Chapter 12 - Heir

"Stop fidgeting!" Eric's hissed admonishment broke the silence of the hallway, empty at this moment save for the four guards who stood there at attention, their eyes watchful and their faces devoid of emotion.

"Can't help it!" Arthur hissed back irritably while tugging at the neck of his chain-mail shirt, a hint of red material just visible through the collar. "It's this jerkin; I think it's got fleas in it."

Arthur's second morning as a guard of Camelot found him stationed at the doors to the council chamber in the citadel. Eric, a gruff middle-aged guard who had been assigned to him by Lancelot as his mentor, stood several feet away from him on the other side of the door while two further guards faced them stoically from across the corridor.

For the past two hours very little had happened. They had changed position once, rotating the watch for no other purpose than to briefly stretch their legs, before settling back into silence – the occasional cough or shuffle the only deviation from the routine. Very little, in fact, to distract Arthur from the relentless itching of the uniform he had been provided with the previous morning.

"Nah," replied one of the younger guards. "The clothes are fine, they get washed once a week, regular – it's the beds you've got to worry about. Full of lice they are."

"Hush!" Eric hissed again, just as a servant entered the corridor – shooting a suspicious glare towards the men standing to attention as he passed.

Arthur was learning rather quickly that there was nothing glamorous about the life of a guard.

Today was Arthur's first day inside the citadel since he had arrived in this Camelot a week ago. The previous day had been spent patrolling the lower town with Eric; it had been a relatively simple day, dedicated to learning his basic duties and being drilled in the responsibilities of the guard (most of which Arthur already knew, not that he could admit that to his tutor). He hadn't had to undertake much actual guarding, Eric making sure that his student simply understood the basics of the job and knew where all the main guard posts were within the town – the gates, the marketplace and the main road.

By the end of the day, Arthur had been walked through most of the main duties of the guard within the town. Once he had completed his training period in a couple of weeks he would be added to the rota; some weeks would be spent working under the direct command of one of the knights, undertaking patrols both within the city and the surrounding countryside, while on other days he would be stationed at various posts within the city and the citadel. If he performed his duties well, he might even be assigned as a guard to various nobles or councilmen who lived within the castle.

The basic posts within the town covered, he had been informed that the next day would be spent within the citadel.

He had almost dreaded this moment, the moment he would set foot inside the replica of the castle he called his home, worried about what changes he would find – it had been hard enough noticing the differences within the lower town. But, once he arrived in the citadel, all such worries had vanished. The light and airy corridors that led from the main entrance to the council chamber were just as he remembered, the tapestries and statues as rich and well kept as the ones back home.

From his vantage point outside the council chamber, Arthur had watched the denizens of the castle passing by on their daily routines. Servants hurrying past loaded down with laundry or rolls of parchment or trays of food, courtiers and noblemen striding by alone or in pairs, the occasional knight leading a small patrol and nodding to the guards as he passed.

Twice, Arthur had watched Guinevere hurrying by. The first time she appeared around the corner Arthur had tried to stop himself from staring too hard; she had glanced up at him as she shuffled by with her basket of laundry, but her eyes slid past his without acknowledging his presence, her gaze distant and her brow creased in a worried frown. The lack of recognition in her eyes had hurt him, even though he had known to expect it. The second time she came by, this time in the other direction with a vase of flowers clutched in her hands, Arthur had forced himself to keep staring forwards – but even so, he hadn't been able to help but notice the nervous glance she sent in the direction of the council chamber doors before she hurried away.

That was probably when he started to notice it, the undercurrent of tension in the castle. After spotting Gwen's furtive glances towards the doors he began to see them more and more – servants who passed by shooting speculative looks in the direction of the council chamber, the nobles with their heads bent together in discussion, their voices hushed as they debated with each other in an undertone…

There was something going on in the castle, and whatever it was it was making the people who lived there nervous. Racking his brain, Arthur thought back to his own kingdom, trying to remember what had been happening when he left – if there was anything that might have set everyone on edge this way.

