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

[pallorsomnium]

Merlin shut the door with a sigh, feeling tension he hadn’t noticed before leave his body.

“He was lying.”

Merlin jumped, clutching his racing heart as he spun around. Arthur had turned around in bed to look at him. He looked pale and utterly exhausted, but he was a great sight better than what he’d looked like yesterday.

“Gods, scare me to death, why don’t you?” Merlin scowled at the prince before joining his bedside. Careful not to jostle him, Merlin perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“He was lying,” Arthur repeated.

“What are you talking about?” Merlin asked. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Everything.”

With a groan, Merlin dropped his face into his hands. “Please don’t ask. I won’t want to answer right now.”

Arthur snorted and said, “I’m certainly going to have questions for you later, but my point right now is that he lied to you.”

“About what?” he demanded.

“He said he thought you died, but when he said he mourned for you, he said ‘they took you away.’ He knew you were alive; he let you become enslaved.”

“He still could have thought I was dead,” Merlin argued despite the unease beginning to settle in his stomach.

“Were you awake when they took you away?” Arthur questioned.

Merlin flinched at the question and tried to focus on that moment from over a decade ago. He didn’t like what he remembered. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“Yes.” They’d made him walk-either that or be dragged-despite the stab wound in his belly. Which meant that Mordred-Mordred had seen them take him away and hadn’t done a thing.

“…you look awful, Merlin,” Arthur’s voice cut through his nausea. His hand on Merlin’s thigh felt almost like a hot brand, shocking him enough to think outside of the turmoil in his head. “Maybe you should get some air.”

“I-I can’t just leave you,” he argued. Arthur scowled at him and withdrew his hand.

“I’m fully capable of looking after myself for an hour or two,” Arthur said. Merlin immediately missed that point of contact, needing that anchor or he’d become lost in his memories.

“But-”

“Go get some air, Merlin,” Arthur said, in a tone that allowed no argument, even when he was bound to bed rest.

“Fine, I’ll go for a walk then,” Merlin muttered. He was out the door before he could hear Arthur’s consent.

Merlin stayed clear away from the refuge, instead stumbling his way towards the woods. Nature has always been the place he’d turn to whenever he felt troubled or lost, and he certainly was now. He didn’t want to think about any of it-that day thirteen years ago, Morgana’s coldness towards him, Morgana and Mordred together. But the more he tried not to think, the quicker the thoughts returned, bringing with them memories.

He tries not to choke when he says the spell to set the little boat drifting in the lake on fire. He gives in to the trembling of his legs, sinking to the ground on his knees. He’s mildly surprised by the tears running down his face, because he’s already mourned for so many. But this is his sister, her body, being consumed by the funeral pyre in the lake she had always loved visiting. And he’d just finished burying his parents an hour before.

I’m sorry. She was a beautiful woman, a familiar voice echoes in his head. Mordred steps up beside him, gazing out at the lake as well.

“S-she was,” Merlin agrees. They slip into silence, Merlin allowing himself the time to wallow in his grief and Mordred simply there as calm and quiet support. It surprises him sometimes, how different he and Mordred are even though they share similar coloring. Merlin often wears his heart on his sleeve, but Mordred rarely ever does; Mordred is cold where Merlin is warm. Mordred lost his family before he ever had a chance to know them, and Merlin wonders if this is what makes them so different. His friend does not mourn for the lives lost in this week of fighting. Instead Mordred is angry, furious at the armies who’d decided that the peaceful Carmarthen was a threat. Merlin understands this, and he feels it too, but his emotions are in tatters as it is, and he’s just too tired now. He fears-suspects-that Carmarthen will inevitably fall.

Merlin stumbled on a large tree root stretching up from the ground. He nearly fell on his face, but grabbed onto a nearby branch instinctively. Rough bark stung his hands, but he barely registers it, already lost in another memory.

“Do you think I’ll make a good queen?” Morgana asks him a few days after they’re officially betrothed. They sit in the shade of the great willow besides the lake, and she presses against him, resting her head on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Yes, definitely,” he says with a smile. He slips his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“Why?”

He laughs and teases, “You just want to me to stroke your ego.”

“So? A girl could use a little bit of ego-stroking, especially from her future husband,” she replies, smacking his leg.

“Fine. You’re brilliant, Morgana,” he says, pressing his face to her hair. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Smart, and beautiful, and fierce like no other. I’ll be honored to serve you when your time comes.”

“Thank you, Merlin. But you’ll be my consort, and as Emrys, I hardly think you’ll be serving me at all,” she points out.

“…I’m sorry.” He gives her hand a light squeeze. She is right, of course. If the prophesies are to be believed, there is only one person Merlin will be loyal to, and it isn’t his future wife and queen. And once Merlin helps the Once and Future King rise to power, Morgana will be but one of monarchs in Albion who must submit to the King’s reign. Merlin often wonders what kind of man can gain such loyalty and devotion from him, how that man would possibly earn that impressive title.

As if she’s reading his mind, Morgana asks, “Have you ever thought of him? What the Once and Future King will be like?”

“Of course I have, but I don’t have seeing powers like you. I just hope he doesn’t get a big head when he finds out his destiny.”

“Oh, I hope he’s a right prat about it, just to make your life harder,” she remarks.

“What?” he squawks, but he knows she’s only teasing him. She laughs before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“I’m sure he’ll be a good man, Merlin. If not, you can make him into one, and I can help.”

