Swimming with the Sidhe - Chapter 2
Title: Swimming with the Sidhe
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: Canon era
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 53,589
Author's notes: Swimming with the Sidhe was written for paperlegends and as a kinkme_merlin fill for this prompt.
Disclaimer: All Arthurian characters are the property of BBC/Shine and their creators. The Calming Manatee and most of its words belong to HT (the Human Typist) of the Calming Manatee meme.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!
Merlin dragged his feet across the leaf-strewn forest floor, kicking up a cloud of duff that swirled in his wake. It would take him a day to reach Camelot without the benefit of a horse. He didn’t dare call the great dragon again. Despite Kilgharrah’s willingness to fly one more time to bring Arthur to his final resting place, Merlin wasn’t about to push his luck, or the dragon’s shaky wings.
Truth be told, he grew more disenchanted with Kilgharrah by the hour. He could certainly never trust anything he said again. He felt as if he had been deceived, cheated into thinking that someday Camelot’s future and the hope of all magic users would be brighter than ever. Not since the time before Uther’s reign had magic users lived in peace. No matter how many challenges Merlin faced, no matter how many times he had risked his own life, he did so with the dragon’s assurance that he needed to protect Arthur at all costs to not only ensure magic’s acceptance, but to ensure a peaceful realm with a unified Albion under Arthur’s leadership. Together, Merlin would help Arthur to forge a kingdom that would forever grow in peace and prosperity. The dragon had said…
Lies, all of it.
It would take a long while before Merlin could accept the idea that nothing of the dragon’s prophecies was to be believed. He’d ask Gaius what he thought about it, but Merlin doubted he could bear staying in Camelot for any longer than strictly necessary. He’d take care of business, say goodbye to Gaius, and depart the castle before the dawn. Besides, he wanted to get back to the lake as quickly as possible with the horn.
If there was a sign of the Sidhe, Morforwyn would tell Merlin about it when he returned. Better that Morforwyn deal with the Sidhe than him for now since Merlin wasn’t sure what the Sidhe’s reaction would be to him. At least with the manatee at the lake, Merlin felt better about leaving his watchpost to journey toward Camelot and the life he knew he must leave behind. He wondered if he’d be able to bring himself the enter Camelot’s gates when he arrived, or whether he’d crumple devastated at the thought of entering the castle without his king by his side.
He tried not to dwell on his sorrow as his feet took him across the land. Saxons still could be roaming the woods and while Merlin wouldn’t hesitate to use magic against them, there was little he could do if he was caught unaware. It would only take a strike from a mace or an arrow’s bolt to render him unconscious. If the Saxons suspected he was the very same sorcerer who had dispatched so many of their army’s finest soldiers, Merlin would have to pay for their defeat with his own life.
Merlin kept to the trees so he would be sheltered from an enemy’s view, while still maintaining a good vantage point over the open lands where a horse might graze. The woods were strangely quiet, given that a battle had taken place nearby only days earlier. He supposed Morgana’s death really would bring peace, at least for a little while. There was no telling whether the Saxons would still take up arms despite the loss of Morgana as their ally.
When Merlin thought it was safe to do so, he whistled for Arthur’s horse, Hengroen, and Gwynnis, the mare that he had ridden to Camlann from the Valley of the Fallen Kings. They had to be roaming the forest nearby, as did Morgana’s horse. In fact, with so many casualties on both sides of the battle, the forest around Camlann should have been teeming with riderless horses. Surely some of them had made their way to the golden meadows of autumn grass near Camelot.
With no horses in sight, Merlin came to a crossroads and stopped to rest his aching feet. He slid the satchel of food from his shoulder and sat on a large rock that marked the intersection with the road to Ealdor. If not for the hope of securing the Horn of Cathbhadh that was stored away in Gaius’s collection of magical artefacts, Merlin would have considered visiting his mother. He hadn’t seen Hunith in more than a year. She would be worried sick about him when she heard the news of Arthur’s death.
Merlin kicked off his boots to air his damp feet. He chewed on a strip of dried venison he took from the satchel, the hunger returning to him momentarily.
When Arthur joked in his delirium that he would grant Merlin more than one day off, a visit to Hunith was the first thing Merlin considered. He missed her terribly. Perhaps he could have convinced Arthur to join him in a visit to Ealdor. Arthur always behaved graciously around Hunith. He lost some of his surliness in her presence-and he’d not dare call Merlin an idiot while Hunith was within earshot, no matter how playful he meant the taunt to sound. It was almost as if Arthur held Hunith in such high esteem that he wanted to leave her with only a positive memory of his kindness and generosity, one that was tempered with respect for her son.
Merlin felt a stab of pain when he realized he’d never see his mother together with Arthur again.
He looked down the line of trees that lined the road to Ealdor. He needed Hunith now, more than ever. For all of Merlin’s life, he knew no comfort as soothing as his mother’s touch. Only her hands had smoothed the frown from Merlin’s brow, only her arms had held him while he cried, only her lips had whispered comforting words to him when he was troubled. Hunith would know what to do for Merlin in his despair. She, more than anyone else, would understand the gravity of what Arthur’s death meant for Merlin, the failure he felt deep in is bones for not being able to protect Arthur from Mordred’s blade.
Hunith would know to touch her palm to Merlin’s forehead and hug him in the way only a mother could. She’d smile at him and try to absorb some of his pain into her own heart, her strong arms drawing him close. Merlin tore his eyes away from the road. There was no time to visit her now. Prolonging his break at the crossroads tortured his heart. Merlin sensed that the sun would soon begin its descent, although it was hidden by the heavy clouds. Camelot lay ahead, and Merlin had to hurry if he was going to reach the castle before dark.
Merlin gathered his belongings and shoved his feet back into his boots. Beyond the trees, a slow-moving brook would provide fresh water for the remainder of the journey. Merlin drained his water skin and went to the bank to fill it. The day had been humid for late autumn and the rivers had been running low as they typically did at summer’s end. He knelt on the bank and lowered the mouth of the skin to the water, letting the rim dip below the surface so he could fill it to capacity. When it was full, he sat back on his heels and tipped the skin to his lips, drinking his fill before replenishing his water supply again.
When he touched the skin to the water, he saw a haze of blue light rise to the brook’s surface. At first, he thought the sun had broken through the overcast, the water gleaming beneath the dim rays. But when he looked closer, he saw the image of the manatee peering at him from beneath the water.
“Oh!” Merlin said falling back onto his arse, his limbs sprawling from the shock of seeing Morforwyn where he least expected. “It’s you again.”
Morforwyn seemed to move closer to the surface, but he stopped before his face could break the water.
Merlin touched his fingers to the water and rings of concentric circles spread across the brook. It surprised him that the manatee could have travelled so far, using only the waterways. But he soon recognized the water as a tool that could be used as a scrying pool for when Morforwyn wanted to communicate with him.
“Morforwyn, is something wrong?” Merlin asked.
Morforwyn grimaced, and said, “I only came to see you in this way because I have something to show you.”
“What is it?” Merlin asked. He was certain it would be more bad news about Arthur. “Is it Arthur? Please tell me.” He couldn’t imagine that anything worse could have happened to Arthur than the death he experienced at the lakeside. If not death, then what could be worse?
“I’ve come to give you some sad news. I know it will be better if it comes from me than if you find out about it on your own, or learn it from someone else,” Morforwyn said gently.
Merlin crumpled. "Is it the Sidhe? Did they tell you there is nothing they can do to help Arthur?” Merlin asked.
“No, it’s not the Sidhe, Merlin,” Morforwyn said. “You'll have to follow me where the water leads and I’ll show you what has happened. I'll be right here with you all the way, but I’m so sorry to tell you that you have lost another friend.”
“Another friend?” Merlin asked. He got to his feet and followed where Morforwyn led, his scry image swimming close to the earthy brookbank. Merlin grew more worried with every tentative step along the dead moss that lined the bank. Another friend was gone. Dead, maybe? What more could possibly go wrong this summer?
Morforwyn travelled the meandering brook as it wound through the forest while Merlin quickly followed him on the shore. Soon they came to a copse of withered trees that extended into the water. Beyond the dying and curling leaves, Merlin thought he caught a glimpse of scales.
“What is it?” Merlin asked, panting from trying to keep his balance on the unstable rocks and moss.
He saw a stirring in the leaves, as if some great beast had drawn its last breath. A flash of green skin and the spikes of dragon claws. It was Kilgharrah, asleep in the dirt beyond the trees.
But he wasn’t sleeping. Merlin knew in an instant that old age had claimed him.
He knelt at the dragon’s head. “Old friend,” Merlin said, remembering Kilgharrah with affection despite the havoc he created with his lies.
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Morforwyn said from the water. “I just had to let you know.”
Merlin stroked the tough hide behind Kilgharrah’s ears. “Thank you, Morforwyn. I’m glad you showed me. I would have wondered what became of him. It would have been worse if I stumbled upon him myself, or if I saw the people of Camelot celebrating his death. He caused them more harm than he ever did me.”
“If you’re sad again, we can hug until the sad thoughts go away,” Morforwyn said.
“I am sad, but it was Kilgharrah’s time to go,” Merlin said. He quirked an eyebrow in Morforwyn’s direction. “Besides, how are we going to hug if you’re only an apparition?”
Morforwyn grinned and closed his eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “We can hug when you get back to the lake.”
Merlin smiled. There was something about this sea creature that made him feel at ease, despite Arthur’s death and the loss of the hope that Kilgharrah had long instilled in him. “We’ll hug soon enough then,” he said to the manatee.
“I’ll stay here as long as you need me to,” Morforwyn said. “But if you want me to keep an eye out for the Sidhe, I’d better get back to Avalon soon.”
“You’re right,” Merlin said. He had his eyes on the rocky ledges that lay beyond the trees. He didn't dare ask about Arthur, lest his heart break again. “And there has been no sign of the Sidhe since I left?”
“No, nor has there been any sign of Arthur,” Morforwyn said.
“Very well, then,” Merlin said, blinking back his tears. “You should return to Avalon. I have one last thing to do for Kilgharrah while I’m here. I can take care of it on my own.”
“Are you sure?” Morforwyn asked.
Merlin thought about it for a moment and decided that he felt much more confident in his own abilities than he did earlier in the day. There was no need for him to put on a false bravado to convince the manatee that he was sincere. Before the sun set tonight, he'd retrieve the Horn of Cathbhadh and his plan to return Arthur to life would start moving in the right direction. He knelt at the brookbank and touched a long finger to the water, caressing the image of the manatee's face.
“I’ve got this,” Merlin said boldly.
Morforwyn smiled. “I am so proud of you, Merlin,” he said. “You’ve done so well and I think you’re going to be just fine in time. I’ll see you back in Avalon, if not before.”
Merlin watched as the manatee’s face faded from view. He wiped his wet fingers on the hem of his bloodied jacket.
