Fic: Harmonia Mundi (Merlin/Arthur, R): Part 4
Part Four
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An eagle flew overhead.
Merlin was in the courtyard. It was empty. Something was wrong.
What was it? Merlin knew there was - something. Something bad. Something - what? He didn’t know. But he couldn’t shake that pounding, urgent, bone-deep sense of not right, burning in him like fire, thick and harsh and cloying in his throat like smoke, choking.
He needed to be somewhere. There was a place, he had to be, he had to go, where was it? He ran up the steps, trying desperately to remember as he raced through deserted halls and empty corridors.
Merlin was in the throne room. Knights in full armour and the long red cloak of Camelot stood in a half-circle before the dais. He didn’t recognise them.
Arthur was sitting on the throne. Arthur was rising to his feet, smiling.
“Merlin.”
Arthur was stretching out a hand towards Merlin, happiness lighting his blue eyes.
Arthur was wearing his crown, the circlet of gold bright against his soft blond hair. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting shadows.
Merlin stared at him, the unbearable sense of wrong still pulsing in his veins, flooding through him like waves at high tide, merciless, inexorable.
Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes, and they were black. And the shining circlet was melting, strings of gold cascading down Arthur’s neck, soft bright tendrils flowing over his shoulders like waves of hair, and Arthur was Morgause.
As one, the knights knelt.
The figure on the dais was still holding out a hand, was calling Merlin’s name in Arthur’s voice. Merlin backed away, tripping over his own feet and falling to the cold, hard ground.
“Merlin.”
The pulse of his heartbeat was ringing in his ears. He could hear the voice calling him through the steady pulsing beat, but there was nothing else. There was only silence.
Terror swamped him. He screamed.
“Merlin.”
“Merlin.”
“Merlin!”
Merlin sat up with a start, wild-eyed and shaking and gasping for breath, bedclothes in disarray around him. The song of the castle rang loud and reassuring in his ears.
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It was night, and it was raining. Outside, the roar of the wind mingled with the raging of the sea, pounding fierce and unforgiving against the rocks below.
Morgana paced in front of the fire. Shadows flickered over the walls as she moved, dancing on the rocks and stretching greedy fingers towards the light. From a nearby chair Morgause watched her, a small smile on her face, saying nothing. Just watching.
The fire cracked in the grate, throwing out not quite enough heat to fight off the icy chill that lingered in the stones of the walls and floor. Morgana paused, drawing her cloak more closely around her and staring deep into the fire, as if hoping it somehow contained the answers to her troubles.
Morgause spoke, voice still hoarse from the injuries she had sustained only a few weeks previously. “Please, sister, be calm. Your endless pacing begins to wear upon my nerves.”
Morgana huffed and sat, still staring into the fire as she replied. “You should rest, sister. You are still not fully healed, for all you try to convince me otherwise. And if you slept my pacing would not disturb you. Why will you not lie down awhile?"
Morgause just looked at her, and smiled again. Morgana rolled her eyes at her sister. “Honestly, you are the worst patient in the world. What am I to do with you? How will you recover your strength if you will not rest?”
A thrum of energy interrupted Morgause’s reply, causing both women to sit up sharply. Morgause was on her feet before Morgana could say anything, reaching for her sword. “That was the ward on the outer gate.”
“How many?”
Morgause’s brow furrowed in concentration, and she took some moments to answer. “Two ... just two. Why would there be only two? That makes no sense,” she paused, and then continued, “And one of them is familiar, though I cannot place him. The other... so young?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Morgana, and then she was moving to the door. Morgause followed, sword in hand as they descended the winding stair and strode through the cold, empty, echoing passages to the door of the keep.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Three knocks, and then a pause, followed by three more. Before Morgause could stop her, Morgana had lifted the heavy wooden bar and was throwing the door wide. Two cloaked figures, one large and one small, stood dripping on the threshold. Morgana opened her arms and the smaller figure, green-cloaked and sopping wet, threw itself into her embrace.
The tall, dark-cloaked man pushed back his hood, blue eyes meeting Morgause’s wary gaze. “My lady Morgause. It has been too long.”
“Alvarr,” Morgause acknowledged, fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword.
Alvarr grinned wide and boyish, and bowed low, sweeping his saturated cloak behind him and sending water flying everywhere. “You grow even more beautiful every time we meet, my lady.”
Morgause smiled, then laughed, sheathing her blade. “You are as shameless a flirt as you ever were. I am surprised someone has not yet cut that silver tongue out of your head, you incorrigible rogue.”
Morgana turned to look from one to the other, arms still wrapped around Mordred. “You are acquainted with Alvarr?”
Morgause looked over at Morgana, and then back at Alvarr, eyes narrowed. “And how did such a man come to meet my sister?”
He held up his hands. “Peace, ladies, peace! I am known to both of you, but the Lady Morgause has not yet met young Mordred.”
If this was a distraction, it was an effective one. Morgana turned back to Mordred, noticed his soaking clothes, and began to fuss. Soon all four were comfortably ensconced in front of the fire, the wet things dry once more, heating spells reinforced to keep out the chill, and goblets of mulled wine being passed around. Mordred curled next to Morgana, warm furs piled over them. She stroked his hair as he stared unseeing into the dancing flames, eyelids drooping. Morgause sat by them, keeping her eyes on Alvarr, gaze now not actively hostile, but still watchful.
Alvarr watched the women from his seat at the table, and a smirk played about his lips.
Fingers still running through Mordred’s now-dry hair, Morgana looked back at Alvarr, curiosity and faint suspicion in her clear green eyes. “How did you find us?”
Alvarr smiled. “Word of your triumph, my queen, spread far and wide - even to the far-distant wilderness where we have our stronghold. Though we set out immediately to offer our allegiance and support, your unfortunate half-brother acted before we could traverse the distance. On hearing of your ...” he paused, then continued diplomatically, “your difficulty, we camped north of Caerleon for several days. But then Mordred told me he knew where to find you, and he and I set out together. The rest of our force waits for my word to join us. I must compliment your choice of location, this fortress is surely the most defensible I have seen in many years.”
Morgause smiled. “Tintagel keeps what it holds.”
“Is it true that the fortress has never been taken?”
“Never.”
Alvarr waited for Morgause to elaborate further, but she just sat and watched him. A faint half-smile curved her lips, and he had to stop himself from fidgeting under her continued stare. “It is unfortunate that you have no staff to attend you. Ladies such as yourselves are accustomed to a certain level of service. This must be a cold, empty place with only each other for company.”
Now both of them were levelling dark looks at him. Alvarr smirked. “Unfortunate as well that you had to leave Camelot so precipitously. The riches of the citadel would surely have been of great benefit to our cause. The Lady Morgana, I am sure, remembers the worth of a certain piece of crystal that must now be back in the tyrant Uther’s possession.”
Morgana did not react as he had expected - there was no scowl, no flinch at the memory of the escapade that had come close to costing him his life. Instead, her smirk now matched her sister’s. He narrowed his eyes.
“Of course, that your immortal army was defeated by a small band of warriors with no magic must have been surprising. It is understandable that you had no warning or expectation that such a thing might occur. Your half-brother must be quite a fighter, to win so decisively against all odds.”
That got a reaction. Morgana looked away, face gone suddenly fierce and furious, hands clenching in Mordred’s hair and making the boy twitch and pull against her tight grip. When he struggled she relaxed immediately, running a soothing hand over his head in apology. Mordred turned his wide, cold gaze to Alvarr, frowning. “That is not the truth, Alvarr. You should not lie to make Morgana upset.”
Alvarr blinked, a little surprised. “What is not the truth, Mordred?”
The boy continued to watch him with that unnerving stare. “They did not act without magic. Emrys was with them.”
Morgause sat bolt upright, eyes wide and voice hard. “What are you talking about, child?”
Mordred turned to look at her. “Emrys helped the prince. As he always does. It is because of him that Arthur took back the throne. It is always because of him.”
Morgana looked confused. “Who is this Emrys you speak of? And surely you must be mistaken, Mordred. Arthur would not condone the use of magic, no matter what the cause.”
Alvarr’s eyes flicked from sister to sister and then back to the boy. Mordred was speaking again.
“Emrys was always at Camelot. He helped you save me, the first time we met. But the last time I saw him, he wanted me to be killed. He tried to keep me from escaping, so the knights could get me and kill me.” The boy’s voice was distant and cold. “I will never forgive him for that.”
Morgana’s arms came around him in a hug, though it was probably more for her own comfort than for the boy’s. “I would never let anyone have you killed, Mordred. Not ever.”
He smiled up at her. “I know.” Then his face went cold again. “Emrys will pay for what he has done. It was because of him our camp was discovered and the crystal was taken from me.”
Alvarr felt anger burn at the idea of a sorcerer who would help Camelot to hunt and kill his own kind. Many had been killed in the ambush, though he knew Mordred considered their value to be next to nothing when compared to the loss of the crystal. The boy had been fixed on that stone, single-minded in a way that had terrified many of the men. He had been furious at its loss, so soon after they had had won it.
Morgause had gone very pale, eyes still wide and knuckles white where she gripped the arms of her chair. “Are you certain, child, that this person was indeed Emrys? They did not simply take the name for some purpose of their own?”
Mordred shook his head. “He does not use it himself. I always knew that it was his name, but I have never heard anyone else call him by it.”
“How did you know?” Morgause’s voice is raw and harsh.
