[fanfic] Why We Fight - Part Seven (Merlin/Arthur)

[pallorsomnium]

For two days, they traveled in tense silence. Will’s scowl never left his face, looking even sourer than Merlin has ever seen Arthur, which was saying something. Merlin longed to see that mischievous grin he remembered clearly on his old friend’s face, but he suspected that that side of Will had been lost long ago during the Fall and Freya’s death. Merlin kept his hood up at all times, though Arthur kept shooting him exasperated looks.

Will led them in what felt like endless circles, but judging by the slight drop of temperature, they were heading towards the mountains. The caution, Merlin knew, was necessary, and Arthur expressed no complaints. Eventually though, they reached a high point, a ridge in the terrain that dropped off almost like a cliff, swooping down into a valley. Merlin was left breathless at the sight of the small houses nestled in between the grassy fields and the blanket of trees. This was where his people lived now, four hundred of them, living close among nature as before and safe.

“It’s not like home, but it’s the best we can do,” Will remarked almost carelessly before shooting a look at Arthur, as if daring him to make a snide remark.

Arthur simply shrugged and said, “Lead on.”

Will took them to a small cabin that stood on the village outskirts, along the central road that ran through the village. From the doorstep, Merlin could gaze down the road and see a number of other houses as well as a few people milling about. He spotted a group of children as well, all clutching satchels and hurrying down the road. Knowing that there were still young children among his people, children who didn’t know of the brutal war and only the aftermath and were still-hopefully-being taught as Carmarthians were once taught, made warmth and hope bubble inside him, and he couldn’t help but smile. Will unlocked the door and dropped the key into Arthur’s hand before waving for them to go inside.

The cabin was simple and bare, just one room furnished with a table and chairs and a bed. Shelving above the small fireplace held boxes of food stock and a few pots and pans and cups. Arthur took a short tour around the room before pulling out one of the chairs from the table and sitting down. Merlin followed him to the table but hovered by his side instead of sitting.

“I’ll let the council know about you and send for the healer to examine you,” Will said, still standing by the door. “Until then, don’t leave the premises. You lot aren’t exactly welcome here so just stay out of our business. The bucket in the back has water for washing up. The bucket by the fire has water for drinking. Your horse will be taken care up over in the stables.”

Arthur opened his mouth, to no doubt snipe at Will, but Merlin spoke before giving him a chance: “Thank you anyway. For letting us stay here at least.”

Will let out a huff before giving them a curt nod. He nearly slammed the door when he left.

Merlin sighed and pulled down his hood. He made his way over to the fireplace, reaching for one of the pots. While they waited, it was probably best to get some food in their stomachs. He found ingredients to make a soup and got to work.

“Well, he’s a cheery fellow,” Arthur remarked as Merlin set the pot over the fire.

“Will’s always been the surly type, but he…lost a lot in the war,” Merlin said, looking over his shoulder for Arthur’s reaction. The prince simply sat watching Merlin, waiting for him to say more. “We all did. I warned you already that they wouldn’t like you, and they don’t even know who you really are yet.”

“You knew him?” Arthur questioned, and Merlin grimaced, rubbing a hand over his face before turning back to the cooking pot.

“One of my best friends and my brother-in-law,” he admitted. He concentrated on cooking the soup and ignored the memories threatening to surge up and overtake him.

“Then you have a sister.”

Merlin’s grip on the pot tightened, the iron biting into his hand.

“I had a sister,” Merlin corrected, fighting the small ache at the back of his throat. “I couldn’t protect her, wasn’t fast enough.”

-an ear-splitting shriek of pain, and Merlin’s head snaps to his right. That familiar stomach-sinking, gut-wrenching dread hits him as he sees a sword sink into the side of the bastet. He yells out, white fury rushing through his head, and the men surrounding the great cat-his sister-are blown off their feet. They don’t get up, but neither does Freya. He runs to her-

“And he blames you for it?” Arthur said, and a wave of anger rose up inside Merlin. He shot a glare at the prince. “…or you blame yourself for it.” Arthur’s face softened with what Merlin could only read as sympathy. The anger died as quickly as it had come, and Merlin sighed, dropping the ladle into the pot.

“I…he doesn’t blame me. I blamed myself, but…Will probably still blames himself,” Merlin muttered, staring down at his hands. He’d come to terms with Freya’s death. Thirteen years were a long time to grieve. But he still felt that ache, knowing he should have protected her better, should have been there sooner.

“Then why do you still choose to hide your face from him? Is he that horrible of a friend that he’ll scorn you for what you become?”

“No! Will isn’t like that! I just…” He huffed in exasperation before poking at the soup with the ladle. He let the silence between them linger for a few minutes before saying, “It’s easier if they think I’m gone.”

“…why? And I want an answer this time, Merlin,” Arthur demanded.

“Without magic, I’m useless to my people.” It was something Merlin had thought about countless times during the first years of his capture. If he’d died, then that would have been the end. But it was, in a way, worse that he still lived, because he was still alive and should have been able to help his people, but Emrys was gone. He was powerless and slave to the very people responsible for the Fall.

“I hardly think magic is-” A knock on the door interrupted Arthur, and Merlin quickly pulled up his hood. Arthur glared at him but beckoned for the visitor to enter. The door swung open to reveal an old woman who smiled at them warmly.

Merlin recognized straight away who entered the cabin, and would have expected it if he’d known she’d been alive. Alice. Dear, old Alice, the best healer in Carmarthen and his very own aunt, married to his uncle and mentor Gaius. It made him feel even better, knowing that both Alice and Gaius had survived the Fall, were still alive and well. Of course, that meant he had to be even more inconspicuous as ever.

“Good day, sir. My name is Alice, and I’m here to examine you,” the healer said.

“Arthur,” the prince replied as Alice took a seat before him.

“And you?” Alice asked, looking over at Merlin. Merlin tugged the hood down a little further.

