Summary
So. About those best-made plans.
Part 3
His father had lost his mind.
Arthur had no other excuse for the madness Uther had just unleashed. Not only breaking his oath to leave Merlin unharmed, but sending him out before Arthur could do more than hear of Merlin being called to the throne room. Seeing as Uther's leak of the knowledge of Merlin's magic hadn't worked, rumored as it had been and nothing more, the man had turned to Merlin being Arthur's lover as an excuse for banishment. Arthur hadn't believed it, listening to his father berate him for his indiscreet actions with Merlin the last few nights. As if they'd done more than sleep. As if it mattered! Merlin was more than just a sexual partner. He was Arthur's consort, named by Arthur himself. While he wasn't officially wed, the word held meaning when announced by royalty. Yet Uther dismissed it as if it were nothing.
And Merlin, going to see his king as ordered, was pulled from the room by men and taken, he was told by the servant who brought him his food, to a carriage, where he was to be led from the castle into exile.
Arthur hurt, thinking of Merlin, scared and alone, taken from his home without even the chance to say goodbye to his friends, to Gaius, to Arthur, pulled like a prisoner simply because Arthur hadn't been able to control his nightmares of Merlin's still, pale, corpse-like flesh.
But no. Uther would have found any excuse. Arthur's weaknesses weren't the issue. Not in this instant.
And to go so far – to break his oath so thoroughly. Not only throwing Merlin away, but sending him out in a royal carriage in the dead of night. No escort, no knight protection. Nothing. Only a fool would believe Merlin to be safe.
Merlin had his magic, yes. But it wasn't infallible. And Uther knew of it, too; he would have made sure to have countermeasures in place. And Merlin, bound and helpless, would be met with bandits.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, even as he paced uselessly in his room, trapped in it like a prison cell. He was uselessly stuck while Merlin found himself beset by enemies and the pain of losing everything. And what could Arthur do about it? He'd tried fighting with his father, reasoning, threatening. And finally he'd been dragged away from the king, deemed 'not of sound mind' and thrown in his room. Guards loyal to Uther stood outside this very instant, just waiting for him to try to escape.
What if Merlin was already dead? What if all his worrying was for nothing?
He covered his face. No, he couldn't think like that. Thinking like that was like experiencing death. He couldn't. He couldn't do it. Merlin was alive. He had to believe it. Yet he knew what happened on battlefields. Even the best knights could fall to luck, to chance. One man's blade could slide into anyone, no matter whom. A fool's blade could pierce the best of knights if enough were aimed at him. And Merlin in that carriage at night, hands bound, Uther's measures in place to keep him from using his magic... he wouldn't be able to grab the dagger, even if he had it on him – did he have it on him? Arthur should have asked. Yet it wouldn't matter; Merlin wouldn't be able to grab it in time.
No. No. Gwaine. He'd sent Gwaine after Merlin, told him to do whatever he must, that he had Arthur's permission to do whatever needed to get to Merlin's side. Gwaine would reach him in time.
But then what? Fight Uther's guards? Become blacklisted for attacking Camelot's men? Merlin was already exiled.
Exiled. And his mind nipped down that one last path, that horrible path that said that even if Gwaine met up with him, even if he was saved from bandits and Uther's men, he couldn't return. Not with Uther's order in place. And Uther would never take it back. Never.