Mordred met her fierce focus with his own stare. “As I knew you were here. As I know you are more powerful than Alvarr or Morgana, but that one day I may match you. As I know that even now the crystal of Neahtid is here in this castle. So I knew that the one they call Merlin is Emrys.”
At once both women are speaking, mingling voices loud and filled with confusion and incredulity.
“Merlin!”
“How can that be possible?”
“Surely there is some mistake!”
“I knew he was hiding something, but this ...”
“Merlin does not have magic!”
Alvarr looked from one to the other again, wary. “Ladies, please. I do not know this Merlin of whom you speak, nor do I know much of the legend of Emrys beyond the tales told around the fire on a cold winter’s night. Please, explain to me why this news has so upset you.”
Morgause looked at him, eyes strangely unseeing. “Emrys ...” she paused, swallowed and continued, voice hoarse but steady.
“Emrys is also named the One Who Hears. It is said that his coming will usher in a new era for the land of Albion, a time of unmatched glory. That he will be more powerful than any that have come before him, or any that will come after. That he will be unmatched in knowledge and strength, and that he will hear the harmonia mundi.”
Alvarr sucked in a sharp breath and stared at her, eyes wide and disbelieving. “And this Merlin, you think he can hear the harmonia?”
Morgause got to her feet, dropping her furs to the floor as she paced, agitated. “I don’t know. If the boy is right, if Merlin is Emrys... He must be the One Who Hears. It beggars belief, that such a - a simpleton could be granted the music of the universe.”
Morgana leaned forward. “I’m sorry, sister, but does it really exist, the harmonia mundi? I thought it merely a child’s tale!” She smiled. “And surely you cannot believe that Merlin, Merlin of all people could have magic? It is ridiculous! The mere suggestion is absurd! You must be thinking of a different Emrys, surely.”
Mordred looked up at her, catching her eyes with his. “Merlin has magic, Morgana. He has always had magic, but he never told you. He did not want you to know.”
Morgana stared at him, eyes widening and voice going faint. “No, no. It can’t be. There must be some mistake. Not Merlin, not Merlin. He’s such a useless ...” she trailed off, eyes going distant. Her voice hardened. “He sent me to the druids, when my powers first began to show. I was so scared ... all I wanted was someone to tell me it was going to be all right. He told me nothing, sent me far away and almost got us killed - and all those poor druids...”
“Yes,” Mordred agreed, still watching her face.
“He escaped Morgause, when we caught him spying in the forest. She left him to die and he was back at Camelot the next day. We never knew how.”
“Yes.” It was Morgause who spoke this time, eyes on her sister’s anguished face.
“He tried to kill me. He poisoned me and left me to die.”
“Yes.” Alvarr did not know why he was agreeing with her, he knew nothing of this Merlin, but somehow he felt compelled to speak.
Morgana stared into the fire, and there was realisation dawning in her eyes. “He was always there. Always, always with Arthur. In my dreams, he was there.” She turned to look at Morgause. “I never understood before. But Merlin was always there.”
Mordred reached up and touched her cheek. “Emrys has betrayed us, Morgana. He betrayed us and he tried to kill you, he tried to kill me. His king would see all our kind dead.”
She stared at his young face, tears in her eyes. “Yes.”
“We must kill him before he and his king can kill us.”
“Yes.”
“We must kill Merlin, and we must kill Arthur. And then you will be Queen of Camelot, and I will stay with you forever.”
Morgana smiled. “Yes.”
Morgause watched them, and there was something akin to triumph in her eyes. “It will not be easy. If it is as you say, child, and Merlin is Emrys, then defeating him will not be easy.”
Mordred looked at her. “I know. But we will do it. Will you teach me?”
She smiled. “I will.”
Alvarr looked at the three of them, and knew he had the choice to join them now, or to leave. His lips curled in a sly smile. “My people will support us. If this Merlin does hear the harmonia, we must use men he has never met before if we are to get close to him.”
Morgause looked over at him and smiled. “True.” Turning to Morgana, who had opened her mouth to ask again, Morgause began to explain.
“The harmonia mundi is a legend, a story, but it is an ancient one. You may have heard something about it when you were young, it is a common enough tale. Most people no longer understand the significance of what they tell, and many no longer believe it exists. Do you recall when I first began to teach you about the Old Religion?” She looked over, waiting for Morgana’s nod before continuing. “Every piece of the world has a part to play in the balance of life, and all together make up the united force from which we draw our power. You remember?”
“Of course. And the greater the effect of the spell on the balance, the harder it will be to cast.”
Morgause smiled. “Good. Well, it has long been believed by those of the Old Beliefs that if only we could hear it, this united force would have a song. Each piece of the world would have a note, and together they would form the musica universalis, the universal music. Or, to call it by another name, the harmonia mundi, the harmony of the world. And it has long been prophesied that one will be born with a gift that others have only dreamt of possessing - the ability to hear this music.”
Morgana leaned forward, a slight frown on her face. “And you believe Merlin is the one who can hear the music?”
“If he is Emrys, then he is the One Who Hears,” Morgause spat the words as though they were poison on her tongue. “He has been given the gift others have died to try to achieve, and for nothing! Such an ignorant, unworthy child such as him, when there are such as you and I in the world.”
She paused, and then continued in a soft voice, “My first teacher went mad, trying to hear the music. There are tales of sorcerers succeeding, many lifetimes ago, but not one soul in living memory has attempted it and survived with their mind intact. Many have lost their lives to it. That my teacher did not die was a credit to her power, but she spent the rest of her life unable to speak, unable to comprehend when I spoke to her, unable even to feed herself. This magic is the greatest of all challenges, and the most dangerous.”
Morgana put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Morgause looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. “If Merlin can hear the harmonia mundi, killing him will not be easy.” She looked over to Mordred, then to Alvarr, and her smile broadened. “But I do believe it can be done. In the morning I will go to the library and find what we need. The boy may assist me.”
Mordred smiled, wide and happy, and reflected flames danced in his eyes.
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Merlin leaned against the cool, worn stone and gazed out over the softly humming city. The last vestiges of sunlight glittered and chimed, gilding the clouds gold and rose and beautiful, and then fading slowly as the sun crept down and the blue of the sky deepened towards black. A chill wind coiled around him, nipping icy and sharp at his exposed ankles, fingers, ears, bringing with it the faint smell of wood-smoke and the whispers of mountains far away.
Merlin looked up to where the darkening sky was still impossibly blue, and thought idly that it was almost the same colour as Arthur’s eyes when he laughed. Then he shook his head. These thoughts were stupid and pointless, as well being impossible and … well, stupid. He absolutely did not have any kind of feelings for his prince. Not only would such a thing be ridiculous and completely out of the question - it would also be a distraction, one he absolutely could not afford right now, not with Camelot in such a state of disarray.
He ignored the part of his mind that stretched out instinctively at the thought of Arthur, reaching for the so-familiar song. Tried not to notice that he had already known exactly where Arthur was, even before listening for him, that he had known without a flicker of doubt that the prince was in the council hall - probably debating with his father’s advisers. This was not an unusual or unexpected place for Arthur to be, but Merlin shouldn’t know it the way he did - automatically and without any hesitation, as surely as he knew where he was himself.
Was that what it meant, then, to be two notes in the same harmony, two sides of the same coin? Was this what the dragon had intended, for Merlin to have Arthur under his skin all the time, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, bright song entwining itself through his thoughts and his dreams as though the prince had never been anywhere else, and never would be again? With the two of them so entwined that no earthly power could ever separate one from the other, separate Arthur from Merlin?
If so, destiny could go and jump off a cliff. Merlin had no idea how he was supposed to live like this, constantly on edge and frustrated, desperately needing to be near Arthur but never being allowed to be close enough. Because Arthur would never know how Merlin felt, and would never, ever feel the same. Merlin gave a gusty sigh. Stupid, stupid destiny.
He stared into the sky, watching as the high, cold ringing of the stars began to chime, pinpricks of light flickering in the deep blue, growing louder as the light faded, no longer overshadowed by the louder, brighter sun. The air was cooling steadily with the loss of the sun’s heat, though the well-worn stones still hummed with warmth under Merlin’s fingers. Soon it would be dark.
There was a soft sound from behind him. Merlin did not turn around.
“Gwaine,” he greeted softly, and the other man chuckled, stepping over to lean against the wall next to Merlin.
“How on earth did you know it was me?”
Merlin shrugged, still staring up into the darkness. He was not about to explain that there was no-one in the world who sounded quite like Gwaine, that odd, strangely complex harmony of birdsong and the fickle west wind. He felt the weight of Gwaine’s gaze as the knight watched him watch the stars, and turned to look over. Gwaine’s face was half-lit by the dying sun, shadows clinging to his cheek, nose, the softness of his hair, silhouetting the curve of his smile. The fading light glittered and chimed in his eyes.
“Why are you here, Gwaine?” The question slipped out before Merlin could stop it, harsher than he meant it to be, but he didn’t try to soften the hard edge to the accusation. Merlin had come here to hide, to be alone with his thoughts and with the music, and he found himself unreasonably angry at being disturbed.
“I’m here for you, Merlin,” Gwaine smiled that sly, cheeky smile that Merlin knew so well, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly in return. “I’m always here for you. You know that.”
