Merlyn's Final Truth

His Father's Son P1

Merlyn was running. The forest was just coming into view, green trees climbing high in the distance. She wore a red cape, Arthur's, hurried chainmail haphazardly thrown over her chest; she felt like a mockery of a troubled knight, a man with no where to go but into the woods ahead. The heavy metal weighed her down, but she continued forwards, the vile screams of her pursuers as loud as her pounding heart. It wouldn't be long now, the open sky giving way to a leafy canopy above her head as she raced towards the valley. Arthur would be waiting for her there. He had to be.

Reaching a steep cliff, she stopped, breathing heavily as she scoured the earth above her head. An axe came close to hitting her, but missed; she picked it up, brandishing it as the bandits got ever closer. Eying them carefully, she could only watch as their leader made his way to the front of the pack, giving her a greasy smile.

"Trapped, are we?" he laughed, just as an arrow found purchase in one of his men, a shriek catching him off guard. From above, the Knights of Camelot came into view, their many numbers circling the terrible men.

This time, it was Merlyn's turn to smile. "That's the idea."

~

Arthur hadn't much liked the idea of sending Merlyn into trouble, but she was by far the fastest and, though he hated to admit it, the most capable bait for their dangerous trap. She'd been more than happy to do it, and yet he hadn't been able to help the sigh of relief that left him when she'd finally made her way into his line of sight.

The bandits had been rounded up, their weapons pried from their hands as Arthur ensured Merlyn's wellbeing. She was fine, thank god, but as Elyan guided him away, muttering something about the captured, Agravaine's voice rose up from behind him.

"Your majesty!" he cried, looking rather out of place in his oily armour. He was holding one of the bandits by the scruff of his neck, hauling him towards the king. "Look what we have here."

"He comes with us. I'll deal with prisoners when we get back to Camelot." Arthur declared, waving his uncle away. He had more dire commitments on his mind, wondering how exactly he would reward Merlyn's efforts upon their return.

"I fear this is no ordinary prisoner, Your Highness." Agravaine insisted, ripping something from the bandit's armour. He handed it to Arthur, who held it up to the light, a familiar crescent moon staring back at him.

"Well, well." he murmured in surprise. This was not what he had expected to find amongst his prisoners.

"What is it?" Merlyn asked from over his shoulder, her breath fluttering past his ear.

"This, Merlyn, is the royal crest of Caerleon." he explained, turning sharp eyes towards his grim prisoner. "Is it not, Your Highness?"

~

Night fell before Arthur could dwell on Caerleon, his men struggling to deal with the restless bandits. Eventually, a quiet calm lay about the camp, most of the knights warming themselves by the fire, leaving Arthur to contemplate his options. Even Merlyn had left him alone, sensing his uneasiness, although Agravaine had no such qualms about interrupting his notions. Part of Arthur welcomed some input into the situation, someone who would dare to say what he could not.

"This is not the first time he's trespassed on our lands." Arthur stated, feeling his uncle shift beside him.

"No, sire." Agravaine shook his head. "Only last week he seized the village of Stonedown on the western border."

This did nothing to calm Arthur's tensions. "We're not on the border now, uncle. This is the heart of the kingdom. He took a grave risk coming here."