Mykonos 7/16
| Masterpost| Part Six|
There was a scrubby patch of woodland set amongst an outcrop of rocks an hour and a bit’s walk from the druid camp and it was here that Merlin directed his attention towards. The trees, though a little stumpy, still easily towered above Merlin, thick trunked and squat leafed.
He sat under the darkness of the cluster of trees for a long time, enough for darkness of the night outside to eclipse any light that filtered into the Wasteland. Merlin didn’t make any effort to move though, slumped against the trees and staring blankly out across the land, wondering how this had become his life.
There was a small commotion off to Merlin’s left and he tensed, eyes widening in hopes of seeing what was out there. Gaius had never mentioned anything that lived in the Wasteland aside from the druids, Urchins and the Police, but there was every possibility that one of the gunmen had sauntered out, hunting the Wild Children for a spot of fun.
“Hello Emrys,” a voice said instead, a scruffy child peering around the trees. Behind Mordred were a few other children, watching Merlin with wide and curious eyes.
“I didn’t know you could talk,” Merlin said, slightly miserably. He thought back to how he’d prattled on to Mordred when they’d first met and of how much an idiot he must look to the younger boy.
“I only talk to some people,” the boy acknowledged, padding over with bare, dirtied feet until he sat opposite Merlin. “And only when we’re alone.”
Merlin looked over at the children who were starting to settle down, curling up against each other with little smiles.
“Alone?” he repeated, familiar and comforting with Mordred, even though he had called him Emrys.
Mordred nodded, eyes shining in the dim light. “Too much talking leads you nowhere.”
There was an intelligence in Mordred’s eyes that, quite frankly, scared Merlin a little. He couldn’t be older than thirteen years, but his eyes looked so much older. Is that what listening had got him? Wisdom far beyond his years and a secret intelligence?
“They assume I don’t talk because I can’t, or that there’s a problem with me.” Mordred looked away, the whites of his eyes glinting slightly through the movement. He picked up a handful of small stones, throwing them down carelessly, gestures a child would make no matter how wise they seemed.
“And that because I don’t talk, I don’t make my own choices,” Mordred continued, darting a glance up to Merlin. “But I do,” he said earnestly. “I do.”
They were in similar situations, with Merlin backed by the druids and a prophecy and Mordred backed by Alvarr. They’d both lost their families, lost almost everything, and both been forced into a situation where they were told they had to do things, had to save everyone else simply because they, in Merlin’s case, had power or, in Mordred’s case, had the potential for power. Sitting here, Merlin couldn’t see any of the great warrior Alvarr had foreseen, instead all he saw was a little boy, lost and alone, running from the one place that he had been able to call home because of Alvarr and the man’s ideas.
He was the same as Merlin. Both of them were scared, far from home and on the edge of a great destiny. Mordred had run too, the pair fleeing from an uncertain future that they had to guide.
“I understand,” Merlin whispered, world-weary and tired. “Were you born here?” he asked Mordred a moment later, reaching out in the only way he knew how to.
“I think so,” Mordred replied, hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know though. I remember the refugee camp, then my family being split up by the Pickings.” His eyes were bright again as he paused, shifting forwards through the space between them. “They took my father and wanted to take me too, but I ran away.”
“I know a story about a boy who ran away,” Merlin said softly, thinking of the cold winter nights when he would snuggle beside his mother and Will, laughing at the fire-side stories they made up.
“Oh?” Mordred said, scuttling ever more closer, until he was tucked against Merlin’s side, both resting against the same, thick tree.
“Yeah,” Merlin replied. It was easy to wrap an arm around the child, draw him closer despite their dirtied clothes and bog-ridden libs. “I’ll tell you the story now if you want.”
So he did. He told Mordred of the boy who’d run from his home, searching to capture the stars. He told Mordred of the boy who’s never stopped running, searching for a way to tame the whole world, to slow it right down until everything was calm and safe, that he’d won against all evils and protected everyone.
To his words, Merlin used his power, his gift and talent, to bend the air, sending pinpricks of fire around them, sparkling like the stars would have if they’d been able to see the night sky.
“I’ve never seen the stars,” Mordred muttered sleepily and with a slight sigh.
Merlin wondered if anyone in the refugee camp remembered the stars, after all they couldn’t see the night sky from outside the Fence. Inside was blocked by the colossal structure of the support-tower and the shelter that the fence provided, reaching to block the sky above, and outside, by the sea and in the harsh weather, Camelot itself polluted the skies, blocking first with its Towers and then with the waste from its electrical haven.
“You will,” Merlin whispered back. “One day.”
“And the boy?” Mordred asked, his head drooping. “Did he bring back a star?”
Merlin was silent, waiting for a long stretch of time. Mordred was asleep by the time he answered, curled up on Merlin’s lap.
“He’s still looking,” he said, slumping his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. There was so much more to do now than simply seeing the dragon, Mordred had shown him that.
Tomorrow Merlin would go back to the druid camp and face whatever future he had to. Now, though, he’d sleep surrounded by Wild Children in an impossible Wasteland forest, dreaming of a life he’d run away from to chase the impossible, just like the boy of his story.
.
When Merlin woke, back stiff and neck aching, all of the children save for Mordred were gone. Daylight filtered into the Wastelands, casting the area in its usual slightly-green light.
“I brought you food,” Mordred said, holding out a bulb-shaped plant, the bottom of it cut open a little to reveal an odd-smelling liquid. “If you drink it, it should keep the hunger out until we get back.”
Merlin took the flower, thanking Mordred and drinking the juice. It wasn’t a terrible taste, tasted more like dirt than anything Merlin could name, but it did stave off the hunger, settling heavily in his stomach.
Although he was somewhat surprised that Mordred had chosen to return with him, Merlin was glad of the company. He’d walked further than he’d originally thought the night before and it took them two hours to negotiate back safely, keeping far away from bog pits and the deep pools of water.
There were still a few landmarks around, weather cockerels and pointed spires being the most noticeable amongst ruins of buildings, and Merlin thought about the hidden beauty of the Wastelands.
It was easy to dismiss the place, with its oozing mud and perilous traps of water and slime, but it was important to remember that this had been a country once, an Island of its own. Land had been pushed up when they’d built the Tower and the floods had swarmed around (Merlin tried not to think of the land having been pushed up as backlash from the origin point of the Flood), changing the lands and burying the ghosts of its past.
How many histories were lost due to the floods? Could the people who had lived centuries ago even recognise their birth places, covered in water and sunken deep, deep down?
Merlin wondered where Mordred had come from. He could have been born on an Island far out in the Ocean for all they knew, or he could have come from the camps. They’d never know, at least if they didn’t find Mordred’s father that was.
Before now, Merlin had known about the people in the Tower and the Pickings, but he’d never fully realised what it meant. Ripped away from their families, these people were tortured by having their magic ripped from them. While he couldn’t know for sure whether it hurt or not, these people had a right to life as much as any other. What Nimueh and the others were doing was inexcusable and Merlin had to find a way to stop her.
He’d never realised it before though. Before, back when Mordred couldn’t talk, they’d been people, but not really individuals that Merlin had to save. But Mordred had a father, trapped under the weight of a binding spell, and so many other people had lost family members. They weren’t just people waiting to be saved now, they had lives and loves waiting for them, things that had been ripped away without choice. They weren’t a mass of people anymore, but individuals, each with stories to tell and imaginations to dream with.
Despite whatever misgivings Merlin had felt before, he had to try and help. Nimueh had contorted the whole world just for a taste of power and that power had selected Merlin to right her wrongs. That was the reason for his magic, to put back whatever Nimueh had taken, and he didn’t need a dragon to tell him that.
No one was around when they approached the druid camp. It was eerily silent and Merlin’s heart leapt in his throat, until Mordred took his hand and led him to the fire pit, where most of the druids had congregated. They seemed to be waiting, and Merlin realised belatedly that it was them they had gathered for.
“Mordred,” Alvarr said, the name escaping him in a breath. “Where have you been?”
Mordred clutched Merlin’s hand tighter, refusing to leave his side. Merlin couldn’t blame the boy; Alvarr just wanted to use him for his own end, ignoring Mordred’s wishes to stay out of his plans.
“Emrys,” Aglain greeted warmly. “We were wondering when you’d be back.”
They all acted as though Merlin had done little else than take a morning stroll, not leave the camp with every intention never to come back. When Merlin spotted Gaius at the back of the group, though, he realised that the druids would have no idea about their quarrel, that they would simply assume that he had been out for a walk.