He was close now, closer than Merlin had thought. Reaching out one sword-callused hand, Gwaine ran his fingers lightly over Merlin’s cheek. Merlin stared at him wide-eyed, any lingering anger and frustration lost beneath a sudden flood of confusion, and did not flinch away. Gwaine continued to trace the line of Merlin’s cheekbone, eyes dark with more than the slowly growing shadows, and for a moment Merlin let himself imagine what it might be like to lean in and press his mouth to the soft, shadowy curve of Gwaine’s lips. It would be a little scratchy, he thought, but Gwaine would be gentle, and welcoming, and he would taste sweet like the wine that he loved and warm like the shine in his eyes when he didn’t think anyone was looking.
Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into the touch, imagined sinking into the kiss, Gwaine’s song swelling loud and beautiful around them, enveloping Merlin in the complex, clever melody until it was all he could hear, until all he knew was just the touch of Gwaine’s skin and the music of his song.
Music swelled around him, loud and beautiful and distracting, as though it was responding to his thoughts. A bolt of fear shot through him and he flinched back, reaching up to grip the dragon-claw tied securely around his neck. It would be too easy to get lost in Gwaine, in the hidden complexities of the man and the music, and he didn’t know if he would be able to find his way back. It would be too easy to get lost, and never come back. And then there was Arthur.
At the thought of him, Merlin heard the prince’s bright song fill his ears, loud, as though Arthur was standing right behind him, drowning out Gwaine’s own music and everything else as well.
Merlin looked at Gwaine and sighed. He couldn’t. It would never be possible, no matter how much he wished it might. His eyes traced the shape of Gwaine’s lips, the line of his nose, the glimmer of light still twinkling in his hair, and was surprised to discover just how much he did wish. He wished a lot more than he thought he would, and that just made it harder to say no.
Merlin blinked at the sudden tears that pricked his eyes and stepped back, turning to stare up at the sky as the last light from the dying sun traced bright, fading fingers along the edges of the darkening clouds.
Gwaine let his hand drop.
Merlin looked back at him, wondering if the depth of his sadness was visible in his eyes. He could see the disappointment in Gwaine’s shadowed face, the sorrow behind the mask of a smile that slid quickly into place. Gwaine opened his mouth to make some joking comment, to lift the mood back to playful and let them both hide behind the banter they usually shared. But before he could speak, Merlin reached out and touched the hand that rested on the softly-resonating stone.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and the two words contained a world of regret.
Gwaine let the smile drop, and nodded. “I understand.”
Merlin shook his head. “No. No, you don’t. And you can’t, because I can’t tell you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could, I really do, I wish that it could be different. But it can’t. I can’t.” He brought one hand up to touch his own face, where Gwaine’s hand had been, and swallowed hard again, looking back down at the reliable, cold, sturdily-humming stone.
He had to fight back the words that wanted to spill out of him, fight the urge to confess it all, to explain everything and make Gwaine understand. And Merlin knew Gwaine would understand. He knew that Gwaine would keep Merlin’s secret and would help him, would be a friend that Merlin could lean on, someone with whom he could share the bright glory of the music, someone to help Merlin carry the burden of fear and help keep him safe.
He could taste the words on his tongue, the “I have magic” resting heavy and bitter and sweet where it was caught and trapped behind his teeth.
But he remembered look on Arthur’s face when he first found out about Morgana’s betrayal, and he knew, he knew, how deeply it would hurt Arthur if Merlin told Gwaine before he told his prince. And after everything, Arthur always came first.
All this flashed through Merlin’s mind as he gripped Gwaine’s hand, music chiming loud in his ears.
Gwaine just watched him, head tilted to one side. “I am still your friend, Merlin. That will never change. I will keep your secrets if you choose to share them with me, and I’ll trust you with mine. And I will accept your silence, and not press you. But you should know that you can trust me, if you wanted to.”
Merlin nodded, letting his hand fall. Gwaine smiled at him, eyes dark with regret, understanding and something that might have been forgiveness. Then he turned and walked away, not looking back, leaving Merlin alone in the dark, staring up at the stars.
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Merlin expected the next day to be awkward. He was tense all morning, waiting for the stilted words and shallow, meaningless smiles that did not reach sad, uncomfortable eyes. But surprisingly, there was only one half-mocking, half-sad smile and then Gwaine was teasing like he always did, and they were joking and laughing together as Merlin helped Gwaine to arm for sparring practice. He was just doing up the second vambrace, chuckling at some comment of Gwaine’s when he noticed Arthur scowling darkly at them from across the practice field.
“Merlin!” Arthur called, voice tight. “Stop fooling around and attend me. This pauldron is too loose. I need you to tighten the buckles.”
Merlin rolled his eyes at Gwaine, who shoved his shoulder, grinning. “Go on Merlin, don’t keep the princess waiting. We all know he can’t do without you even for five minutes.”
Merlin scowled at that, and finished doing up the last fastening before he jogged over to Arthur. “Coming, sire, coming,” he said, running an experienced eye over Arthur’s armour and trying to ignore the pouting prince wearing it. “You said it was the pauldron that was loose? It looks all right to me.”
Arthur just glared at him. “What would you know anyway? Now hand me my helmet. No, not that one, you idiot! The other one.”
Merlin blinked at him, confused, but passed over the helmet. Arthur shoved past him, picking up his sword as he went. “Gwaine!”
“What?” Gwaine yelled back.
“We’re sparring. Now.”
Gwaine blinked in confusion. “I thought we were doing drills first this morning?”
“I said now!” Arthur’s face was dark, and Gwaine picked up his sword and moved to the middle of the field.
Merlin winced as Arthur moved to attack, sword ringing with strength as it cut the air, chiming bright in the morning sunshine. Gwaine was good, able to hold his own for the most part, but Arthur was the best - and it showed. Each movement was clean, concise, purposeful, and his gaze was hard behind the mask of his helmet. Every step, every swing, was filled with dangerous intent. Gwaine did his best, but Merlin knew no-one could stand against Arthur when he was in this mood. The knights were silent as they watched, but Merlin could see the concern in the lines of Leon’s face and the curve of Elyan’s mouth, and he glared at the pair circling on the field. What on earth had gotten into Arthur this morning? There was a harsh, dissonant undercurrent to the fight now, and Merlin knew Arthur had lost his temper.
It didn’t last long. Arthur rained down blow after loud, ringing blow, battering away at Gwaine like he was a practice dummy. Gwaine did manage to land a few good hits of his own, but Merlin knew he would be covered with bruises by the next morning. Both of them were panting with exertion, faces shiny with sweat beneath the gleaming helmets, when Arthur darted in fast and low, and Gwaine fell with a cry of surprised pain, landing hard on the still-damp grass. Arthur stood still for a moment, sword at Gwaine’s throat, before stepping back and pulling off his helmet. He threw it to the ground and moved over to the water-barrel, splashing his face with cool, chiming water as the other knights moved to Gwaine. Elyan was there first, reaching out an arm to haul his fellow knight to his feet. Gwaine grinned up at him and tried to stand, but fell again with a muffled cry of pain, clutching at his leg.
Arthur didn’t turn around.
Merlin shot him a hard glare as he knelt down beside Gwaine, sucking in a breath when he saw the dark stain, heard the soft murmur of blood.
“Are you alright?” he asked, pulling off his neckerchief and pressing it to the freely-bleeding gash that ran down Gwaine’s thigh from his hip almost to his knee. Gwaine shot him a tight smile. “I’m fine. Great, in fact, never better. Thought we might go dancing this evening, are you interested? I hear the local tavern has some wonderful music.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and tied the scarf as best he could to keep pressure on the cut, before waving to the hovering Elyan. Between them, they managed to help Gwaine to his feet. The bandage was rudimentary, but it would do until they got him to Gaius. Gwaine was listing slightly, unsteady on his feet, and Merlin hastily grabbed one side. Elyan took the other, and together they half-carried Gwaine towards the castle.
Merlin did not look back at Arthur.
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“What on earth were you thinking?” Merlin shouted the moment the door closed. He had been waiting for Arthur for hours now, pacing back and forth in the prince’s chambers where he had retreated after Gaius had banished him, ordering him to let Gwaine sleep.
Arthur shot him a cold look, moving to start pulling off his sweaty clothing. He didn’t reply.
“Gaius had to give him eight stitches. Eight! And even if the cut isn’t deep, Gwaine still has to be careful of the leg for the next fortnight. Arthur...” Merlin trailed off, watching the prince pull the damp shirt over his head. He swallowed, blinked, and then glared. Anger and frustration swelled in his throat, but he forced the words out, tone laced with bitterness.
“You can’t just ignore me! What the hell did you think you were doing, going for Gwaine like that? If the wound had been any deeper Gaius said there could have been serious damage! There was no need for you to go for him like that, not even for training! Gwaine has been nothing but loyal to you, and this is how you repay his service? I thought you were a better man than that.” Merlin winced as the sharp words left his mouth, but didn’t try to take them back. He meant them, and the fact that he did was a cold, aching weight in his chest.
Arthur flinched at that, and then looked over, eyes glittering with something Merlin couldn’t decipher. His face was twisted with anger, and his voice was low and harsh. “Do you think I don’t know that, Merlin? Do you think I don’t know it went too far, that I lost my temper and did something so unbelievably foolish that I can hardly believe I did it? Do you think I’m not kicking myself harder than you ever could? A good man was wounded today for no good reason, and it was entirely my fault.” He turned away, but not before Merlin saw the grief in his eyes. Anger slipped away, leaving regret and sorrow in its place.
Merlin reached out and gripped Arthur’s warm shoulder. Arthur jerked at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Merlin could feel muscles shifting under his hand, the slight tremor that went through Arthur when he squeezed gently. They stood like that for a few moments, and Merlin’s voice was soft when he next spoke “Is it your father? Is there something wrong?”