“Ambrose, a simple servant,” Merlin said. He sat himself down on the bed.

“Well, I welcome you to our humble refuge. It’s not much, but it’s all we have,” Alice said with a small smile. “Now, you told Will that you’ve been cursed with a transformation spell. Could you tell me about it in detail?”

“What do you need to know?” Arthur asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Everything you know. What do you transform into?” Alice questioned.

“A…wyvern, was it?” Arthur said, looking over at Merlin for confirmation. Merlin nodded his head.

“What triggers it?”

“Holding a sword and thinking of my uncle.”

“How long does the transformation last?”

“…at least an hour, but often longer.”

“Do you know who is responsible for it?”

Arthur glanced across the room at Merlin before looking back at Alice and saying, “Someone told me that it might have been Nimueh.”

“Oh, oh my…” The furrowing of her brow and her small frown weren’t reassuring at all. Then again, Merlin wondered who would have the power to go against Nimueh. Names came to mind, but most of them were dead.

Arthur, of course, noticed and demanded, “What? Is that going to be an issue?”

“No, no, I hope not. We will have to see,” Alice quickly replied, the worry falling away into her usual smile. “If you don’t mind, I’ll now cast a spell to detect the transformation spell. May I?” Alice inquired.

Arthur stiffened, eyeing the old healer with suspicion. It didn’t surprise Merlin, not when all the spells Arthur had had experience with had been used to bring about harm. Arthur looked again at Merlin, who gestured for him to agree. Arthur stared at him for a few moments before sighing.

“Get on with it then,” he said.

Alice gave him a small bow of her head before raising a hand, palm facing Arthur. She closed her eyes and began murmuring a spell. Straining his ears, Merlin recognized the spell; he’d learned it under Gaius’s tutelage once before, though he’d never had to use it in practice. It did more than detecting the spell. It would create an aura around its target. The caster read the colors from the aura to learn details about the spells placed on a person-how long they last, the general nature of the spells, if they’re fatal, how strong they are and so on. Alice opened her eyes again and looked at Arthur, her face solemn and blank. After a minute, she let out a breath, closing her eyes again.

“Well?” Arthur asked.

Alice shook her head and said, “It’s quite a strong enchantment. I will have to consult with a few others to find a solution.”

“Does that mean this can’t be fixed?” Arthur hissed. His hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.

“I don’t know for sure. A powerful enchantment requires a powerful magic to break,” Alice explained.

“Isn’t there someone powerful enough to break it?” Arthur scowled at her.

She looked Arthur in the eye and replied with a touch of bitterness that shocked Merlin: “The one person most certainly able to break this spell was taken from us by your own people. If he lives, his magic is probably gone.”

Merlin stiffened. She was talking about him. That familiar tightness in his chest started again, along with the clawing sensation in his throat and the sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Are you all right?” he heard Alice say. He looked up to see both Alice and Arthur staring at him, Alice with the customary healer’s concern, Arthur with thoughtful suspicion. Merlin uncurled himself into a proper sitting position.

He coughed to dispel the tightness in his throat before replying, “I’m fine. Just a little cold. Please, my master needs your help, not I.”

“If you’re sure, dear,” said Alice, turning back to Arthur. “There is someone who might be able to help you, but I won’t know for sure until I consult with him. I’m sorry for the wait, but it’s a must.”

“Very well then,” Arthur said with a sigh. Alice got to her feet, signaling the end of her evaluation.

“If I may, I am to take you to see our queen,” she said.

The Queen. Was it who Merlin thought-hoped-it was?

“You will have a monarch for this small place?” Arthur remarked, earning him a tight smile from Alice.

“A monarch and a council,” she said. “The Queen asked to see you. She wishes to know the circumstances that brought you to us. I suspect it will have to do with how you believe Nimueh to be responsible for your curse.”

“My servant can explain it better then.” Arthur stood and nodded at Merlin. Merlin couldn’t decide if he wanted to see the queen yet, didn’t know if he was prepared to.

“I’m sorry, but only you may come, Arthur,” Alice said.

“Why?”

“She asked for you and only you. No one else can come see her.”

“Then what am I to tell her?” Arthur scowled, before giving Merlin an inquisitive look.

“Tell her everything you know about Nimueh and Morgause and what they’re planning,” Merlin suggested. “They need to know, need to be warned.”

“All right.” Arthur nodded. He turned back to Alice, who’d moved to wait by the door. “Take me to her then,” he told her.

After they left, Merlin pulled down his hood. After taking the pot of soup off the fire, he curled up on the bed. Not wanting to think, he took the chance to sleep-he hadn’t gotten much time to do so while Will led them to the refuge.

Merlin dreamt of the past again-not of the war, but of a happier, quieter time.

On a rare day when Gaius would give him a day off from his studies, he would spend the free time with his family. That particularly day, Freya, who was eighteen and just recently engaged to Will, had gone on a date with him, so it was just him and his parents. His mother was in the kitchen, bustling around and baking bread. His father was at home for the day, also a rarity, and he sat in his chair by the living room fireplace, whittling away at a block of wood to create another one of his little wooden creations. Merlin remembered an earlier time when he’d find amusement in making the figurines come to life-until his father pointed out that it was probably best not to have miniature dragons, horses and wolves running about in the wild. Merlin himself was curled up in his own chair, a spell book on his lap but his eyes drawn instead to the new dragon his father was carving out. The only sounds in the room were his mother’s quiet humming and the sound of his father’s knife shaving wood. It was these moments he loved most in his childhood-even though he tried not to think about his past nowadays. Because he loved the quiet moments, when he would be lulled to sleep by the warmth of his family and home.

