FIC: The Tournament of All Magicks (Merlin, 1/4)
Title: The Tournament of All Magicks
Author: Cori Lannam (corilannam)
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin, Gaius, Morgause
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,321
Warnings/Spoilers: Highlight to read: Contains an element of sexual assault. If you need more details to know whether you can safely read, please PM or email me! Spoilers for all of S1 and S2, and some of my own speculation of what might happen in S3 based on the rumors (but no specific spoilers).
Summary: Merlin was flattered to be invited to compete in a magical tournament to crown the sorcery champion of Albion. Accepting the invitation probably wasn't his brightest idea.
Author's notes: Thanks as always to: chelseafrew and anna_zee for large quantities of handholding and beta work (larger than usual!); to my faboo vidding artist mamoru22 for her patience and the awesome trailer she did for the story (see below! leave her lots of feedback so I can talk her into doing another vid for the story!); to the great mods and support community that made this challenge happen; and to the United States Department of Defense.
All comments and concrit are welcome. I would love to hear anything you liked or didn't like about the story!
Art link: http://mamoru.dreamwidth.org/105203.html
Disclaimer: This particular incarnation of the Arthurian myth is the legal property of the BBC. I get paid only in comments.
The scrap of parchment came into being in a slow, smoky curl on Gaius's work table, as if it were burning in reverse. Across the table, Merlin paused with his spoon halfway to his open mouth. A glob of porridge plopped back into the bowl just as the parchment solidified with a final sizzle. Merlin's mouth stayed open. His eyes slid over to Gaius, who was staring at him, equally agape.
Merlin's mouth snapped shut, and he dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter. "It wasn't me this time, I swear."
Gaius stretched his hand out and cautiously snagged the paper between two fingers, reaching for his spectacles with the other hand. "No, indeed, it was not," he said after a moment. "Goodness, I have not seen one of these in many years."
"What is it?" Merlin craned his neck, squinting to decipher the spidery upside down script. "Can I see?"
"I suppose you may." Gaius grunted and slid the paper across the table. "Since it's addressed to you."
Merlin dragged the parchment around toward him, already scanning the writing. His full name stretched across the top of the paper with a small block of text underneath. "The 200th Tournament of All Magicks," he read. "In the town of Banncroft on the first of the New Year."
"Once a generation or so, these invitations would pop up all over Camelot," Gaius remarked. "I even went once myself to watch the spectacle, but of course, that was long ago."
Long before Uther had purged the kingdom of anyone who might have received such an invitation. That, he supposed, was what Gaius really meant. Merlin looked at the paper again, and then looked up at Gaius with a frown. "But how can they still do this? Aren't they afraid Uther will show up with a lot of axes and fiery brands?"
"Banncroft is just over the border of Cenred's kingdom, though at the other end from Ealdor," Gaius said. "King Cenred still keeps a court warlock; it was a matter of great dispute in the last set of treaty negotiations, believe me. Uther wanted Cenred to agree to outlaw magic as Uther has done in Camelot, but Cenred made it clear that he doesn't consider Uther to be High King over him just yet."
"Hope he's not surprised when Uther doesn't agree," Merlin muttered and read the invitation again. "Why are they inviting me?"
"Undoubtedly, because you are you." Gaius smiled, but then sobered. "You aren't thinking of going, are you, Merlin? It would be terribly dangerous."
The thought tugged at something in his stomach, but it wasn't fear. Whatever it was made him almost jittery with anticipation. "Might be fun," he said with what even he would admit was a poor attempt to sound casual. "What could it hurt just to go watch?"
"Well, I don't know, Merlin," Gaius said with that look that people often got right before they told Merlin he was an idiot. "Prince Arthur's servant attending a sorcery tournament. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Yeah, all right," Merlin conceded and sighed as he pushed the parchment away. "Forget I mentioned it."
He watched Gaius incinerate the paper in the fireplace before he gestured to Merlin to go about his morning chores. The invitation was clearly to be forgotten entirely--or at least pondered only in the privacy of Merlin's head.
Not that Merlin had any idea what a magic tournament was like, but he had served Arthur at enough of the regular kind. He imagined it would be much the same.
The roar of the crowd filled his ears, only this time he was not hovering on the sidelines waiting for Arthur to emerge a hero. This time he faced an opponent of his own, a glowing staff in his hand. Arthur would be the one waiting on him, holding his cloak, eyes shining with pride and adoration--
And Merlin sighed as the fantasy fell apart right there and he was left with the mundane reality of getting the mutton stains out of Arthur's tunic. He had to face the facts: he simply was not meant for glory of the public sort. No one but Gaius could ever know what Merlin could do. Arthur would never look at him like that.
***
A week later he was fetching Arthur's lunch when he overheard two of the scullery maids whispering about the sorcery tournament. He nearly dropped his plate of cheese. They stopped immediately, shooting him twin glares of suspicion as they swept past him.
"Wait!" he called, but had to desist when the cheese started to slide off the tray again. He supposed Prince Arthur's manservant was unlikely to be anyone's first choice of confidant on the subject of magic. The irony.
"Please tell me you didn't forget the bread," Arthur commented without looking up from the arrow he was refletching.
Triumphantly, Merlin pulled the round loaf from where it had been distending his jacket pocket. "Fresh from the oven, no less."
Arthur snorted as he swept his work aside. "I suppose it was when you left to get it. Of course, that was an hour ago."
"Sorry." Merlin laid out Arthur's lunch; then he stood back and waited until Arthur gestured for Merlin to join him. "I was eavesdropping," he confessed as he plunked himself down across from Arthur and stuffed a piece of cheese in his mouth.
"You're worse than the maids," Arthur chided, but he was already grinning. He had not grinned much the last few months. "All right, let's have it. Surely you must have heard something to make my hunger pangs worthwhile."
Merlin hesitated before leaning forward over the plate they were sharing. Speaking of sorcery with Arthur was hardly a good idea, especially since Morgause, and then the dragon, had decimated Camelot. But he never could resist the opportunity to poke an inquisitive stick into Arthur's wounds or his own. "They were talking about a tournament. For, um, sorcerers."
Arthur paused mid-chew to stare at him. He swallowed as though the bread had gone sour. "Ah. That."
He sat up straight as his jaw fell open. "You know about that?"
"Shut your mouth, you look like that trout I caught last week. Of course I know about it. I'm sure everyone in Camelot knows by now, since I fully expect you to be the last to figure out anything."
"True," Merlin agreed easily, though if he'd had any money, he would have bet a fair amount of it that he had been almost the first to hear this particular news. The only surprise to Merlin was that anyone had dared mentioned it within Arthur's hearing. "So what do you know about it?"
Arthur frowned at a chunk of cheese, poking at it with the point of his knife. "Father is worried. And angry, of course. We've tried to contain the gossip, but the people are getting frightened."
"But the tournament isn't even in Camelot. The sorcerers can't come here, surely." In fact, it seemed to Merlin that Camelot would be considerably safer with all the sorcerers distracted at a location that was not here.
Arthur raised his eyebrows, and Merlin belatedly realized that he probably should not know quite that much about it. "As I'm sure you realize, Merlin, Banncroft is practically on the border, just on the wrong side. A gathering of that many sorcerers, so close to Camelot? Of course people are terrified."
Merlin nodded and chewed on the hunk of bread that Arthur had pushed to him, trying to look agreeably in need of education, a trusted ally in the fight against magic. "Will the king do anything to stop it?"
"Less than two years after signing the peace treaty with Lord Bayard, Cenred's ally?" Arthur rolled his eyes and stabbed the knife into what was left of the loaf. "We don't want to go through all that again, do we?"
"No," Merlin replied with feeling, though he still wondered silently what Uther might do.
***
But Uther did nothing except set extra patrols along the border. He did not send Arthur, who paced the rebuilt parapets more than usual, but said nothing more to Merlin about the rising tension amongst the populace. Merlin asked nothing more, both for fear of giving away the acuity of his interest and because he was not sure he could stand hearing Arthur say anything more about the evil in every sorcerer.
The tension grew as the rumored time for the tournament grew closer. Those who had family or friends within the keep began trickling through the gates, trusting the walls and their king to protect them from the evil gathering at the border.
Merlin's tension was growing as well, but it was quite a different feeling. "What kind of competition is it?" he asked Gaius as they ground herbs one day. "Combat spells, like a joust?"
"Different kinds of spells for different witches and warlocks, as I recall," Gaius said, then looked at Merlin sternly. "All of which would undoubtedly get you killed, so stop thinking about it."
"I'm not, I'm not," Merlin said and proceeded to think of little else.
***
"All tournaments are pretty much the same, aren't they?" he asked Arthur a few days later as he gathered Arthur's laundry.
Arthur had abandoned the last scraps of his dinner to stare out the window into the dusk. "Yes, more or less," he answered absently. "Depending on the entrants and the weapons."
Merlin paused to calculate the perfect casual tone of voice as he sidled closer to Arthur. "What if the entrants were sorcerers and the weapons were magic?"
A second later the edge of Arthur's bureau dug into his lower back as Arthur pressed him down on it, hand on Merlin's throat. "You," Arthur growled, "need to stop talking about sorcery. And especially that blasted tournament."
"Sorry," Merlin wheezed.
Arthur frowned down at his own hand before pulling it away and taking a step back. "Sorry. I didn't mean-sorry."
"It's okay." Straightening up still left him pinned between the furniture and the heat of Arthur's body. He would not mind that at all, but for the fact that he never could take that last step to bring them together, and Arthur never would.
Arthur looked at him for another moment before taking the inevitable step back. "Why the fascination? This tournament is nothing to do with you."
"I'm worried about my mother," he said, feeling wretched for the lie, but sure his mother would forgive him. "Ealdor is still in Cenred's kingdom, after all. I'm sure the village is even more nervous than the people here."
"You'd think they'd be more used to sorcery," Arthur muttered.
Merlin tried to repress a grimace. "The ways of Camelot hold a lot of sway there," he said, managing to bite back that those ways had created the sole dark spot in an otherwise happy childhood.
Arthur waved a hand in acquiescence to the unspoken request. "If you want to go see your mother, of course you can. Take a horse. But you should go first thing in the morning; the roads will likely be closed as a precaution by the end of the week."
