In Search of Remembrance ~ Part 3d ~ Destiny Unlooked For

[gfeather]

A large procession of horses arrived in Camelot a few days before the Midsummer celebrations sending the castle into a flurry of preparations. Since the incident with the afanc, Merlin had found the rhythm of life in the castle comforting in its predictability. With the arrival of Lord Bayard of Mercia and his substantial retinue, the entire castle was turned upside down. Merlin could appreciate the signing of the peace treaty between the two rival kingdoms was an historic occasion, but the castle seemed full to bursting with all the extra people. Knights, nobles, guardsmen and servants in Mercian blue seemed to be everywhere, getting in his way. Not that they were doing it intentionally, he supposed, but he still seemed to bump into and trip over people far more often than he usually did.

Merlin followed Gaius through a busy corridor the morning before the big feast. In theory, he was supposed to be learning about the dispensation of different restorative tonics, but in practice, Merlin was getting the distinct impression that Gaius really just wanted someone to fetch and carry for him today.

“Do we really need all of these?” Merlin complained as he bumped into yet another page with the large case of medicines he was carrying.

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you rather make over a dozen separate trips?”

“No, I suppose not. I’m just sick of -ooof!” Merlin bumped into a Mercian servant who had come to a stop suddenly in front of him and knocked her to the floor.

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry,” Merlin apologised and helped the woman to her feet.

The laundry she had been carrying in her basket had gone tumbling to the floor, but the woman gave him a self depreciating smile. “It’s alright. It was my fault for stopping so suddenly like that. I just remembered something I had forgotten to do.”

Merlin bent over and picked up a shirt up off the floor. “Here, let me help you with that. I hope you won’t need to bring all of it back to the laundress again.”

She shook her head and smiled prettily at him from under long eyelashes. “Thank you. You’re very kind. I think everything will be fine.”

Merlin felt a blush rising in his cheeks, and he bent to pick up a few more items scattered on the floor. When he looked up, the look she was giving him was not the innocent smile that most of the serving girls favoured him with. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “There you go.”

“Aren’t you Prince Arthur’s servant?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes.”

“That must be such a privilege.”

“Some days it is. Other days he has me scrubbing his floors.”

She giggled and dimpled at him. “Thank you for helping me pick all this up. I’m Cara, by the way.”

“Merlin.”

“I’d better go. My lord will be waiting for me.”

As Merlin watched the woman walk off down the corridor, he felt the weight of Gaius’ stare on him.

“What?” he asked.

“If you are quite finished making eyes at Mercian serving girls, we still have several more patients to visit and I know you are required to attend the prince at midday meal today.”

“Hang on, I was just being polite.”

“Being polite is all very well, just don’t let it interfere with your duties.”


When Merlin arrived in Arthur’s rooms after helping the kitchen staff clear away the midday meal, he was greeted with a jacket tossed in his face.

“Hey!”

“What took you so long?” Arthur snapped, his impatience evident.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “If you hadn’t noticed, there were nearly twenty people at that little ‘informal meal’ you were just at. The kitchen staff needed some extra help clearing it away. They do have a feast to prepare for tonight you know.”

“A fact I am well aware of,” Arthur drawled. “I need this cleaned and all the buttons polished for the feast.”

“You couldn’t have let me know about this earlier? There’s not enough time to wash it properly.”

“You always seem to manage. I don’t have training or patrol this afternoon. You’re getting off lightly today due to the special celebration and all.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to serve at the feast?”

Arthur snorted. “If I have to sit through endless boring speeches tonight, I don’t see why you should get out of it. I even have formal livery for you to wear, in honour of the occasion.”

“Livery?”

“Tonight you are representing the royal servants of Camelot during the official signing of the peace treaty with Mercia. Ceremonial attire is expected.”

“The same people were in the hall last night and I wore what I’m wearing now.”

“Forget it Merlin. The steward delivered your livery this morning.”

Arthur held up a bright red tunic with a gold dragon emblazoned on the chest, a collared cape and a hat with... were those feathers?

Merlin shook his head. “No. No way. I’ll wear the tunic, that’s fine, but there is no way I’m wearing that hat and it is far too warm for a cape.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Then consider this my resignation. I’m not wearing it.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Arthur’s face was a mask of utter sincerity, but Merlin knew, just knew, he was being mocked. Firming his jaw, he held his head high. Arthur held out a moment longer, the burst out in delighted laughter. Watching the prince laugh until he clutched his sides put a smile on Merlin’s face. A moment later, he was laughing too.

“You don’t know, Merlin, how many servants I have made wear that hat. You are the first to ever say no and mean it. You really are something.”

“I’m so glad I amuse you,” Merlin said dryly.

“You should be.”

Arthur’s smile had lost that edge of teasing it normally had and his words were not sarcastic, but playful. It was almost like one of the Arthurs from his memories was speaking. It wasn’t as vivid as his normal flashes, but the image of a younger, messy haired Arthur overlaid Merlin’s view of the here and now. Arthur as a boy of perhaps twelve summers, with dirt smudged on his face, an affectionate smile on his lips and sunlight dancing in his laughing eyes, stood before him in rough, old woollen clothes. Merlin knew this boy; it was his best and only friend, who ignored what the elders told him and treated him like a person.

The Arthur of now put down the tunic on the table and walked towards the door and the image of the other vanished. Over his shoulder, the prince said, “I have affairs of state to attend to this afternoon. Just make sure my boots are polished and my jacket is ready for tonight.”