Though his father had had magic, his mother hadn’t. From his father, Merlin had learned about dragons and unicorns and other aspects of magic, but it was from his mother that Merlin learned the human side of life. From her, he learned about kindness, compassion and patience, and about the value of quiet strength as opposed to bravado and pomp. The first day of battle, his mother had been one of the first women to take up a spear or sword and ask where to stand. He learned then about her own quiet strength, the fierceness of her love that allowed her to fight against men twice her size and yet come out victorious. But that hadn’t kept her safe forever. The day before the final battle that brought Carmarthen’s downfall, his father died protecting his mother in an ambush and later that day, his mother was killed as well. This was the same day he lost Freya; he lost his whole family that day.

Merlin woke a few minutes before the door opened and Arthur walked in. Merlin’s hands flew to his hood, ready to pull it up if he needed to, but to his relief, the prince was alone.

“Hungry?” he asked, setting the now reheated pot of soup on the table.

“Starving,” Arthur replied. He tossed his cloak onto the bed and sat down at the table, watching in silence as Merlin laded out some soup for him before doing the same for himself.

Merlin waited until they were both settled and eating before asking, “How did it go?”

Arthur gave him a knowing smile before saying, “It was…interesting. That queen of yours is quite a woman.” Merlin’s hands clenched involuntarily. He let go of his spoon, but not before Arthur noticed his tenseness.

“What was she like?” Merlin asked, though he really wanted to ask who she was.

“Fiery, but cold. Gorgeous, really, but I don’t think I can hold a civilized conversation with her without turning it into a fight.” So it was her. She’d always been that way-beautiful, headstrong, intelligent. “And her consort wasn’t much better.”

“Consort?” Merlin nearly choked on his mouthful of soup. But of course she could have married. A queen needed a consort after all. She wouldn’t have waited for him; there was no one to wait for. He didn’t know how to feel about it, not yet anyways.

“Yes, he spent the whole time staring at me. I don’t think he even blinked,” Arthur remarked. Merlin knew immediately who it was.

“Mordred he said. “He’s like that, always just staring. Has been since he was a child.”

Merlin remembered that day. They had been only eleven years old, just beginning their formal studies in magic. Wanting to have an adventure, they’d decided to explore the caves…and unknowingly stumbled into the Crystal Cave. The crystals should have affected them; they should’ve been too young to have been able to use them. But they had and found their gazes trapped on the smooth facets of the crystals, watching flashes of the past, future and present. It was horrifying and nauseating, a power that led to madness or darkness without proper control. Merlin had been able to pull himself away quickly, fighting away that magnetic draw he felt towards the crystals. Mordred, however, hadn’t been as lucky. When Merlin saw Mordred staring intensely into the crystals, unaware of his surroundings, Merlin had immediately pulled his friend away and out of the caves, and along the way, Mordred had passed out. When Mordred woke up again, he’d been changed-more silent than ever. That was when the unsettling stare started, though the stare rarely ever bothered Merlin. More significantly, Mordred claimed to not remember what he’d seen in those crystals. Merlin still didn’t know whether to believe him or not, though that issue hadn’t affected their friendship at all.

“So you know him as well?” Arthur asked, pulling Merlin from his thoughts.

“…He was my best friend.”

Arthur looked at him with raised eyebrows before remarking, “Well, he and the queen make quite a…striking pair. What with their skin and hair-actually, you’re like that too, Merlin. The three of you aren’t related, are you?”

“No, we just grew up together,” Merlin said, pushing the remainders of his soup around.

“And how did you get to know the queen? I hardly believe that you were cozy with royalty.”

“I was,” Merlin snapped. Arthur smirked, and Merlin cursed at himself. Of course, Arthur would provoke him to get information out of him.

“Well then, what’s the queen to you? I saw the way you reacted when I mentioned here. She isn’t just a friend, is she?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Merlin replied, opting for a light tone. He then nearly jumped out of his skin when Arthur nudged his leg against Merlin’s.

“Come on, stop trying to be mysterious. It’s a horrible look for you. Tell me,” Arthur insisted, jostling Merlin’s leg again. Though childish, Merlin scowled and jostled him back. He quickly sobered though, knowing Arthur wouldn’t leave it alone until he answered.

“She was my fiancé.”

Arthur stared at him for a stunned moment before breathing out, “Gods, Merlin. Did you ha-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Merlin said, and for once, Arthur didn’t push for more. Merlin changed the topic. “What did you tell them? What did they say?”

Arthur heaved a sigh and got to his feet. “They said they’d consider the matter and debate what to do.” Arthur crossed the room and sat himself down on the bed.

“That was it? They didn’t seem alarmed, or anything?” He wondered if the queen had expected it, if she’d seen it coming. But then, she would have known that he was here, and he didn’t want to think of what it meant if she deliberately chose not to summon him along with Arthur.

“No, that consort of hers just stared white the queen told me to wait for a decision. Were they supposed to react?”

“The queen is a powerful seer. She might have seen all this happening.” Merlin shrugged.

“Considering Camelot’s part in the war, I’d hardly be surprised if your people supported Nimueh,” Arthur remarked with a shake of his head.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Merlin countered. ““Nimueh’s plans would send the world into chaos. My people could never choose to follow her.”

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough. Wake me if we have visitors. I’m getting some sleep.” With that, Arthur flopped down in bed and turned away from Merlin, curling into himself.

In the silence that followed, Merlin watched the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, to see if his sleep would be disturbed. It seemed nightmares didn’t plague Arthur during the day but once night fell, the prince would toss and turn to no end, muttering in his sleep. Deciding Arthur didn’t seem to be having trouble at the moment, Merlin pulled his gaze away and spotted something vaguely familiar.

Merlin hadn’t paid attention to it before, but a small tapestry hung from the wall above the head of the bed. The faded colors took a while for him to decipher, but the image soon dawned on him: a dark-haired child staring up at a gold dragon, a glowing sword floating in the air and being bathed in the dragon’s fire. And Merlin remembered that scene. Because he had been that little boy staring up at the enormous dragon.

