[Fic] Post hoc, ergo propter hoc (‘After this, therefore because of this.’) - derryere

[solstice_mods]

[ Part I] | [ Part II] | [ Part III]



(Part IV)

Merlin hurried from Gaius’ rooms and ran straight for the castle stables. The warning bells had stopped tolling some time ago, and only one stable hand was moving between the stalls when Merlin entered the building. Merlin felt no guilt as the boy tumbled over and fell asleep, and he saddled up his brown mare with all due haste, wanting as few witnesses as possible during his flight from Camelot. Merlin rode hard out of the castle gates and through the lower town, and once out on the open road heard the familiar screech of Archimedes cry overhead as he neared the woods Arthur favored as his hunting grounds. There was a waxing moon low in the western sky, and Merlin estimated he had only a few hours of light left before the night became that much more difficult to navigate in, and that much harder for Arthur’s kidnappers to see him coming.

Merlin pulled the horse to a stop once he was some distance into the woods, and heard a branch creak above him as Archimedes settled to watch and wait. He conjured a familiar blue orb and set it floating in front of the horse, the shifting whorls throwing unusual shadows among the trees. The mare stamped her foot uneasily but did not shy away from the light, and Merlin curled his fingers through the air to cast another spell. "Bespyrige Arthur Pendragon."

The ball wavered for a moment before moving off to the southwest, and Merlin kicked the horse to follow.

The night air was cold and Merlin felt the sting of the wind on his face as he rode hard, the crash of the horse’s hooves through the underbrush and her heavy breathing the only sound that fell on his ears. He was aware, on some level, that Archimedes was keeping pace with them above the trees, but the tawny owl’s flight was as soundless as the hollow, heavy beats of Merlin’s heart. A curious numbness had fallen over him, like a woolen blanket muffling his emotions and his awareness of the outside world beyond the horse’s mane under his fingers and the ball of light guiding them deeper into the forest. There were too many unknowns to dare considering, too many possibilities that Merlin could see in his mind’s eye if he allowed them to manifest - that Arthur was dead or dying, hurt in a way that Merlin could not heal with magic and words, his innocence gone and his spirit broken, and a future lost forever to the unknown - too many terrible things that Merlin feared would drive him into madness.

The woods were almost too dense to ride through in some places and Merlin pushed aside trunks and branches and other obstacles without a second thought, never allowing the horse’s pace to falter. The minutes slipped by into an hour as they traversed through curious clearings and over shallow streams that cut through the forest like glittering, silver boundaries in the moonlight. No doubt they had been crossed in an by Arthur’s captors to throw off Camelot’s tracking hounds, but the orb’s guiding beacon was dauntless in its pursuit; they had already traveled farther away from the castle than Merlin was sure Arthur and his hunting party had ever dared to venture. The spongy forest floor gave way to rockier terrain as the moon began to set on the horizon, and Merlin followed the trail over several gently sloping hills, until gradually the ground leveled again and the stench of standing water grew unpleasantly thick on the air. They were entering the marshlands, and Merlin realized just how well the bandits had chosen their defensive ground in case any of Camelot’s knights had managed to make it this far. The bogs were dangerous and unpredictable, liable to send any wayward traveler to a swift death in their murky depths.

Great pockets of thick fog had settled over the marshes and Merlin no longer had the aid of the moonlight to guide him as they crossed into the area. He could only trust in the tracking spell to lead them safely through, and he slowed the horse to give the mare her footing with each cautious step she took across the fen’s wild grasses. Archimedes abandoned flying to meet their new pace and swooped down to take up his perch on Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin felt a bit of the anxiety he’d been carrying since they left Camelot dissipate under the familiar pinch of the owl’s talons digging into his arm. He and Archimedes had faced many enemies together, and there was no truer friend that Merlin would choose to have alongside him in combat.

They made slow progress for a half hour, only pausing when the light did to veer off slightly and lead them across more stable ground. The blue sphere of light bobbed unerringly before them, illuminating the spindly trees and brush that otherwise would have blocked their way, giving life to the dark shadows that surrounded the twisting path. Merlin’s nerves were on edge from the sluggish pace, the unwelcome prospect of taking a misstep into the bog, and the fact that Arthur was somewhere ahead and he had not reached him yet; he found himself unconsciously gripping the reins tight enough to chafe the skin of his palms. Dawn was several hours off at best, and Camelot’s forces were no doubt tracking their way across the same terrain that Merlin had covered earlier, possibly even following the trail that Merlin had left. There was no way for them to catch up to him before sunrise, but knowing that there was a small army at his back did make him feel a little better. If for some reason he failed, at least Uther and Gaius would have a way to know the outcome, because Merlin had meant every word earlier. He would not return to Camelot without Arthur.

Merlin halted when the blue orb came to a stop, and he became immediately alert as he took in the surrounding fog-ridden terrain. He slipped from the horse silently, feeling firm ground under his boots, and the overwhelming smell of stagnant water was all around them. Archimedes flapped once on his perch, wing feathers rustling in his impatience to be off as much as Merlin wished to.

The mare attempted to back away with a nervous snort as Merlin took hold of her reins, but she calmed at a touch from his hand and let herself be tied to one of the thick, bare branches on a nearby tree. He banished the floating ball of light with a wave of his hand and stepped around the horse to listen to his surroundings - frogs and other warbling night creatures echoed through the darkness, and there was the distinct buzz of tiny insects and the slight whistle of Archimedes breathing atop his shoulder. He could hear the lap of moving water and tiny splashes, the slither of the long grasses parting in the breeze, and there - the sound of a horse nickering somewhere ahead and off to the right.