Arthur shot him a confused look, then shook his head. “What? No. What are you talking about, Merlin?”
Merlin just looked at him. “There’s obviously something wrong, or you wouldn’t have acted like that this morning. What is it? Tell me, and we can fix it.” He smiled. “You and me, we can fix just about anything.”
Arthur smiled slightly at that, but then pulled away. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Worry tinged Merlin’s voice as he frowned. “I don’t believe you. Come on, you know you can tell me anything. What is it? Is it Gwen?”
But Arthur just shook him off. “I said nothing is wrong! Now go and fetch me a bath.”
Merlin pressed his lips together, but didn’t try to push any further. Arthur in this mood would tell him nothing. He went to order the bath, mind awhirl with worry. Even if Arthur wouldn’t tell him, he would find out what was wrong, and then he would fix it, and then the look of pain would be gone from Arthur’s eyes. Merlin set his jaw. Whatever was making Arthur this upset would regret it. Merlin would make sure of that.
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
“Merlin!” Gwen looked surprised to see him, but pulled the door open and ushered him in, sitting back down at her small table and smiling up at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course!” Merlin grinned at her. “We’ve both been so busy lately, I feel as though I’ve hardly seen you at all.”
She smiled ruefully. “That’s certainly true. But I expected you to be with Gwaine tonight - Elyan told me he was injured on the practice fields?”
Merlin’s face darkened. “Yeah, yeah he was. I was with him earlier, he’s fine, just needs to rest. Is your brother here now?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, I think he said something about the tavern, for some reason. Strange - he usually never drinks when there’s patrol in the morning.” She looked down at the mound of blue fabric on the table, tracing her fingers along a seam before looking up again. “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, Merlin, but - why aren’t you with Gwaine? I mean, given that you two are...” She trailed off and looked down again, blushing.
Merlin blinked. “We two are what?” Then his eyes widened and he flushed. “Oh.. OH! You think that we...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it either, and he just knew he was as bright red as a knight’s cloak. “What on earth gave you that idea?”
Gwen blushed harder. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed! But it was all over the castle this morning - you know how everyone gossips. Apparently someone saw you at the top of the north tower together, or something? And well - the way the two of you act, it didn’t seem surprising, really. I’m sorry!”
Merlin shook his head, still a bit stunned by the idea that the entire castle thought he was sleeping with Gwaine. “It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” Well, at least now he knew why the cook had winked and made wicked, pointed comments when he went to collect Arthur’s breakfast. And why the laundresses had giggled so hard that morning. And the stableboys had made some odd remarks too, actually, now that he thought about it, and honestly the way that Camelot seemed to run on gossip really was absurd.
Merlin sat down heavily, and tried to stop himself from wondering if Arthur had heard. Gwen picked up the blue cloth and started stitching again, kindly letting him have a few moments to collect his thoughts. He ran a hand over his face and let the soft, comforting hum of Gwen’s house sooth him, let the happy, peaceful chime of her song reassure him.
They sat peaceably together for a time, and then Merlin frowned curiously. “What are you sewing?”
Gwen blushed again, looking down, and a small smile slipped over her face as she replied. “It’s for Lancelot. He doesn’t have much in the way of formal clothing, and the palace tailor has so much to do... I offered to make him a few things.”
Merlin looked at the expensive blue cloth, the careful, intricate stitching, and the soft smile on Gwen’s face. “Oh.”
She looked back at him, and Merlin remembered the first time Gwen had met Lancelot. He remembered the beautiful, perfect harmony that their two songs had formed, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. “But... what about Arthur?” he asked softly, trying to keep accusation from seeping into his voice.
Gwen put down her sewing. “I have barely spoken three words to Arthur since we returned. He is so busy all the time, and I don’t think he even remembers I exist for a good part of the day. And Lancelot... he has time. I don’t know. Arthur is lovely when he acknowledges me, but...”
“He has to run the kingdom! Of course he’s busy!” Merlin found himself saying, and it was true. Arthur had almost no time for anyone these days, but nonetheless - he would have expected the prince to make time for Gwen. Instead, Arthur spent as much of his free time as possible on the practice fields - and his rare quiet evenings with Merlin, the two of them dining together in Arthur’s chambers, drinking wine and bickering comfortably.
Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back, letting out a sigh. Arthur probably hadn’t been upset over Gwen, then. And if he had been, why would he have gone after Gwaine? It would have made sense if it had been Lancelot on the receiving end of Arthur’s anger, but it hadn’t been. So if it wasn’t Gwen, then what was bothering Arthur? He rubbed his hand over his face, and then smiled at Gwen. “Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interfere, anyway. It’s none of my business.”
Gwen smiled at him. “It’s alright. Anyway, I want to know how you are doing. You always look so tired these days, Merlin.”
She was full of kind concern, but Merlin barely felt any guilt at all as he lied and said he was perfectly fine.
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
The messenger arrived the next day.
Merlin was on the practice fields when he came running up from the city, an unfamiliar, nondescript young man with a sneer on his face. “Message for Prince Arthur?” he asked one of the guards.
“He’s over there.” The guard pointed to where Arthur was drilling the knights. “But you’d best wait until he’s done, he doesn’t like training to be interrupted.”
“I’ve got a very important message. He’ll hear me.”
Merlin came over at that point. “I’m the prince’s manservant. Give me the message, and I’ll be the judge of whether it’s worth interrupting the drill. What’s your name?”
The man turned to look at him, still sneering. “That doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s not my message. A woman paid me to bring it to the prince, said it was really important he heard it as soon as possible.”
Merlin frowned. “A woman?”
“Yeah. I was going through this village, and a woman said she’d pay me gold to deliver the message to Camelot. She couldn’t travel herself for some reason, I think she was injured. She said that if I told the prince that this village needed Camelot’s aid, I’d get rewarded. Gave me a few coins, and said the prince would give me more.”
Cold fear settled into Merlin’s belly, and he swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. “This village. What was it called?”
“Ealdor.”
Merlin swayed on his feet, icy fear flooding through him, and he was distantly aware that he was struggling for breath. The guard reached out and touched his arm. “Are you alright, Merlin?”
Merlin tried to answer, but couldn’t find the words. He shook his head, tried to take a step, staggered. The guard grabbed him and stopped him from falling, then waved a hand at the still-drilling knights.
Arthur was there just seconds later. “Merlin? What is it?”
Merlin swallowed again, and his voice was a dry croak as he answered, “Ealdor. My ... my mother.”
Arthur sucked in a breath, and turned to the messenger. “Tell me. Now.”
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
Two hours later, Merlin rode out of Camelot.
“Take Leon,” Arthur had said. “I wish I could send Lancelot and Percival as well, but I must keep the new knights close or people will talk. I can give you a squad of men, and Leon will command them. Take whatever supplies you think necessary.”
Merlin had nodded, tried to thank him, but Arthur had just brushed his thanks aside. “Cenred’s kingdom is leaderless now, and while the council tells me I do not have the men to hold all his lands, we can certainly bring Ealdor under Camelot’s protection.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then added. “Give my regards to Hunith. I ... I would go with you, if I could.”
Merlin had smiled weakly. “I know.”
Gaius fretted and packed bags of herbs, Gwen had hugged him tight, Gwaine had raged and sworn over the injury that absolutely prohibited him from riding. Arthur just looked at him, tried to smile, and then punched his shoulder. “See you when you get back.”
Merlin nodded, tried to smile back. “See you then.”
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
The horse was a low, comforting grumble of sound as they rode swiftly through the familiar forest. Merlin’s mind whirled with all kinds of horrible possibilities, worry growing steadily as they grew closer to Ealdor. The message had been so vague, and with the fall of Cenred and the death of his entire army, unscrupulous men would be everywhere, preying on the weak and the defenceless. Merlin suppressed a shudder, trying not to think of slave-traders, bandits, thieves and killers and a defenceless village, and spurred his horse faster.
They made good progress. The first night, Merlin tried to help the men set up the camp, but he was so distracted that he was more hindrance than help. Leon did not comment on his trembling hands, instead sending him out to collect more firewood. As Merlin stepped past him, Leon reached out and caught hold of his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We will protect them, Merlin. Don’t worry.”
Merlin nodded, tried to smile, but not even the reassuring, steadying earth-song of Leon could make him feel much better. As he moved through the trees, searching for dry logs, his thoughts continued to spin out of his control, flitting from fear to panic to hope to worry to fear again in an endless loop. The song of the forest was loud in his ears, but he tried not to listen.
He missed Arthur.
The next evening, he didn’t even bother trying to help, just set his pack down next to the fire and went to find what wood he could. The air was cold, and a mist was rising as the sun disappeared below the horizon, shrouding the trees in white and muffling the chiming forest-song. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly tired. It had been such a long day, all he wanted to do was sleep. But something about the mist seemed - strange, just slightly off, just a little bit not quite right. Merlin straightened and looked around, frowning, and then yawned widely. There was something wrong about the mist-song, but he couldn’t tell what.
A wave of exhaustion flooded him, and he yawned again. His eyelids felt suddenly heavy. That was strange, he wasn’t that tired, or he shouldn’t be. But his head was nodding, and without any conscious thought his legs were folding beneath him and he was falling to the soft, comfortable ground. Not even the shock of fear at the suddenness of the fall could penetrate the bone-deep exhaustion. Merlin closed his eyes, just for a moment, and darkness swamped him.