Distantly, he noticed that he’d left the woods and was now trudging along a trail towards the edges of the mountains.

He sends two knights flying with a bark of a spell before fighting off another with his knife. He barely registered the sounds of battle-the screams, the swords, the clash of armor-because it’s been a week of that with barely any sleep since the fighting began. He just wants the fighting, the killing, to stop before he’s lost everything, everyone he loves. His parents are gone; his sister is gone; Will is missing; more than half the friends he’d grown up with were gone, as well as many of the sorcerers he’d collaborated with. He just wants the bloodshedto stop.

He cuts down an opponent and looks up to see Mordred and Morgana fighting in the distance. He shouldn’t worry about them as much as he is. Mordred could easily take care of himself, and Morgana is better at sword-fighting than Merlin and Mordred both. He worries anyways though. He volunteered to fight in the frontlines, like he always does, because he wanted to give his people time to feel. He had expected them-or at least Morgana, soon to be their new queen-to leave; he hadn’t expected them to stay behind, hadn’t wanted them to stay behind. But at least, the invaders are drawn to him, because by now, they know he is the most troublesome, the “kingpin.” They think they can win this war by bringing him down, but Merlin refuses to go down, not when his people need him.

Later, Merlin wonders if that thought has jinxed him. The enemy knights don’t stop coming at him, hoping to and succeeding at wearing him down; he hasn’t stopped fighting since dawn. He falters, muscles jarring just briefly, but that fraction of a second is enough for a knife to stick into his belly and someone to hit his head from behind. His own knife is knocked form his cramped hand, and panic sets in when the knight whose knife is in his stomach grabs his throat. He grapples at the vice-like grip forcing him to his knees, all the while reaching for his magic, but the blow to his head has left him disoriented after so little rest.

He sees Morgana and Mordred, left with no more opponents, catch sight of his situation, and he sends them a mental plea for help. He then gasps when iron shackles are clamped to his wrists; the shackles are magic dampeners, designed to keep a sorcerer from using magic. It feels as if the life was being sucked out of him. The slow burn of magic, normally running through his body and already strained from constant usage, is fading, leaving him dizzy and nauseous.

Mordred and Morgana stand there watching, their faces blank and weapons lowered. And then they turned and walked away.

As the last of the memories flooded back into him, he dropped to his knees, not even registering the rocky ground. He hunched over, wrapping his arms around his torso and curling inwards on himself as the not-quite-physical but gut-wrenching, heartbreaking pain overcame him.

During the Rites, he had thrown all the magic he could muster into the single act of making himself forget. Mordred and Morgana. Morgana and Mordred. The two people he should have trusted the most. The two people who had turned their backs on him. Their betrayal. His abandonment. No freedom. No magic.

Because they didn’t save him.

It wasn’t anger that he felt towards them. It was sorrow and agony. And the maddening ‘why?’ that looped over and over in his head.

The emotions boiling up and wreaking havoc inside him threatened to spill out. And he let them, letting out a roar that surged through his whole body and echoed into the mountain tops.


Eventually, he ran out of tears. Exhaustion sank through his skin and into his bones, making him feel numb inside. With a sleeve, he scrubbed the wetness from his face. He had reached a certain…acceptance. There was nothing to be done to change the past, to change what had happened. Mordred and Morgana, he couldn’t trust; that was certain. What mattered now was Arthur, ridding the curse from him and helping him defeat the priestesses intent on his destruction. But without magic, what use was he?

Without magic, I’m a nobody.

How true the boy had been.

Suddenly, he became aware of the sound of wings beating the air and winds gusting around him. His mind screeched to a halt at the sight of a familiar, golden-brown-scaled dragon in the air.

Kilgharrah.

Everything else forgotten, he stared as the colossal beast alighted onto the ground before him.

“Hello, Young Warlock, it’s been quite some time,” came the dragon’s rumbling voice.

Merlin stared for a few more moments, his mind scrambling to catch up with the large creature before him.

“I’m not young anymore,” the words slipped out without a thought.

Kilgharrah’s answering chuckle made the ground and his whole body vibrate. He’d forgotten what it was like to stand before a dragon. How one had to crane your neck to look up at them unless they deigned to lower themselves to the ground. How the very air around them smelled of fire and brimstone. Magic shimmered faintly around the great beast, and Merlin breathed in, drinking in the ambrosial substance he had once had limitless access to.

“When you have lived as long as I have, all mortals are young,” the dragon said. “But yes, I do not deny that much time has passed and much has changed.”

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked, finally finding his voice. “How did you find me? What happened to the others?”

Questions upon questions tumbled over each other in his head. The last time he had laid eyes on Kilgharrah, the dragon had been pitted into battle alongside and against his kin, commanded by the Dragonlords, including Merlin’s own father, at least until-

No, he had mourned enough those first few years of his capture. The past was the past, and what mattered now was the present.

“Patience, Young Warlock. I can only answer one question at a time.” Kilgharrah shifted from side to side before hunkering down and resting his head on the ground. “I came because I heard your call.”

Merlin’s face scrunched up in confusion. “But I didn’t call you.”

“You did not call me, yes, but I heard you, and I have no doubt that all of my kin has heard your cry. You are the last of the Dragonlords.”

