked! This committee will never allow it!”
Arthur was leaning into Simmons’ crossed arms and tapping toes, and gritting his teeth. Everyone was on their feet now, seeming poised to argue.
“I agree,” Darby voiced. “I vote against it.”
“Since when do our votes even count if he blatantly ignores them?” Brown laughed dryly. “If he won’t even be around for his own coronation, I say he isn’t fit to lead this committee!”
“One matter at a time,” the Commissioner interrupted.
“Yes, and we’re discussing the matter of the king consort’s well-being!” Arthur shouted.
“What of the king’s well-being?” Darby posed. “Your judgment can’t be so rash as to waltz into Morgana’s territory again, now that you know it’s a trap—with our army, no less!”
“Fine, then, I’ll take my knights. It will be a small group,” Arthur argued.
“Arthur, it’s suicide!” Simmons retorted.
“I don’t care!”
“We don’t even know if she’s taken him back to her base.”
“I don’t care!”
Simmons scoffed and threw her head back. In the motion, she caught sight of Gwen coming into the room. “Can you talk some sense into him, please?”
Arthur whipped around hostilely. Gwen was about to agree with Simmons when Lancelot said briskly, “Arthur, if you mean to rescue Merlin, I’m coming with you.”
Something dropped from Gwen’s chest into her stomach.
“Thank you, Lancelot!” Arthur said a bit too forcibly, and was looking at his committee as he did so.
“Stop it, both of you!” Gwen ordered, and both men fell silent. “Arthur, think about what you’re saying. You know Simmons is right. To go so brazenly into Morgana’s camp is madness.”
Arthur bristled, but he looked as though he was at least starting to listen. “Guinevere, it’s Merlin,” he said in one last desperate attempt to convince the room.
He would never admit it, and he did a good job at hiding his bone-deep terror, but Gwen saw it in his eyes. It broke her heart to say softly, “I know. That’s the point, Arthur. Morgana wants you weak. Do not play into her hands.”
Arthur squared his jaw to stop it from quavering and looked away. He put his hands on his sides and took in a deep breath that rattled more than he probably would have liked. “What do you say, Gaius?” he asked after a pause.
Gaius pressed his lips together, considering. As though it went against what his heart was telling him, he said, “Merlin has always been capable, sire. He can handle himself until we find a sound way to get to him.”
Arthur dropped his shoulders in defeat.
“I disagree,” Nathara spoke from her place near the knights, lined up against the window. Everyone’s eyes fell on her, but it did not hinder her in the slightest. “We stand little chance against the Neo army without Merlin.”
“Not anymore,” Darby reminded her. “Now that we have the bullets, we stand a fighting chance.”
“And when the bullets run out? Who will command the dragon to create more?”
“She’s right,” Arthur agreed.
Gwen narrowed her eyes at Nathara; however, despite the intensity of her surveying gaze, Nathara neither flinched nor looked back at her. She did not know why, but something did not sit right in her gut. Though Nathara’s reasons were genuine, Gwen wondered if he intentions were, too.
“We have enough crates of them to last months,” said Darby. “I think I speak for everyone present when I say, we do not intend to leave the consort as Morgana’s prisoner—,” Gwen tried not to flinch at the word, “—for such an extended time.”
“But you do intend to leave him a prisoner?” Arthur asked, his tone dangerous.
“We intend to come up with a strategy first,” Simmons told him.
It was clear the committee wouldn’t budget on the matter, and Gwen was happy for it. Despite her concern for her friend, she didn’t want to put more people she cared for in harm’s way. It was better this way. And, although Arthur hated it, he knew it, too.
“Fine,” he conceded, bristling. “Then, if you’re all so hell bent on finding a better way of getting Merlin back, you’d better start coming up with it.”
He pushed out of the group and started for the door. Gwen wasn’t certain where he was headed, but she knew it was best to let him blow off some steam.
“Oh, will someone put a guard on him so we know he won’t sail to York immediately?” Brown groaned, but it went ignored.
Gwen’s gaze swept to Lancelot’s, and she worried at her bottom lip.
She prayed Merlin was being strong.
///
Even before Merlin opened his eyes, he felt the aching pain thrumming along every inch of his body. Gradually, he realised his cheek was leaning against something soft, and his arms were bent at awkward angles.
He blinked awake with a groan, and as everything came into focus, he remembered what had happened.
He jerked upright. He was on the carpeted floor of a bedroom, but apart from that his surroundings gave nothing away. The paint on the walls was a neutral white, and the bedclothes were a navy gray. There was a nightstand with a lamp on it on the other side of the bed, closest to the open door through which Merlin only saw a blank white wall. There was a window on the wall nearest him, but the curtains were drawn so that Merlin couldn’t place where in the world he was or how he’d gotten there. There were no markers to judge who the room belonged to—no pictures or posters, no frills or decorations or personal knickknacks.
Merlin tried to orient himself. So, he didn’t know where he was. In the long run, that didn’t matter much. What mattered was this: he was certain he knew who’d captured him, and he was certain he had to escape. But, he wasn’t so certain on whether Arthur had been taken, too. That, more than anything, sat at the forefront of his panicked mind.
He tried to push those thoughts away for the moment. Now, he had to focus on the problem at hand: His wrists were shackled to the end bar of the wooden headboard. Instinctually, Merlin gave an alarmed tug. The chain links wrapped around the bar scraped the wood but did not give way.
The chains were familiar. They were the same cold black ones Mordred had used on the knights in Tintagel. The enchantment placed on them tingled in the back on Merlin’s mind and tickled at the already irritated flesh of his wrists. The iron was heavy and, upon inspection, he realised there wasn’t a break in the metal.
No opening. No key lock. Nothing.