Merlin stepped cautiously in the direction of the sound, feeling the squelch of wet earth under his feet and the way the damp fog clung to his hair and skin, and there was a bitter taste to the air different from the pungent scent of the marsh. The fog did not clear but began to brighten as Merlin progressed, and soon realized he was approaching a campfire as the sound of movement resolved itself into the occasional stamp of a horse’s hoof and the jangle of tack. He paused when he reached the outskirts of the encampment, hidden behind a small stand of trees, and crouched down to take stock of the forces he would be up against.

The fog made it difficult to resolve details in the haze, but the fire pit had been stacked high enough to make out the shapes of several bedrolls and sleeping figures, and there were others awake and walking in and out of the fog at the perimeter of the campsite. All told, there were just over a dozen men he could see in the firelight, and it seemed like a small number to have effectively taken out an accompaniment of Camelot’s guards. But the glint of weapons on most of the men, knives and swords and even a spear standing upright near the fire pit, left Merlin with little doubt that this was where the spell had intended to lead him.

Merlin was aware that the element of surprise would have made Arthur and his hunting party unprepared for such an attack, but it was still an unusual incident to have happened at all. Bandit attacks were not common in the woods so near to Camelot’s castle and central city, and for these men to have staged one spoke of something more deliberate than a raiding party that had gotten lucky enough to nab a Prince for ransom. No doubt Uther was entertaining similar thoughts at this very moment, or had already reached the unsettling conclusion once Gaius had delivered the message from the squire; Merlin didn’t like the implications either way. They were heading toward Camelot’s borders with the kingdom of Wessex, but the direction could be deliberate or entirely unrelated, and there was no way to know if the bandits were working alone or under directions from someone with far more power and resources.

Camelot could not afford to go to war, not when it surely meant Arthur being drafted to fight far too early in his life for Merlin’s liking, and that Merlin would more than likely not be able to accompany him on the battlefield to protect him. Camelot was a model for peace that even Merlin, exiled as he’d once been and now living there under the daily threat of exposure, could admire for the stability it brought to the common people and the prosperity that could thrive unhindered without warfare destroying farmland and villages and senselessly murdering men by the thousands. The ban on practicing magic would always be a grievous issue, and Merlin had never enjoyed hearing the stories from the Druids of just how far Uther’s vendetta had reached across Albion in his effort to purge magic from the land; but the means to bring magic back rested not with Camelot’s current King, but with Arthur, and the dragon’s words had never rung so true (and suddenly so clear) until Merlin had seen the future shatter around him in blood and betrayal. It was the outcome he had sworn not to see repeated, that he had dedicated a year of his life to changing, and Merlin swore that silent oath to himself again - he would not let Arthur come to harm, even if that meant preventing Camelot from going to war, or protecting him from Merlin himself.

Merlin settled his breathing, pushing away his anxiety over the unknown to focus on the importance of the task at hand. He could spare no thought on whether Arthur was alive or dead or allow himself to be distracted by the uncertainties of walking into a camp with an unknown number of enemies; there was only the immediate moment, the knowledge of the spells he had at his disposal and the many ways he knew to avoid the thrust of a sword and the path of a well-aimed arrow. He had experienced such states of calm during combat in the past, when the tide had turned in their favor and the magic was flowing swiftly from his fingers across the battlefield, and his mind reached that place where there was nothing but Merlin, his magic, and the life of the earth, air, and sun at his disposal. For this undertaking he was no longer Merlin the Scholar - he was Emrys the Wizard, harbinger of untold power, master of the elements, and the most feared sorcerer to have ever graced Albion’s soil.

Merlin dropped the illusion spell and stood, stretching out his hands and arms as the years melted away, feeling lighter and faster with the absence of age on his frame. He ran both palms down his robes, midnight black bleeding through the fabric in the wake of the touch of his fingertips, and Archimedes dug his talons in as he pulled the hood on his back over his head to shield his face from sight. Merlin’s eyes were already glowing gold as he stepped out from behind the trees.

The first two men he killed had no chance to scream or yell out a warning. Their bodies were flung high and clear across the camp, soaring over the trees so that there was little possibility the landing would not kill them. The next three men were still reaching for their weapons as fire sprang from Merlin’s fingertips and engulfed them at their feet, and their screams of pain became distorted above the frightened shrieking of the horses and the sound of swords being drawn as the remaining bandits scrambled out of their bedrolls and ran in from the trees.

Archimedes left his shoulder with a screech as Merlin threw up a barrier with one hand and chanted a spell into his other, and the blows of steel and crossbow bolts bounced harmlessly away as he advanced into the center of the group. He could see the dawning looks of surprise and dread on the faces of the men attempting to cut through his defenses, and there was no doubt that his eyes still glowed an unnatural gold beneath the cover of his hood when he saw those same expressions morph into terror at the sight. Some of them turned to run into the fog, abandoning their weapons at their feet in their haste to escape, but four still remained, hacking away with determination at Merlin’s barrier. Merlin flung his hand at the retreating backs of the fleeing bandits, great bolts of lightning arcing across the campsite in a cacophony of explosion and sound, piercing each of the men through their torsos. Their bodies were flung away from the force and left as charred, smoking husks, great blackened holes burned straight through their chests. And that’s when Merlin saw Arthur.

He would hardly have recognized him if not for the fact that there was a boy struggling against the ropes binding his hands and feet on the far side of the camp, or that Archimedes was currently fighting off a man attempting to approach Arthur from behind with a slim dagger in one hand. Merlin saw that of the few bandits left standing only one was making no attempt to flee from the camp, an obstinate giant of a man who was raining blows on Merlin’s shield with a two-handed broadsword and yelling a slew of obscenities against sorcerers and their ilk.