What little hope he had had of any Dragonlords surviving the Fall and its repercussions were lost. His fears that the Lords had been rounded up and either enslaved or killed, regardless of whose side they’d fought on, had been warranted. But…

“But I couldn’t have done anything. I don’t have the power to be heard. I…I don’t have magic anymore.”

Kilgharrah chuckled before remarking, “You are a creature of magic, just as I am. You live and breathe magic; it is a part of you.”

“They put me through the Rites. I can’t use any magic,” Merlin insisted, wishing the dragon would stop reminding him of what he lacked. Kilgharrah looked at him with what he could only describe as pity and sadness.

“Yes, all of Albion felt your loss. It was a painful time. Now, many, even my kin, have lost hope of your return.”

“All hope was lost when Carmarthen fell.”

“And yet here you are, allied with the young Pendragon no less.”

“You know about Arthur?”

“Arthur is the Once and Future King. It is your destiny to be by his side and help him to reunite all of Albion.”

So his vision had been true. But the confirmation only made everything a little worse. He could not allow Arthur to die or succumb to Morgause and Nimueh’s curse. But…

“Like I said, I can’t use any magic! How can I possibly help Arthur? Without magic, I’m not Emrys; I’m just Merlin. Without magic, I have no destiny.”

The dragon breathed a puff of hot air through his nostrils in a manner Merlin could only call exasperation.

“You are magic, young warlock. Without magic, I would not have been able to come,” said Kilgharrah. “The Rites cannot take away what is a part of you. Instead, it and your years of bondage have blocked your access to the magic seeped into the lands.”

“Then I can get it back?” he questioned, a flicker of hope rising inside him before he had the chance to smother it with the memory of thirteen years of pain, skepticism and slavery.

“It will take time and effort, but yes, you will regain control of your magic.”

“When? How?” A single thought kept running through his head. He could have his magic back.

“That I cannot say. Go to Gaius. Your old mentor is sure to help you.”

Merlin frowned. There was no known reversal for the Rites; he hardly expected Gaius to know. But perhaps with the Dragon’s words and the help of Gaius’ old books, regaining his magic would be possible. He knew better than to pry Kilgharrah for more details. Dragons were the bearers of almost boundless knowledge, but they could divulged only what they judged appropriate.

“There is another thing…” Merlin said, turning his mind to a more pressing issue. “Morgause and Nimueh. They call themselves Northumbrian delegates, and they are the ones who cursed Arthur. If I had my magic, I can break the curse, but beyond that, they are planning something evil against Camelot.”

“The High Priestesses of the Old Religion do not hold faith in your destiny or in that of the Once and Future King. The witches desire magic to rule the lands. They do not heed the warnings that that will lead only to disaster.”

“Then, Arthur really is the Once and Future King? He’s going to rule all of Albion, and I’m supposed to help him.”

“Yes, Young Warlock.”

“What are the priestesses planning? How do I stop them? Do you know?”

“I’m afraid not. The actions of the priestesses did not concern me these past years. It is up to you, Merlin, to discover their plans and stop them.”

Merlin sighed, deflating a little, and remarked, “Fantastic. I can’t leave Arthur alone, but if I want to find out their plans, I’ll be taking him straight to them. And I still don’t have magic.”

“You are Emrys, Young Warlock. You will find the way,” Kilgharrah said, though he sounded just as tired as Merlin.

“Wait!” he called out when Kilgharrah got off the ground. “Where are you going?”

Sadness appeared in the dragon’s eyes, and he lowered his head to be on eye level with Merlin.

“I must leave you for now, young warlock. Many of my kind fled east after the Fall, but there is trouble. I must help them however I can.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“You will know in time. For now, it is young Arthur and the High Priestesses’ plot that you must concern yourself with.” Kilgharrah straightened back up, his weight visibly shifting to his hind legs. “It was good to see you, young warlock.”

“Kilgharrah-” The Great Dragon flew off before Merlin could protest, the force of his flapping wings nearly knocking Merlin over.

Merlin remained there for a while, going over the conversation in his head. Eventually though, he gets to his feet and begin the trek back to the cabin and Arthur.

Night had fallen when he finally returned to the cabin. There were visitors inside, Merlin found as he approached the door. He could see two guards through the window, and he immediately suspected the queen was inside, speaking with Arthur. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared to see her, unsure of how to react and what to say. She had claimed to see his corpse in her visions, but he wondered if she’d simply wanted everyone to think he’d died. Pushing the thoughts aside, he took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping in.

Morgana stopped talking, and the room’s occupants all turned to his entrance. Merlin quickly gathered up the slave’s façade he’d learned and perfected over the years.

“Sire, your highness,” he said with an inclination of his head before retreating to the cabin’s table, away from where Morgana and her guards stand before Arthur.

Arthur gave him a scowl, as if irritated by Merlin’s behavior, but didn’t speak. The prince still rested in bed, propped up by pillows just enough to see and speak to the queen comfortably.

“As I was saying, at this time, we can’t help you with your…situation with Nimueh and Morgause,” Morgana told Arthur. “There are too few of us, and no one among…with magic is powerful enough to stand against them. We can offer you a place to stay, at least until you’ve recovered, but if the priestesses are indeed after you, it will not be safe for us to have you here with us. I’m sure, as a prince, you understand that; I have to consider the safety of my people.”

Arthur eyed her for a moment before saying, “Yes, I understand. However, I would like to know about all this business with me being the Once and Future King.”

