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Merlin - Serving Notice
Watched a Mini Merlin Marathon with Youngest to catch him up on the episodes (his commentary was priceless), ending with 4.06. Er, this is the result?
Title: Serving Notice
Genre: Gen, Episode Related, Friendship
Length: 2,600 words
Rating: PG for the tiniest bit of gore
Spoilers: 4.06
Synopsis: Coda to 4.06 – There is a problem with Arthur’s manservant. Perhaps more so than even Arthur himself suspects.
Author’s Notes: Because really, there was not enough hurt/comfort or angst in the episode, so I thought I would toss some more in for fun...
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
It was George, the most boring man that ever did bore, that first alerted Arthur to the problem. Arthur had looked up from the parchment he had been studying to find the man standing there, calm and serene and quiet as ever. Had it not been for years of training, Arthur may have jumped in surprise. As it was, it was a near thing.
“Yes, George?” he prompted. It appeared the man would only speak if spoken to, or to expound upon the many ways to polish metal and treat clothing to ensure nary a wrinkle would mar it.
“There is a problem with your manservant, sire,” George announced. Arthur had to give him credit, he did not even flinch when making such an announcement to someone who so clearly favoured another above himself.
When nothing more was forthcoming, Arthur prodded, “Yes?” A problem in George’s world could mean Merlin simply polished to the left instead of the right, a crime that was of dubious severity though Arthur had humoured him that once.
“He has fallen unconscious in the Armoury, sire,” George announced in the same even tone.
“What?” Arthur demanded. His chair skidded across the floor as he stood too quickly, but George barely blinked.
He was out the door and halfway down the hallway before he even thought to look back to ensure the other servant had followed. To no one’s surprise, he had dutifully done so.
By the time Arthur reached the Armoury, both Leon and Gwaine hovered over a familiar form, crumpled in the heap where George had apparently left him. Gwaine had a hand to Merlin’s sweaty forehead and announced, “He’s burning up.”
“Get him to Gaius,” Arthur ordered, and the two knights easily lifted the other man to do just that. However, Arthur stopped them as they passed, his blood turned to ice as he noticed the thin line of blood across the back of Merlin’s too pale neck.
“Sire?” Leon asked, seeing the same thing at nearly the same time.
“Go to Gaius,” Arthur repeated. He followed behind knowing he had his own shadow, and he slowed only slightly to demand, “What happened?”
“We were polishing your third favourite hauberk and I was explaining the importance of seeing to the individual shine of each link when he suddenly collapsed, sire,” George insisted. It was one of the first times Arthur had heard the man express any emotion at all. “He knocked the pot of polish to the floor and stumbled as if to collect it. He fell to the floor and simply did not get up again.”
“And that is all?” Arthur asked, doubt colouring his tone.
George nodded. “Yes, sire. That is all I witnessed. I then came to notify you as it is right and proper that you know the state of your servants.”
Arthur bit back a comment about leaving said servant in a heap on the floor, as well as a comment regarding Merlin being far more than merely a servant to him knowing such things would likely simply not be understood by one like George. Instead, he pushed past the man that was doing little more than slowing him down and reached Gaius’ rooms only moments after his knights.
“On his front,” Gaius was directing, as though he suspected a cause already.
Arthur knew enough not to interrupt the healer while he worked and so he stood off to the side with Gwaine and Leon and tried to sort out the facts as he knew them. Fact one: Merlin had been injured during the attack. Fact two: Merlin had returned with slightly clumsier than usual behaviour. Fact three: Merlin had supposedly spent two days straight at the tavern.
It was the third one that worried Arthur the most, especially when added with the first. He had seen men drink themselves to death, the very alcohol they sought solace in poisoning their blood until no life remained. Merlin’s tolerance was legendary. Legendary for being so low. When mixed with an injury that would lower his defences, the poisoning could occur at a much faster rate.
Only that did not make sense. Merlin smelled nothing like the tavern though he returned wearing the same clothing he had on when he disappeared. Merlin’s skin was not the red and purple hues of one sick with drink, but a waxy pale of one fighting an infection from injury.
Gaius was not treating the only injury Arthur had known about. Merlin had been injured across his chest, yet Gaius laid him down on that same chest and was treating his neck of all things. A neck which, as Arthur could see from his current vantage point, had a healing slice across the back. Or perhaps not so healing considering the truly unhealthy colours seeping from the wound.