The treaty with Vortigern, maybe? No, that wasn't due to be signed for another few months yet – the Welsh King was waiting until the spring to travel, once negotiations were complete. What else? Well the city here had clearly not been attacked by Morgana recently – there was no sign of battle, anyway, and from what Arthur had heard his half-sister was still Uther's loving ward in this world.

There was nothing else Arthur could think of – he wouldn't have left his city in the first place had there been trouble brewing; he may have felt stifled, but he took his duties as King seriously and cared for his Kingdom.

No, whatever it was that had the people of Camelot worrying and whispering amongst themselves, it was unique to this world.

It was several hours at least before there was any change in the activity outside the council chambers – Arthur's limbs had begun to stiffen up from the prolonged period he had spent standing to attention, and he could feel the first stirrings of hunger in his stomach. Counsellors began to gather in the area beside the doors, huddling together in twos or threes with stacks of parchment clutched in their arms and nervous expressions on their faces, muttering to each other in undertones.

Arthur stood up a little straighter, turning his attention to the men. He recognised most of the counsellors, old advisors of his father who had worked alongside Uther for most of Arthur's life – some of whom still advised the new King, though he had chosen to remove the more conservatively minded men from his council. Old Geoffrey of Monmouth was there, one of the few men standing alone in the hallway with his gaze fixed on a half-unrolled scroll of parchment, and Sir Ector, the man who had trained Arthur in swordsmanship. There were others there, though, men Arthur didn't recognise – although there was one man with dirty blond hair who looked strangely familiar, and who seemed to be setting some kind of warning bell off at the back of Arthur's mind…

Tearing his eyes from the man whose face Arthur couldn't quite place, he focused instead on the whispers, trying to subtly eavesdrop on the conversations happening just before him.

Unfortunately, he couldn't make out much of what they were saying – it seemed the men were determined to keep their words a secret. He was able to distinguish a few words, however, even if out of context they were of little use to him.

"…the Queen…running out of time…Morgana…Camelot needs…Uther… decision…"

And another word, one that made Arthur's blood run cold.

"…heir…"

"Make way for the King!"

Any further thoughts were banished as the guards in the corridor snapped to attention, Sir Leon's voice breaking through the murmur of the gathered men. Remembering his position as a guard, Arthur reigned in his suddenly spiralling thoughts and helped Eric open the chamber doors – his attention focusing on the two figures following the knight down the corridor.

The last time Arthur had seen his father, Uther had been a broken man; bent under the pain of betrayal and loss, a shell of a man lost in his own mind – a grieving old man who had, in his last moment of lucidity, given his own life to save that of his son.

The King who swept towards them now was not the shadow he had become in Arthur's world – here, instead, strode a strong ruler; no longer in his prime, perhaps, but still a majestic figure and a force to be reckoned with. Here was the man Arthur missed, the King he admired and had tried to live up to – even if he had not necessarily always agreed with his decisions.

However, the mingled sensations of sadness and love that swept over Arthur as he saw his father once again were quickly lost as his eyes slid to the woman who walked at his arm.

He had known this moment was coming – it was inevitable once he joined the guard. But even so, it still came as something of a shock to see her there; and even had he been prepared, he still would have had no idea what to expect when the time finally came.

Morgana.

He knew that in this world she remained the ward of the King – and yet, he also knew that even here she had turned to sorcery. He had heard enough over the past days to know that she was actually respected for her gifts – that, as a powerful sorceress, she somehow retained the love and admiration of Uther. Since Morgana's betrayal all those years ago, Arthur had been left with two separate images of his half-sister in his head – two strong memories; both of the compassionate woman she had been so long ago, and the merciless witch she had become.

Two distinct personalities that, no matter how hard he tried, he had never been able to reconcile in his mind.

But here she was: Morgana the sorceress, loving ward to Uther Pendragon.

At first glance she looked exactly like the girl he remembered from before the arrival of Morgause. Dressed in a beautiful green gown, she walked alongside the King smiling politely at the counsellors who bowed as they passed – the smile widening as she turned to face her father and they entered the council chambers together. She looked happy and beautiful and every inch the princess that she was.