Merlin watched him go, a small piece of his magic still aching at the separation. Picking up the jacket, Merlin tried to see if there was any way to clean it magically without arousing suspicion at how quickly a thorough job had been done.


Arthur grinned at Merlin from where he stood behind Uther and Lord Bayard’s back. As the Mercian raised the feather quill with flourish, it was all Merlin could do not to chuckle. The grin slid from his face, however, when gifts were exchanged between Bayard and Uther and he caught sight of the woman he had knocked over in the corridor earlier. Instead of the smile she had favoured him with earlier, her expression was pinched as she looked nervously between Bayard and Arthur. When she saw him looking at her, her eyes became imploring and she gave a small jerk of her head towards the servant’s door. Merlin gave her a small nod and made an apologetic shrug at Arthur before joining her.

Outside the banquet hall, Cara seized his hand and looked at him with desperation.

“I need to tell you something, Merlin, but I’m afraid.”

Merlin frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t until I saw him give Arthur the goblet that I realized.”

“Realized what?”

Cara’s eyes darted nervously about and she leaned in closer to whisper, “Two nights ago, I was bringing Bayard his evening meal. He didn’t expect me to walk in.”

“What are you trying to say?” asked Merlin.

“If he finds out I said anything to you, he’ll kill me,” Cara said, wringing her hands and looking very afraid.

Merlin placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Bayard is no friend of Camelot. He craves the throne for himself.”

“Cara, what has he done with the goblet?”

“I saw him putting something in it... I shouldn’t tell you. He’ll kill me.”

“Was it poison?”

Cara bit her lip and nodded.

Fear settled unpleasantly into the pit of his stomach and Merlin began running back towards the hall. “I have to warn Arthur.”


Merlin burst into the banquet hall just as the toasts finished and the assembled guests raised their goblets to drink. The edge of the silver goblet was already pressed to Arthur’s lips as he shouted out, “Stop! Don’t drink it!”

Merlin skidded to a stop in front of Arthur and seized the goblet, ignoring Arthur’s incredulous expression and the king’s angry scowl.

“What are you doing?” Arthur hissed.

“Bayard has laced Arthur’s goblet with poison.”

Bayard set down his own goblet and drew his sword. “This is an outrage!”

A moment later all of the Mercian guests had drawn their swords and the guards of Camelot sprang into motion to protect the head table.

“Order your men to put down their swords,” commanded Uther. “You’re outnumbered.”

“I will not allow this insult to go unchallenged.”

Uther turned his full attention to Merlin with a look of extreme distaste. “On what grounds do you make this accusation?”

“I’ll handle this,” Arthur said as he came around the table as if to block Merlin from the angry gaze of the king. He gave Merlin a pointed look and snatched the goblet back out of Merlin’s hand.

The king ignored Arthur. “Unless you want to be strung up, boy, you’ll tell me why you think it’s poisoned. Now.”

“He was seen lacing it.”

“By whom?”

“I can’t say.”

“I won’t listen to this anymore,” Bayard said angrily. “Your servant lies.”

Uther walked deliberately around the table and gestured to Arthur. “Give me the goblet.”

Arthur handed it over with obvious reluctance and Uther carried it over to Bayard. “If you are telling the truth, you’ll have no objections to drinking from the goblet yourself.”

Bayard nodded and sheathed his sword without hesitation. Merlin watched this with surprise and a tickle of uncertainty began to creep through him, but everything was happening so quickly he didn’t have time to give the Mercian’s actions much consideration.

When Bayard extended his hand to take the goblet, Uther shook his head. “No, if this does prove to be poison, I want the pleasure of killing you myself.”

Bayard gave a small huff and shook his head. Uther turned and fixed a resentful glare at Merlin. “You boy, you will drink it.”

Merlin took the goblet from the king even as Arthur protested, “But if it is poison, he’ll die.”

“Then we’ll know he was telling the truth,” Uther said with grim satisfaction.

“He’s proven himself in the past,” Arthur pointed out, a desperate edge to his voice. “You disregarded him when he witnessed Knight Valiant using magic and he was proven correct.”

“We shall see if his honesty is proven a second time.”

“What if he lives?” Bayard asked.

“Then you have my apologies,” replied Uther, “and you may do with him as you wish.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Gaius move from where he had been observing the treaty signing. “Please your Majesty, he’s just a boy. He’s only trying to do what he thinks is right. He doesn’t know any better.”

Uther’s expression remained fixed and cold. “You should have schooled him better.”

Arthur shook his head and made a grab for the goblet. “Merlin apologize. This is a mistake. Here. I’ll drink it.”

Merlin stepped out of Arthur’s reach. “No, no, it’s alright.”

He took a step towards Bayard holding up the goblet and met the foreign king’s eyes for a long moment. He nodded his head slightly at Bayard then turned to face Arthur. As he drank, he felt the eyes of every person in the room on him and his heart raced. Arthur was visibly worried, but most of the other faces he could see looked expectant, like they wanted to see him die in front of them. Merlin had a moment’s thought that he would never understand the macabre fascination of the court of Camelot, then he spotted the movement of a woman in blue near the door. As he swallowed the last of the wine from the goblet, he saw her smile, not flirtatiously as she had in the corridor earlier, but with a wicked gleam of malice in her eyes. A moment later, she disappeared through the door.

When he removed the goblet from his lips, Merlin took a deep gasping breath and stood very still. He rubbed his tongue over the roof of his mouth, but couldn’t detect any taint to the lingering flavour of the wine. He glanced at Bayard then back at Arthur and felt his heart sink.