Arthur could keep his curiosity at bay no longer. He stepped forward and bade, “Gaius, tell me what happened, what really happened. He did not receive this wound from the mercenaries; I looked him over myself. How was he injured, and do not tell me it was in a tavern brawl.”
Gaius looked up guiltily for a moment before he reached for yet another little glass vial. “Please, sire, let me treat this and then I will tell you what I know,” he requested.
Arthur nodded, allowing him that much. He returned to where his men awaited him and expected their reassurance and platitudes. He got them from Leon, but saw only confusion writ across Gwaine’s face. “Tavern?” the smaller man asked, voice tinged with confusion. “I was there just last night and Merlin was nowhere in sight. Trust me, sire, as I would have bought him a round myself had he showed up. Escaping a camp of mercenaries with nothing more than a little mud to show for it was worth that at least.”
Arthur sighed and rubbed his thumb across his lower lip, resisting the urge to bite at the already tattered nail. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he muttered, not caring if he was heard or not.
The explanation, when it came, was not to Arthur’s liking. Merlin captured, that much he knew already. Merlin released because he had been bespelled into becoming a deadly assassin? That was impossible. Either Merlin was the most incompetent assassin in the history of ever, which was possible, or some part of him remained throughout whatever was done to him, enough to fight and stop himself from doing true harm.
Though it did explain Gwen and Gaius’s unexpected visit and their insistence that he not bathe that day. And the battered sword he later found, corroded as though washed in acid. And Leon’s joking that Merlin stated he was going to kill him and wondering what Arthur had done this time. And the unfortunate demise of Harrow’s favourite pig. And why one of the best crossbows he had ever owned was mysteriously in his cupboard.
Okay, so perhaps the assassination aspect had some merit, but he wanted details, something Gaius was still sketchy on, to say the least.
“I believe it was Morgana,” the old man finally admitted while he brewed another tincture. Leon had left to search for more potential traps left unchecked, and Gwaine had volunteered to change the latest poultice upon their friend’s neck. Merlin had yet to rise.
“And you thought this information was something to be kept from me?” Arthur asked, trying very hard not to wonder what else had been hidden in the time he had known the man.
Gaius looked pained, well and truly pained, as he explained, “You were already searching for a traitor in your midst, and here was a man with access to everything you held dear apparently both willing and able to do the deed. I could not risk his life in that way, not when there was a chance I could save him before any true harm came to anyone.”
“So this snake thing, this mora or whatever it was called, it enchanted him?” Arthur asked, seeing the man’s reasoning though he did not like it.
“In a sense, yes,” Gaius agreed. “It rid him of all his Merlin personality and left him solely at the will of whoever commanded it. That command was simple: to kill you.” He siphoned off whatever he had made into yet another bottle. “I was able to remove it, but it grew back again. The mother body needed to be destroyed, a task Merlin himself accomplished. He returned and I removed the remains for what I thought was a final time. The reopening of the wound must have been too much, or perhaps the mora left something behind when I removed it, as the injury is well and truly contaminated now.”
“And his original wound? The one gifted to him by the mercenaries? Are you certain that is not infected as well?” Arthur asked.
Gaius paused, eyebrows raised. “He never once complained of that injury to me, so I knew nothing about it until now,” he admitted.
A look to Gwaine and the knight switched his position as he held Merlin and rolled him onto his back, careful not to disturb the slice across his neck. Arthur peeled back the sweaty shirt himself, not liking what he saw. The stitches were still in place, though the wound was not much more than a thin line of red beneath the black, healed far more than the few days it would have been given the chance.
“She must have healed him with magic,” Gaius supposed, though the words seemed to make as little sense to him as they did to the others. “She must have wanted him healthy enough to complete the task, though I would presume she planned to dispose of him later, or let the snake kill him itself.”
Arthur had a lot to think about, not the least of which was Gaius outright lying previously about Merlin’s whereabouts, his instant explanation for everything, or the way Agravaine so easily implicated the supposedly faithful healer when suspicion had fallen to only one of the two men. One had been his trusted advisor, though his advice was not always what Arthur cared to hear. The other had served the castle for decades, and had been implicated in many dire things time and time again, always finding clemency in time to save his life.