And yet… Perhaps it was because Arthur had other memories of her, darker memories that had tainted his more joyful recollections, but something about the woman on Uther's arm grated at him. Her smile, which at first glance looked loving, to him seemed more… smug. The thankful nod to the guards who held the door open seemed almost condescending; her gaze, when it fell on the counsellors, appeared almost disdainful.

Maybe it was just because he was looking too closely; after all, he had always berated himself for missing the signs of Morgana's betrayal the first time she returned to Camelot. But, no matter how Arthur tried, he just couldn't bring himself to see the loving, compassionate woman she used to be – the image of the witch was too firmly imprinted in his mind.

As he stared after the woman he had once loved as a sister, however, a cough from another guard returned him to the present. Remembering his new position in the citadel, Arthur joined Eric in pulling the chamber doors closed on the tableau in the council chamber; on his father smiling dotingly at his illegitimate daughter while he helped her into a chair and Morgana smirked sweetly back.

Forcing any emotion off his face, Arthur turned to nod stoically the rest of the guards who had congregated outside the door.

"Pay attention, boy – the King's council is private business, and its our duty to keep it that way." Despite his tone, Eric almost seemed amused. "Don't get distracted – no matter how beautiful the Lady Morgana is."

"I'm sorry?!" Arthur stuttered, his face going red as the other guards laughed. Clearing his throat, Arthur returned to his position by the doors and fixed his gaze determinately on the wall before him.

He needed to remember that he was only a guard here, that he wasn't a Prince or a King, or even a Knight – that he had no part in the lives of the Royal Family here in this Camelot.

Otherwise he was going to get himself into trouble.

"D'you reckon, if I asked him, the Captain would let me have the day off next Saturday?"

Arthur grunted noncommittally, focusing on the tunic he was holding up to the light of the window – Griflet had been babbling incessantly for the last half hour, and Arthur was learning quickly that it was best to ignore the young man if you didn't want to get drawn into some endless circular conversation.

His own thoughts were too busy spinning on what he had seen this morning. Morgana and his father, walking arm in arm down the corridors of Camelot.

"Only, its my sisters wedding, and I promised her I'd ask the Captain for time off weeks ago, but I've not been here long and I didn't think it would look good if I asked for time off too soon and, um, then I kind've forgot… and, well, d'you think I might've left it too late?"

What had that council meeting this morning been about, anyway? Why was everyone up at the castle so on edge?

Frowning in concentration, Arthur focused on the needle he had so painstakingly threaded and brought it purposefully to the tear in the fabric; with a determined frown he forced the needle through the rough fabric – right into the flesh of his thumb.

Camelot… heir…

"You even listening? What're you doing, anyway?"

"Hm?" Arthur turned towards Griflet's aggrieved voice, sucking the blood from his thumb as he did so. "Sorry. There's a hole in my tunic, I'm trying to mend it. You were saying? Damn it!" Bending to retrieve the needle he had dropped to the floor, he turned once again to the window – and set about trying to re-thread the needle once again.

"D'you need help?" the boy approached Arthur and lent over his handiwork – blocking the light from the sun, much to Arthur's irritation.

"What? No! I can manage." His pride refusing to admit defeat, he shifted round to get better light and set about trying to sew the rip together once again – this time with a lot more care for his fingers. "After all" he admitted in an undertone "it can't be that hard – Merlin can do it"

"So, anyway, d'you think I've left it too late? About Saturday, I mean?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, boy!" Eric shouted across the room from where he lay on his bunk, the book he had been reading shoved to one side. "Just ask the Captain yourself! He'll be in his office this evening – just go and talk to him, there's no harm in trying."