His eyes flashed, commanding them open as he had the last time. Only, now the cuffs didn’t fall away. They glowed in a sparkling golden light that quickly faded back to hard matted black as if the light was seeping into the iron grooves. Merlin shook his head, wondering if he’d thought of the wrong incantation by mistake in his panic. It had been so long since he’d done that, but it was possible.
Forcing himself to think clearly, his eyes yielded to gold again. Again, the metal illuminated, but did not fall away.
“I wouldn’t keep that up if I were you,” came a voice from the doorway. It was too young to sound so cynical. It made Merlin’s blood run cold.
Before he craned his neck to look over the mattress, he knew whom he’d find.
Mordred.
Merlin schooled the fear out of his features before facing Mordred. He put on a mask, trying to seem nonchalant and completely in control, if not mildly perturbed at his current predicament. He made sure to hold Mordred’s eyes, still as bright and icy as they’d been the day Merlin first met him.
“The chains are enchanted so that the prisoner cannot break free of them,” Mordred gloated as he paced further into the room. He rested at the base of the bed in front of Merlin. “Only another with magic can open them.” His lips quirked as he said it, revelling in Merlin’s understanding that only Mordred or Morgana could free him—and that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
“I assure you, the enchantment works,” Mordred continued after the pause. “Morgana placed it upon those chains herself.”
It only discomforted Merlin more. If anyone else had cast the spell, he’d be able to break out of the chains easily enough. But Merlin knew what kind of power Morgana possessed. It furled inside of her like a wildfire, strong and destructive.
Merlin lifted his chin, trying to seem unaffected. “Where’s Arthur?” he demanded, keeping his tone even.
Mordred’s brows knitted together. “Arthur? He must be back in Winchester by now.”
It could have been a trick, but something told Merlin it wasn’t. So, Arthur was safe. Merlin could stop fretting. However, if Merlin was the only one captured, it did beg the question: “What do you want with me?”
“To behave yourself. The queen wishes to speak with you.” Mordred gave him a very severe look that promised consequences if Merlin stepped out of line. “I’ll take you to her. For that, I must temporarily free you of the chain. Do I have your word that you will not try anything, Merlin?”
Merlin wanted to laugh. But then he considered. Perhaps Arthur would benefit from a face-to-face meeting with Morgana. Merlin could try to glean some information from her. If nothing else, he could put the fear of god into her. Or, the fear of Emrys, which was arguably worse for Morgana. Maybe it would be enough to get her to stop whatever she was planning next.
Beyond that, Merlin was curious. Why did Morgana want to talk to him? It seemed fairly obvious as to why she’d captured him: Arthur would hold off the coronation until Merlin was safe again, giving Morgana the time to kill him before he officially became king. She was no doubt expecting Arthur to march on the Neo base, effectively doing her work for her.
Why then, Merlin wondered, was a conversation necessary?
Merlin nodded curtly, knowing it was best to gather as much information as he could before escaping. Mordred would no doubt bring him back to this same room after Morgana was finished. He’d have to restrain Merlin again, and that would be Merlin’s opportunity to escape.
Cautiously, one eye always on Merlin, Mordred stepped forward and held his hand close to the iron around one of Merlin’s wrists. Merlin watched Mordred’s every move with guarded attentiveness. He’d need to know for later.
Mordred muttered an incantation, and the chains wrapped around the bedpost unlatched from the cuffs, which remained unbroken on Merlin’s wrists. With the link broken and the chain whipping around the wooden bar, both Merlin’s arms fell down before he could catch them. He hadn’t realised the tension that had formed in his shoulders until it was relieved. Quickly, clearly expecting Merlin to go back on his promise, Mordred seized the chain, snatched Merlin’s hands, and reattached the shackles with magic.
He got to his feet. “Stand up.”
Merlin glowered at Mordred through his eyelashes before attempting to do so. His legs were wobbly with disuse, and his spine protested where he must have landed on it after the rock fall. It didn’t help that his restraints were heavy. They tugged at his arms and pulled on his shoulders enough to feel like their weight would dislocate his joints if he let them fall unsupported.
After he’d gotten up, Mordred gripped him by the shoulder and pushed him forward. Merlin tried not to become off-balanced by the chains.
“Walk,” Mordred ordered.
Merlin looked over his shoulder at Mordred’s stony expression. “If you expect me to act like a dog, you should find a lead.”
“We already have a collar,” Mordred responded, and Merlin instantly remembered the chain that had been fitted around Gwaine’s neck. “You may try to break your hands to free yourself, but would you choke the life out of yourself to escape?” He tilted his head as though inspecting Merlin. “I wonder if that would kill you.”
Understanding the threat, Merlin faced forward and walked, following Mordred’s directions on where to turn.
He was brought down a hall and passed a couple of closed doors. There was still nothing to clue him in on his surroundings. There must have been pictures on the wall once, judging by the rectangle discolorations in the paint and the nail holes in the plaster, but they’d all been removed. He seemed to have been in a house rather than a flat, if the layout of the rooms was anything to go by.
At the end of the hall, a man in head-to-toe Kevlar was positioned. He was holding an automatic rifle between his hands, and Merlin wondered if that was supposed to intimidate him.
It did. A little. But he wasn’t about to let that show, so he made himself as tall as he could as he passed the man.
Mordred had him turn right into a kitchen so outdated it looked like it belonged in a seventies sitcom. There was one window over the sink, but the lace curtains were drawn over it so Merlin couldn’t see outside.
Morgana was sitting at the breakfast table, munching on an assortment of overgrown fruits and meats as though she’d lived in this home for years. The sight of the food made Merlin realise how hungry he was, but he ignored it. It was unlikely he’d get anything to eat.
Merlin stopped walking as soon as he saw her. She, however, didn’t pause for a moment. She took a long sip from the tea in her mug and stared at him over the rim, sizing him up. Her eyes stung like a snakebite, as they always had when they bored into him.
Merlin felt his magic thrashing against his skin in her presence.