"Thank you," Merlin said and tried not to let his face light up more than would be appropriate under the circumstances.
"In the meantime, don't think you're getting off early to go pack presents. I don't intend to get someone else in to do your work. In fact, you'd better spend the night here in case I want you for something."
This time, Merlin had to turn away to hide his pleasure. The idea of being irreplaceable to Arthur almost made him not want to leave at all. Almost.
He didn't turn away quite fast enough, because Arthur cleared his throat and dropped his eyes in that way that meant Arthur was about to feel the need to compensate for any perceived sentimentality. "Not that you'll be any more use to your mother than you'll be to me," he said. "I should at least send some guards with you to keep you out of trouble."
"The king would never allow it," Merlin pointed out hastily and, lucky for his purposes, truthfully. "Even if he would send soldiers to Ealdor, Camelot's defense comes first. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"I suppose," Arthur said, and Merlin ducked out the door with an armful of laundry before Arthur could add anything to that thought.
***
Merlin was lovingly wrapping his spell book in oilskins when he heard Gaius come up the step into his room. "Here, you'll need this as well."
He turned to find a large bundle being shoved into his hands by Gaius, who tried to frown at him. "What's all this, then?"
"If you're going to throw your hat into this particular ring--not that you have a hat worth speaking of--you'll need certain ingredients." Gaius prodded the bundle in Merlin's hands with one gnarled finger. "Potions, poultices, philters, poisons--"
"Poisons?" Merlin gave a nervous laugh. "I'm not going to poison anybody. And no hats are getting thrown into anything."
The look he got in return did not speak well of Gaius' opinion of either his honesty or his intelligence. "Humor me," Gaius said gently. "Just in case."
"All right, all right." Merlin grinned to soften the complaint. He really intended just to watch and maybe have a chat with some fellow magic users, but trouble did have a habit of finding him when he was not looking for it. And he did not mind when Gaius fussed over him, if it made Gaius feel better. And maybe it was a little nice, sometimes.
He stuffed the book into his pack first, and then wedged Gaius's supplies in next to it. Some travel fare and a change of clothes topped off the back before Merlin cinched it shut, attached his bedroll, and swung the whole lot onto his back.
"Right, I'll be off, then," he said, trying to repress his eagerness, the itch in his feet to be off on the road. He recognized the feeling; it had nearly overwhelmed him when he'd set off from Ealdor more than two years ago. It was a craving for adventure, anticipation of the unknown mingled with a touch of apprehension.
Gaius shook his head and looked at him fondly. "Just...be careful, Merlin. For once in your life."
It was also the tug of reluctance to leave those he loved. He had gotten used to relying on his friends for their steady presence and affection. And it was hard now to imagine any adventure not shared in some way with Arthur.
At least this time he'd be coming home to them in the end--provided he resisted the urge to do something particularly stupid, of course.
"Thanks," he said, since he didn't know how to express any of the rest of it. He patted his jacket pocket where the rabbit foot Gaius had once given him resided.
Merlin turned with a quick wave and headed out the door. He pretended not to see how Gaius's eyes misted up.
***
A full day on horseback had not quenched his thirst for adventure, but it had done a fair amount to quell his happiness at having a horse. When the sun went down, he found a likely camping spot and slid off onto solid ground. He hobbled over to a tree to tie off the reins. Riding was never as much fun as it looked from the ground.
And travel was not as much fun when he was by himself. The last time he had gone any real distance, he had been with his friends. Now it seemed like he could not go ten feet without seeing flowers that Gwen would gather by the lapful, hills that Morgana would tear down like an Amazon, tree branches that Arthur would strip and wave in a playful attempt to unseat Merlin from his horse.
Solitary travel did have a few perks. He sat cross-legged in the clearing and held out one hand, fingers splayed. He certainly was not missing Arthur at that moment, as a rustling and snapping echoed amongst the trees. A moment later, a substantial pile of kindling stacked itself neatly in front of him with an obedient clatter.
A moment after that sparks sizzled in the spaces in between the wood. A single flame licked up like a cat's tongue, then multiplied with a ferocious hiss before settling into a merry crackling.
Merlin beamed at it with pride. He would like to see any of Arthur's gallant knights start a fire without touching it. Half of them were hopeless even with a flint--though not Arthur, of course, who was compelled by royal decree to be perfect at everything.
But even Arthur would have to be impressed by what Merlin had just accomplished. At least for a moment, probably right before he ran Merlin through and then set fire to him.
He sighed and stared into the fire, a little less pleased with it than he had been before. He couldn't be sure when this feeling had begun to burn, this need to share with Arthur everything that he was. Probably one of the many times he had saved Arthur's life had triggered it.
Not that he needed thanks--he was still working off the first thanks he'd received for his efforts. But it was growing more important just to have Arthur understand who Merlin was and that he served Arthur out of love and faith, not because Arthur held any fear or dominion over him.
The night was warm, but he stoked the fire higher with a thought. It was company, of a sort. But it also made him starkly aware of something he had been trying to ignore for some time: none of his magic was a substitute for Arthur himself, nor ever could be.
For the moment, he reminded himself, Arthur's absence was a blessing. A really big blessing. In fact, he should do some more magic right now, just because he could.
He lifted his hand again, not even sure what kind of spell he wanted to cast, just that he wanted to cast something. Before he could decide, the crunch and crackle of someone moving through the brush in the darkness broke his concentration. His horse snorted and lifted her head in alarm.
Merlin felt considerably more sanguine. Nothing on foot was likely to be anything he needed to worry about. Not when he was alone and full of power. He lifted his hands in the direction of the noise.
A woman stepped out of the trees, but did not move out of their shadow. "Who the hell are you?" she greeted him.
Merlin slowly lowered one hand and waggled the fingers of the other at her in a friendly manner. "Um, hi. I'm Merlin. This is my campfire."
The woman moved forward again until the firelight fell across her. She was tall and slender, probably a little older than Merlin, and dressed in the same style Morgana had worn when they had gone to Ealdor, though unlike Morgana, she appeared unarmed. Her skin was a shade darker than Gwen's, and her hair was in tight curls, cropped close to her head.
She held her right hand out towards him as though ready to ward him off--or cast a spell. Merlin's pulse quickened.
"Are you from Camelot?" she demanded. "Your tracks come from the direction of the keep."
"Yes," Merlin said with caution. "I live there."
She frowned and looked at him the way Gaius looked at specimens under his magnifying lens. "You must be an idiot, then, and a suicidal one."
"I've heard that before," he muttered.
"I felt you using magic as soon as I crossed the river," she went on. "The fire, wasn't it?"
Merlin could not decide whether to grin or throw her into a tree and run away. She was a magic user herself, clearly. She did not seem like an immediate threat, but neither had most of the people who had tried to kill him or Arthur over the last few years.
He settled for nodding, keeping a defensive spell at the front of his mind, just in case. "Camelot's not so bad. Just stay away from the king. And all his men."
She looked him up and down before one shoulder twitched up in concession. "I suppose the likes of you would have no reason to meet the king or his men."
"Well, actually, I see them all at dinner most nights." Merlin did grin this time, enjoying the surprise on her face. "I'm the personal servant to Prince Arthur."
Her jaw worked as though she were trying to say something that stuck in her throat. Then a return grin broke over her face. She strode forward, dropped her pack, plopped down cross-legged in front of him, and stuck out her hand.
"I'm Niniane, second daughter of Lord Pelham, and I must shake your hand."
"Lord Pelham?" Merlin took her hand and returned her firm grip. "Then you're from Camelot, too."
"I was born there, but my mother sent me to be fostered with the priestesses in the Lake Country when she thought I showed some ability with magic. I was very young, and King Uther's purge had just begun."
A pang of envy went through him. "It must have been nice to grow up learning about magic. I only started to learn what I could do when I came to Camelot a couple of years ago."
"Really? You're still a beginner, then." Niniane smiled and leaned back on one arm, relaxing for the first time.
"Well, actually-" Merlin began, then stopped. The suspicion had almost faded from her demeanor, leaving her more open and friendly. If she thought he was no threat, maybe she would stay and talk to him more. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"How did you learn much at all about magic in Camelot? None of the old masters are left, I know that for a fact."
"I have a book," Merlin offered, though it did not sound as impressive as it might if she knew the kind of use he had made of that book. "I've always been able to do some things, like moving stuff around."
Niniane nodded in mock solemnity. "On purpose or by accident?"
"Some of both," he admitted. "I'm pretty good at it now."
To prove his point, he stretched out his hand and made the purse at her waist lift up from her belt. He made it jangle to get her attention. When her head jerked around, he lifted the purse up and danced it in front of her face.
She laughed, then muttered something. The purse was snatched from his control. It flew around to smack him in the side of his head before settling into the palm of her outstretched hand. "Your control's not bad. I assume you're heading for the tournament?"
"I had to sneak away." Merlin leaned forward and tried not to look too eager. "What do you know about it?"
"Not much more than you, probably." Niniane shrugged and looked off into the dark forest beyond the fire. "My grandmother won the last one, but she was burned in the Purge."
She spoke in the same neutral tone Arthur used when he talked about his mother, or that Merlin heard coming out of his own mouth whenever Balinor was mentioned. He recognized the scar tissue over old pain, but he said nothing. If he could not help Arthur, whom he loved, then he did not imagine there was much he could say to a stranger he had met only minutes before.
Even if she already knew him better in some ways than Arthur did.
"I want to compete," he blurted. "I was invited. But mostly I just want to talk to other people who have magic."
"Have you really never met any other sorcerers before me?" she asked.
"None that weren't trying to kill Arthur at the time."
"I guess you get a lot of that." She shook her head. "I don't know how you can stand it, working for those men after everything they've done to our people."
The words gave him a rush of warmth at being included amongst magical people. It was followed by a touch of cold at the thought of Arthur trapped within the Pendragon legacy. "He's not his father."
Niniane snorted. "Tell me what difference there is. He hunts us, captures us, kills us, just the same as Uther did to my grandmother."
Before he had gone to live among royalty, he would not have understood it, either, that gulf of authority between King and Prince. He wished he could explain how he had seen Arthur argue with Uther's commands, openly in the court or silently within the tense line of his jaw.