“It’s fine,” he whispered.

With a careless gesture, Uther said to Bayard, “He’s all yours.”

Merlin heard the sound of a weapon being drawn, but before he could turn to face Bayard he felt his breath stick in his throat. His mouth was becoming dry and it was difficult to breathe. His stomach began to churn and he felt decidedly unwell. Dizziness began to overtake him and he grabbed at his throat with his free hand. Merlin had a moment of true fear when he saw the expression on Arthur’s face as he wobbled on his feet, then the world around him began to tilt dramatically and went dark.


He glanced longingly across the village to where several boys were running around playing and gave the old man an imploring look.

“No Mael, you are meant for greater things. You must learn patience and control your magic or it will overwhelm you.”

He nodded; it was the same thing he was told every day. He wasn’t a normal boy. He had too much magic thrumming through his body and he needed to learn to use it properly. He was going to be shaman of the village one day. He had to be wise and skilled in magic. He didn’t have time to fool around with the other boys. There was some solace to be found in the fact that the chieftain’s son, Ardal, was often in a similar position. They had been born during the same winter, a harsh one when many people, old and young alike, had not survived. The boys he saw playing now were all younger than him, but he still wished he could join them. The old man had told him that it was his magic that helped the children and mothers survive and now the village was filled with joy and laughter. The crops were bountiful and hunting was good. Everyone smiled at him and remarked on their good fortune, but he wasn’t allowed to be a part of their joy. His job was to remain on the outskirts, protecting them. He often wondered what a boy of dozen summers could really be expected to do, but no one seemed to question his place with the shaman.

He saw the chief walking purposefully from his home with Ardal trailing behind carrying spears, arrows and various other hunting implements. He didn’t know much about hunting, but he knew enough to see that another excursion into the surrounding forest was imminent. He also knew enough not to bother asking if he could go. His forays into the woods consisted of picking medicinal plants and meditation in the clearing up on the hill where the magic of the earth seemed to swirl and dance. He hated the meditating the old man made him do in their hut, but feeling the currents of energy dancing in the clearing was the closest he got to being free.

“Focus, Mael. You must get this enchantment correct. The more powerful the spell, the more disastrous the effects can be if you get it wrong. Remember what happened at the last full moon?”

He sighed and nodded in resignation. The old shaman never listened to him when he protested anyway. Deep down inside, he knew he could do anything he could imagine with his magic, but he didn’t let on to the shaman how much control he actually had over it. He resented being a conduit as the old man often called him, or a tool as he often thought of himself. He was a person, but the shaman used him as a tool, like a staff or a scrying bowl. Though he hated himself for thinking it of the man who had raised him, he looked forward to a time when the old man was no longer around to control his every action.


“You must let your acolyte have the opportunity to exercise his talents on his own. One day it is he who will advise my son. It is important that Ardal knows and trusts his judgement as I have come to know and trust yours. What harm is there in letting the boys spend some time together? They are both responsible enough to do things on their own. You’ve said many times how well Mael knows his herblore. Ardal has come along well in his training. Let him escort the lad while he collects the plants you need. You have told me many times that you find the long days spent collecting difficult on your bones. Let the young ones take this burden from you.”

He lay still in his bedroll, listening to the argument the chief was having with the old shaman. If the old man knew he was awake, he would insist they go elsewhere to talk, but so far he had done a good job of feigning sleep.

“The boy must not be distracted by childish things. He must harness his magic properly.”

“Are you suggesting that my son does not take his future role seriously? Ardal is well aware of what Mael’s magic brings to this village.”

“Your son has done well and has learned many things, but it is important for Mael’s magic to remain untainted.”

“He’s still a boy. If he is to be any kind of advisor, he must live a bit of life.”

“His magic is so uncontrolled. It is not wise.”

“Unless there is something you have not told me, he has not had any drastic accidents in nearly a year and even the small ones are less frequent. I know you care for him greatly, but you must learn to let him go. I find it difficult to let Ardal do things on his own, but I know his is capable and I must let him have the freedom to become his own person or he will not be the leader this village needs when I am gone. It is the same for Mael.”

“I would not put our people in danger.”

“Neither would I,” the chief said, a trace of anger in his voice.

There was a long, tense silence and he held his breath and wished with all his heart that the old man would relent and listen to the chief.

“Very well,” the shaman said bitterness in his voice.

Fabric rustled and he heard bodies moving, but no more words were spoken. A small gust of air announced the chief’s departure, and he nearly vibrated with exhilaration at the words he had overheard. Perhaps there was some hope for a bit of freedom at last.


He woke to rough shaking and the craggy features of the old shaman hovering over him. “Get up, Mael.”

“I’m awake,” he said sleepily.

The old man nodded. “Good. You have a long day ahead of you today. I need you restock our supply of high summer herbs. It must be done in the next few days, and it is likely to rain tomorrow. I cannot accompany you today. Ardal will have to see to your protection in the woods. Because I will not be with you, you will have to control your magic on your own.”

He nodded, trying hard to keep the excitement he felt from bubbling to the surface. “I will.”

“If you are having any problems, you are to return at once.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now eat before you leave.”

He could hardly believe his good luck as he fell into step behind Ardal and walked on the well worn path that led up into the forest where many of the summer medicinals grew. He had never had the chance to get away from the shaman for more than half a day before, and even then he had been confined to their hut, not allowed to wander free in the presence of another person. He felt both exhilarated and shy at the same time, and at a complete loss for words.

When they were well away from the village, Ardal spoke, “I can’t believe the old man actually let you out of his sight!”