Merlin wondered if he’d ever be able to live a life outside of secrecy and lies anymore.
“Here I am,” he said awkwardly, gripping Mordred’s hand a little tighter.
“Alvarr called us together,” Aglain said, shooting a glance towards where the man in question stood, his face dark as he watched Mordred and Merlin. “He said there was something important he wanted to discuss.”
There was something like distain in Aglain’s voice, as though he cared very little for whatever Alvarr might want to discuss. The look was mirrored on most of the other druids’ faces too, aside from the clump of supporters Alvarr had behind him.
Merlin was shown to the circle, offered a place to sit. Mordred sat next to him on a ratty old sofa, away from where Gaius and Ygraine stood. Others took their own spaces, filling out the circle around the fire pit and turning with slight disinterest to Alvarr, who had taken his place standing at the front of the area.
“I wanted to talk to you about how we can defeat the people in the Sky City,” he began, voice firm and full of charisma. Merlin felt Mordred tense beside him and he gripped the boy’s hand, giving a slight shake of his head. He wasn’t about to let Alvarr use him in this way, not when Mordred had chosen to talk to him, to reach out.
“We have the chance to strike at our enemies,” Alvarr was saying, spreading his hands wide in passion. He believed in his cause, at least, Merlin supposed, though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when the cause would lead to obvious bloodshed.
“We need to find a Seeing Stone,” he continued, sparing a glance to his followers, who nodded in return, smiling widely. “When we obtain one, we can harness its power and defeat those who seek to destroy us.”
His statement drew mutterings from the druids around them, a few shaking their head and rolling their eyes while one or two looked genuinely interested in what he had to say.
“We need to get into Camelot,” Alvarr continued, drawing shocked gasps from the druids around him. A few, noticeably mothers with children, drew others back a little, as if trying to distance themselves away from Alvarr in case he wanted to snatch them up and send them to Camelot.
“It’s suicide!” someone called out angrily. Alvarr turned to the voice, shaking his head.
“No, it’s not,” he said brightly, so charismatically. “We get ourselves an Obsidian and we’ve won. We can destroy the Tower and bring prosperity back to where it belongs; the people.”
His statement met a few more murmurs of agreement and Mordred’s hand in Merlin’s clutched tighter, the boy already knowing what Alvarr would say soon.
“When we harness it to Mordred’s power, we’ll be unstoppable!” Alvarr turned to Mordred, nodding to him with a smile, expecting the boy to go bounding up, grin on his face and power handed over solely for Alvarr’s cause.
No one said anything and Merlin could feel the ripple of confidence ooze from Alvarr and around the group. He was so sure of himself, so sure of his cause that he was swaying the druids without saying much. In fact, he’d hardly said much at all, other than a plan that would lead to sure death and mentions of using Mordred as a means to an end.
Merlin looked through the group and noticed that more than one pair of eyes lay on him. Before, when Merlin had been introduced into the druids, Gaius and Aglain had stood opposed to Alvarr, willing to speak out. Now, though, Alvarr’s opinions were nothing compared to their Emrys’ and comprehension dawned. It was Merlin’s turn to speak out and if he didn’t, then he risked losing the druids under Alvarr’s charisma and sway.
He stood shakily, like one of the few new born livestock they’d kept on Ealdor. Alvarr’s attention snapped to him instantly, imposing in his clean clothes where Merlin must have looked a mess. Mordred’s hand slipped from his, falling heavily back onto the sofa.
He thought back to Mordred’s fears and knew that he couldn’t fail him. Alvarr couldn’t use Mordred, or anyone else for that matter, just to achieve his whim. He didn’t understand what was at stake either, simply wanting to destroy Camelot rather than save the people there, which was what Merlin wanted to achieve.
“You want to destroy Camelot?” he asked in a flat voice, drawing a silence over the druids. Even when Alvarr had been speaking, a few had still been talking amongst themselves, but now that Merlin was talking, everyone was listening.
Alvarr was unimpressed, turning to Merlin with an amused look on his face.
“They’ve closed their gates, tried to stamp us down and Pick on us. They’d happily destroy every single one of us if they could, why should we be any different?” His voice was confident, sure of his ideas and it made Merlin somewhat horrified.
“Because it’s wrong,” Merlin replied. “Because you’d just be as bad as them.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes, trying to understand why Alvarr wanted to destroy Camelot, why the man thought it was a good idea to simply kill rather than think of another solution.
“We have the capacity to change how we live,” Alvarr said, taking a step towards Merlin. “We have the power to make a difference and if those who support tyranny fall, so what?”
Shaking his head, Merlin spared a glance around the druids. A few more were considering Alvarr’s words thoughtfully, as if what he was saying actually made sense.
“So you’re willing to sacrifice a child and so many other lives just to get what you want?” Merlin felt his lip curl in disgust.
“It’s not what I want,” Alvarr spat, rounding on Merlin now. He stepped closer, encroaching on Merlin’s space and Merlin let him.
He hadn’t fought properly for months now and even then the fights he’s had with Will had been more playful than anything. But this was for a cause, this was between a man who wanted to slaughter thousands and Merlin himself.
“It’s what we all want,” finished Alvarr, cocking his head to the side slightly, waiting to hear Merlin’s reply.
He didn’t know what to say. Merlin didn’t know how to convince this man that what he wanted was wrong, simply because he was so sure of himself, so self-confident that his idea was the right one.
“Have you even considered the possibility that Mordred doesn’t want to help you?” Merlin asked hurriedly, looking away from Alvarr. As his eyes left the man before him, Merlin couldn’t help but notice the slight triumph in his smirk, how he’d simply assumed he’d already won.
“Mordred will do what’s expected of him because he knows it’s for the best.” Merlin gritted his jaw as Alvarr continued. “There are no other options and while Gaius says you can use the stones, I’d rather have my magic sucked from my body than trust the task to you.”
Merlin could feel Mordred behind him, shrinking away from Alvarr. He didn’t blame the child; Alvarr was clearly ready to use Mordred any way he could, willing or otherwise, and nothing would be able to stop him if Merlin should fail.
“You don’t have to trust me,” Merlin said sourly, “But using Mordred to achieve mass murder is not how you are going to accomplish anything.” He paused, turning his attention to the other part of what Alvarr had said.
“And, how exactly, were you planning to get into the Tower to find an Obsidian Stone in the first place? They’re not going to be easy to find, no matter what you try.” Merlin shook his head, “You’re just passing out a death sentence with this plan.”
A few titters rose in the camp and Merlin could hear them muttering his name, but he ignored them, staring down Alvarr as the man challenged him, raising his chin and squaring his gaze. Whereas before Merlin might have been content to roll over, let Alvarr take his place and do whatever he liked because he was strong and so sure of what needed to be done, Merlin couldn’t let Mordred down. He couldn’t let Gaius and Ygraine down either, or Aglain and the other druids. He couldn’t let the people having their magic enslaved inside of the Tower down and he couldn’t leave the dragon that had reached out to him.
There was a reason for his magic, a reason why he had survived. There was a reason why the Ocean had split him from his mother and Will and that was so he could come here and do what needed to be done. Merlin was the one who had to save them; he was the one the Old Magic had chosen, not Alvarr, not Mordred, but Merlin.
“And what are you planning to do?” Alvarr shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting.
For a moment, Merlin had no idea what he was going to say. He didn’t have a plan, all he had was training, and what good would that be to a man like Alvarr? Then he remembered the night before, Ygraine telling him about Nimueh and what she’d been forced into. He remembered the book Gaius had showed him and of the drawing, of how the magic had selected him, guided him and brought him here when the rest of the world was drowning.
“I don’t know,” Merlin said honestly, drawing a few gasps from the druids. “But I know that whatever I do, no one is going to be sacrificed for it. I’m not going to let anyone die as a means to an end. Whatever I do, I’ll give you all a better life without the fear that you will die trying to reach it.”
While some of the druids seemed placated with his words, a few turned away, looking to Alvarr. Merlin knew that Alvarr had noticed this too, judging by slight-raised eyebrows and almost-triumphant look on his face.
“You don’t have a plan and yet you expect everyone to just pander to your whims?” Alvarr rolled his eyes and turned away from Merlin, back to the druids. “And you’re all so convinced he’s going to save you?”