“Emrys,” Morgana said pleasantly, suddenly, as though greeting an old friend. “How good of you to join me. Sit.”
Mordred pulled out the chair opposite Morgana. Merlin couldn’t help but eye them both suspiciously, expecting the chair to sprout more chains as soon as he sat down. He did so nonetheless, and the chair proved to be just as innocuous as any other.
Morgana’s eyes languidly swept him up and down, no doubt enjoying every moment of seeing him at her mercy. He remembered the last time she’d held him captive, and the denied strange rush she had given him whenever she stood too close or tightened the bonds around his wrists. There was a time when he wouldn’t have hated himself so much for that excitement.
Be he did hate it now, especially when he thought back to the dreams Morgana had implanted in him.
“I thought it was time for us to have a little chat,” Morgana said once he was fully seated.
“Right,” Merlin bit out, hefting his chains from beneath the table and crashing them on the top so Morgana’s lunch rattled. “A chat.”
At this, Morgana’s expression darkened, as did her tone. “You didn’t expect me to give you the chance to stab me again, did you?”
Merlin remained outwardly neutral. He was all too aware of Mordred hovering over his shoulder, and of Morgana wanting a rise out of him. He wouldn’t give it to her so easily.
“What do you want, Morgana? I’ll never tell you Arthur’s military plans.”
He found it hard to believe that was the reason she’d kidnapped him. She must have known that was never going to happen. But it was the only plausible reason Merlin could come up with for this conversation.
“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t need to know the plans of your precious king.” She spit out the last word like it was poisonous. “I want the same thing I’ve always wanted—Arthur’s head on a spike.”
It seemed like a gruesome image for lunchtime, but this was, after all, Morgana. Blood and guts would have probably been her Saturday morning cartoons, had she been alive during those days.
Merlin merely rolled his eyes at it. “All this time, and you still resent him. And it’s all for nothing. He’s nothing like Uther, Morgana. You know that.”
“Isn’t he?” she challenged. “He slaughtered thousands of my kind.”
“Your kind?”
“Yes, since you’ve turned your back on us, you’ve no right to count yourself among us. If you could, you would be just as enraged at Arthur for all the killing he’s done. How could you defend him after that?”
“Like you haven’t done the same? He was young and trying to prove himself. You were on a rampage.”
Morgana leaned back, playing it cool. “I neutralised anyone who defied me.”
“You murdered people who wouldn’t help you.”
“And Arthur made them live in fear. Even after Uther’s death, he kept the ban on magic,” she countered. “He hates magic.”
Merlin was tired of justifying the laws of a kingdom that had long been overgrown. Arthur had always been fair to magic users in Camelot, when he could be; even if Merlin often hated the politics and pressure that Arthur had to succumb to when magic was involved.
My hands are tied by the law, Arthur would always say when Merlin tried to change his mind on a prisoner’s sentence. But he saw the toll it put on Arthur when the man or woman was truly innocent of any crime besides practicing magic to protect their children or grow their crops or heal their loved ones’ sicknesses.
Yes, Merlin was tired of justifying Arthur’s actions—especially to himself.
“And you didn’t do much to sway his feelings,” Merlin reminded her. “Uther made you both fearful of magic.” He thought back to the days when Morgana’s magic was just budding. She’d been terrified—of Uther, of herself. Merlin never forgave himself for not helping her, and it appeared neither did she.
“I changed my views. He did not,” Morgana answered, as stubborn as she’d always been.
This conversation would go in circles until dinnertime if Merlin didn’t lead it somewhere else. He groaned at the ceiling and shook his head. “You know as well as I you have no real reason to hate Arthur. You just wanted him dead because he stood in your way to the throne—because he was the legitimate heir, because the people of Camelot loved him—.”
“They were not the only ones who loved him,” she cut in.
Merlin forgot himself for a moment. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, robbing him of oxygen. He knew at once why Morgana wanted to speak with him.
She wanted to gloat.
Surely enough, her face lit up in victory. Her eyes briefly flickered to Mordred. “So, it’s true? About you and my dear brother? I must say, when I heard of the announcement that you were to be named consort, I hardly believed it. But, I suppose, Arthur always did like putting servants on my throne.”
Merlin corrected himself. He tightened his jaw in resolve, not wanting to egg her on. “You didn’t bring me here to gossip. So, is that why? You think Arthur will come here and try to rescue me? You think he won’t know it’s a trap? Arthur’s stupid, but do you really think he’s that stupid?”
It was difficult to not express himself with his hands as he spoke, but the chains prevented it. He often forgot as his anger bubbled. It festered with every word, going against his attempts to remain calm in the face of adversity.
“I think he’s that arrogant,” Morgana corrected. “He’ll come, just as he always has for those he cares about. Like he once did for his queen.”
The mention of Gwen was meant to do more than wound. It was meant to slice his throat. And perhaps it was meant to put doubt in Merlin’s mind, too. To make him question whether Arthur would actually come for him at all. But he would. That was the problem.
Merlin forced himself to not let Morgana’s slight affect him. If he did that, she would win, even if it were a small victory.
“And,” Morgana went on after a pause, “then he’ll never become king. His destiny will be for not, and mine will be complete. The Twice Crowned Man will be a name and nothing more.”
Merlin blinked at that, taken off his guard. He didn’t expect to hear that title. She believed the Twice Crowned King was Arthur—of course; why wouldn’t she? She’d never suspect Cenred, and Merlin wouldn’t divulge the secret. But what prophecy had told Morgana her destiny hinged on the Twice Crowned Kings coronation? He supposed it wasn’t important, so long as she didn’t know she’d failed already.
Or had she? Destiny was still set off track. It could be that this prophecy had no merit, either. Fate could still change.
Intent on not giving away his thoughts, Merlin decided to press on with the conversation.
“If you’re so certain he’ll come, why not just kill me?”