He’d just turned twelve when the council, with Gaius in the lead, approached him bearing a sword. That day was the first day his prophesized role as the Once and Future King’s…advisor really dawned on him. They had him take the sword to the Great Dragon to be tempered by his fire. Merlin had never directly spoken to the dragon before, his father always doing the talking, and he’d been frightened to death at the idea of telling the dragon to breathe fire in his vicinity. Of course, the dragon had only laughed at how tiny he was at twelve years old, and after Merlin had levitated the sword into the air, the Great Dragon used his flames to temper the sword. The result was the most amazing sword he’d ever seen, and its magic had beckoned to him, whispering of all that could be accomplished with it. Afterwards though, the Great Dragon took the sword with him, to be placed where no man but the Once and Future King could touch it. Merlin never saw the sword again.

Merlin’s first instinct upon seeing the tapestry was to take it down, lest Arthur questions him about it. But Arthur would almost certainly notice if Merlin took the tapestry down and would demand to know why. He would have to hope that Arthur regarded the illustration as merely fanciful thinking on the weaver’s part and pay no attention to it.

Merlin wondered, though, if he’d have to take Arthur to retrieve the sword. With the very likely approach of war, the prince would need it in battle-if he really was the Once and Future King. Merlin then pushed the thoughts aside and collected his and Arthur’s bowls for washing.

Merlin was dozing in a chair when a knock on the door came and woke him up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulling up his hood again, Merlin stumbled over to the door. He opened it to find Alice on the other side, a covered basket on her arm. He ducked his head even further, making certain his hood hid his whole face.

“Alice, hello. Are you here for my lord?” he asked.

“Hello, Ambrose. I thought you boys might like some actual food,” she said with a smile.

“Oh. Thank you.” He should have expected this really. Alice had always been the one who would show such kindness to strangers. In their hometown, she would cook food for any weary traveler to come stumbling through-provided that they weren’t dangerous company. To see her still continuing this practice now made Merlin’s heart ache for his childhood.

Merlin stood there awkwardly for a second before stepping out of the way to let her in. He let her take care of things and he went to wake Arthur. The prince woke up with some grumbling as Alice began taking out a few covered bowls and plates.

“What’s the healer doing here?” Arthur mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Coupled with his bedraggled hair, Merlin couldn’t help but be a bit amused at the boyish look Arthur presented. “Does she bring news?”

“She brought us food. You won’t have to eat my horrible cooking tonight,” Merlin remarked.

“It’s not horrible,” Arthur replied offhandedly and didn’t seem to notice that the comment sent Merlin into stunned silence.

“I didn’t know what you boys preferred, but I assumed some nice meat was a safe bet,” Alice remarked, dispelling Merlin’s surprise. She uncovered one of the plates to reveal diced up meat cooked with herbs. For Merlin, fresh food, fresh meat, was a very welcome sight to say the least.

“Some meat would do nicely. Thank you,” Arthur replied, echoing Merlin’s sentiments.

Merlin headed across the room to fetch Arthur some water to wash his hands with. Of course, with his horrid luck in life and his innate clumsiness, he stumbled on one uneven section of woof floor. His hood slipped down, and he immediately reached to pull it back up, hoping Alice hadn’t noticed.

“Wait!” The old healer was next to him in seconds, grabbing hold of his wrists and keeping him from replacing his hood. She turned him to face her. “Are you…Merlin,” Alice gasped as Merlin trained his eyes on the floor. After a few moments of complete and utter silence, she cupped her hands on his cheek and tilted his head up to look at his face. Her face was pale, like she’d seen a ghost, but her eyes were bright and watery.

“Alice,” Merlin murmured.

“Oh Merlin, it’s really you!” she marveled. “We’d hoped-I never thought-we thought we lost you.” Alice started crying, tears falling silent even as she smiled at him.

“Alice, no, please don’t cry over me,” Merlin pleaded. “You know I hate it.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but you can hardly blame me,” she said. Her smile disappeared when her eyes focused on the dragon on his cheek and then fell to the collar around his throat. “Oh Merlin…” She reached out to touch the collar, but Merlin grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “And…your beautiful magic?” she whispered. Stomach twisting, Merlin could only shake his head and look away. Alice squeezed his hand, and after a few seconds, he realized she was eyeing Arthur, who sat silently against the wall, watching them with the light of curiosity in his eyes. “You’re his slave master,” Alice accused him.

Oddly enough, Arthur flinched, a grimace passing over his features before disappearing again, but Merlin didn’t take the time to wonder about it as he said to Alice, “No, Alice, please, it’s all right-well, it’s not all right but you know what I mean. He’s a better master than most.” She looked pointed at the dragon on his cheek, but he just shook his head. “Please, Alice, I don’t want to talk about this now.”

She sighed and patted his cheek. “All right, my boy. Now, you’re coming with me to see Gaius.” Merlin couldn’t decide between a smile or a cringe. He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her maybe not tonight, but she interrupted, “No arguments, Merlin. I’m taking you to see Gaius,” and gave him a stern look.

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, who looked back at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say “well?” Merlin sighed.

“Can Arthur come to? I don’t want to just leave him here, in just…” He didn’t complete the thought, but Alice nodded.

“Anything that’ll get you to come, dear. Come on, let’s go,” She took his hand, pulling him towards the door. Arthur slid off the bed and followed them out of the cabin.

“There, Merlin, I hardly see what there was to worry about,” Arthur remarked. Merlin glared at him, but refrained from answering, more concerned with what to say once he saw Gaius.

Alice led them into the heart of the village, the streets quiet since most families were taking their meals, and up to a two-floor cottage. A sign hung by the door, reading “Physician and healer, Gaius and Alice.” Merlin swallowed, remembering a similar sign welcoming him to Gaius and Alice’s home every day over a decade ago. Alice let them into the house, taking Merlin’s hand again and pulling him through the quaint entryway and into a warm little living room. And at the table across the room was Gaius bent over a thick text in a pose so familiar Merlin’s eyes were stinging. His mentor had aged, with new lines on his face and his hair, grey when Merlin last saw him, now white. Other than those small differences, Merlin felt as if he’d been transported back in time, as if he was a child again, watching his old mentor conduct research.