The grin he had been fighting all morning split his face. “I know.”

Ardal stopped and turned to look at him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever be allowed to really talk to you. My father says you have lots of training to do, but so do I and he still lets me play with the other boys.”

He shrugged. “I guess your father trusts you.”

“But you never get into trouble! I mean, sometimes I hear the old man shouting at you, but you never sneak out when you aren’t supposed to or run around and break things. How come the shaman doesn’t trust you?”

“I think it’s my magic. He wants to keep it controlled and focussed. I think he thinks if I’m around others I will lose it or something.”

“That’s silly.”

“I think so too,” he agreed then on impulse leaned in close to the other boy. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Ardal nodded enthusiastically.

“I don’t think he knows just how much magic I have. Sometimes I mess up on purpose so I don’t let him know how easy it is to do the enchantments he teaches me. He scares me a bit. I don’t know what he’d do if he knew everything.”

Ardal grinned broadly at him. “I knew it! I knew you had to have some rebellion in you.”

The other boy grabbed his arm and began tugging him along up the path. “Come on, let’s get your plants quickly then have a bit of fun. The old man never lets you do anything fun, does he?”

He smiled back, feeling warm happiness spreading through this stomach and into the rest of his body. The place where Ardal had grabbed hold of his arm tingled in a delightful way and he laughed, feeling joyful and carefree.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’d like that. Let’s have some fun.”


He saw blood and heard screams and felt agonizing pain then... nothing. He was floating and drifting in currents of air without thought or form. For a long time he wasn’t aware of what was going on around him, then suddenly he could see misty forest and rustling undergrowth.

The figure of a blond haired man dressed in mail riding on a bay mare appeared on a wide path in the forest. He looked and looked at the man without recognition and then a word filled his head. Arthur. That’s who this man is. Arthur, his other half, his missing piece, his counter balance. Arthur, who was riding along a path surrounded by thick undergrowth with dangerous creatures lurking within. The form of something with scales and wings dashed across the path behind Arthur, but the man didn’t notice.

He shouted, “Arthur! Arthur look out!”

The man didn’t hear him, and he fell into darkness again.


He was anxious when he arrived at the druid’s enclave, but he no longer had any choice in the matter. His parents started to look at him in fear and even the village wise woman had become wary of him. His powers were too strong and his village too small to offer him any more assistance. His magic came in fits and starts, like a narrow stream that was continuously blocked by bits of debris until the backup became too great and the water burst free. He had not been able to learn much in the way of enchantments because his magic was too unpredictable. When it did flow freely, however, it was nearly overwhelming and there was no one in his village with the strength to assist him. The village elders met many times over the winter and decided he should be sent away to the druids in the hopes they would be able to cope with his magic. He was worried that they’d think him a broken pot that couldn’t be mended, but he put on a brave face for his mother when he left his home nearly ten days ago.

He wasn’t entirely certain what he expected the enclave to be like, but what he found there wasn’t it. The druids lived in a village, much the same as any other village he had seen on his journey, much the same as his own, but more mobile. It was nearly time for the midsummer celebrations, and the encampment he arrived in was clearly only meant for summer living. He met so many other magic users in his first day there, it left his head spinning, but for the first time he felt like he might actually belong somewhere. There were people, young and old, families with children and individuals like himself, most of them magical practitioners. There were even some more mundane warriors who lived with them and offered their protection from more conventional threats. In his first night there, he had slept more soundly than he had in his entire life.

In the morning, he wandered around and smiled at everyone who is already up and about. Then, as he approached the clearing where the archery targets were set up, he felt an exhilarating thrill of magic shoot through his entire body. For a moment, he tensed, but when the magic didn’t seek to leap from his body the way it normally did, he looked around him to see if there was an explanation for the sudden surge of magic.

Leaning against a tree was a boy of about his age, but one that looked far stronger and more confident than he was. With a nervous wave, he greeted the boy with a weak, “Good morning.”

The fair haired boy smiled warmly returned his greeting, then pushed himself off the tree and approached. “You’re new. Were you the mage who arrived yesterday that everyone was talking about?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Offyd sounded very excited. He said you might be ‘Emrys’ whatever that means.”

“I don’t know what there is to be excited about. I’m just someone who is a bit of a mess when it comes to magic.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have any, but I’m still welcome here. I’m Ardal, by the way,” the boy said and extended his hand.

He smiled and clasped the offered hand, feeling magic shoot through is body and dance in his veins. A little breathlessly he replied, “Everyone calls me Mael.”

They stared at each other for a long while, hands clasped, and he could see images and thoughts of another time, another life, settling over his vision. A friendly face in a village that he could only look at from the outside. Someone to share laughter and smiles with. A close companion when he was allowed no other. Gentle touches shared in secret. Blood and pain and swirling magic and darkness... fathomless darkness.


The darkness resolved itself into a flickering light. A torch, he realized and drew closer. Once again unencumbered by a physical form he came close to the figure of a woman carrying a torch to light the way into a cave. A cruel smile twisted her lips, but the man who followed her into the darkness could not see it. The man was familiar, but the knowledge of him was difficult to hold onto and despite being free of the limitations of a physical form his thoughts were sluggish, like he was wading through a river of thick honey.

Arthur. He remembered the man. Arthur was in danger. The woman was going to hurt him.

“It’s a trap!” he called out, but Arthur couldn’t hear him.

Once again he fell back into the darkness.


