Chapter Text
"Lord Pendragon, surely you can see the danger in allowing him to roam free."
Arthur's hand twitched to his pocket more as a reflexive response to feeling threatened than as an actual desire to shoot Agravaine.
Well, an actual desire to shoot him fatally.
In front of witnesses.
Until he had sufficient evidence to convict him of treason, that is.
Was it just his imagination, or did the gun actually grow warmer at the thought?
Seeing as it had been given to him by the guardian spirit of a lake and was capable of making itself unnoticeable to the guards responsible for making sure everyone was free of weapons, it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest.
"In the years he has helped us, he has given us no reason not to trust him. Why suspect him now?"
Agravaine leaned forward. "Before, we believed you had some sort of geas on him. Now . . . "
Arthur wondered if Emrys was capable of turning the man into a toad. He looked like one when he smiled. A great, fat, oily toad that they could stick in a jar and toss into the river and watch as it was swallowed by the Pit.
"He remains the most powerful ally we have. We cannot afford to alienate him with unfounded accusations. We need him."
"We need his power," Agravaine corrected.
"It's the same thing."
Agravaine pulled a small, green device out of his pocket. It looked like an overgrown scarab. It wasn't glowing, but there was a pulse about it. Something dark and dead peeking out the edges. "Not quite."
"What might that be, Lord Agravaine?" Lord Aredian inquired.
"A device of rare potency." He smirked. "Our alchemists aren't completely dependent on Emrys, you know. With this mechanism - " He lifted it up and displayed it proudly, turning slowly. "With this mechanism, we will no longer be subject to his whims. His powers will be ours for the taking."
"Interesting."
"And how," Arthur choked out, "do you plan to get it on him? How do you plan to control the power once you have it?"
Agravaine waved him off. "Those are details that should not be widely shared. Who knows if he's watching right now, with his unnatural powers? No, I'm afraid you'll simply have to rest assured knowing it's taken care of. Ah - if the measure passes, of course."
It did.
The gun burned in his pocket, and Arthur's fingers twitched.
The part of town he went to didn't have a name. The street was called Rising Sun Avenue, and there were two more like it nearby, but it was a pocket more than a full fledged area of town. There were dozens like it all over the city - streets that were more rubble than they were standing after a Sidhe attack, alleys where alchemy bled into magic, shadows where secrets and vice huddled together. If Citadel Square was the heart of the city, and the people were the life's blood in the veins of the streets, then these places were infected wounds that smelled like rotting flesh.
Sometimes literally.
He wasn't recognized, of course. He was the minister of defense, and if he'd worn a fine coat and stood in the Square and given a speech, none of the people here would have doubted his identity, but in a long coat torn by storm dogs and stained with blood that was only mostly his own, no one gave him a second glance.
The homes had been grand here, once. Now people rummaged in the ruins or hawked wares with loud voices proclaiming one thing and sly winks hinting at others.
He turned off it into an alleyway that was narrow enough he had to wedge himself sideways. A house half destroyed by mildew and far taller than it was wide had a doorway squeezed in there. He banged on it impatiently.
It didn't take long for his quarry to answer it; you could never be more than a minute or two away from the door in that house, especially if you lived in one of the lower levels.
The door swung open just far enough for him to see a sliver of the man's face and the barrel of a gun.
"Calm down, Gwaine," he said dryly. "It's just me."
"Your ladyship." The gun didn't come down.
Arthur winced.
And not because of the gun.
"Bad time?"
"Very."
" . . . Because?"
"Look, just come back later, okay? I'll give you a discount."
"It can't wait."
"I don't care," he snapped. "Hire someone else if you have to."
That wasn't like Gwaine. Not at all.
"I don't care if you're counterfeiting money in there, I've got bigger problems than arresting you for it! Just let me in."
The gun wavered, but it didn't go down. "I've got a guest."
"I don't care. I'm not going to arrest him either."
"No, you're not," Gwaine agreed. "Because you're going to leave."
Footsteps came from the hallway. "Gwaine, what on earth - "
Arthur knew that voice.
"Emrys?" he blurted incredulously.