She leaned forward, as though to explain the alphabet to a small child. “Oh, Emrys, we both know I can’t without a sword forged in dragon fire. But perhaps when Mordred is finished with Arthur and his friends, you will have your wish.” Then, she seemed to consider something. She sat back and curled her nose in a snide way. “Or maybe I’ll leave you to rot for the rest of your life knowing you failed him again.”
No, Merlin thought furiously. He wouldn’t let that happen, even if it meant being held captive by Morgana forever.
“Or perhaps,” she said, leaning back again coolly in her chair. She surveyed him, her eyes scanning and carving. There was the faintest of grins on her lips. “Neither of those things will be necessary, Emrys. If you see sense.”
Merlin’s brows knitted together. “What sense?”
“In due time,” Morgana answered vaguely with a wave of her hand. “This is not the last conversation you and I will have. In fact, I think we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together from now on. I’m sure you and I will understand one another very soon.”
Merlin didn’t know what she was playing at, but he didn’t like it. No matter what doubt squirmed inside of him, he forced himself to remain outwardly defiant. Whatever plan she had, it wouldn’t work. He needed her to understand that right now.
He pushed all of his determination, all of his bone-deep resolve, into the space between them. It thrummed like the heartbeat of a living thing, and he was sure Morgana got the message. She didn’t seem so domineering and, for a moment, her haughty expression faltered.
She was still scared of him. Even when he was in chains.
“I can hardly wait,” he bit out.
Squaring herself, Morgana said, “We’re done here. Mordred, take him to his room. In fact, I think I’ll go with you. I’d like to see the look on his face when he’s imprisoned.”
Merlin was led out of the kitchen, past the guard, and down the short hall. Morgana and Mordred were at his back. It would be harder to take them both out, but he would be able to do it once his chains were removed.
When he got to the open door to the bedroom in which he’d woken up, he made to turn into it. However, Mordred forestalled him by ordering, “Not there. Keep walking.”
For a couple of seconds, Merlin remained still. He looked into the bedroom longingly, as though it was his safe place. He’d pictured himself escaping inside that room. Now, he had to rework the imagery in an unknown setting. For some reason, it made him nervous.
Mordred gave him a push forward, and Merlin gulped down his apprehension and moved. He could still escape. The location didn’t matter. He was just psyching himself out.
Only, that bedroom had been the last in the hall. The next door was a small bathroom, Merlin saw when they passed it. Beyond that, straight ahead at the end of the hall, was a door so narrow it couldn’t have been anything but a cupboard.
Merlin’s pulse leapt as he became suddenly aware of what he would be facing if he didn’t get out now.
When they got to it, Mordred reached around Merlin and opened the cupboard door. It was completely barren, save for a steel rod where hangers and clothes should have been hanging beneath a shelf that held only dust.
Mordred turned Merlin around and backed him into the cupboard. He was much too tall, and had to duck below the shelf so low he might have been bowing. Morgana was smirking at him, not at all humble at his forced reverence.
He had to act quickly.
Mordred unshackled the chain. Instantly, Merlin pushed the air with both palms. His irises burned, as did his iron cuffs. Morgana and Mordred were sent flying backwards, their limbs flailing before they knocked against the wall.
He jumped over the unconscious forms and raced for the end of the corridor.
The man in the Kevlar filled out the exit, using his body as a barricade. He levelled his rifle and wasted a few bullets into the floor right in front of Merlin. Reflexively, Merlin jumped backwards to avoid them.
“Hands up!” the guard bellowed, pointing his machine gun at Merlin like he meant business.
With a flick of his chin, Merlin could have gotten the man out of his way. He was about to do just that when something invisible slammed him into the wall next to him like a puppet on a string. Morgana had woken up.
Dazed, Merlin slid to the floor. Morgana came into focus standing over him. Her fingers were curled into her palm tensely, and she glared at Merlin with death in her eyes.
Merlin felt her magic wrapping around him like a noose. His spine arched as he struggled against the sensation. His cuffed hands flew to his neck, like he could tear away a physical thing. But it was inside of him, blocking his air until even the hapless grunts escaping him were silenced.
Just as Merlin’s vision was going dark around the edges like a vignette photograph, Morgana dropped her hand and the tightness in his throat fell away. Merlin drank in air in hefty bouts that burned his lungs.
In that time, Mordred must have woken up, too. He was at Merlin’s side before Merlin could regain his composure enough to think clearly. He manhandled Merlin to his feet.
“By all means, Emrys,” Morgana spat at him, “keep trying to escape. Each time you use your magic, your chains collect the power for my weapon.”
Merlin hoped she didn’t catch the flash of shock in his eyes, but he was certain she did, because her smug grin returned.
“How much of your magic do you think I’ll need to destroy Winchester without so much as leaving York?”
York. So, he was at the Neo base. Escape was becoming less possible by the moment, and somewhere inside of him, he thought that was for the best.
Mordred’s grip tightened and he made Merlin stumble back to the cupboard.
Merlin was dragged inside, his arms were lifted, and the chain was hooked around the steel rod.
“Morgana, no—,” he tried, his voice thick and gravely. He didn’t know what he was going to say next, but it seemed like a good idea to keep her talking until he could come up with a plan.
However, Morgana’s eyes on him tugged heavier than his chains. It burned more than the muscles in his legs as they strained to support his weight while bent so awkwardly at the knees.
Behind them, still at the end of the hall, the guard remained with his gun at the ready.
“Morgana!”
The door slammed and inch from his nose. He was instantly submerged into pitch darkness. His breaths were louder in the tiny space. His magic beat around inside of him, desperate for a way out. It made him want to rage, to tear the house down to the nubs with everyone inside of it.
Some all-powerful sorcerer he was, trapped in a cupboard. And for what? Destiny wasn’t supposed to do this to him! Arthur was meant to return; no one else! Merlin was supposed to be at Arthur’s side, not held captive by Morgana!