“Alice, welcome h-” Gaius looked up at the sound of their footsteps, and his voice died in his throat. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and perhaps, Merlin did seem like a ghost to him. After all, the old Merlin, the young energetic youth he used to be, was long gone.

“Gaius,” Merlin managed to choke out.

“Merlin. Is that you?” Gaius asked, to which Merlin could only nod. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled into a fierce hug. Letting out a shuddering breath, he hugged Gaius back just as tightly.

“Merlin, my boy, how I’ve missed you,” Gaius murmured into Merlin’s ear.

“I missed you too, Gaius.” As his uncle and formal mentor in all things magic-baring dragons-Merlin had seen the old man almost every day during his life in Carmarthen, and he loved Gaius as much as he loved his mother and father. After he lost his parents and Freya, he’d feared he’d lose Gaius and Alice to the war as well. But he hadn’t, and now, Gaius, Alice, and Will were the only family he had left. For the first time in years, he felt like crying-this time out of a mixture of longing and relief-but tears were useless now, and he ignored the burning at the back of his throat and the stinging of his eyes.

When Gaius pulled away, he looked at Merlin at arms’ length, no doubt taking in the arm braces and collar and the dragon-shaped scar on Merlin’s cheekbone.

“You’ve certainly grown,” Gaius remarked.

Merlin gave him a half-smile and replied, “Well it has been thirteen years.”

Gaius nodded, a regretful look on his face. “I assume you were the mysterious servant Will brought here if you came with Alice?” He didn’t wait for Merlin’s reply though, instead looking over at Alice and Arthur. “…it seems the queen refrained from mentioning that your master is Arthur Pendragon,” Gaius commented, startling everyone in the room.

“How did you recognize me?” Arthur demanded, moving from where he’d stopped at the edge of the room.

“I visited Camelot, years before, and I’ve met your mother. You look enough like her for me to make the connection between your face and your name,” Gaius answered with a raised eyebrow. Merlin had always hated it when Gaius used his dreaded eyebrow on him; it was funny how he’d missed seeing it all these years. “If you’ve indeed been cursed by the likes of Nimueh, we definitely have things to worry about.”

Arthur gave him a frown before asking, “And who are you, exactly?”

“Gaius, as you’ve probably deduced. Once upon a time, I was Carmarthen’s court physician alongside my dear Alice, as well as a certified teacher of magic. Now I’m just an old physician working to keep my people healthy.” The frown on Arthur’s face deepened, but he nodded his understanding. “If you will excuse me, sire, Merlin and I have must to discuss. You are free to stay, of course. I’m sorry, Alice, but you wouldn’t mind entertaining the prince, would you?”

“Of course not,” Alice replied, though eyeing Arthur wearily.

Gaius took Merlin by the elbow and sat him down at the table he’d vacated earlier. Merlin fidgeted in his seat as Gaius got settled down. Now that the initial joy of seeing his uncle again had worn out, uneasiness set in, the same hesitation that had made him initially resist seeking out the refuge with Arthur. How would Gaius react once he knew everything that had happened to Merlin, everything Merlin had been forced to do? Merlin wouldn’t be able to handle the disappointment or pity-especially not the pity.

“Merlin, why did you hide yourself?” Gaius asked, of course going straight to the heart of the matter. Merlin winced.

“I’m a slave, Gaius.”

“And?” Gaius said, causing Merlin to scowl at him.

“I don’t have magic. I don’t-I’m not who I was before,” Merlin said. “I failed everyone. I’m not Emrys anymore, and I can’t be of any help when we’ll soon be needing it the most. I’m a slave,” he repeated. “I’m a nobody, lower than any human.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. You were just a boy. No one expected you to single-handedly fight two or three armies.”

“But everyone expected me to save us,” Merlin argued.

“And you did. If you hadn’t held off the attack that day, the rest of us wouldn’t have escaped. There wouldn’t be this refuge, without what you sacrificed for us,” Gaius pointed out. “What I will regret for all my life is that you had to suffer for us to be free.” Merlin looked down at the table, running a finger along the grain.

“Well, that’s not going to help us in the long run,” he grumbled. “With what the high priestesses seem to be planning.” Merlin looked up when Gaius put a hand on his.

“I think it’s best if you started from the beginning, my boy. Tell me everything,” Gaius said.

With a quick grimace, Merlin then launched into retelling all that had happened since he’d fallen into Camelot’s hands. He glossed over the details in the years leading up to his service under Arthur, partially because he didn’t wish to think about those years and partially because he wanted to spare his old mentor from the demeaning things Merlin had been forced to do. Then he told Gaius about how Arthur bought him and how he got his dragon scar, about Gilli, and finally, about all that had happened with Morgause and Nimueh. Through it all, Gaius kept quiet, only nodding at points to prompt Merlin to continue or waiting when Merlin needed to rest his throat for a few seconds. Vaguely, he noted that Arthur-the prat-had charmed Alice into liking him, and they were circling the room, looking at the various hangings on the walls and the books tucked into the shelf by the fireplace.

After a stretch of silence once Merlin had finished his recounting, Gaius finally asked, “And did the prince tell all of this to the queen today?”

“Yes, at least, the general idea. I didn’t explain all the technical, magic bits to him,” Merlin replied with a little wiggling of his fingers. He pushed away all the questions that had arose in his head when Gaius had mentioned the queen.

“I will have to think on all of this then. The queen will no doubt bring this all up during council tomorrow morning. If what you suspect is true, dark times are ahead, and Nimueh and Morgause are not easy to deal with.”

Merlin bit his bottom lip and asked, “Is there anyone powerful enough to stand against them?”

