Family Tree Part V

[cerisereve]

-oOo- Arthur -oOo-

Merlin jabs Arthur on the shoulder to wake him. "It's morning, my lord."

When Arthur cracks open his eyes he can see that, indeed, the morning is newly dawned. When had he lain down? And when had he fallen asleep?

"Are you awake?" Merlin asks and claps his hands together in overexcited glee. He clearly got an overabundance of sleep the night before. "We have places to go and kings to please."

"Sleep to catch and servants to maim," Arthur grumbles closing his eyes again.

"Do I need to dump river water over your head in order to make sure you're not going to fall asleep again?"

"I'm not in the mood, Merlin."

"When are you ever?"

Arthur grunts nonsense, hoping Merlin would go away.

"Then again," Merlin continues. "There was that one time at your last birthday feast when you'd drunk too much cider and you-"

"I'm up. I'm up." Arthur hauls himself to his feet. "Must you always be so annoyingly chipper in the morning?"

"Yep."

"Then you've accomplished your job."

"Do my ears deceive me?"

"Yours are big enough, I'm sure you heard me just fine."

"That was another compliment." Merlin beams.

"No, it wasn't."

"I'm sure it was a backhanded one."

"Go… go saddle the horses or-"

"Already done."

Sure enough his stallion and Merlin's mare are awake and grazing in the grass awaiting their riders. All of their other belongings are packed and ready for departure too.

"Get me some breakfast then."

Merlin shoves a hunk of bread in his face. "I figured you'd want to eat as we rode."

"Probably best," Arthur agrees and heads towards the horses. Arthur checks to make sure Gwen's broom has not been disturbed, secures Sir Ector's blade on his belt, and mounts.

Merlin follows.

When Arthur wheels his horse so he faces the rising sun, Merlin asks. "Where are you going?"

"East," he tells Merlin. "We are going east to meet this druid." Arthur kicks his horse into a gallop, so he cannot see Merlin's smirk.

-oOo-

The day develops into a warm, muggy afternoon; one where there is a storm boiling just over the horizon promising thunder and lightening. If the downpour does not come that evening it would come the morning after.

Summer is dying.

And with it the chance to feed the people of Camelot.

When they reach the babbling brook, twilight is settling over the forest. "We'll go the rest of the way on foot," Arthur tells Merlin, as he dismounts. "Secure the horses. I'll bury my chest of gold."

It is not the best solution, but he is not about to leave his personal fortune where any passing mercenaries could raid it. The horses, while valuable, could be replaced.

"What about the Tree of Life?" Merlin asks after he as finished tying his horse to a nearby willow.

Arthur has forgotten about it completely. "What about it?"

"We can't just leave it here."

"I'll bury it too."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Merlin complains as he reaches for the reigns of Arthur's horse.

"We're not going to be here more than a few hours."

"The druid could tell you what to do with it."

Privately, Arthur did not think that the druid would be much interested in what is really inside, but once Merlin sinks his teeth into an argument, no amount of distraction could put him off.

"Fine. We'll take it with us. You'll carry it."

Arthur buries the gold and then sets about looking for signs and trails.

He finds the boot prints (and horse dung) Leon and his party left behind when they were here three days ago, but they are faint and already fading from view. Arthur is debating the merits of crossing to the other side of the river to search for the druid when he spies the fresh tracks.

"Admit it," Merlin says, when Arthur heads back up the hill and the path they had just descended.

"That I'm an excellent tracker. I certainly will. My prowess is renowned throughout the kingdom."

"Not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"Admit that we're lost."

"I'm not lost."

"Of course not, sire."

Arthur rounds on Merlin. "That reeked of insolence."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "We've been walking for over an hour. Admit it."

"I'm headed in the correct direction now." Arthur tromps directly through a low bush of lavender and steps off the path. "Got a bit turned around for a while, but I'm back on the right track."

Ten minutes, and ten complains from Merlin, later Arthur parts a section of grasses that reach above his head and finds what he is looking for-a low cave opening hewn out of rock. Smack in the center of the opening is a gray haired man sitting cross-legged on the ground.

"Welcome, Arthur Pendragon," the druid greets him smoothly as he stands and comes forward.

Arthur edges forward cautiously while Merlin loiters behind. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"My name is Iseldir and we have met before."

"In battle?"

"No."

Arthur searches his memory. The only other time he has met a druid was when he…. "You were in the party that took Mordred."

"Indeed. You were kind enough to return Mordred to our care."

"How is he?"

"I did not ask you here to speak of the boy."

"Then for what?"

"Because I knew your friend would come with you."

"My friend?" Arthur is confused. Wait a minute… "Merlin? You mean Merlin."

Arthur expects Merlin to prance about with a quip along the lines of 'the world doesn't revolve around you', but the jest never crosses his lips. When Arthur spins around, he sees a pole-axed expression on his manservant's face. Merlin thumps his fingers on his breastbone and mouths the word 'me' and 'no' over and over again.

"What could you possibly want of Merlin?" Arthur asks. "He's just my servant."

"Emrys," the druid says.

What the bloody hell is an 'Emrys'?