He jerked forward, his body crashing into the wood of the door and his shoulders spiking with white-hot pain when his chains prevented him from going any further.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
“Morgana!”
///
“Well, it’s broken,” Gaius said.
Gwen stood in the manor’s parlour, her eyes on Arthur, sitting on the sofa, and Gaius, leaning over him. Gaius had been prodding at the bruise discolouring Arthur’s swollen arm. Every time he touched a new area, no matter how gentle, Arthur hissed and gritted his teeth in pain.
“How bad is it?” she worried, chewing on her thumbnail and trying to keep her eyes off of Arthur’s black and blue skin.
“Without a proper x-ray at the hospital, it’s hard to say,” Gaius told them, standing up. “But it seems to me that it’s more than just a fracture. It could be serious. You may not have use of the arm for a month or two, sire.”
Arthur shook his head, as if his determination alone could heal the bone. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first broken bone.”
Gwen remembered the other bones Arthur had broken: once, when he was a young prince showing off in tourney, and had taken a mace to the collarbone; again as prince when he’d been thrown from his horse and broken a rib; and another memorable instance, not long after their marriage, when they were strolling through the forest and he slipped down an incline, fracturing his ankle in the process. She tried not to smile at the memory of the last occurrence.
“Yes, but this is the first time your sword arm is broken,” Gaius told him sternly, his eyebrow raising sternly.
Arthur huffed, a bit like a child. “How am I supposed to fight if my arm’s in cast?”
“You’re not,” Gwen ordered.
“She’s right. You must allow it to heal,” Gaius agreed.
Arthur sighed again and fell back against the sofa. He looked towards the window, his jaw brooding. Gwen knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it, too: if Merlin were here, he’d be able to heal it.
She wondered, “Might one of the Druids be able to heal it?”
“Not completely,” Gaius told her. “They certainly will be able to help with the pain, but if the break is as bad as I suspect it is, their magic will do little in the ways of healing it. The Druids only possess enough power to fix superficial wounds. The only person powerful to enough for something like this is—.” He stopped dead, like his thoughts finally caught up to him. His lips thinned solemnly.
“I see,” Gwen breathed, accepting the confirmation of her assumption. “Well, then, we must do this the old fashioned way. Will one of the doctors be able to fit Arthur with a splint?”
Arthur scoffed.
“Yes,” said Gaius. “It shouldn’t take long. Arthur, we should go to the hospital at once.”
Before Arthur made a reply, Ainsworth came into the room. He bowed his head, even though Arthur’s back was to him, and said, “Sire, you are needed at Guildhall.”
Arthur’s nose curled in confusion. “What for? All the committee members have gone home.”
Once it was clear the coronation would have to be postponed, the city began emptying out. Out of the committee, only Simmons remained with the intention of setting a new date for the crowning. From what she’d told Gwen, the committee’s sights were set on the week after next.
“The message is from Chief Aurora, sire.”
“Aurora?” Gwen questioned.
“Indeed, ma’am. A number of Druids have descended upon her camp earlier this afternoon. Their chiefs wish for an audience with the king.”
Gwen’s lips parted in shock. She turned to Gaius, and then to Arthur. Both of them wore the same expression she did. At once, Arthur got eagerly to his feet.
“Have them gather in Guildhall. And summon Prime Minister Simmons. I’ll attend them at once.”
Ainsworth bowed again and left.
“Arthur, I know what you’re thinking,” Gwen said, her tone warning.
“With more magic on our side, we’ll be able to take on the Neos. This changes everything, Guinevere! We can save Merlin.” His eyes were wide—manic, almost.
Gwen was more wary. She hoped these Druids were on their side, like Aurora and her tribe, but they had to proceed with caution. Their arrival, so soon after Merlin abduction, was worrisome. “We don’t know what they want yet.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
An hour later, they gathered in Guildhall. Aurora and her councillors, the knights, and Simmons and her advisors were all in attendance. Three Druid chiefs stood before them: a man named Robert, leader of a tribe from Norfolk; Millicent, her tribe from the outskirts of Cardiff; and once other, now introducing himself.
“Chief Jeremy, my king, from the Wye Valley,” he said.
Arthur looked to Simmons. “Prime Minister, that’s in your province. Have you heard of such a tribe?”
“I believe I may have,” she considered, and looked to Jeremy. “You live in the forest. Forgive me, but I was led to believe you were some kind of religious commune.”
In a way, Gwen considered, she was correct. The Druids were somewhat cultish.
Jeremy didn’t appear slighted in the least. “We keep to ourselves. Our people are safer that way.”
“Then, why have you come now?” Arthur wondered.
“For you,” was the answer, “on your coronation day. We don’t have any gifts to offer, I’m afraid. But our three tribes have come together to offer our allegiance to the Once and Future King—,” he bowed his head as he said it, as did the other two. “And the Emrys.” He looked up, his eyes searching for a face he did not find.
Gwen steadied herself, trying not to think of Merlin. Arthur, however, tensed.
“You must know, then, that the coronation did not take place,” Arthur admitted.
“Chief Aurora has told us,” Jeremy said. He looked at her with some scrutiny, perhaps because she was so young. Something inside Gwen became defensive at that, but she let it go. “But she had not said much else.”
“The coronation is to be postponed until Queen Morgana is defeated,” Arthur announced with resolve.
Gwen’s chest tightened. She looked at Simmons, who steeled her jaw in attempt to hold in a stream of words that would no doubt come later.
“I see,” said the Druid chief. “Nonetheless, we offer our services to you, my king. If I may ask, where is Emrys? We would very much like to see him.”
“Why?”
All three chiefs seemed thrown by the question.
“Because . . . We would like to give him our reverence in person.”
A beat. And then, “The king consort is away on an urgent matter. He will return soon. In the meantime, you are welcome to stay in the city. Although, I wish to know what kind of allegiance you plan to offer. Is it your support in name alone, or do you wish to join the fight against the Neo army?”