Gaius frowned and shook his head. “The queen is powerful, but her powers lie in seeing. Mordred has improved since you saw him last, but his skills lie in combining weaponry with magic, and he still isn’t strong enough. Everyone else is gone. Except you, Merlin.”

“My magic is gone,” Merlin grumbled.

“But you still have the knowledge. It’s what has helped Arthur these past several weeks,” Gaius remarked.

“I don’t remember everything though.”

“Then why don’t we start helping you remember?”

“Sure, but I don’t see how that will possibly help us,” Merlin said.

“Anything we can do to prepare will help,” Gauis countered. “Now let’s talk about Arthur.” Merlin glanced over at the prince, who was staring at one of the small tapestries on the wall with his head tilted in thought.

“What about him?”

“Will said Arthur claimed to be the Once and Future King. Now, I doubt he came up with that on his own, meaning it could only be you,” Gaius said, raising his eyebrows to indicate his unsaid question.

“I, er, might have had a vision about it-him, as King?” Merlin said. Gaius looked ready to speak on that, but Merlin added, “No, I don’t have my magic, no matter what you think. I only have enough to survive off of, or something. I just-I saw him, older and wiser and just…Arthur could be the King. I can’t confirm it, obviously. I need an actual seer to do that.”

Gaius turned his head and looked at Arthur speculatively before saying, “We will have to get the queen to check then.”

“What about the curse? How can we break it? He’ll go mad if it continues,” Merlin said. His heart sank when Gaius’s expression turned grave.

“Alice has told me the spell placed on him is very powerful. Her and my magic combined might be able to break up, but it isn’t certain. I was just researching it,” Gaius said, gesturing to the books laid out on the table. Merlin ran his hands through his hair.

“There has to be something, Gaius. I promise I’d help him.”

“I believe for now, it’s best to not do anything tonight. It’s already late, and I would like time to think over everything. We’ll see what we can do tomorrow,” Gaius suggested. Merlin sighed, but nodded.

“I suppose we should go then. Give you some peace and all,” Merlin remarked with a small smile. The two of them stood, but before Merlin went to go get Arthur, Gaius pulled him into another hug.

“It’s so good to see you again, Merlin,” he said. “Be sure to come back tomorrow.”

“It’s good to see you again too, Gaius,” Merlin answered before letting go.

He went over to Alice and Arthur, who were exchanging goodbyes. As soon as he reached them, Alice embraced Merlin as tightly as Gaius had.

She patted his hand after pulling away and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Merlin dear.”

“Alice and Gaius, who exactly are they to you, Merlin?” Arthur asked the moment they left the cottage.

“Alice didn’t tell you?” Merlin said.

“No, we spent a lot of time talking about Carmarthen…and you.” Arthur cracked a smile, the moonlight just bright enough to see it, when Merlin stumbled a step.

“What?! What did she tell you?” he demanded.

“If I told you, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” Arthur replied. Merlin hoped Arthur could see his glare. “So? Answer my question, Merlin.”

“Alice is my aunt-in-law,” Merlin said.

“Then Gaius is your uncle.”

Merlin nodded and added, “He’s my mentor. He taught me almost everything I needed to know about magic.”

And maybe it was the mention of the word “mentor” that led Arthur to think of Sir Tristan, or maybe the curse had just gotten worse and Arthur’s defenses had already been weakened by lack of sleep. Either way, one moment the prince was grinning, and the next he was on the ground writhing, shifting between human and wyvern form.

“Oh no, no, no,” Merlin said under his breath. The transformation was happening too fast, much too fast for Arthur to keep a handle on his consciousness. “Arthur, Arthur, please hear me,” he pleaded, keeping just outside of reach. “Arthur, remember, you’re human. You mustn’t hurt anyone. You have to stay in control.” He feared that his words were pointless when Arthur, now fully in wyvern form, hissed and snapped his jaws at him. They stared at each other in the eyes, and Merlin tried to determine if Arthur was in control of the wyvern or if he was really staring down at a feral magical beast. He was answered though, when the wyvern made a swipe at Merlin before taking off in the opposite direction. Merlin took off after the wyvern and cursed when he lost sight of him. He kept running though, and soon enough, he heard shouts. He could only hope the wyvern-Arthur, only not at this moment-had simply scared the person and not attacked them.

He soon found the wyvern, cornering a man and woman against one side of a house. He rushed forward, getting in between the wyvern and the couple.

“Arthur, listen to me. You don’t want to hurt anyone. Please,” Merlin said, quite futilely. He took a small step towards the wyvern. “Just, stay away from people for a while. Maybe find a poor deer to terrorize?” He took another step towards the wyvern, and then immediately stumbled back a step when the wyvern took to flight in a new direction-towards the woods. Merlin heaved a sigh. At least in the woods there would be less people for Arthur to terrorize.

“Merlin?” someone-most likely the man he’d just protected-called, but Merlin was already running after the wyvern.

By the time he reached the woods, he’d lost track of wyvern, and he could hear shouts from the refuge. Word of a wyvern loose in the refuge was spreading. He cursed under his breath and plunged into the woods.

He had no idea how to find Arthur. The wyvern might not be able to fly because of the trees, but Merlin didn’t know how to read tracks. Still he continued, straining his ears for maybe, maybe, a rustle or roar that would tell him where Arthur was.

He found him eventually. The wyvern was crouched in a clearing, consuming part of a deer. He sighed in relief, quickening his steps. Then voices filled the air:

“We’ve found it. Quickly, before it attacks us.”

And he saw them, four cloaked figures wielding spears rushed forward into the clearing.

“Stop! Don’t! Don’t hurt him!” Merlin yelled, bursting into the clearing as well.

But he was too late. One of the hunters had already launched a spear at Arthur’s wyvern form, who was too distracted to notice the attack. As he rushed to the prince, he could only watch as the spear sank into Arthur’s side. Wyvern-Arthur roared, writhing in anguish and clawing at the spear. The four hooded hunters closed in on Arthur, but Merlin rushed forward, breaking through them to get to Arthur.