Beyond the trees lay an area of stone that had been heaved from the earth. Merlin got to his feet and walked to the opening in the forest. The flat ledges paved the ground in an area that was nearly the size of Camelot's courtyard. Only a few patches of sparse grass seeped up from the dirt that had filled the spaces between the stones. The area would be expansive enough to serve Merlin's purpose.
After a quick look around, and with his ears pricked to attention for the presence of Saxons, Merlin returned to Kilgharrah's side.
He lay his hand on Kilgharrah's head, the scales stiff with death beneath his palm.
“If my heart wasn’t already broken by Arthur’s death, yours would have filled me with unbearable sorrow,” Merlin whispered.
The forest was quiet, except for Merlin’s breath. He bit down on his bottom lip.
“I don't know why you lied to me,” Merlin said. “I suppose you thought you were doing the right thing, but I can't forgive you for this.”
Merlin removed his hand from Kilgharrah's head and stood beside the hulking creature, its wings withered and collapsed against the ground.
“I can only hope there will be another way to make this right,” Merlin said, wiping a tear from his eye, “to make up for all your lies. Perhaps some other time… perhaps some other dragon.”
Merlin raised his hand into the air and uttered his spell, ”Snæden þá scinfelda áfæstne ádas.”
With a flash of Merlin's eyes, the yellowed grass that surrounded the ledgy rocks disengaged from their roots as if they had been sliced by an unseen blade. Merlin knew his magic needed to work quickly, lest he be discovered by bandits or Saxons who could be marauding nearby. Length after length of brittle straw slid into place upon the rocks, the pyre building itself under Merlin's direction.
When he was satisfied with his work, Merlin turned his attention back to Kilgharrah.
”Abregdan þá dracan alecgede hine uppan þá adas,” Merlin spoke, using his outstretched palm to guide the dragon’s lifeless body.
The dragon floated gently through the air and came to rest on the bed of kindling Merlin had made for him, a final resting place there in the forest.
Merlin steeled himself and took a step backwards. “Goodbye, old friend,” he whispered, although he had no words of praise for Kilgharrah this day.
Merlin’s eyes flared gold and for an instant, the pyre on the ledges became an inferno of red flames, the dragon's remains burning to black on the silvery rocks. Merlin had to shield himself from the heat, sweat breaking out on his face. The dampness dried out of his clothing for the first time since he transformed himself from the elderly Emrys who defeated the Saxons at Camlann. Such was the intensity of the flames that only moments later, the sky rained down with white ash. Merlin used his neckerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. With another flare of magic that turned his blue eyes to gold, the rocks appeared untouched, the dragon gone, as if he had never existed, except in Merlin’s memory.
Merlin turned away from the scene and started toward the crossroads, the white ash swirling behind him as he stepped through the forest and onto the road that would lead him to Camelot. Kilgharrah's scant remains of chalky white dust might cause the Saxons to shake their heads in wonder, but nothing more.
Shouldering his satchel, Merlin hurried along. He had travelled this grassy road many times and anticipated each turn of the path before he arrived at it. He knew just the place on the knoll where Camelot's spires would come into view. He remembered how excited he was when he first saw them as a young man. Nearly a decade had passed since that fateful day when got the first inkling of what his life's destiny would be. Fate had entrusted a prince with golden blond hair and a brilliant smile into his care. Merlin, who could barely keep a baby chick alive without tripping over it. Merlin, who accidentally trampled Hunith's prized tomatoes while chasing Will through her garden. Merlin, who couldn't walk and chew on a leaf of spearmint at the same time. The thought that he would play a part in unifying Albion’s warring realms so that they would someday become a cohesive and peaceful whole had been dizzying.
But now, not even Arthur's death would keep him from striving to fulfil the task he held most dearly to his heart.
He refused to believe his purpose ended where Kilgharrah insisted it did. For ten long years, he had associated success with a living breathing Arthur by his side. He wouldn't give up hope now, no matter how futile it seemed with Arthur somewhere in the care of the Sidhe.
Merlin steeled himself when he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the crimson Pendragon pennants, a golden dragon emblazoned on each one, flying from the battlements. His heart ached when he remembered Arthur's pale lips, the cold skin of his forehead, the vacant look in his eyes before he closed them for the last time. Merlin's feet stumbled, but he forced himself to continue forward. No matter what losses he'd suffered in recent days, entering the gates to the citadel alone, when he had so often ridden beside Arthur, was one of the most painful experiences of Merlin’s life.
Together, he and Arthur had passed through this stone entryway hundreds of times over the years. Upon entering the courtyard, Arthur would nod to his subjects who welcomed their king home from battle or patrol or hunt. He’d then turn in his saddle to look fondly at Merlin for a moment before surging forward again, his chin raised nobly as if to say, “All hail your returning king. Not only did he defeat Camelot’s enemies, bring peace to the land, and provide food for the feast, but he also brought his idiot manservant back in one piece. Yes, he might be a bit damaged, but he’s still alive.”
Whenever Merlin tried to question him about it afterwards, Arthur would throw his head back with laughter, saying, “It’s true though, Merlin. Bringing you back to Camelot alive adds to my credibility as a great ruler. Besides, I like having you beside me. It gives me good tales to tell about your mishaps when we return home. Now drink your ale and get to bed before you fall asleep in my chair.”
“Arthur,” Merlin sighed, missing him more than ever. He’d give anything to hear his laugh again, to see his fond expression.
Merlin’s heart ached as he passed through the entrance. He’d try to remember the manatee's encouraging words and move forward through the layers of pain toward a time of hope and acceptance.
“I’ve got this,” he whispered.
Merlin slowed his pace and let his fingers slide across the stone entryway as he entered the courtyard. He thought it strange that no guards were stationed as lookouts on the battlements or as sentries by the gates. Darkness fell on the castle grounds, but no torches had been ignited to help a traveller find their way from the lower town, should an emergency arise and help be needed from the knights or the king…
The queen-Merlin reminded himself.
After Percival delivered the news of Arthur’s death, Gwen would have ascended to Arthur’s throne in the days that passed while Merlin mourned by the lake. He felt confident that Gwen would rule as wisely as her husband, but something was clearly amiss with the castle’s security.
Merlin slipped into the very same corridor to which he had been directed on his first visit to Camelot. Gaius would be waiting for him inside his workshop that served as his pharmacy as well as his and Merlin’s home. But when Merlin tugged the latch on the creaky old door, it swung open to reveal a deserted workshop.
“Gaius,” Merlin called out carefully. He didn’t want to scare the old man half to death by appearing after being gone for so long. He wondered if Gaius remembered his promise to make Merlin’s favourite meal when he returned. As much as it would be a welcome pleasure-to sit down to one of Gaius’s home-cooked concoctions, Merlin wouldn’t let it bother him if preparing dinner wasn’t one of Gaius’s priorities right now.
“Gaius?” Merlin called again. Nothing.
Merlin had no time to waste waiting for Gaius to return to his chambers. He climbed the stairs that led to his room. More than a week had passed since he had been in his own room with his own things. He felt fortunate that nothing seemed to have happened to his belongings while he was away.
He felt for the loose board beneath his bed and brought his magic book from its hiding place. The Horn of Cathbhadh had already been used once with terrifying results. Merlin hoped that his book of magic might provide some insight as to why the horn had worked the way it did when Arthur used it to summon Uther. He shoved the book into his satchel and crawled out from beneath the bed. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass that hung on the wall above his wash basin.
He barely recognized himself.
The fog of days that passed since Arthur’s death hadn’t treated him kindly. His eyes were rimmed with red from crying and the dark circles beneath his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept properly in days. Merlin grimaced, supposing that much was true. His tunic was stained with splotches of dried blood, dark against the blue linen that once served as his best shirt. Merlin didn’t want to think about whose blood had soaked through his clothing. It could have been Morgana’s just as easily as it could have been Arthur’s.
He dropped his satchel on the bed. He went to the door and closed it so he could look at the meagre choice of clothing that hung from the hook on the back of the door. A varied wardrobe was never one of Merlin’s concerns. He took his spare tunic from the hook, shook it out, and examined it. Determining that it was clean enough, he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his belt. He stripped off his dirty tunic, tossing it into the pile of laundry on the floor. His fingers fiddled with the knot on his neckerchief which was even more filthy than his tunic. The sweaty knot slipped between his fingers more than once before he freed the garment from around his neck and let it drop into the pile of dirty clothes. He winced when he remembered that he had meant to haul the whole lot of it off to the room adjacent to the kitchen, where the constant supply of hot water and a scrubbing with a good soap would have made the clothes clean again.
Was it only a week ago that he had meant to go there?
He had visited Arthur’s chambers to turn down his bed for the evening when he bumped into the nightstand, spilling a goblet of wine onto the floor. It would have been easy to mop up the mess and call it a night, except for the fact that Arthur's favourite white tunic caught most of the spill from where it lay discarded on the stones.
Merlin had huffed out a breath and gathered the tunic with a heap of other kingly laundry to take to the kitchen. He was sure that Amelia, the new laundress, would never be able to remove such a stain, no matter how she scrubbed. Instead, Merlin hid the tunic in his room, resolving to take care of it himself with magic at his earliest opportunity. Only a night later did Morgana’s lackey plant the Gean Canach in his room to attack him in his slumber, vanquishing his magic and triggering the turn of events that left Arthur dead.
Merlin plucked the white tunic from his laundry now. The stain had set even worse than he remembered, blood red wine that reminded Merlin of Arthur's fatal wound. He brought the garment to his nose and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of Arthur's scent, but all he could smell was the stale wine, a reminder his chance of restoring Arthur to life faded with every passing hour.
He tried not to think about his failure, lest he start crying again. His tears would do nothing to earn back Gaius’s faith in him and his magic. The last thing he needed would be Gaius’s refusal to relinquish the Horn of Cathbhadh. Then, Merlin would be back where he started, wallowing in hopelessness beside the lake. He’d not leave there of his own free will again.
Divested of his filthy shirt and neckerchief, Merlin poured some water from the pitcher into the wash basin. He dipped his hands into the water, but just as his fingertips touched the shimmering surface, he yelped and jumped backwards, startled by the image of Morforwyn's mottled face smiling at him from the basin.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked. He scratched the hair on his bare chest with his wet fingers, amused that the manatee could appear without any warning whatsoever.
“I just stopped by to make sure you were feeling better,” Morforwyn said, his head surrounded by a blue glow. “That was a brave thing you did back at the brook.”
Merlin took a half-step backwards, but braced his hands on the washstand while he remembered the final task he performed for Kilgharrah. “Yes, I’m okay,” he said, blinking away the start of fresh tears. “I’m just surprised to see you here. I wanted to wash up before Gaius got back.”
“Merlin?” Morforwyn asked, his translucent face taking up the entire space of the basin.
Merlin glanced toward the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, Arthur's stained shirt on top of the mess. “Yes?” he replied.
Morforwyn spoke, his voice gentle, “When someone asks, Are you okay? it’s all right to say no.”
Merlin sighed. He couldn’t fool the manatee, but he still tried to fool himself.