Now, it was Gwen’s turn to hold her tongue. Arthur was getting ahead of himself. As it had been with Aurora’s tribe, this reception was the first of many conversations. If Arthur reacted too quickly, it could spell disaster. Gwen wanted to believe these Druids were true, but they could not afford to assume anything at the moment. The committee certainly would have reservations of their own.
“My king, we are peaceful people,” Jeremy told him, almost apologetically. “None of us have ever been in battle before. But, we are ready to serve in whatever way you see fit.”
Arthur nodded, apparently accepting the answer. “Then, I welcome you and your people. Chief Aurora will be my liaison. Bring to her whatever needs you require.”
The Druids bowed their heads; so did Aurora. As the reception disbursed, Gwen saw Simmons glaring at Arthur with intent. Gwen stayed her with a look of her own, trying to convey that she should speak with Arthur first. Simmons got the message and left, too, though she didn’t look very happy about it.
“Arthur,” Gwen said when everyone but they were present.
“Can it wait?” Arthur asked. “I’m tired, Guinevere. It’s been a long day. I need to think about what to do next.”
She was glad, at least, he was finally deciding to think. She would not deny him that.
“I think,” she said tenderly, “next, we should take you to hospital and get your arm fixed.”
He sighed, but eventually nodded his consent.
///
He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly his thoughts began to sluggishly drift away from him. He lay on the edge of sleep, feeling the beta waves hum through his head, carrying away the conscious world. He must have stayed that way for hours, with his body sinking heavily around him but his mind never allowing him to fully take the plunge into sleep.
Someone else was in the room with him. Arthur didn’t know how he knew it, whether by some instinct or a sixth sense, but he felt the presence. It burned into his back and sent tingles down his spine. Somehow, he knew the presence meant him no harm. It felt familiar, like it belonged, a presence he’d had at his side for so long that he’d forgotten it wasn’t a part of him. A presence he never even noticed was there until it was gone.
Slowly, he realised he should look over his shoulder at it.
His eyelids were weights when he blinked them open, and his skin still thrummed with numb sleep. He swivelled his neck to see who was there.
Standing amongst the flagstone floors and the tall wooden doors was Merlin, one side of his face burning with the golden light from the hearth.
Arthur felt his breath leave him in a way that sounded very much like Merlin’s name.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining things. However, when his vision came back into focus, Merlin was still there. He stood unmoving, not even to blink, like he didn’t want to look away from Arthur.
He said nothing for a long time, until he whispered, “Arthur? Can you see me?”
“See you? Of course, I can see you!”
Arthur fought with the blankets and jumped out of bed. He heard himself laughing, unable to keep his happiness in his chest. It caused a funny kind of ache, one he remembered feeling before. Morgana had kidnapped Merlin then, too; and, impossibly, Merlin had found his way back.
The stones were warm under his feet as he rushed for Merlin and collided against him in an embrace. Merlin collapsed into him, allowing himself to feel his exhaustion. Arthur heard Merlin’s breath stumble in and out.
For a moment, Arthur did nothing but hold him. He closed his eyes, and felt Merlin’s fingers tangle in the hairs on the back of his head.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Arthur admitted, and buried his face into the crook of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s scent was a memory—country fields with wheat stocks swaying in the breeze, a sleepy campfire under a canopy of trees on a hunting trip, Hunith’s terrible porridge that Arthur had learned to swallow down without complaint when their travels took them through Ealdor, summer swims in warm streams, and every rainy morning Arthur had ever woken up to.
“Thought you’d get rid of me so easily?” Merlin laughed. It sounded thick.
Arthur grinned so widely he was certain Merlin could feel it against his skin. He exhumed himself, but stayed close. “I’d hoped.”
Merlin kept his hands in Arthur’s hair, and Arthur refused to unwrap his arms from around Merlin’s hips.
“How did you escape?” Arthur asked, already in awe of the answer—of Merlin. He was an impossible thing made flesh.
Merlin’s face fell. That hopelessly content twinkle dulled from his eyes. Already, Arthur was worried.
“I didn’t.”
And now, Arthur was confused. He shook his head. Deep down, he knew he already believed it. It was a natural reflex to trust Merlin. But he denied it. “What are you talking about?” Of course, Merlin had escaped. He was standing right in front of Arthur, in Arthur’s arms.
Merlin swallowed thickly. He looked on the verge of tears. “You’re asleep.”
Again, Arthur was torn between what he believed and what he wanted to believe. And then, he got a better look at the room he was in. It was his chambers in Camelot. How had he not realised that before?
He withered. “This is a dream.”
“Yes,” Merlin answered, even though it hadn’t been a question.
“You’re not really here.”
Arthur hated himself for thinking it would be so easy to get Merlin back.
Merlin’s grip on his hair tightened. It was real pressure; Arthur could feel it. “It’s really me,” Merlin promised.
Arthur believed him.
“I can’t stay long. It’s taking a lot of magic to be here. I can’t give Morgana any more than is necessary.”
Merlin sounded urgent. He was speaking too quickly now, and Arthur needed him to slow down.
“What are you saying? Give her what?”
“My magic,” Merlin huffed impatiently, his tone urging Arthur to keep up, but Arthur didn’t know where he was being led. “The shackles she put on me—I can’t use my magic or else they’ll absorb it. She wants it for her weapon.”
Arthur ground his teeth. All he heard was the word shackles.
“I didn’t want to give her any of my magic, but I needed to talk to you.”
Finally, the other words processed. Merlin had taken a gamble in using his magic. Arthur didn’t know how much Morgana needed to make her weapon ultimate in its power, but he prayed Merlin knew what he was doing. If Merlin thought this a necessary risk, he must have had a plan.
Hopefully, it was an escape plan, and he needed Arthur’s help in its execution.