“I cannot confirm if you are the King or not. You might be, but we need more than just a few seers to decide for certain,” Morgana said. “Besides, if you really are the King, the person you need the most can’t help you.”

“And who might that be exactly?” Arthur asked as Merlin stiffened, tightening his grip on the table.

“The prophesized Warlock. He can’t help you though; your people’s war on Carmarthen made sure of that.”

He’d always known about Morgana’s capability for cruelty, but he’d trusted her. They shared the same morals, the same sense of justice, and she’d never turned her cruelty on him or anyone he-they-cared about. It hurt more, to hear it coming from her.

Merlin slowly released the breath he’d been holding, reminding himself of what the dragon had told him, of how he could get his magic back.

Not wishing to hear more, Merlin pulled his attention away from their conversation, instead focusing on Morgana herself. He felt nothing for the queen, though perhaps a little hurt and resentment. She was as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, the same ice queen demeanor as ever, but the love and passion was gone. Of course it was. He would never love a woman who resigned him to slavery. And he was no longer the same person he was before the Fall. The thirteen years as a slave had changed him without a doubt. In fact, he cared more for Arthur than he did her.

Wait, what was he thinking?

No, he definitely didn’t care about Arthur like that. Even if he did not hold the feelings he once did for her, Morgana was once the love of his life. He had spent six years of his life by her side, learning everything about her, loving her-or rather loving the lie that had been the woman he thought he’d known. The handful of months he had spent serving the prince was ¬nothing compared to those years.

A sharp gasp and a groan of pain interrupted his thoughts, propelling him straight to Arthur’s bedside.

“Arthur?”

“Shit,” Arthur hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and curling into himself. With dread, Merlin watched as Arthur’s image shifted for a second before settling back into human form. But then his hand clenched on his pillow and then transformed-just his hand- into the scaled talon-claws of the wyvern. “What on earth is this?” he gasped, looking in horror at his transformed hand.

Merlin didn’t get the chance to speak before he realized that the guards had stepped forward and were pointing their spears at Arthur. Arthur spared them no attention as another wave of pain seemed to hit him and his entire body went tense again.

Merlin felt irritation run through his body, directed at the guards. “Stop it,” he almost growled. “It’s not as if he can even move in this state.” Turning from Arthur, he recognized the two guards, but he doesn’t have the interest to dig through his memories for their names; they don’t matter to him so much anyways as he yanked a spear out of their grasp. With the butt of the long weapon, he jabbed at the two until they backed away from the bed, pulling Morgana back with them. He then tossed the spear aside and turned back to Arthur, whose hand was now back to a normal human hand, much to both of their relief.

“Arthur, are you all right?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just let me rest,” Arthur replied. He didn’t even look at Morgana or the guards, just turned over to the wall. With a sigh, Merlin got to his feet and steeled himself before turning to face Morgana.

“I’m sorry, your highness, but if that’s all, Arthur needs to rest. Please come back later if you need anything,” he said, looking her in the eye.

She looked back at him, and for a while, they were locked in a staring contest, reminding Merlin fleetingly of the times he and Morgana would butt heads during their childhood. Morgana looked away first, glancing at Arthur’s resting form before heading for the door, her steps quick and sure.

“Good night, Prince Arthur, Merlin,” she said, almost offhandedly if not for the hint of steel in the way she said their names. She left, taking the two guards with her, and Merlin sank down to the floor and put his head in his hands.

Gaius and Alice showed up at the door soon afterwards, but when they saw that Arthur was resting, they said they’d keep their visit short. Alice set a covered basket on the table-more food for him and Arthur-and Merlin pulled Gaius aside. Whispering so as to not wake Arthur, he told his old mentor about Kilgharrah and what the dragon had said.

“So he is the Once and Future King,” Gaius remarked once Merlin had finished explaining, looking at Arthur thoughtfully. Merlin shrugged his reply. “Do you find him worthy of the title?” his old mentor then asked, causing Merlin to frown.

“I don’t know. He confuses me,” he admitted. “He’s a prat most of the time, but not so much now.”

“Perhaps it’s your job to change that, to make him the King he is supposed to be.”

Merlin cringed, the suggestion reminding him too much of what Morgana had said to him so many years ago.

“Either way, I have to get my magic back. Do you think you can help, Gaius?” he asked.

“Well, the dragon seems to think I can. We’ll see what we can do,” said Gaius. “Tomorrow we can start…re-training you.”

“I can’t leave Arthur on his own though,” Merlin said. He dreaded what would happen if he wasn’t around when Arthur transformed again-and he hated to admit it, but he no longer trust Morgana and Mordred.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, dear, don’t you worry,” Alice interrupted.

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked, and Alice just gave him a nod and a smile. “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

Gaius and Alice said their goodbyes and left for their home. After Merlin closed the door, he retreated to the cabin table, the basket of food reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since waking.

Arthur stirred when Merlin pressed a hand to his forehead to check for fever.

“Sire? How are you feeling?” Merlin asked him. Arthur grunted what he thought was a yes. “Do you want anything to eat? Something to drink?” he asked as the prince blinked blearily up at him. Arthur shook his head and that seemed to wake him up enough to ask:

“Was I right?”

“About what?”

Arthur scowled and said, “About the queen and your so-called friend. I saw the way you reacted to her. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“You were right,” Merlin said reluctantly. Arthur just looked at him, clearly expecting more from him. “…they left me. They saw I was in trouble, but just left me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur said. It was the most sincere he’s heard Arthur speak-apart from that one time after Arthur’s transformation-and it left Merlin feeling strange and uncomfortable. Merlin gave him a small smile, unsure how else to respond.