“It may be for some people,” Merlin muttered. “But not me, apparently.”
Just then, Merlin heard the latch being raised on the door of Gaius’s workshop.
“Gaius is back,” he said to Morforwyn, but when he looked into the basin next, the manatee was gone. Only the swirl of water that splashed onto the floor proved that he had been there at all.
Merlin threw his clean tunic over his head without bothering to wash. He doubted whether Gaius knew he had returned, so he cleared his throat to give some warning, lest he startle the old man.
“Gaius,” he then called out.
“Merlin,” Gaius said, looking up in utter surprise when Merlin descended from the alcove.
Merlin let Gaius take him into a warm embrace.
“I thought I might never see you again,” Gaius choked out, on the verge of tears. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
Merlin’s mood remained sombre. When his mentor released him, Merlin searched his face for understanding.
“You know about Arthur?” Merlin asked.
“Percival told us days ago, when he rode back from Avalon,” Gaius said grimly, clasping a fatherly hand to Merlin's shoulder.
Merlin shuddered when he thought about the inevitable spread of the news throughout the realm. “Everyone knew I was with Arthur then,” Merlin said apologetically. “I tried to get him to the lake, but he was so weak and our time together passed so quickly, more quickly than I thought possible.”
“I’m sure you did your best,” Gaius said, his voice kind, “but if history tells us anything, you’ll know that sometimes your best isn’t always good enough.”
Merlin ran his fingers through his matted hair. “It was so difficult to travel with him in his state. He had lost so much blood. He could barely walk. And the woods between Camlann and Avalon were teeming with Saxons… and if Percival returned here, then you know about Gwaine too?” Merlin asked.
Gaius nodded and then, as if he only just remembered something important, he left Merlin standing alone and bustled toward the cupboard saying, “I promised you your favourite meal, but I had no idea when to expect you. I'm surprised you showed up here at all. Surely you can imagine the queen is beside herself with grief.”
“Gwen… she must be devastated,” Merlin said, waving off Gaius’s promise of food. “I’m sure the knights will be angry-they’re right to blame me. I didn't stop Mordred in time-it’s almost as if I killed Arthur myself. Oh, Gaius, by the time we got near the lake it was far too late to do anything. For all the trouble it’s caused me, my magic couldn't save him.”
Gaius looked up from where he was carving slices from a loaf of bread. “They know, Merlin,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“They know?” Merlin asked. “About my magic?”
The realization that not only was he responsible for Arthur's death, but his greatest secret had become known to the queen, the knights, and probably every peasant in Camelot washed over Merlin and left him unsettled.
“I had to tell them,” Gaius said. He piled slices of cheese onto the bread and gave it a sprinkle of rosemary from a wooden jar. “Gwen asked if I knew the sorcerer who came to Arthur's aid at Camlann. I didn't lie.”
Merlin chewed on his bottom lip. If any doubt existed in his mind about whether he'd be able to return to Camelot, it was answered then. Everyone loved Arthur, and they'd never look at Merlin the same way again. He was the king's manservant, who became his protector against all odds. But there was no happy ending to his tale, no sound of trumpets triumphant that the hero had prevailed. Instead there was only dark water and a tower that barely emerged from the fog if one looked closely enough.
“I killed Morgana,” Merlin said, his voice meek, as if pleading for some acknowledgement that he had done something right.... anything?
“Percival informed the court about that too,” Gaius said, placing the plate of food atop the stove, but then he shook his head. “I’m afraid nothing will appease Gwen, not with Arthur dead.”
Merlin wondered if he should bother to tell Gaius about his plan to use the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur. He worried that if the horn couldn’t bring Arthur back, the failure might set off more trouble for magic users. They had relied on Merlin and he had failed. He couldn't bear the thought of magic being rejected by the people of Camelot, not when he had hoped that Arthur would restore magic to the realm one day. He shivered when he thought about how close he had come to reaching that goal. He watched Gaius take a torch to the bread, the cheese melting as he directed the heat from the torch upon it. He couldn't bear the thought of Gaius refusing to let Merlin use magic now, not with the much-needed horn hidden away somewhere in Gaius's storeroom, just waiting to be taken back to Avalon.
“Gwen?” Merlin asked, as Gaius set the plate of food in front of him. “How is she?”
“I’m afraid she’s not doing well,” Gaius said. “She’s just lost her husband and now she has a kingdom to run. The Saxons are still lurking in the forest nearby and she has all the matters of court to handle.”
Merlin sighed and took a bite of the bread and cheese that Gaius had garnished with spice. Arthur always made it look easy to others, but Merlin knew better. Ruling a kingdom was hard work. Whether dealing with the loss of his father, negotiating peace with the adjacent kingdoms whose rulers sought to make Camelot their own, or deciding matters for the villagers who brought their issues to court, Arthur never let his men see that he struggled under the weight of his crown. Only Merlin knew his doubts, his fears. Whether a problem was petty or of great consequence, Arthur always gave it his full attention. He treated his people with compassion and fairness. He asked only for loyalty in return, but even that was too great a favour for Merlin to grant, not when he unleashed bolts of lightning in the battle with the Saxons instead of preventing Mordred from running Arthur through.
“I must apologise to her,” Merlin said.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Gaius said.
“I need to. It’s my fault she’s got the whole kingdom relying on her-” Merlin said.
“It would be best if she didn’t see you at all. Not until you sort out what you’re going to say to her. Whatever you do, don’t underestimate the depth of her grief,” Gaius said.
“She’ll blame me for Arthur’s death, just like everyone else,” Merlin said, pushing the plate away. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.
“I’m afraid she does blame you,” Gaius said. “She’s been under a considerable amount of stress these last days. I’ve prescribed her a draught that will calm her mind. It has helped her to sleep, but she has been prone to outbursts of agitation when the remedy has worn off. I’m afraid the pressures of being queen may be too much for her.”
“The guards, Gaius?” Merlin said, remembering how easily he slipped into Camelot. “I noticed there were no guards on duty. Was that Gwen’s doing?”
“Camelot’s forces suffered many losses during the battle at Camlann, besides that of her king. Gwen has the great challenge of keeping Camelot secure with a minimum of forces,” Gaius said.
“Well, she can’t leave Camelot unguarded. I entered the citadel without seeing a single man. Surely the Saxons won’t stay quiet for long, especially if they suspect Arthur is dead,” Merlin said.
“If Camelot is unguarded, it must have been an oversight on Gwen’s part. Leon has been doing what he can to guide her decisions while the kingdom recuperates from this week of trials,” Gaius said, pouring water from the pitcher into a cup for Merlin.
Merlin took the cup and sipped the water. “Gwen has always made good decisions in the past. I’m sure that Arthur had every confidence in her as queen,” he said.
“You’ll recall that Gwen comes from a position of servitude,” Gaius said. “She remembers how hard her father worked as a smith, spending long days over the fire. Gwen learned her compassion from him. She wants to be a good and honourable queen to her people, but sometimes she suffers from such indecision that I fear it may drive her mad.”
“I’m sure it’s not a responsibility many people would want to have put upon them, but I doubt the Saxons will hold off an attack if they learn that the castle is unguarded,” Merlin said.
“I’m afraid the changes in her temperament cannot be controlled by a simple draught,” Gaius said. “In time, she’ll be able to think with a level head. You need to understand that she’s undergone a great trauma to have lost her husband at such a young age.”
Merlin folded his arms and rested them on the table, using them as a pillow for his head. He nearly fell asleep, but a desperate sorrow overtook him. No matter how the loss of Arthur would affect the future of Camelot, it seemed that no one would ever be able to understand how it affected Merlin. His whole life had revolved around Arthur. He had tried to keep him safe, but Arthur had died in Merlin’s arms. Merlin doubted he would ever feel right about the world again.
“What if there was a way to get Arthur back?” Merlin asked without lifting his head.
“Merlin, I know well enough that the Sidhe were Arthur’s only hope. You got him to the lake and nothing happened. It will be difficult for you, but you need to start the process of letting Arthur go,” Gaius said.
Merlin raised his head from his arms and looked Gaius in the eye. “What if I used the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur from death?” he asked.
“Merlin,” Gaius said disapprovingly, “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense to me. I think it may be the only way to bring Arthur back,” Merlin said.
Gaius laid one hand on the back of Merlin’s neck and stooped to gaze sternly into his eyes. “No, I can’t let you do this,” Gaius said. “I won’t.”
“But, why not?” Merlin asked, the tears welling again, despite his sleepiness. “I have to do something.”
Gaius stood upright and began to pace the floor behind Merlin. “Merlin, have you forgotten what happened when Arthur used the horn to summon Uther from the dead? What if Arthur returns and behaves with the same vengeance and cruelty as Uther did?”
“Arthur could never be like that,” Merlin said sitting up straight in his seat again.
“What makes you think that the horn won’t change Arthur into someone we don’t recognize?” Gaius asked, stopping in his tracks. “From what you told me, Uther tried to kill Arthur after he was brought back to life with the horn. Even if you can bring Arthur back, is that the kind of future you want for Camelot? One where the king instils fear in his people? Do you want a kingdom where Arthur will rule by force? The Arthur I know wouldn’t stand for it.”
“No, but-” Merlin started. He knew Gaius would disagree with him. When did Gaius ever think that Merlin’s ideas would work? Merlin stared at the cup of water that Gaius had set in front of him. The clear liquid reminded him of the manatee and the words that gave him courage. The water-how the amazing thing about the water was that it always provided what he would need. Perhaps it was time that Merlin stopped listening to Gaius. Perhaps it was time that Merlin followed his own path, disregarding Gaius’s ideas for once.
“But nothing,” Gaius said. “You can’t do that to Arthur. He was your friend.”
“But if I can bring him back, don’t I owe it to him to try? He won’t be like Uther, I just know he won’t be,” Merlin said. “This is Arthur we’re talking about. He’ll never be like his father. He all but told me so himself when I showed him the good that magic could do in responsible hands.”
“You showed him more of your magic?” Gaius asked, covering his eyes with his palms. “I don’t know whether I’m more surprised that you waited this long, or more surprised that Arthur didn’t execute you on the spot.”
Merlin scoffed at Gaius’s remark. He could have no idea what has transpired between Arthur and himself when they made their journey to Avalon. Gaius may have known Arthur as his father’s son, but Merlin knew better. He just wished it hadn’t taken a journey of two whole days for Merlin to realize that Arthur wouldn’t sentence him to death for his magic, that Arthur trusted him, that Arthur seemed perfectly at peace to die in his arms, Merlin’s secret revealed and accepted for all that it meant between them. Gaius could never know the feelings that threatened to overwhelm Merlin now, the tears welling up again. Arthur was not just the king Merlin was charged to protect, they were more than that to each other-what the dragon had called two halves of the same coin.
At least that much of what the dragon said seemed true.