But the king's word was law, and Arthur was not king yet. The nobility and honor that would make him a greater king would not allow him to act against the man who wore the crown. It drove Merlin insane sometimes, but that nobility was what had won Merlin's own loyalty.
"Arthur's different," he said stubbornly. "If I do my job, someday everyone will see that."
"You sound like you're in love with him." Niniane started to snort another laugh, but stopped when Merlin could not suppress a wince. "Gods have mercy, you poor, sad little sod."
"Thanks." So much for impressing his fellow magic users; he was already a laughingstock with the first one he met.
"Honestly, I thought you felt pretty powerful when you were casting before, but you are just a pathetic little pup, aren't you?"
"Actually, I'm-" He stopped again and considered his situation. Devoted to a prince who did not appreciate or even know about the true service Merlin rendered. Loving a man who had chosen a different servant to love. "Pretty pathetic, yeah."
Niniane chuckled and patted him on the knee. "No worries. You're not a bad--looking sort. You're sure to have plenty of offers at the tourney for some proper companionship."
"Great," Merlin replied with an effort at enthusiasm. He had never been much for casual...companionship, but he was still a young man, and it had been a while.
"I might even beat them to it," Niniane went on, which was when Merlin noticed that her fingers were still light on his knee. "Unless it's that you don't like girls at all?"
"No," he said, swallowing and thinking of Freya and what had almost been. "I like girls a lot."
"Uh oh. You have that look, like you're thinking of one girl in particular." Niniane pulled her fingers back, though her voice was still flirtatious. "Just how many lovers are you stringing along back in Camelot, prince's man?"
"There was a girl," he admitted. "She was a druid. But she's dead now."
Niniane's eyes widened and she drew back further. "Oh," she said, showing uncertainty for the first time since she had sat down. "Did Uther kill her, too?"
"It was more complicated than that," he said, though a hot surge of anger went through him at Uther who hated so freely and cruelly.
They sat in the quiet for a while with the fire crackling to fill the silence. Merlin felt more comfortable than he probably should, given his past experience. Just having the weight of secrecy lifted induced a euphoria that even dark memories could not dampen.
"You remind me of her," he found himself saying after a while.
Niniane lifted her sculpted eyebrows in amused disbelief. "A druid girl? Really?"
Merlin waved a hand in the air, trying to find words for what he had never had opportunity to express before. "It just feels good, talking to someone who knows."
She smiled and stretched out on her stomach alongside the bedroll he had laid out. "So did you make magic together, you and your druid girl?"
He smiled faintly back. "I tried to make her strawberries. Ended up with rose petals instead."
"I should have guessed you'd be one for the romantic nonsense." She cast her gaze briefly to the dark sky in disgust. "Of course you can't create a strawberry out of nothing. Where would it come from?"
"Um, magic?" Merlin thought he understood the give and take of the Old Religion better than most, but aside from trading life and death, he had not given much thought to what came from where. Spells either worked or they did not. It seemed to have as much to do with the weather or his level of desperation as anything else.
Niniane rolled to her side and pressed her fingers into the earth beside her, burrowing them down until her whole hand disappeared. She closed her eyes and murmured something under her breath.
Merlin waited. Nothing happened.
After another minute he started to clear his throat. Then he choked on the air as Niniane pulled her hand away just as bright green runners burst up from the soil.
The runners grew and spread until they both had to scramble to the side. Leaves of brilliant green sprouted in frilly clusters, dotted with small white flowers with sunny yellow centers.
And nestled amongst the leaves and blossoms lay dozens of perfect, ripe strawberries.
Niniane plucked one and presented it to him as elegantly as if her open palm were a golden platter and Merlin the king of all Albion. Only her smug grin distinguished her from any fine courtier.
"First lesson: you get more good things by asking nicely than by demanding them," she said.
"Funny, that's what I always tell Arthur, too." He grinned back and took the strawberry from her hand. When he bit into it, sweetness flooded his mouth and juice dribbled down his chin.
They shared the rest of the fruit and the food from their packs. Merlin asked Niniane question after question about her upbringing and training, hungrier for the stories than the food.
Niniane seemed hungry as well. She plucked the last berry from the bush and held it towards Merlin's mouth.
The tease of the gesture made his face heat up. He failed to notice she had pulled her hand away until his teeth clacked together on empty air inches from her face.
He saw the sparkle in her dark eyes before the scent drew his gaze to her mouth as she finished off the fruit. His eyes lingered there on the damp curves of her lips.
"I won't even make you ask nicely," Niniane whispered. "Unless you really want to."
"Please," he whispered back and hoped it would do, because his lips were already on hers.
He had not kissed anyone since Freya. Kissing her had sent a deep, sweet pang of inchoate longing through him. Kissing Niniane was both sweeter and sharper, and the pang of longing much more distinct.
As they kissed, she drew him closer. When he broke the kiss to pull her against him, her tunic fell open enough to show the dip and rise of her collarbones. He bent his head to drag his lips, then his tongue over the bone.
She shrugged one shoulder until the tunic slipped from it and left that first small part of her bare. Merlin followed the line of her throat to the curve of her shoulder, tracing it with his lips. She shivered as he breathed softly over the line he had just traced. He kissed the silky flesh of her shoulder as she shifted herself into his lap and began to wrap her legs around his waist.
The sound of hoof beats made them break apart with a gasp and stagger to their feet. As the sound grew closer, Merlin realized it was only a single horse, but he braced himself by the fire, ready to fight if necessary.
Niniane gave him an exasperated look, grabbed her pack, and headed for the darkness of the forest.
"Wait, where are you going?" he hissed.
"A single horseman traveling at night?" she hissed back. "If it's a highwayman, I'll help you fight. But if it's a knight or bounty hunter, you'll be better off on your own, prince's man."
He could not argue the logic of it, nor did she give him the chance as she melted back into the woods. Merlin did not particularly wish to meet with any knights or bounty hunters himself. He remembered a time when he had not thought of them as the same thing.
The horseman drew closer and slowed, obviously having spotted the fire through the trees. Merlin tensed. When the horse emerged from the woods into the clearing, he wished he was surprised to see Arthur in full travelling armor on her back.
"There you are, Merlin," Arthur called, as though he had been looking for Merlin in the storerooms. He pulled up his horse and guided her to the tree where Merlin's mount was tethered.
"Hello, Arthur," Merlin replied, resigned. "What are you doing here?"
Arthur dismounted and tethered his mare next to Merlin's. He sauntered over to the fire, already shaking his head. "Honestly, Merlin, you should be glad I’m here. You're going in the wrong bloody direction. God knows where you'd have ended up if I hadn't come after you, but it certainly wouldn't have been Ealdor."
"Well, you know me." Merlin offered a weak smile. "I'm such an idiot I can't even find my way home."
"Just what I'm saying." Arthur grinned and clapped him on the shoulder with one gloved hand. Then he stopped and looked to the side with a frown. "How on earth did you find a strawberry plant in bloom at this time of year?"
"It was just there," Merlin answered and did his best to look hapless.
Arthur bent over and rummaged among the leaves. When he straightened, he held one last strawberry that Merlin and Niniane had missed in their private feast. He looked at it in wonder. "Amazing. Perfectly ripe at the end of October."
"It's been a warm year, sire."
Arthur turned his frown on Merlin. "There were more strawberries, weren't there, Merlin?"
Merlin nodded. "Yes, sire."
"You ate them all, didn't you, Merlin?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
Arthur huffed with indignation, as though Merlin should have known he was coming and saved him his portion. "Then I'll feel no guilt about this," he said and scarfed the berry down in one bite.
He tilted his head back with delight as he chewed. It allowed Merlin the privilege of watching his long throat work as he swallowed. Merlin swallowed once himself and looked away. Niniane had started the work of heating him into arousal, and now here was Arthur with the worst timing in the world.
Arthur finally brought his head down and looked at Merlin with wide eyes. "That tasted even better than it looked. Honestly, Merlin, how do you come up with these things?"
"Only the best for my prince," Merlin replied, which made Arthur smile that rare, sweet smile of true pleasure. Merlin smiled back with a little sadness. Arthur could have perfect strawberries every day of the year--once Merlin figured out the trick--if only he could accept where they came from.
Arthur smacked his lips once in a display of satisfaction. He turned and went to pull his bedroll off the back of his saddle, his saunter another indication of his relaxed good mood.
Merlin sighed. He was not, it seemed, going to spend the night in the embrace of a beautiful, magical woman. Instead, he got to sleep next to Arthur while his blood was still rushing fast through his body.
"We've lost a day, thanks to your complete lack of any sense," Arthur called as he finished collecting his things and tending his horse. "But if we cut through the valley a few miles south, we might still make Ealdor by noon, day after next."
That was not going to work for Merlin at all. "You really don't need to come with me, you know."
Arthur dropped his pack and his bedroll next to Merlin's and shook his head. "Obviously I do."
"I'll be fine from here, now that you've set me straight." He did his best to look innocent, confident, and appreciative all at the same time. "They need you in Camelot."
"Not particularly." Arthur unrolled his bed with a kick, not even looking at Merlin's artfully arranged face. "I'll be of much more use patrolling the outlying regions, which I can do on the way to and from Ealdor."
"Wait," Merlin said, suddenly feeling as slow as Arthur often accused him of being. "You were following me to Ealdor? On purpose?"
Arthur still was not looking at Merlin's face, but this time it felt much more deliberate. "Yes, Merlin, some of us do go places on purpose, rather than just aimlessly wandering about the woods."
Merlin squinted at him, as though the firelight flickering over Arthur's features would reveal the mysteries of his behavior. "But why?"
Arthur wriggled his shoulders, and Merlin automatically stepped over to help him unbuckle his armor. "I didn't want to be so blunt about it, but really, Merlin, you should have asked me to come with you in the first place. How did you think you were going to defend Ealdor from sorcerers all by yourself?"
He stopped with his fingers in the shoulder buckle and stared at the side of Arthur's face. Had Merlin actually been going to Ealdor, the answer would have been that he could defend it considerably better without Arthur's presence.
"I can't imagine," he said after a beat, deadpan.