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
To Part Five
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
An eagle flew overhead.
Merlin was in the courtyard. It was empty. Something was wrong.
What was it? Merlin knew there was - something. Something bad. Something - what? He didn’t know. But he couldn’t shake that pounding, urgent, bone-deep sense of not right, burning in him like fire, thick and harsh and cloying in his throat like smoke, choking.
He needed to be somewhere. There was a place, he had to be, he had to go, where was it? He ran up the steps, trying desperately to remember as he raced through deserted halls and empty corridors.
Merlin was in the throne room. Knights in full armour and the long red cloak of Camelot stood in a half-circle before the dais. He didn’t recognise them.
Arthur was sitting on the throne. Arthur was rising to his feet, smiling.
“Merlin.”
Arthur was stretching out a hand towards Merlin, happiness lighting his blue eyes.
Arthur was wearing his crown, the circlet of gold bright against his soft blond hair. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting shadows.
Merlin stared at him, the unbearable sense of wrong still pulsing in his veins, flooding through him like waves at high tide, merciless, inexorable.
Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes, and they were black. And the shining circlet was melting, strings of gold cascading down Arthur’s neck, soft bright tendrils flowing over his shoulders like waves of hair, and Arthur was Morgause.
As one, the knights knelt.
The figure on the dais was still holding out a hand, was calling Merlin’s name in Arthur’s voice. Merlin backed away, tripping over his own feet and falling to the cold, hard ground.
“Merlin.”
The pulse of his heartbeat was ringing in his ears. He could hear the voice calling him through the steady pulsing beat, but there was nothing else. There was only silence.
Terror swamped him. He screamed.
“Merlin.”
“Merlin.”
“Merlin!”
Merlin sat up with a start, wild-eyed and shaking and gasping for breath, bedclothes in disarray around him. The song of the castle rang loud and reassuring in his ears.
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~
It was night, and it was raining. Outside, the roar of the wind mingled with the raging of the sea, pounding fierce and unforgiving against the rocks below.
Morgana paced in front of the fire. Shadows flickered over the walls as she moved, dancing on the rocks and stretching greedy fingers towards the light. From a nearby chair Morgause watched her, a small smile on her face, saying nothing. Just watching.
The fire cracked in the grate, throwing out not quite enough heat to fight off the icy chill that lingered in the stones of the walls and floor. Morgana paused, drawing her cloak more closely around her and staring deep into the fire, as if hoping it somehow contained the answers to her troubles.
Morgause spoke, voice still hoarse from the injuries she had sustained only a few weeks previously. “Please, sister, be calm. Your endless pacing begins to wear upon my nerves.”
Morgana huffed and sat, still staring into the fire as she replied. “You should rest, sister. You are still not fully healed, for all you try to convince me otherwise. And if you slept my pacing would not disturb you. Why will you not lie down awhile?"
Morgause just looked at her, and smiled again. Morgana rolled her eyes at her sister. “Honestly, you are the worst patient in the world. What am I to do with you? How will you recover your strength if you will not rest?”
A thrum of energy interrupted Morgause’s reply, causing both women to sit up sharply. Morgause was on her feet before Morgana could say anything, reaching for her sword. “That was the ward on the outer gate.”
“How many?”
Morgause’s brow furrowed in concentration, and she took some moments to answer. “Two ... just two. Why would there be only two? That makes no sense,” she paused, and then continued, “And one of them is familiar, though I cannot place him. The other... so young?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Morgana, and then she was moving to the door. Morgause followed, sword in hand as they descended the winding stair and strode through the cold, empty, echoing passages to the door of the keep.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Three knocks, and then a pause, followed by three more. Before Morgause could stop her, Morgana had lifted the heavy wooden bar and was throwing the door wide. Two cloaked figures, one large and one small, stood dripping on the threshold. Morgana opened her arms and the smaller figure, green-cloaked and sopping wet, threw itself into her embrace.
The tall, dark-cloaked man pushed back his hood, blue eyes meeting Morgause’s wary gaze. “My lady Morgause. It has been too long.”
“Alvarr,” Morgause acknowledged, fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword.
Alvarr grinned wide and boyish, and bowed low, sweeping his saturated cloak behind him and sending water flying everywhere. “You grow even more beautiful every time we meet, my lady.”
Morgause smiled, then laughed, sheathing her blade. “You are as shameless a flirt as you ever were. I am surprised someone has not yet cut that silver tongue out of your head, you incorrigible rogue.”
Morgana turned to look from one to the other, arms still wrapped around Mordred. “You are acquainted with Alvarr?”
Morgause looked over at Morgana, and then back at Alvarr, eyes narrowed. “And how did such a man come to meet my sister?”
He held up his hands. “Peace, ladies, peace! I am known to both of you, but the Lady Morgause has not yet met young Mordred.”
If this was a distraction, it was an effective one. Morgana turned back to Mordred, noticed his soaking clothes, and began to fuss. Soon all four were comfortably ensconced in front of the fire, the wet things dry once more, heating spells reinforced to keep out the chill, and goblets of mulled wine being passed around. Mordred curled next to Morgana, warm furs piled over them. She stroked his hair as he stared unseeing into the dancing flames, eyelids drooping. Morgause sat by them, keeping her eyes on Alvarr, gaze now not actively hostile, but still watchful.
Alvarr watched the women from his seat at the table, and a smirk played about his lips.
Fingers still running through Mordred’s now-dry hair, Morgana looked back at Alvarr, curiosity and faint suspicion in her clear green eyes. “How did you find us?”
Alvarr smiled. “Word of your triumph, my queen, spread far and wide - even to the far-distant wilderness where we have our stronghold. Though we set out immediately to offer our allegiance and support, your unfortunate half-brother acted before we could traverse the distance. On hearing of your ...” he paused, then continued diplomatically, “your difficulty, we camped north of Caerleon for several days. But then Mordred told me he knew where to find you, and he and I set out together. The rest of our force waits for my word to join us. I must compliment your choice of location, this fortress is surely the most defensible I have seen in many years.”
Morgause smiled. “Tintagel keeps what it holds.”
“Is it true that the fortress has never been taken?”
“Never.”
Alvarr waited for Morgause to elaborate further, but she just sat and watched him. A faint half-smile curved her lips, and he had to stop himself from fidgeting under her continued stare. “It is unfortunate that you have no staff to attend you. Ladies such as yourselves are accustomed to a certain level of service. This must be a cold, empty place with only each other for company.”
Now both of them were levelling dark looks at him. Alvarr smirked. “Unfortunate as well that you had to leave Camelot so precipitously. The riches of the citadel would surely have been of great benefit to our cause. The Lady Morgana, I am sure, remembers the worth of a certain piece of crystal that must now be back in the tyrant Uther’s possession.”
Morgana did not react as he had expected - there was no scowl, no flinch at the memory of the escapade that had come close to costing him his life. Instead, her smirk now matched her sister’s. He narrowed his eyes.
“Of course, that your immortal army was defeated by a small band of warriors with no magic must have been surprising. It is understandable that you had no warning or expectation that such a thing might occur. Your half-brother must be quite a fighter, to win so decisively against all odds.”
That got a reaction. Morgana looked away, face gone suddenly fierce and furious, hands clenching in Mordred’s hair and making the boy twitch and pull against her tight grip. When he struggled she relaxed immediately, running a soothing hand over his head in apology. Mordred turned his wide, cold gaze to Alvarr, frowning. “That is not the truth, Alvarr. You should not lie to make Morgana upset.”
Alvarr blinked, a little surprised. “What is not the truth, Mordred?”
The boy continued to watch him with that unnerving stare. “They did not act without magic. Emrys was with them.”
Morgause sat bolt upright, eyes wide and voice hard. “What are you talking about, child?”
Mordred turned to look at her. “Emrys helped the prince. As he always does. It is because of him that Arthur took back the throne. It is always because of him.”
Morgana looked confused. “Who is this Emrys you speak of? And surely you must be mistaken, Mordred. Arthur would not condone the use of magic, no matter what the cause.”
Alvarr’s eyes flicked from sister to sister and then back to the boy. Mordred was speaking again.
“Emrys was always at Camelot. He helped you save me, the first time we met. But the last time I saw him, he wanted me to be killed. He tried to keep me from escaping, so the knights could get me and kill me.” The boy’s voice was distant and cold. “I will never forgive him for that.”
Morgana’s arms came around him in a hug, though it was probably more for her own comfort than for the boy’s. “I would never let anyone have you killed, Mordred. Not ever.”
He smiled up at her. “I know.” Then his face went cold again. “Emrys will pay for what he has done. It was because of him our camp was discovered and the crystal was taken from me.”
Alvarr felt anger burn at the idea of a sorcerer who would help Camelot to hunt and kill his own kind. Many had been killed in the ambush, though he knew Mordred considered their value to be next to nothing when compared to the loss of the crystal. The boy had been fixed on that stone, single-minded in a way that had terrified many of the men. He had been furious at its loss, so soon after they had had won it.
Morgause had gone very pale, eyes still wide and knuckles white where she gripped the arms of her chair. “Are you certain, child, that this person was indeed Emrys? They did not simply take the name for some purpose of their own?”
Mordred shook his head. “He does not use it himself. I always knew that it was his name, but I have never heard anyone else call him by it.”
“How did you know?” Morgause’s voice is raw and harsh.