“I need to get the horn,” Merlin said. “I need to try to use it. It’s my fault that I didn’t get Arthur to the lake in time. You said it would be two days and I thought we could make it there, but I failed despite that nonsense the dragon said about Arthur returning when he was needed most. Arthur is needed most right now. And his death is on my hands. I can’t live with that. I won’t.”
Gaius pulled a stool to the table and sat beside Merlin. He said, “I have tried to help you for all these years. I tried to teach you right from wrong. You knew that the prophecy said that Arthur would die at Mordred’s hand, yet you insist on disregarding this knowledge with your plan to use the Horn of Cathbhadh. You’ve always tried too hard to change things when you knew there was no way of changing them. I can’t let you make the same mistake again. It only ends in disappointment. Look at you! Have you eaten anything since Arthur died? Have you even washed yourself? You smell like you’ve spent the day in the stocks.”
“The horn, Gaius,” Merlin said. “I want the horn.”
Gaius pushed himself back from the table. “I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it,” he said. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s too risky. I don’t want to lose you too.”
“You won’t lose me,” Merlin said sullenly.
Merlin wasn’t sure whether to believe that Gaius didn’t have the horn. Despite his bone-deep tiredness, he rose from the table and began to climb the ladder to the upper level of Gaius’s workshop. It was here, in a locked cabinet that Gaius stored the relics of the purge, along with other magical devices and objects. Merlin remembered the first time Gaius had given Merlin an object from the hidden cabinet-his cherished book of magic.
“Merlin, no!” Gaius said, but it was futile for Gaius to try to stop Merlin now. Merlin was determined to leave Camelot with the Horn of Cathbhadh in his hands if he had to tear the castle apart looking for it.
Merlin stepped off the top ladder rung and strode to the cabinet. With a flash of golden eyes and a barely whispered spell, he had the cabinet open, despite Gaius’s best efforts to keep it secure from intruders. Merlin ignored Gaius’s protests that the horn was not there as he rummaged through the cabinet’s contents.
He reached for the top shelf where his fingers landed in a sticky mess of goo, the source of which was something that he decided not to think about. Wiping his fingers on his tunic, he continued to search for the horn. He pulled Aulfric’s staff to the front of the cabinet, its blue gemstone aglow at Merlin’s command to illuminate the dark space so he could better see. Pushing the various magical garments aside, Merlin dug through the clothing, feeling for the horn in the pockets of each cloak that was confiscated from sorcerers in the years of Uther’s reign.
There was nothing.
On he searched, all the way to the bottom of the cabinet, where various circular devices of cold iron lay, remnants of the purge when they were locked around the suspected sorcerer’s necks so they couldn’t perform their magic while they were led to the pyre. Merlin shuddered to think of the ancient devices secured around his neck and wrists. He felt certain that he’d be able to use his magic to overpower such restraints if it ever came to that.
With the Horn of Cathbhadh nowhere in sight, Merlin threw his hands in the air. He glanced over the railing and watched Gaius with his face buried in his hands. It was clear that he wasn’t going to assist Merlin further in his quest. He descended the stairs reluctantly.
If Gaius didn’t have the horn in his collection of magical artefacts, there was only one place where Merlin believed it could be hidden. If Arthur had kept the horn, despite the bad memories of his father it brought forth, despite how it made Arthur believe Uther was disappointed in him as king, Gaius didn’t need to say another word. Merlin knew exactly where Arthur would have hidden such a thing.
“If you won’t tell me where the horn is, I'll say goodbye to you,” Merlin said slumping down onto his chair beside Gaius. Even to Merlin, the words sounded like they came from a petulant brat, instead of from a fully grown man. “I’ll leave in the morning. There’s no further need for me to remain in Camelot. Not as long as Arthur won’t be here with me.”
Gaius frowned miserably. “Merlin,” he said, patting Merlin’s back, “you’ve got to give yourself some time to grieve over Arthur’s death. Running away won’t change anything. Besides, I’d miss you terribly if you left Camelot.”
Merlin hated to make Gaius feel this way. Although his refusal to support Merlin’s plan left them at a stalemate, he couldn’t bear to see Gaius so distressed.
“Gaius, have you ever heard of a creature called a manatee?” Merlin asked, hoping to change the subject to something more pleasant, lest they both end up in tears over the tragedy of the past week.
“A manatee?” Gaius asked. "It doesn't sound very familiar. What sort of creature is it?"
“I think it lives in the water, primarily,” Merlin said.
“Ah, I believe I may have heard of such a creature before,” Gaius said tapping his finger to his lips.
Merlin used the remains of his slice of bread to wipe the spices from his plate while Gaius climbed the ladder to one of the many bookshelves in his workshop. Merlin suspected that Gaius was equally relieved by the change of subject.
“It might have magical powers,” Merlin called over his shoulder.
"It might, you say?" Gaius asked from high on the ladder that led to the upper level of the dusty shelves. After shuffling through some pages, Gaius returned to the table with the book of creatures open wide. He dropped it in front of Merlin.
“That’s it,” Merlin said, looking at the sketch of Morforwyn. The author of the book must have seen such a creature before. The likeness was amazing.
“No known magical powers, but manatees are sometimes confused with mermaids,” Gaius said pointing to the notes beside the sketch.
“Mermaids?” Merlin asked. “Are those the creatures who are known to call seafarers astray with their song?”
“The very ones,” Gaius said, examining the image in the book.
Merlin nodded, remembering that Morforwyn had told him this about his appearance.
“Mermaids take on a human form, except for their fish-like tails,” Gaius continued. “But the manatee doesn’t have a human form, or even a mermaid-like form. It’s an ocean-dwelling creature-more like a seal or a walrus. When I was younger, tales of the manatee were often brought to Camelot by men who earned their sustenance on the sea. Why do you ask about such an animal?”
“I don't know. Just thinking about manatees, I suppose,” Merlin said brushing the breadcrumbs from the table in front of him.
Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Merlin, I know you better than you think. Have you seen such a creature such as this manatee in your travels?”
“It’s hard to say,” Merlin said with a yawn, suddenly feeling tired from his journey. If Gaius thought Merlin needed time to recover from the shock of Arthur’s death, he’d certainly think that Merlin imagined the existence of the helpful manatee as a way to cope with his grief. He wasn't sure whether he should tell Gaius about Morforwyn and his soothing words. It was as if Merlin wanted to keep Morforwyn as a secret source of encouragement to be used by him alone when things got too difficult for him to handle.
“Merlin?” Gaius insisted.
“I’ve been alone by the lake at Avalon for days. I suppose it could be my imagination. There were so many shadows there and my eyes have been so… tired,” Merlin said. He glanced at Gaius, knowing his eyes were still red from crying so much over Arthur’s death.
Gaius nodded with understanding.
“The tower that rises above the lake was hidden by fog most of the time. I gazed at the shadows in the water, hoping so badly I'd see some sign that the Sidhe were there, no matter how much I dread asking them for help,” Merlin said.
“And this manatee appeared in the water?” Gaius asked gently, pulling out a chair to sit beside Merlin.
“You think I imagined it, don't you?” Merlin asked.
“Creatures such as the manatee are only known to dwell in the ocean. They need salt water. They don’t typically live in lakes like the one at Avalon. Although I do recall that a manatee was sighted there once before, but that was a long time ago,” Gaius said shaking his head.
Merlin wanted to know more. If the manatee was a true ally, maybe he could trust his advice when he asked for help in bringing Arthur back to life. Morforwyn seemed to think using the Horn of Cathbhadh was a better idea than Gaius did.
“Maybe it was a spirit of a dead manatee that I saw,” Merlin said grumpily. “Unless you think the water there is salty enough to sustain such a creature.”
“Well, I do recall learning that there was once a time when the lake at Avalon was connected to the ocean by a river that flowed broadly from this kingdom all the way to the waters of the sea,” Gaius said. “Sometimes, a ribbon of salted water flowed inward with the tides. Occasionally it stretched all the way to the lake at Avalon.”
“I didn't see any such river while I've been waiting by the lake,” Merlin said, “although my mind has been a bit preoccupied with other things.”
“If I recall correctly, the lake was sealed off from the ocean a long time ago,” Gaius said thoughtfully. “The river had narrowed one day when the land was torn in two by a rift in the seam of the earth. I was only a boy living in Ealdor back then, but I remember that the ground quaked and children ran for cover. Armies were readied, but the earth’s trembling only lasted for a few moments. Still, the tremor was so violent that it was felt it all the way from Camelot to Ealdor. Nothing has ever shaken the earth with such a force again.”
“So maybe the shift in the earth could have trapped the manatee in the lake?” Merlin asked. “The manatee did mention something about being land-locked.”
“I suppose it could have happened,” Gaius said. “Manatees typically live longer than most men, according to what it says in the book. And it could be the same manatee that was seen in the lake before.”
“He’s been there for a long time then,” Merlin said sleepily.
“He spoke to you?” Gaius asked.
Merlin hoped that Gaius wouldn't think he had lost his sanity in the days he spent grieving by the lake.
“He did. He emerged by the lakeside at Avalon, where I brought Arthur,” Merlin said, remembering. “I think he likes living in the lake. The way he spoke, he sounded content to accept whatever fate had dealt to him despite being trapped there. He was happy with it-I must admit it was rather pleasant to encounter a creature who was satisfied with whatever may happen, instead of always wishing he could change things.”
“You've been through a lot in these past days,” Gaius said as he closed the book. “Perhaps you should try to get some sleep. You’ll be able to think more clearly after you’ve had a good night’s rest.”
Merlin yawned. The journey from Avalon to Camelot had left him exhausted, and arguing with Gaius over the Horn of Cathbhadh didn’t help matters. Arthur weighed heavily on his mind. After a night's rest, he'd find the Horn of Cathbhadh and return to the lake. He hoped his plan would work. At least he had the manatee's calming words to sooth him, even if he couldn't rely on Gaius to encourage him to use the horn.
Merlin bid Gaius goodnight and lay for a long time in his old bed in the room beside Gaius's workshop. His mind raced with worry over leaving Arthur in Morforwyn’s care at the lake. Before he settled down to dream, Merlin pulled his light blanket up to his chin. He tried not to imagine Arthur’s confusion if he rose from the lake without Merlin there to assure him that everything was going to be all right. Instead, he tried to remember Arthur as he knew him, proudly emerging from the lake when Merlin summoned him with the horn. He wondered if Arthur would ride in the wooden boat into which Merlin had sent him to rest or would he simply rise from the water.
Would Arthur be angry at having his peace disturbed? Or would he thank Merlin for bringing him back to life? Merlin thought he could accept the vagaries of Arthur’s whims, whichever reaction he decided to display. He yearned to see him again, to revel in the familiarity of his presence. The way the sunlight made his hair gleam just so, the way his muscles flexed beneath his tunic, giving Merlin the reassurance of his strength and worthiness to rule as king. In the morning, Merlin would search for the Horn of Cathbhadh, and by this time tomorrow, he would be one step closer to bringing Arthur back so he could unify Albion and bring Camelot to glory.
He didn’t count on facing the brunt of Gwen’s wrath.