“I’ll…just stay away from them while we’re here,” he settled on saying. “Um, I’ll let you get some more rest then.” He shifted to get off the bed.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t mind if you sleep on the bed with me,” Arthur said, and Merlin could only blink at him for a few moments. “It’s…better,” Arthur turned his head to the wall, avoiding Merlin’s eyes, “when someone’s nearby, I think. The dreams aren’t as strong. I had no problem sleeping yesterday.” He then glared at Merlin, as if daring him to make a remark. Merlin briefly thought he looked like an adorably pouting child, but he was too surprised to pay much attention to it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Merlin, I’m sure,” Arthur snapped.

“All right, I was just making sure,” Merlin said. “I’ll straighten things up a bit and then I’ll be…back.”

As he tidied up the cabin table, putting the unfinished food back into the basket for later, Merlin could feel Arthur’s eyes on him. Glancing back furtively, he saw that the prince looked as if he wanted to say something but was waiting for the right moment. Merlin wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what Arthur had to say. He locked the door of the cabin and found the sleeping draught Alice had brought for Arthur. The draught, Alice had told him, would take a while to take effect, but it should be strong enough to get Arthur to sleep in some measure of peace. He handed the flask to Arthur, and took the chance while Arthur was drinking it to settle himself on the bed, resting his head on the end where Arthur’s feet were.

“If you kick me in your sleep, Merlin, I will not hesitate to kick you off the bed,” Arthur said to him, and the strange tension Merlin had been feeling dissolved just like that.

“Well it’s not like I’d be doing it on purpose,” Merlin argued.

“I’m still going to kick you off,” Arthur replied, and Merlin just huffed, not bothering to answer.

Arthur was silent afterwards. Merlin supposed the draught had taken effect and that the prince was now asleep. However, Arthur then spoke up and said:

“The consort called you a different name. Emrys, I think.”

“Yes…”

“Is that your real name or something? A special title? Alice said you were an important person.”

Merlin grimaced, though Arthur couldn’t see it. He explained, “Every sorcerer has a second name that the seers determine once they’ve come into power.”

“…so when you come into power, you what? Reach your full potential?”

“In a way, yes. A sorcerer should have proper control of their magic at that time. They should before more powerful than they were as a child.”

“How old is a sorcerer when they come into power?”

“Nineteen.” There was a knot in his stomach; he had a good idea where Arthur was going with these questions. He fixed his eyes on the cracks in the ceiling, trying not to think too much.

“Hang on, the war was thirteen years ago. You can’t possibly be over twenty-five, let alone thirty-two.”

Merlin snorted. “Thank you, sire. I’m flattered you think me that young. I’m thirty.”

“…then you were seventeen when you fought the war. So you hadn’t come into power then. Or you came into power early.” He paused, but Merlin didn’t answer his implied question. Arthur bumped his knee against Merlin’s arm. “Tell me, Merlin. The only conclusion I can come up with is that you must have been ridiculously powerful.” Arthur prodded him again. “Alice said the curse was powerful, but you said you could have broken it. Explain, Merlin.” Again, he knocked his knee against Merlin.

“I hadn’t come into power yet,” Merlin finally admitted. “The seers knew my name the moment I was born.”

“Damn…how on earth did you get caught then?”

“Have you tried fighting four armies for seven days straight? With no sleep and your family dead?” Merlin snapped, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I was tired. There were six of them and one of me.”

“…I’m sorry.” Two apologies from Arthur in less than half an hour. To say Merlin was surprised was an understatement. Merlin didn’t know how to answer, so he didn’t. After a moment, Arthur spoke again, sounding groggy from the sleeping draught. “That tapestry above the bed. It’s like some of the tapestries Alice showed me. What they all show seem impossible, but they’re all about the same person…they’re all about you, aren’t they?”

“How did you come up with th-?” He sat up, only to find that Arthur had fallen asleep. “Yes….they’re about me…” Merlin said, even though Arthur couldn’t hear him. With a sigh, Merlin lied back down on the bed, wondering just how much of their conversation Arthur would remember the next day.


The next morning, they didn’t discuss the conversation they’d had about Merlin’s past and the tapestries; Arthur didn’t bring it up and Merlin didn’t feel like talking about it. Besides, Gaius and Alice showed up soon after Arthur woke, and once Merlin ate his breakfast, Gaius pulled Merlin away to begin his re-training.

Gaius worked him from morning to sundown, reviewing and re-teaching Merlin everything he’d remembered from before and everything he’d forgotten-magical history and theory, background and properties of magical creatures and plants, and spells. Since he currently couldn’t use magic, it was the academic knowledge that Merlin needed the most-it’d been what had helped him with Arthur so far, after all. As a child however, the academics behind magic had always come second in his preferences-the spells portion at least-because most of the spells he’d been required to do on a daily basis had been ones he could do simply by instinct. Now, Gaius was having him cram five or six years of knowledge back into his head in the span of three days.

By the time he returned to the cabin, he was exhausted, his brain fried. After Arthur’s first attempt to engage Merlin in conversation came without results, it seems the prince understood his need to withdraw from the world, and they shared their dinner in silence. Shortly afterwards, Merlin crawled into bed, to begin the routine all over again the next day.