“He’s human! Don’t hurt him!” he shouted at them before dropping to the ground beside Arthur. “Sire, you’ll be all right. I promise. We’ll get you healed.” He reached out, and then hissed in pain when the wyvern’s talons cut his forearm. Merlin drew back, clamping a hand over the wound. It bled, but it was shallow and didn’t compare to Arthur’s wound. To his relief, Arthur was soon changing, shifting slowly into his human form. The prince slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Merlin rushed forward, trying to assess the extent of damage caused by the spear still jutting out of Arthur’s side.

Behind him, he heard one of the hunters hiss a curse. “Oh gods, it’s our guest from Camelot!”

Merlin ignored them, his attention focused only on Arthur. He had to move fast. Blood was seeping slowly out of Arthur’s wound and down the shaft of the spear, and he could feel Arthur’s skin beginning to heat up. If Arthur was to be moved for treatment, Merlin would have to deal with the spear first. Thankfully, the spear was thin, breakable without needing a blade to cut. Carefully, he grasped the spear firmly, making sure to keep the spearhead from shifting and harming Arthur further, before he took a steadying breath and snapped the spear a few inches from where it protruded from Arthur’s side. Merlin pulled off his shirt and scrunched it into a ball before pressing it around the wound, trying to stop some of the bleeding.

“Please, we have to get him treated,” he said to the hunters, finally turning to look at him.

And he found himself looking up at the man he once called his best friend, now the queen’s consort, and the woman who was once almost his wife, the Queen of Carmarthen herself.

“Morgana,” he choked out.


Merlin was soon stumbling his way through the woods, trailing behind as close as he dared to the others.

“We’ll speak later, Merlin,” the queen-Morgana-had said while Mordred stared, silent as usual. Then, at her instruction, the two other men with them had stepped forward and gently lifted Arthur from the ground. They were now carrying him back to the cabin he and Merlin were given, Morgana and Mordred leading the way.

Morgana hadn’t changed in the years since Merlin had seen her last-appearance-wise, that was. She was still gorgeous, with flawless pale skin and silky, long dark hair. Her eyes were still that brilliant green color he once loved, clear and fierce. But she was colder-harder-than Merlin had ever seen her, especially towards him. He wondered what had caused the change. Was it because of the war? Or because of his failure?

Merlin stands on a mountain hilltop thirty minutes away from the city. It’s been four hours sine he’d last used a spell, four hours since they’d started the journey home from a week-long trip and an hour since they’d reached the town. By all rights, he should be at home, letting his family know that he’d returned unharmed; he should be seeing Morgana, since one week is a long time to be apart from each other-even if they’d spoken to each other occasionally through scrying. But it’s been four hours since he’d used a spell and made the trek home, and yet, he could still fee the fire of magic running through his blood. Not the low key thrum he usually feels when conscious, but the sharp burn-quite like adrenaline-that makes his heart beat faster and breath quicken. He tries to calm down his body, hoping that the clear mountain air would help as he took forcibly slow breaths.

Mordred found him there ten minute later.

Emrys, why are you here? Mordred’s voice echoes into his head. Mordred isn’t much of a talker, preferring to communicate telepathically if he could get away with it. He also always calls Merlin by his magical name.

I needed to spend some time alone, Merlin replies, not getting up from the meditative pose he’s in to greet his friend.

You spent the past week with four old men for company, Mordred remarks, sitting down next to him. The four “old men,” all brilliant sorcerers, are only in their thirties, Merlin is tempted to point out, but since they are twice Mordred’s-and Merlin’s-age, he supposes they do seem “old.” So instead he shrugs and runs his fingers through a patch of grass, feeling the way the blades lean into his brush of magic as a cat might.

It’s not the same. And it’s partly why I’m here-the trip that is.

Morgana is angry with you. I can count how many times that has happened on one hand, Mordred tells him.

Merlin winces, dreading the conversation to come with Morgana, but says, I can’t bother her with this. I don’t want to.

What is making you willing to anger your future wife? I thought you adored her. Like a puppy, Mordred adds.

Merlin shoots him a look and replied, which is why I don’t want to worry her.

What has you so worried then, Emrys?

He considers not saying anything, not answering, but Mordred is probably one of the only people he could tell, so he does. Something is happening to me, he says, glancing at Mordred before gazing out at the mountains stretched before them. My magic. I think it’s getting stronger every day. Every time I use it, it’s just a little bit harder to control, and it takes longer for me to calm down.

I don’t see how that’s a surprise. You’re Emrys; you’re supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer in Albion.

But I’m afraid, Merlin admits. What’s the limit? What happens if I lose control? All this power, all to one person. He’s different from the other sorcerers. He’d realized that years ago, when he first discovered that the other children needed words for the things he could do by instinct since he was a baby. It’s never bothered him before, not until now. Now, he sometimes feels like a monster.

Isn’t this something you should be tell Morgana? Or Balinor? Or Old Gaius?

No, I want to work it out alone. I don’t want anyone-Morgana especially-to worry about me. And knowing her, she’ll take it upon herself to help me deal with it. But this is something I have to handle by myself.

Then why are you tell me all this? Mordred asks, nudging Merlin’s knee with his own in a rare show of companionship.

Because I know you’ll never worry about me.

Mordred offers him a small smile, just a lifting of a corner of his mouth. True. I’ll be there for you though. If you ever need it. You know that.

Merlin gives him a grin and nod, and the two of them sit together quietly for a moment. Eventually though, Mordred gets to his feet with barely a rustle of clothing.

Would you like me to talk to Morgana? Come up with an excuse? he asks.

That’d be great. Thank you. Tell her I’ll visit her after supper? Merlin requests. Mordred nods and head back to the city, and Merlin feels the mountain silence settle around him again.