“Heal him,” Arthur ordered. He was still not completely certain he could trust that Gaius was not a traitor, but even a traitor would know to be careful now and Gaius freely admitted he lied to protect Merlin. The chance he would now harm Merlin was slim, but that did not stop Arthur from turning to Gwaine and requesting, “Stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t wander off somewhere, say the tavern perhaps, any time soon?”
“Of course, sire,” Gwaine readily agreed. Arthur did not know if he too doubted Gaius’ tale and wanted confirmation from Merlin himself, or if he was simply concerned for his friend, but he did know he trusted that Gwaine would do everything within his power as a knight of Camelot, and possibly then some, to ensure Merlin remained safe in his care.
It took another day and a half for Merlin to wake, and another half day past that before he said anything coherent. Well, coherent for Merlin that was. Gwaine stayed by his side nearly the entire time, save for when Guinevere insisted he take a break and that she would watch over him and for the times Arthur himself visited. No further traps were found, Gaius did not try a single thing in the least bit shady, and Agravaine was nowhere to be found.
During this time, Arthur was saddled with George once again, and tried desperately hard not to resent the fact that his clothing was folded far too neatly and his armour shone so brightly that he nearly blinded himself on the training field. He did, perhaps, purposely smear just a little extra mud in it out of spite more than once. Of course George simply took it as a challenge to be had and said nary a word of protest. It was annoying and thankfully soon to end. Maybe he could assign him to Agravaine; they were both so very interested in protocol and following tradition, perhaps they would even hit it off.
Arthur waited until nightfall before he visited Merlin in his tiny room to the side of Gaius’ chambers. He had no idea what anyone had told him nor did he know if his friend was even coherent enough to make sense of anything he said anyway. It did not stop him, however, from smiling widely upon seeing Merlin propped up and sipping at some truly foul smelling tea. “Now this is cause for celebration!” he enthused as he stole the chair Gwaine so recently vacated.
“Arthur,” Merlin greeted him, voice not much more than a hoarse whisper. He was still three shades lighter than usual, but the dark shadows under his eyes had lessened and his hands barely shook as they held the tiny cup of liquid.
“You seem fully on the road to recovery, and I seem fully on the road of ridding myself of one utterly boring replacement,” Arthur mused. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and pretended to contemplate something deep and complex. At Merlin’s worried look he suggested, “Now for a proper celebration, we need something far more than simple tea. How about some mead? Or ale? Can’t remember what your favourite is? Well then, we’ll just have to go down to that tavern you seem to spend so much time at and try them all!”
Gwaine laughed from where he still hovered near the door, likely thinking it to be a grand plan, not that this truly surprised Arthur. Merlin, however, turned a new shade of pale, highlighted with a distinct tinge of green. “I... I don’t think that’s best, sire,” he said when he finally found his voice. “Gaius has told me one should not imbibe when one is still taking his herbal remedies.”
“Nonsense,” Arthur waived off his concern. “We can wait until you are well and truly healed if need be,” he insisted, just to see the panicked look in his friend’s eyes. Quieter now, and with the full seriousness the situation warranted, he said, “Or, perhaps you can quit covering for your various adventures with weak tales of strong mead and simply tell me the truth? Or even stop said adventures all together without the proper backup and assistance needed for the matter at hand, whatever that matter may be?”
Merlin set down his cup with a hand that shook far more than when Arthur first entered and managed a weak, “Arthur?”
Arthur shook his head. “No more gallivanting off to solve problems that no one should face alone, yeah?” He stood and patted Merlin’s shoulder, perhaps angling his head slightly to see the angry red mark faded to an almost normal pink. “It would save us all a world of trouble, and perhaps save you from a week with George.”
Accepting Merlin’s wane smile as the closest thing to a response he would actually receive, he walked to the door. He listened to Gwaine take up his vigil and pour Merlin more of what truly was some awful tea and trusted that all was as right with the world as he could hope for. It was not saying much, but he would take what he could get for now.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Serving Notice
Genre: Gen, Episode Related, Friendship
Length: 2,600 words
Rating: PG for the tiniest bit of gore
Spoilers: 4.06
Synopsis: Coda to 4.06 – There is a problem with Arthur’s manservant. Perhaps more so than even Arthur himself suspects.
Author’s Notes: Because really, there was not enough hurt/comfort or angst in the episode, so I thought I would toss some more in for fun...