Arthur grinned at him. "See, you need me," he said as the plate armor came off into Merlin's hands. Arthur took it from him and set it aside, confirmation that he was in the mood for friendly companionship more than servitude.
That should have been enough to make Merlin's day, but it only deepened his frustration. Usually he worked hard to sustain this kind of mood for as long as possible, but right now it only meant that Arthur would be that much harder to get rid of.
"But you said yourself there was probably nothing to worry about," he tried. "And don't you think the king is going to be a bit peeved that you've skipped town right now?"
Arthur's jaw tightened, then relaxed. "Let me worry about my father."
"Right. Let me rephrase that. Don't you think the king is going to throw me in the stocks for a really long time for using you as my personal army? Again?"
"Merlin." Arthur looked at him with a mock frown. "I'm starting to think you want to get rid of me."
Beneath the feigned pout, Merlin caught a glimpse of genuine hurt. It made him ache, as it always did. He was completely screwed.
"Of course I'm not," he said and tried to smile. It would be nice to see his mother. He didn't need to be a champion, or have sex, ever again.
His reward for crushing his own dreams was another happy smile and staggering clap on the shoulder. "Good. I know this may sound strange, but you had the right idea."
"I did?"
"I think we've both spent enough time moping about the castle lately." Arthur stretched until his back cracked and his chain mail rattled. "A little fresh air and adventure is just what we need."
"Not too much adventure, let's hope." If Merlin was not going to compete in a tournament for honor and glory, then he was not keen on spending his holiday in another life or death fight, stuck magicless in Arthur's view.
Arthur dropped down to sprawl on his bedroll. "Oh, come on, Merlin, where's your spirit?" One booted foot reached out to nudge Merlin's ankle. "Just you and me, out in the forest, like old times. What could go wrong?"
As he looked down at Arthur's beaming, ridiculous face, he felt his resentment melt away. He had missed Arthur, so much. Even before Morgause, and the dragon, and the rebuilding, they had so many things distracting them. He was a fool not to be glad for this chance to spend uncomplicated time with his friend, away from Camelot and all the shadows that fell between them there.
"Okay," he said, feeling a matching grin break over his face. "But you're not allowed to complain about my mother's cooking."
"No deal," Arthur responded instantly, pointing a finger at him in accusation as though Merlin were attempting to trick him.
Merlin laughed and started to taunt him about his spirit of adventure. But his mouth snapped shut when, for the second time that night, he heard hoof beats coming towards them from the dark forest.
Arthur heard them a second later, and his playful grin vanished. He reached for his sword as he jumped back to his feet.
"I don't suppose those might be some of ours?" Merlin asked with feigned hopefulness.
"The knights went out in pairs," Arthur replied, lifting his sword and watching the darkness carefully. "I count at least five coming our way."
"Wonderful. Bandits, then. You had to wish for adventure."
Arthur's grin returned, this time slightly mad, and he pointed back to the trees behind him. "I've handled worse. Just go stand back there and look pretty. If anyone gets near you, hit them with a stick."
"Does that include you?" Merlin muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes for good measure, but he went. It would be easier to sneak in a magical assist when he was not in Arthur's direct line of vision.
The bandits burst through the trees into the clearing a moment later. One found himself run through with Arthur's sword even as he tried to swing his own. Two more were quickly unhorsed, and a third met with Arthur's hunting knife in mid-air.
That left one bandit on horseback while Arthur dealt with the two on foot. The bandit pulled his horse to a halt to regroup under a large oak. Merlin grinned. As it happened, hitting people with sticks had become something of a specialty of his.
He concentrated on a heavy branch over the bandit's head, extending his hand and muttering the spell. The branch creaked and cracked. Finally, just as the bandit was spurring his horse towards Arthur again, it crashed down on the man and knocked him to lie motionless on the ground.
In the meantime, Arthur had disposed of his third bandit. The fourth eluded his sword. Even as Arthur lunged for him again, the man seized his fallen comrade's horse and swung up onto its back.
He urged it forward, clearly intending to trample Arthur beneath its hooves. At that range, Arthur had no chance of evading it. Merlin raised his hand again, his panicked brain scrambling for a spell that would save Arthur without giving himself away.
Suddenly a fireball swirled up from the campfire. It hovered in the air, and then smashed into the last bandit. Howling, he fell from the horse and writhed on the forest floor in an effort to extinguish his burning clothes.
A moment later he stilled under Arthur's sword. Quiet fell again, except for the cheerful crackle of the fire and the fading ruckus of the frightened horses fleeing into the night.
Arthur turned around to stare at Merlin with shock. "What the hell?"
Merlin looked back with equal surprise. He had not done that. He was almost completely sure he had not done that.
A rustle to their left made them both turn to look. Merlin relaxed as he saw Niniane step out from her hiding place again. He had almost forgotten that she might still be nearby, though he was grateful that she had been.
Arthur only tensed more, swinging his sword around to point it at Niniane. "You must be the sorcerer," he growled.
"If you mean the sorcerer who just saved your life, then I suppose I am," she said, taking a cautious step back. "From your manners, you must be the prince."
"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot," Arthur replied, still wary but not yet homicidal.
Niniane looked over at Merlin. "I can't even imagine what you see in him."
Merlin winced as Arthur darted a startled look at him. "He grows on you."
She laughed, still looking at Arthur as she spoke to Merlin, clearly enjoying the amount of trouble she was getting Merlin into. "Well, feel free to look me up if you come my way, prince's man."
Then she took another step back and vanished. Arthur ran forward, but stopped at the edge of the clearing. No sounds came from the darkness beyond the firelight, and no tracks showed that she had ever been there.
That left Merlin alone with Arthur. Ten minutes ago, that had been a nice thing.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Merlin?"
Merlin took a breath and did his best to look very, very stupid. "Er, that was Niniane?"
When he dared to look at them, Arthur's eyes were bugging out with astonishment in a way that did not bode well for Merlin's getting a good night's sleep. "Niniane? You--I--Nini--Merlin, you ninny!"
"That didn't make sense," Merlin said, and immediately cursed himself for his helpfulness when Arthur's face turned bright red with fury.
"I'll tell you what makes no sense," he ground out after a long stretch of ominous breathing. "I let you out of the castle for less than a day, and you're out here cavorting with--with sorcerers!"
"She was quite friendly," Merlin offered. It was unlikely to help, but he was tired and was not sure he had the energy to go along with another anti-sorcery diatribe.
Arthur did not rant any further, but stared at Merlin, looking confused, almost lost. Then his shoulders slumped.
"I don't understand you sometimes, Merlin," he said quietly. "I really don't."
Merlin watched in silence as Arthur turned away to begin dealing with the bodies. As Arthur lifted the first dead bandit by the shoulders and started dragging him to the tree line, Merlin shook himself and went to help.
They worked without speaking until they had disposed of the last bandit, the one Merlin had taken out with the tree branch. Arthur gave the branch an odd look as he stepped over it, but continued not to speak until they were back at their bedrolls, staring into the fire.
"I take it your friend is heading to that sodding tournament?" he said at last, making Merlin startle.
"Yes. I mean, I think so," he answered. "That's what she said, anyway. I think."
There was another silence before Arthur heaved a deep sigh. "Is that where you were going, too?"
Merlin's head spun until he had to suck in as much air as possible to keep his vision from blurring. The tone of Arthur's voice warned him against lying again. He thought he might be running out of lies, in any case.
"Yes," he said, breathing out the word on a sigh of relief and terror. He wondered if Arthur would hear all the answers that one word contained.
When Arthur leaned his head forward onto his knees and closed his eyes, Merlin suspected that he had. The thought that the moment had finally come sent his pulse racing until he could barely hear his own voice as he spoke again.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry that I lied to you."
"Merlin," Arthur mumbled into his knees. "What am I going to do with you?"
He could have offered a number of suggestions, beginning with an avoidance of anything fatal and ending perhaps with Arthur being willing to love him anyway. But despite what Arthur might think, Merlin knew there were times when there was nothing to be gained by talking, even if he could make his voice work.
Finally Arthur heaved another sigh. He lifted his head and shook it.
"Even if you've changed your opinion on sorcery yet again," he said. "I can't begin to think why you thought it would be a good idea to wander into an entire town full of dueling sorcerers."
Merlin's stomach did a slow roll, and he felt as though it were physically swinging between relief and disappointment. Arthur had figured out the what, but not the why. His secret was safe--and still a secret.
"I thought it would be interesting," he said, which was honest, albeit incomplete.
"Yes," Arthur said grudgingly. "I suppose in a way it might be interesting to see what...."
He trailed off and stared into the fire with a peculiar expression until Merlin dared to nudge his knee. "Yeah?" Merlin prompted. "What what?"
"I can hardly believe it, let alone say it," Arthur replied. "But you've actually had two good ideas in one day."
"I have?" Merlin was no less surprised himself.
"Well, you'd never have been able to pull it off by yourself, of course." Arthur's face was starting to light up with an expression that reminded Merlin instinctively of rotten vegetables in his face.
"Arthur," he said. "You're not thinking of actually going to the tournament yourself, are you?"
"Of course I am. We can't pass up a chance like this." Arthur threw himself back on his bedroll, face now fully alight with the joy of his scheme. "We'll infiltrate the very heart of sorcery and find out what's going on."
A little thrill went through Merlin at the idea, but one of them had to keep a cool head. "I don't think a sorcery tournament would be a great place to be the prince of Camelot," he pointed out as he stretched out on his own bedroll. A strawberry runner tickled his cheek; he flicked it away and slid a few inches down, hoping Arthur would not notice.
"I'll hide my armor and surcoat in the woods." Arthur turned on his side to face Merlin, eyes shining with firelight and glee. "We'll leave the horses somewhere and walk in like two regular spectators coming to gawk. I know you can gawk, Merlin."
"Like a professional," Merlin promised, giving up the argument in favor of curling up close enough that the knuckles of his hand brushed Arthur's sleeve.
He dozed as Arthur expounded on his plans. Just before he slipped into sleep, he thought he heard Arthur sigh one more time and murmur, "And I'll finally decide for myself if Father is right about it all."
In the morning light, Merlin decided it must have been a dream.