He took a brief moment to compose himself after expending such a large amount of magic, then stormed out of his hut into the crowd of people. They were gathered around a fair haired young man, not much older than himself, jeering and throwing things at him. This was the sort of thing he expected from the Roman invaders, not his peace loving village.

Drawing on his magic, he let his voice boom out over the noise of the crowd. "What do you think you're doing?"

Various cries of 'making him pay' and 'giving him what he deserves' were shouted, but he ignored them.

"This is not who we are. We do not hurt and humiliate our enemies. When we do that, we become no better than those that are invading our lands."

"And what do you propose we do with him, Shaman?" someone asked condescendingly.

He frowned as he found the voice that spoke. It was Bran, their new leader. The previous village leader had been killed in the last raid, and Bran was eager to make his mark and prove himself. Bran also hated him and did a very poor job of disguising it. Bran resented that he had become Shaman at such a young age. It wasn't his fault the old wise man had become ill and died the winter before last, nor was it his fault he was the only one gifted in magic able to fill the role. Given a real choice, he would have left the village after the Sion's death and moved on to find someone else he could learn from, but the previous village leader had implored him to remain and help protect their village, and he had caved.

"I have not asked for much in return for my service to this village. I ask now that the prisoner be given to me, to do with as I will," he said as authoritatively as he could. He knew this was his best chance for saving the young man they had captured. He hoped the good will of the majority of the village would sway in his favour.

"What will you do with him?" Bran demanded.

He cast a glance towards the fields. "We have lost many able bodies. Let him work in their stead. There are also many tasks which I have had no apprentice for. There is much I could accomplish if I were not kept from my work"

Bran did a poor job of concealing his sneer, but he knew his request had been a reasonable one. To deny him outright would not strengthen his leadership. Instead Bran asked, "What guarantee will we have that he will work for our benefit and not cause us harm?"

"I have ways to bind him, to keep him from harming us, which will still allow him to work."

"And such ways are fool proof? None of my people will come to harm because of him."

"You have my oath that no harm shall come to our people from his actions."

It was with ill grace that Bran nodded and gestured to the two strong men restraining the young soldier. "On your head be it. Take him to the Shaman's hut."

He inclined his head as courteously as he could manage and turned on his heel, trusting Bran's compatriots to bring his new slave. That hadn't gone quite the way he had envisioned, but at least the young man was safe. He had felt the pull as soon as they had come into contact with the Roman raiders, sensing that his other half was somewhere within the swords and spears of the opposing force. His magic had reacted more strongly than ever, calling the elements to his hands and swirling around him until he had lifted several feet of the ground. The oncoming force had frozen at the sight and turned tail and ran as a violent storm of wind and water chased them away.

When the field had cleared, the only soldier remaining was a young man, scarcely more than a boy, who had been trampled in the crush of the fleeing troops and fallen with a twisted ankle. Merlin knew, knew, who it was, but Bran's strong men reached him faster. They had bound him and dragged him away, ignoring the pronounced limp as they demanded he march into the centre of the village to face his doom.

He pushed aside the heavy leather curtain and stood to the side as his other half, his Ardal, was shoved through the open door with a gruff, "He's your problem now."

The fair haired man blinked his eyes, adjusting to the dim light and started slightly when he caught sight of him. He smiled weakly in what he hoped was a non-threatening sort of way.

“Hey,” he said softly, and used his magic to move one of the low stools close enough to sit down on. He didn’t normally use his magic for simple things, but he was a bit worried the captured young man would try to run, and he really didn’t need another confrontation with Bran. Seeing this display of magic would likely remind him of what had happened during the fight, and that would be enough to keep him from running.

Blue eyes widened in shock at the less than entirely casual display, but the soldier sat down on the offered stool and his jaw relaxed as the weight was taken off his injured leg. He approached like the young soldier was a skittish horse. He kneeled in front of the painful and swollen foot and gently eased off the strange boots to get a proper look at it. When he was sure there was no break, he wrapped his hands around the swollen joint and let the magic flow from his fingers. The ankle would still be stiff and sore for a few days, but not overly painful.

When he glanced up, the look he received was one of awe. He smiled back a bit shyly and reached his hand out to call for the numbing salve he used to soothe pained joints. This time, he wasn’t using his magic for effect. The close contact with his other half had brought his magic closer to the surface than ever and before he really noticed what he was doing, the carved wooden jar was in his hands. He decided to ignore this new development for the time being in favour of treating his patient.


Roman Arthur Shaman Merlin by ~ReniMilchstrasse on deviantART

He carefully massaged the salve into the injured ankle, and drew back, smiling in pleasure at his work. His smile faded a little when he noticed his patient’s hands were still bound. Shaking his head, he untied the coarse rope and inspected the raw skin underneath. Scooping up another dollop of salve, he worked it into the abrasions the rope had made, grumbling all the while about people with more muscles than brains. It wasn’t until he noticed the completely blank expression on his companion’s face at the words he was saying, that the existence of a language barrier dawned on him.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling sheepish. He pointed to his chest and said clearly, “I’m Mael.”

Comprehension flared in pale blue eyes, and the Roman soldier pointed to his own chest and said, “Castus Artorius.”

“Artorius,” he repeated. He gestured to his stomach and made an eating motion with his hand. “Food?”

Artorius nodded, gratitude obvious on his face, and mimed drinking from a cup, while saying something incomprehensible. He rose and handed him a water skin. “Water.”

“Water,” Artorius repeated, opening the plug and taking a long drink of the contents.