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
It was George, the most boring man that ever did bore, that first alerted Arthur to the problem. Arthur had looked up from the parchment he had been studying to find the man standing there, calm and serene and quiet as ever. Had it not been for years of training, Arthur may have jumped in surprise. As it was, it was a near thing.
“Yes, George?” he prompted. It appeared the man would only speak if spoken to, or to expound upon the many ways to polish metal and treat clothing to ensure nary a wrinkle would mar it.
“There is a problem with your manservant, sire,” George announced. Arthur had to give him credit, he did not even flinch when making such an announcement to someone who so clearly favoured another above himself.
When nothing more was forthcoming, Arthur prodded, “Yes?” A problem in George’s world could mean Merlin simply polished to the left instead of the right, a crime that was of dubious severity though Arthur had humoured him that once.
“He has fallen unconscious in the Armoury, sire,” George announced in the same even tone.
“What?” Arthur demanded. His chair skidded across the floor as he stood too quickly, but George barely blinked.
He was out the door and halfway down the hallway before he even thought to look back to ensure the other servant had followed. To no one’s surprise, he had dutifully done so.
By the time Arthur reached the Armoury, both Leon and Gwaine hovered over a familiar form, crumpled in the heap where George had apparently left him. Gwaine had a hand to Merlin’s sweaty forehead and announced, “He’s burning up.”
“Get him to Gaius,” Arthur ordered, and the two knights easily lifted the other man to do just that. However, Arthur stopped them as they passed, his blood turned to ice as he noticed the thin line of blood across the back of Merlin’s too pale neck.
“Sire?” Leon asked, seeing the same thing at nearly the same time.
“Go to Gaius,” Arthur repeated. He followed behind knowing he had his own shadow, and he slowed only slightly to demand, “What happened?”
“We were polishing your third favourite hauberk and I was explaining the importance of seeing to the individual shine of each link when he suddenly collapsed, sire,” George insisted. It was one of the first times Arthur had heard the man express any emotion at all. “He knocked the pot of polish to the floor and stumbled as if to collect it. He fell to the floor and simply did not get up again.”
“And that is all?” Arthur asked, doubt colouring his tone.
George nodded. “Yes, sire. That is all I witnessed. I then came to notify you as it is right and proper that you know the state of your servants.”
Arthur bit back a comment about leaving said servant in a heap on the floor, as well as a comment regarding Merlin being far more than merely a servant to him knowing such things would likely simply not be understood by one like George. Instead, he pushed past the man that was doing little more than slowing him down and reached Gaius’ rooms only moments after his knights.
“On his front,” Gaius was directing, as though he suspected a cause already.
Arthur knew enough not to interrupt the healer while he worked and so he stood off to the side with Gwaine and Leon and tried to sort out the facts as he knew them. Fact one: Merlin had been injured during the attack. Fact two: Merlin had returned with slightly clumsier than usual behaviour. Fact three: Merlin had supposedly spent two days straight at the tavern.
It was the third one that worried Arthur the most, especially when added with the first. He had seen men drink themselves to death, the very alcohol they sought solace in poisoning their blood until no life remained. Merlin’s tolerance was legendary. Legendary for being so low. When mixed with an injury that would lower his defences, the poisoning could occur at a much faster rate.
Only that did not make sense. Merlin smelled nothing like the tavern though he returned wearing the same clothing he had on when he disappeared. Merlin’s skin was not the red and purple hues of one sick with drink, but a waxy pale of one fighting an infection from injury.
Gaius was not treating the only injury Arthur had known about. Merlin had been injured across his chest, yet Gaius laid him down on that same chest and was treating his neck of all things. A neck which, as Arthur could see from his current vantage point, had a healing slice across the back. Or perhaps not so healing considering the truly unhealthy colours seeping from the wound.
Arthur could keep his curiosity at bay no longer. He stepped forward and bade, “Gaius, tell me what happened, what really happened. He did not receive this wound from the mercenaries; I looked him over myself. How was he injured, and do not tell me it was in a tavern brawl.”
Gaius looked up guiltily for a moment before he reached for yet another little glass vial. “Please, sire, let me treat this and then I will tell you what I know,” he requested.