***
Continued in Chapter 2
Author: Cori Lannam (corilannam)
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin, Gaius, Morgause
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,321
Warnings/Spoilers: Highlight to read: Contains an element of sexual assault. If you need more details to know whether you can safely read, please PM or email me! Spoilers for all of S1 and S2, and some of my own speculation of what might happen in S3 based on the rumors (but no specific spoilers).
Summary: Merlin was flattered to be invited to compete in a magical tournament to crown the sorcery champion of Albion. Accepting the invitation probably wasn't his brightest idea.
Author's notes: Thanks as always to: chelseafrew and anna_zee for large quantities of handholding and beta work (larger than usual!); to my faboo vidding artist mamoru22 for her patience and the awesome trailer she did for the story (see below! leave her lots of feedback so I can talk her into doing another vid for the story!); to the great mods and support community that made this challenge happen; and to the United States Department of Defense.
All comments and concrit are welcome. I would love to hear anything you liked or didn't like about the story!
Art link: http://mamoru.dreamwidth.org/105203.html
Disclaimer: This particular incarnation of the Arthurian myth is the legal property of the BBC. I get paid only in comments.
The scrap of parchment came into being in a slow, smoky curl on Gaius's work table, as if it were burning in reverse. Across the table, Merlin paused with his spoon halfway to his open mouth. A glob of porridge plopped back into the bowl just as the parchment solidified with a final sizzle. Merlin's mouth stayed open. His eyes slid over to Gaius, who was staring at him, equally agape.
Merlin's mouth snapped shut, and he dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter. "It wasn't me this time, I swear."
Gaius stretched his hand out and cautiously snagged the paper between two fingers, reaching for his spectacles with the other hand. "No, indeed, it was not," he said after a moment. "Goodness, I have not seen one of these in many years."
"What is it?" Merlin craned his neck, squinting to decipher the spidery upside down script. "Can I see?"
"I suppose you may." Gaius grunted and slid the paper across the table. "Since it's addressed to you."
Merlin dragged the parchment around toward him, already scanning the writing. His full name stretched across the top of the paper with a small block of text underneath. "The 200th Tournament of All Magicks," he read. "In the town of Banncroft on the first of the New Year."
"Once a generation or so, these invitations would pop up all over Camelot," Gaius remarked. "I even went once myself to watch the spectacle, but of course, that was long ago."
Long before Uther had purged the kingdom of anyone who might have received such an invitation. That, he supposed, was what Gaius really meant. Merlin looked at the paper again, and then looked up at Gaius with a frown. "But how can they still do this? Aren't they afraid Uther will show up with a lot of axes and fiery brands?"
"Banncroft is just over the border of Cenred's kingdom, though at the other end from Ealdor," Gaius said. "King Cenred still keeps a court warlock; it was a matter of great dispute in the last set of treaty negotiations, believe me. Uther wanted Cenred to agree to outlaw magic as Uther has done in Camelot, but Cenred made it clear that he doesn't consider Uther to be High King over him just yet."
"Hope he's not surprised when Uther doesn't agree," Merlin muttered and read the invitation again. "Why are they inviting me?"
"Undoubtedly, because you are you." Gaius smiled, but then sobered. "You aren't thinking of going, are you, Merlin? It would be terribly dangerous."
The thought tugged at something in his stomach, but it wasn't fear. Whatever it was made him almost jittery with anticipation. "Might be fun," he said with what even he would admit was a poor attempt to sound casual. "What could it hurt just to go watch?"
"Well, I don't know, Merlin," Gaius said with that look that people often got right before they told Merlin he was an idiot. "Prince Arthur's servant attending a sorcery tournament. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Yeah, all right," Merlin conceded and sighed as he pushed the parchment away. "Forget I mentioned it."
He watched Gaius incinerate the paper in the fireplace before he gestured to Merlin to go about his morning chores. The invitation was clearly to be forgotten entirely--or at least pondered only in the privacy of Merlin's head.
Not that Merlin had any idea what a magic tournament was like, but he had served Arthur at enough of the regular kind. He imagined it would be much the same.
The roar of the crowd filled his ears, only this time he was not hovering on the sidelines waiting for Arthur to emerge a hero. This time he faced an opponent of his own, a glowing staff in his hand. Arthur would be the one waiting on him, holding his cloak, eyes shining with pride and adoration--
And Merlin sighed as the fantasy fell apart right there and he was left with the mundane reality of getting the mutton stains out of Arthur's tunic. He had to face the facts: he simply was not meant for glory of the public sort. No one but Gaius could ever know what Merlin could do. Arthur would never look at him like that.
***
A week later he was fetching Arthur's lunch when he overheard two of the scullery maids whispering about the sorcery tournament. He nearly dropped his plate of cheese. They stopped immediately, shooting him twin glares of suspicion as they swept past him.
"Wait!" he called, but had to desist when the cheese started to slide off the tray again. He supposed Prince Arthur's manservant was unlikely to be anyone's first choice of confidant on the subject of magic. The irony.
"Please tell me you didn't forget the bread," Arthur commented without looking up from the arrow he was refletching.
Triumphantly, Merlin pulled the round loaf from where it had been distending his jacket pocket. "Fresh from the oven, no less."
Arthur snorted as he swept his work aside. "I suppose it was when you left to get it. Of course, that was an hour ago."
"Sorry." Merlin laid out Arthur's lunch; then he stood back and waited until Arthur gestured for Merlin to join him. "I was eavesdropping," he confessed as he plunked himself down across from Arthur and stuffed a piece of cheese in his mouth.
"You're worse than the maids," Arthur chided, but he was already grinning. He had not grinned much the last few months. "All right, let's have it. Surely you must have heard something to make my hunger pangs worthwhile."
Merlin hesitated before leaning forward over the plate they were sharing. Speaking of sorcery with Arthur was hardly a good idea, especially since Morgause, and then the dragon, had decimated Camelot. But he never could resist the opportunity to poke an inquisitive stick into Arthur's wounds or his own. "They were talking about a tournament. For, um, sorcerers."
Arthur paused mid-chew to stare at him. He swallowed as though the bread had gone sour. "Ah. That."
He sat up straight as his jaw fell open. "You know about that?"
"Shut your mouth, you look like that trout I caught last week. Of course I know about it. I'm sure everyone in Camelot knows by now, since I fully expect you to be the last to figure out anything."
"True," Merlin agreed easily, though if he'd had any money, he would have bet a fair amount of it that he had been almost the first to hear this particular news. The only surprise to Merlin was that anyone had dared mentioned it within Arthur's hearing. "So what do you know about it?"
Arthur frowned at a chunk of cheese, poking at it with the point of his knife. "Father is worried. And angry, of course. We've tried to contain the gossip, but the people are getting frightened."
"But the tournament isn't even in Camelot. The sorcerers can't come here, surely." In fact, it seemed to Merlin that Camelot would be considerably safer with all the sorcerers distracted at a location that was not here.
Arthur raised his eyebrows, and Merlin belatedly realized that he probably should not know quite that much about it. "As I'm sure you realize, Merlin, Banncroft is practically on the border, just on the wrong side. A gathering of that many sorcerers, so close to Camelot? Of course people are terrified."
Merlin nodded and chewed on the hunk of bread that Arthur had pushed to him, trying to look agreeably in need of education, a trusted ally in the fight against magic. "Will the king do anything to stop it?"
"Less than two years after signing the peace treaty with Lord Bayard, Cenred's ally?" Arthur rolled his eyes and stabbed the knife into what was left of the loaf. "We don't want to go through all that again, do we?"
"No," Merlin replied with feeling, though he still wondered silently what Uther might do.
***
But Uther did nothing except set extra patrols along the border. He did not send Arthur, who paced the rebuilt parapets more than usual, but said nothing more to Merlin about the rising tension amongst the populace. Merlin asked nothing more, both for fear of giving away the acuity of his interest and because he was not sure he could stand hearing Arthur say anything more about the evil in every sorcerer.
The tension grew as the rumored time for the tournament grew closer. Those who had family or friends within the keep began trickling through the gates, trusting the walls and their king to protect them from the evil gathering at the border.
Merlin's tension was growing as well, but it was quite a different feeling. "What kind of competition is it?" he asked Gaius as they ground herbs one day. "Combat spells, like a joust?"
"Different kinds of spells for different witches and warlocks, as I recall," Gaius said, then looked at Merlin sternly. "All of which would undoubtedly get you killed, so stop thinking about it."
"I'm not, I'm not," Merlin said and proceeded to think of little else.
***
"All tournaments are pretty much the same, aren't they?" he asked Arthur a few days later as he gathered Arthur's laundry.
Arthur had abandoned the last scraps of his dinner to stare out the window into the dusk. "Yes, more or less," he answered absently. "Depending on the entrants and the weapons."
Merlin paused to calculate the perfect casual tone of voice as he sidled closer to Arthur. "What if the entrants were sorcerers and the weapons were magic?"
A second later the edge of Arthur's bureau dug into his lower back as Arthur pressed him down on it, hand on Merlin's throat. "You," Arthur growled, "need to stop talking about sorcery. And especially that blasted tournament."
"Sorry," Merlin wheezed.
Arthur frowned down at his own hand before pulling it away and taking a step back. "Sorry. I didn't mean-sorry."
"It's okay." Straightening up still left him pinned between the furniture and the heat of Arthur's body. He would not mind that at all, but for the fact that he never could take that last step to bring them together, and Arthur never would.
Arthur looked at him for another moment before taking the inevitable step back. "Why the fascination? This tournament is nothing to do with you."
"I'm worried about my mother," he said, feeling wretched for the lie, but sure his mother would forgive him. "Ealdor is still in Cenred's kingdom, after all. I'm sure the village is even more nervous than the people here."
"You'd think they'd be more used to sorcery," Arthur muttered.
Merlin tried to repress a grimace. "The ways of Camelot hold a lot of sway there," he said, managing to bite back that those ways had created the sole dark spot in an otherwise happy childhood.
Arthur waved a hand in acquiescence to the unspoken request. "If you want to go see your mother, of course you can. Take a horse. But you should go first thing in the morning; the roads will likely be closed as a precaution by the end of the week."