He continued to share the bed with Arthur. The wound to his stomach, though mostly healed thanks to Alice, had left Arthur’s body weak against the curse. The occasional nightmares that overcame Alice’s sleeping draughts would cause some of Arthur’s limbs to turn wyvern, just like the time with Morgana in the cabin. It indeed seemed like only when Arthur had someone close at hand besides him did he remain calm enough to deal with the enchantment, even in sleep. So Merlin stayed close to Arthur during the night, and during the day, Alice could be there in the cabin, keeping Arthur company. He didn’t really know what Arthur did while he was gone, and didn’t think he should ask.

When Gaius finally deemed Merlin ready to move on three days later, he took him into the woods, like the teachers had done with the children just beginning to learn to cast spells. Working magic was always better out in nature. For Merlin, it had meant more raw and wild magic for him to draw on, but now of course, he had no access to magic regardless of where he was. Gaius set him to casting small spells-light charms for the most part-to no real success.

Since these days of attempted spell casting were considerable less fruitful than the days of studying and memorization, Gaius let him go back to the cabin a lot earlier than before. Merlin was worried at first, unsure what Arthur would say to him.

But Arthur, probably seeing the dejected look on Merlin’s face from the day’s failures, didn’t ask about training or Merlin specifically, and instead asked, “What was it like? Growing up in Carmarthen?”

Grateful, Merlin told him-about spending time with his family, about the festivals held in every major town to celebrate special times of the year, about roughhousing with the other children and playing pranks on the neighbors.

“Lancelot and I played a prank on Guinevere once,” Arthur remarked after he’d finished laughing over a prank Merlin and Will had pulled on Old Man Simmons.

“Oh? What happened?”

“My father found out and decided to let Guinevere decide our punishment,” Arthur said with a grimace.

“And how did she decide to punish you?” Merlin asked, already anticipating an amusing answer.

“She had the two of us wear matching blue dresses for a day,” Arthur said, and Merlin couldn’t resist laughing at the image. “Don’t laugh. It was absolutely humiliating!” Arthur protested, which make Merlin laugh even more. It felt good to laugh; Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to laugh freely.

“Shut up, Merlin.” The light in his eyes belied his scowl. “Anyways, that’s why we seal our letters to each other in blue. After that humiliation together, our bond strengthened; Lancelot is like a brother to me.” Then Arthur’s face darkened. “But now he probably wants me dead.”

“I don’t think he’ll truly believe you killed Sir Tristan,” Merlin said. Then, a thought struck him. “Although, how close is Gwen to Lancelet?”

“That’s Lady Guinevere, Merlin, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she told you to forget her title. And yes, they are, considering they’re obliviously and hopelessly in love with each other.” There’s a stunned pause from both of them. “…I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But…she’s engaged to you,” Merlin said, rather stupidly.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “And there lies the problem,” he said dryly. “Anyways, why do you ask?”

“Gwen was the one who helped me get to you, when you were locked up in the tower. So she knows the truth about Morgause and Nimueh.”

“What?! What were you thinking? You’ve put her in danger!” Arthur hissed.

“It’s not like I wanted to! She insisted on helping. And it wasn’t as if anyone else would tell me what was going on; I’m a slave.” Arthur scrunched his face in distaste but didn’t argue with him. “Gwen might have told Lancelot the truth. We could check, once we leave here.”

“You still plan on coming with me?” Arthur asked, sounding confused, which in turn made Merlin confused.

“Why would you think otherwise?”

“Merlin, once you get your magic back and break the curse, you don’t owe me anything. Considering how powerful you claim to be, I hardly think you’ll have a problem.”

“We talked about this before, Arthur. I’m not letting you face Nimueh and Morgause alone. It’s my duty to help. Besides, I don’t exactly feel welcomed here,” Merlin said, thinking of Morgana and Mordred.

“And you still refuse to tell me why it is your duty?”

Merlin shrugged, and Arthur heaved a sigh. After a length of silence, they slipped into easier conversation again.

During dinner two days later, Arthur asked, “Not all Carmarthians are sorcerers, right?” Merlin shook his head. “Then how does a person decide to be a sorcerer? I used to think it was just a matter of learning and saying a bunch of spells.”

Merlin hesitated, unsure why Arthur was asking, but he explained, “Yes, there is that, but the people who become actual sorcerers are born with an affinity for magic. If you have only a little bit of magic, then you don’t really have to worry about if you don’t want to, but if you have enough, you have to learn to control it, or it could end up controlling you. It’s like…” Merlin searched for the right words. “It’s like you’re an amplifier. There’s magic everywhere-the earth, the air, your body-but only certain people are able to draw the magic and use it to make something happen. At least, I think that’s how you can explain it.” Merlin shrugged.

“I thought you spent three days reviewing everything theoretical about magic?”

“I was-am-different.”

“How?” Arthur asked, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.

“I am magic,” Merlin said. He tilted his head, waiting for a reaction from the prince. Arthur gave him a raised eyebrow. “I…it’s hard for people to understand, but I am magic. Magic keeps me alive. It runs through me the way blood does. I’m more of a…conduit? Except right now, I only have access to enough magic to stay alive, and not enough to do anything worthwhile.”

“…I always knew there was something about you, Merlin,” Arthur remarked quietly. “It seems there are a lot of ‘something’s about you.”