“Where is she keeping you? The Neo Base? Where specifically?” Arthur asked, getting ahead of himself.
Merlin sucked in a breath and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it matters! How am I supposed to—?”
“You can’t come for me!”
Arthur wasn’t sure how to react other than utter silence. His mind blanked. Surely, Merlin wasn’t telling Arthur to leave him as Morgana’s prisoner.
Slowly, the cogs of Arthur’s mind began to creak back into life.
“How can you ask me to do that?” he said, unsure whether it made him sound strong or desperate.
Merlin thinned his lips in apology. “Arthur, that’s why I’m here. Please don’t come for me.”
Arthur extracted himself from Merlin and paced away. He wanted to be furious. How could Merlin do that to him? How could Merlin dangle hope in arm’s reach and then tear it away? How could Merlin expect Arthur to leave him?
“She wants you to come to the base, Arthur. She wants you where she has the advantage. It’s not just my magic she wants; it’s you, too—dead. If you come here, she’ll destroy you.”
Arthur heaved out a breath and put his hands on his hips. He wouldn’t accept it. He shook his head at the floor.
“There must be a way,” he said, waving a hand through the air as he turned back to Merlin. He briefly noticed that he had use of the arm, that there was no sharp pain in it, if only in the dream.
“There is,” Merlin urged. “We can use this to our advantage. I can find out her every move. You can be one step ahead of her.”
“No. That’s what Cenred’s for.”
“Cenred isn’t as close to her as I am! Arthur—.” Merlin rushed up to him, making sure Arthur had his full attention. “Use me.”
Arthur didn’t want to consider it. The soldier in him knew it was a good strategy, but the human part of him only wanted Merlin back safe.
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Morgana will be suspicious if I do nothing.”
“You won’t be doing nothing,” Merlin reminded him. “You’ll continue with things as planned.”
Things. Arthur scoffed. “You mean the coronation.”
There was no way Arthur was doing that without Merlin present. That’s where he drew the line.
Again, Merlin paused, looking pained, but he fought it down. “Yes, the coronation.”
Arthur scoffed again, louder this time. “No. Not without you.”
Before Arthur finished his protest, Merlin argued back, “Yes, without me! Why do you think all this happened so close to the coronation? Morgana thinks she can change destiny. She thinks, as long as you aren’t king, she can win. Take away her hope, Arthur. You must be crowned.”
If Merlin wasn’t going to be selfish, Arthur would be selfish for him.
“You’ve waited you whole life for that day!” Arthur yelled, fire in his tone.
Merlin matched his volume. “Yes, I did! So let it come with or without me! It doesn’t matter!”
“Stop saying that! It does matter!”
Maybe Arthur was being selfish for himself, too. He needed Merlin at the coronation. The crown would be heavy enough as it was. Without Merlin at his side, it would be an impossible weight to bear. Arthur could not afford to begin his reign with self-doubt. It was no longer the future of a kingdom at stake; it was the future itself. Everything he did set precedence. Everything he did mattered.
Merlin mattered. Or, at least, he did to Arthur, powerful sorcerer or servant. Arthur needed him.
Merlin must have sensed this, because he dropped his voice again. “Hey.” He wrapped his hand around the back of Arthur neck. There was a smile on his face—a fragile, heartbroken thing, more for Arthur’s benefit than his own. It had been the last sight Arthur had seen in his first life. That smile.
“Maybe I won’t be there for the first days of your reign, but I will be there every day after. I won’t miss a single one.”
Arthur’s eyes were stinging. He tried to blink back the water lining his lashes, but all it did was make them fall.
Merlin drew him in closer until their foreheads touched.
“I didn’t wait all my life for your coronation, you clotpole. I waited all my life for you.”
Arthur still didn’t know why anyone would wait that long for either, but all he wanted was to one day prove he’d been worth it.
“Promise me you’ll go through with the coronation,” Merlin said like it was the most important thing in the world. To him, it was. “Promise me, Arthur.”
“I can’t,” Arthur whispered. “Merlin, my soul.”
“I mean it,” Merlin stressed. “Promise me, or I’ll use my magic to kick your arse.”
He was smiling again, this time genuinely. It made the corners of Arthur’s lips tug up, too, despite himself.
“Liar.”
Merlin kissed him, and Arthur tried to forget it was only a dream.
When the kiss broke, Merlin looked harried. “I have to go.”
Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. Already, he felt himself shaking off sleep. The room around him was beginning to combine with reality, making it a strange mix between his room in Camelot and his room in the manor.
Arthur tried to stop it, but he knew there was no point.
“Tell me you’ll come back tomorrow,” Arthur said quickly, wanting to get one last word in.
“I can’t. I told you, I can’t let her have my magic.”
“Then, tell me you’ll come back.”
“I’ll come back.” Merlin voice sounded faded now, distant, like they were on separate shores of a lake. Only the wind carried his voice.
“And be careful!” But Arthur wasn’t sure Merlin could hear him anymore.
Arthur called his name. He wanted him to stay. How could he leave him in Morgana’s hold?
“Remember, you promised!”
But Arthur hadn’t promised anything.
“Please, remember . . .”
There was a breath like waking up.
It was daylight. Arthur was in bed again, right where he’d fallen asleep. He jolted into consciousness and whipped around to look over his shoulder. His pulse pounded against him, and his arm thudded dully.
He settled despondently. Merlin wasn’t there.
///
Two hours later, Arthur sat behind his desk in his study. Gwen, Gaius, and Simmons were gathered around him, all discussing Merlin’s fate. Arthur slumped. He felt like he hadn’t slept a wink, but he wouldn’t rest until Merlin was rescued.
He couldn’t promise Merlin to stay away. And he definitely couldn’t go on with the coronation.
“If he can contact us with regular reports, I believe he should stay where he is,” Simmons said with her usual amount of pragmatism.