Merlin proceeds to take two halting steps backwards and stumble like a klutz onto the ground. The sheet-wrapped wood falls to the ground with him.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asks, going back to offer him a hand up.

Merlin does not take his hand because his gaze is glued to the druid. Arthur drops his hand to his side, worried.

The two are locked in a battle of wills and from the play of emotions-suspicion, fear, then reluctance-that flicker across Merlin's face, it is like they are having a silent conversation Arthur cannot hear.

Which is absurd.

Can you do that with magic?

He does not even know for sure. Arthur twitches to draw Ector's sword to put a stop to their silent argument, but before he can, the druid opens both his hands palms up and holds them wide in a gesture of waiting. Merlin loses the argument when he drops his eyes to the dirt and picks up what he had dropped.

The druid nods, satisfied.

"The time has come," Iseldir says to Arthur. "Follow me when you are ready." The druid enters the cave and is lost to its darkness a few seconds later.

"What did he say to you?" Arthur demands once they are alone.

"Did you hear him say anything?"

Arthur taps the side of Merlin's head. "In here."

"Arthur, I…" Merlin trails off.

"Tell me."

"Sire," Merlin says and stands, squaring his shoulders. "It has been an honor being your servant."

"Excuse me?"

"It has been an hon-"

"You're quitting? You're leaving me to join the druids?" All Arthur can see is red. Of all the ungrateful…. "What happened to it's 'our destiny'? What happened to-"

"My lord-"

"-you protect me? Even though you don't. Okay, so you saved my life a time or two. That's why my father gave you the job in the first place-he was fed up with me because I refused to take on a new servant. And I couldn't refuse you. Yes, then there was the time with the poisoned chalice, but to-"

"Sire-"

"-leave me for no good reason is rude, even for a servant as wretchedly bad as yourself. You can barely darn my socks without making more holes."

"I'm horrible at it," Merlin agrees.

"See, even you agree. But who else can I find to bring my dinner, wake me up in the morning, and keep my secrets? Even when we first met, you weren't afraid to speak your mind, as appallingly stupid as you were. No other servant I've ever had would talk back to me. You're the one who's been with me the longest, even though you hate every minute of it. I can change, I swear I can. I'm not going to rule like my father. I need y…." The final word of his plea gets stuck somewhere between his heart and mouth, leaving his tongue tied.

"Arthur, I am not going anywhere."

"Oh." That takes the wind out of his sails. "You're not?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No, and I won't unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you want me to."

"Well, I don't."

Before Arthur can think of something else stupid and emotional to confess, Merlin asks, "Are we going to find out what the druid has to say?"

"That's what we're here for." Arthur strides for the cave, but Merlin does not make a move to accompany him. "Aren't you coming?"

"I always do."

Arthur ducks low to keep his head from banging against the rock. Merlin trails behind. Five steps in, the ground starts to slope gently downwards, but the cave's ceiling banks even more sharply. They nearly have to crouch in order to keep on.

Just before it is necessary to get onto all fours and crawl, the tunnel opens up into a larger chamber.

The druid is waiting with two torches. One is lit. The other is not.

Iseldir waves his hand over the top of the second. "Forbearnan." The druid's eyes glow momentarily yellow and then are outshined by the burst of flame that sparks up without the use of pitch. Iseldir offers the newly lit torch to Arthur.

"It looks just like normal fire," Arthur says taking it.

"Fire is fire," Iseldir informs him.

"Like life is life?" Arthur asks, figuring that Sir Ector would be proud of him.

"Very good."

Arthur raises his torch high to illuminate as much of the chamber as he can. There are craggy edges and sharp rocky points, but they have reached a dead end. There is no where further to go.

"Ic i íewe hordgeat."

The words echo in the chamber and the hair on the back of Arthur's neck stands up when the spell Iseldir cast reveals a wooden door hewn into the solid rock. The druid opens the door and on the other side stairs descend into gloomy shadows. Arthur decides to leave the door open when he follows Iseldir and Merlin down the stairs.

When the shadows play tricks on his eyes, Arthur is grateful for the torch.

The farther down the trio goes, the more damp and musty the cave smells. Stalactites grow thicker and more numerous above their heads. Moisture beads up on the walls and drips from the stalactites, Arthur figures that deep down in the recesses of this cave, there is an underground spring.

Every so often there is a small landing where another tunnel forks off in rabbit warren fashion, but they continue to go down. Finally, the path bottoms out and when they round the corner the cave gapes open into a gigantic cavern.

There is a giant stone plinth fifteen steps from the staircase. As they pass Merlin leans the wrapped up sheet at its base.

The floor of the cave turns rocky and that leads to a large pool of water than stretches out as far as the torchlight carries. The still surface is deceptively calm. When Arthur toes his boot in the water, the ripple makes his fire-lit reflection dance in the rings.

Iseldir leans his torch against the plinth and comes to stand next to him on the shore. "This water is the life's blood of Camelot," he says.

"It connects to the aquifer?" Arthur asks. He had no idea that there was a second entrance. He, Merlin, and Morgana had taken the other when they have vanquished the Afanc.

"Everything is connected in a delicate balance: life, death, you, me, kings, sorcerers. Blood and water."