Inexplicably, Merlin felt his face flush and his stomach do a little flop. He coughed, covering up the strange reaction to Arthur’s words, and waved a hand dismissively. “Anyways, what happens is that at ten, a child showing an affinity for magic gets assigned a mentor. We start off learning in groups of ten, but after a year or so, we start individual studies with our mentors.”

“What do you learn? Everything you reviewed earlier?”

“The first thing they teach us is the Code.”

“The Code? Like the Knights’ Code, but for sorcerers?”

Merlin nodded. “I mentioned it before. We are taught a set of rules to follow so that we don’t abuse our magic.”

“What kind of rules?” Arthur asked, and Merlin was surprised and rather reassured to see open curiosity on his face.

“Well, obviously, don’t kill anyone or put a curse on someone.”

“And how exactly is that reinforced?” Arthur asked, a flicker of that old suspicion of magic crossing his face.

Merlin scowled and said, “Unlike what everyone outside of Carmarthen things, we’re not all amoral men and women bent on taking over the world. Magic was not meant for glory. It’s not a tool to gain more power.” Merlin paused, considering how to continue. “Life and death create a balance in the world. An unnatural birth or an unnatural death will tip the balance. Too many and it can cause damage to the world. It’s why my people disapprove of suicide, and why we rarely chose to fight before the Fall. And why Nimueh was exiled for abusing her powers.”

“How can there be an unnatural birth?”

“…life and death must remain balanced. For a new life to form, there must be a death. For example, if a woman asked Nimueh, back when she was in charge of the Cup of Life, to help her bear a child even though she’s barren, Nimueh could help, but the birth would be unnatural. Because of that, the birth would cost someone’s life-a stranger, a relative, the mother herself even-to make up for the imbalance.

Arthur grimaced. “Creating new life. That sounds impossible.” He ran a hand over his face. “Then I see why the priestesses think the way they do. This balance keeps sorcerers from becoming gods.”

An old fear ran through Merlin at his words. He remembered his burgeoning powers from before the war and the unease he’d felt, unsure what his limit would be. “Yes…you could see it like that,” he murmured.

“And what happens if the balance is damaged?”

After a moment’s debate, Merlin said, “The balance in already damaged.” Because a little part of him, that bitter, angry part of him still railing against all that’d happened to him in the past thirteen years, wanted someone-Arthur-to understand just what had been wrought on the world thanks to the attack on Carmarthen.

“What?”

“From the war. Every time there is a war, the balance is upset. We fought against four armies, Arthur. And they didn’t just stop killing after we’d lost. They continued killing and enslaving us, you know that. All those deaths…I’m sure something bad is going to happen eventually,” Merlin said, the bitterness in his voice not quite hidden.

In the dim light, he couldn’t tell for sure if Arthur had just paled, but with wide eyes, the prince asked, “What is going to happen?”

“Chaos…unless we can somehow correct the imbalance-or it corrects itself. There might be famine, blight, drought, disease-disasters. But we can’t be certain. My people have known dark times were ahead, but oftentimes, we don’t know what might by chance fix the balance.”

“I hardly think you can stop everyone from…killing others. Are we just doomed then? Doomed to have the world fall apart because of our actions?”

“I think the world would be alright, actually. It’ll fix itself. Humans will be the ones affected. But it’s why my people were considered peaceful folk,” Merlin said with a shrug. “We tried to minimize the damage. Like I said, sometimes, the balance resets itself. It’s done so before.”

“But someone should be trying to fix this,” Arthur protested, leaning forward against the table. “You-we-shouldn’t be just sitting here and just hoping it’ll turn out all right in the end. I can’t accept that.” Merlin glanced down at the table to see that Arthur had clenched his hands into fists.

Merlin gave him a smile, though even he knew it wasn’t a happy one. “We don’t have enough sorcerers left to do that,” he said. “Besides, the biggest priority right now is what the priestesses are planning. If we don’t stop them, we’ll have more than just the balance of the world to worry about. They might make the damage irreversible actually.”

The frown on Arthur’s face deepened, but he nodded, and after a few minutes of silence, he asked Merlin about other, less grim aspects of life as a Carmarthian sorcerer. Merlin was willing to give him the best answers he could.

“Find your focus, Merlin,” Gaius reminded him the next day, when he was still making no progress.

Merlin muttered the spell again. Like before, he felt the tiniest tug inside himself, and then nothing. He bit back a curse, knowing his old mentor would not appreciate his vocabulary.

Find his focus indeed, he huffed to himself. The spells Gaius was having him do were child’s play. Merlin had been able to do them without incantations before he was even seven. Now, when he did a spell, if he could even get it to work, the effort left him trembling, weak-kneed and lightheaded as if he’d lost blood-which he essentially was. He had no access to magic but the piddly amount sustaining him.

“Try again.”

Again he said the spell, and again, nothing came of it. With a groan of frustration, he pulled at his hair. It was never going to work. He couldn’t even get a simple light charm to work. How could he even hope to save Ar-

Arthur.

His focus. His focus was Arthur. He had to do this for Arthur; he could not let him die or go insane, or whatever the High Priestesses wanted to do to him.

Merlin took a deep breath, emptying all of his self-doubts and worries, emptying everything from his mind except of Arthur.

This time, when he said the spell, multicolored lights filled the clearing, and Merlin whooped. Only five seconds later, the lights faded, and he flopped down on the ground with a groan, clutching his spinning head.