Merlin was forced to take a step back as he felt the furious jar of the hits reverberate through his barrier. Emboldened, the bandit pressed forward, attempting to drive Merlin toward the blazing fire pit as he delivered heavier, faster, angrier blows. Merlin locked his knees and attempted to hold his ground even as the shock of the strikes set his teeth to rattling, and the heat of the flames at his back grew more uncomfortable with every inch of ground he gave. He knew that he would have no chance to conjure the help of the elements as long as the bandit continued his relentless pace, which left him with few choices as he felt the power of his shield weakening.

Merlin inhaled a lungful of bitter smoke and ash and uttered one word only, damning the consequences and the grim pleasure of satisfaction he felt as the man’s face froze in a mask of shock. "Swilte."

The bandit was dead where he stood and slumped to the ground in a boneless heap. Merlin stepped over the corpse without a backward glance. Archimedes had left the man attempting to kill Arthur for dead (Merlin could see the gaping eye sockets from the way he’d fallen facing the fire), and the owl was now perched on Arthur’s knees and chewing away the bonds holding the Prince captive. Arthur’s blue eyes were wide as saucers but he had stopped struggling, and Merlin was confident leaving the Prince in the bird’s care as he turned his attention back to the decimated remains of the camp.

There were small fires scattered all throughout the area, and one of Merlin’s lightning bolts had hit the bandit’s pile of saddlebags and spare weapons, leaving nothing but burned leather and blasted bits of metal. Merlin carefully walked the site’s perimeter but the last of the fleeing men had already disappeared into the surrounding fog, along with all of the bandit’s horses that had managed to free themselves during the fray, much to his dismay. It left Merlin alone with a blazing fire pit, a half dozen smoking corpses, and one Prince who was finally free of his restraints and scrambling away from Merlin’s cloaked form. Arthur dove for one of the dead men and snatched up a discarded sword, which he held aloft, trembling, pointing the tip at Merlin from the opposite side of the camp.

"St-stay back!" Arthur shouted.

Merlin whistled, high and long, and Archimedes flew out from the trees to land on his outstretched arm. "My friend will guide you back to my horse," Merlin instructed calmly, though the tips of his fingers were itching with the knowledge that there were still men in the marsh that could attack them from the cover of the trees and concealing mist. He needed to get Arthur to safety but the Prince was circling away from Merlin, knuckles white-gripped on the hilt of his sword and his eyes wide with shock.

"I’m not going anywhere with you! You… you killed them all-"

"Sire!" Merlin barked, and he was rewarded with Arthur’s eyes widening further in surprise at the address. "You are not out of danger yet. Do as I say and follow him."

Archimedes flew off and Arthur, displaying some of the good sense that Merlin was rarely given from the Prince, stared for a moment in open confusion at Merlin before turning and taking off after the owl, sword still clutched tightly in his hand.

Once Arthur and Archimedes had disappeared into the swirling fog, Merlin placed his palms together and bowed his head, seeking out the tendrils of earth magic under his feet. As his senses opened he grew aware of the soil and the water, the minute vibrations from creatures borrowing beneath the ground, the ripples of motion across the surface of the murky bogs, the patter of running feet as Arthur fled to safety, and the heavy breathing of three men who had doubled back to the camp and were standing just out of sight to Merlin’s left.

Merlin pushed his hand out in their direction. "Forthræse stefnas of beneodhan ond wricen menn oth helle."

Screams rang out not far from where Merlin was standing; panicked yelps and shouting that grew more desperate and strained, until the noise grew garbled and muffled, and in a matter of seconds vanished entirely. Only then did Merlin lower his hand, suddenly feeling cold and drained by the draw of his magic. The reek of charred flesh had grown enough to overpower the smell of the surrounding marshland and Merlin drew the sleeve of his robe across his nose to stifle his instinct to gag at the stench. He kicked at the ground a few times to throw a pile of dirt over the fire pit and douse the flames, before he turned to leave the wreckage of carnage behind.

Once outside the camp, Merlin called up another orb of light and whistled inquisitively at the surrounding fog. He heard an answering call from Archimedes and made his way in the owl’s direction, the blue light in his palm guiding his feet across the uncertain terrain.

Upon reaching the mare he’d left tied up, Merlin saw to his dismay that Arthur was nowhere in sight. "Drats," he hissed. If Arthur had gone off on his own, or was stumbling around blindly in the bog, or worse, had already fallen in somewhere…

"Didn’t he follow you?" he called up to Archimedes. The owl only gave him a plaintive hoot in reply.

Merlin was preparing to chant another tracking spell when he heard the snap of a twig from behind him. He turned, just in time to duck out of the way as Arthur swung the blade he’d stolen at Merlin’s neck.

"Hey woah!" Merlin began, alarmed, but Arthur only lunged again, snarling and making jabs so wild and sloppy that he continued to slip and lose his footing on the muddy ground. Even Merlin was able to side-step the broad swings, without the use of magic, but his actions only seemed to infuriate Arthur all the more.

In the pale blue light Arthur looked wild and broken, his blond hair an untamed nest and his face covered with scratches and blood, and there was the beginning of a black eye blooming just above his left cheekbone. There were tears in his eyes that were leaving clean, straight tracks through the dirt on his skin as they fell, and Merlin very nearly wished that there were still bandits loose in the marsh to be found. He would gladly have walked back into the camp at that very moment to kill them again at the sight of Arthur full of so much pain and rage.

Arthur was beginning to breathe heavily from the strain as he circled the small clearing, but any attempt Merlin made to step forward only got him a warning slash of the sword to keep his distance. He was no longer making rash, reckless lunges at Merlin, having seemed to realize that Merlin would only continue to dodge his attacks, and was now holding the sword defensively in front of his chest, shield arm braced against his torso. Merlin could see that the sleeve of his tunic had been ripped from elbow to wrist, and there were darker stains of dried blood along the seam, no doubt one of the many injuries Arthur had suffered at the hands of his kidnappers.