A few more druids tittered unexpectedly and Merlin felt his throat tighten, his mouth dry. He had lost any control he’d held through the druids the moment Alvarr had challenged him, without a single hope of regaining it.
Merlin simply didn’t know what to do.
“Mordred,” Alvarr barked, nodding to a few druids off to the side, clear supporters of his cause. “Come on,” he said, the druids he’d motioned to come forward stepping towards Merlin and Mordred.
It was obvious they were going to grab Mordred, but Merlin shook his head, voice firm when he spoke.
“You don’t touch him, do you understand?” Alvarr simply looked up in return, smiling as though Merlin was a child he’d rather be rid of.
“I don’t think our great Emrys understands that we need Mordred.” Merlin risked a look around as Alvarr paused and saw uncertain faces, druids unsure of what Alvarr was planning. “Mordred is smart, he understands what needs to be done.”
Shaking his head, Merlin took a step back, sending a desperate look towards where Gaius and Ygraine stood. They had to help him, somehow, even though Merlin had no idea how he could get out of this situation anymore.
“No,” he said, reaching for Mordred to place him behind him, to protect him in any way he could. “He’s just a child, you can’t use him like that.”
If things were simple, maybe Merlin would have sat back and let Alvarr have his way. If it were simple, then there wouldn’t be thousands of people at the base of the Tower and they could all think that all citizens of the Sky Cities were evil. If everything was simple, Merlin could maybe even have agreed with Alvarr, but it wasn’t simple and he knew the truth.
Maybe if Ygraine and Gaius hadn’t told him the secrets of the New World than, yes, Merlin could have empathised with Alvarr’s goals, but it wasn’t that easy. Merlin had lost people, too many people, and that made him naturally against any plan that involved killing, especially when the death toll was likely to be so high.
Alvarr thought that he could raise a whole army using the stones. While some people may answer the call - there wasn’t exactly a lack of people through the camps outside or those willing to join from the druid camp - it wasn’t an army. They had no weapons (unless you counted Alvarr’s insistence that Mordred and his magic would be enough) and no training, up against honed sorcerers from Camelot. That didn’t even cover their first barrier in the police, and while Merlin didn’t know how long they’d be able to last, he doubted they would even get past the inner fence.
“Come on Mordred,” Alvarr said sternly and Merlin regarded the two approaching druids warily, knowing they would make a move to snatch Mordred any moment. “You’re so much better than them,” Alvarr added with a sneer, shifting his gaze over to Merlin for a second.
That second was long enough for Mordred to wrench his hand from Merlin’s grip and push backwards, spinning around as he tore a path through the gathered druids. Merlin took a moment to realise what was happening before he took off after Mordred, calling his name and pushing against Alvarr’s men who had also taken chase.
“MERLIN!” a voice shouted and Merlin turned, chest heaving as Gaius waved his arm furiously, beckoning him over. Merlin went without hesitation, pushing past the animated crowd of druids, ignoring their stares and their whispers.
“What are you doing?” Gaius rushed out, eyes wide. “You can’t go after him, and anyway he’ll easily outrun Alvarr’s men. Mordred’s lived with the Urchins, he knows the best hiding places and how to cross the Wastelands without injury.”
Merlin shook his head, knowing what he had to do. He had promised Mordred that he’d protect him, but so far he’d failed, causing the boy to run away rather than seek help.
“I can’t just leave him,” Merlin said urgently, willing Gaius to understand. “I’m not…” he took in a deep breath, knowing the next words would hurt Gaius, but he needed them to. He had to go after Mordred now, but he could apologise to Gaius when he came back.
“I’m not like you, I can’t just abandon the people who need me,” he rushed out, turning to stare at Gaius defiantly, willing the old man to challenge him.
Gaius looked taken aback, before Ygraine placed a hand on his shoulder and he sighed, looking away from Merlin. That was all Merlin needed before he had taken out of the fire-circle completely, passing through rows of tents, trying to track Mordred.
That was the easy part, as a few of Alvarr’s supporters had followed with ease and they were taller, easier to see. Merlin broke free of the druid camp and spotted them at once, Mordred with a large space between him and Alvarr’s men. With a smaller frame and less weight - plus insider knowledge on the lay of the land - Mordred was able to navigate faster through the Wastelands, but his pursuers weren’t about to give up easily.
As he followed, Merlin knew he looked ridiculous. He was still caked in dry mud from the day before, hair crusted to his head and skin leathery from the water he’d sunk into, but that made it easier when he fell this time, again and again as he slipped across the bog land. The route he’d took was treacherous, but it looked as though he could get ahead slightly of Alvarr’s men, cut them off and stop them from reaching Mordred.
Merlin hadn’t noticed how close they were to the lone channel that ran through the Wastelands until he heard the hum of a police boat. Alvarr’s men had noticed it too and had fallen back slightly, moving back skittishly, afraid with good reason. If the police caught them here, they’d be Picked or killed, no exceptions.
Somehow, Mordred had managed to run right to the edge of the channel and it was only now, that he was faced with a barrier in which he had no other choice but to stop at, that he snapped out of whatever instinct he’d been possessed by and saw the boat. It wasn’t particularly close, but Merlin knew that it had seen Mordred and gasped, wanting to shout out Mordred’s name, though he knew it was far too late.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Merlin saw someone on the boat point in Mordred’s direction, and they held something out at arm’s length, cocked towards the boy. It wasn’t a gun, Merlin realised after a beat, but whatever it had done, it pleased the police for they scrambled together, steering the boat closer to Mordred’s side, jumping the bank as soon as they could.
For all his power, all his prophesised greatness and promises he’d made to Mordred, Merlin froze. He was half-crouching, having slipped again just before he’d been aware of the boat, and he watched everything as though it was happening in slow motion.
One of the police held out a gun, firing it twice in succession towards Mordred. The boy crumpled, his body jerking as it hit the mud. He wasn’t dead, Merlin could still see him try to move, but his body seemed paralysed.
This was how they worked in the Wastelands. If you were of use to them - the people in their Sky Cities and electrical havens - then they’d trap you and take you. If you weren’t, you were killed, just one less vermin for them to keep at bay.
Merlin ducked down, pressing his belly to the ground, as Alvarr’s men ran near him. Gunfire opened around him, drumming into his ears and Merlin suddenly didn’t care that his mouth was full of marsh-mud, or that his foot was half-submerged into a puddle. Everything had suddenly become a matter of life or death and Merlin was unsure how he’d be able to get out of this one alive.
One of the bullets hit its target and the bulkier of Alvarr’s men went down, gasping as his life left him. He wasn’t particularly close to Merlin, but he could still see the man’s lifeless eyes as his last breath left him, staring out for all of eternity.
The other man looked at his companion, pale-faced and wide eyed, but didn’t have the sense to duck when another volley of gun shots sounded out. The bullets went everywhere, clipping the ground near to Merlin, and one bit into the side of his arm, grazing the skin thickly as it shot past.
This was their hunting ground, their playing place. The police were in complete control here, allowing the druids to flourish in what they assumed was peace, when really the police were just waiting for the day that a druid would step out and into their gun’s path. It was fun for them, a sport even, and Merlin suddenly wanted nothing more than to side with Alvarr and tear this Camelot and its forces apart.
His magic, though, was lost to him. Merlin couldn’t feel the familiar bubble in his chest and he rolled onto his good shoulder, breath coming in more shallow pants as he ran through Aglain’s exercises, trying to dig deeply for the magic.
It still didn’t come. He didn’t know how long he lay there trying, to the low buzz of the police boat and the slopping sounds of people running through mud, but no magic came, no matter how hard Merlin tried.
Something gripped his shoulder and Merlin whipped around, teeth bared as he tried to scoot back, out of the policeman’s grip. Relief unlike any he’d ever known flooded his body as he saw Ygraine crouching over him with shaky hands and a gaunt look on her face.
“Where are you hurt?” she asked, smoothing her hands over his body and drawing them back to look at every few moments, checking for blood.
“Shoulder,” Merlin gasped out, pushing up a little so that she could look at the injury. “But it doesn’t matter; they’ve got Mordred.”
For a moment, Ygraine looked as though she might do something, might stick her neck out and tackle the police herself. The moment passed, though, as Merlin knew it would, and she shook her head, hands clamping down on Merlin’s bad shoulder, as if she had already known what he would do.
“Merlin, no,” she said, shaking her head violently. Strands of hair fell around her face, mud-caked and limp, but she ignored them, focusing solely on Merlin.