"You really-"

"Just, shut up!" Arthur's patience cracked, his outburst momentarily silencing the boy. He turned back to his tunic, noting in disbelief that he wasn't even halfway along the tear yet but already seemed to be running out of thread – and the small part he had managed to mend was all lumpy and mangled, the thread clearly visible and poking through the fabric at strange angles, nothing like the neat repairs that Merlin and Gwen managed. "Oh, for-"

Throwing the half repaired tunic back across the room to his bunk, he sank down onto the hard bench that ran the length of the wall beneath the windows.

The room Arthur shared with a dozen other guards was a long cold room of bare stone. A row of narrow beds graced the wall furthest from the tiny windows, a simple wardrobe and a lockable chest beside each. The only other furniture in the room was a large rack on the far wall to hold armour and weapons, and a small stove in the centre of the room that provided the only source of heat.

All in all, it was cold, bleak and uncomfortable – and not like anything Arthur had experienced before. He had stayed in more uncomfortable places, of course, but never for such an extended period – he had only been here two nights, and already he dreaded the idea of months on end without the comfort of his chambers in the castle.

"So, we know anything about this new guard, then?"

Arthur groaned – Griflet, it seemed, was not one to stay quiet for long. The boy was worse than Merlin.

And it wasn't like there was anybody else to distract him. The room was silent at this hour, most of the guards either on duty or down in the common room. There were only three of them in the room, resting in preparation for going back on duty after the evening bell.

"Arrived this morning." Eric grunted in reply. "Don't know much about him, we were on duty when he came by earlier. Should be along soon, though – he's with the Captain at the moment."

When Arthur had arrived two days ago, he had been assigned one of the few bed spaces left. Only one other bed in this room had been free, and it appeared that even it had now been filled – the Camelot guard was apparently quite a popular profession among the young men of the city.

"What d'you think he'll be like, Arthur?" Griflet turned towards him eagerly – the boy had taken quite a shine to the older man, something to do with his performance on the training fields with Lancelot the other day, and seemed to be trying everything he could to get him to talk. "Think he'll be good with a sword, too?"

"No idea, never met him." He turned away, angling himself so he could look out of the window onto the narrow courtyard outside, his chin in his hand.

"Oh." There was a moment of silence before Griflet spoke up again. "I've always wanted to learn – maybe if he's good, he could teach me! Or, you could."

But Arthur wasn't listening, his attention drawn to the woman walking across the square, basket in hand. Guinevere, a shawl around her shoulders and a smile one her face.

What was she doing down here at the barracks?

"Arthur?"

"Never mind him, son. He's too busy lusting after the Lady Morgana to pay you any attention."

"What?!" Arthur's head span round to face Eric so fast it sent shooting pains down his neck. Lifting one hand to the ache, he glared at the senior guard. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you this morning, the way you were watching her." The older man seemed amused, both at Arthur's reaction and Griflet's stunned face. "There's no denying she's beautiful, but she's way out of your league, and don't you forget it."

"That's- there's nothing… I wasn't lusting after her, you have no idea what you're talking about!" So it wasn't the most convincing of retorts, Arthur had to admit, but the horror of what Eric was suggesting rendered him momentarily inarticulate.

Yes, he had once been attracted to Morgana, that was true. But now, knowing that she was his sister… And, of course, after everything she had done to Camelot over the past few years…

No. Just… no.

"Very well, if you say so." Eric still seemed amused, but at least he looked ready to drop the subject. "I'll leave you to pine in silence, then." The grin he threw Arthur's way was teasing, and Arthur found himself warming to the man.

"…Thanks. I appreciate that." He grinned back.

"Is it true she's going to be our next Queen?" The grins fell from their faces as both men turned to stare at the youngest companion.

"What?" Griflet stared back innocently. "The whole town's talking about it – everyone knows she's Uther's daughter."

"Be careful what you say, Griflet." Eric's tone was hard. "The rumours haven't been confirmed, not by the King at least. It isn't our place to talk about matters of state."

"But, its not like Uther's going to be King much longer, he's an old man – we need an heir, everyone says so."

"I don't care what 'everyone says'. Queen Ygraine is the rightful heir to the throne, not the Lady Morgana – not until its confirmed otherwise."