The hot flare of uncontrollable anger that washed over Merlin was a surprise, and he screwed his eyes shut briefly, praying that his emotions hadn’t unconsciously triggered his magic, even if he did suddenly want something to blast a hole through. He did not need to give Arthur more reasons to fear him.

"Okay, look…" Merlin tried again.

"Shut up!" Arthur spat. "Stay away from me. You killed all those men, you’re… you’re a sorcerer. I won’t let you kill me too!"

Merlin kept his arms hanging at his sides, eyes still trained on the tip of Arthur’s wavering sword with some wariness. He spoke as soothingly as possible. "I came here to rescue you. And I think you know that, or you would have taken my horse long before I returned. I am a sorcerer, but I am only here to protect you."

"Liar!" Arthur shouted, his voice cracking on the word. "My father says all who practice magic are evil. You’re a liar, and a murderer!"

Merlin couldn’t help wincing at Arthur’s words, and he was glad for the hood that shielded his face. "I have only done what was necessary to protect you, sire."

"Don’t call me that! I don’t need your protection! You’re just like them. I won’t let you take me. You can’t ransom me, too - I’d rather die!"

With those words Arthur lifted the sword higher, his face an unfamiliar combination of panic and real fear, the blade wobbling dangerously close to his own throat, and Merlin reacted without thinking.

The sword twisted out of Arthur’s grip and was flung across the clearing - it came to rest embedded halfway to the hilt through a nearby tree. Arthur was still gaping as Merlin strode across the space between them and gripped the Prince by the top of his uninjured arm. He shook him roughly. "Don’t you ever try to take your own life again, you idiot!" Merlin hissed angrily. "I didn’t ride all the way out here to save you just to watch you try to take off your own head. You will trust me, or I will be forced to tie you to my horse and take you back to Camelot myself. Do you understand?"

Arthur was shaking under Merlin’s grip, strung up on exhaustion and adrenalin, but his eyes were sharp and the angle of his chin was defiant as he looked up into the dark recesses of Merlin’s hood. "You wouldn’t dare go to Camelot, sorcerer. My father would have you killed on sight," he said harshly.

"That, I have no doubt of," Merlin admitted perfunctorily. He knew he did not sound bitter. It was the grim truth. "But that is no reason why I should not help when it’s needed."

Arthur gaped. "You’re mad," he declared.

"Possibly. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told me that. But I am getting cold, and your wounds need tending to. We’d best leave the marshes and seek shelter."

Arthur twisted savagely out of Merlin’s grip. "I said I’m not going anywhere with you!"

"So what would you rather do!" Merlin asked, spreading his arms out wide. "Stay here in the swamp? Freeze to death? Wander around aimlessly until you drop from exhaustion or fall into the bog and die?"

"It’s better than staying with a sorcerer," Arthur sneered.

Merlin snorted. "That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say."

Arthur stilled, looking startled and confused by this, and Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly. "Look. You have really got to move past this. I’m not asking you to suddenly start thinking magic is okay, because I’ll be the first to admit that it can be pretty dangerous in the wrong hands. I’m just asking you to get on the horse so we can leave and go find your father’s men."

Arthur did, finally, seem to be listening. "My father’s men are coming?"

"Yes, and if they’re any good they’ve picked up on the trail I left to get here. But they won’t be able to venture any farther than the marshland border. Now, can we leave?"

Arthur straightened, still holding his injured arm clasped to his chest, but his expression was considering if not outright skeptical. "I don’t trust you," he said, which was rather obvious. "If you try to cast a spell on me, or attack my father’s men, or try to kidnap me, or-"

Merlin waved him down. "Yes, yes. Painful death, beheading, burned at the stake; trust me, I’ve heard it all. I promise no harm will come to you or Camelot."

There was a brief silence, and Arthur blinked. "You are… very odd," he concluded.

"And you are very ungrateful," Merlin grumbled as he turned to walk back to the horse. He untied the mare’s reins and mounted the saddle, marveling a bit at how much easier that simple action was when he wasn’t pretending to be twice his age.

Arthur followed a few steps behind and stopped to stand by the horse’s flank, staring up at where Merlin was seated. He looked annoyed, and kept shooting wary glances at the blue light that was weaving idly through the air around them. "Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" Merlin repeated, confused. "Climb on up."

"I-" Arthur stalled and clenched his jaw. His uninjured hand moved over his left arm, fingers ghosting over the frayed threads of his ripped sleeve.

"Oh!" Merlin said. "Your injury, right. Um, can I…?" He wiggled his fingers.

Arthur blanched. "I said no spells!"

Merlin dropped his hand with a huff. "Well it’s that or you’re walking. Do you really trust yourself to not fall in a puddle in your condition?"

"Like your horse can do any better," Arthur snapped, almost reflexively. But Merlin was determined to wait this latest fit of temper out, because using magic was the only choice Arthur had left for getting into the saddle without the use of both hands. But Arthur surprised him by circling the horse to stand on the other side and hooking his right heel into the empty stirrup, gripping the pommel with his right hand, and hoisting himself off the ground. Merlin had already shifted back on the saddle to make room, and he watched in surprise as Arthur did a neat maneuver that let him brace his weight against the horse’s neck, curl his arm around to readjust his grip on the pommel, and swing his left leg over so that he was now sitting with his back facing Merlin.