He smiled and rummaged through a basket and found a couple handfuls of nuts and dried berries as well as the heel of a loaf of bread that wasn’t too stale and hard. He would make some broth for them both, but he didn’t want to make Ardal -no it was Artorius- wait.

Though they both made a few efforts to communicate, it is a quiet, subdued evening. He was both weary from the battle as well as thrumming with magic that did not want to be contained now that he was in contact with his other half. Artorius must be exhausted from the campaign and nervous about his new circumstances, but he accepted the change with as much grace as possible. Artorius was not struggling or obviously searching for a means of escape, but there was a tension in him that had only eased somewhat when his ankle had been cared for. Artorius accepted both food and drink without suspicion, but as the night darkened the young soldier’s expression became wary.

Once the remnants of their evening meal had been put away, he looked at the practicalities of the night ahead. He had an adequate straw filled mattress, but only one and he couldn’t bear leaving Artorius on the dirt floor, even if that was likely what the soldier had been accustomed to during long months of campaigning. He glanced at the bed then looked at Artorius seeing a hard look set on his face. Despite their difficulties communicating, it was painfully obvious what Artorius thought might be expected of a captive and just as obvious that he was prepared to put up a fight, magic or no.

“No!” He almost shouted and shook his head emphatically and then tucked his hands together up against the side of his face. “Sleep. Just sleep.”

Artorius still looked unconvinced, but made no move to stop him when he fumbled with the armour and helped to remove it. The muscles in Artorius’ jaw flexed from clenching, but he ignored it. He carefully banked the coals of the fire and reluctantly cast a spell on his door to prevent Artorius from attempting to leave before changing into a soft sleeping shirt. Once his boots were off, he lifted the blanket and gestured for Artorius to get in. Artorius was still sitting on the stool in his sweaty, dirty tunic glaring daggers at him.

Again, he acted out sleeping and motioned towards the bed again. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Sleep.”

Stiffly, Artorius rose and moved over to the mattress. There was still a small limp in his gait, but he had no difficulty putting weight on it. When Artorius was laying rigidly under the blanket at the farthest edge of the mattress facing the wall, he crawled in and turned himself to face the hearth. The silence was tense and uncomfortable, but he offered a gentle, “Sleep well.”

Darkness enveloped him again and he drifted.


In the flickering light of the torch, he saw the woman gesture to a narrow ledge where a flower grew in the dark of the cave. His other half... his Arthur carefully stepped across a stone overhang and was forced to leap and grab at the ledge when the woman used magic to make the overhang crumble into the yawning chasm. Arthur lost his torch and as the woman left, the cave was plunged into complete darkness. There was the sound of scuttling feet and he knew there were creatures living in the shadowed places of this cave eager to make a meal of Arthur.

“It’s too dark,” he said and gathered together every bit of his floating magic and forced himself to take form.

The light he made was tinged blue and didn’t cast the long legged creatures in a favourable light. Arthur’s eyes widened at the sight of dozens of them climbing the sheer walls of the chasm towards him. With a heaving effort, Arthur swung up onto the ledge and stretched towards the flower that the woman had pointed out to him.

“Leave it, Arthur!” he called.

Again, Arthur didn’t hear him and struggled to get the flower. When a plant, flower, leaves, root and all, had been safely secured in a small pouch, Arthur looked around to find a way out. The darkness was threatening to overwhelm him again, but he struggled to maintain the glowing blue orb to guide Arthur out of the cave and away from the terrifying spider-like monsters that were rapidly climbing the wall towards him.

“Save yourself! Follow the light!” he shouted, and whether Arthur heard him or not, he began to climb.

“Faster! You must climb faster!”

When Arthur heaved himself over the top of the chasm wall and onto a path near an opening to the tunnel, he felt his grip awareness of the world fading quickly and once again, all was dark.


He didn’t know why being at council for the oppida was so uncomfortable, as it was a role he had been groomed for his entire life. Their leader had been a just and fair man, about his same age, but whenever he was near, he had found himself jumpy and nervous. A part of him, quite possibly the part of him that was magic, had wanted desperately to be close to his ruler, his king, but the sensible part of him had encouraged him to keep his distance.

Over the years, he had watched from the sidelines of the court and seen Atholl grow from impulsive warrior to responsible leader, to caring husband and father. He had wanted very much to be closer to such a worthy man, but a dark shadow had seemed to hover between them, like a memory or the ghost of a memory, and kept him from allowing himself the freedom to get closer. He had seen the troubles his leader faced and thought this darkness between them would only lay more burdens on an already burdened man. When Atholl was joyful, his own heart leapt and when Atholl had given him a kind word for sage advice, he would nod and accept the compliment with grace and it was enough.

When his king was old and died peacefully in his sleep, he felt the shadow between them nearly overwhelm him, but he did not succumb to it. For years he wandered with the shadows wrapping around him like a cloak and when the light returned, he knew it for what it truly was.


His Arthur was sitting in a dark room with iron bars and torchlight flickering from beyond. An angry man was yelling at him, but there was nothing he could do. His energy was spent from aiding Arthur in his escape from the cave. Unable to hold onto the meagre light any longer, he slipped again into the dark void.


In the flickering light of the campfire, he shivered and wondered why it was they always forgot to bring a spare blanket. Even though the harvest had not yet begun in the villages, it was cold at night and soon there would be frost. A warm body nudged up against his back making it nearly as warm as his front facing the fire.

He grinned. “I thought you didn’t get cold on nights like this?”

A husky voice in his ear said, “I don’t, but I might get lonely.”

A strong arm wrapped around his waist and he drifted easily into sleep.