Arthur's heart was racing. No heir. Of course, he had suspected it since he overheard the counsellors this morning, but hearing it outright like this… No heir – that was what had got the people of Camelot on edge.

Queen Ygraine never gave birth to Arthur in this world, which meant that King Uther had no legitimate heir…

So, when he died...

Morgana would have the rightful claim to the throne.

It made Arthur's blood boil just thinking about it. Alright, so maybe Morgana really wasn't the evil sorceress in this world that she was in his own… but, even so, every fibre of Arthur's being rebelled at the very idea of that woman on his throne. There was no way, in this universe or any other, he would trust the wellbeing of his people to that witch.

Dimly, through his rolling emotions, Arthur was aware that Eric and Griflet were still talking.

"Anyway, I'm sure the Lady Morgana would make a much better ruler than King Uther." Griflet retorted stubbornly.

"Hold your tongue, boy, that's treason you're speaking." There seemed to be more worry than genuine anger in Eric's tone, his eyes darting nervously to the doors of the chamber.

"It's true! It's not like he cares much about his people – not those of us who aren't nobles anyway." The younger man's retort was sullen. "It's all feasting and tournaments up at the castle, and down here people are going hungry! When was the last time King Uther visited the lower town, huh? What does he know about the problems of his people? At least the Lady Morgana tries to help!"

"A few bits of food and some clothes here and there, maybe" Eric replied more quietly. "But what good is that in the long run? Queen Ygraine does far more for the people of this city than the Lady Morgana ever will, and you know it."

"My mother says that Queen Ygraine is too scared of the King to speak out. She says that there is too much injustice in this city and we need a new ruler, a proper one. One who cares about all the people, not just the people up at the big castle."

"I don't care what your mother says. King Uther is our King. He has kept this kingdom safe for over thirty years, and he deserves our respect." Eric's voice was calm now, his tone firm. "This Kingdom would be a much worse place had he not taken the throne all those years ago. Remember that."

Griflet's mouth snapped shut, though his eyes still held a rebellious edge. But it seemed that, for now at least, Eric's words had been enough to silence him.

Arthur, meanwhile, had watched the entire exchange with his mouth hanging open.

Was this what the people of his kingdom thought? Had they believed, once, that Morgana would make a better ruler than Uther? That the King didn't care for their welfare?

No, Arthur would have known, surely… He had spent much of the last few years walking among the people of the lower town, he would have noticed their discontent. And even if he hadn't, Guinevere or Merlin surely would have done – and Arthur knew that neither one of them would have held back if they believed that he was doing something wrong in the ruling of the Kingdom…

The tension in the room was growing uncomfortable, the three men staring at each other, no knowing how to break the silence.

Thankfully, at that minute the door to the room creaked open and three heads whipped round to face the newcomer.

"Oh, I'm sorry – am I interrupting something?"

Arthur stared. Right there, filling the small doorway, red hair falling across his eyes and strangely familiar grin in place, stood Cadal.

A/N: Writers block again, can't seem to shake it off... sorry! I'm having some difficulty writing Arthur, Merlin is so much easier... Anyway, I'm going to try to be more prompt with the next chapter (although I do have a job interview this week which is stressing me out, so no promises!).

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews :) I've decided to go through them all to thank you all properly, as I really do appreciate them and I'm generally quite useless at replying... But yes, for all the reviews/favourites/alerts, thank you so much!

Also, really really sad at the coming end of Merlin :) The show got me through Uni (seriously, the first episode aired on the first Saturday of freshers week!), and its been a staple of my life for five years. I strongly expect a period of grief at the end of December equal to (or possibly greater than) the one that followed completing the last Harry Potter book or learning that Terry Pratchett has alzheimers. This may result either in a period of excessive creativity that leads to regular posting of chapters, or a prolonged absence from this site.

Let us hope for the former.

(On a hopefully non-spoilery side-note: there may one day come a time when I can watch the final 15 minutes of 5x09 without finding it excruciatingly painful. I may one day see the funny side. Today is not that day.)