"That was kind of impressive," Merlin admitted, bracing his feet into the stirrups and shoving Arthur’s knees higher to make room. Arthur hunched forward, as if attempting to make as little contact as possible with Merlin, and he said nothing as Merlin tugged on the mare’s reins to turn them in the opposite direction. They began backtracking out of the marsh, once more following the orb as it bobbed and twisted out in front of them, and the pale blue illumination lit the fog with a soft glow that seemed to emanate from all around them.

"How does it know where to go?" Arthur asked after they’d been traveling for ten minutes in silence.

"Hm, it just does? I’ve never really thought about it," Merlin admitted, nudging the horse to maneuver around a dense thicket.

Arthur snorted. "Useless," he muttered.

"I did just save your life, you know," Merlin pointed out, feeling slightly stung. He felt Arthur stiffen in front of him.

"I did not ask for your help. I refuse to be indebted to you, sorcerer."

Merlin could help rolling his eyes. Arthur was more stubborn than Gaius ever was on his worst days. "Well I wasn’t really planning on asking for a bucket of gold or land or horses or a title or anything, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about."

"Everyone wants something," Arthur said after a moment, sounding quiet and serious and older than Merlin had ever heard him since coming to Camelot.

They entered a narrow path walled in by tightly grouped trees, and Merlin was forced to duck under their branches or risk losing his hood. His chest bumped Arthur’s shoulders, but surprisingly the Prince didn’t flinch away at the touch. Merlin took it as a good sign, or that Arthur was finally succumbing to his exhaustion and was too lazy to move; either way, it was nice not to feel the instant recoil of disgust. He’d spent the last few months getting to know Arthur all over again, rediscovering his likes and dislikes, his opinions, his developing sense of honor, and even learning of some new things that he’d either grown out of as an adult or had simply never the time or reason to make an issue of. Some pieces were almost painfully familiar, while others were like being introduced to a complete stranger, and Merlin had come to appreciate the relationship his new position fostered with the Prince. He couldn’t really call them friends, with such a great age difference, and they still bickered incessantly, but they’d come to feel comfortable around each other - there was an unspoken trust there, and it hurt to see Arthur so closed off to him now.

"Sometimes we just want to keep people safe," Merlin said at length, and there was a truth behind those words that stretched back years.

Arthur said nothing, but Merlin was almost certain that the air felt less tense than it had when they’d left the bandit camp.

It seemed to take longer to leave the marsh than it did to find his way in, but that could probably be blamed on the complete lack of urgency Merlin was feeling, when before he’d been impatient to track Arthur down as quickly as possible. Now it seemed like they were taking nothing more than a leisurely stroll as the mare’s hooves plodded across the damp soil with slow, careful steps, and they wended their way through the fog. Merlin didn’t even realize they’d left the marshes until the gentle incline they were taking suddenly took them above the fog bank, and he and Arthur found themselves on the face of a wide hill, looking out on a cloudless night sky and a thick mist that obscured the land behind them for miles in all directions.

"Finally out of that," Merlin said, relieved and inhaling the fresher air as the horse continued her slow jog up the hill. "Not such a useless ball of light now, is it?"

"I never said I was talking about the ball," Arthur said dryly. Merlin resisted the urge to hit him across the backside of his head - just barely.

None of the terrain’s specific features were familiar, but Merlin remembered the rocky hills he’d had to pass to get to Arthur and they were making their way over one now, cresting at the top where it was strewn with wide, flat boulders and tenacious patches of grass and heather. They picked up the pace as they descended into the next hollow and then up the rise after that, continuing on until the ground leveled once more and Merlin could make out the shape of a forest in the distance, lit with starshine and dark against the horizon.

He brought the horse to a stop and directed his gaze to the floating blue orb ahead of them. "Wætere."

Arthur spun around in the saddle. "What did you do!?" he demanded, furious. "There were to be no spells!"

"Not all spells are dangerous," Merlin bit back crossly, attempting to rein in his annoyance. "And unless you want to die of thirst, or let your wounds fester without getting cleaned, then I suggest you let it direct us to some running water."

Arthur was sitting stiffly, and seemed to be trying to stare at Merlin through the obscurity of his hood. "You keep telling me to trust you, but you won’t even show me your face."

That threw Merlin. "That’s- it’s just… I can’t have you running off to tell your father you know the identity of a sorcerer, now can I!"

"So I would know you, then?" Arthur asked, far too shrewdly.

"N-no," Merlin stammered. "But you could pick me out of a crowd. Or send out a search party. Or put up wanted notices. I’d like to keep my head, thanks."

"You are far too attached to it for all the good it doesn’t do you," Arthur retorted, but he did turn around in the saddle. "Take us to water, then."

It was remarkable how commanding Arthur could sound even when he wasn’t in charge of a situation, but that was something Merlin had gotten used to hearing a long time ago, even if it did make something deep inside him bristle a little. Merlin kicked the horse to a light gallop to chase after the orb that had begun floating off a little ways without them, and the jostle threw him and Arthur together so that they were forced to sit pressed back to chest, the scent of sweat and blood mixing with the smell of dry grass that came through Merlin’s nose. Arthur sat stiff and unyielding in the saddle, and he’d grown tall enough that the top of his head threatened to knock into Merlin’s chin with each impact of the horse’s hooves against the earth. It was uncomfortable and Merlin could only hope that the journey to fresh water wouldn’t end with him getting a split lip.

The light led them toward the forest but turned off some distance before entering the trees, and they followed it a little ways past a hillock and then to a sparsely wooded dell, which was hiding a spring fed by a small stream. Merlin stopped the horse near a strip of muddy beach where the two bodies of water converged, and dismounted to lead the horse in closer by her bridle. He looped the lead around a tree branch, then came back to offer Arthur a hand off the saddle. Even having made the gesture, Merlin was a little surprised when the Prince accepted the assistance, though he quickly moved from Merlin’s side to the water once his feet were firmly on the ground.