“They’ll take you,” she said, whispering ferociously, trying to convince Merlin that his idea was the worst possible, that he couldn’t do it. She was scared, even more so than she’d been when talking about Nimueh, but Merlin couldn’t listen, didn’t have time, not when they were taking Mordred.
“No please, I-“ Merlin cut himself off as he shot a glance over to the police and froze. He began shaking his head, jaw slackening.
“No,” he repeated, “No, Gaius!”
Ygraine’s grip on him slackened slightly, but not enough for Merlin to escape as she too followed Merlin’s trail of vision, noting that Gaius had joined them, only to look over Alvarr’s men. The police had seen him though, tested him and weren’t shooting.
Which only meant one thing; Gaius was useful to them.
“No,” Ygraine said, parroting Merlin’s earlier words. She shook her head and Merlin hoped she’d relax her grip enough, but she didn’t. If anything, she gripped tighter, forcing Merlin down on the ground as the police trapped Gaius, hauling his lifeless body towards their boat.
The roar of engines sounded again and Merlin struggled against Ygraine weakly, knowing that his efforts would be futile. His magic was gone, hidden away from him for some reason, and Merlin didn’t know what to do.
They were gone. Gaius and Mordred had been taken for the Pickings, sold to a life of slavery in the pit of the Tower and it was all Merlin’s fault. If he’d shown Mordred his promise wasn’t one of empty words, then he wouldn’t have run off. If he’d stood up to Alvarr when he’d had the chance, Mordred wouldn’t have doubted him.
And even though he didn’t regret it, Gaius had come because of Merlin. If Merlin hadn’t been so reckless in running after Mordred, Gaius wouldn’t have been Picked too.
Ygraine slumped on the ground, sinking into the mud a little. What you could see of her face was ashen grey, the rest covered in smears of mud. Her eyes were closed and Merlin fought down the bile rising in his throat.
He had done this.
He was supposed to save them all, not cause two of his friends to be taken. Was this what magic had turned him into? Someone who would get you killed by association? Merlin had lost so many people, could it be that it was actually him that was the problem?
“Merlin,” Ygraine whispered, her voice pathetic. “You have to…” she trailed off in a slight sob.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt. Gaius had been her last link to her old life, the last person who would ever understand everything she’d been through. Yes, Merlin knew, but that wasn’t enough. He’d never really be able to understand.
“It starts,” she said a moment later, pushing up until she sat, slightly resting against Merlin. “It starts now, no matter what I wished for you.”
It took a while for Merlin to understand what Ygraine was saying, thanks largely to the dull thud of pain in his arm, but when he did, he looked sharply at her, unsure that they were both on the same wavelength.
“But-“ he began, only to have Ygraine cut him off.
“I never wanted this for you,” she spoke softly, bringing a hand up to cradle Merlin’s cheek. “But you need to save them.” Her grip slackened and she pushed herself up onto her knees, facing him now and taking his face fully in her hands. She kissed his forehead gently before pulling him to her chest and holding him.
Merlin had almost forgotten what it was like to be held. The last time had to be back on Ealdor, from his mother, so long ago now. He hadn’t been starved of affection, or at least not that he’d realised, but there was something in the way that Ygraine held him, clutching at him desperately, that made Merlin grip back, pressing against her how he would have his mother and tucking his head against her neck. They were both missing a son and a mother respectively and while they’d never compare to family, they were friends and they loved each other all the same.
“I don’t believe in any prophesies, but I’ve seen what you’re willing to do…” she smiled, eyes crinkling. “You can save them. You have a greater heart than any I’ve ever seen and you make me feel hope.”
To anyone else, that would simply have been a throw-away statement, but Merlin knew that Ygraine hadn’t lived with hope ever since she’d discovered the truth. For her to say that now meant so much to Merlin, but what could he do?
“My magic,” he began, slightly shaky from the wound. “It won’t work.”
Ygraine shook her head. “It wanted you alive,” she whispered, looking down with furrowed brows. “Your magic will protect you first and foremost, I remember Nimueh telling me that.”
They were silent, Merlin turning to follow the channel’s path, up to the inner fence.
“I’ll have to be Picked,” he said softly, allowing Ygraine to see his fear. He’d seen so much of hers that it only made sense, and despite everything, Merlin knew he could trust her.
She nodded, pulling back from him with a sad look in her eyes. “The stone will keep you safe,” she said, moving a hand down and into Merlin’s pocket, pulling the clean stone out.
“Merlin,” she whispered, only just audible. “If you… get the chance…” she paused, shaking her head a little.
“Never mind,” she continued, “It’s just me being silly.”
Merlin shook his head. Nothing in this Wasteland was silly anymore and he needed to know, now more than ever.
“Please,” he said, searching Ygraine’s eyes for her wish.
“If you see the crest of a golden dragon,” she began, a soft smile on her lips, “And there’s a man of your age… would you just see how he is?”
She meant her son, Merlin realised.
Ygraine had never once mentioned that her son had lived after her banishment and it sent a small spark of surprise through Merlin. He’d simply assumed that she’d lost her son, that she couldn’t have abandoned the baby even when his life had caused another’s death.
“Please,” she whispered, not meeting Merlin’s eyes anymore. “Just to see if he… he’s alright.”
She really loved her son, Merlin realised. Even though she couldn’t have held the boy more than once in her life and hadn’t been able to see him grow at all, she still loved him, exactly how Merlin would always love his mother even if he’d never see her again. So he nodded and pressed a kiss to Ygraine cheek, rising from the ground and clutching his arm where it was bleeding slightly.
“Tell the druids I’m coming back,” he said with a nod, smiling half-heartedly at Ygraine despite the bubbling fear in his gut. “I’m coming back and letting you all into Camelot.”
And then that was it. Merlin was walking away, one arm swaying uselessly at his side while he tried not to look back. He had to focus on Gaius and Mordred, had to get them back and that was all. He couldn’t think about Ygraine, the druids and the place that had become his home these past few months. He couldn’t think about the spells he hadn’t mastered yet or the power he didn’t understand because now was his chance to do something.
The walk was gruelling, the fixed point of his destination far in the distance yet still visible. Merlin’s arm began to throb with pain, each step drawing a deeper wave, something Merlin hadn’t thought possible. He wondered if he’d be able to heal it somehow before remembering that he’d never flicked to the healing spell section of his book, relying on Gaius and his talents if he’d needed any form of patching up.
Look where that had gotten him. Alone trudging through the Wastelands, heading to almost certain death and without a small comfort to stop the pain in his arm where one of the police bastards had shot him earlier.
Though he wasn’t quite sure how - aside from that he’d evidently walked all the way - Merlin made it to the lock gate, or at least the boarders of it. He stood back, raising his arms as he noticed a few of the patrolling policemen cocking their guns.
“Wait!” he shouted, heart hammering in his throat. “Test me!”
That was what they did, after all. They tested people before they killed them, trying to see if they were useful or not. Merlin needed them to find just a tiny spark of magic, the magic that was hiding somewhere deep inside, trying to protect him.
He didn’t need a lot this time, just enough that would get him into the Tower and that was it.
A door at the base of the fence opened and a uniformed man ran out, three others flanking him. He waved the testing device in Merlin’s direction, barking out orders all the while.
Merlin sucked in a breath, fear rising as the police circled him. He willed any magic down, even though he couldn’t feel it. There was something poking at him, testing and searching him, so he froze and waited, hoping to any gods that might still exist that they only found a small trace.
He couldn’t let these people know his full potential. He doubted they’d even met a true sorcerer, simply ripping magic from latent humans like Mordred and his family, but if they knew what he was capable of then Merlin didn’t stand a chance and he’d be hauled before Nimueh and the king, his mission failed before it had begun.
“Pick him!” the man in charge shouted suddenly, and Merlin offered no resistance as the other three men moved, one on each side to restrain him. Their leader nodded, satisfied, before ordering them through the small door and through to the other side of the inner fence.
Merlin never made it through the fence though as a jolt of something cold and hot at the same time swept through his whole body, coursing through him as if it was stripping his magic down and away. His knees hit the ground and his senses blurred, eyesight jumbling faces and ears hardly catching any sounds, his whole body shuddering from the aftershock of whatever the police had fired at him.