~ ~ ~
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: Canon era
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 53,589
Author's notes: Swimming with the Sidhe was written for paperlegends and as a kinkme_merlin fill for this prompt.
Disclaimer: All Arthurian characters are the property of BBC/Shine and their creators. The Calming Manatee and most of its words belong to HT (the Human Typist) of the Calming Manatee meme.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!
Merlin dragged his feet across the leaf-strewn forest floor, kicking up a cloud of duff that swirled in his wake. It would take him a day to reach Camelot without the benefit of a horse. He didn’t dare call the great dragon again. Despite Kilgharrah’s willingness to fly one more time to bring Arthur to his final resting place, Merlin wasn’t about to push his luck, or the dragon’s shaky wings.
Truth be told, he grew more disenchanted with Kilgharrah by the hour. He could certainly never trust anything he said again. He felt as if he had been deceived, cheated into thinking that someday Camelot’s future and the hope of all magic users would be brighter than ever. Not since the time before Uther’s reign had magic users lived in peace. No matter how many challenges Merlin faced, no matter how many times he had risked his own life, he did so with the dragon’s assurance that he needed to protect Arthur at all costs to not only ensure magic’s acceptance, but to ensure a peaceful realm with a unified Albion under Arthur’s leadership. Together, Merlin would help Arthur to forge a kingdom that would forever grow in peace and prosperity. The dragon had said…
Lies, all of it.
It would take a long while before Merlin could accept the idea that nothing of the dragon’s prophecies was to be believed. He’d ask Gaius what he thought about it, but Merlin doubted he could bear staying in Camelot for any longer than strictly necessary. He’d take care of business, say goodbye to Gaius, and depart the castle before the dawn. Besides, he wanted to get back to the lake as quickly as possible with the horn.
If there was a sign of the Sidhe, Morforwyn would tell Merlin about it when he returned. Better that Morforwyn deal with the Sidhe than him for now since Merlin wasn’t sure what the Sidhe’s reaction would be to him. At least with the manatee at the lake, Merlin felt better about leaving his watchpost to journey toward Camelot and the life he knew he must leave behind. He wondered if he’d be able to bring himself the enter Camelot’s gates when he arrived, or whether he’d crumple devastated at the thought of entering the castle without his king by his side.
He tried not to dwell on his sorrow as his feet took him across the land. Saxons still could be roaming the woods and while Merlin wouldn’t hesitate to use magic against them, there was little he could do if he was caught unaware. It would only take a strike from a mace or an arrow’s bolt to render him unconscious. If the Saxons suspected he was the very same sorcerer who had dispatched so many of their army’s finest soldiers, Merlin would have to pay for their defeat with his own life.
Merlin kept to the trees so he would be sheltered from an enemy’s view, while still maintaining a good vantage point over the open lands where a horse might graze. The woods were strangely quiet, given that a battle had taken place nearby only days earlier. He supposed Morgana’s death really would bring peace, at least for a little while. There was no telling whether the Saxons would still take up arms despite the loss of Morgana as their ally.
When Merlin thought it was safe to do so, he whistled for Arthur’s horse, Hengroen, and Gwynnis, the mare that he had ridden to Camlann from the Valley of the Fallen Kings. They had to be roaming the forest nearby, as did Morgana’s horse. In fact, with so many casualties on both sides of the battle, the forest around Camlann should have been teeming with riderless horses. Surely some of them had made their way to the golden meadows of autumn grass near Camelot.
With no horses in sight, Merlin came to a crossroads and stopped to rest his aching feet. He slid the satchel of food from his shoulder and sat on a large rock that marked the intersection with the road to Ealdor. If not for the hope of securing the Horn of Cathbhadh that was stored away in Gaius’s collection of magical artefacts, Merlin would have considered visiting his mother. He hadn’t seen Hunith in more than a year. She would be worried sick about him when she heard the news of Arthur’s death.
Merlin kicked off his boots to air his damp feet. He chewed on a strip of dried venison he took from the satchel, the hunger returning to him momentarily.
When Arthur joked in his delirium that he would grant Merlin more than one day off, a visit to Hunith was the first thing Merlin considered. He missed her terribly. Perhaps he could have convinced Arthur to join him in a visit to Ealdor. Arthur always behaved graciously around Hunith. He lost some of his surliness in her presence-and he’d not dare call Merlin an idiot while Hunith was within earshot, no matter how playful he meant the taunt to sound. It was almost as if Arthur held Hunith in such high esteem that he wanted to leave her with only a positive memory of his kindness and generosity, one that was tempered with respect for her son.
Merlin felt a stab of pain when he realized he’d never see his mother together with Arthur again.
He looked down the line of trees that lined the road to Ealdor. He needed Hunith now, more than ever. For all of Merlin’s life, he knew no comfort as soothing as his mother’s touch. Only her hands had smoothed the frown from Merlin’s brow, only her arms had held him while he cried, only her lips had whispered comforting words to him when he was troubled. Hunith would know what to do for Merlin in his despair. She, more than anyone else, would understand the gravity of what Arthur’s death meant for Merlin, the failure he felt deep in is bones for not being able to protect Arthur from Mordred’s blade.
Hunith would know to touch her palm to Merlin’s forehead and hug him in the way only a mother could. She’d smile at him and try to absorb some of his pain into her own heart, her strong arms drawing him close. Merlin tore his eyes away from the road. There was no time to visit her now. Prolonging his break at the crossroads tortured his heart. Merlin sensed that the sun would soon begin its descent, although it was hidden by the heavy clouds. Camelot lay ahead, and Merlin had to hurry if he was going to reach the castle before dark.
Merlin gathered his belongings and shoved his feet back into his boots. Beyond the trees, a slow-moving brook would provide fresh water for the remainder of the journey. Merlin drained his water skin and went to the bank to fill it. The day had been humid for late autumn and the rivers had been running low as they typically did at summer’s end. He knelt on the bank and lowered the mouth of the skin to the water, letting the rim dip below the surface so he could fill it to capacity. When it was full, he sat back on his heels and tipped the skin to his lips, drinking his fill before replenishing his water supply again.
When he touched the skin to the water, he saw a haze of blue light rise to the brook’s surface. At first, he thought the sun had broken through the overcast, the water gleaming beneath the dim rays. But when he looked closer, he saw the image of the manatee peering at him from beneath the water.
“Oh!” Merlin said falling back onto his arse, his limbs sprawling from the shock of seeing Morforwyn where he least expected. “It’s you again.”
Morforwyn seemed to move closer to the surface, but he stopped before his face could break the water.
Merlin touched his fingers to the water and rings of concentric circles spread across the brook. It surprised him that the manatee could have travelled so far, using only the waterways. But he soon recognized the water as a tool that could be used as a scrying pool for when Morforwyn wanted to communicate with him.
“Morforwyn, is something wrong?” Merlin asked.
Morforwyn grimaced, and said, “I only came to see you in this way because I have something to show you.”
“What is it?” Merlin asked. He was certain it would be more bad news about Arthur. “Is it Arthur? Please tell me.” He couldn’t imagine that anything worse could have happened to Arthur than the death he experienced at the lakeside. If not death, then what could be worse?
“I’ve come to give you some sad news. I know it will be better if it comes from me than if you find out about it on your own, or learn it from someone else,” Morforwyn said gently.
Merlin crumpled. "Is it the Sidhe? Did they tell you there is nothing they can do to help Arthur?” Merlin asked.
“No, it’s not the Sidhe, Merlin,” Morforwyn said. “You'll have to follow me where the water leads and I’ll show you what has happened. I'll be right here with you all the way, but I’m so sorry to tell you that you have lost another friend.”
“Another friend?” Merlin asked. He got to his feet and followed where Morforwyn led, his scry image swimming close to the earthy brookbank. Merlin grew more worried with every tentative step along the dead moss that lined the bank. Another friend was gone. Dead, maybe? What more could possibly go wrong this summer?
Morforwyn travelled the meandering brook as it wound through the forest while Merlin quickly followed him on the shore. Soon they came to a copse of withered trees that extended into the water. Beyond the dying and curling leaves, Merlin thought he caught a glimpse of scales.
“What is it?” Merlin asked, panting from trying to keep his balance on the unstable rocks and moss.
He saw a stirring in the leaves, as if some great beast had drawn its last breath. A flash of green skin and the spikes of dragon claws. It was Kilgharrah, asleep in the dirt beyond the trees.
But he wasn’t sleeping. Merlin knew in an instant that old age had claimed him.
He knelt at the dragon’s head. “Old friend,” Merlin said, remembering Kilgharrah with affection despite the havoc he created with his lies.
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Morforwyn said from the water. “I just had to let you know.”
Merlin stroked the tough hide behind Kilgharrah’s ears. “Thank you, Morforwyn. I’m glad you showed me. I would have wondered what became of him. It would have been worse if I stumbled upon him myself, or if I saw the people of Camelot celebrating his death. He caused them more harm than he ever did me.”
“If you’re sad again, we can hug until the sad thoughts go away,” Morforwyn said.
“I am sad, but it was Kilgharrah’s time to go,” Merlin said. He quirked an eyebrow in Morforwyn’s direction. “Besides, how are we going to hug if you’re only an apparition?”
Morforwyn grinned and closed his eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “We can hug when you get back to the lake.”
Merlin smiled. There was something about this sea creature that made him feel at ease, despite Arthur’s death and the loss of the hope that Kilgharrah had long instilled in him. “We’ll hug soon enough then,” he said to the manatee.
“I’ll stay here as long as you need me to,” Morforwyn said. “But if you want me to keep an eye out for the Sidhe, I’d better get back to Avalon soon.”
“You’re right,” Merlin said. He had his eyes on the rocky ledges that lay beyond the trees. He didn't dare ask about Arthur, lest his heart break again. “And there has been no sign of the Sidhe since I left?”
“No, nor has there been any sign of Arthur,” Morforwyn said.
“Very well, then,” Merlin said, blinking back his tears. “You should return to Avalon. I have one last thing to do for Kilgharrah while I’m here. I can take care of it on my own.”
“Are you sure?” Morforwyn asked.
Merlin thought about it for a moment and decided that he felt much more confident in his own abilities than he did earlier in the day. There was no need for him to put on a false bravado to convince the manatee that he was sincere. Before the sun set tonight, he'd retrieve the Horn of Cathbhadh and his plan to return Arthur to life would start moving in the right direction. He knelt at the brookbank and touched a long finger to the water, caressing the image of the manatee's face.
“I’ve got this,” Merlin said boldly.
Morforwyn smiled. “I am so proud of you, Merlin,” he said. “You’ve done so well and I think you’re going to be just fine in time. I’ll see you back in Avalon, if not before.”
Merlin watched as the manatee’s face faded from view. He wiped his wet fingers on the hem of his bloodied jacket.