Mordred met her fierce focus with his own stare. “As I knew you were here. As I know you are more powerful than Alvarr or Morgana, but that one day I may match you. As I know that even now the crystal of Neahtid is here in this castle. So I knew that the one they call Merlin is Emrys.”
At once both women are speaking, mingling voices loud and filled with confusion and incredulity.
“Merlin!”
“How can that be possible?”
“Surely there is some mistake!”
“I knew he was hiding something, but this ...”
“Merlin does not have magic!”
Alvarr looked from one to the other again, wary. “Ladies, please. I do not know this Merlin of whom you speak, nor do I know much of the legend of Emrys beyond the tales told around the fire on a cold winter’s night. Please, explain to me why this news has so upset you.”
Morgause looked at him, eyes strangely unseeing. “Emrys ...” she paused, swallowed and continued, voice hoarse but steady.
“Emrys is also named the One Who Hears. It is said that his coming will usher in a new era for the land of Albion, a time of unmatched glory. That he will be more powerful than any that have come before him, or any that will come after. That he will be unmatched in knowledge and strength, and that he will hear the harmonia mundi.”
Alvarr sucked in a sharp breath and stared at her, eyes wide and disbelieving. “And this Merlin, you think he can hear the harmonia?”
Morgause got to her feet, dropping her furs to the floor as she paced, agitated. “I don’t know. If the boy is right, if Merlin is Emrys... He must be the One Who Hears. It beggars belief, that such a - a simpleton could be granted the music of the universe.”
Morgana leaned forward. “I’m sorry, sister, but does it really exist, the harmonia mundi? I thought it merely a child’s tale!” She smiled. “And surely you cannot believe that Merlin, Merlin of all people could have magic? It is ridiculous! The mere suggestion is absurd! You must be thinking of a different Emrys, surely.”
Mordred looked up at her, catching her eyes with his. “Merlin has magic, Morgana. He has always had magic, but he never told you. He did not want you to know.”
Morgana stared at him, eyes widening and voice going faint. “No, no. It can’t be. There must be some mistake. Not Merlin, not Merlin. He’s such a useless ...” she trailed off, eyes going distant. Her voice hardened. “He sent me to the druids, when my powers first began to show. I was so scared ... all I wanted was someone to tell me it was going to be all right. He told me nothing, sent me far away and almost got us killed - and all those poor druids...”
“Yes,” Mordred agreed, still watching her face.
“He escaped Morgause, when we caught him spying in the forest. She left him to die and he was back at Camelot the next day. We never knew how.”
“Yes.” It was Morgause who spoke this time, eyes on her sister’s anguished face.
“He tried to kill me. He poisoned me and left me to die.”
“Yes.” Alvarr did not know why he was agreeing with her, he knew nothing of this Merlin, but somehow he felt compelled to speak.
Morgana stared into the fire, and there was realisation dawning in her eyes. “He was always there. Always, always with Arthur. In my dreams, he was there.” She turned to look at Morgause. “I never understood before. But Merlin was always there.”
Mordred reached up and touched her cheek. “Emrys has betrayed us, Morgana. He betrayed us and he tried to kill you, he tried to kill me. His king would see all our kind dead.”
She stared at his young face, tears in her eyes. “Yes.”
“We must kill him before he and his king can kill us.”
“Yes.”
“We must kill Merlin, and we must kill Arthur. And then you will be Queen of Camelot, and I will stay with you forever.”
Morgana smiled. “Yes.”
Morgause watched them, and there was something akin to triumph in her eyes. “It will not be easy. If it is as you say, child, and Merlin is Emrys, then defeating him will not be easy.”
Mordred looked at her. “I know. But we will do it. Will you teach me?”
She smiled. “I will.”
Alvarr looked at the three of them, and knew he had the choice to join them now, or to leave. His lips curled in a sly smile. “My people will support us. If this Merlin does hear the harmonia, we must use men he has never met before if we are to get close to him.”
Morgause looked over at him and smiled. “True.” Turning to Morgana, who had opened her mouth to ask again, Morgause began to explain.
“The harmonia mundi is a legend, a story, but it is an ancient one. You may have heard something about it when you were young, it is a common enough tale. Most people no longer understand the significance of what they tell, and many no longer believe it exists. Do you recall when I first began to teach you about the Old Religion?” She looked over, waiting for Morgana’s nod before continuing. “Every piece of the world has a part to play in the balance of life, and all together make up the united force from which we draw our power. You remember?”
“Of course. And the greater the effect of the spell on the balance, the harder it will be to cast.”
Morgause smiled. “Good. Well, it has long been believed by those of the Old Beliefs that if only we could hear it, this united force would have a song. Each piece of the world would have a note, and together they would form the musica universalis, the universal music. Or, to call it by another name, the harmonia mundi, the harmony of the world. And it has long been prophesied that one will be born with a gift that others have only dreamt of possessing - the ability to hear this music.”
Morgana leaned forward, a slight frown on her face. “And you believe Merlin is the one who can hear the music?”
“If he is Emrys, then he is the One Who Hears,” Morgause spat the words as though they were poison on her tongue. “He has been given the gift others have died to try to achieve, and for nothing! Such an ignorant, unworthy child such as him, when there are such as you and I in the world.”
She paused, and then continued in a soft voice, “My first teacher went mad, trying to hear the music. There are tales of sorcerers succeeding, many lifetimes ago, but not one soul in living memory has attempted it and survived with their mind intact. Many have lost their lives to it. That my teacher did not die was a credit to her power, but she spent the rest of her life unable to speak, unable to comprehend when I spoke to her, unable even to feed herself. This magic is the greatest of all challenges, and the most dangerous.”
Morgana put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Morgause looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. “If Merlin can hear the harmonia mundi, killing him will not be easy.” She looked over to Mordred, then to Alvarr, and her smile broadened. “But I do believe it can be done. In the morning I will go to the library and find what we need. The boy may assist me.”
Mordred smiled, wide and happy, and reflected flames danced in his eyes.
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Merlin leaned against the cool, worn stone and gazed out over the softly humming city. The last vestiges of sunlight glittered and chimed, gilding the clouds gold and rose and beautiful, and then fading slowly as the sun crept down and the blue of the sky deepened towards black. A chill wind coiled around him, nipping icy and sharp at his exposed ankles, fingers, ears, bringing with it the faint smell of wood-smoke and the whispers of mountains far away.
Merlin looked up to where the darkening sky was still impossibly blue, and thought idly that it was almost the same colour as Arthur’s eyes when he laughed. Then he shook his head. These thoughts were stupid and pointless, as well being impossible and … well, stupid. He absolutely did not have any kind of feelings for his prince. Not only would such a thing be ridiculous and completely out of the question - it would also be a distraction, one he absolutely could not afford right now, not with Camelot in such a state of disarray.
He ignored the part of his mind that stretched out instinctively at the thought of Arthur, reaching for the so-familiar song. Tried not to notice that he had already known exactly where Arthur was, even before listening for him, that he had known without a flicker of doubt that the prince was in the council hall - probably debating with his father’s advisers. This was not an unusual or unexpected place for Arthur to be, but Merlin shouldn’t know it the way he did - automatically and without any hesitation, as surely as he knew where he was himself.
Was that what it meant, then, to be two notes in the same harmony, two sides of the same coin? Was this what the dragon had intended, for Merlin to have Arthur under his skin all the time, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, bright song entwining itself through his thoughts and his dreams as though the prince had never been anywhere else, and never would be again? With the two of them so entwined that no earthly power could ever separate one from the other, separate Arthur from Merlin?
If so, destiny could go and jump off a cliff. Merlin had no idea how he was supposed to live like this, constantly on edge and frustrated, desperately needing to be near Arthur but never being allowed to be close enough. Because Arthur would never know how Merlin felt, and would never, ever feel the same. Merlin gave a gusty sigh. Stupid, stupid destiny.
He stared into the sky, watching as the high, cold ringing of the stars began to chime, pinpricks of light flickering in the deep blue, growing louder as the light faded, no longer overshadowed by the louder, brighter sun. The air was cooling steadily with the loss of the sun’s heat, though the well-worn stones still hummed with warmth under Merlin’s fingers. Soon it would be dark.
There was a soft sound from behind him. Merlin did not turn around.
“Gwaine,” he greeted softly, and the other man chuckled, stepping over to lean against the wall next to Merlin.
“How on earth did you know it was me?”
Merlin shrugged, still staring up into the darkness. He was not about to explain that there was no-one in the world who sounded quite like Gwaine, that odd, strangely complex harmony of birdsong and the fickle west wind. He felt the weight of Gwaine’s gaze as the knight watched him watch the stars, and turned to look over. Gwaine’s face was half-lit by the dying sun, shadows clinging to his cheek, nose, the softness of his hair, silhouetting the curve of his smile. The fading light glittered and chimed in his eyes.
“Why are you here, Gwaine?” The question slipped out before Merlin could stop it, harsher than he meant it to be, but he didn’t try to soften the hard edge to the accusation. Merlin had come here to hide, to be alone with his thoughts and with the music, and he found himself unreasonably angry at being disturbed.
“I’m here for you, Merlin,” Gwaine smiled that sly, cheeky smile that Merlin knew so well, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly in return. “I’m always here for you. You know that.”