His head was pounding and even the dim light from the candle hurt his eyes, but when Merlin came awake, he couldn’t feel anything but glad. The utter relief written on Gaius’ face is more than enough to make him smile, despite the wretched taste lingering on his tongue.

“Don’t look so happy. You aren’t rid of me yet,” he croaked.

He heard an excited squeal, and then his line of sight was filled with a cloud of dark curls and he winced at the tight embrace that enveloped him. A moment later Gwen pulled back, shaking her head at him in wonder.

“You had us so worried! Oh Merlin, it was terrible seeing you like that. And when we gave you the antidote you were so still, we thought we were too late. How could you have drunk that poison?! You nearly died!”

He smiled at her weakly as Gavin pulled her off him. “Don’t suffocate him, now that he’s awake.”

“Right. Sorry. It’s just, I’m so glad to see you’re alright. You are alright, aren’t you? How do you feel?”

“I feel like I’ve been thrown by a horse then made to lick the bottom of the trough in the stables, but other than that, I’m fine,” he reassured her.

Her smile faltered a bit, but Gavin spoke before she could voice any more of her concerns. “You won’t believe what happened while you were unconscious. Arthur would have been here to see you wake himself but-”

“But he is detained elsewhere,” Gaius interrupted. “He’ll see you later, I’m certain. I think that’s enough excitement for Merlin just now. He needs rest to recover his strength.”

Gavin and Gwen both nodded their understanding and left the room in short order, murmuring words of encouragement and promises to see him when he was feeling better.

When they were alone, Merlin struggled to sit up properly and really looked at Gaius. Instead of the elderly relation he had first seen when he arrived in Camelot, his vision was overlaid with dozens of other thoughts and memories. He saw the young man who had travelled the countryside seeking out healers of all sorts to increase his understanding of the healing arts. He saw the worried and hurt visage of the man he had met two decades previous, the man who was forced to turn his back on magic and serve a king who had lost his heart and his compassion. He saw, not the mentor he had come to know most recently, but the whole man.

Overwhelmed, he simply said, “Gaius.”

The physician turned to look at him. “Are you alright, Merlin? Would you like some water to rinse the taste of the antidote from your mouth? It certainly didn’t smell pleasant.”

“Thanks Gaius,” he said.

When Gaius handed him a cup, he drank several mouthfuls, swirling the water around in an effort to dispel the lingering flavour. He put the cup down on the low table beside the cot and looked at the old man’s face for a long time. “Oh, Gaius, the years have not been kind to you.”

“Merlin!” he said affronted. “It’s a good thing you are still recovering from doing something ridiculously brave, or I’d clout you for your cheek.”

Merlin chuckled at that. “You might not, if you remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

“A time before. A time when we knew each other as equals.”

Gaius put a hand to Merlin’s forehead and furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? You must still be disoriented from the fever.”

“I am a bit overwhelmed, but it’s not the fever that’s brought it on. I’ve remembered, Gaius.”

“Remembered what?”

“Who I am. Who I was before. I remember a time before this castle stood and before the invaders from across the sea waged war on this land. I remember the lives I’ve had and the times in between. And I remember the last time I visited Camelot, shortly after Arthur was born and the queen died. I remember the kindness you showed to a good man and the promise you made me which you have dutifully kept. I remember it all.”

“Merlin, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying what the druids used to call me meant everything you thought it did.”

Gaius stared at him in disbelieving shock. “You’re Emrys.”

Merlin nodded. “I am... I... My head is so full.”

Gaius sat down on the stool beside the bed and guided Merlin back onto the pillow. “You’ve only just remembered then.”

“I think... while I was unconscious...”

“While you were unconscious you seemed delirious. You spoke at length in tongues I do not understand. Perhaps you were reliving some of your memories.”

“Everything is overlapping, Gaius. One moment you’re the person I knew years ago, the next you’re my mentor. It’s like with all the different Arthurs, but more confusing somehow.”

“The different Arthurs?”

“That’s why I was drawn to Camelot back then. I’m always pulled towards my other half.”

“But Arthur is not magical. How can he be caught up in your cycle?”

“I might have done something, I’m not sure.”

“Merlin,” Gaius chided, apparently forgetting for a moment that Merlin was more than just a slightly clumsy apprentice.

Merlin chuckled. “Don’t wag your finger at me, young man.”

Gaius looked at him agog for a moment, then chuckled himself. “This may take some getting used to.”

“I have to agree. There are a lot of gaps and I don’t think I’ve ever had so many memories come back at once before. I’ve also never known someone in more than one existence before, save Arthur, of course.”

“Could that be why your magic reacted so strongly to him when you first met?” Gaius asked.

He nodded. “I think so. I’m drawn to him; my magic is drawn to him. His presence makes me feel alive. I can’t begin to tell you how dreadful my existence was during the years I was without him. Three hundred and fifty years was a terribly long time to wait.”

“So long?” Gaius said in surprise.

“So very long. I’m tired just thinking about it.”

“Or you may simply be tired from fighting against a magically enhanced poison.”

Merlin nodded. “There is that too. What happened after I drank the wine?”

“A great many things. In short, Bayard and his entire retinue have been imprisoned while Uther tries to figure out what to do with him for attempting to poison his son. Arthur disobeyed his father to go in search of the morteus flower I required to make the antidote for the poison. Gwen and Gavin have been taking it in turns to care for you while I searched for alternative cures. And Arthur was thrown in the dungeons for leaving the castle without permission. It was Gwen that managed to retrieve the plant from him to brew the antidote. Uther is livid with the prince.”