Beyond the trees lay an area of stone that had been heaved from the earth. Merlin got to his feet and walked to the opening in the forest. The flat ledges paved the ground in an area that was nearly the size of Camelot's courtyard. Only a few patches of sparse grass seeped up from the dirt that had filled the spaces between the stones. The area would be expansive enough to serve Merlin's purpose.
After a quick look around, and with his ears pricked to attention for the presence of Saxons, Merlin returned to Kilgharrah's side.
He lay his hand on Kilgharrah's head, the scales stiff with death beneath his palm.
“If my heart wasn’t already broken by Arthur’s death, yours would have filled me with unbearable sorrow,” Merlin whispered.
The forest was quiet, except for Merlin’s breath. He bit down on his bottom lip.
“I don't know why you lied to me,” Merlin said. “I suppose you thought you were doing the right thing, but I can't forgive you for this.”
Merlin removed his hand from Kilgharrah's head and stood beside the hulking creature, its wings withered and collapsed against the ground.
“I can only hope there will be another way to make this right,” Merlin said, wiping a tear from his eye, “to make up for all your lies. Perhaps some other time… perhaps some other dragon.”
Merlin raised his hand into the air and uttered his spell, ”Snæden þá scinfelda áfæstne ádas.”
With a flash of Merlin's eyes, the yellowed grass that surrounded the ledgy rocks disengaged from their roots as if they had been sliced by an unseen blade. Merlin knew his magic needed to work quickly, lest he be discovered by bandits or Saxons who could be marauding nearby. Length after length of brittle straw slid into place upon the rocks, the pyre building itself under Merlin's direction.
When he was satisfied with his work, Merlin turned his attention back to Kilgharrah.
”Abregdan þá dracan alecgede hine uppan þá adas,” Merlin spoke, using his outstretched palm to guide the dragon’s lifeless body.
The dragon floated gently through the air and came to rest on the bed of kindling Merlin had made for him, a final resting place there in the forest.
Merlin steeled himself and took a step backwards. “Goodbye, old friend,” he whispered, although he had no words of praise for Kilgharrah this day.
Merlin’s eyes flared gold and for an instant, the pyre on the ledges became an inferno of red flames, the dragon's remains burning to black on the silvery rocks. Merlin had to shield himself from the heat, sweat breaking out on his face. The dampness dried out of his clothing for the first time since he transformed himself from the elderly Emrys who defeated the Saxons at Camlann. Such was the intensity of the flames that only moments later, the sky rained down with white ash. Merlin used his neckerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. With another flare of magic that turned his blue eyes to gold, the rocks appeared untouched, the dragon gone, as if he had never existed, except in Merlin’s memory.
Merlin turned away from the scene and started toward the crossroads, the white ash swirling behind him as he stepped through the forest and onto the road that would lead him to Camelot. Kilgharrah's scant remains of chalky white dust might cause the Saxons to shake their heads in wonder, but nothing more.
Shouldering his satchel, Merlin hurried along. He had travelled this grassy road many times and anticipated each turn of the path before he arrived at it. He knew just the place on the knoll where Camelot's spires would come into view. He remembered how excited he was when he first saw them as a young man. Nearly a decade had passed since that fateful day when got the first inkling of what his life's destiny would be. Fate had entrusted a prince with golden blond hair and a brilliant smile into his care. Merlin, who could barely keep a baby chick alive without tripping over it. Merlin, who accidentally trampled Hunith's prized tomatoes while chasing Will through her garden. Merlin, who couldn't walk and chew on a leaf of spearmint at the same time. The thought that he would play a part in unifying Albion’s warring realms so that they would someday become a cohesive and peaceful whole had been dizzying.
But now, not even Arthur's death would keep him from striving to fulfil the task he held most dearly to his heart.
He refused to believe his purpose ended where Kilgharrah insisted it did. For ten long years, he had associated success with a living breathing Arthur by his side. He wouldn't give up hope now, no matter how futile it seemed with Arthur somewhere in the care of the Sidhe.
Merlin steeled himself when he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the crimson Pendragon pennants, a golden dragon emblazoned on each one, flying from the battlements. His heart ached when he remembered Arthur's pale lips, the cold skin of his forehead, the vacant look in his eyes before he closed them for the last time. Merlin's feet stumbled, but he forced himself to continue forward. No matter what losses he'd suffered in recent days, entering the gates to the citadel alone, when he had so often ridden beside Arthur, was one of the most painful experiences of Merlin’s life.
Together, he and Arthur had passed through this stone entryway hundreds of times over the years. Upon entering the courtyard, Arthur would nod to his subjects who welcomed their king home from battle or patrol or hunt. He’d then turn in his saddle to look fondly at Merlin for a moment before surging forward again, his chin raised nobly as if to say, “All hail your returning king. Not only did he defeat Camelot’s enemies, bring peace to the land, and provide food for the feast, but he also brought his idiot manservant back in one piece. Yes, he might be a bit damaged, but he’s still alive.”
Whenever Merlin tried to question him about it afterwards, Arthur would throw his head back with laughter, saying, “It’s true though, Merlin. Bringing you back to Camelot alive adds to my credibility as a great ruler. Besides, I like having you beside me. It gives me good tales to tell about your mishaps when we return home. Now drink your ale and get to bed before you fall asleep in my chair.”
“Arthur,” Merlin sighed, missing him more than ever. He’d give anything to hear his laugh again, to see his fond expression.
Merlin’s heart ached as he passed through the entrance. He’d try to remember the manatee's encouraging words and move forward through the layers of pain toward a time of hope and acceptance.
“I’ve got this,” he whispered.
Merlin slowed his pace and let his fingers slide across the stone entryway as he entered the courtyard. He thought it strange that no guards were stationed as lookouts on the battlements or as sentries by the gates. Darkness fell on the castle grounds, but no torches had been ignited to help a traveller find their way from the lower town, should an emergency arise and help be needed from the knights or the king…
The queen-Merlin reminded himself.
After Percival delivered the news of Arthur’s death, Gwen would have ascended to Arthur’s throne in the days that passed while Merlin mourned by the lake. He felt confident that Gwen would rule as wisely as her husband, but something was clearly amiss with the castle’s security.
Merlin slipped into the very same corridor to which he had been directed on his first visit to Camelot. Gaius would be waiting for him inside his workshop that served as his pharmacy as well as his and Merlin’s home. But when Merlin tugged the latch on the creaky old door, it swung open to reveal a deserted workshop.
“Gaius,” Merlin called out carefully. He didn’t want to scare the old man half to death by appearing after being gone for so long. He wondered if Gaius remembered his promise to make Merlin’s favourite meal when he returned. As much as it would be a welcome pleasure-to sit down to one of Gaius’s home-cooked concoctions, Merlin wouldn’t let it bother him if preparing dinner wasn’t one of Gaius’s priorities right now.
“Gaius?” Merlin called again. Nothing.
Merlin had no time to waste waiting for Gaius to return to his chambers. He climbed the stairs that led to his room. More than a week had passed since he had been in his own room with his own things. He felt fortunate that nothing seemed to have happened to his belongings while he was away.
He felt for the loose board beneath his bed and brought his magic book from its hiding place. The Horn of Cathbhadh had already been used once with terrifying results. Merlin hoped that his book of magic might provide some insight as to why the horn had worked the way it did when Arthur used it to summon Uther. He shoved the book into his satchel and crawled out from beneath the bed. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass that hung on the wall above his wash basin.
He barely recognized himself.
The fog of days that passed since Arthur’s death hadn’t treated him kindly. His eyes were rimmed with red from crying and the dark circles beneath his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept properly in days. Merlin grimaced, supposing that much was true. His tunic was stained with splotches of dried blood, dark against the blue linen that once served as his best shirt. Merlin didn’t want to think about whose blood had soaked through his clothing. It could have been Morgana’s just as easily as it could have been Arthur’s.
He dropped his satchel on the bed. He went to the door and closed it so he could look at the meagre choice of clothing that hung from the hook on the back of the door. A varied wardrobe was never one of Merlin’s concerns. He took his spare tunic from the hook, shook it out, and examined it. Determining that it was clean enough, he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his belt. He stripped off his dirty tunic, tossing it into the pile of laundry on the floor. His fingers fiddled with the knot on his neckerchief which was even more filthy than his tunic. The sweaty knot slipped between his fingers more than once before he freed the garment from around his neck and let it drop into the pile of dirty clothes. He winced when he remembered that he had meant to haul the whole lot of it off to the room adjacent to the kitchen, where the constant supply of hot water and a scrubbing with a good soap would have made the clothes clean again.
Was it only a week ago that he had meant to go there?
He had visited Arthur’s chambers to turn down his bed for the evening when he bumped into the nightstand, spilling a goblet of wine onto the floor. It would have been easy to mop up the mess and call it a night, except for the fact that Arthur's favourite white tunic caught most of the spill from where it lay discarded on the stones.
Merlin had huffed out a breath and gathered the tunic with a heap of other kingly laundry to take to the kitchen. He was sure that Amelia, the new laundress, would never be able to remove such a stain, no matter how she scrubbed. Instead, Merlin hid the tunic in his room, resolving to take care of it himself with magic at his earliest opportunity. Only a night later did Morgana’s lackey plant the Gean Canach in his room to attack him in his slumber, vanquishing his magic and triggering the turn of events that left Arthur dead.
Merlin plucked the white tunic from his laundry now. The stain had set even worse than he remembered, blood red wine that reminded Merlin of Arthur's fatal wound. He brought the garment to his nose and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of Arthur's scent, but all he could smell was the stale wine, a reminder his chance of restoring Arthur to life faded with every passing hour.
He tried not to think about his failure, lest he start crying again. His tears would do nothing to earn back Gaius’s faith in him and his magic. The last thing he needed would be Gaius’s refusal to relinquish the Horn of Cathbhadh. Then, Merlin would be back where he started, wallowing in hopelessness beside the lake. He’d not leave there of his own free will again.
Divested of his filthy shirt and neckerchief, Merlin poured some water from the pitcher into the wash basin. He dipped his hands into the water, but just as his fingertips touched the shimmering surface, he yelped and jumped backwards, startled by the image of Morforwyn's mottled face smiling at him from the basin.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked. He scratched the hair on his bare chest with his wet fingers, amused that the manatee could appear without any warning whatsoever.
“I just stopped by to make sure you were feeling better,” Morforwyn said, his head surrounded by a blue glow. “That was a brave thing you did back at the brook.”
Merlin took a half-step backwards, but braced his hands on the washstand while he remembered the final task he performed for Kilgharrah. “Yes, I’m okay,” he said, blinking away the start of fresh tears. “I’m just surprised to see you here. I wanted to wash up before Gaius got back.”
“Merlin?” Morforwyn asked, his translucent face taking up the entire space of the basin.
Merlin glanced toward the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, Arthur's stained shirt on top of the mess. “Yes?” he replied.
Morforwyn spoke, his voice gentle, “When someone asks, Are you okay? it’s all right to say no.”
Merlin sighed. He couldn’t fool the manatee, but he still tried to fool himself.
