Chapter Text
It's the season of harvest, and the wind has begun to rise. Leaves have begun shifting in color. A servant walks the path towards the kitchen tower, where a guard is stationed. Upon seeing the servant, the guard gives a small nod and opens the door.
Inside, a boy no older than thirteen stands by the ovens, his fingers placed above the heat. When he notices the young man enter, his smile lights up like a blazing candle.
“Hello, Merlin! Hello, Finnian,” the servant replies. “Have you been here long?”
“Nope, I just got in a few moments ago. I’m waiting for Amabel to give me a meal!” Merlin's smile dips slightly at that, but picks back up before the boy can notice. “Did she tell you what she made?”
“No, I haven't seen her yet.”
Merlin nods and walks over to the stack of dishes, grabbing a pitcher. “What should I bring to Arthur’s bedchamber?”
Finnian thinks about his answer for all of three seconds before blurting out, “The glass of milk I snuck earlier. It’s suitable to bring to the king.”
Before Merlin reaches the milk, an ear-piercing scream erupts. Just as quickly, it is snuffed out. Merlin slowly walks over to Finnian, who stares at the kitchen door like a deer meeting a hunter. Slowly, Merlin moves them to the adjacent side wall.
“Get under the table,” he whispers.
Under the table, Finnian sits beside him, leaning his head on Merlin’s chest. When the door opens, Merlin covers Finnian’s mouth. A husky voice breaks through the sterile silence.
“Don’t look so frightened. This is going to go by quickly. All you’re going to do is show me where the king’s dinner is.”
Amabel slowly makes her way to the oven. “I haven’t finished it yet.” Fear makes her voice squeaky like a mouse.
“What did you say?”
“I haven’t—” Her sentence is cut short by a punch to the stomach.
“I didn’t ask you to tell me anything. I told you to show me the king’s meal. Get off the floor.”
When she gets up, she brings him over to the stove, their backs turned away from the hiding spot. Merlin carefully comes out from under the table and grabs the milk pitcher. Silently walking up behind the masked man, he hits him over the head. Watching him hit the ground allows all three of them to release the breath they were holding.
“Merlin, oh praise God. Thank you. Thank you.”
Finnian rushes to the door, but instead of a feeling of relief, there is only horror as another man stands outside, inspecting the guard’s body.
Finnian’s screams echo through the tower as the man charges into the room. Merlin runs to the door and pulls Finnian behind him. The fabric of his shirt feels rough against his fist. A searing pain blooms in his side. The second attacker’s knife is lodged in his rib. Merlin turns to run further back into the kitchen, only to see the first assailant getting up.
Screams. An orchestra of screams.
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George walks down the hall, polished silverware in hand. The king swings open his door. He looks around swiftly before his eyes land on him. “You! Go find my idiot servant and tell him that a meeting is in order for him to attend at the stocks tomorrow.”
“Of course, my lord. Um, do you happen to know where he might be? He’s supposed to be here. With my dinner.”
With that final statement, he slams the door.
George won't lie and say he hasn't gotten used to these goose chases revolving around King Arthur’s manservant. First, he stops by all the places Merlin usually hides when he wants to avoid his royal highness: the stable, the library, and the Physician’s Room. With no luck, he reluctantly braces the cold and makes his way to the kitchen tower. The sight of the area makes his blood freeze colder than snow.
A knight lies in a pile of blood. His body is on his stomach, but it's clear his head is barely attached. Slowly, he peeks inside; upturned tables and glass shards litter the floor. The blood stains only serve to add panic. Racing back to the castle, he bumps into Sir Percival. “Are you okay, George? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“I’m afraid I’m not. There's been an attack in the kitchen tower.”