There were people waiting for them outside Merlin and Arthur’s cabin, but with just a glare from the queen, they all dispersed-at least, enough so that Arthur could be moved inside quickly. Merlin relaxed a little when he spotted Alice by the door, her medicine bag at her hip. The two men carrying Arthur set him gently down on the bed, and Merlin rushed forward to help Alice with whatever she needed.

“Oh Merlin, what’s happened now?” she asked him, already going to Arthur’s bedside.

“One of them-” Merlin shot the two men standing off to the side a glare. “-threw a spear at Arthur while he was in wyvern form.”

“Oh the poor lad.” Alice sat down besides Arthur and got to work. She murmured a small numbing spell around the wound before beginning to ease out the spearhead. Arthur groaned when the spearhead was finally removed, but he didn’t wake. Merlin couldn’t decide if he should be relieved or not.

“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” Merlin asked, watching over her shoulder. Alice was silent for a moment at she studied the wound.

“He should be. Nothing vital has been harmed,” she eventually answered

“What happened? Arthur said the trigger was holding a sword, but he doesn’t have one,” the queen said, addressing Merlin without really addressing him, her eyes fixed instead somewhere over his shoulder. The disregard made Merlin bristle and his heart sink; Morgana had never spoken to him so, even in the presence of the royal court. Even when Arthur spoke to him, a lowly slave before a prince, he’d never acted the way Morgana was now. He wondered briefly if this made his irritation grow before snuffing out the thought and emotion-he hadn’t been a slave for thirteen years for nothing.

“I think the curse has gotten worse,” Merlin replied, glancing at her before returning his eyes to Arthur. “Or he’s gotten weaker. He hasn’t been getting much sleep lately.”

“Does he always lose his mind when he turns?” she asked, still acting as if he was a stranger, or just another person.

“No, it just took him by surprise this time. It happened too fast.”

“Should we be worrying about the people’s safety?”

“If Alice could give us the strongest sleeping draught she has, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Merlin replied, looking to Alice for an answer.

She gave him a smile over her shoulder and replied, “That’s fine, dear.” Merlin returned her smile before glancing at Morgana.

The queen stood silently for a moment, watching as Alice tended to the wound. Then, she said, “I suppose we’re not needed here anymore. Good night, Alice. Good night, Merlin.” And without another word, she was gone, Mordred and the two hunters with her. Merlin sank down into the nearest chair with a sigh, waiting to see if he was to help Arthur in any way.

Merlin woke up an hour or so before sundown the next day. It’d been only a few hours before dawn when Alice had finished tending to Arthur, who’d woken up briefly to discover what had happened to him before falling back asleep. Alice had given Merlin a small bottle of sleeping draught and a hug before leaving, promising to return later. Merlin had fallen asleep on the bed, curled up next to Arthur’s legs, though he couldn’t remember why. He didn’t think too much of it; Arthur had been too injured to have cared. With that train of thought, he immediately, leaned over a little to check on Arthur. He relaxed after finding that the prince was sleeping peacefully for now.

Rolling out of bed, he puttered around the cabin, getting something ready to ease his hunger pangs. The door creaked open without a knock, and Merlin immediately turned to the sound. A cloaked figure stood at the door, silhouetted in the sunlight. Merlin hurried to Arthur’s bedside, just in case, before staring at the mystery visitor.

“Who is it? What do you want?” he asked.

“Emrys.” It was Mordred. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

“What?” And then Merlin understood. “Oh. I suppose I can’t hear you when you-” He gestured to his head.

Mordred shut the door before pulling down his hood. Merlin hadn’t paid much attention to his old friend that last time, more focused on Morgana and her dismissal of him. Mordred had grown taller and a little more muscled. There was a scruffier look to him, his dark circles escaping the gell being used to tame them and his cheeks rough with light stubble.

“Then you really do not have magic,” Mordred remarked.

Merlin sighed and shook his head. He was growing to hate that question-even more then he already did. He sat down on the floor, not wanting to disturb Arthur’s sleep. Wordlessly, like he’d done countless times when they were children, Mordred joined him, sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“The Rites are very thorough,” Merlin said with a grimace.

“But you’re different from us. You told me, remember? How much do you have left?”

“Just enough to stay alive,” he admitted, and the look on Mordred’s face darkened.

He shot a glare at Arthur’s sleeping figure and said, “Why did you bring the princeling here? Why are you helping him? His people did this to you, did this to all of us.”

“Don’t blame Arthur. He didn’t do it; he was only a child.”

“We were only children,” Mordred bit out. “That didn’t stop them from fighting us.”

“I know, but…let’s not argue about it, all right?” He waited for Mordred to nod before he asked, “How is everything here?”

“Fine. We get by, not like back home, but good enough.” The curl of his lips said the contrary, but Merlin didn’t point it out.

“Are the children still learning magic?” Merlin asked, to which Mordred nodded.

“There’s not as many of them as we’d like. We lost too many sorcerers that day.”

Merlin tried not to think of just how many sorcerers-how many people-they’d lost thirteen years ago.

“And…and you and Morgana?” Merlin almost flinched when Mordred reached out and grabbed his wrist, right where his wrist brace was.

“I’m sorry, Emrys, but we thought you were dead. We saw all those soldiers around you when you fell. When Morgana searched for you, she thought she saw your corpse. Then a few years passed…she needed a consort.”

“I understand,” Merlin assured him. “I’m happy for you. Lots of things have changed, and I’m sorry I couldn’t help our people. I failed you all.”

“Do not say that, Emrys. You sacrificed your life to save us from captivity.” Mordred squeezed his wrist before letting go. “I mourned for you, we all did, when they took you away.” He got to his feet as smoothly as a feline. “I have to go, but I’ll return if I can find a chance.” Merlin stood up as well and walked with him to the door. “Take care of yourself, Emrys,” Mordred said before pulling up his hood and setting off down the road into town.

On to Part Eight | Masterpost