“It may be for some people,” Merlin muttered. “But not me, apparently.”
Just then, Merlin heard the latch being raised on the door of Gaius’s workshop.
“Gaius is back,” he said to Morforwyn, but when he looked into the basin next, the manatee was gone. Only the swirl of water that splashed onto the floor proved that he had been there at all.
Merlin threw his clean tunic over his head without bothering to wash. He doubted whether Gaius knew he had returned, so he cleared his throat to give some warning, lest he startle the old man.
“Gaius,” he then called out.
“Merlin,” Gaius said, looking up in utter surprise when Merlin descended from the alcove.
Merlin let Gaius take him into a warm embrace.
“I thought I might never see you again,” Gaius choked out, on the verge of tears. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
Merlin’s mood remained sombre. When his mentor released him, Merlin searched his face for understanding.
“You know about Arthur?” Merlin asked.
“Percival told us days ago, when he rode back from Avalon,” Gaius said grimly, clasping a fatherly hand to Merlin's shoulder.
Merlin shuddered when he thought about the inevitable spread of the news throughout the realm. “Everyone knew I was with Arthur then,” Merlin said apologetically. “I tried to get him to the lake, but he was so weak and our time together passed so quickly, more quickly than I thought possible.”
“I’m sure you did your best,” Gaius said, his voice kind, “but if history tells us anything, you’ll know that sometimes your best isn’t always good enough.”
Merlin ran his fingers through his matted hair. “It was so difficult to travel with him in his state. He had lost so much blood. He could barely walk. And the woods between Camlann and Avalon were teeming with Saxons… and if Percival returned here, then you know about Gwaine too?” Merlin asked.
Gaius nodded and then, as if he only just remembered something important, he left Merlin standing alone and bustled toward the cupboard saying, “I promised you your favourite meal, but I had no idea when to expect you. I'm surprised you showed up here at all. Surely you can imagine the queen is beside herself with grief.”
“Gwen… she must be devastated,” Merlin said, waving off Gaius’s promise of food. “I’m sure the knights will be angry-they’re right to blame me. I didn't stop Mordred in time-it’s almost as if I killed Arthur myself. Oh, Gaius, by the time we got near the lake it was far too late to do anything. For all the trouble it’s caused me, my magic couldn't save him.”
Gaius looked up from where he was carving slices from a loaf of bread. “They know, Merlin,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“They know?” Merlin asked. “About my magic?”
The realization that not only was he responsible for Arthur's death, but his greatest secret had become known to the queen, the knights, and probably every peasant in Camelot washed over Merlin and left him unsettled.
“I had to tell them,” Gaius said. He piled slices of cheese onto the bread and gave it a sprinkle of rosemary from a wooden jar. “Gwen asked if I knew the sorcerer who came to Arthur's aid at Camlann. I didn't lie.”
Merlin chewed on his bottom lip. If any doubt existed in his mind about whether he'd be able to return to Camelot, it was answered then. Everyone loved Arthur, and they'd never look at Merlin the same way again. He was the king's manservant, who became his protector against all odds. But there was no happy ending to his tale, no sound of trumpets triumphant that the hero had prevailed. Instead there was only dark water and a tower that barely emerged from the fog if one looked closely enough.
“I killed Morgana,” Merlin said, his voice meek, as if pleading for some acknowledgement that he had done something right.... anything?
“Percival informed the court about that too,” Gaius said, placing the plate of food atop the stove, but then he shook his head. “I’m afraid nothing will appease Gwen, not with Arthur dead.”
Merlin wondered if he should bother to tell Gaius about his plan to use the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur. He worried that if the horn couldn’t bring Arthur back, the failure might set off more trouble for magic users. They had relied on Merlin and he had failed. He couldn't bear the thought of magic being rejected by the people of Camelot, not when he had hoped that Arthur would restore magic to the realm one day. He shivered when he thought about how close he had come to reaching that goal. He watched Gaius take a torch to the bread, the cheese melting as he directed the heat from the torch upon it. He couldn't bear the thought of Gaius refusing to let Merlin use magic now, not with the much-needed horn hidden away somewhere in Gaius's storeroom, just waiting to be taken back to Avalon.
“Gwen?” Merlin asked, as Gaius set the plate of food in front of him. “How is she?”
“I’m afraid she’s not doing well,” Gaius said. “She’s just lost her husband and now she has a kingdom to run. The Saxons are still lurking in the forest nearby and she has all the matters of court to handle.”
Merlin sighed and took a bite of the bread and cheese that Gaius had garnished with spice. Arthur always made it look easy to others, but Merlin knew better. Ruling a kingdom was hard work. Whether dealing with the loss of his father, negotiating peace with the adjacent kingdoms whose rulers sought to make Camelot their own, or deciding matters for the villagers who brought their issues to court, Arthur never let his men see that he struggled under the weight of his crown. Only Merlin knew his doubts, his fears. Whether a problem was petty or of great consequence, Arthur always gave it his full attention. He treated his people with compassion and fairness. He asked only for loyalty in return, but even that was too great a favour for Merlin to grant, not when he unleashed bolts of lightning in the battle with the Saxons instead of preventing Mordred from running Arthur through.
“I must apologise to her,” Merlin said.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Gaius said.
“I need to. It’s my fault she’s got the whole kingdom relying on her-” Merlin said.
“It would be best if she didn’t see you at all. Not until you sort out what you’re going to say to her. Whatever you do, don’t underestimate the depth of her grief,” Gaius said.
“She’ll blame me for Arthur’s death, just like everyone else,” Merlin said, pushing the plate away. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.
“I’m afraid she does blame you,” Gaius said. “She’s been under a considerable amount of stress these last days. I’ve prescribed her a draught that will calm her mind. It has helped her to sleep, but she has been prone to outbursts of agitation when the remedy has worn off. I’m afraid the pressures of being queen may be too much for her.”
“The guards, Gaius?” Merlin said, remembering how easily he slipped into Camelot. “I noticed there were no guards on duty. Was that Gwen’s doing?”
“Camelot’s forces suffered many losses during the battle at Camlann, besides that of her king. Gwen has the great challenge of keeping Camelot secure with a minimum of forces,” Gaius said.
“Well, she can’t leave Camelot unguarded. I entered the citadel without seeing a single man. Surely the Saxons won’t stay quiet for long, especially if they suspect Arthur is dead,” Merlin said.
“If Camelot is unguarded, it must have been an oversight on Gwen’s part. Leon has been doing what he can to guide her decisions while the kingdom recuperates from this week of trials,” Gaius said, pouring water from the pitcher into a cup for Merlin.
Merlin took the cup and sipped the water. “Gwen has always made good decisions in the past. I’m sure that Arthur had every confidence in her as queen,” he said.
“You’ll recall that Gwen comes from a position of servitude,” Gaius said. “She remembers how hard her father worked as a smith, spending long days over the fire. Gwen learned her compassion from him. She wants to be a good and honourable queen to her people, but sometimes she suffers from such indecision that I fear it may drive her mad.”
“I’m sure it’s not a responsibility many people would want to have put upon them, but I doubt the Saxons will hold off an attack if they learn that the castle is unguarded,” Merlin said.
“I’m afraid the changes in her temperament cannot be controlled by a simple draught,” Gaius said. “In time, she’ll be able to think with a level head. You need to understand that she’s undergone a great trauma to have lost her husband at such a young age.”
Merlin folded his arms and rested them on the table, using them as a pillow for his head. He nearly fell asleep, but a desperate sorrow overtook him. No matter how the loss of Arthur would affect the future of Camelot, it seemed that no one would ever be able to understand how it affected Merlin. His whole life had revolved around Arthur. He had tried to keep him safe, but Arthur had died in Merlin’s arms. Merlin doubted he would ever feel right about the world again.
“What if there was a way to get Arthur back?” Merlin asked without lifting his head.
“Merlin, I know well enough that the Sidhe were Arthur’s only hope. You got him to the lake and nothing happened. It will be difficult for you, but you need to start the process of letting Arthur go,” Gaius said.
Merlin raised his head from his arms and looked Gaius in the eye. “What if I used the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur from death?” he asked.
“Merlin,” Gaius said disapprovingly, “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense to me. I think it may be the only way to bring Arthur back,” Merlin said.
Gaius laid one hand on the back of Merlin’s neck and stooped to gaze sternly into his eyes. “No, I can’t let you do this,” Gaius said. “I won’t.”
“But, why not?” Merlin asked, the tears welling again, despite his sleepiness. “I have to do something.”
Gaius stood upright and began to pace the floor behind Merlin. “Merlin, have you forgotten what happened when Arthur used the horn to summon Uther from the dead? What if Arthur returns and behaves with the same vengeance and cruelty as Uther did?”
“Arthur could never be like that,” Merlin said sitting up straight in his seat again.
“What makes you think that the horn won’t change Arthur into someone we don’t recognize?” Gaius asked, stopping in his tracks. “From what you told me, Uther tried to kill Arthur after he was brought back to life with the horn. Even if you can bring Arthur back, is that the kind of future you want for Camelot? One where the king instils fear in his people? Do you want a kingdom where Arthur will rule by force? The Arthur I know wouldn’t stand for it.”
“No, but-” Merlin started. He knew Gaius would disagree with him. When did Gaius ever think that Merlin’s ideas would work? Merlin stared at the cup of water that Gaius had set in front of him. The clear liquid reminded him of the manatee and the words that gave him courage. The water-how the amazing thing about the water was that it always provided what he would need. Perhaps it was time that Merlin stopped listening to Gaius. Perhaps it was time that Merlin followed his own path, disregarding Gaius’s ideas for once.
“But nothing,” Gaius said. “You can’t do that to Arthur. He was your friend.”
“But if I can bring him back, don’t I owe it to him to try? He won’t be like Uther, I just know he won’t be,” Merlin said. “This is Arthur we’re talking about. He’ll never be like his father. He all but told me so himself when I showed him the good that magic could do in responsible hands.”
“You showed him more of your magic?” Gaius asked, covering his eyes with his palms. “I don’t know whether I’m more surprised that you waited this long, or more surprised that Arthur didn’t execute you on the spot.”
Merlin scoffed at Gaius’s remark. He could have no idea what has transpired between Arthur and himself when they made their journey to Avalon. Gaius may have known Arthur as his father’s son, but Merlin knew better. He just wished it hadn’t taken a journey of two whole days for Merlin to realize that Arthur wouldn’t sentence him to death for his magic, that Arthur trusted him, that Arthur seemed perfectly at peace to die in his arms, Merlin’s secret revealed and accepted for all that it meant between them. Gaius could never know the feelings that threatened to overwhelm Merlin now, the tears welling up again. Arthur was not just the king Merlin was charged to protect, they were more than that to each other-what the dragon had called two halves of the same coin.
At least that much of what the dragon said seemed true.
“I need to get the horn,” Merlin said. “I need to try to use it. It’s my fault that I didn’t get Arthur to the lake in time. You said it would be two days and I thought we could make it there, but I failed despite that nonsense the dragon said about Arthur returning when he was needed most. Arthur is needed most right now. And his death is on my hands. I can’t live with that. I won’t.”