He couldn’t even feel fear, but that didn’t matter much anymore, for Merlin’s eyes clouded in darkness and he was gone, Picked along with everyone else who had magic and strayed across the path of the New World.
| Part Eight|
There was a scrubby patch of woodland set amongst an outcrop of rocks an hour and a bit’s walk from the druid camp and it was here that Merlin directed his attention towards. The trees, though a little stumpy, still easily towered above Merlin, thick trunked and squat leafed.
He sat under the darkness of the cluster of trees for a long time, enough for darkness of the night outside to eclipse any light that filtered into the Wasteland. Merlin didn’t make any effort to move though, slumped against the trees and staring blankly out across the land, wondering how this had become his life.
There was a small commotion off to Merlin’s left and he tensed, eyes widening in hopes of seeing what was out there. Gaius had never mentioned anything that lived in the Wasteland aside from the druids, Urchins and the Police, but there was every possibility that one of the gunmen had sauntered out, hunting the Wild Children for a spot of fun.
“Hello Emrys,” a voice said instead, a scruffy child peering around the trees. Behind Mordred were a few other children, watching Merlin with wide and curious eyes.
“I didn’t know you could talk,” Merlin said, slightly miserably. He thought back to how he’d prattled on to Mordred when they’d first met and of how much an idiot he must look to the younger boy.
“I only talk to some people,” the boy acknowledged, padding over with bare, dirtied feet until he sat opposite Merlin. “And only when we’re alone.”
Merlin looked over at the children who were starting to settle down, curling up against each other with little smiles.
“Alone?” he repeated, familiar and comforting with Mordred, even though he had called him Emrys.
Mordred nodded, eyes shining in the dim light. “Too much talking leads you nowhere.”
There was an intelligence in Mordred’s eyes that, quite frankly, scared Merlin a little. He couldn’t be older than thirteen years, but his eyes looked so much older. Is that what listening had got him? Wisdom far beyond his years and a secret intelligence?
“They assume I don’t talk because I can’t, or that there’s a problem with me.” Mordred looked away, the whites of his eyes glinting slightly through the movement. He picked up a handful of small stones, throwing them down carelessly, gestures a child would make no matter how wise they seemed.
“And that because I don’t talk, I don’t make my own choices,” Mordred continued, darting a glance up to Merlin. “But I do,” he said earnestly. “I do.”
They were in similar situations, with Merlin backed by the druids and a prophecy and Mordred backed by Alvarr. They’d both lost their families, lost almost everything, and both been forced into a situation where they were told they had to do things, had to save everyone else simply because they, in Merlin’s case, had power or, in Mordred’s case, had the potential for power. Sitting here, Merlin couldn’t see any of the great warrior Alvarr had foreseen, instead all he saw was a little boy, lost and alone, running from the one place that he had been able to call home because of Alvarr and the man’s ideas.
He was the same as Merlin. Both of them were scared, far from home and on the edge of a great destiny. Mordred had run too, the pair fleeing from an uncertain future that they had to guide.
“I understand,” Merlin whispered, world-weary and tired. “Were you born here?” he asked Mordred a moment later, reaching out in the only way he knew how to.
“I think so,” Mordred replied, hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know though. I remember the refugee camp, then my family being split up by the Pickings.” His eyes were bright again as he paused, shifting forwards through the space between them. “They took my father and wanted to take me too, but I ran away.”
“I know a story about a boy who ran away,” Merlin said softly, thinking of the cold winter nights when he would snuggle beside his mother and Will, laughing at the fire-side stories they made up.
“Oh?” Mordred said, scuttling ever more closer, until he was tucked against Merlin’s side, both resting against the same, thick tree.
“Yeah,” Merlin replied. It was easy to wrap an arm around the child, draw him closer despite their dirtied clothes and bog-ridden libs. “I’ll tell you the story now if you want.”
So he did. He told Mordred of the boy who’d run from his home, searching to capture the stars. He told Mordred of the boy who’s never stopped running, searching for a way to tame the whole world, to slow it right down until everything was calm and safe, that he’d won against all evils and protected everyone.
To his words, Merlin used his power, his gift and talent, to bend the air, sending pinpricks of fire around them, sparkling like the stars would have if they’d been able to see the night sky.
“I’ve never seen the stars,” Mordred muttered sleepily and with a slight sigh.
Merlin wondered if anyone in the refugee camp remembered the stars, after all they couldn’t see the night sky from outside the Fence. Inside was blocked by the colossal structure of the support-tower and the shelter that the fence provided, reaching to block the sky above, and outside, by the sea and in the harsh weather, Camelot itself polluted the skies, blocking first with its Towers and then with the waste from its electrical haven.
“You will,” Merlin whispered back. “One day.”
“And the boy?” Mordred asked, his head drooping. “Did he bring back a star?”
Merlin was silent, waiting for a long stretch of time. Mordred was asleep by the time he answered, curled up on Merlin’s lap.
“He’s still looking,” he said, slumping his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. There was so much more to do now than simply seeing the dragon, Mordred had shown him that.
Tomorrow Merlin would go back to the druid camp and face whatever future he had to. Now, though, he’d sleep surrounded by Wild Children in an impossible Wasteland forest, dreaming of a life he’d run away from to chase the impossible, just like the boy of his story.
.
When Merlin woke, back stiff and neck aching, all of the children save for Mordred were gone. Daylight filtered into the Wastelands, casting the area in its usual slightly-green light.
“I brought you food,” Mordred said, holding out a bulb-shaped plant, the bottom of it cut open a little to reveal an odd-smelling liquid. “If you drink it, it should keep the hunger out until we get back.”
Merlin took the flower, thanking Mordred and drinking the juice. It wasn’t a terrible taste, tasted more like dirt than anything Merlin could name, but it did stave off the hunger, settling heavily in his stomach.
Although he was somewhat surprised that Mordred had chosen to return with him, Merlin was glad of the company. He’d walked further than he’d originally thought the night before and it took them two hours to negotiate back safely, keeping far away from bog pits and the deep pools of water.
There were still a few landmarks around, weather cockerels and pointed spires being the most noticeable amongst ruins of buildings, and Merlin thought about the hidden beauty of the Wastelands.
It was easy to dismiss the place, with its oozing mud and perilous traps of water and slime, but it was important to remember that this had been a country once, an Island of its own. Land had been pushed up when they’d built the Tower and the floods had swarmed around (Merlin tried not to think of the land having been pushed up as backlash from the origin point of the Flood), changing the lands and burying the ghosts of its past.
How many histories were lost due to the floods? Could the people who had lived centuries ago even recognise their birth places, covered in water and sunken deep, deep down?
Merlin wondered where Mordred had come from. He could have been born on an Island far out in the Ocean for all they knew, or he could have come from the camps. They’d never know, at least if they didn’t find Mordred’s father that was.
Before now, Merlin had known about the people in the Tower and the Pickings, but he’d never fully realised what it meant. Ripped away from their families, these people were tortured by having their magic ripped from them. While he couldn’t know for sure whether it hurt or not, these people had a right to life as much as any other. What Nimueh and the others were doing was inexcusable and Merlin had to find a way to stop her.
He’d never realised it before though. Before, back when Mordred couldn’t talk, they’d been people, but not really individuals that Merlin had to save. But Mordred had a father, trapped under the weight of a binding spell, and so many other people had lost family members. They weren’t just people waiting to be saved now, they had lives and loves waiting for them, things that had been ripped away without choice. They weren’t a mass of people anymore, but individuals, each with stories to tell and imaginations to dream with.
Despite whatever misgivings Merlin had felt before, he had to try and help. Nimueh had contorted the whole world just for a taste of power and that power had selected Merlin to right her wrongs. That was the reason for his magic, to put back whatever Nimueh had taken, and he didn’t need a dragon to tell him that.
No one was around when they approached the druid camp. It was eerily silent and Merlin’s heart leapt in his throat, until Mordred took his hand and led him to the fire pit, where most of the druids had congregated. They seemed to be waiting, and Merlin realised belatedly that it was them they had gathered for.
“Mordred,” Alvarr said, the name escaping him in a breath. “Where have you been?”
Mordred clutched Merlin’s hand tighter, refusing to leave his side. Merlin couldn’t blame the boy; Alvarr just wanted to use him for his own end, ignoring Mordred’s wishes to stay out of his plans.
“Emrys,” Aglain greeted warmly. “We were wondering when you’d be back.”
They all acted as though Merlin had done little else than take a morning stroll, not leave the camp with every intention never to come back. When Merlin spotted Gaius at the back of the group, though, he realised that the druids would have no idea about their quarrel, that they would simply assume that he had been out for a walk.