“But there won’t be regular reports,” said Gwen, not necessarily arguing. Already knew already that she agreed with Merlin’s decision. “Merlin told Arthur he couldn’t contact him unless it’s important.”
“That’s still good enough for me.”
“Yes, but we must decide if it’s worth the risk. He may be spying on Morgana, but there’s no telling what she’ll do to get what she wants from him.”
Arthur tightened his jaw. He’d pointedly not thought about that. Morgana was probably having the time of her life. Never had he truly considered how sadistic she could be.
“I don’t believe Merlin would ever give his magic to her,” Gaius defended.
“Nor would I give her what she desires under normal circumstances,” Gwen reasoned, “but you and I have both been at her mercy before, Gaius. We both resisted, but she’s relentless.”
“Merlin is stronger than I, Gwen,” said Gaius, “and more resilient against her magic than any of us.”
Arthur turned his attention towards the window. The trees were budding in the garden. He never thought he’d see that again. If summer were ever to come, the world needed Merlin. Only he could continue to heal the earth. In Morgana’s hands, his magic would destroy it.
Arthur didn’t want Merlin to have to be strong or resilient. He wanted summertime.
“Should we risk that?” Gwen asked again.
“I don’t think we should risk our army for one man,” said Simmons.
“The one man with the power to take on Morgana’s army?” Gwen reminded her.
“We have the Druids. We have the bullets that can kill her army. I’m sorry, I don’t want him to suffer any more than you do, but if he doesn’t want to be saved, why are we even talking about this? When Arthur is crowned, Morgana’s morale will be shaken. That will weaken her.”
“Or anger her,” Gwen pointed out. “Even if Arthur is crowned, she won’t stop trying.”
“And we’ll have another man on the inside to tell us her next move. You trust Merlin more than you do Cenred, surely?”
“Of course!”
“Then, the odds are stacked in our favour.”
“Not necessarily. If Morgana gets a hold of Merlin’s magic, that’s it for us. She will kill everyone the world over if she wants to.”
“I think that’s a rather big if, Gwen,” said Gaius. “I have faith in Merlin. I believe he knows what he’s doing.”
Arthur wanted to laugh. He trusted Merlin with his life, but Merlin had been wrong before. He was too flippant with his own well-being. Arthur didn’t trust Merlin with his own life at all.
Simmons folded her arms over her chest. “We can put it to a committee vote to postpone the coronation, but I can’t see that as the outcome. I’ll vote for it to move forward.”
Gwen considered, seeming to wrestle with the decision for a moment. Finally, she said, “And I will support you.”
“No.” Arthur wasn’t sure he’d said it aloud until he noticed everyone had fallen silent. They were all looking at him.
His voice hadn’t sounded like his own. It was dry and brittle, too exhausted.
He looked back at them. He’d made his decision. He stood up to give it.
“We won’t move forward until the king consort is home. I don’t care if he wants to be rescued or not. I’ll drag him back to Winchester myself if I need to.”
“Arthur—,” Gwen began, but Arthur didn’t want to hear it. He held up his palm to silence her.
“I don’t mean to risk the lives of our soldiers for this. I only ask for a small group to accompany me. I will appeal to the Druids for their help in securing us. Inside the base, Cenred and his followers will be poised to help us. We must get word to him and begin planning immediately.”
“Arthur, your arm is broken! You can’t even wield a sword,” Simmons reminded him, like he needed it. The sling and cast were already annoying him to no end. They uncomfortably restricted movement—and they were itchy.
“I can’t allow you to do this,” Simmons adamantly continued. “I understand you’re hell bent on getting him back, but the committee will never allow you to use our soldiers.”
“I have my knights.” They’d follow him to York. They’d bring their friend home.
Simmons allowed, “Then, they should go without you.”
Arthur groaned. This wasn’t an argument.
“Honestly, Arthur, you’re to be the king. Our leader. Can you understand the importance of that for one moment? That means you’ll have to let others go on your suicide missions for you!”
Now, she sounded like his father.
“I can’t ask my men to risk themselves when I’m not willing to make the same sacrifice.”
“Which is why you should think twice before sending anyone on missions like these.”
“How can the people of Britain expect me to protect them if I can’t even protect my own husband?”
“You’re putting sentiment in front of your duties.”
“I don’t see it that way. The people won’t place their trust in a king who allows others to fight his battles for him.”
Gwen was looking at him with barely concealed pride, but Simmons was glaring at him like he was an idiot.
“No one expects a king to go into battle anymore, not like they did in your time.”
The world hadn’t changed that much, surely. People still needed someone to believe in. Arthur wasn’t sure he was the right man, but Merlin did, so he’d have to try.
“My time,” Arthur echoed. “I’m tired of people saying that as if my kingdom is solely in the past. This is my time. Right now. And, as king, I will do what I think is right. If I can’t do that, you might not want to crown me at all.”
At once, something close to regret struck Arthur. He wasn't certain he should have challenged her like that. She could go to the committee and tell them he wasn’t fit to lead. They could vote him out.
Let them.
This is wasn’t only about Merlin anymore. It was about who he'd be as a king. He had to do what he knew to be right.
Simmons looked for a moment as though she’d continue to argue, but she exhaled. And conceded. “If we do this, we have to be smart about it. Your safety is the most important thing, Arthur. That means we have to come up with a plan the entire committee is comfortable with—to be executed after your arm is healed. Is that clear?”
Arthur nodded, grateful to be given this chance. “Understood.”
“No going rogue!” she stressed, pointing at him to punctuate her point. “The last thing we need is for you to wind up dead.”
Arthur smirked softly, feeling a little better for her support. When the two of them were on the same page, there had been nothing they couldn’t accomplish so far. “Don't worry about that. I’ll probably come back to life, anyway.”
Gaius didn't look very amused. Gwen rolled her eyes.
Simmons lifted a brow. “Well, I’m certainly not waiting a thousand years to find out.”