It is a heroic feat, but Arthur manages not to roll his eyes. Just barely. If Sir Ector sent him here for a lesson in the basics of magic, the bruises of their midnight fight were not worth it.

"The Tree of Life," the druid continues, "was recently removed from the Isle of the Blessed. It was felt in Camelot. It was planted improperly and so it did not root."

Arthur considers lying for a brief moment, but in the end decides to go with the truth. "Our court physician is researching ways to destroy it."

"And has Gaius determined why that would be unwise?"

Arthur is incredulous. "You know Gaius?"

"Gaius may no longer be a friend of the druids, but there was a time before your birth when he was. What has his research revealed?"

"That Camelot would be destroyed."

"That is only partly true. Camelot and its walls would still stand, but you would die, leaving Camelot without an acknowledged heir. The city would fall to ruin short years after your father wasted away. Everything the king has worked for over the past twenty years would be obliterated.

"I created the Tree of Life for one purpose and one purpose only. To see it planted in Camelot so banished magic could return. The Tree is tied to you Arthur Pendragon in more ways than you could possibly know."

"What do you want me to do?" Arthur asks.

"Plant it." The solemnity in his voice is as serious as Geoffrey of Monmouth presiding over a ceremony. "Nourish it," Iseldir says as he pulls a goblet from his robes, "with blood, and love, and water."

Merlin gasps. "That's the Cup of Life."

"Indeed it is."

The goblet is made of polished sliver, which shines brightly in the light. It has a simple bowl for the cup, a tapered stem, and three pronged feet at its base.

"How did you get it?" Merlin asks.

Instead of answering the question, the druid holds the Cup out. "Fill it," Iseldir instructs Merlin.

"Me?"

The druid gazes intently at Merlin for an overly long moment. Aloud he says, "You must hurry. There is not much time."

Reluctantly, Merlin stalks forward, takes the Cup of Life, crouches at the water's edge, and dunks the lip of the chalice into the pool.

"Thank you," Iseldir says accepting the chalice back and cradling it using both his hands. Arthur peers into the cup and expects it to turn purple, or shimmer, or at the very least smoke, roil, and bubble. It is just plain, boring water. The druid closes his eyes in prayer, brings the Cup of Life reverently to his lips, and drinks the liquid.

"What happens now?" Arthur asks Iseldir.

"We wait."

"For what?" He asks, but that is when he hears it-the clomp of footfalls. "Someone's coming down the stairs," Arthur tells the other two.

"The High Priestess. She breached my wards halfway through our decent."

"Is this an ambush?" Merlin demands sharply. It is the same harsh tone of voice he used in the alcove with Morgana.

"It is not."

"Who breached them?" Arthur asks, bewildered. No one knew they were coming, except Sir Ector. And Arthur cannot believe his old teacher would betray him.

"Morgause," Merlin tells him.

Arthur does not understand. "How would she know we were here?"

The footsteps grow louder, closer. The intruders are close enough now that Arthur can see a faint glow of light getting stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Arthur draws Ector's sword and grips it tight. He has steel in one hand, fire in the other when Morgause sweeps into the chamber as if she owns it.

"Well. Well. Well." Morgause drawls, delighted. "What have we interrupted?"

Arthur's eyes bug out when Morgana picks her way through the rocky path towards the shore behind Morgause.

"You can't be here," Morgana says to Arthur. She is just as surprised to see him as he is to see her. "The trace I set," she says to Morgause and points at Arthur's sword, "tells me he's miles from here."

"Don’t worry about it, sweet sister," Morgause tells her. "This is a stroke of good luck. We may have failed to take Camelot, but now we have the Prince."

"Merlin too," Morgana comments.

"Both of them," she agrees.

It slots together in flashes: Morgana's miraculous return, Morgana's victory over the dead during the battle, Morgana pumping him for information about the Tree of Life, the conversation he overheard between Merlin and Morgana, Merlin's hints the night before, and Morgana's presence here in the cave confirms it.

"You are the traitor!" Arthur blurts out.

"I am." Morgana smirks. "Bewæpne," she spells and her eyes turn a horrible golden yellow as the sword leaps out of Arthur's grip and flies across the cavern. Morgana catches it with ease.

Arthur is helpless without the sword; he has nothing to fight with.

Merlin, damn him, steps between him and Morgana. "Merlin," Arthur growls. "Get out of the way."

"I can't do that, Arthur."

Morgause laughs. "You have no power to stop us," she taunts Merlin.

"Emrys," the druid addresses Merlin from behind as he sets the Cup of Life delicately on the ground at his feet. "Why do you hesitate? Prince Arthur is not the only man who must own up to his destiny."

Merlin turns to Arthur and says, "I hope you will forgive me."

"For wh-"

All hell breaks loose when Merlin yells, "Lyfte ic þe in balwen ac forhienan se wideor!" An invisible gale blows the fire from Iseldir's discarded torch in a billowing streak towards the women.

Holy shit!

Arthur drops his own torch.

In shock, Morgana drops to her knees and loses the sword. Morgause's eyes fill with magic and she pushes the flame back at Merlin with another spell. Volleys of light burst from Merlin's hands, and fireballs from Morgause's.