Merlin wondered if he’d ever be able to live a life outside of secrecy and lies anymore.
“Here I am,” he said awkwardly, gripping Mordred’s hand a little tighter.
“Alvarr called us together,” Aglain said, shooting a glance towards where the man in question stood, his face dark as he watched Mordred and Merlin. “He said there was something important he wanted to discuss.”
There was something like distain in Aglain’s voice, as though he cared very little for whatever Alvarr might want to discuss. The look was mirrored on most of the other druids’ faces too, aside from the clump of supporters Alvarr had behind him.
Merlin was shown to the circle, offered a place to sit. Mordred sat next to him on a ratty old sofa, away from where Gaius and Ygraine stood. Others took their own spaces, filling out the circle around the fire pit and turning with slight disinterest to Alvarr, who had taken his place standing at the front of the area.
“I wanted to talk to you about how we can defeat the people in the Sky City,” he began, voice firm and full of charisma. Merlin felt Mordred tense beside him and he gripped the boy’s hand, giving a slight shake of his head. He wasn’t about to let Alvarr use him in this way, not when Mordred had chosen to talk to him, to reach out.
“We have the chance to strike at our enemies,” Alvarr was saying, spreading his hands wide in passion. He believed in his cause, at least, Merlin supposed, though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when the cause would lead to obvious bloodshed.
“We need to find a Seeing Stone,” he continued, sparing a glance to his followers, who nodded in return, smiling widely. “When we obtain one, we can harness its power and defeat those who seek to destroy us.”
His statement drew mutterings from the druids around them, a few shaking their head and rolling their eyes while one or two looked genuinely interested in what he had to say.
“We need to get into Camelot,” Alvarr continued, drawing shocked gasps from the druids around him. A few, noticeably mothers with children, drew others back a little, as if trying to distance themselves away from Alvarr in case he wanted to snatch them up and send them to Camelot.
“It’s suicide!” someone called out angrily. Alvarr turned to the voice, shaking his head.
“No, it’s not,” he said brightly, so charismatically. “We get ourselves an Obsidian and we’ve won. We can destroy the Tower and bring prosperity back to where it belongs; the people.”
His statement met a few more murmurs of agreement and Mordred’s hand in Merlin’s clutched tighter, the boy already knowing what Alvarr would say soon.
“When we harness it to Mordred’s power, we’ll be unstoppable!” Alvarr turned to Mordred, nodding to him with a smile, expecting the boy to go bounding up, grin on his face and power handed over solely for Alvarr’s cause.
No one said anything and Merlin could feel the ripple of confidence ooze from Alvarr and around the group. He was so sure of himself, so sure of his cause that he was swaying the druids without saying much. In fact, he’d hardly said much at all, other than a plan that would lead to sure death and mentions of using Mordred as a means to an end.
Merlin looked through the group and noticed that more than one pair of eyes lay on him. Before, when Merlin had been introduced into the druids, Gaius and Aglain had stood opposed to Alvarr, willing to speak out. Now, though, Alvarr’s opinions were nothing compared to their Emrys’ and comprehension dawned. It was Merlin’s turn to speak out and if he didn’t, then he risked losing the druids under Alvarr’s charisma and sway.
He stood shakily, like one of the few new born livestock they’d kept on Ealdor. Alvarr’s attention snapped to him instantly, imposing in his clean clothes where Merlin must have looked a mess. Mordred’s hand slipped from his, falling heavily back onto the sofa.
He thought back to Mordred’s fears and knew that he couldn’t fail him. Alvarr couldn’t use Mordred, or anyone else for that matter, just to achieve his whim. He didn’t understand what was at stake either, simply wanting to destroy Camelot rather than save the people there, which was what Merlin wanted to achieve.
“You want to destroy Camelot?” he asked in a flat voice, drawing a silence over the druids. Even when Alvarr had been speaking, a few had still been talking amongst themselves, but now that Merlin was talking, everyone was listening.
Alvarr was unimpressed, turning to Merlin with an amused look on his face.
“They’ve closed their gates, tried to stamp us down and Pick on us. They’d happily destroy every single one of us if they could, why should we be any different?” His voice was confident, sure of his ideas and it made Merlin somewhat horrified.
“Because it’s wrong,” Merlin replied. “Because you’d just be as bad as them.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes, trying to understand why Alvarr wanted to destroy Camelot, why the man thought it was a good idea to simply kill rather than think of another solution.
“We have the capacity to change how we live,” Alvarr said, taking a step towards Merlin. “We have the power to make a difference and if those who support tyranny fall, so what?”
Shaking his head, Merlin spared a glance around the druids. A few more were considering Alvarr’s words thoughtfully, as if what he was saying actually made sense.
“So you’re willing to sacrifice a child and so many other lives just to get what you want?” Merlin felt his lip curl in disgust.
“It’s not what I want,” Alvarr spat, rounding on Merlin now. He stepped closer, encroaching on Merlin’s space and Merlin let him.
He hadn’t fought properly for months now and even then the fights he’s had with Will had been more playful than anything. But this was for a cause, this was between a man who wanted to slaughter thousands and Merlin himself.
“It’s what we all want,” finished Alvarr, cocking his head to the side slightly, waiting to hear Merlin’s reply.
He didn’t know what to say. Merlin didn’t know how to convince this man that what he wanted was wrong, simply because he was so sure of himself, so self-confident that his idea was the right one.
“Have you even considered the possibility that Mordred doesn’t want to help you?” Merlin asked hurriedly, looking away from Alvarr. As his eyes left the man before him, Merlin couldn’t help but notice the slight triumph in his smirk, how he’d simply assumed he’d already won.
“Mordred will do what’s expected of him because he knows it’s for the best.” Merlin gritted his jaw as Alvarr continued. “There are no other options and while Gaius says you can use the stones, I’d rather have my magic sucked from my body than trust the task to you.”
Merlin could feel Mordred behind him, shrinking away from Alvarr. He didn’t blame the child; Alvarr was clearly ready to use Mordred any way he could, willing or otherwise, and nothing would be able to stop him if Merlin should fail.
“You don’t have to trust me,” Merlin said sourly, “But using Mordred to achieve mass murder is not how you are going to accomplish anything.” He paused, turning his attention to the other part of what Alvarr had said.
“And, how exactly, were you planning to get into the Tower to find an Obsidian Stone in the first place? They’re not going to be easy to find, no matter what you try.” Merlin shook his head, “You’re just passing out a death sentence with this plan.”
A few titters rose in the camp and Merlin could hear them muttering his name, but he ignored them, staring down Alvarr as the man challenged him, raising his chin and squaring his gaze. Whereas before Merlin might have been content to roll over, let Alvarr take his place and do whatever he liked because he was strong and so sure of what needed to be done, Merlin couldn’t let Mordred down. He couldn’t let Gaius and Ygraine down either, or Aglain and the other druids. He couldn’t let the people having their magic enslaved inside of the Tower down and he couldn’t leave the dragon that had reached out to him.
There was a reason for his magic, a reason why he had survived. There was a reason why the Ocean had split him from his mother and Will and that was so he could come here and do what needed to be done. Merlin was the one who had to save them; he was the one the Old Magic had chosen, not Alvarr, not Mordred, but Merlin.
“And what are you planning to do?” Alvarr shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting.
For a moment, Merlin had no idea what he was going to say. He didn’t have a plan, all he had was training, and what good would that be to a man like Alvarr? Then he remembered the night before, Ygraine telling him about Nimueh and what she’d been forced into. He remembered the book Gaius had showed him and of the drawing, of how the magic had selected him, guided him and brought him here when the rest of the world was drowning.
“I don’t know,” Merlin said honestly, drawing a few gasps from the druids. “But I know that whatever I do, no one is going to be sacrificed for it. I’m not going to let anyone die as a means to an end. Whatever I do, I’ll give you all a better life without the fear that you will die trying to reach it.”
While some of the druids seemed placated with his words, a few turned away, looking to Alvarr. Merlin knew that Alvarr had noticed this too, judging by slight-raised eyebrows and almost-triumphant look on his face.
“You don’t have a plan and yet you expect everyone to just pander to your whims?” Alvarr rolled his eyes and turned away from Merlin, back to the druids. “And you’re all so convinced he’s going to save you?”