Merlin sat in silence for a long moment as he took all this in. “Uther isn’t known for his rationality, I suppose. I don’t imagine he knows it wasn’t Bayard who laced the goblet.”

“He doesn’t. I will try to make him see reason, but I fear the peace treaty with Mercia may collapse into a full scale war because of this incident.”

“Good luck,” he offered only somewhat sarcastically.

Gaius sighed and shook his head. “Get some rest. I expect a night of normal sleep will go a long way to helping your mind acclimatise to all the new memories it holds.”

“I may just do that. I hope that when I wake everything isn’t so disorienting,” he said and got shakily to his feet.

He shuffled weakly towards the steps to his room, determined to have a bit of privacy to quietly fall to pieces in. He felt moments away from falling apart at the seams; he was overflowing with memories that had too many holes in them for everything to make sense. He barely managed to drag himself to his own bed before his legs gave way. Merlin fumbled with the blanket and drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees and holding on for dear life. The memories clamouring for his attention were making the blinding headache he was certain came from poison induced fever immeasurably worse. Thankfully, his body was still exhausted in a very physical sense from fighting off the morteus poison and he dropped off into a blissful slumber.


When Merlin woke again, his head felt decidedly less crowded. It was as if he had taken all the memories that were clamouring for his attention and pushed them into a room in his mind. The thousands of thoughts were still there, but he was able to keep them contained and perhaps take them out one or two at a time to examine. He also felt more like himself, or at least the version of himself he was more recently familiar with.

Stumbling out into Gaius’ workroom, Merlin smiled at the sight of the older man pottering about putting the room in order. When Gaius noticed him, the physician smiled warmly.

“Finally decided to join us again I see.”

“You were the one who told me to get some rest.”

“True, though I hadn’t expected you would sleep for another full day.”

“What?”

Gaius pointed to the window where light streaming in at an angle pooled on the floor. “Evening bell is not long off.”

“Oh,” Merlin said slightly stupidly. “Oops.”

“Are you feeling better at least? When I checked on you earlier you were sleeping deeply.”

He nodded. “I think I’ve managed to contain most of the memories. They’re still there, but not all trying to get my attention at once.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what that would be like. I almost don’t believe it.”

Merlin felt his legs grow shaky and he lurched towards a chair at the table closest to the fire. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if it didn’t make a whole lot of things make more sense. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an onslaught before. Bits and pieces are easier to handle.”

Gaius smiled kindly and scooped a bowlful of soup out of the pot hanging over the fire, setting it down on the table in front of Merlin. “You should eat something, old man.”

Merlin grinned at Gaius, then poked at the broth with a spoon in suspicion. “Thanks, I think.”

“Don’t worry,” Gaius said with a chuckle, “Gwen brought it up from the kitchens earlier. By order of Prince Arthur, I believe.”

“Is Arthur alright?”

“The king released him late last night and sent the Mercian’s on their way this morning. He’s rather embarrassed to have lost so much face, but he saw reason in the end. After the incident with the afanc, he was more willing to accept that the cup had been tampered with by Nimueh.”

“Was it really her then? That serving girl? Just before I blacked out, I thought I saw her smiling.”

“Nimueh is powerful and very adept at hiding in plain sight. I have little doubt that it was her.”

“Just what we need, a powerful sorceress bent on destroying Camelot and killing Arthur.”

“I think perhaps it was you she was after this time, though she would see plunging Camelot into a bloody war it can ill afford at the moment to be an additional benefit.”

“Me? Do you think she knows?”

Gaius shook his head. “She likely discovered it was you who helped destroy the afanc, but I doubt she has any idea who you are. If she did, she would have been more likely to confront you directly.”

“That’s something, I suppose,” Merlin said.

He tried to focus on the warmth of the soup spreading through his body and not the cold shivers the prospect of a direct confrontation with a sorceress in her prime would bring. He was so scattered that he couldn’t imagine such a conflict would end well for him.

When the knock came at the door, Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin even though he knew without looking who it was. He wasn’t prepared to deal with Arthur just yet, not with so many barely contained memories hovering at the edge of his consciousness, but that didn’t stop the prince from entering the room and standing close to him.

“Still alive then?” Arthur said, his voice somewhere between teasing and concern.

“Um... Yeah, just about,” Merlin said awkwardly.

He glanced briefly at Arthur and had to look away. “I understand I have you to thank for that.”

Arthur’s hand came to rest on the back of his chair and the charged feeling he always felt in the prince’s presence nearly took his breath away. The sensation was so strong he nearly whimpered.

Arthur was, thankfully, oblivious to his moment of distress. “Yeah, well it was nothing. A half decent servant is hard to come by. I was only dropping by to see that you were alright, check that you’d be back to work tomorrow morning.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur, feeling decidedly flustered, but managed, “Course. Bright and early.”

Arthur turned and walked to the door, and Merlin couldn’t stop himself from calling out. “Arthur... thank you.”

The prince turned and the features of his face softened. “You too. Make sure you get some rest.”

Arthur turned and left the room and Merlin was certain he had a pathetic dopey smile on his face. A very large part of him wanted to follow the prince from the room and drag him into a bone crushing hug, but with great force of will he managed to restrain himself. Gaius looked at him sympathetically and topped up his cup of tea.

“You may have had a rough start with him here, but he is a man of honour.”

“He always has been.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Merlin shrugged. “The same thing I always do. The same thing I’ve already been doing. He’s different, but the same and I’m different, but the same and what we do will be different, but the same.”



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