Merlin untied the mare and led her down the bank to let her drink, and from his position watched Arthur strip off his boots and roll up his breeches before he waded out ankle deep into the stream. Merlin nudged the blue orb a little closer to Arthur to give him the benefit of the light, and when it seemed like Arthur was content to freeze on his own time he tugged the horse back up the shore and walked a short distance inland.

Merlin had just gotten a low fire started when Arthur reappeared (ball of light drifting dutifully behind him), which was a good thing because he’d been lazy enough to use magic to do it. Arthur had put his boots back on and was shivering, the ends of his hair wet and dark in the firelight, but his face was clean and he’d rolled up his sleeves to expose the gash running down the length of his left forearm. It ran less than a hand’s length from the corner of his elbow and didn’t appear to be a deep cut, but it had started bleeding again and there was a thin rivulet of blood running down the inside of his wrist. The skin on his face was unusually pale, or just too great of a contrast with the assortment of scratches on his nose, jaw and neck, and the bruise under his left eye that had swollen badly enough to force the eye shut. Arthur looked a wreck, but he was alive, and given that the wounds seemed mostly superficial, that was all that mattered.

Arthur sat down next to the fire and began picking at one of the tears at the hem of his tunic, until he’d managed to rip off a strip of the fabric. He used the length to wrap around the cut on his arms several times, but Merlin could see where the bandage was staining red even with the tourniquet stemming the blood flow. When Arthur finished he drew his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead on their knobby peaks. Having now seen the true extent of his injuries, Merlin couldn’t help marveling at how well Arthur had bourn the pain thus far, when even the act of speaking must have hurt the muscles of his face.

Merlin tugged on the edges of his hood and angled his body away from Arthur’s, not wanting to take any risk of being seen in the firelight. "I could look at your injuries, if you’d like?" Merlin offered.

"I don’t want your magic," Arthur grumbled. His voice sounded muffled and tired behind his legs.

"Well, I can do that too, but I was talking about herbal remedies. There are plenty of things in nature that can work just as effectively as magic, though they might take a bit longer, and don’t have the same sort of risks, to a certain degree."

Arthur turned his head so that he faced Merlin across the fire. "What do you mean?"

Merlin shifted and crossed his arms inside his cloak. "Well medicine is still an experimental practice, so there’s always the chance that a diagnosis could be wrong or that a potion will have an adverse effect, so that makes even a healing science have some danger to it. As for magic, practically speaking, there’s always the risk of being caught and in this land that means certain death, so finding other means to achieve the same ends is preferable, and sensible really for some when doing magic is a practice they can’t completely rely on or only have limited skills in. But metaphysically it’s a matter of balance, and the Old Ways always demand that there be an equilibrium maintained in the world, and that can mean consequences from even the smallest, most inconsequential spell, though something like taking a human life always has the power to dramatically affect the stability of Nature. Of course, I think you’d have to conjure a few thousand light spells all at once for something simple like that to have any sort of impact, but life energy is trickier and usually seeks to find a balance almost immediately, and… what?"

"Nothing, you just…" Arthur was staring openly at Merlin and had a peculiar frown over his features. "You remind me of someone I know."

Merlin’s tongue went heavy in his mouth. Gaius was always on him about discretion and learning how to not let his words run away from him. Had he said too much? Had he given something away? Was he about to be dragged back to Camelot for practicing magic and corrupting the young Prince’s impressionable mind? Granted, Arthur wasn’t aware of Merlin’s background with Gaius, and they hadn’t even gotten to Hippocrates’ works yet, so it wasn’t all the talk of medicine. And he wasn’t shouting and threatening beheadings, so perhaps it really was just a coincidence. Merlin licked his lips. "Oh? Is he a smart man, this friend of yours?"

Arthur snorted, but it sounded closer to a laugh. "He doesn’t know when to shut up. But I suppose in his own way… he thinks himself very intelligent indeed."

"But you don’t think so," Merlin interpreted, and he had a strong feeling he already knew who Arthur was speaking of.

Arthur shrugged. "He can be a bit passionate and scatterbrained, but sometimes I wonder if that’s really who he is. He makes you think he’s clueless and friendly and that there’s nothing more than what you see, but I think… sometimes I get the feeling he has secrets. Lots of them. Or maybe a really big one or two. He tries to hide it but it’s there if you know how to look."

Merlin swallowed tightly to loosen the sudden dryness in his throat. "That’s awfully perceptive of you."

"Half the time we’re together he doesn’t notice I’m even looking at him. He’d rather curl up with a dusty old book than… and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this," Arthur broke off with a glare.

Merlin spread his hands defensively. "No spells. You made me promise."

Arthur moved his chin to rest atop his right arm and transferred his glare to the fire. Merlin did have to wonder though, what had possessed Arthur to speak of him so candidly? Did he really come across as that great of a mystery, someone that even the Prince would take notice of and try to puzzle through? If Gaius got wind of this he’d string Merlin up by his thumbs and force him to leave Camelot for a few years, and wouldn’t let him come back until he’d learned how to better master his disguise spell. Arthur was far too close to the King, and if he was beginning to question Merlin, or have doubts about him, it could very easily spell disaster for Merlin’s task to save the future.

"This man you know," Merlin put forth lightly. "You don’t think he’s dangerous, do you?"

There was no answer from the Prince for a moment, and then quite unexpectedly, he grinned. Or as well as he could with half of his face swollen. "Only insomuch as his absentmindedness can lead to disaster, and the only one likely to come to harm will be himself when he trips over his own feet. He speaks plainly without thought to decorum, cares not for station or gender or rank and has no sense of propriety… but he’s never been anything but sincere. When he tells me something is for my own good… I cannot help but believe him. Whatever secrets he may have, he can keep them. They’re no business of mine."