A few more druids tittered unexpectedly and Merlin felt his throat tighten, his mouth dry. He had lost any control he’d held through the druids the moment Alvarr had challenged him, without a single hope of regaining it.
Merlin simply didn’t know what to do.
“Mordred,” Alvarr barked, nodding to a few druids off to the side, clear supporters of his cause. “Come on,” he said, the druids he’d motioned to come forward stepping towards Merlin and Mordred.
It was obvious they were going to grab Mordred, but Merlin shook his head, voice firm when he spoke.
“You don’t touch him, do you understand?” Alvarr simply looked up in return, smiling as though Merlin was a child he’d rather be rid of.
“I don’t think our great Emrys understands that we need Mordred.” Merlin risked a look around as Alvarr paused and saw uncertain faces, druids unsure of what Alvarr was planning. “Mordred is smart, he understands what needs to be done.”
Shaking his head, Merlin took a step back, sending a desperate look towards where Gaius and Ygraine stood. They had to help him, somehow, even though Merlin had no idea how he could get out of this situation anymore.
“No,” he said, reaching for Mordred to place him behind him, to protect him in any way he could. “He’s just a child, you can’t use him like that.”
If things were simple, maybe Merlin would have sat back and let Alvarr have his way. If it were simple, then there wouldn’t be thousands of people at the base of the Tower and they could all think that all citizens of the Sky Cities were evil. If everything was simple, Merlin could maybe even have agreed with Alvarr, but it wasn’t simple and he knew the truth.
Maybe if Ygraine and Gaius hadn’t told him the secrets of the New World than, yes, Merlin could have empathised with Alvarr’s goals, but it wasn’t that easy. Merlin had lost people, too many people, and that made him naturally against any plan that involved killing, especially when the death toll was likely to be so high.
Alvarr thought that he could raise a whole army using the stones. While some people may answer the call - there wasn’t exactly a lack of people through the camps outside or those willing to join from the druid camp - it wasn’t an army. They had no weapons (unless you counted Alvarr’s insistence that Mordred and his magic would be enough) and no training, up against honed sorcerers from Camelot. That didn’t even cover their first barrier in the police, and while Merlin didn’t know how long they’d be able to last, he doubted they would even get past the inner fence.
“Come on Mordred,” Alvarr said sternly and Merlin regarded the two approaching druids warily, knowing they would make a move to snatch Mordred any moment. “You’re so much better than them,” Alvarr added with a sneer, shifting his gaze over to Merlin for a second.
That second was long enough for Mordred to wrench his hand from Merlin’s grip and push backwards, spinning around as he tore a path through the gathered druids. Merlin took a moment to realise what was happening before he took off after Mordred, calling his name and pushing against Alvarr’s men who had also taken chase.
“MERLIN!” a voice shouted and Merlin turned, chest heaving as Gaius waved his arm furiously, beckoning him over. Merlin went without hesitation, pushing past the animated crowd of druids, ignoring their stares and their whispers.
“What are you doing?” Gaius rushed out, eyes wide. “You can’t go after him, and anyway he’ll easily outrun Alvarr’s men. Mordred’s lived with the Urchins, he knows the best hiding places and how to cross the Wastelands without injury.”
Merlin shook his head, knowing what he had to do. He had promised Mordred that he’d protect him, but so far he’d failed, causing the boy to run away rather than seek help.
“I can’t just leave him,” Merlin said urgently, willing Gaius to understand. “I’m not…” he took in a deep breath, knowing the next words would hurt Gaius, but he needed them to. He had to go after Mordred now, but he could apologise to Gaius when he came back.
“I’m not like you, I can’t just abandon the people who need me,” he rushed out, turning to stare at Gaius defiantly, willing the old man to challenge him.
Gaius looked taken aback, before Ygraine placed a hand on his shoulder and he sighed, looking away from Merlin. That was all Merlin needed before he had taken out of the fire-circle completely, passing through rows of tents, trying to track Mordred.
That was the easy part, as a few of Alvarr’s supporters had followed with ease and they were taller, easier to see. Merlin broke free of the druid camp and spotted them at once, Mordred with a large space between him and Alvarr’s men. With a smaller frame and less weight - plus insider knowledge on the lay of the land - Mordred was able to navigate faster through the Wastelands, but his pursuers weren’t about to give up easily.
As he followed, Merlin knew he looked ridiculous. He was still caked in dry mud from the day before, hair crusted to his head and skin leathery from the water he’d sunk into, but that made it easier when he fell this time, again and again as he slipped across the bog land. The route he’d took was treacherous, but it looked as though he could get ahead slightly of Alvarr’s men, cut them off and stop them from reaching Mordred.
Merlin hadn’t noticed how close they were to the lone channel that ran through the Wastelands until he heard the hum of a police boat. Alvarr’s men had noticed it too and had fallen back slightly, moving back skittishly, afraid with good reason. If the police caught them here, they’d be Picked or killed, no exceptions.
Somehow, Mordred had managed to run right to the edge of the channel and it was only now, that he was faced with a barrier in which he had no other choice but to stop at, that he snapped out of whatever instinct he’d been possessed by and saw the boat. It wasn’t particularly close, but Merlin knew that it had seen Mordred and gasped, wanting to shout out Mordred’s name, though he knew it was far too late.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Merlin saw someone on the boat point in Mordred’s direction, and they held something out at arm’s length, cocked towards the boy. It wasn’t a gun, Merlin realised after a beat, but whatever it had done, it pleased the police for they scrambled together, steering the boat closer to Mordred’s side, jumping the bank as soon as they could.
For all his power, all his prophesised greatness and promises he’d made to Mordred, Merlin froze. He was half-crouching, having slipped again just before he’d been aware of the boat, and he watched everything as though it was happening in slow motion.
One of the police held out a gun, firing it twice in succession towards Mordred. The boy crumpled, his body jerking as it hit the mud. He wasn’t dead, Merlin could still see him try to move, but his body seemed paralysed.
This was how they worked in the Wastelands. If you were of use to them - the people in their Sky Cities and electrical havens - then they’d trap you and take you. If you weren’t, you were killed, just one less vermin for them to keep at bay.
Merlin ducked down, pressing his belly to the ground, as Alvarr’s men ran near him. Gunfire opened around him, drumming into his ears and Merlin suddenly didn’t care that his mouth was full of marsh-mud, or that his foot was half-submerged into a puddle. Everything had suddenly become a matter of life or death and Merlin was unsure how he’d be able to get out of this one alive.
One of the bullets hit its target and the bulkier of Alvarr’s men went down, gasping as his life left him. He wasn’t particularly close to Merlin, but he could still see the man’s lifeless eyes as his last breath left him, staring out for all of eternity.
The other man looked at his companion, pale-faced and wide eyed, but didn’t have the sense to duck when another volley of gun shots sounded out. The bullets went everywhere, clipping the ground near to Merlin, and one bit into the side of his arm, grazing the skin thickly as it shot past.
This was their hunting ground, their playing place. The police were in complete control here, allowing the druids to flourish in what they assumed was peace, when really the police were just waiting for the day that a druid would step out and into their gun’s path. It was fun for them, a sport even, and Merlin suddenly wanted nothing more than to side with Alvarr and tear this Camelot and its forces apart.
His magic, though, was lost to him. Merlin couldn’t feel the familiar bubble in his chest and he rolled onto his good shoulder, breath coming in more shallow pants as he ran through Aglain’s exercises, trying to dig deeply for the magic.
It still didn’t come. He didn’t know how long he lay there trying, to the low buzz of the police boat and the slopping sounds of people running through mud, but no magic came, no matter how hard Merlin tried.
Something gripped his shoulder and Merlin whipped around, teeth bared as he tried to scoot back, out of the policeman’s grip. Relief unlike any he’d ever known flooded his body as he saw Ygraine crouching over him with shaky hands and a gaunt look on her face.
“Where are you hurt?” she asked, smoothing her hands over his body and drawing them back to look at every few moments, checking for blood.
“Shoulder,” Merlin gasped out, pushing up a little so that she could look at the injury. “But it doesn’t matter; they’ve got Mordred.”
For a moment, Ygraine looked as though she might do something, might stick her neck out and tackle the police herself. The moment passed, though, as Merlin knew it would, and she shook her head, hands clamping down on Merlin’s bad shoulder, as if she had already known what he would do.
“Merlin, no,” she said, shaking her head violently. Strands of hair fell around her face, mud-caked and limp, but she ignored them, focusing solely on Merlin.