He was close now, closer than Merlin had thought. Reaching out one sword-callused hand, Gwaine ran his fingers lightly over Merlin’s cheek. Merlin stared at him wide-eyed, any lingering anger and frustration lost beneath a sudden flood of confusion, and did not flinch away. Gwaine continued to trace the line of Merlin’s cheekbone, eyes dark with more than the slowly growing shadows, and for a moment Merlin let himself imagine what it might be like to lean in and press his mouth to the soft, shadowy curve of Gwaine’s lips. It would be a little scratchy, he thought, but Gwaine would be gentle, and welcoming, and he would taste sweet like the wine that he loved and warm like the shine in his eyes when he didn’t think anyone was looking.
Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into the touch, imagined sinking into the kiss, Gwaine’s song swelling loud and beautiful around them, enveloping Merlin in the complex, clever melody until it was all he could hear, until all he knew was just the touch of Gwaine’s skin and the music of his song.
Music swelled around him, loud and beautiful and distracting, as though it was responding to his thoughts. A bolt of fear shot through him and he flinched back, reaching up to grip the dragon-claw tied securely around his neck. It would be too easy to get lost in Gwaine, in the hidden complexities of the man and the music, and he didn’t know if he would be able to find his way back. It would be too easy to get lost, and never come back. And then there was Arthur.
At the thought of him, Merlin heard the prince’s bright song fill his ears, loud, as though Arthur was standing right behind him, drowning out Gwaine’s own music and everything else as well.
Merlin looked at Gwaine and sighed. He couldn’t. It would never be possible, no matter how much he wished it might. His eyes traced the shape of Gwaine’s lips, the line of his nose, the glimmer of light still twinkling in his hair, and was surprised to discover just how much he did wish. He wished a lot more than he thought he would, and that just made it harder to say no.
Merlin blinked at the sudden tears that pricked his eyes and stepped back, turning to stare up at the sky as the last light from the dying sun traced bright, fading fingers along the edges of the darkening clouds.
Gwaine let his hand drop.
Merlin looked back at him, wondering if the depth of his sadness was visible in his eyes. He could see the disappointment in Gwaine’s shadowed face, the sorrow behind the mask of a smile that slid quickly into place. Gwaine opened his mouth to make some joking comment, to lift the mood back to playful and let them both hide behind the banter they usually shared. But before he could speak, Merlin reached out and touched the hand that rested on the softly-resonating stone.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and the two words contained a world of regret.
Gwaine let the smile drop, and nodded. “I understand.”
Merlin shook his head. “No. No, you don’t. And you can’t, because I can’t tell you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could, I really do, I wish that it could be different. But it can’t. I can’t.” He brought one hand up to touch his own face, where Gwaine’s hand had been, and swallowed hard again, looking back down at the reliable, cold, sturdily-humming stone.
He had to fight back the words that wanted to spill out of him, fight the urge to confess it all, to explain everything and make Gwaine understand. And Merlin knew Gwaine would understand. He knew that Gwaine would keep Merlin’s secret and would help him, would be a friend that Merlin could lean on, someone with whom he could share the bright glory of the music, someone to help Merlin carry the burden of fear and help keep him safe.
He could taste the words on his tongue, the “I have magic” resting heavy and bitter and sweet where it was caught and trapped behind his teeth.
But he remembered look on Arthur’s face when he first found out about Morgana’s betrayal, and he knew, he knew, how deeply it would hurt Arthur if Merlin told Gwaine before he told his prince. And after everything, Arthur always came first.
All this flashed through Merlin’s mind as he gripped Gwaine’s hand, music chiming loud in his ears.
Gwaine just watched him, head tilted to one side. “I am still your friend, Merlin. That will never change. I will keep your secrets if you choose to share them with me, and I’ll trust you with mine. And I will accept your silence, and not press you. But you should know that you can trust me, if you wanted to.”
Merlin nodded, letting his hand fall. Gwaine smiled at him, eyes dark with regret, understanding and something that might have been forgiveness. Then he turned and walked away, not looking back, leaving Merlin alone in the dark, staring up at the stars.
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Merlin expected the next day to be awkward. He was tense all morning, waiting for the stilted words and shallow, meaningless smiles that did not reach sad, uncomfortable eyes. But surprisingly, there was only one half-mocking, half-sad smile and then Gwaine was teasing like he always did, and they were joking and laughing together as Merlin helped Gwaine to arm for sparring practice. He was just doing up the second vambrace, chuckling at some comment of Gwaine’s when he noticed Arthur scowling darkly at them from across the practice field.
“Merlin!” Arthur called, voice tight. “Stop fooling around and attend me. This pauldron is too loose. I need you to tighten the buckles.”
Merlin rolled his eyes at Gwaine, who shoved his shoulder, grinning. “Go on Merlin, don’t keep the princess waiting. We all know he can’t do without you even for five minutes.”
Merlin scowled at that, and finished doing up the last fastening before he jogged over to Arthur. “Coming, sire, coming,” he said, running an experienced eye over Arthur’s armour and trying to ignore the pouting prince wearing it. “You said it was the pauldron that was loose? It looks all right to me.”
Arthur just glared at him. “What would you know anyway? Now hand me my helmet. No, not that one, you idiot! The other one.”
Merlin blinked at him, confused, but passed over the helmet. Arthur shoved past him, picking up his sword as he went. “Gwaine!”
“What?” Gwaine yelled back.
“We’re sparring. Now.”
Gwaine blinked in confusion. “I thought we were doing drills first this morning?”
“I said now!” Arthur’s face was dark, and Gwaine picked up his sword and moved to the middle of the field.
Merlin winced as Arthur moved to attack, sword ringing with strength as it cut the air, chiming bright in the morning sunshine. Gwaine was good, able to hold his own for the most part, but Arthur was the best - and it showed. Each movement was clean, concise, purposeful, and his gaze was hard behind the mask of his helmet. Every step, every swing, was filled with dangerous intent. Gwaine did his best, but Merlin knew no-one could stand against Arthur when he was in this mood. The knights were silent as they watched, but Merlin could see the concern in the lines of Leon’s face and the curve of Elyan’s mouth, and he glared at the pair circling on the field. What on earth had gotten into Arthur this morning? There was a harsh, dissonant undercurrent to the fight now, and Merlin knew Arthur had lost his temper.
It didn’t last long. Arthur rained down blow after loud, ringing blow, battering away at Gwaine like he was a practice dummy. Gwaine did manage to land a few good hits of his own, but Merlin knew he would be covered with bruises by the next morning. Both of them were panting with exertion, faces shiny with sweat beneath the gleaming helmets, when Arthur darted in fast and low, and Gwaine fell with a cry of surprised pain, landing hard on the still-damp grass. Arthur stood still for a moment, sword at Gwaine’s throat, before stepping back and pulling off his helmet. He threw it to the ground and moved over to the water-barrel, splashing his face with cool, chiming water as the other knights moved to Gwaine. Elyan was there first, reaching out an arm to haul his fellow knight to his feet. Gwaine grinned up at him and tried to stand, but fell again with a muffled cry of pain, clutching at his leg.
Arthur didn’t turn around.
Merlin shot him a hard glare as he knelt down beside Gwaine, sucking in a breath when he saw the dark stain, heard the soft murmur of blood.
“Are you alright?” he asked, pulling off his neckerchief and pressing it to the freely-bleeding gash that ran down Gwaine’s thigh from his hip almost to his knee. Gwaine shot him a tight smile. “I’m fine. Great, in fact, never better. Thought we might go dancing this evening, are you interested? I hear the local tavern has some wonderful music.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and tied the scarf as best he could to keep pressure on the cut, before waving to the hovering Elyan. Between them, they managed to help Gwaine to his feet. The bandage was rudimentary, but it would do until they got him to Gaius. Gwaine was listing slightly, unsteady on his feet, and Merlin hastily grabbed one side. Elyan took the other, and together they half-carried Gwaine towards the castle.
Merlin did not look back at Arthur.
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“What on earth were you thinking?” Merlin shouted the moment the door closed. He had been waiting for Arthur for hours now, pacing back and forth in the prince’s chambers where he had retreated after Gaius had banished him, ordering him to let Gwaine sleep.
Arthur shot him a cold look, moving to start pulling off his sweaty clothing. He didn’t reply.
“Gaius had to give him eight stitches. Eight! And even if the cut isn’t deep, Gwaine still has to be careful of the leg for the next fortnight. Arthur...” Merlin trailed off, watching the prince pull the damp shirt over his head. He swallowed, blinked, and then glared. Anger and frustration swelled in his throat, but he forced the words out, tone laced with bitterness.
“You can’t just ignore me! What the hell did you think you were doing, going for Gwaine like that? If the wound had been any deeper Gaius said there could have been serious damage! There was no need for you to go for him like that, not even for training! Gwaine has been nothing but loyal to you, and this is how you repay his service? I thought you were a better man than that.” Merlin winced as the sharp words left his mouth, but didn’t try to take them back. He meant them, and the fact that he did was a cold, aching weight in his chest.
Arthur flinched at that, and then looked over, eyes glittering with something Merlin couldn’t decipher. His face was twisted with anger, and his voice was low and harsh. “Do you think I don’t know that, Merlin? Do you think I don’t know it went too far, that I lost my temper and did something so unbelievably foolish that I can hardly believe I did it? Do you think I’m not kicking myself harder than you ever could? A good man was wounded today for no good reason, and it was entirely my fault.” He turned away, but not before Merlin saw the grief in his eyes. Anger slipped away, leaving regret and sorrow in its place.
Merlin reached out and gripped Arthur’s warm shoulder. Arthur jerked at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Merlin could feel muscles shifting under his hand, the slight tremor that went through Arthur when he squeezed gently. They stood like that for a few moments, and Merlin’s voice was soft when he next spoke “Is it your father? Is there something wrong?”