“It’s never going to work, Gaius. I know my focus, and that’s fine and all, but if one small spell leaves me exhausted, what’s the point?” Merlin asked. Gaius leaned down and smacked the upside of the back of Merlin’s head. “Ow!” Merlin glared up at his mentor and rubbed the injured spot.

“And since when were you ever raised to be a quitter, Merlin? How am I to face Hunith and Balinor if you just give up?”

“I’m not giving up. I just…” He sighed. “I’m just frustrated.” He got to his feet and brushed the dirt from his trousers.

“Well, frustration will not get you anywhere. You know that, Merlin. Remember your focus and stay centered. Are you ready?” Merlin nodded. “All right. Try again.”

That day, Merlin returned to the sight of Arthur, who was fully healed by now, playing with a gaggle of Carmarthian children. They were in the field along the way from the woods to the cabin, kicking a ball around and tumbling over each other. The children’s and Arthur’s shouts and laughter mingled in the air, and Merlin couldn’t resist the smile that pulled at his lips.

“He’s such a dear isn’t he?” He looked around, startled, and spotted Alice settled on the edge of the field by the road, a collection of medicinal herbs clustered around her to be sorted. She smiled up at him and patted at an uncovered patch of grass for him to sit. He sat down and watched as the game was abandoned and the children took to tackling Arthur to the ground and begging for piggyback rides from him. “He’s a fine lad,” Alice said. “He’ll make a good king, not that the opinion of one old woman matters.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, I think you’re right.” He tensed when one of the children spelled lights into the air and flew them around Arthur. But Arthur just smiled, an open expression of wonder on his face as he scooped up the child with a laugh.

Something inside Merlin, the little reservations still left inside him at the thought of Arthur ask the Once and Future King melted at that moment. And he found that he was okay with it, okay with fulfilling his destiny and devoting his life to assist Arthur in ruling Albion. And he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Gauis?” Merlin asked during one of the breaks from practice.

“Yes, Merlin?”

“I should have asked earlier, but with Arthur and everything…what happened? After I was…taken? What did…what did Morgana and Mordred say about me? What happened to-everyone?”

Gaius sighed and deflated, suddenly looking even older than he already was. He set down the book he was reading to give Merlin his attention.

“You remember that on the last day, you had those of us who could escape do so.” Merlin nodded. “Mordred and the Queen, as well as the others who survived the fighting, caught up with us after we had settled for the night just outside of Carmarthen. The Queen said you were…lost to us. She didn’t say if you had died or if you had been taken. We didn’t ask, because she already looked grief-stricken. At that point, there wasn’t anything we could do, even if she told us. Afterwards, we kept traveling until we came here. We started rebuilding, and the Queen re-formed the council. Out of the three hundred survivors with us at the time, only perhaps fifty of us were sorcerers, and not very powerful ones at that. At the people’s request, the Queen scryed for news of you, but she told us that she might have seen you dead. She looked unsettled, we didn’t ask again-though your return proves that we should have.”

“But, Morgana…she’s changed, hasn’t she?” Merlin ventured.

Gaius nodded. “The Queen has changed since the war. Naturally, she distrusts everyone who isn’t Carmarthian, but she’s been embracing more and more of the Old Religion. And she wants the children to be taught more battle magic-much more than before.”

Merlin gaped at him, memories of the war flashing before his eyes and his gut clenching. As impossible as the hope was, he never, never wanted children to go through what he’d gone through and seen in the war. “Please tell me that isn’t happening.”

Gaius shook his head. “Not a lot of us remaining know enough battle magic. Most experienced in it were dead.”

Merlin grimaced, but couldn’t find anything to say.

“…the Queen refused to talk about you, and after three years, she and Mordred hand-fasted. I wasn’t even aware they shared affection for each other beyond friendship,” Gaius remarked.

“I wasn’t either,” Merlin muttered with a shake of his head. He then took a fortifying breath before telling Gaius, “They left me there that day, Gaius. They saw I was in trouble, and just didn’t care. They could have saved me, but they turned their backs on me, and I don’t understand why.”

“Are you sure?” Gaius asked, sitting up straighter. Merlin bit his lower lip and nodded. “Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry.” He put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, its weight an old comfort to Merlin even after all these years.

Merlin allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a bit, even though he’d told himself he’d put the past behind him countless times by now. Then, with a sigh, he cleared his head, because it didn’t matter now. He had to remember his focus, like Gaius seemed to take delight in reminding him. He asked, “What has Morgana been saying about me now? I didn’t expect…I didn’t expect for absolutely no one at all to show up at the cabin to see me. Wouldn’t someone be at least curious?” Though he had expected it actually, because he was a slave and magic-less, not the person his people had hoped for. But it didn’t mean the disregard didn’t hurt.

“The Queen told everyone that you-and Arthur-wished to be left alone,” Gaius said.

“That didn’t stop the children from coming to play,” Merlin grumbled. But really, it was better that they were left alone. Merlin didn’t want to face anyone curious in what’d become of him, and Arthur was sure to have a poor reception. Merlin wondered how Morgana could have become such a stranger to him. What she could possibly be thinking? Or had he-had everyone except perhaps Mordred-simply not known her for who she was?

Gauis got to his feet with a groan. He stretched his back before saying to Merlin, “I’m sorry, my boy. Come, let’s get back to work, Merlin. Your magic is our top concern for now.”

On to Part Nine | Masterpost