"Thank you," Merlin said and tried not to let his face light up more than would be appropriate under the circumstances.
"In the meantime, don't think you're getting off early to go pack presents. I don't intend to get someone else in to do your work. In fact, you'd better spend the night here in case I want you for something."
This time, Merlin had to turn away to hide his pleasure. The idea of being irreplaceable to Arthur almost made him not want to leave at all. Almost.
He didn't turn away quite fast enough, because Arthur cleared his throat and dropped his eyes in that way that meant Arthur was about to feel the need to compensate for any perceived sentimentality. "Not that you'll be any more use to your mother than you'll be to me," he said. "I should at least send some guards with you to keep you out of trouble."
"The king would never allow it," Merlin pointed out hastily and, lucky for his purposes, truthfully. "Even if he would send soldiers to Ealdor, Camelot's defense comes first. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"I suppose," Arthur said, and Merlin ducked out the door with an armful of laundry before Arthur could add anything to that thought.
***
Merlin was lovingly wrapping his spell book in oilskins when he heard Gaius come up the step into his room. "Here, you'll need this as well."
He turned to find a large bundle being shoved into his hands by Gaius, who tried to frown at him. "What's all this, then?"
"If you're going to throw your hat into this particular ring--not that you have a hat worth speaking of--you'll need certain ingredients." Gaius prodded the bundle in Merlin's hands with one gnarled finger. "Potions, poultices, philters, poisons--"
"Poisons?" Merlin gave a nervous laugh. "I'm not going to poison anybody. And no hats are getting thrown into anything."
The look he got in return did not speak well of Gaius' opinion of either his honesty or his intelligence. "Humor me," Gaius said gently. "Just in case."
"All right, all right." Merlin grinned to soften the complaint. He really intended just to watch and maybe have a chat with some fellow magic users, but trouble did have a habit of finding him when he was not looking for it. And he did not mind when Gaius fussed over him, if it made Gaius feel better. And maybe it was a little nice, sometimes.
He stuffed the book into his pack first, and then wedged Gaius's supplies in next to it. Some travel fare and a change of clothes topped off the back before Merlin cinched it shut, attached his bedroll, and swung the whole lot onto his back.
"Right, I'll be off, then," he said, trying to repress his eagerness, the itch in his feet to be off on the road. He recognized the feeling; it had nearly overwhelmed him when he'd set off from Ealdor more than two years ago. It was a craving for adventure, anticipation of the unknown mingled with a touch of apprehension.
Gaius shook his head and looked at him fondly. "Just...be careful, Merlin. For once in your life."
It was also the tug of reluctance to leave those he loved. He had gotten used to relying on his friends for their steady presence and affection. And it was hard now to imagine any adventure not shared in some way with Arthur.
At least this time he'd be coming home to them in the end--provided he resisted the urge to do something particularly stupid, of course.
"Thanks," he said, since he didn't know how to express any of the rest of it. He patted his jacket pocket where the rabbit foot Gaius had once given him resided.
Merlin turned with a quick wave and headed out the door. He pretended not to see how Gaius's eyes misted up.
***
A full day on horseback had not quenched his thirst for adventure, but it had done a fair amount to quell his happiness at having a horse. When the sun went down, he found a likely camping spot and slid off onto solid ground. He hobbled over to a tree to tie off the reins. Riding was never as much fun as it looked from the ground.
And travel was not as much fun when he was by himself. The last time he had gone any real distance, he had been with his friends. Now it seemed like he could not go ten feet without seeing flowers that Gwen would gather by the lapful, hills that Morgana would tear down like an Amazon, tree branches that Arthur would strip and wave in a playful attempt to unseat Merlin from his horse.
Solitary travel did have a few perks. He sat cross-legged in the clearing and held out one hand, fingers splayed. He certainly was not missing Arthur at that moment, as a rustling and snapping echoed amongst the trees. A moment later, a substantial pile of kindling stacked itself neatly in front of him with an obedient clatter.
A moment after that sparks sizzled in the spaces in between the wood. A single flame licked up like a cat's tongue, then multiplied with a ferocious hiss before settling into a merry crackling.
Merlin beamed at it with pride. He would like to see any of Arthur's gallant knights start a fire without touching it. Half of them were hopeless even with a flint--though not Arthur, of course, who was compelled by royal decree to be perfect at everything.
But even Arthur would have to be impressed by what Merlin had just accomplished. At least for a moment, probably right before he ran Merlin through and then set fire to him.
He sighed and stared into the fire, a little less pleased with it than he had been before. He couldn't be sure when this feeling had begun to burn, this need to share with Arthur everything that he was. Probably one of the many times he had saved Arthur's life had triggered it.
Not that he needed thanks--he was still working off the first thanks he'd received for his efforts. But it was growing more important just to have Arthur understand who Merlin was and that he served Arthur out of love and faith, not because Arthur held any fear or dominion over him.
The night was warm, but he stoked the fire higher with a thought. It was company, of a sort. But it also made him starkly aware of something he had been trying to ignore for some time: none of his magic was a substitute for Arthur himself, nor ever could be.
For the moment, he reminded himself, Arthur's absence was a blessing. A really big blessing. In fact, he should do some more magic right now, just because he could.
He lifted his hand again, not even sure what kind of spell he wanted to cast, just that he wanted to cast something. Before he could decide, the crunch and crackle of someone moving through the brush in the darkness broke his concentration. His horse snorted and lifted her head in alarm.
Merlin felt considerably more sanguine. Nothing on foot was likely to be anything he needed to worry about. Not when he was alone and full of power. He lifted his hands in the direction of the noise.
A woman stepped out of the trees, but did not move out of their shadow. "Who the hell are you?" she greeted him.
Merlin slowly lowered one hand and waggled the fingers of the other at her in a friendly manner. "Um, hi. I'm Merlin. This is my campfire."
The woman moved forward again until the firelight fell across her. She was tall and slender, probably a little older than Merlin, and dressed in the same style Morgana had worn when they had gone to Ealdor, though unlike Morgana, she appeared unarmed. Her skin was a shade darker than Gwen's, and her hair was in tight curls, cropped close to her head.
She held her right hand out towards him as though ready to ward him off--or cast a spell. Merlin's pulse quickened.
"Are you from Camelot?" she demanded. "Your tracks come from the direction of the keep."
"Yes," Merlin said with caution. "I live there."
She frowned and looked at him the way Gaius looked at specimens under his magnifying lens. "You must be an idiot, then, and a suicidal one."
"I've heard that before," he muttered.
"I felt you using magic as soon as I crossed the river," she went on. "The fire, wasn't it?"
Merlin could not decide whether to grin or throw her into a tree and run away. She was a magic user herself, clearly. She did not seem like an immediate threat, but neither had most of the people who had tried to kill him or Arthur over the last few years.
He settled for nodding, keeping a defensive spell at the front of his mind, just in case. "Camelot's not so bad. Just stay away from the king. And all his men."
She looked him up and down before one shoulder twitched up in concession. "I suppose the likes of you would have no reason to meet the king or his men."
"Well, actually, I see them all at dinner most nights." Merlin did grin this time, enjoying the surprise on her face. "I'm the personal servant to Prince Arthur."
Her jaw worked as though she were trying to say something that stuck in her throat. Then a return grin broke over her face. She strode forward, dropped her pack, plopped down cross-legged in front of him, and stuck out her hand.
"I'm Niniane, second daughter of Lord Pelham, and I must shake your hand."
"Lord Pelham?" Merlin took her hand and returned her firm grip. "Then you're from Camelot, too."
"I was born there, but my mother sent me to be fostered with the priestesses in the Lake Country when she thought I showed some ability with magic. I was very young, and King Uther's purge had just begun."
A pang of envy went through him. "It must have been nice to grow up learning about magic. I only started to learn what I could do when I came to Camelot a couple of years ago."
"Really? You're still a beginner, then." Niniane smiled and leaned back on one arm, relaxing for the first time.
"Well, actually-" Merlin began, then stopped. The suspicion had almost faded from her demeanor, leaving her more open and friendly. If she thought he was no threat, maybe she would stay and talk to him more. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"How did you learn much at all about magic in Camelot? None of the old masters are left, I know that for a fact."
"I have a book," Merlin offered, though it did not sound as impressive as it might if she knew the kind of use he had made of that book. "I've always been able to do some things, like moving stuff around."
Niniane nodded in mock solemnity. "On purpose or by accident?"
"Some of both," he admitted. "I'm pretty good at it now."
To prove his point, he stretched out his hand and made the purse at her waist lift up from her belt. He made it jangle to get her attention. When her head jerked around, he lifted the purse up and danced it in front of her face.
She laughed, then muttered something. The purse was snatched from his control. It flew around to smack him in the side of his head before settling into the palm of her outstretched hand. "Your control's not bad. I assume you're heading for the tournament?"
"I had to sneak away." Merlin leaned forward and tried not to look too eager. "What do you know about it?"
"Not much more than you, probably." Niniane shrugged and looked off into the dark forest beyond the fire. "My grandmother won the last one, but she was burned in the Purge."
She spoke in the same neutral tone Arthur used when he talked about his mother, or that Merlin heard coming out of his own mouth whenever Balinor was mentioned. He recognized the scar tissue over old pain, but he said nothing. If he could not help Arthur, whom he loved, then he did not imagine there was much he could say to a stranger he had met only minutes before.
Even if she already knew him better in some ways than Arthur did.
"I want to compete," he blurted. "I was invited. But mostly I just want to talk to other people who have magic."
"Have you really never met any other sorcerers before me?" she asked.
"None that weren't trying to kill Arthur at the time."
"I guess you get a lot of that." She shook her head. "I don't know how you can stand it, working for those men after everything they've done to our people."
The words gave him a rush of warmth at being included amongst magical people. It was followed by a touch of cold at the thought of Arthur trapped within the Pendragon legacy. "He's not his father."
Niniane snorted. "Tell me what difference there is. He hunts us, captures us, kills us, just the same as Uther did to my grandmother."
Before he had gone to live among royalty, he would not have understood it, either, that gulf of authority between King and Prince. He wished he could explain how he had seen Arthur argue with Uther's commands, openly in the court or silently within the tense line of his jaw.