Magic pulses-orange, red, fire-yellow-streak through the cave. One of the pulses has a glare that is so blindingly hot and bright that Arthur has to cover his eyes with his sleeve for a moment.

"Ástríce!"

"Forbærne! Ácwele!"

"Cume her fyrbryne."

Fire streaks across the air and a smoky haze fills the cavern. Singeing blasts whip about over his head as Merlin and Morgause are locked in combat.

"Ástríce!"

"Ácwele!"

"Forbærne!"

Arthur is surrounded on all sides by magic. He can no longer tell who-Morgause, Merlin, Iseldir, or Morgana-is yelling what. Errant balls of fire smash the walls, the plinth, the lake, the ceiling.

Morgana sends a barrage towards Iseldir. The druid is too busy aiming an attack at Morgause to see it. Arthur barrels towards him. They splash knee deep into the lake, and successfully avoid the blast.

BOOM!

The deafening roar of magic blocks out all other sound as the ceiling of the cave explodes. One of the large stalactites right over their heads breaks apart and the rock pours down from above. Arthur successfully manages to dodge the plunging boulder, but the druid is not so lucky. Arthur can only watch as the rock and debris pummel Iseldir. The druid goes under and does not come back up.

Merlin's raw, gut-wrenching scream fills the cave and then there is an echoing silence.

Sopping wet boots and clothes dragging him down, Arthur manages to crawl out of the lake. He stumbles over more fallen rocks while dust and filth fall like rain.

Morgause, hand extended, stands over him.

"Slápe."

Arthur cannot control it when he grows weak and collapses. His head lolls to the side and as his eyes flutter closed. The last thing he sees is Iseldir's dead body floating in the lake, his blood mixing in the water.

-oOo- Uther -oOo-

The first time I let Arthur see the evils of magic, he was six.

We stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard with the pyre and a mass of courtiers and peasants below. In order to see the people Arthur, cape snapping in the breeze, balanced on his toes and clutched the railing instead of peaking through the gaps of the carved stone cutwork as he did throughout the summer.

Gorlois stood to our right, expression cold and unyielding, an echo of the late autumn weather. The winds, busy brewing a storm, picked up as we waited for the execution to commence.

Arthur squirmed from foot to foot trying to give himself more height.

"Do not fidget," I reminded him.

He immediately ceased.

Then the deep, steady beat of the drums began and drowned out the murmurings of the crowd.

Sir Ector and two of his guards manhandled the witch-I refused to think of her as anything else regardless of the past-to the pyre. She tripped twice along the way, but didn't struggle even as she was roped to the stake. Her long, blonde hair completely let down from its normal braids and styling whipped in the wind and her red dress, once regal, was ripped and smudged with dirt from the past fortnight in the dungeons. Despite that her beauty, painfully similar to Ygraine's, was unmistakable.

"Did you not offer her other clothes?" I asked Gorlois.

"She refused them."

Obstinate to the end then.

"Who is she, father?" Arthur asked.

"No one of importance," I reply.

Gorlois cleared his throat and told Arthur, "She is an enemy of Camelot who would see all your father has worked for destroyed."

"What'd she do?" Arthur asked me.

The drums stopped abruptly, which saved me from answering as the guards finished securing her. If only she hadn't been on the Isle of the Blessed when it had finally been taken, then she wouldn't have forced my hand. It is of little comfort that she will die unnamed, unknown, and unremembered; probably more of a comfort to me than Gorlois.

"Watch and listen," I commanded Arthur.

Clearing my throat and raising my voice, I addressed the entire courtyard. "Loyal citizens of Camelot, the crime of sorcery is punishable only with death. The laws also state that those caught aiding those who wrongly champion magic, name themselves just as just guilty and are subject to the same punishment. Witch, I am capable of mercy, and offer you this one last chance for clemency. Denounce magic, those who use it, and state once and for all that Camelot's strength lies in the destruction of the Old Religion."

Silence stretched and I held my breath along with the entire crowd. I'm offering you a way to live, take it, you damnable woman.

When she finally spoke her voice carried clear as a bell: "I am a seer." My breath left me in a gasp. She can't mean it. She shouldn't have hidden it all these years. "And I have dreamt that one day magic will be welcomed in Camelot. We will unite under one banner. That king is not you, Uther Pendragon. Kill me and you seal magic's fate."

"She's sealed her own fate," Gorlois said quietly to me. "Do it."

I gave the signal to light the pyre. I watched her say something to Ector and he replied. She ignored the fire as it spread and instead watched the balcony. At first I thought she was staring up at Gorlois waiting for him to intervene, but when Gorlois backed off a few steps and turned away, her gaze didn't waver.

It was me-me and Arthur-she focused on until the smoke and screams took her.

When the smell of her burning flesh hit, Arthur broke his pose, covered his nose, and ducked below the railing. I put my palms on Arthur's shoulders to steady him and drew him up against me. "This is a lesson on how to rule, Arthur. Do not show your emotions. Have the courage to not look away. Show no weakness. You must always protect Camelot, at any cost."

The smoke billowed up and up before curling as the wind took it. The stench was light in comparison to the purge fires.