Gaius pulled a stool to the table and sat beside Merlin. He said, “I have tried to help you for all these years. I tried to teach you right from wrong. You knew that the prophecy said that Arthur would die at Mordred’s hand, yet you insist on disregarding this knowledge with your plan to use the Horn of Cathbhadh. You’ve always tried too hard to change things when you knew there was no way of changing them. I can’t let you make the same mistake again. It only ends in disappointment. Look at you! Have you eaten anything since Arthur died? Have you even washed yourself? You smell like you’ve spent the day in the stocks.”
“The horn, Gaius,” Merlin said. “I want the horn.”
Gaius pushed himself back from the table. “I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it,” he said. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s too risky. I don’t want to lose you too.”
“You won’t lose me,” Merlin said sullenly.
Merlin wasn’t sure whether to believe that Gaius didn’t have the horn. Despite his bone-deep tiredness, he rose from the table and began to climb the ladder to the upper level of Gaius’s workshop. It was here, in a locked cabinet that Gaius stored the relics of the purge, along with other magical devices and objects. Merlin remembered the first time Gaius had given Merlin an object from the hidden cabinet-his cherished book of magic.
“Merlin, no!” Gaius said, but it was futile for Gaius to try to stop Merlin now. Merlin was determined to leave Camelot with the Horn of Cathbhadh in his hands if he had to tear the castle apart looking for it.
Merlin stepped off the top ladder rung and strode to the cabinet. With a flash of golden eyes and a barely whispered spell, he had the cabinet open, despite Gaius’s best efforts to keep it secure from intruders. Merlin ignored Gaius’s protests that the horn was not there as he rummaged through the cabinet’s contents.
He reached for the top shelf where his fingers landed in a sticky mess of goo, the source of which was something that he decided not to think about. Wiping his fingers on his tunic, he continued to search for the horn. He pulled Aulfric’s staff to the front of the cabinet, its blue gemstone aglow at Merlin’s command to illuminate the dark space so he could better see. Pushing the various magical garments aside, Merlin dug through the clothing, feeling for the horn in the pockets of each cloak that was confiscated from sorcerers in the years of Uther’s reign.
There was nothing.
On he searched, all the way to the bottom of the cabinet, where various circular devices of cold iron lay, remnants of the purge when they were locked around the suspected sorcerer’s necks so they couldn’t perform their magic while they were led to the pyre. Merlin shuddered to think of the ancient devices secured around his neck and wrists. He felt certain that he’d be able to use his magic to overpower such restraints if it ever came to that.
With the Horn of Cathbhadh nowhere in sight, Merlin threw his hands in the air. He glanced over the railing and watched Gaius with his face buried in his hands. It was clear that he wasn’t going to assist Merlin further in his quest. He descended the stairs reluctantly.
If Gaius didn’t have the horn in his collection of magical artefacts, there was only one place where Merlin believed it could be hidden. If Arthur had kept the horn, despite the bad memories of his father it brought forth, despite how it made Arthur believe Uther was disappointed in him as king, Gaius didn’t need to say another word. Merlin knew exactly where Arthur would have hidden such a thing.
“If you won’t tell me where the horn is, I'll say goodbye to you,” Merlin said slumping down onto his chair beside Gaius. Even to Merlin, the words sounded like they came from a petulant brat, instead of from a fully grown man. “I’ll leave in the morning. There’s no further need for me to remain in Camelot. Not as long as Arthur won’t be here with me.”
Gaius frowned miserably. “Merlin,” he said, patting Merlin’s back, “you’ve got to give yourself some time to grieve over Arthur’s death. Running away won’t change anything. Besides, I’d miss you terribly if you left Camelot.”
Merlin hated to make Gaius feel this way. Although his refusal to support Merlin’s plan left them at a stalemate, he couldn’t bear to see Gaius so distressed.
“Gaius, have you ever heard of a creature called a manatee?” Merlin asked, hoping to change the subject to something more pleasant, lest they both end up in tears over the tragedy of the past week.
“A manatee?” Gaius asked. "It doesn't sound very familiar. What sort of creature is it?"
“I think it lives in the water, primarily,” Merlin said.
“Ah, I believe I may have heard of such a creature before,” Gaius said tapping his finger to his lips.
Merlin used the remains of his slice of bread to wipe the spices from his plate while Gaius climbed the ladder to one of the many bookshelves in his workshop. Merlin suspected that Gaius was equally relieved by the change of subject.
“It might have magical powers,” Merlin called over his shoulder.
"It might, you say?" Gaius asked from high on the ladder that led to the upper level of the dusty shelves. After shuffling through some pages, Gaius returned to the table with the book of creatures open wide. He dropped it in front of Merlin.
“That’s it,” Merlin said, looking at the sketch of Morforwyn. The author of the book must have seen such a creature before. The likeness was amazing.
“No known magical powers, but manatees are sometimes confused with mermaids,” Gaius said pointing to the notes beside the sketch.
“Mermaids?” Merlin asked. “Are those the creatures who are known to call seafarers astray with their song?”
“The very ones,” Gaius said, examining the image in the book.
Merlin nodded, remembering that Morforwyn had told him this about his appearance.
“Mermaids take on a human form, except for their fish-like tails,” Gaius continued. “But the manatee doesn’t have a human form, or even a mermaid-like form. It’s an ocean-dwelling creature-more like a seal or a walrus. When I was younger, tales of the manatee were often brought to Camelot by men who earned their sustenance on the sea. Why do you ask about such an animal?”
“I don't know. Just thinking about manatees, I suppose,” Merlin said brushing the breadcrumbs from the table in front of him.
Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Merlin, I know you better than you think. Have you seen such a creature such as this manatee in your travels?”
“It’s hard to say,” Merlin said with a yawn, suddenly feeling tired from his journey. If Gaius thought Merlin needed time to recover from the shock of Arthur’s death, he’d certainly think that Merlin imagined the existence of the helpful manatee as a way to cope with his grief. He wasn't sure whether he should tell Gaius about Morforwyn and his soothing words. It was as if Merlin wanted to keep Morforwyn as a secret source of encouragement to be used by him alone when things got too difficult for him to handle.
“Merlin?” Gaius insisted.
“I’ve been alone by the lake at Avalon for days. I suppose it could be my imagination. There were so many shadows there and my eyes have been so… tired,” Merlin said. He glanced at Gaius, knowing his eyes were still red from crying so much over Arthur’s death.
Gaius nodded with understanding.
“The tower that rises above the lake was hidden by fog most of the time. I gazed at the shadows in the water, hoping so badly I'd see some sign that the Sidhe were there, no matter how much I dread asking them for help,” Merlin said.
“And this manatee appeared in the water?” Gaius asked gently, pulling out a chair to sit beside Merlin.
“You think I imagined it, don't you?” Merlin asked.
“Creatures such as the manatee are only known to dwell in the ocean. They need salt water. They don’t typically live in lakes like the one at Avalon. Although I do recall that a manatee was sighted there once before, but that was a long time ago,” Gaius said shaking his head.
Merlin wanted to know more. If the manatee was a true ally, maybe he could trust his advice when he asked for help in bringing Arthur back to life. Morforwyn seemed to think using the Horn of Cathbhadh was a better idea than Gaius did.
“Maybe it was a spirit of a dead manatee that I saw,” Merlin said grumpily. “Unless you think the water there is salty enough to sustain such a creature.”
“Well, I do recall learning that there was once a time when the lake at Avalon was connected to the ocean by a river that flowed broadly from this kingdom all the way to the waters of the sea,” Gaius said. “Sometimes, a ribbon of salted water flowed inward with the tides. Occasionally it stretched all the way to the lake at Avalon.”
“I didn't see any such river while I've been waiting by the lake,” Merlin said, “although my mind has been a bit preoccupied with other things.”
“If I recall correctly, the lake was sealed off from the ocean a long time ago,” Gaius said thoughtfully. “The river had narrowed one day when the land was torn in two by a rift in the seam of the earth. I was only a boy living in Ealdor back then, but I remember that the ground quaked and children ran for cover. Armies were readied, but the earth’s trembling only lasted for a few moments. Still, the tremor was so violent that it was felt it all the way from Camelot to Ealdor. Nothing has ever shaken the earth with such a force again.”
“So maybe the shift in the earth could have trapped the manatee in the lake?” Merlin asked. “The manatee did mention something about being land-locked.”
“I suppose it could have happened,” Gaius said. “Manatees typically live longer than most men, according to what it says in the book. And it could be the same manatee that was seen in the lake before.”
“He’s been there for a long time then,” Merlin said sleepily.
“He spoke to you?” Gaius asked.
Merlin hoped that Gaius wouldn't think he had lost his sanity in the days he spent grieving by the lake.
“He did. He emerged by the lakeside at Avalon, where I brought Arthur,” Merlin said, remembering. “I think he likes living in the lake. The way he spoke, he sounded content to accept whatever fate had dealt to him despite being trapped there. He was happy with it-I must admit it was rather pleasant to encounter a creature who was satisfied with whatever may happen, instead of always wishing he could change things.”
“You've been through a lot in these past days,” Gaius said as he closed the book. “Perhaps you should try to get some sleep. You’ll be able to think more clearly after you’ve had a good night’s rest.”
Merlin yawned. The journey from Avalon to Camelot had left him exhausted, and arguing with Gaius over the Horn of Cathbhadh didn’t help matters. Arthur weighed heavily on his mind. After a night's rest, he'd find the Horn of Cathbhadh and return to the lake. He hoped his plan would work. At least he had the manatee's calming words to sooth him, even if he couldn't rely on Gaius to encourage him to use the horn.
Merlin bid Gaius goodnight and lay for a long time in his old bed in the room beside Gaius's workshop. His mind raced with worry over leaving Arthur in Morforwyn’s care at the lake. Before he settled down to dream, Merlin pulled his light blanket up to his chin. He tried not to imagine Arthur’s confusion if he rose from the lake without Merlin there to assure him that everything was going to be all right. Instead, he tried to remember Arthur as he knew him, proudly emerging from the lake when Merlin summoned him with the horn. He wondered if Arthur would ride in the wooden boat into which Merlin had sent him to rest or would he simply rise from the water.
Would Arthur be angry at having his peace disturbed? Or would he thank Merlin for bringing him back to life? Merlin thought he could accept the vagaries of Arthur’s whims, whichever reaction he decided to display. He yearned to see him again, to revel in the familiarity of his presence. The way the sunlight made his hair gleam just so, the way his muscles flexed beneath his tunic, giving Merlin the reassurance of his strength and worthiness to rule as king. In the morning, Merlin would search for the Horn of Cathbhadh, and by this time tomorrow, he would be one step closer to bringing Arthur back so he could unify Albion and bring Camelot to glory.
He didn’t count on facing the brunt of Gwen’s wrath.
~ ~ ~