Arthur shot him a confused look, then shook his head. “What? No. What are you talking about, Merlin?”
Merlin just looked at him. “There’s obviously something wrong, or you wouldn’t have acted like that this morning. What is it? Tell me, and we can fix it.” He smiled. “You and me, we can fix just about anything.”
Arthur smiled slightly at that, but then pulled away. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Worry tinged Merlin’s voice as he frowned. “I don’t believe you. Come on, you know you can tell me anything. What is it? Is it Gwen?”
But Arthur just shook him off. “I said nothing is wrong! Now go and fetch me a bath.”
Merlin pressed his lips together, but didn’t try to push any further. Arthur in this mood would tell him nothing. He went to order the bath, mind awhirl with worry. Even if Arthur wouldn’t tell him, he would find out what was wrong, and then he would fix it, and then the look of pain would be gone from Arthur’s eyes. Merlin set his jaw. Whatever was making Arthur this upset would regret it. Merlin would make sure of that.
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“Merlin!” Gwen looked surprised to see him, but pulled the door open and ushered him in, sitting back down at her small table and smiling up at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course!” Merlin grinned at her. “We’ve both been so busy lately, I feel as though I’ve hardly seen you at all.”
She smiled ruefully. “That’s certainly true. But I expected you to be with Gwaine tonight - Elyan told me he was injured on the practice fields?”
Merlin’s face darkened. “Yeah, yeah he was. I was with him earlier, he’s fine, just needs to rest. Is your brother here now?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, I think he said something about the tavern, for some reason. Strange - he usually never drinks when there’s patrol in the morning.” She looked down at the mound of blue fabric on the table, tracing her fingers along a seam before looking up again. “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, Merlin, but - why aren’t you with Gwaine? I mean, given that you two are...” She trailed off and looked down again, blushing.
Merlin blinked. “We two are what?” Then his eyes widened and he flushed. “Oh.. OH! You think that we...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it either, and he just knew he was as bright red as a knight’s cloak. “What on earth gave you that idea?”
Gwen blushed harder. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed! But it was all over the castle this morning - you know how everyone gossips. Apparently someone saw you at the top of the north tower together, or something? And well - the way the two of you act, it didn’t seem surprising, really. I’m sorry!”
Merlin shook his head, still a bit stunned by the idea that the entire castle thought he was sleeping with Gwaine. “It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” Well, at least now he knew why the cook had winked and made wicked, pointed comments when he went to collect Arthur’s breakfast. And why the laundresses had giggled so hard that morning. And the stableboys had made some odd remarks too, actually, now that he thought about it, and honestly the way that Camelot seemed to run on gossip really was absurd.
Merlin sat down heavily, and tried to stop himself from wondering if Arthur had heard. Gwen picked up the blue cloth and started stitching again, kindly letting him have a few moments to collect his thoughts. He ran a hand over his face and let the soft, comforting hum of Gwen’s house sooth him, let the happy, peaceful chime of her song reassure him.
They sat peaceably together for a time, and then Merlin frowned curiously. “What are you sewing?”
Gwen blushed again, looking down, and a small smile slipped over her face as she replied. “It’s for Lancelot. He doesn’t have much in the way of formal clothing, and the palace tailor has so much to do... I offered to make him a few things.”
Merlin looked at the expensive blue cloth, the careful, intricate stitching, and the soft smile on Gwen’s face. “Oh.”
She looked back at him, and Merlin remembered the first time Gwen had met Lancelot. He remembered the beautiful, perfect harmony that their two songs had formed, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. “But... what about Arthur?” he asked softly, trying to keep accusation from seeping into his voice.
Gwen put down her sewing. “I have barely spoken three words to Arthur since we returned. He is so busy all the time, and I don’t think he even remembers I exist for a good part of the day. And Lancelot... he has time. I don’t know. Arthur is lovely when he acknowledges me, but...”
“He has to run the kingdom! Of course he’s busy!” Merlin found himself saying, and it was true. Arthur had almost no time for anyone these days, but nonetheless - he would have expected the prince to make time for Gwen. Instead, Arthur spent as much of his free time as possible on the practice fields - and his rare quiet evenings with Merlin, the two of them dining together in Arthur’s chambers, drinking wine and bickering comfortably.
Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back, letting out a sigh. Arthur probably hadn’t been upset over Gwen, then. And if he had been, why would he have gone after Gwaine? It would have made sense if it had been Lancelot on the receiving end of Arthur’s anger, but it hadn’t been. So if it wasn’t Gwen, then what was bothering Arthur? He rubbed his hand over his face, and then smiled at Gwen. “Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interfere, anyway. It’s none of my business.”
Gwen smiled at him. “It’s alright. Anyway, I want to know how you are doing. You always look so tired these days, Merlin.”
She was full of kind concern, but Merlin barely felt any guilt at all as he lied and said he was perfectly fine.
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The messenger arrived the next day.
Merlin was on the practice fields when he came running up from the city, an unfamiliar, nondescript young man with a sneer on his face. “Message for Prince Arthur?” he asked one of the guards.
“He’s over there.” The guard pointed to where Arthur was drilling the knights. “But you’d best wait until he’s done, he doesn’t like training to be interrupted.”
“I’ve got a very important message. He’ll hear me.”
Merlin came over at that point. “I’m the prince’s manservant. Give me the message, and I’ll be the judge of whether it’s worth interrupting the drill. What’s your name?”
The man turned to look at him, still sneering. “That doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s not my message. A woman paid me to bring it to the prince, said it was really important he heard it as soon as possible.”
Merlin frowned. “A woman?”
“Yeah. I was going through this village, and a woman said she’d pay me gold to deliver the message to Camelot. She couldn’t travel herself for some reason, I think she was injured. She said that if I told the prince that this village needed Camelot’s aid, I’d get rewarded. Gave me a few coins, and said the prince would give me more.”
Cold fear settled into Merlin’s belly, and he swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. “This village. What was it called?”
“Ealdor.”
Merlin swayed on his feet, icy fear flooding through him, and he was distantly aware that he was struggling for breath. The guard reached out and touched his arm. “Are you alright, Merlin?”
Merlin tried to answer, but couldn’t find the words. He shook his head, tried to take a step, staggered. The guard grabbed him and stopped him from falling, then waved a hand at the still-drilling knights.
Arthur was there just seconds later. “Merlin? What is it?”
Merlin swallowed again, and his voice was a dry croak as he answered, “Ealdor. My ... my mother.”
Arthur sucked in a breath, and turned to the messenger. “Tell me. Now.”
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Two hours later, Merlin rode out of Camelot.
“Take Leon,” Arthur had said. “I wish I could send Lancelot and Percival as well, but I must keep the new knights close or people will talk. I can give you a squad of men, and Leon will command them. Take whatever supplies you think necessary.”
Merlin had nodded, tried to thank him, but Arthur had just brushed his thanks aside. “Cenred’s kingdom is leaderless now, and while the council tells me I do not have the men to hold all his lands, we can certainly bring Ealdor under Camelot’s protection.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then added. “Give my regards to Hunith. I ... I would go with you, if I could.”
Merlin had smiled weakly. “I know.”
Gaius fretted and packed bags of herbs, Gwen had hugged him tight, Gwaine had raged and sworn over the injury that absolutely prohibited him from riding. Arthur just looked at him, tried to smile, and then punched his shoulder. “See you when you get back.”
Merlin nodded, tried to smile back. “See you then.”
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The horse was a low, comforting grumble of sound as they rode swiftly through the familiar forest. Merlin’s mind whirled with all kinds of horrible possibilities, worry growing steadily as they grew closer to Ealdor. The message had been so vague, and with the fall of Cenred and the death of his entire army, unscrupulous men would be everywhere, preying on the weak and the defenceless. Merlin suppressed a shudder, trying not to think of slave-traders, bandits, thieves and killers and a defenceless village, and spurred his horse faster.
They made good progress. The first night, Merlin tried to help the men set up the camp, but he was so distracted that he was more hindrance than help. Leon did not comment on his trembling hands, instead sending him out to collect more firewood. As Merlin stepped past him, Leon reached out and caught hold of his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We will protect them, Merlin. Don’t worry.”
Merlin nodded, tried to smile, but not even the reassuring, steadying earth-song of Leon could make him feel much better. As he moved through the trees, searching for dry logs, his thoughts continued to spin out of his control, flitting from fear to panic to hope to worry to fear again in an endless loop. The song of the forest was loud in his ears, but he tried not to listen.
He missed Arthur.
The next evening, he didn’t even bother trying to help, just set his pack down next to the fire and went to find what wood he could. The air was cold, and a mist was rising as the sun disappeared below the horizon, shrouding the trees in white and muffling the chiming forest-song. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly tired. It had been such a long day, all he wanted to do was sleep. But something about the mist seemed - strange, just slightly off, just a little bit not quite right. Merlin straightened and looked around, frowning, and then yawned widely. There was something wrong about the mist-song, but he couldn’t tell what.
A wave of exhaustion flooded him, and he yawned again. His eyelids felt suddenly heavy. That was strange, he wasn’t that tired, or he shouldn’t be. But his head was nodding, and without any conscious thought his legs were folding beneath him and he was falling to the soft, comfortable ground. Not even the shock of fear at the suddenness of the fall could penetrate the bone-deep exhaustion. Merlin closed his eyes, just for a moment, and darkness swamped him.
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To Part Five