When the conversation of the people below began to mask out the crackling of the dying fire, I motioned for the guards to disperse the people.

Gorlois stepped again to my side. "My lord, may I tend to my daughter?"

"Of course," I dismissed him knowing our inevitable conversation that evening would require a large supply of alcohol. He left without a backwards glance.

I then knelt to Arthur's level. "Sorcery will destroy Camelot if we are not vigilant. If we do not stamp it out, it will plague our borders and our people forever."

"I will defend Camelot against magic," Arthur replied.

"That is a prince's duty, very good. Sir Ector will be pleased."

"He will?"

"What you witnessed today took courage and as a reward tomorrow you will start your formal training with the knights."

"With a sword, and mace, and knife, and crossbow, and horse 'n lance, and footwork practice, and everything just like a real knight?"

I chuckled. "Perhaps not all at once, son."

With a wide smile, his face was as bright as a freshly lit candle. How I envied his childhood excitement-a woman's love and a warrior's battle had not yet had the chance to corrupt him.

"You must become the best and strongest knight in all of the kingdom."

"Me?"

"I know you will. Nothing less will be worthy of a prince."

I stood upright, took Arthur's small hand in my own, and guided him into the heart of the palace. I would make Arthur into the king all of Camelot revered. When I glanced over my shoulder one last time, no more smoke hung in the air and the threatened rain started to fall.

Both fire and magic would be quenched.

-oOo-

That night I did not wait for him to come to me. I knocked on Gorlois's chamber door while a servant with several carafes of ale hovered behind me.

"Sire," Gorlois said haggardly, but held the door open for me and the servant. He'd shed his armor and was dressed informally.

No matter the hour, or situation, he never refused me.

After the servant left, I took the decanter and poured out two generous portions into pewter mugs. There was no fire in the grate. Only sconces on the wall and a lone candle on the table illuminated the room.

"Here, drink."

He took the mug without a word. And I waited for him to speak. Eventually he settled in the seat across the table from me while the howling wind outside turned the rain to snow. Gorlois drank a large mouthful, wiped his chin, and scooted his chair back a few inches.

"I have a request, Uther."

After what he sacrificed today I would grant him anything. "You need only ask."

"I've wanted to ask this for many months…" he trailed off.

I gestured for him to continue with a tilt of my mug.

"It's about Morgana." he finally said. The mug-halfway to my mouth-hit the table with a heavy thunk.

"What is it you'd like?"

"When Vivienne vanished six years ago, I hoped she would be recovered and put this off. When we found her on the Isle, I hoped she would see reason for Morgana's sake, but she didn't. In these last few weeks, it became clear to me that I never knew her at all. No wife would betray her husband in such a way."

"What passed between you in the dungeons?" I asked, unable to look him in the eyes. I'd barely drunk enough, but was starting to feel sickness stir in my stomach.

"She blamed you for Ygraine's death, for Tristan's death. She blamed me for standing by and letting it happen. She babbled on about setting the future in motion."

"Were you able to figure out what she'd planned?" I asked.

"All she would say was that in her dreams she'd seen that crumbling of the citadel's west wall would herald the return of magic to Camelot."

"Our walls are impregnable."

"Even so, I can't put this off any longer. I am all my daughter has left and if anything should happen to me on this next campaign at Cornwall."

"Nothing will. We've planned it well," I replied.

"You know as well as I that even the best tactics can turn against you in the midst of battle. Nothing turns out they way you expect. So, should the reinforcements not arrive, I want to make sure Morgana is well taken care of. Promise me, Uther, that she will grow up safe from magic and than none of her mother's taint will touch her."

"Gorlois…."

"Promise me."

"It isn't necessary. You know I would-"

"Nothing short of your word will satisfy."

Arthur, my golden boy, will inherit the best of me-Camelot-and the best of Ygraine-innocence, while Morgana, my shadow, will inherit the worst of me-a father's guilt-and the worst of Vivienne-lies.

"I shall treat her as my own daughter. Always."

Gorlois's wide shoulders relaxed. "Thank you," he said and drained the rest of the ale.

"I will also have Geoffrey seal all records of Vivienne's duplicity on the morrow. Morgana will never know."

"I would do the same for Arthur."

"There is no one else with whom I would trust my son."

Gorlois poured himself another and then raised his mug in toast. "We did what was required for our children. Here is to the death of the three de Bois siblings-Ygraine, Tristan, and Vivienne."

I met him halfway and added, "May they allow the living to rest in peace."

-oOo- Arthur -oOo-

Arthur's mind crawls to consciousness in fits and starts. Sound, the dripping of water is the first sense to return. Pain, pounding pain, which drums in time with the beat of his heart, is second. He is sitting on the cold, hard ground and leaning against something even harder.

There is something tight across his chest. It makes each and every breath a labor. When he finally has the guts to open his eyes, it is pitch black dark.

He groans.

"Are you awake?" Merlin asks.

He groans even louder when he remembers how he got here. He struggles with the bonds, but they hold tight.

"Arthur," Merlin calls again from the right. "Are you hurt?"

"When we get out of here you're never working for me again."