But the king's word was law, and Arthur was not king yet. The nobility and honor that would make him a greater king would not allow him to act against the man who wore the crown. It drove Merlin insane sometimes, but that nobility was what had won Merlin's own loyalty.
"Arthur's different," he said stubbornly. "If I do my job, someday everyone will see that."
"You sound like you're in love with him." Niniane started to snort another laugh, but stopped when Merlin could not suppress a wince. "Gods have mercy, you poor, sad little sod."
"Thanks." So much for impressing his fellow magic users; he was already a laughingstock with the first one he met.
"Honestly, I thought you felt pretty powerful when you were casting before, but you are just a pathetic little pup, aren't you?"
"Actually, I'm-" He stopped again and considered his situation. Devoted to a prince who did not appreciate or even know about the true service Merlin rendered. Loving a man who had chosen a different servant to love. "Pretty pathetic, yeah."
Niniane chuckled and patted him on the knee. "No worries. You're not a bad--looking sort. You're sure to have plenty of offers at the tourney for some proper companionship."
"Great," Merlin replied with an effort at enthusiasm. He had never been much for casual...companionship, but he was still a young man, and it had been a while.
"I might even beat them to it," Niniane went on, which was when Merlin noticed that her fingers were still light on his knee. "Unless it's that you don't like girls at all?"
"No," he said, swallowing and thinking of Freya and what had almost been. "I like girls a lot."
"Uh oh. You have that look, like you're thinking of one girl in particular." Niniane pulled her fingers back, though her voice was still flirtatious. "Just how many lovers are you stringing along back in Camelot, prince's man?"
"There was a girl," he admitted. "She was a druid. But she's dead now."
Niniane's eyes widened and she drew back further. "Oh," she said, showing uncertainty for the first time since she had sat down. "Did Uther kill her, too?"
"It was more complicated than that," he said, though a hot surge of anger went through him at Uther who hated so freely and cruelly.
They sat in the quiet for a while with the fire crackling to fill the silence. Merlin felt more comfortable than he probably should, given his past experience. Just having the weight of secrecy lifted induced a euphoria that even dark memories could not dampen.
"You remind me of her," he found himself saying after a while.
Niniane lifted her sculpted eyebrows in amused disbelief. "A druid girl? Really?"
Merlin waved a hand in the air, trying to find words for what he had never had opportunity to express before. "It just feels good, talking to someone who knows."
She smiled and stretched out on her stomach alongside the bedroll he had laid out. "So did you make magic together, you and your druid girl?"
He smiled faintly back. "I tried to make her strawberries. Ended up with rose petals instead."
"I should have guessed you'd be one for the romantic nonsense." She cast her gaze briefly to the dark sky in disgust. "Of course you can't create a strawberry out of nothing. Where would it come from?"
"Um, magic?" Merlin thought he understood the give and take of the Old Religion better than most, but aside from trading life and death, he had not given much thought to what came from where. Spells either worked or they did not. It seemed to have as much to do with the weather or his level of desperation as anything else.
Niniane rolled to her side and pressed her fingers into the earth beside her, burrowing them down until her whole hand disappeared. She closed her eyes and murmured something under her breath.
Merlin waited. Nothing happened.
After another minute he started to clear his throat. Then he choked on the air as Niniane pulled her hand away just as bright green runners burst up from the soil.
The runners grew and spread until they both had to scramble to the side. Leaves of brilliant green sprouted in frilly clusters, dotted with small white flowers with sunny yellow centers.
And nestled amongst the leaves and blossoms lay dozens of perfect, ripe strawberries.
Niniane plucked one and presented it to him as elegantly as if her open palm were a golden platter and Merlin the king of all Albion. Only her smug grin distinguished her from any fine courtier.
"First lesson: you get more good things by asking nicely than by demanding them," she said.
"Funny, that's what I always tell Arthur, too." He grinned back and took the strawberry from her hand. When he bit into it, sweetness flooded his mouth and juice dribbled down his chin.
They shared the rest of the fruit and the food from their packs. Merlin asked Niniane question after question about her upbringing and training, hungrier for the stories than the food.
Niniane seemed hungry as well. She plucked the last berry from the bush and held it towards Merlin's mouth.
The tease of the gesture made his face heat up. He failed to notice she had pulled her hand away until his teeth clacked together on empty air inches from her face.
He saw the sparkle in her dark eyes before the scent drew his gaze to her mouth as she finished off the fruit. His eyes lingered there on the damp curves of her lips.
"I won't even make you ask nicely," Niniane whispered. "Unless you really want to."
"Please," he whispered back and hoped it would do, because his lips were already on hers.
He had not kissed anyone since Freya. Kissing her had sent a deep, sweet pang of inchoate longing through him. Kissing Niniane was both sweeter and sharper, and the pang of longing much more distinct.
As they kissed, she drew him closer. When he broke the kiss to pull her against him, her tunic fell open enough to show the dip and rise of her collarbones. He bent his head to drag his lips, then his tongue over the bone.
She shrugged one shoulder until the tunic slipped from it and left that first small part of her bare. Merlin followed the line of her throat to the curve of her shoulder, tracing it with his lips. She shivered as he breathed softly over the line he had just traced. He kissed the silky flesh of her shoulder as she shifted herself into his lap and began to wrap her legs around his waist.
The sound of hoof beats made them break apart with a gasp and stagger to their feet. As the sound grew closer, Merlin realized it was only a single horse, but he braced himself by the fire, ready to fight if necessary.
Niniane gave him an exasperated look, grabbed her pack, and headed for the darkness of the forest.
"Wait, where are you going?" he hissed.
"A single horseman traveling at night?" she hissed back. "If it's a highwayman, I'll help you fight. But if it's a knight or bounty hunter, you'll be better off on your own, prince's man."
He could not argue the logic of it, nor did she give him the chance as she melted back into the woods. Merlin did not particularly wish to meet with any knights or bounty hunters himself. He remembered a time when he had not thought of them as the same thing.
The horseman drew closer and slowed, obviously having spotted the fire through the trees. Merlin tensed. When the horse emerged from the woods into the clearing, he wished he was surprised to see Arthur in full travelling armor on her back.
"There you are, Merlin," Arthur called, as though he had been looking for Merlin in the storerooms. He pulled up his horse and guided her to the tree where Merlin's mount was tethered.
"Hello, Arthur," Merlin replied, resigned. "What are you doing here?"
Arthur dismounted and tethered his mare next to Merlin's. He sauntered over to the fire, already shaking his head. "Honestly, Merlin, you should be glad I’m here. You're going in the wrong bloody direction. God knows where you'd have ended up if I hadn't come after you, but it certainly wouldn't have been Ealdor."
"Well, you know me." Merlin offered a weak smile. "I'm such an idiot I can't even find my way home."
"Just what I'm saying." Arthur grinned and clapped him on the shoulder with one gloved hand. Then he stopped and looked to the side with a frown. "How on earth did you find a strawberry plant in bloom at this time of year?"
"It was just there," Merlin answered and did his best to look hapless.
Arthur bent over and rummaged among the leaves. When he straightened, he held one last strawberry that Merlin and Niniane had missed in their private feast. He looked at it in wonder. "Amazing. Perfectly ripe at the end of October."
"It's been a warm year, sire."
Arthur turned his frown on Merlin. "There were more strawberries, weren't there, Merlin?"
Merlin nodded. "Yes, sire."
"You ate them all, didn't you, Merlin?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
Arthur huffed with indignation, as though Merlin should have known he was coming and saved him his portion. "Then I'll feel no guilt about this," he said and scarfed the berry down in one bite.
He tilted his head back with delight as he chewed. It allowed Merlin the privilege of watching his long throat work as he swallowed. Merlin swallowed once himself and looked away. Niniane had started the work of heating him into arousal, and now here was Arthur with the worst timing in the world.
Arthur finally brought his head down and looked at Merlin with wide eyes. "That tasted even better than it looked. Honestly, Merlin, how do you come up with these things?"
"Only the best for my prince," Merlin replied, which made Arthur smile that rare, sweet smile of true pleasure. Merlin smiled back with a little sadness. Arthur could have perfect strawberries every day of the year--once Merlin figured out the trick--if only he could accept where they came from.
Arthur smacked his lips once in a display of satisfaction. He turned and went to pull his bedroll off the back of his saddle, his saunter another indication of his relaxed good mood.
Merlin sighed. He was not, it seemed, going to spend the night in the embrace of a beautiful, magical woman. Instead, he got to sleep next to Arthur while his blood was still rushing fast through his body.
"We've lost a day, thanks to your complete lack of any sense," Arthur called as he finished collecting his things and tending his horse. "But if we cut through the valley a few miles south, we might still make Ealdor by noon, day after next."
That was not going to work for Merlin at all. "You really don't need to come with me, you know."
Arthur dropped his pack and his bedroll next to Merlin's and shook his head. "Obviously I do."
"I'll be fine from here, now that you've set me straight." He did his best to look innocent, confident, and appreciative all at the same time. "They need you in Camelot."
"Not particularly." Arthur unrolled his bed with a kick, not even looking at Merlin's artfully arranged face. "I'll be of much more use patrolling the outlying regions, which I can do on the way to and from Ealdor."
"Wait," Merlin said, suddenly feeling as slow as Arthur often accused him of being. "You were following me to Ealdor? On purpose?"
Arthur still was not looking at Merlin's face, but this time it felt much more deliberate. "Yes, Merlin, some of us do go places on purpose, rather than just aimlessly wandering about the woods."
Merlin squinted at him, as though the firelight flickering over Arthur's features would reveal the mysteries of his behavior. "But why?"
Arthur wriggled his shoulders, and Merlin automatically stepped over to help him unbuckle his armor. "I didn't want to be so blunt about it, but really, Merlin, you should have asked me to come with you in the first place. How did you think you were going to defend Ealdor from sorcerers all by yourself?"
He stopped with his fingers in the shoulder buckle and stared at the side of Arthur's face. Had Merlin actually been going to Ealdor, the answer would have been that he could defend it considerably better without Arthur's presence.
"I can't imagine," he said after a beat, deadpan.