“They’ll take you,” she said, whispering ferociously, trying to convince Merlin that his idea was the worst possible, that he couldn’t do it. She was scared, even more so than she’d been when talking about Nimueh, but Merlin couldn’t listen, didn’t have time, not when they were taking Mordred.
“No please, I-“ Merlin cut himself off as he shot a glance over to the police and froze. He began shaking his head, jaw slackening.
“No,” he repeated, “No, Gaius!”
Ygraine’s grip on him slackened slightly, but not enough for Merlin to escape as she too followed Merlin’s trail of vision, noting that Gaius had joined them, only to look over Alvarr’s men. The police had seen him though, tested him and weren’t shooting.
Which only meant one thing; Gaius was useful to them.
“No,” Ygraine said, parroting Merlin’s earlier words. She shook her head and Merlin hoped she’d relax her grip enough, but she didn’t. If anything, she gripped tighter, forcing Merlin down on the ground as the police trapped Gaius, hauling his lifeless body towards their boat.
The roar of engines sounded again and Merlin struggled against Ygraine weakly, knowing that his efforts would be futile. His magic was gone, hidden away from him for some reason, and Merlin didn’t know what to do.
They were gone. Gaius and Mordred had been taken for the Pickings, sold to a life of slavery in the pit of the Tower and it was all Merlin’s fault. If he’d shown Mordred his promise wasn’t one of empty words, then he wouldn’t have run off. If he’d stood up to Alvarr when he’d had the chance, Mordred wouldn’t have doubted him.
And even though he didn’t regret it, Gaius had come because of Merlin. If Merlin hadn’t been so reckless in running after Mordred, Gaius wouldn’t have been Picked too.
Ygraine slumped on the ground, sinking into the mud a little. What you could see of her face was ashen grey, the rest covered in smears of mud. Her eyes were closed and Merlin fought down the bile rising in his throat.
He had done this.
He was supposed to save them all, not cause two of his friends to be taken. Was this what magic had turned him into? Someone who would get you killed by association? Merlin had lost so many people, could it be that it was actually him that was the problem?
“Merlin,” Ygraine whispered, her voice pathetic. “You have to…” she trailed off in a slight sob.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt. Gaius had been her last link to her old life, the last person who would ever understand everything she’d been through. Yes, Merlin knew, but that wasn’t enough. He’d never really be able to understand.
“It starts,” she said a moment later, pushing up until she sat, slightly resting against Merlin. “It starts now, no matter what I wished for you.”
It took a while for Merlin to understand what Ygraine was saying, thanks largely to the dull thud of pain in his arm, but when he did, he looked sharply at her, unsure that they were both on the same wavelength.
“But-“ he began, only to have Ygraine cut him off.
“I never wanted this for you,” she spoke softly, bringing a hand up to cradle Merlin’s cheek. “But you need to save them.” Her grip slackened and she pushed herself up onto her knees, facing him now and taking his face fully in her hands. She kissed his forehead gently before pulling him to her chest and holding him.
Merlin had almost forgotten what it was like to be held. The last time had to be back on Ealdor, from his mother, so long ago now. He hadn’t been starved of affection, or at least not that he’d realised, but there was something in the way that Ygraine held him, clutching at him desperately, that made Merlin grip back, pressing against her how he would have his mother and tucking his head against her neck. They were both missing a son and a mother respectively and while they’d never compare to family, they were friends and they loved each other all the same.
“I don’t believe in any prophesies, but I’ve seen what you’re willing to do…” she smiled, eyes crinkling. “You can save them. You have a greater heart than any I’ve ever seen and you make me feel hope.”
To anyone else, that would simply have been a throw-away statement, but Merlin knew that Ygraine hadn’t lived with hope ever since she’d discovered the truth. For her to say that now meant so much to Merlin, but what could he do?
“My magic,” he began, slightly shaky from the wound. “It won’t work.”
Ygraine shook her head. “It wanted you alive,” she whispered, looking down with furrowed brows. “Your magic will protect you first and foremost, I remember Nimueh telling me that.”
They were silent, Merlin turning to follow the channel’s path, up to the inner fence.
“I’ll have to be Picked,” he said softly, allowing Ygraine to see his fear. He’d seen so much of hers that it only made sense, and despite everything, Merlin knew he could trust her.
She nodded, pulling back from him with a sad look in her eyes. “The stone will keep you safe,” she said, moving a hand down and into Merlin’s pocket, pulling the clean stone out.
“Merlin,” she whispered, only just audible. “If you… get the chance…” she paused, shaking her head a little.
“Never mind,” she continued, “It’s just me being silly.”
Merlin shook his head. Nothing in this Wasteland was silly anymore and he needed to know, now more than ever.
“Please,” he said, searching Ygraine’s eyes for her wish.
“If you see the crest of a golden dragon,” she began, a soft smile on her lips, “And there’s a man of your age… would you just see how he is?”
She meant her son, Merlin realised.
Ygraine had never once mentioned that her son had lived after her banishment and it sent a small spark of surprise through Merlin. He’d simply assumed that she’d lost her son, that she couldn’t have abandoned the baby even when his life had caused another’s death.
“Please,” she whispered, not meeting Merlin’s eyes anymore. “Just to see if he… he’s alright.”
She really loved her son, Merlin realised. Even though she couldn’t have held the boy more than once in her life and hadn’t been able to see him grow at all, she still loved him, exactly how Merlin would always love his mother even if he’d never see her again. So he nodded and pressed a kiss to Ygraine cheek, rising from the ground and clutching his arm where it was bleeding slightly.
“Tell the druids I’m coming back,” he said with a nod, smiling half-heartedly at Ygraine despite the bubbling fear in his gut. “I’m coming back and letting you all into Camelot.”
And then that was it. Merlin was walking away, one arm swaying uselessly at his side while he tried not to look back. He had to focus on Gaius and Mordred, had to get them back and that was all. He couldn’t think about Ygraine, the druids and the place that had become his home these past few months. He couldn’t think about the spells he hadn’t mastered yet or the power he didn’t understand because now was his chance to do something.
The walk was gruelling, the fixed point of his destination far in the distance yet still visible. Merlin’s arm began to throb with pain, each step drawing a deeper wave, something Merlin hadn’t thought possible. He wondered if he’d be able to heal it somehow before remembering that he’d never flicked to the healing spell section of his book, relying on Gaius and his talents if he’d needed any form of patching up.
Look where that had gotten him. Alone trudging through the Wastelands, heading to almost certain death and without a small comfort to stop the pain in his arm where one of the police bastards had shot him earlier.
Though he wasn’t quite sure how - aside from that he’d evidently walked all the way - Merlin made it to the lock gate, or at least the boarders of it. He stood back, raising his arms as he noticed a few of the patrolling policemen cocking their guns.
“Wait!” he shouted, heart hammering in his throat. “Test me!”
That was what they did, after all. They tested people before they killed them, trying to see if they were useful or not. Merlin needed them to find just a tiny spark of magic, the magic that was hiding somewhere deep inside, trying to protect him.
He didn’t need a lot this time, just enough that would get him into the Tower and that was it.
A door at the base of the fence opened and a uniformed man ran out, three others flanking him. He waved the testing device in Merlin’s direction, barking out orders all the while.
Merlin sucked in a breath, fear rising as the police circled him. He willed any magic down, even though he couldn’t feel it. There was something poking at him, testing and searching him, so he froze and waited, hoping to any gods that might still exist that they only found a small trace.
He couldn’t let these people know his full potential. He doubted they’d even met a true sorcerer, simply ripping magic from latent humans like Mordred and his family, but if they knew what he was capable of then Merlin didn’t stand a chance and he’d be hauled before Nimueh and the king, his mission failed before it had begun.
“Pick him!” the man in charge shouted suddenly, and Merlin offered no resistance as the other three men moved, one on each side to restrain him. Their leader nodded, satisfied, before ordering them through the small door and through to the other side of the inner fence.
Merlin never made it through the fence though as a jolt of something cold and hot at the same time swept through his whole body, coursing through him as if it was stripping his magic down and away. His knees hit the ground and his senses blurred, eyesight jumbling faces and ears hardly catching any sounds, his whole body shuddering from the aftershock of whatever the police had fired at him.
He couldn’t even feel fear, but that didn’t matter much anymore, for Merlin’s eyes clouded in darkness and he was gone, Picked along with everyone else who had magic and strayed across the path of the New World.
| Part Eight|