"Figures," Merlin mutters. "This had to be the one time you were knocked out and remember everything."

Ignoring Merlin, Arthur tests the bonds again. He can lean forward, so the bonds are just around his chest and legs restraining his movement, they are not binding him to anything. If they could just give a little bit… He grunts at the strain.

"They won't break."

"Didn't ask you," Arthur snaps.

"If you fall over, it's next to impossible to get back up again."

"Shut up!"

Arthur takes a deep breath and tries puffing out his pecs to stretch the chain. Nothing gives. He tries wiggling his shoulders to slip a hand free. Nothing budges. In fact, all he succeeds in doing is cutting off the circulation in his arms, causing them to go numb from the strain.

"Let me guess, they are spelled to prevent us from escaping."

"Yes," Merlin says.

"Are you sure?"

"I've seen Morgause use them before."

Arthur does not fare any better when he tries to free his legs. "Argh!" he vents and tosses his head back-and bangs into hard stone. "Oww!"

"We're leaning against the plinth," Merlin says unhelpfully.

"I know that now," Arthur replies, stars sparkling in the dark everywhere he looks. He feels so stupid and embarrassed. How could he have not had a clue that Merlin and Morgana possessed magic? Merlin has spent the better part of two years deceiving him, but Morgana has spent a lifetime. How could he be so stupid? He bangs his head against the stone once more for good measure. The pain feels… is not good, but at least it is something he caused. Betrayal is not a strong enough word. "Did I ever know you at all?" Arthur asks, craning his neck towards in Merlin's direction.

"You know me better now than ever before," Merlin replies quietly.

"I'm not sure I like what I see." Then Arthur laughs under his breath. For the first time in his life he is not in the dark, and yet he cannot see anything beyond his nose.

"Neither do I."

"You admit you were wrong?" Arthur asks, surprised. He had not heard any remorse.

"I mean you."

Arthur cannot help but rise to the bait. "I'm not the one who's been lying to his employer."

"I wasn't lying."

"And what would you call it exactly?"

"You really want to have this conversation when we're all tied up?"

"Can't think of a better time, frankly. It's the only thing preventing me from punching your lights out. Your big secret isn't a secret anymore, so tell me, why did you keep it from me?" Arthur cannot bring himself to use the M word.

"You weren't ready to know."

"Who does know? Gaius?"

"Yes."

"Gwen."

"No."

"Morgana?"

"Not before tonight."

"Did you know she had m…m…"

"It's not a dirty word, Arthur. You can say it without being cursed."

"Did you know about her?"

Merlin sighs. "I did."

"Who else knows about you? Don't leave anyone out."

"My mother. My friend Will from Ealdor."

"It wasn't Will with the wind during the battle. It was you. It was you the whole time."

"I told you not to think less of me."

"Keep going," Arthur commands.

"Mordred. Freya. Nimueh-she's dead by the way, you can thank me later. And there's Lancelot. Kilgharrah."

"Who on earth is Kilgharrah?"

"The great dragon."

"You say that as if I didn't vanquish him."

"Umm, that's because you, well, didn't."

"You lied?"

"I-"

"Oh," Arthur's heart drops. "Let me guess it was one of the many convenient times I was knocked unconscious for you. How many times, Merlin? How many times did you play me for the fool?"

"I didn't mean. That's not…." Merlin trails off when a light starts to bob in distance.

A few seconds later, Arthur can make out Merlin's profile. By mutual unspoken agreement, they wait, huddled in silence while the light grows brighter and brighter and their captor come closer and closer.

It is Morgause, not a hair out of place or a smudge on her velvet, red-all the better to hide the blood-dress. She sets something on the edge of the plinth and from his angle, Arthur cannot see what.

"Comfortable?" Morgause asks, coming around in front and waving her torch in his face. Arthur is forced to look away; the flame is far too bright.

"Supremely." Arthur puts as much venom as he can in his reply.

"Good, we've observed the pleasantries. Where is the Tree of Life?" Morgause asks crouching down.

"I do not know," Arthur responds, pleased he is telling the truth. With any luck, Gwen has hidden it safely.

"My sister tells me otherwise."

"She's wrong."

"Where is Morgana?" Arthur asks. "I would like to speak with her."

"I am sure you would. Alas, she returned to Camelot so no one will miss her in the morning. When you do not return from your journey, we thought it best she be there to console your father in his grief."

Then Morgause turns to Merlin and cups his chin in her hand and forces him to meet her eyes. "You won't be taking your secret to your grave after all." Merlin tries to jerk away and fails. "Seems there's a hidden side to the lowly servant. He's a powerful sorcerer." She laughs. "Still believe your Prince will give you a fair and just land?"

"More than ever."

"Who trained you?"

"No one," Merlin grits out.

"Power as such that you wielded doesn't manifest out of nowhere. Gaius is too weak. If you'd been with the druids I would have heard about it. Everyone else with enough strength is dead."

How powerful really is Merlin?

"Nothing?" Morgause prompts.

"I was born this way," Merlin finally admits.

"Not possible."

"Where is the Tree of Life?" she asks Merlin.

Merlin does not answer her.