Arthur nodded, allowing him that much. He returned to where his men awaited him and expected their reassurance and platitudes. He got them from Leon, but saw only confusion writ across Gwaine’s face. “Tavern?” the smaller man asked, voice tinged with confusion. “I was there just last night and Merlin was nowhere in sight. Trust me, sire, as I would have bought him a round myself had he showed up. Escaping a camp of mercenaries with nothing more than a little mud to show for it was worth that at least.”
Arthur sighed and rubbed his thumb across his lower lip, resisting the urge to bite at the already tattered nail. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he muttered, not caring if he was heard or not.
The explanation, when it came, was not to Arthur’s liking. Merlin captured, that much he knew already. Merlin released because he had been bespelled into becoming a deadly assassin? That was impossible. Either Merlin was the most incompetent assassin in the history of ever, which was possible, or some part of him remained throughout whatever was done to him, enough to fight and stop himself from doing true harm.
Though it did explain Gwen and Gaius’s unexpected visit and their insistence that he not bathe that day. And the battered sword he later found, corroded as though washed in acid. And Leon’s joking that Merlin stated he was going to kill him and wondering what Arthur had done this time. And the unfortunate demise of Harrow’s favourite pig. And why one of the best crossbows he had ever owned was mysteriously in his cupboard.
Okay, so perhaps the assassination aspect had some merit, but he wanted details, something Gaius was still sketchy on, to say the least.
“I believe it was Morgana,” the old man finally admitted while he brewed another tincture. Leon had left to search for more potential traps left unchecked, and Gwaine had volunteered to change the latest poultice upon their friend’s neck. Merlin had yet to rise.
“And you thought this information was something to be kept from me?” Arthur asked, trying very hard not to wonder what else had been hidden in the time he had known the man.
Gaius looked pained, well and truly pained, as he explained, “You were already searching for a traitor in your midst, and here was a man with access to everything you held dear apparently both willing and able to do the deed. I could not risk his life in that way, not when there was a chance I could save him before any true harm came to anyone.”
“So this snake thing, this mora or whatever it was called, it enchanted him?” Arthur asked, seeing the man’s reasoning though he did not like it.
“In a sense, yes,” Gaius agreed. “It rid him of all his Merlin personality and left him solely at the will of whoever commanded it. That command was simple: to kill you.” He siphoned off whatever he had made into yet another bottle. “I was able to remove it, but it grew back again. The mother body needed to be destroyed, a task Merlin himself accomplished. He returned and I removed the remains for what I thought was a final time. The reopening of the wound must have been too much, or perhaps the mora left something behind when I removed it, as the injury is well and truly contaminated now.”
“And his original wound? The one gifted to him by the mercenaries? Are you certain that is not infected as well?” Arthur asked.
Gaius paused, eyebrows raised. “He never once complained of that injury to me, so I knew nothing about it until now,” he admitted.
A look to Gwaine and the knight switched his position as he held Merlin and rolled him onto his back, careful not to disturb the slice across his neck. Arthur peeled back the sweaty shirt himself, not liking what he saw. The stitches were still in place, though the wound was not much more than a thin line of red beneath the black, healed far more than the few days it would have been given the chance.
“She must have healed him with magic,” Gaius supposed, though the words seemed to make as little sense to him as they did to the others. “She must have wanted him healthy enough to complete the task, though I would presume she planned to dispose of him later, or let the snake kill him itself.”
Arthur had a lot to think about, not the least of which was Gaius outright lying previously about Merlin’s whereabouts, his instant explanation for everything, or the way Agravaine so easily implicated the supposedly faithful healer when suspicion had fallen to only one of the two men. One had been his trusted advisor, though his advice was not always what Arthur cared to hear. The other had served the castle for decades, and had been implicated in many dire things time and time again, always finding clemency in time to save his life.
“Heal him,” Arthur ordered. He was still not completely certain he could trust that Gaius was not a traitor, but even a traitor would know to be careful now and Gaius freely admitted he lied to protect Merlin. The chance he would now harm Merlin was slim, but that did not stop Arthur from turning to Gwaine and requesting, “Stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t wander off somewhere, say the tavern perhaps, any time soon?”
“Of course, sire,” Gwaine readily agreed. Arthur did not know if he too doubted Gaius’ tale and wanted confirmation from Merlin himself, or if he was simply concerned for his friend, but he did know he trusted that Gwaine would do everything within his power as a knight of Camelot, and possibly then some, to ensure Merlin remained safe in his care.