Arthur’s words gave way to silence between them, though the night was alive with the sound of bullfrogs in the stream and the snap of the logs and the hum of insects drawn near by the heat and the light of their campfire. The stars were clear and bright where they weren’t obscured by the tenuous column of smoke, pinpricks of luminosity against the velvet backdrop of the sky, and for the first time Merlin felt something like real hope settle deep in his bones. It was only a beginning, but it was also more than enough.

"Come along, sire," Merlin announced briskly, standing up and brushing down his backside. "It’s time to take you home."

"I did tell you not to call me that," Arthur grumbled, but he was pushing off the ground with his good hand and dusting off the seat of his britches. Together they used the sides of their boots to push enough dirt over the fire to smoother and douse the flames, and as they finished Merlin saw pensive frown on Arthur’s face in the last flicker of the dying embers.

"What is it?" he asked, curious.

"Nothing," Arthur said, but made no move to step away from the smoldering pit. Merlin could see in the dark outline of his profile that he was turned and facing toward the southeast, where Camelot lay a few hours away.

"You’ll be there soon enough," Merlin promised, hoping he was interpreting the Prince’s silence and speculation correctly.

"If you keep your promise," Arthur said, but there was no bite or hint of accusation to the words. He still sounded distant and preoccupied, and Merlin wondered what had brought on the change.

"I know you don’t trust me because I use magic, but I will be happy to prove you wrong. Magic is a tool, like a sword or a trade, and not all who use magic use it for evil. Some use it to cure the sick, to heal wounds, to make warmth, to create protection for their loved ones-"

"Shut up," Arthur snapped, and Merlin clamped his mouth shut. He felt the first sharp twist of unease in his gut, because pushing Arthur too far was never a good idea, and when it came to magic there was no other topic the Prince hated to talk about less.

Merlin turned away, facing where the orb of light had drifted off toward the horse. "My apologies."

Merlin listened to the wind and the gurgle of the spring, and felt a chill begin to seep in where the warmth of the fire had briefly occupied. The air was heavy with the smell of burnt ash and mulch, and he heard the long slide of a boot across the dirt, slow and deliberate. The movement was Arthur’s, but he wasn’t walking away. "You could have put that fire out using magic," Arthur said after a long pause. His tone was quiet, and he sounded almost bewildered by his own words. "We wouldn’t have gotten dirt on our boots or breathed in the smoke. It would just… go away."

Merlin’s heart thumped hard in surprise, and he couldn’t help turning back to look at Arthur, his profile only a dim outline in the starlight. "It would have made it easier," Merlin agreed hesitantly.

"Is that why you do it?" Arthur demanded, beginning to show the first hints of a deeper frustration, and in the dark Merlin couldn’t see his face or where his eyes were directed.

"Sometimes," Merlin admitted. "But life is meaningless if you can’t do the things that make it worthwhile - I’d rather do the things that I can on my own, with my own hands, and save my magic for the things that really matter."

"Things that really matter," Arthur repeated, sounding quite far off even though Merlin could see him still standing next to him.

Merlin drew a deep breath. "Like saving someone’s life."

Merlin expected there to be another outburst. He waited for it, braced for it, hardened his heart for it, but it never came. Arthur remained unusually silent and still, and it was almost a minute before Merlin heard him release a shaky exhale. "That would seem like a good reason to use it."

Merlin almost stepped back in surprise. He felt his body reel from the implications of what he’d just heard, and the words were no less astonishing than if they had been spoken by Uther himself. Arthur was committing treason simply by uttering his thoughts, rejecting the doctrine Uther had been pouring into the head’s of Camelot’s citizens for years. Merlin almost couldn’t believe his ears.

But Arthur was not an idiot; compulsive, bullying, egotistical, yes, but never stupid. It was impossible that he did not realize the significance of his words, of the disloyalty he was demonstrating simply by standing next to Merlin, listening to him, and conceding that magic could be used for good. He knew as well as Merlin did of how grave the consequences would be if Uther ever knew. But even if Uther never caught wind of his son’s thoughts, if Arthur somehow managed not to reveal his opinions, if Arthur could be made to see, to believe that magic was not all evil…

It could change everything.

Merlin realized his hands were trembling and he stuffed them deeper into the folds of his robes. In all his wildest imaginings and hopes, in all the ways he’d wished and dreamed to find some way for the future to be different, he never thought he’d come to the crossroads while standing in the woods by a stream with a stolen horse and a Prince who had almost died at the hands of men Merlin had killed without a second thought on a night like so many others, and yet not.

Merlin was glad that his voice didn’t shake with any of the emotion he was feeling at that moment. "The King can never find out."

"You think I don’t know that?" Arthur shouted, the brash and volatile youth returning in the space of a heartbeat. "A sorcerer saved my life tonight, and I did not kill him the moment I had the chance to. Every moment I have let you live, I am committing treason against my father and Camelot’s laws. You do not need to tell me this."

"I know," Merlin said. "But I want you to know… I’m grateful. That you did spare my life. And listened to me. I didn’t set out to preach to you, but I don’t want to lie to you, either."

Arthur nodded once, firmly, and when he turned Merlin could see the white of his open eye reflecting back the silver light. "I owe you my life, sorcerer, and I would not be the honorable man my father has taught me to be if I did not recognize that. There would be no justice in taking your life. You have placed me in a debt to you, and I will honor it fairly. A life for a life."

"And after?" Merlin couldn’t help asking. "Once you’ve returned to Camelot, what then?"

