Mistaken Identity

- 1 -

The sun streamed in through stained glass windows, lengthening the shadows of the royal court members as they stood side by side in the throne room. For the moment King Uther Pendragon had ceased his endless monologue of the kingdom's issues and the room had fallen into a blissful semi-silence of rustling robes and shuffling feet.

But the quiet was shattered as the double doors were thrown back, and the guards bowed low before their king. Neither spoke, however, and the echoes died away into utter stillness.

Then, over the settling creaks and groans of the old door: footsteps. Slow footsteps that bounced off the high walls and ceiling and filled the whole hall, as if someone was beating a drum slowly and solemnly, and gradually increasing the volume of each heavy, purposeful stroke until the footsteps resounded loudly in each and every ear of the assembly.

The owner of the footsteps, an old, bent, broken figure of a man, stepped into the doorway. He hobbled up the aisle, turning heads and causing whispers to rise from the court as he passed.

He was dressed in beggar's clothes, simple but tidy enough, and his hands and face were dirty and worn as if by harsh weather. His back was bent from hours of hard labour in some field far away, and the shadow of his lank hair veiled his face.

"What is this?" Demanded Uther, glaring down from his seat at the front of the hall. "Who dares to come here, unannounced and unexpected, and interrupt a gathering of the royal court? Reveal yourself and your identity, or get out. Now!" The last word was barked as the king's quick temper sparked. His authority seemed to stir the very air around the stranger, for he halted before the throne and bowed even lower than his crooked back had already rendered him.

"Sire." The stranger greeted the king in a gravelly voice, although edged with the utmost respect. "My name is Dextrin Taberna, sire, and I come from one of the outlying villages. I have some information that may be of interest to you and your... kingdom." He glanced at Arthur and quickly back at the polished floor and his not so polished boots.

"Well?" Uther seemed relieved that this man was, indeed, on his side and had visibly relaxed in his throne.

"I have news of a sorcerer, sire. But perhaps it is not my place to speak of such things..."

The King had leaned forwards, hands grasping the arms of his chair. He brushed the man's stammerings away. "No no. Continue, please." Not that the please made much difference, Dextrin was duty bound to do as Uther asked regardless of whether or not it was phrased politely.

Dextrin, still kneeling, bent his hunched back until his head nearly touched the floor beneath him. "There is a sorcerer among us, sire. In th-th-this room."

Whispers went up like a flock of startled birds from the court members, and Merlin's heart lurched. He felt Gaius stiffen beside him, though the physician didn't speak or turn his head. How was it that this man, a simple farmer, though Merlin thought no worse of him for it, had discovered his secret? He had been careful, hadn't he? True, not always, but he had tried. He had thought he was safe. Hidden.

He could feel the blood pounding in his ears and his heart hammering against his rib cage like a monster straining to he unleashed. He could feel the panic swelling inside him. He could scarcely breathe.

Merlin was jerked from his fear as Uther found his tongue and broke the startled silence. "Who?" He spoke quietly, but with the deadliest intent. "Who is this... this... sorcerer?" He spat the word and all heads turned to the submissive and yet seemingly all powerful peasant on the floor.

Dextrin Taberna gulped. Slowly, deliberately slowly, Merlin could have sworn, he raised his head and met the fierce eyes of Uther. "It was last night. I didn't see his face at first, sire. He was facing away from me. I saw the fire in front of him burn green and blue, I swear, sire. And then he turned around and his eyes were burning gold! It was him."

Uther's patience had apparently run out. "Who? Spit it out, man!"

"Him, Sire." Dextrin nodded towards the front of the room where Arthur, Uther, and Morgana sat.

Merlin's sigh of relief caught in his throat at Dextrin's next words.

"It was your son, My Lord. Prince Arthur."