"Arthur? Gwaine, put the gun down, you idiot!" Emrys didn't wait for his order to be followed. The gun was abruptly a bouquet of flowers. Purple ones.
Gwaine stared at them.
"You know each other?" Arthur demanded.
"You know him?" Gwaine demanded right back.
"Yes, fine, just - Arthur, just come in already. Gwaine, I'll fix the gun later." He'd never heard Emrys sound quite so frazzled before. Before he could comment, a thin arm had jerked him inside and slammed the door behind him. It rattled in the frame.
The hallway was tiny, and full of more cobwebs and dust than most people's attics. Salt and iron lay in complex patterns everywhere; given what he knew now, he assumed it would work.
Emrys knew Gwaine. If he kept telling himself that, it would make sense. Surely.
"How is one of you not dead yet?" Gwaine demanded.
"We're both idiots, so we decided to be idiots together," Arthur said tiredly, then processed what he'd just said and froze. "Er. No offense, Emrys."
A small smile quirked on the man's mouth. "None taken. Prat." That golden edge that always swirled around him seemed amused, pleased even, fonder than before, if that was possible, and laughing at a joke that only it knew. "What brings you here this fine, drizzly day?"
Arthur hesitated. He wasn't sure he actually wanted Agravaine dead yet. "I was hiring Gwaine to steal something."
Gwaine perked up. "Is it dangerous?"
" . . . Yes."
"Count me in, then, mate. What is it?"
Arthur stared at him for a moment, marveling at the sheer recklessness of the man before deciding he needed to better understand what was happening here before he explained the mission further. He turned back to Emrys. "Why are you here?"
Emrys shrugged. His coat swirled around him. "Gwaine tells me things."
"And I give you chocolate."
"Chocolate."
Emrys looked defensive. "Where did you think I got it? I can't exactly walk into a store looking like this, they'd ring the bells on me."
"Would that work?"
"No, but they make my ears hurt, and I wouldn't get my chocolate."
Arthur stared at him for a long moment. "I used to be terrified of you, you know."
"Ripped the heads off of three Sidhe right in front of me," Gwaine said agreeably. "And then I hand him one little chocolate bar because I figure I'm about to die so why not, and he's just a big, crazy kid with a sugar addiction."
Emrys' grin was wide and showed a few too many teeth, but his eyes were laughing. "It's chocolate," he said, like that explained everything.
It would have been funnier if not for that golden feeling swirling around and around, fond and possessive, going mine, mine, mine.
"So. Stealing," Gwaine prompted. "For which you will pay me a ridiculous amount of money."
The last of the amusement disappeared. Arthur shot a look at Emrys then grimly outlined what he knew.
Gwaine's face grew stiffer and stiffer, and his eyes were furious. Emrys shrugged it off.
"Could be worse," he pointed out. "They could be going after you again."
Gwaine threw his hands up. "Because this is so much better. I'll go tonight."
"I can take care of it myself," Emrys interrupted.
He probably could. He was Emrys, after all. But . . .
But what if that was what Agravaine wanted? What if he was counting on Arthur telling Emrys and Emrys going after it alone?
Gwaine must have been having the same thoughts, because he hid everything else behind an easy smile. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't get paid."
Arthur played along and rolled his eyes. "Because that's obviously what's important here."
There was a tense moment where Emrys considered them and Arthur prayed he would buy it, but then Emrys smiled and he relaxed. "Freya's expecting me. I suppose I shouldn't leave her waiting to go play on the rooftops."
Arthur had met Freya, and he very much agreed with that assessment.
Emrys disappeared in shadows and gold, and Arthur looked to Gwaine. The thief's eyes were dark. "So this scarab thing . . . "
"It's evil and dangerous, and I want it gone where it can't hurt him."
Gwaine, for once, was serious. "Done."
Three days later, there was a note on his desk that said "the Pits" in messy handwriting. Arthur smiled grimly and burned it in the fire.
One week later, Agravaine was still a bit jumpy, and there were bandages all over his face.
Arthur just paid Gwaine what he owed him and didn't ask questions.
Although he might, possibly, have left a rather big tip.