Morgause releases him and stands. "Perhaps something to loosen your tongue? I have brewed a potent mixture." When she crouches back down she holds the Cup of Life.

"Drink," Morgause commands.

Merlin turns his face to the side when Morgause brings the cup to his lips. "Don't make this harder than it has to be." She pries Merlin's mouth open and pours the liquid down his throat. Merlin chokes and spits some of it out, but he cannot help but swallow most of the liquid.

In a disturbingly quick amount of time Merlin's head slumps onto Arthur's shoulder.

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur asks Morgause as she tenderly wipes the spittle off Merlin's jaw.

As a reply Morgause puts the Cup of Life down and casts a spell aimed at Merlin. "Mælae sóþsage." Once the light fades from her eyes she asks her question to Merlin again. "Where is the Tree of Life?"

"Brought it down 'ere," Merlin slurs. "Wr…wrapped in a white sssheet."

"Where is it now?"

"Other ssside of the plinth-th," Merlin trails off dopily.

Wasting no time, Morgause circles the plinth and rummages through the rubble. She unearths the sheet and unrolls its prize. Her triumphant smile turns nasty when she uncovers the bristles of the broom.

"What am I to do with this?" she asks Arthur.

"Sweep the floor."

It is not the answer Morgause wanted. She retrieves the Cup of Life and offers it to Arthur. "Drink."

With more dignity than Merlin, Arthur does. It is a foul concoction-thick and bitter with a metallic bite. There is a split second where he feels no different and that he thinks he is strong enough to fight it off, but then the wooziness smacks him upside the head.

"Wha'd I ever do ta you?" Arthur manages to ask just as it become too dizzy to keep his eyes open any further.

"My mother, Arthur Pendragon, chose you over me."

If Morgause asks him any questions, he does not remember them anymore than he remembers his answers. All he does remember is that she takes the light with her when she leaves.

-oOo-

Time's flimsy fabric ripples and bends in kaleidoscope shards as Arthur drifts on its breeze.

He floats down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

There is no thump or bump, but he lands.

"Arthur."

It is a melodic woman's voice.

"Arthur you must wake up."

His vision swims when he opens his eyes. There is a beautiful blonde woman standing before him. There are two of them now. They glow softly, radiating warmth and light in the dark. They-no, the two coalesce again into one person-she smiles sadly.

"Hello, Arthur." Her mouth did not move, yet her voice is as clear as a bell. Inside his head!

She looks just like his "Mother?"

"Ygraine was able to visit you once. She cannot come again. I am here in her place."

"Who are you?"

"Your Aunt Vivienne."

"No. No. This is a trick. It's another one of Morgause's spells." This is not real. It cannot be real. "Where is Morgause?"

"Returning to Camelot to converse with Morgana."

This is not real. This is not real. This is not real! "I'm drugged and I'm just dreaming," he mutters, screwing his eyes shut.

"You're not dreaming."

A hollow pit gaps wide open in his stomach. "If I'm not dreaming, then I'm dead."

"On the edge," she confirms coming to sit cross-legged in front of him. It is only then he realizes he is still chained and propped against Merlin for support. How is that possible?

"Who is he?" Vivienne asks gesturing at Merlin.

"A sorcerer and a liar."

Vivienne frowns at him. She leans in closer and peers at Merlin's bloody and battered face. "He's Gaius's lost son."

"Merlin?" Arthur nearly busts a gut laughing.

"He needs you."

"Well, I don't need him," Arthur says bitterly.

"You need him just as much as he needs you," she informs him. "Imagine what the two of you will accomplish if you work together. Albion will be richer for it."

"I don't believe it."

Vivienne reaches out and gently rests her fingertips on his temple. "Then see what I have seen."

Arthur's eyelids droop and he fights to keep them open, but his vision flutters. There is a flash and then another, one white strobe after another. They get quicker and quicker and quicker and quicker and qui…cker….

Arthur's head spins and jolts outside of himself, outside of the cave, inside history, inside memories of the past.

He is Nimueh and he feels the magic rise within him as he blesses the water inside the Cup of Life-certain this will allow magic to flourish across Albion-and then offers it to Ygraine in exchange for a baby.

He is Ygraine and he lifts the baby Morgause from his sister's arms and gives her to Gaius to smuggle out of the castle.

He is Uther and he kisses Vivienne, undresses Vivienne, and lost in lust, propels Vivienne to his bed.

He is Vivienne and he watches helplessly as the midwife cannot staunch the flow of his sister's blood.

He is Elsa and he slides a ring off of Ygraine's cold finger while the babe, Arthur, nurses at her breast.

He is Tristan du Bois and he reads a letter from his sister Vivienne, rides through wheat fields at a breakneck pace toward Camelot, and tosses a gauntlet in the throne room at the bastard Uther's feet.

He is Iseldir and he stands with Vivienne and Talieson in the Crystal Cave gazing into the future; when Nimueh proposes splitting the Tree of Life, he agrees because he has seen Emrys.

He is Ector and he holds a flaming torch at the king's command, but just before he lights the pyre beneath Vivienne's feet, he agrees to teach and protect the Prince-at any cost.