It took another day and a half for Merlin to wake, and another half day past that before he said anything coherent. Well, coherent for Merlin that was. Gwaine stayed by his side nearly the entire time, save for when Guinevere insisted he take a break and that she would watch over him and for the times Arthur himself visited. No further traps were found, Gaius did not try a single thing in the least bit shady, and Agravaine was nowhere to be found.
During this time, Arthur was saddled with George once again, and tried desperately hard not to resent the fact that his clothing was folded far too neatly and his armour shone so brightly that he nearly blinded himself on the training field. He did, perhaps, purposely smear just a little extra mud in it out of spite more than once. Of course George simply took it as a challenge to be had and said nary a word of protest. It was annoying and thankfully soon to end. Maybe he could assign him to Agravaine; they were both so very interested in protocol and following tradition, perhaps they would even hit it off.
Arthur waited until nightfall before he visited Merlin in his tiny room to the side of Gaius’ chambers. He had no idea what anyone had told him nor did he know if his friend was even coherent enough to make sense of anything he said anyway. It did not stop him, however, from smiling widely upon seeing Merlin propped up and sipping at some truly foul smelling tea. “Now this is cause for celebration!” he enthused as he stole the chair Gwaine so recently vacated.
“Arthur,” Merlin greeted him, voice not much more than a hoarse whisper. He was still three shades lighter than usual, but the dark shadows under his eyes had lessened and his hands barely shook as they held the tiny cup of liquid.
“You seem fully on the road to recovery, and I seem fully on the road of ridding myself of one utterly boring replacement,” Arthur mused. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and pretended to contemplate something deep and complex. At Merlin’s worried look he suggested, “Now for a proper celebration, we need something far more than simple tea. How about some mead? Or ale? Can’t remember what your favourite is? Well then, we’ll just have to go down to that tavern you seem to spend so much time at and try them all!”
Gwaine laughed from where he still hovered near the door, likely thinking it to be a grand plan, not that this truly surprised Arthur. Merlin, however, turned a new shade of pale, highlighted with a distinct tinge of green. “I... I don’t think that’s best, sire,” he said when he finally found his voice. “Gaius has told me one should not imbibe when one is still taking his herbal remedies.”
“Nonsense,” Arthur waived off his concern. “We can wait until you are well and truly healed if need be,” he insisted, just to see the panicked look in his friend’s eyes. Quieter now, and with the full seriousness the situation warranted, he said, “Or, perhaps you can quit covering for your various adventures with weak tales of strong mead and simply tell me the truth? Or even stop said adventures all together without the proper backup and assistance needed for the matter at hand, whatever that matter may be?”
Merlin set down his cup with a hand that shook far more than when Arthur first entered and managed a weak, “Arthur?”
Arthur shook his head. “No more gallivanting off to solve problems that no one should face alone, yeah?” He stood and patted Merlin’s shoulder, perhaps angling his head slightly to see the angry red mark faded to an almost normal pink. “It would save us all a world of trouble, and perhaps save you from a week with George.”
Accepting Merlin’s wane smile as the closest thing to a response he would actually receive, he walked to the door. He listened to Gwaine take up his vigil and pour Merlin more of what truly was some awful tea and trusted that all was as right with the world as he could hope for. It was not saying much, but he would take what he could get for now.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
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Ahaha, I like how Arthur addressed Merlin's supposedly favourite pastime of visiting the tavern. That's typical Arthur, and I can just picture all his facial expressions too. :D
p/s: so what did Youngest think of all the moon eyes A&M were making at each other?
p/s 2: your post header is missing an 'r' ;)
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Re: comments- Arthur is so totally going to believe Agravaine about Gaius is Gaius keeps up his little lies and half-truths. I know people have pointed out that the man had to survive the purge somehow it, really, Arthur is not Uther and takes the trust thing so very seriously (which might both save and condemn Merlin when the time comes).
So happy you liked this take on the episode, sweetie! You know me, always looking at a scene and thinking, "You know, there could be a little more angst here..." *g*
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(I know there's fannish disucssion that Emrys means immortal and I was never sure if the producers/writers for the show wanted to go there or not but this series has me really thinking they are writing Emrys to mean immortal.)
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I think they are writing it that way as well - the gate keeper refusing to take him, the doracha unable to kill him, surviving all things sore and sundry... He's a legend for a reason, if he doesn't know why yet. *g*