"I don’t know," Arthur admitted. "The law must be upheld, I cannot go against it. But I have realized that there may be… circumstances that exist, where magic might be used for good intentions. I have no doubt it is a destructive, powerful force that can bring great harm in the wrong hands, but I have seen men and women put to death for kindling a fire on a cold night, or placing a charm on their door, or healing a child, and I cannot in good conscience accept that death was the proper answer for their crimes."

"You sound almost wise, for your age," Merlin teased, elated and feeling a smile stretch across his face that was wider and more genuine than any he’d felt in years.

"And how old are you?" Arthur snapped back defensively.

"Twenty-four, or, well, I will be this mid-winter," Merlin replied. Enough time had passed that his birthday would have come and gone in the future, but here in the present there were still several months’ left. It was liable to give him a headache if he tried to think too hard about the consequences of time travel and things like age and birthdays. He turned and began walking toward where the horse was tied up. "And probably ten times smarter than you are. I am a great and powerful sorcerer, after all."

Arthur trudged along behind. "If we’re drawing comparisons, I’m afraid my experience is rather limited. You could be the biggest idiot of them all and there’d be no way to know the difference, so I am forced to refute your statement until I know otherwise."

Merlin had reached the horse and he laughed as he unknotted her lead and hoisted himself into the saddle. "I see little gets by you, young Prince."

Merlin extended his hand, more out of reflex than anything else, but was surprised when Arthur accepted it and allowed himself to be lifted astride the horse and settled in front of him on the saddle. The careful distance between their bodies was absent this time, and the warmth it generated between them was welcome on the cold night.

"Your arm, are you sure I can’t…?" Merlin inquired once more.

"No," Arthur said, not unkindly, which was more than Merlin had expected. "I appreciate your offer, but my doubts about the nature of magic and my willingness to trust a spell being cast on me are two different things. It is nothing that cannot wait until we arrive at Camelot."

"Very well," Merlin sighed, but he was smiling as he turned the horse around.

They rode hard again with the orb keeping pace, out of the small valley and across a wide plain before entering the western woods, the light brightening the path in front of them and exposing obstacles and low hanging branches and helpfully keeping anything curious at bay. Merlin chose not to mention that this was the very same forest he and Arthur had met outside of for the first time (or second, depending upon your perspective) when he’d arrived at Camelot those many months ago. The time passed quickly, and Merlin knew that one hour had already slid well into two when the light suddenly swerved and halted in mid-air, and he and Arthur and the horse blew past it before coming to a hard stop a few yards beyond.

"Why did it stop?" Arthur asked as Merlin redirected the horse to return to the hanging point of light.

"I don’t know. It’s never done that before, and we’re not at Camelot yet-"

Then came the barking, a dozen hounds judging by the volume of the distant sound, and Arthur sat up straighter in surprise. "Those are my father’s guards," he realized.

Merlin quickly banished the light. "Then they’ve probably seen us, or will pick up on our scent soon enough. This is where we part ways, sire."

"What?" Arthur twisted in the saddle, his face utterly shrouded by the darkness, but Merlin could feel the stir of warm air on his face. "You promised to take me to Camelot."

"And I would have, but your father’s men will sooner think me a kidnapper than your savior. You must ride to them alone. Tell them you stole the horse from the bandits. Better not tell them anything about me, though. Just say you escaped somehow, knocked out a guard or got the ropes loose, or you stole a knife, just something that doesn’t involve me. The less your father hears about sorcery’s hand it in, the better."

"I’m sure I’ll think of something," Arthur said dryly, and they both stiffened as the barking grew nearer and was joined by the sound of shouting voices.

Merlin shifted to place the horse’s reins in Arthur’s hands, their fingers brushing and tangling briefly in the darkness, and he leaned back to prepare to dismount. "Maybe someday that friend of yours will tell you all his secrets," he said as he slid off the back of the horse. He couldn’t resist slipping a hand against Arthur’s back on the way down, and he felt the shiver as he pushed a small bit of magic through, just enough to dull the pain and make the healing process a little bit faster.

"Perhaps," Arthur acknowledged, and he moved back on the saddle to take hold of the stirrups with his feet as Merlin landed on the ground. Merlin stepped away with a pat to the mare’s flank, but was halted by Arthur’s last question. "Before you go, sorcerer, tell me this. Why did you do it? Why rescue me? Was it to gain some reward? For leverage over Camelot? For revenge?"

Merlin smiled. "None of those reasons, sire. I would have done it for any price. Your life is worth ten of mine."

That silenced Arthur, and Merlin half-wished he had enough light to see the look on Arthur’s face. Bewilderment? Shock? Or maybe something else entirely. The mare stamped her front hoof uneasily as the sound of the hounds and men drew closer. Merlin turned to walk away.

"Will I ever see you again?" Arthur asked, raising his voice slightly.

Merlin had put a tree between them by that point, and he stilled for a moment. The shouting grew loud enough to make out cries of, ‘Sire! Sire!’ and Merlin gathered up the hem of his robe so he could start jogging, leaving Arthur behind without a reply.

Once he’d put some distance between himself and Arthur, Merlin stopped to throw back his hood and take a deep, unconfined breath of the cold night air. The woods were still rife with the noise of the search party, but any moment Arthur would find them and be whisked away back to Camelot. Merlin lifted his right hand toward the sky, squeezing his eyes shut as he began incanting the words that would get him there first. He hated using the spell, but he had to get back to the castle before Arthur did.

"Biddan ástelle me on Camelot!"

A strong whirlwind took shape around him, lifting the bottom of his robes and his sleeves until they were flapping around him madly, and the howl of the wind grew near deafening, pulling at his clothing and his hair and making his skin sting from the force of it. Merlin felt himself lifted from the ground, caught up in the maelstrom, spun round and round, and the trees and the stars blurred until he could hear and see and feel no more.

[ Part V]