He is Gorlois and he watches silently with Uther as two servants place a charred body in an unmarked tomb in the burial vaults of Camelot.

He is Balinor and he, in good faith, coaxes a Kilgharrah into a cave deep beneath the bowels of the Castle and when Balinor discovers the betrayal, Gaius secrets him away to Ealdor and to Hunith.

He is Geoffrey of Monmouth and he locks book after book and record after record about the Great Purge away, never to be read again, never to be remembered.

He is Gaius and he tumbles off a ladder only to have young Merlin slide a bed under him to catch his deadly fall with an unparalleled grasp of elemental magic

He is Gwen and he shyly stretches out a tape measure against Lancelot's trousers while Merlin smiles like a loon behind them.

He is Mordred and he calls over and over to Emrys for help.

He is Hunith and he smiles fondly at her beloved son and his friend, the Prince of Camelot, joined at the hip because she is sure that Balinor would be as proud of his son as she is.

He is Freya and he roars in bastet form at the knights and the pain when their leader wounds her is agony, then the next thing she knows she is gazing lovingly into Merlin's blue, blue eyes and tells him "I will repay you" as rain cries from the heavens.

He is Morgause and he stands in a moonlit clearing with his sister, he puts her to sleep, and spends the rest of the night weaving the spell which will utterly destroy Camelot and give her the revenge she craves.

He is Merlin and he grabs a bottle of hemlock to save all of the kingdom at the expense of killing his friend-the one person in all the world who is his kindred spirit-later he offers Morgana the pouch of water, holds her against his chest as her throat seizes up.

Stop.

He is Leon and he crests the top of a hill atop his gelding only to see Cenred's army cross the border.

STOP!

He is Morgana and he dries Uther's tears with her handkerchief (PLEASE, NO!), watches Morgause as she brews the Mandrake root, and (NO MORE!) plunges the dagger into the guard's chest and pushes him over the wall.

STOP-STOP-STOPSTOPSTOP!

"You are the twine, Arthur, which binds all of these lives together into a story," Vivienne says inside his mind. The flashes flicker as fast and furious as flame.

Gwen sobbing-Gaius melting honey.

Merlin sitting at a round table-Morgana screaming awake.

Lancelot begging on his knees-Morgause bowing before Nimueh.

Arthur wielding a magnificent sword-Uther toasting with Gorlois.

Mordred eyes glowing yellow with false power-Vivienne rocking a baby. First it is baby Morgause, then it is baby Morgana, and finally it is Arthur.

Morgause. Morgana. Arthur.

Morgause. Morgana. Arthur.

Morgause.

Morgana.

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

Vivienne brushes his sweaty brow and when she does, the visions abruptly end.

He is panting and his head is spinning. "No more. Please, no more," he begs. He cannot take any more.

He has seen too much.

He has seen enough of Gaius's guilt, Morgana's fear, Morgause's jealousy, Uther's anger, and Vivienne's certainty. Underneath all the currents of emotion, there is a common thread: pain. Pain of death, pain of the truth, pain of being denied, pain of what was lost, and pain of what might be.

"All five of us clung to the past, while you, my Prince, live in the present," Vivienne says to him. "Your legacy is going to change the course of generations, but you do not have to carry what we've handed down."

"Handed down?"

"In the memories I just showed you, you saw how Gaius hates himself. How my youngest daughter hates Merlin. How my eldest daughter despises me because she was forsaken. How your father hates Nimueh and all magic because of the death of your mother."

"And you?" Arthur asks. "Who do you hate?"

"What speaks more of your worth: the people you love or the people you hate?"

He thinks of his father, Guinevere, and despite his anger, of Merlin. Merlin, magic incarnate, steadfast and always by his side. Merlin who bends magic to his will, and then bends his own will to Arthur's.

"The people I love," he responds without hesitation.

"And I loved you. Above all others. You are the son I chose over everything-my husband, my daughters, and in the end even my life. I cannot free you from history," Vivienne tells him, "but I can break the chains that bind you."

"I don't understand."

"Morgana planted the Tree of Life in a crypt and the dead rose. You must plant it in Camelot's courtyard for the living."

"I'm not sure if I can do that."

"When the time is right, you will. Now close your eyes."

"Wait! I'd like to give you a message. To my mother, that is, if you can."

"I can."

"Tell my mother…." his speech gives out and he is forced to swallow. "Last time I forgot. There wasn't enough time. Tell my mother, I love her."

Vivienne smiles. "She's been listening. Close your eyes."

He complies and feels another soft touch on his forehead and then his senses flip upside down and inside out. Blood rushes to his head, there is a rush in his ears, and his stomach flops over. And he is thrust back to…

…exactly where he was before. He is leaning against the plinth with Merlin's labored breathing tickling his neck. His tongue tastes like skunk and his lips are bone dry, but he is clear headed for the first time since Morgause poured her potion down his throat. He stares at where Vivienne sat moments before.

Was it all a drug induced hallucination?

Merlin snorts and Arthur is sure that Merlin's also drooling all over his jacket. On instinct he raises his hand to push Merlin off and the chains give.

He is free.

Part VI

AO3 * LJ Master Post * Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV * Part V * Part VI