Albion's Destiny

15. Bócastréon

Author's Note: The name of the chapter means "library".

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Arthur had expected Merlin to agonize over the poisoning, over the notion that at least some people believed that he was poisoning his king. He had imagined that Merlin would falter a bit, trying to figure out the best way to tell people he was not a bad guy.

He had not expected Merlin to be furious.

"They think I have enchanted you?" Merlin whispered furiously a couple days later, scowling at Arthur. Hunith was sleeping three feet from them, warm and safe in her room, and Merlin was determined to not leave her bedside. "They are okay with a troll for a queen, yes, a queen that steals from the people, but a king who ensures equal care for all his subjects must be enchanted. There is no other explanation!" He spat in Arthur's face by mistake in the middle of that speech, but Arthur let it go.

"I need to talk to you about that," said Arthur. "How do you feel about that?"

"About what?" said Merlin, furiously scribbling something down in the parchment he was studying. "About bigoted old idiots passing judgement on their king? About people deciding who deserves to have a roof over their head and who doesn't? I hate it, Arthur. What else do you want me to say?"

Arthur didn't say anything for a few moments. If he were to be honest with himself, he hadn't thought that Merlin would react like this. He realized he had been wrong, that Hunith made all the difference. Merlin had already passed the stage where he blamed himself for his mother's poisoning. Now, he was done with guilt and all that was left was anger. "How did you know?" At Merlin's inquisitive gaze, he clarified. "The vervain and belladonna. How did you know that?"

Merlin checked to make sure they were not waking up his mother. He sighed and put the quill down. "I saw the... life, I suppose, of that cup. The molten metal being shaped, the months of service in the royal kitchens, the nights of celebration and the toasts to fallen friends." Merlin took a deep breath before continuing. "And I saw the scared little girl who was given tinctures to rub into the insides of the cups."

"Then you know who she is," said Arthur urgently, half-rising out of his chair. "We can--"

"She's a little girl," said Merlin placatingly. "A peasant girl barely seven years of age, brought into the castle from the lower town by her father, Hoel." He placed a hand on Arthur's arm, his eyes soft and gentle. "Her name is Caelia, and she is very sorry she hurt a royal guest."

Arthur sat back down. "You talked to her."

"The man who talked to her and told her to put the tinctures in the cup had black hair and was wearing rich people clothes," reported Merlin. "That is all she knows."

"Can't you... you know?" Arthur made a vague gesture near his temple.

"Mess with a child's brain to extract a days-old memory that is nothing more than a few impressions?" Merlin guessed. "Yes, I can. But there is a reason he chose her. She was too scared of him, of the authority this rich man represented, to pay him too much attention. She doesn't remember him well."

"She remembers the guy worse than the lifelong memories of a cup?"

Merlin sighed. "I will try it soon. I told her to sleep all day first, rest her mind."

Arthur nodded at the parchment littered over the table. "Is that what you are doing? Studying a spell?"

"There isn't one," said Merlin. "There is no spell to read other people's minds, Arthur."