Arthur grinned at him. "See, you need me," he said as the plate armor came off into Merlin's hands. Arthur took it from him and set it aside, confirmation that he was in the mood for friendly companionship more than servitude.
That should have been enough to make Merlin's day, but it only deepened his frustration. Usually he worked hard to sustain this kind of mood for as long as possible, but right now it only meant that Arthur would be that much harder to get rid of.
"But you said yourself there was probably nothing to worry about," he tried. "And don't you think the king is going to be a bit peeved that you've skipped town right now?"
Arthur's jaw tightened, then relaxed. "Let me worry about my father."
"Right. Let me rephrase that. Don't you think the king is going to throw me in the stocks for a really long time for using you as my personal army? Again?"
"Merlin." Arthur looked at him with a mock frown. "I'm starting to think you want to get rid of me."
Beneath the feigned pout, Merlin caught a glimpse of genuine hurt. It made him ache, as it always did. He was completely screwed.
"Of course I'm not," he said and tried to smile. It would be nice to see his mother. He didn't need to be a champion, or have sex, ever again.
His reward for crushing his own dreams was another happy smile and staggering clap on the shoulder. "Good. I know this may sound strange, but you had the right idea."
"I did?"
"I think we've both spent enough time moping about the castle lately." Arthur stretched until his back cracked and his chain mail rattled. "A little fresh air and adventure is just what we need."
"Not too much adventure, let's hope." If Merlin was not going to compete in a tournament for honor and glory, then he was not keen on spending his holiday in another life or death fight, stuck magicless in Arthur's view.
Arthur dropped down to sprawl on his bedroll. "Oh, come on, Merlin, where's your spirit?" One booted foot reached out to nudge Merlin's ankle. "Just you and me, out in the forest, like old times. What could go wrong?"
As he looked down at Arthur's beaming, ridiculous face, he felt his resentment melt away. He had missed Arthur, so much. Even before Morgause, and the dragon, and the rebuilding, they had so many things distracting them. He was a fool not to be glad for this chance to spend uncomplicated time with his friend, away from Camelot and all the shadows that fell between them there.
"Okay," he said, feeling a matching grin break over his face. "But you're not allowed to complain about my mother's cooking."
"No deal," Arthur responded instantly, pointing a finger at him in accusation as though Merlin were attempting to trick him.
Merlin laughed and started to taunt him about his spirit of adventure. But his mouth snapped shut when, for the second time that night, he heard hoof beats coming towards them from the dark forest.
Arthur heard them a second later, and his playful grin vanished. He reached for his sword as he jumped back to his feet.
"I don't suppose those might be some of ours?" Merlin asked with feigned hopefulness.
"The knights went out in pairs," Arthur replied, lifting his sword and watching the darkness carefully. "I count at least five coming our way."
"Wonderful. Bandits, then. You had to wish for adventure."
Arthur's grin returned, this time slightly mad, and he pointed back to the trees behind him. "I've handled worse. Just go stand back there and look pretty. If anyone gets near you, hit them with a stick."
"Does that include you?" Merlin muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes for good measure, but he went. It would be easier to sneak in a magical assist when he was not in Arthur's direct line of vision.
The bandits burst through the trees into the clearing a moment later. One found himself run through with Arthur's sword even as he tried to swing his own. Two more were quickly unhorsed, and a third met with Arthur's hunting knife in mid-air.
That left one bandit on horseback while Arthur dealt with the two on foot. The bandit pulled his horse to a halt to regroup under a large oak. Merlin grinned. As it happened, hitting people with sticks had become something of a specialty of his.
He concentrated on a heavy branch over the bandit's head, extending his hand and muttering the spell. The branch creaked and cracked. Finally, just as the bandit was spurring his horse towards Arthur again, it crashed down on the man and knocked him to lie motionless on the ground.
In the meantime, Arthur had disposed of his third bandit. The fourth eluded his sword. Even as Arthur lunged for him again, the man seized his fallen comrade's horse and swung up onto its back.
He urged it forward, clearly intending to trample Arthur beneath its hooves. At that range, Arthur had no chance of evading it. Merlin raised his hand again, his panicked brain scrambling for a spell that would save Arthur without giving himself away.
Suddenly a fireball swirled up from the campfire. It hovered in the air, and then smashed into the last bandit. Howling, he fell from the horse and writhed on the forest floor in an effort to extinguish his burning clothes.
A moment later he stilled under Arthur's sword. Quiet fell again, except for the cheerful crackle of the fire and the fading ruckus of the frightened horses fleeing into the night.
Arthur turned around to stare at Merlin with shock. "What the hell?"
Merlin looked back with equal surprise. He had not done that. He was almost completely sure he had not done that.
A rustle to their left made them both turn to look. Merlin relaxed as he saw Niniane step out from her hiding place again. He had almost forgotten that she might still be nearby, though he was grateful that she had been.
Arthur only tensed more, swinging his sword around to point it at Niniane. "You must be the sorcerer," he growled.
"If you mean the sorcerer who just saved your life, then I suppose I am," she said, taking a cautious step back. "From your manners, you must be the prince."
"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot," Arthur replied, still wary but not yet homicidal.
Niniane looked over at Merlin. "I can't even imagine what you see in him."
Merlin winced as Arthur darted a startled look at him. "He grows on you."
She laughed, still looking at Arthur as she spoke to Merlin, clearly enjoying the amount of trouble she was getting Merlin into. "Well, feel free to look me up if you come my way, prince's man."
Then she took another step back and vanished. Arthur ran forward, but stopped at the edge of the clearing. No sounds came from the darkness beyond the firelight, and no tracks showed that she had ever been there.
That left Merlin alone with Arthur. Ten minutes ago, that had been a nice thing.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Merlin?"
Merlin took a breath and did his best to look very, very stupid. "Er, that was Niniane?"
When he dared to look at them, Arthur's eyes were bugging out with astonishment in a way that did not bode well for Merlin's getting a good night's sleep. "Niniane? You--I--Nini--Merlin, you ninny!"
"That didn't make sense," Merlin said, and immediately cursed himself for his helpfulness when Arthur's face turned bright red with fury.
"I'll tell you what makes no sense," he ground out after a long stretch of ominous breathing. "I let you out of the castle for less than a day, and you're out here cavorting with--with sorcerers!"
"She was quite friendly," Merlin offered. It was unlikely to help, but he was tired and was not sure he had the energy to go along with another anti-sorcery diatribe.
Arthur did not rant any further, but stared at Merlin, looking confused, almost lost. Then his shoulders slumped.
"I don't understand you sometimes, Merlin," he said quietly. "I really don't."
Merlin watched in silence as Arthur turned away to begin dealing with the bodies. As Arthur lifted the first dead bandit by the shoulders and started dragging him to the tree line, Merlin shook himself and went to help.
They worked without speaking until they had disposed of the last bandit, the one Merlin had taken out with the tree branch. Arthur gave the branch an odd look as he stepped over it, but continued not to speak until they were back at their bedrolls, staring into the fire.
"I take it your friend is heading to that sodding tournament?" he said at last, making Merlin startle.
"Yes. I mean, I think so," he answered. "That's what she said, anyway. I think."
There was another silence before Arthur heaved a deep sigh. "Is that where you were going, too?"
Merlin's head spun until he had to suck in as much air as possible to keep his vision from blurring. The tone of Arthur's voice warned him against lying again. He thought he might be running out of lies, in any case.
"Yes," he said, breathing out the word on a sigh of relief and terror. He wondered if Arthur would hear all the answers that one word contained.
When Arthur leaned his head forward onto his knees and closed his eyes, Merlin suspected that he had. The thought that the moment had finally come sent his pulse racing until he could barely hear his own voice as he spoke again.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry that I lied to you."
"Merlin," Arthur mumbled into his knees. "What am I going to do with you?"
He could have offered a number of suggestions, beginning with an avoidance of anything fatal and ending perhaps with Arthur being willing to love him anyway. But despite what Arthur might think, Merlin knew there were times when there was nothing to be gained by talking, even if he could make his voice work.
Finally Arthur heaved another sigh. He lifted his head and shook it.
"Even if you've changed your opinion on sorcery yet again," he said. "I can't begin to think why you thought it would be a good idea to wander into an entire town full of dueling sorcerers."
Merlin's stomach did a slow roll, and he felt as though it were physically swinging between relief and disappointment. Arthur had figured out the what, but not the why. His secret was safe--and still a secret.
"I thought it would be interesting," he said, which was honest, albeit incomplete.
"Yes," Arthur said grudgingly. "I suppose in a way it might be interesting to see what...."
He trailed off and stared into the fire with a peculiar expression until Merlin dared to nudge his knee. "Yeah?" Merlin prompted. "What what?"
"I can hardly believe it, let alone say it," Arthur replied. "But you've actually had two good ideas in one day."
"I have?" Merlin was no less surprised himself.
"Well, you'd never have been able to pull it off by yourself, of course." Arthur's face was starting to light up with an expression that reminded Merlin instinctively of rotten vegetables in his face.
"Arthur," he said. "You're not thinking of actually going to the tournament yourself, are you?"
"Of course I am. We can't pass up a chance like this." Arthur threw himself back on his bedroll, face now fully alight with the joy of his scheme. "We'll infiltrate the very heart of sorcery and find out what's going on."
A little thrill went through Merlin at the idea, but one of them had to keep a cool head. "I don't think a sorcery tournament would be a great place to be the prince of Camelot," he pointed out as he stretched out on his own bedroll. A strawberry runner tickled his cheek; he flicked it away and slid a few inches down, hoping Arthur would not notice.
"I'll hide my armor and surcoat in the woods." Arthur turned on his side to face Merlin, eyes shining with firelight and glee. "We'll leave the horses somewhere and walk in like two regular spectators coming to gawk. I know you can gawk, Merlin."
"Like a professional," Merlin promised, giving up the argument in favor of curling up close enough that the knuckles of his hand brushed Arthur's sleeve.
He dozed as Arthur expounded on his plans. Just before he slipped into sleep, he thought he heard Arthur sigh one more time and murmur, "And I'll finally decide for myself if Father is right about it all."
In the morning light, Merlin decided it must have been a dream.
***
Continued in Chapter 2